seek-its-opposite

[seek-its-opposite]

how to say "I love you" in x-files [243/?] ⤷ 5.02 — “Redux II”

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i know i already wrote it but i can’t stop thinking about MSR bodyswap. you get to be your favorite person in the world but your favorite person in the world is 5 foot 2

+ skinnervision

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threadbare - AO3

“Thanks,” she tells him quietly, meeting his eyes for a flicker of a moment.

Mulder nods in response because Scully, I think I might drown this city in jet fuel and spark a match to keep you warm does not seem appropriate. Lucky him, he’s an old pro at concealing unwelcome, flashgun thoughts.

[seek-its-opposite]

Fic: All Awash With Angels 1/17 (MSR, T)

Cover art by @rosenkranz-does-things (commission them or buy prints of their work!)

Scully and Mulder go undercover as a couple to investigate a rash of mysterious deaths in a remote Alaskan village to which there are no witnesses. (This work is complete; chapters will be posted on Fridays; a smutty epilogue will be posted separately.)

75 k words to be posted in 17 chapters + epilogue; T for flirting, mild blood/gore/violence (canon-typical), and uncoworkerly thoughts; the late Season 1 baby agents undercover married slow burn only-one-bed fic cryptic cryptid monster of the week I always wanted to write (read on AO3)

I heap blessings upon my betas @calimanc and @enoughslices <3

+ + + +

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys, And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple As false dawn. Outside the open window The morning air is all awash with angels. - Richard Wilbur, Love Calls Us To The Things Of This World

At least the flight to Anchorage had involved a jet, small but steadier than the prop plane that had taken them to Icy Cape. Scully had been on worse flights. The view out the window had been stunning: snow-capped ridges of mountains where the Rockies and the Coast Mountains pushed into Canada, etched with deep forests and shining water. Anchorage sat at the head of the Cook Inlet. Their flight had come in over the water that lay just past the end of the runway. When they stepped into the parking lot, the air was crisp, a hint of salt under the usual notes of asphalt and exhaust. She breathed in, holding the sea in her lungs for a moment, grounding herself in this new place that smelled like her childhood homes.

Scully was glad they’d dressed down for the flight: jeans and a sweatshirt made a better uniform here than her put-together skirt suits. Besides, they were here in a sort of casual undercover way, since there weren’t any witnesses left to interrogate. This case was going to be about shoe leather, not testimony. Or in this case, shoe rubber: they’d broken out the hiking boots.

“First impressions?” Mulder asked.

Scully looked around. Beyond the airport, mountains notched into the sky, their snowy shoulders barely brighter than the overcast. “I think I like Anchorage better than that Arctic research facility.”

“Too bad we’re not staying here.” Mulder gazed over the parking lot. It looked like any other airport parking lot, crammed with cars. The wind caught at the open front of his flannel overshirt. “Remind me where we’re going?”

“We’re driving to Homer and then taking a boat to the village of Halibut Cove,” Scully said, dropping her duffel on the ground and pulling a well-worn map out of her backpack. "To be honest, village seems to be a generous term."

Mulder slipped on his sunglasses. The sky was cloudy but bright, reflecting on the distant water and the windshields of the cars. “How long a drive?”

“Four hours or so,” Scully said, folding the map back and tracing the path with her finger. “Straight down Alaska Route 1 until we run out of road.”

“We’ll need snacks,” Mulder told her. “Maybe even a Slurpee if such delicacies are available. Nonstop summer fun, Scully.”

“Car first,” Scully reminded him, putting on her own sunglasses before picking up her bags again. “And I’m not sure most summer fun involves investigating possible murders.”

“I’d say most people just don’t know how to have fun, but that’s a little insensitive.” Mulder started toward the rental fleet, matching the key in his hand to a Jeep Cherokee. “Four-wheel drive. Think we should expect the unexpected?”

“With you, I always do,” Scully said.

Mulder grinned at her and reached for her bag. His fingers slid over her shoulder as he grabbed the strap. She yielded the bag to him, stepping back. He hefted it into the backseat and shoved his own in after it. The gas station on the edge of town yielded a bounty of snacks, including a slushie for Mulder. Scully stole a few sips to wash down her beef jerky and peach rings. The tart syrup and gritty ice tasted exactly like summer on the beach. It made a strange contrast with the lofty mountains and dense evergreens that crowded up to the road on both sides. Scully pulled her hands into the sleeves of her University of Maryland sweatshirt, cuddling deeper into the passenger seat.

“So why do you think we’re here?” Mulder asked, his arm draped over the steering wheel. His lips were tinted artificial cherry red; they drew her eye. He held out his hand and Scully passed him a Red Vine. He poked it into his mouth like a cowboy with a stem of grass.

“Well, the oil company that wants to drill in the Cook Inlet was at odds with the residents of Halibut Cove,” Scully recited without taking the file from her backpack. “As you might surmise from the name, Halibut Cove was founded as a fishing village and the town worried about the environmental impacts of an oil well in their front yard, so to speak. About two weeks ago, a young man paddled up to the dock in Homer, just across the water, claiming that he had seen an avenging angel who turned the townspeople into demons. He insisted it was some sort of beast, something beyond human. Representatives of the oil company whisked him away to their company headquarters in Texas, allegedly to protect him. When a few of the locals went to check on family and friends, they found that the entire population of Halibut Cove had vanished. The oil company is facing accusations that they disappeared around fifty people, including thirty-five to forty village residents and fifteen tourists, which they loudly deny, but the workers they hired to drill the well refuse to go near the site until the murderer is found. The single witness’ descriptions of the angel don’t match any inhabitant of the area or any known predator.”

“And no obvious signs of weapons or predation.” Mulder pulled the Red Vine out of his mouth and gestured with it. “Neither bear nor wolf, just good red herrings. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Scully sighed. “I imagine that the oil company representatives have powerful friends who brought this case to the attention of the FBI, rather than local authorities elevating this on the testimony of the lone witness, even if he is a military veteran. From my understanding, he’s been essentially in the custody of the oil company since his escape.”

“Mm,” Mulder said. “From their lips to the director’s ear.”

“And from there to the basement,” Scully agreed. “Nobody else wants an unsolvable case, especially not one that might disappoint someone with influence. Too much risk.”

“What did I tell you when we met?” Mulder asked, tapping her with the hand that held the Red Vine. “Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.”

She leaned her elbow on the door and braced her cheek on her thumb and index finger. “It seems to me it’s the cases that are unwanted. They come to us because no one else is interested. Whatever happened here, nearly fifty people are missing or dead.”

Mulder smiled and took another bite of his Red Vine. “Then maybe it’s a good thing they find their way to us. We take them seriously. Justice, justice, you shall pursue.”

“All the way to Alaska,” Scully said.

“To the last frontier,” Mulder agreed.

“It’s certainly different from DC.” Scully gazed on the window at the rugged landscape. Mulder��s side of the road was mountains; Scully had forest and the occasional wash of calm water. They’d already passed a couple of trailheads, populated by dayhikers with brightly colored backpacks. “Beautiful.”

“It is.” Mulder had finished his Red Vine. He reached into a bag of sunflower seeds and cracked one between his teeth. “Can’t say I don’t take you to the nicest places.”

Scully smiled into her hand. “I would never say that.”

Mulder glanced over at her, his eyes twinkling. He grinned as he reached for another sunflower seed.

The drive took longer than a flight would have, but at least they had more flexibility. Scully doubted there were many rental car counters in Homer, and if they’d taken a seaplane directly to Halibut Cove, they would still have needed to requisition a boat from somewhere to get around the various parts of the spread-out village. Halibut Cove wasn’t as isolated as some of the places they’d investigated, but it wasn’t convenient, either — there were no real roads, and no access except by air or water. But the Jeep helped their cover, even if they had to leave it across the bay from their destination: it made them look like a couple who were there to explore the relatively unsullied nature found around Halibut Cove but didn't understand the place, outsiders who associated the vehicle with adventure.

“I wonder if we’ll see a moose?” Scully said.

“You see moose all the time,” Mulder told her. He glanced at her puzzled expression. “That was my nickname, on the basketball team when I was in high school.”

She tipped her head at him. “You’re tall, but I never considered you megafauna.”

“One of my teammates saw one on vacation in Maine. He said it looked like me because I had a big rack.” He mimed spreading his arms without taking his hands off the wheel. “You know. Typical teenage boy logic. Moose.”

“So, what, that makes me Squirrel?” she teased.

“If the tiny shoe fits.” He winked at her.

She sighed in mock frustration. “Speaking of secret identities, we should work on ours.”

“Already done.” Mulder cracked a seed. “File’s in my backpack.”

Scully reached into the backseat and extracted the folder. There was a tiny envelope stapled inside containing two plain wedding bands and an engagement ring with a glittering, ostentatious diamond. She passed the larger ring to Mulder and slipped the other two onto her finger.

“That was my job,” Mulder said with a pout.

She shot him a sardonic look and flipped through the rest of the documents. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“What?” Mulder said, all innocence.

“Jonathan and Mina Harker? Those are the identities you invented for us? To catch a murderer that allegedly turns its victims into demons that only emerge at night?”

“You can go by Willa if you want,” Mulder said, smiling out at the landscape.

“Mulder, this isn’t funny. People may have died.”

“If the perpetrator is human and versed in the classics, they’ll know we’re onto them.” Mulder cracked a sunflower seed. “It’s a strategy to draw them out.”

“And if the perpetrator isn’t human?” Scully waved the file. “This isn’t disrespectful in some way?”

“Dracula met his righteous end,” Mulder said. “It’s a promise to the victims. Justice, remember?”

Scully eyed him skeptically. “I’m not letting you pick the names next time we go undercover.”

“Deal,” he said, but he was still smiling a little.

“Willa Harker,” she said to herself experimentally. “I don’t think so. Too many Williams in my family.”

“Mine too,” Mulder said. “But maybe not Jon’s or Mina’s.”

“You better not have given me a sister named Lucy,” Scully said. “Willa Harker." She tasted the name, rolling it around in her mind. "It’s a little better.”

Mulder just laughed and they drove on down the highway, the landscape wilder every mile.

Homer wasn’t a bustling metropolis; they drove straight through it and onto the long spit that extended into the bay. It was easy to find a place to rent a boat. The young woman behind the counter was about the same height as Scully. She had dark hair and eyes that implied Alaska Native ancestry. Her nametag read “Grace”. She smiled as they came in. “Hi, folks. How can I help you? Fishing trip? Kayak rental? Boat tour of Kachemak Bay?”

“Hi,” Scully said. “I’m Willa Harker, and this is my husband Jon. We’d like to rent a boat for a couple of days. Well, close to a week, really—we’re headed out to Halibut Cove.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said, leaning on the counter, “we’ve got a little cottage reserved.”

“Oh,” Grace said. “Um. I’m not sure the cottages are open.”

“Why not?” Scully said lightly.

“The, um, tides,” Grace said. “They’ve been really erratic.” She glanced down. “And everyone evacuated because there was a tsunami warning, I think. You know, because of the volcano. It erupted in January, so folks are leery. I’m not sure that they’re back yet. You’d be all on your own.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Mulder said. “We were hoping to get in some nice hiking, maybe see some wildlife.”

“Gosh, I’m sure we would have heard about a tsunami warning,” Scully said. “I suppose you can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah, but we only have a week of vacation,” Mulder said. “Corporate doesn’t care about tsunami warnings. Can we still get a boat? We prepaid for the cottage.”

“I wouldn’t go there right now,” Grace said.

“Oh, but it’s my dream vacation,” Scully said, trying to sound like a nature enthusiast. “I had a friend who came here a few years ago. She said it was the most beautiful place she’d ever been.”

“Please, Grace,” Mulder said in a quiet voice. “For my wife?” He managed to imply that maybe this was their last vacation, that their marriage was in danger or that Scully was sick and running out of time. It was oddly compelling, even to Scully, who knew better. It didn't really fit with their honeymoon backstory, but she admitted it was working.

“I can rent you a boat,” Grace said, relenting. “And, um, I’ll come with you.” She was clearly reluctant. “My uncle has a few cottages. If yours is… closed, I can put you in one of his. There’s only one restaurant in Halibut Cove, though, and it’s closed too. You’ll have to take your own food.”

“Give us an hour?” Mulder said.

Grace nodded. “I’ll have it ready then.”

Mulder tapped the counter. “Perfect.”

“Thank you, Grace,” Scully said.

Mulder put his arm around her shoulders as they left. “She knows something.”

“Of course she knows something,” Scully said. “Towns this small, word gets around.”

“One witness,” Mulder said. “And that witness essentially in the custody of the oil company, in the name of protecting him.”

Scully sighed. “You know how gossip works. Nothing travels faster than the rumor of a monster.”

“But if the witness’ report is to be believed, there’s almost nothing left of the townspeople to gossip about.” Mulder steered Scully toward a small grocery store. “Gone. Poof. Overnight, a whole village disappeared.”

“Imagine the rumors,” Scully said. “It might be worse not having heard the story. I’m sure that there are legends of monsters in these woods.”

“Sharp teeth,” Mulder said. “Hot breath on the back of your neck in the night.”

“That better not be a monster,” Scully said. “Because I’m feeling your breath on my neck right now.”

“It’s not night, Willa,” Mulder teased. “I’m a perfectly normal man until the sun sets.”

“Good thing there are 19 hours of daylight here in mid-June.” She glanced up at him over her shoulder, and he pouted at her.

“How’s a perfectly normal man supposed to get any shuteye?”

Scully smirked at him. “I didn’t think you slept anyway.”

He clicked his tongue sadly. “And here I thought you were about to suggest a blindfold.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe that’s our next ‘vacation’. We can investigate the seedy underbelly of the circus world. I’ll throw the daggers; you get strapped to the spinning wheel.”

“Oooh.” He grabbed a cart from the corral in the grocery store parking lot. “Don’t tempt me, Willa.”

They loaded the cart with a few days’ worth of food: soup, peanut butter, bread, lunch meat, sliced cheese, instant coffee, plus sunscreen and bug spray. They'd already encountered clouds of tiny mosquitos. Scully tossed a package of pads in on top of a flat of bottled water. Mulder raised an eyebrow.

“Just in case,” she said. “We might be here a few weeks.” He nodded and snagged a bag of Dove chocolate squares when they went through the candy aisle, dropping it in with the rest of their supplies. She looked at him and he put a finger to his mouth, winking.

They bought a cooler and packed all the groceries into it, carrying it between them back to the boat rental. Scully got out the bug spray halfway there and spritzed them both; the speed of the boat would deter the mosquitos, but on the dock, they were surrounded. Grace was there to help them into the boat.

“This is my cousin Logan,” she said, waving a hand at a stocky twenty-something sitting behind the controls of a second boat. “He’ll follow us to Halibut Cove so’s he can bring me back once I help you find your cottage.”

“Sounds good,” Scully said. Mulder helped her into their boat and passed down the cooler. He retrieved their bags from the car and handed those down too.

“You have to be careful in the bay,” Grace said, sounding much more confident. “Please put on your life vests. It’s very important that you wear them. The water is cold, and the tides here can be extremely dangerous. Do you have any experience with boats?”

“Willa does,” Mulder said, jerking his thumb at Scully before he finished buckling on his vest.

“Don’t be so shy, Jon,” Scully said. “You practically grew up on the water.”

“Motorboat’s a little different from a sailboat,” Mulder said. “Plus, like Grace said, the water’s colder here. I’ll let you drive.” He tightened the straps of his vest.

Grace showed them the controls, took them out into the bay, pointed out the major hazards. The middle of the bay was deep enough to navigate easily, but closer to the land, there were shoals to run aground on, especially if they got caught by the unpredictable tides.

“We have rip tides and bore tides,” Grace said, sounding almost proud. “The Cook Inlet has some of the largest and most dangerous tides in the world. And we are at risk for tsunamis, because of the Ring of Fire.”

“Right,” Scully said. “That’s why everything’s closed in Halibut Cove.”

“Yes,” Grace said, lowering her eyes.

“We’ll be extra careful,” Mulder promised. Scully gazed at the water, marking the safe routes in her mind. Grace took them almost straight across the bay, just south of the spit of land that formed the bulk of Halibut Cove, and tied up their boat at a dock among a cluster of others that sheltered under carport-like roofs. Her cousin idled at the end of the dock, apparently disinclined to venture onto the island. Grace helped him secure his boat to the very end of the dock as Mulder and Scully unloaded their supplies. He said something to her, too low to hear. Her reply was curt.

When they were ready, Grace came back up the dock. She frowned, looking up at the village, saying almost nothing as she showed them the boardwalk that fronted the cove. There were several small businesses — a coffee shop, a couple of art galleries, and the usual cottage rentals and wilderness tours — but they all seemed empty. There was a chalkboard outside the coffee shop promoting their strawberry rhubarb scones.

“Do you know where your cottage is?” Grace asked.

Mulder shrugged. “I didn’t exactly have an address for it. We were supposed to meet them here.”

“Okay.” Grace stopped at a gallery, opening the unlocked door, and retrieved a key from an equally unsecured office. The kind of town where doors didn’t need to be locked, Scully thought, except maybe during tourist season.

“This was the only one there was a key for,” Grace said, a frown drawing her eyebrows together. “It’s not very big, but it is close.”

“Lead the way,” Mulder said, shifting the cooler. He’d insisted on carrying it down the boardwalk. Scully shouldered both their duffel bags along with her backpack. It was a short walk, just a few minutes down the boardwalk, up a short flight of steps. The cottage was adorable, which mostly meant small, but the one room looked cozy and clean when Grace unlocked it. There was a kitchen with a sink, a fridge, a two-burner stove top for cooking, and a wood stove for heat. Separated from the kitchen area by a half-wall was the sleeping area, mostly taken up by a queen bed, a small sofa tucked into a window nook beside it. The half-wall was topped with a small flat counter that extended into the sleeping area, a bench tucked underneath.

“It’s lovely,” Scully said. She put a hand on Mulder’s arm. “Don’t you think so, Jon?”

“Definitely,” Mulder said, setting down the cooler. “Exactly what we were hoping for. It might even be bigger than our first apartment in New York City. Thank you so much, Grace.”

“There’s an outhouse out back,” Grace said. “You can use the showers at the gallery I showed you. Bathroom too, if you’re willing to walk. Wood for the stove should be stacked out by the outhouse.”

“Rustic,” Mulder said in an approving tone. Scully had a brief uncharitable thought about people who found it simple to pee while standing.

Grace hesitated. “You’re sure you want to stay here? All alone?”

“Of course,” Scully said. She leaned into Mulder a little and he put his arm around her. “It’s our honeymoon. Who wouldn’t like the privacy?”

“We don’t mind roughing it a little,” Mulder said. “And hey, maybe one morning we’ll wake up and everybody will have come back. How long can tsunami season last?”

“Maybe,” Grace said. Her brow was still furrowed.

“Don’t worry about us,” Scully assured her. “We’re only a boat ride away, right?”

“Sure,” Grace said. She turned toward the stairs that led back to the boardwalk and then looked back. “Don’t forget to wear your life vests, okay? It‘s beautiful here, but it’s dangerous too.”

“We will,” Scully promised. Mulder’s arm was still around her shoulders.

“See you in a few days,” he told Grace.

Grace nodded and left, waving goodbye. Then the door closed and they were alone.

“Can I interest you in a walk?” Mulder said, giving her a reflexive squeeze before dropping his arm. “A little sight-seeing, a little evidence gathering.”

“Let’s put the food away first,” Scully said. She started to unpack the cooler. Mulder moved the bags to the bedroom, setting her duffel and backpack on the lone bed and his things on the couch cozied up next to it. He came back to take the cans of soup and set them on top of the short fridge.

“At least there’s still electricity,” he said. “And hey, a local map.” He picked up a laminated map.

Scully straightened up. She glanced at the map as Mulder traced the illustrated paths with one finger. It looked hand-drawn. “Probably a generator around somewhere too, if we can find the gas for it. I imagine it’s necessary from time to time.”

“There’s extra fuel in the boat,” he pointed out. “Probably some of the others, too, if we needed to scavenge.”

Scully nodded. They both remembered the generator in the Olympic National Forest and the single flickering bulb that had kept the insects at bay. She suspected neither of them would ever be in the woods again without thinking of the eerie luminescent cloud descending. She picked up her pack, took out a bundle of non-essentials, and then shouldered it. “Ready to look around?”

He hefted his backpack. “Bear spray and my gun.” He took out his weapon and holstered it at his hip, under his flannel shirt. The bear spray went into his chest pocket. He slung the strap of a camera around his neck: a different kind of protection. “You?”

She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt, revealing her own weapon. “First aid kit in my pack. Pocketknife. Mace on my keychain.”

“Will that deter a bear?”

“That’s not my usual concern,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “You‘re packing all the time.”

She looked away. “Honestly, being on the lookout for easily identifiable predators is something of a relief. Even if it is some strange new species.”

“My theory is that it’s not so new,” he said, as they left the cottage, locking the door behind them. “We’re looking for something like the original reports of the Jersey Devil. Not the wild woman we found in the woods, but the bat-like creature from much earlier sightings. Red eyes. Dark wings.”

“But vampiric. A vampire bat-thing.”

He nodded. “Essentially. I think that comes the closest to explaining the villagers who got turned into demons.”

“How does that square with the report of an angel?” she asked as they descended the stairs to the boardwalk. By unspoken mutual consent, they turned toward the lighthouse.

He shrugged. “Even angels can go bad, Scully.”

“Willa,” she said automatically, scanning the empty buildings of the village as they passed.

“Willa,” he corrected. His voice was warm around the strange name with its familiar sounds.

“There’s a chance we’re not alone,” she said. “The villagers might be gone, but there could be other adventurers out there.”

“Honeymooners like us,” he teased.

She shot him a look. “Hunters. Survivalists. Murderers.”

“Angels,” he said solemnly.

“Angels,” she sighed.

The buildings on the boardwalk had been clustered together, but the cottages and businesses began to spread out as they got further from the dock. Like their own cottages, many of the buildings were up a flight of narrow stairs from the main boardwalk, tucked into the trees. After few hundred feet, the boardwalk ended. They continued onto the trail to the lighthouse, a faint path marked through the cleared meadows that rose toward the edge of the land. Mulder took a few photos as they went.

“No moose so far,” he said as they picked their way up the trail.

“Aside from the obvious.” Scully touched a cluster of unripe berries on a bush. “Their buffet isn’t quite ready.”

“Something had a feast.” Mulder cupped a hand over his eyes and looked toward the sky. “No vultures.”

“No remains,” Scully pointed out. At least, I haven’t seen any.”

Mulder grunted agreement.

There was another grouping of cottages along the trail, closer to the lighthouse. All seemed to have been occupied until recently — there were suitcases with clothes spilling out, dry-bristled toothbrushes by the sinks. Mulder documented the scenes. Scully took quiet solace in the fact that there were no children’s clothes. The lighthouse itself looked more like a church, a house-sized building with a lamp for a steeple. The door was unlocked; inside, it was furnished as a vacation rental. Perfectly clean, perfectly innocuous.

“We could have stayed here,” Scully said as they stepped out again. “Look at this view. No electricity, though — not much of a lighthouse these days, with no one to keep it lit.”

Mulder pointed as they rounded the corner. “And it’s still got an outhouse.”

“I don’t imagine people living without indoor plumbing or electricity, these days,” Scully said. “I guess it’s not so uncommon. Wouldn’t make it easy to communicate with the outside world.”

“Meanwhile, here we come with our GPS units and our cell phones,” Mulder said. “Imposing our will on nature. Out of sync with the rhythm of the wilderness.” He looked at her. “Or maybe that’s just the jet lag.”

She laughed. “DC to Halibut Cove is a long haul.”

“In so many ways,” he agreed. "Anyway, I forgot to requisition a GPS unit."

"The authentic experience," she said.

Beyond the lighthouse, the bay looked serene. The dangerous water was a bright blue-green close to shore, deepening to midnight. Across the bay, the mountains behind Homer heaved out of the water.

Scully stood next to Mulder, not too close to the edge of the little cliff that dropped into the water. He picked up the camera and aimed it at her. “Smile, Willa.”

She squinted into the light, brushing hair out of her face as the camera’s shutter clicked. She wondered what he saw through the viewfinder. “Windblown Willa.”

“Willa in the wild,” Mulder said.

Scully looked out over the bay again. “It’s a beautiful place.”

Mulder hummed agreement. “You could believe people would honeymoon here.”

“Is this where you’d go?” Scully asked. She knew so much about Mulder, but he still surprised her. “I didn’t think rustic was your preference.”

“I haven’t spent a whole lot of time pondering my honeymoon, but I think I could be happy anywhere with the right person,” Mulder mused. He gazed out over the water, then glanced at Scully. “Surprised?”

“Honestly, yes,” Scully said. “I thought you were a three-star hotel in a European city kind of guy. Not that I've thought about it much.”

He chuckled. “I could definitely be happy there,” he said. “Still takes the right person.”

She looked at him, on the point of saying something else she’d probably regret, but then her stomach growled.

“Dinnertime?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess so,” she said. They took one last look over the water and headed back down the trail.

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The scene where scully discovers mulder is a microcultural celebrity among ufo nut geeks who writes niche conspiracy articles under the name M. F Luder is the top ten funniest x files scenes of ever tbh

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"Lots of files." // "Lots and lots of files. ... You're looking for a file on me? What is going on here, Mulder?" // "I don't know, Scully. ... This file was originally mine."

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THE X-FILES | 4.17

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if this website ever goes down before I finish the fic I’ve been working on since 2017 I had better see all of you on ao3 when it’s done. which it will be someday

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do you have any good mulder hurt/comfort fic recs? Specifically scully comforting mulder? I feel like most fics on ao3 are mulder comforting scully

Collector's Edition: A Tormented Man, At Last, Is Comforted

Sorry this took so long, anon! These recs are nowhere near all.

If you want an entire catalog of fics in that genre, I'd highly suggest reading through @baronessblixen's work-- hurt/comfort and fluff are her specialties; and she writes incredible an Hurt!Mulder (or Mulder post-latest-shenanigans) and Caring!Scully. (I've rec-ed a lot of her fics in the past, so if you search up #BaronessBlixen on my page, they should all pop up.)

I also recommend the "Mulder, Scully, and Season 8 Healing" and Dad!Mulder rec lists on my pinned page; but Injured but In-Charge Scully is practically required reading for this topic (@sarie-fairy's Skamania County is the first that comes to mind.)

Loose chronological order below~

@thursdayinspace's

the ginger invasion

He just about manages to lift his head and there she is, Scully, in his bedroom doorway; she turns on the light and it hurts his eyes, but even as he squints against it the glow of her red hair in the sudden brightness is enough to make him let out a relieved breath. "Hi." He hates to admit when he needs help. But he needs help. And help just showed up.

Early partnership Scully helps Mulder recover from an illness.

travel in style (Tumblr)

She lifts her head and twists around trying to look at him, and when that doesn’t work, she sits up and rubs her eyes, yawning. “That doesn’t look comfortable.”

He sighs. “That’s probably because it isn’t.”

She looks at him for a long moment, obviously thinking.

Scully helps Mulder sleep in the car.

Beshter's Seasons: Second: Chapter 118

"No, come on. I want you to lie down." She tried directing him to her bedroom, but her steering threatened to tumble him over. "Whoa, come on I want you to lie down, let me take your coat off." She began to work off the long sleeve of the jacket he wore. It was summertime in DC, sticky and humid outside. What did he need with a coat in the first place?

Anasazi Scully cares for Mulder's fever after his father's death.

@bytethehand/homecomingserf's fragility

Scully can hear him pacing through the wall. Back and forth, back and forth on the creaky motel floors. He’s got a tendency to pace at night, of course, she knows this, but never this long and never this late and never this fast and loud and anxious-sounding. 

Post One Breath Mulder finally lets Scully in.

@welsharcher's The X-Files: The Field Where I Died 

With a sigh, Scully walked over and dropped the plastic evidence bag on his desk, savoring the resounding thud it made. Mulder casually looked up; his apathy undisturbed.

Another sigh escaped as she pulled out the book, “Sarah Kavanaugh’s journal was found hidden under a loose floorboard in Melissa’s room.”

Post TFWID Scully attempts to give Mulder comfort.

@officialmulder/specialagentpao's broken hearts, paper hearts

He buried his face in his hands. Scully sat in front of him on the coffee table. “We can talk about it if you want.” Her voice barely a whisper.

AU-- Paper Hearts Mulder finds Samantha's body.

@agent-troi/AgentTroi's Still Walking Into That Room

Mulder remained limp and passive throughout all of this, not reacting in any way except to follow numbly as Scully led him out of the house and back to her car. He sat down when she opened the passenger side door and gently nudged him inside, but he made no move to buckle his seat belt, so she did it for him.

Post Demons Scully needs to know that Mulder will be okay without her.

@seek-its-opposite/seek_its_opposite's

photosensitivity (Tumblr)

“You don’t have to stay in here,” he tells her, trying to sound casual. “If anything happens I’ll just scream in agony.” He doesn’t pull off the joke.

“I’m good,” she soothes.

He called her in the middle of the night with blood down his shirt and she came to find him. It’s been too late to leave for years.

Post Demons Scully and Mulder are confronted by his seizures and her mortality, his past and her present.

folie imposée (Tumblr)

He’s straining, struggling against his restraints to reach her. She unhooks the belt across his chest and he grasps for her, pulling at the straps around his wrists. When she takes his arm in her hands his skin burns hot and pink, rubbed raw by cheap canvas.

She could play his scrapes on a turntable and the vinyl would sing a slow tragedy, a myth reborn in jazz. Cassandra the cursed prophet, reincarnated as a boy who believes in aliens.

Folie a Deux Scully spirits Mulder away.

@amplifyme/wonderland/Lydia Bower's

Affinity/Affinity 01

"Scully. You really thought it was me that night. Right?"

We've covered this ground before. It's one of the few questions he's allowed himself to ask, and one of the queries he continues to make. It's like he's stuck on these few questions like a needle in the groove of an old record.

"Yes, Mulder." I wait for the question that will inevitably follow, the one that never directly addresses what he saw when he burst through the door. He can afford to be vague: we both know what almost happened, what he interrupted.

"And you… you were okay with that."

Second verse same as the first.

"Yeah, Mulder. I was okay with that."

He nods. I haven't changed the answer to that one, either. I think he finds that reassuring, in some odd Mulderish way.

AU-- Post Small Potatoes Scully and Mulder redo that night.

Burning in Heaven

No, not asleep. Her head swung around and he was greeted with a smile. "Mulder. You're still here."

He took another step into the room and stopped. A small part of his brain got busy trying to figure out what it was about Scully that calmed him. Simply walking into her room had settled and centered him. He could feel the threat of shattering begin to reverse itself, his pieces coming back together to make a whole. Scully was his glue.

Post Redux II Mulder and Scully process their raw emotions.

@settle-down-frohike/settledownfrohike's

Missing Scenes (1/3, 2/3, 3/3)

“Mulder…are you sure you shouldn’t have someone examine you?“ he waved her off, scanning the floor for her shoes, doing his best not to appear frantic.

Mulder's journey through the final days of the cancer arc. (Scully comforts him in Part 3.)

120 for the drabble prompt

When he returns Scully is ensconced in pale pink silk, drunkenly slurring at her mother that she’s fine. She attempts to reach for the stack of drenched journals, winces, and that is just about enough for Maggie Scully. She enters the bedroom, raises a hereditary eyebrow at the hulking figure trying to decipher a fitted sheet from flat. 

“Fox. Thank you. I think I can take it from here on out.” 

It’s not Maggie’s style to be brutish or cruel, but she’s tired, and her tone is a bit more clipped than usual. Mulder remains mute, and nods a yes m’am. He gathers the empty Macy’s bag and passes her as she resumes the preparation of the bed. When she exits, he’s sitting crosslegged on the floor, coffee table askew to make room, trying to peel apart pages from The Lancet mumbling, “just a second, I’ll find it...”. 

Her daughter’s hands are roving the top of his scalp, petting and combing through his hair like a beloved dog.

Post Tithonus Scully is not exasperated with Mulder's efforts.

Luctus

She looks over at his sleeping form, studies the exaggerated bow of his upper lip, and thinks what a nursing blister it must’ve made. She gazes back down at the somber toddler in the faded image clutching his mother’s leg and sucking his thumb, her with one hand on his scalp, the other cradling her belly. His humanity is real and disconcerting at this moment. All this time, it felt as though she were merely patching up this omnipotent, otherworldly force, acting as an aid to propel him toward an epic destiny. There’s proof before her now that somewhere, he had a beginning. 

Post Sein und Zeit Scully cares for Mulder in the aftermath.

5 Pt. AU Prompts

The words “small cell” are anything but small. They are Goliath, and David is no where to be found. She feels the words rather than hears them. Malignant, it feels like quicksand.

AU-- Mulder has cancer; and Scully is ready for war.

Headcanon (Tumblr)

It started after her first disappearance, on a flight to nowhere North Dakota. She was flipping through a dossier and he was dozing, as per usual. She heard a mumbled version of her name and threw a distracted “Hm?” his way without glancing up. “Scully.” Firmer, more forceful this time. She looked over, annoyed, and spat “What Mu-“ and realized he was still asleep, but fitfully so. His breathing was coming in pants, nostrils flared and his brow was beaded with perspiration. 

Mulder's name is a comfort to Scully.

@o6666666's (Ao3)

8, 52, or 89!! 

“I think you should go home.”

He shrugged, but in the way small boys do when they are lying, and his eyes were wet. 

“You need sleep.” 

She knew, and he knew, that he had not been sleeping. She pet his hair and he blinked like it hurt to be treated gently.

He shrugged again. 

“Don’t lie to me,” she admonished, and pinched his ear so he knew it was only that she cared for him tremendously. 

He laughed but it knocked loose some piece of the great thing inside him that hurt and hurt, and in a moment he was crying. 

Post Paper Hearts Scully tries to call in Tena Mulder for support.

AU where Mulder is the one who gets sick in season 4 instead of Scully and Is... is it cruel to request more of the Sick Mulder story?

She wipes his mouth with her sleeve.

“Open your eyes,” she whispers, and he blinks and blinks.

“It’s blurry,” he sniffs.

She wraps herself all around him and lays her cheek to his, adopting his vantage point.

“I don’t wanna wrestle,” he says.

“In a second you’ll see the cabinet,” she says. “Just the plain brown cabinet. And our feet, and my other shoes.”

He sniffles.

“Tell me when you see it.”

AU-- Post Terma Mulder has cancer.

I love you prompt 14?

If you asked Scully whether she crashed Mulder’s disciplinary hearing to be his hype man, she’d tell you no.

But she did.

Scully refuses to let Mulder feel chastised.

@mulder-fight-him's Spiderwebs and Butterflies

She doesn’t know what exactly woke her, but blue eyes snap open suddenly and quickly fill with confusion, suprise, and maybe a little hint of love.  

Less than two feet away her lanky partner is sprawled out on her bed. At least she thinks it’s her bed. That’s where she fell asleep last night. She gently lifts her head and takes a quick inventory.  Yes. Her bed.

S5 Scully lets Mulder stay after a nightmare.

Anne Haynes's (xf-redux) Irrevocable

I watch her walk away from me, and I try to comfort myself with the picture of how life would have been for her had she not been thrust into my world. I try to see myself, sitting on one of the benches outside the Hoover Building, maybe eating lunch on a sunny day, and looking up to see Dana Scully walking down the sidewalk, a beautiful little tow- head little girl clinging to her hand, laughing and whole. I want to see this. I need to see this.

But I can't.

Because in this future, I don't exist. In this future, I am dead a thousand times over because Dana Scully wasn't there to save me.

There is no comfort to be found.

Scully finds Mulder mourning Emily's death.

Chibiness87's Seeing is Believing

He blinks harshly, gaze trapped by her intense stare. Four points of sensation appear on his neck, and he suddenly realises she is digging her nails in, making him focus.

Chocking, he manages to gasp out, “I can’t stop.”

Scully nods, tightening her grip on the nape of his neck. “Can you keep your eyes open for me?”

He squeezes his eyes closed, feeling his chest tighten. “I can’t… I can’t calm down.”

Her voice is the only anchor he has, and he latches on to it. “I’m not asking you to calm down. I’m asking you to look at me.” Her grip changes, making his face tilt more towards her. Her voice is still gentle, but firm. “Look at me, Mulder. Come on.”

Post Kitsunegari Scully guides Mulder through a panic attack.

DanaScully77's Night Hags and Restless Sleep

“Scully, is it bad the pills didn’t work?”

“Yes.” Scully admits, not wanting to lie to him. Her palm strokes through his hair, a normal occurrence for her when she’s tending to him and worried about his health. Much like his hand on her back, his hair is her calming space. “If you don’t sleep within the next twenty-four hours, you’ll need to be admitted to the hospital.”

“ Scully .”

The whine in his voice is almost childish, but Scully doesn’t comment on it. With how little rest he’s gotten, it’s only natural to resort to young behaviors. “I know, Mulder. But your body can’t survive with no sleep.”

Post-case Mulder cannot fall asleep.

saltringangell's the time it would take (to fix my heart)

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back.

“Mulder, slow down.”

He swings open the front door to the FBI building, wind whipping his hair back and causing her to practically stumble across the threshold. She lets the cool air sting her face, a nice change from the smoke and fire that licked at her skin just moments prior. Mulder continues down the pathway to his car, a little slower now, but still just enough steps ahead so she can’t see his face.

“Mulder, please, just let me-”

“Just get in the car, Scully.”

Post The End Mulder falls apart.

Emeraldsoleil's Beginning to Thaw

His body rippled against hers as he attempted to put distance between then, but a gasp of pain arrested his progress and he relaxed back against her.  "I realize this is an awkward position we find ourselves in, partner, but I, uh...I can't move." 

"I'm not surprised.  Your muscles are tied in knots.  I'll try to get the nurse in her to give you a muscle relaxer.  Until then, don't try to move to much.  You might tear something." She tugged on his hair again.  "Doctor's orders."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.  The silence grew heavy, curling around them in a cloud of frustration.

"What is it, Mulder?" she asked.  "What's wrong?"

Fight the Future Scully and Mulder have a conversation at the bottom of the world.

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls’s 

mondays on an endless loop (Tumblr)

“Scu… ly,” says Mulder. He takes another breath, and he sounds horrible, inches away. His eyes are half-closed.

“Don't try to talk, Mulder,” she whispers. She moves her hand back to his face, brushing his sweaty hair away, touching his cheek, his forehead. She's forgotten everyone else in the bank; it's just the two of them. “Just… just keep breathing, Mulder,” she says. “Hang on, okay? Keep breathing, Mulder, please.”

He doesn't listen, because of course he doesn't. He rasps, “I'm… sorry,” and then his mouth shuts and he says no more. Heartbeats slowing, slowing.

Mulder, Scully, and the endless Mondays that could be (and were.)

Foxsong 's Ruego

The words were easier to say than she had expected, not shattering as she'd thought they'd be. They were sweet in her mouth. "I love you, Mulder," she said again, marveling at how freely it left her lips. "I love you, love you..." It became a chant, a prayer. She whispered it over and over into his ear and felt how it calmed him, how he steadied against her, how his trembling eased. "I love you." It seemed so important to tell him. Why had she waited so long?

He had finally stopped crying, and was still; and she became aware that he was praying with her, echoing her whispered words. "I love you, Scully... I love you. I love you..."

Post Milagro Scully and Mulder alternate their breakdowns and caregiving.

@baronessblixen/Baroness_Blixen's Lucky

I know what I’m doing, Scully,” he told her, amusement apparent in his voice – famous last words,

“I grew up around here, you know.” If only he hadn’t tried to look good while climbing down the steep trail from the cliffs to the beach. Scully told him to take the long, official way. Of course Mulder dismissed her idea as silly and unnecessary. He insisted on walking ahead, naturally, and Scully let him. He was telling her something about crabs when it happened. One moment she watched his head bob up and down while she tried to find the best, least dangerous path, and in the next instant he slipped.

S6 Scully nearly laughs over Mulder's tumble.

@slippinmickeys/SlippinMickeys/Slippin' Mickeys's

How about a super shippy MSR fic?

Amongst the pain and the fear and the sensory overload, hers is the mind that shines like a beacon in the night.

It is a revelation.

Biogenesis Mulder is comforted amidst the chaos.

@nowwhateinstein's (Ao3) things you said that made me feel real

He pauses, worrying his bottom lip, as if searching for the right words. “It’s what led me to start looking for her. The desire to find her was my coping mechanism, I suppose. Knowing that she’s out there, somewhere, keeps my fear at bay.”

Something - perhaps it’s intuition - urges me to glance at clock on the nightstand. Of course, I realize with a sinking feeling. 11:21pm, November 27, 1998. The anniversary of Samantha’s abduction. Twenty-five years later, and he’s still searching for her.

Scully realizes her partner is "off."

@greekowl87's (Ao3) No One Is Perfect (Tumblr)

She opened the door and saw the television had gone to a late night infomercial with playing in the background on mute. Mulder was wide awake, laying across his couch with legs crossed, staring at some unknown fixed point. She recognized that look. He was lost in his own thoughts, mulling something over, and he needed to be brought back to Earth. 

Post Orison Scully assuages Mulder's guilt.

aRcaDIaNFall$'s Longest Night

"I feel lost." It's the first he's spoken in almost forty minutes. I've been silent, too.

I don't speak, just wait for him to go on.

Sein und Zeit Mulder has a hard night.

@incidental-ao3/incidental's Verlust

She held his head against her chest, fingers stroking his hair, and rocked with him. It was instinct, an act buried deep within her, as she breathed in the smell of him and kissed the crown of his head. He hung onto her like a life raft, his weight bearing down on her as she crouched on the floor in front of his chair. When her shoulders and knees began to scream for relief, she gently extricated herself from him and took his hands in hers, encouraging him up out of his seat. He followed without words or hesitation, letting her lead him across his apartment and into the bedroom. 

He sat on the edge of the bed with a vacant expression on his face, his eyes a million miles elsewhere. It scared her, seeing him that way, so completely drawn into himself.

Sein und Zeit Scully opens up to help Mulder process.

@bohoartist/Bohoartist's The Healing Power of Touch

Mulder adjusts his body so he is facing ahead and she turns her face to look at him. She can see the shininess in his eyes and understands perfectly well how the grief of losing a loved one creeps up on you in the most random of times. She thinks of the days and weeks after losing Ahab and how her eyes would well up with tears for no discernible reason as the weight of her loss would crash down on her. She thinks of how he would notice her grief but knew better than to say a word in an attempt to comfort her, instead choosing to brush his hand across her back a little more than necessary, or to push a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

Sein und Zeit Scully keeps vigil.

@writingwell/RocketMan's (xffics) I'll Be Waiting for You

I creep slowly to the sound; I think it's coming from the bathroom.

The door is closed.

I hear . . . the shower running.

I scramble back to my window, the one overlooking the parking lot, and see with relief that Mulder's car is right next to mine.

I must have been too preoccupied to notice it.

Mulder distances himself when emotionally troubled.

@brenayla's (Ao3) 6. He has a nightmare

Scully’s voice says, “Mulder?” She’s groggy; there’s a small, warm hand against his flexed bicep.

He whips around. “Scully?” He echoes, frantically pressing the length of his finger into the divot under her nose.

Scully comforts her partner after his nightmare.

@sigritandtheelves/DarlaBlack's If She'd Known

 Is it a miracle from God or a gift from the devil? Some hellish combination of mad science and corporate greed conspire to rip his lungs to shreds and in doing so, strap him down to a North Carolina hospital bed. Scully is tracking down his other records, his brain scans, when they administer the nicotine or it never would have happened. She’s not there when he is poisoned back to life, but first to death. She never would have left him but… His heart stops for a moment. For a moment he is dead. A moment. Then a minute. A full minute. And then it beats again.

AU-- Scully works hard to save Mulder from his brain disease.

Lolabeegood's (mulderscreek) Five Months Lost (Ao3)

"Mulder," she said softly as she walked toward him and stopped his forward motion. She grabbed his wrists and made him look her in the eyes. "I have been, we all have been, looking for you for over five months."

"Five months?" he said disbelieving.

"You didn't go to the conference in Philadelphia, or spend time with the Gunmen, or feel the baby kick until you put your hand on my stomach this morning," she said softly.

AU-- Post Requiem Mulder is returned with false memories.

@monikafilefan/MonikaFileFan's

Pre-IWTB at the unremarkable house

“Doctor Dana Scully?” he asks, head bowed. “I’m here to see Dr. Scully.”

He knows Scully’s shift ends in twenty minutes so they can leave together after she pokes and prods him to her liking, but the waiting room is packed full with injured people. A man with a rag covering a bloody hand sits by a woman with a red welt on the side of her face where half her hair is singed off. Fireworks are as dangerous as lovesick men on ladders.

The intake nurse arches a bleached brow. “And you are?”

Mulder tugs the brim of his Knicks hat lower on his forehead, a niggle of paranoia creeping up his neck.

A familiar voice interrupts, “I’ll take it from here, Margo, thanks.”

Pre-IWTB Mulder's best laid plans go awry.

@greycoupon's (Ao3) Hello Teacher

“Mulder, if you don’t open up I’m calling 911!” That he knew she wouldn’t actually do...would she? THEY were still looking for him. They had been in the house for almost a year and Mulder had left it exactly twice. They weren’t running his profile on America’s Most Wanted anymore but he was still a wanted man. Scully would never risk exposing him like that unless she had to save his life.

Slowly, as his limbs felt like they weighed 200 pounds, he dragged himself to his feet.

“Mulder!” He could hear her sobbing through the door. Quickly he unlocked and opened it. She had been leaning against it and fell into the bathroom in her rush to get to him.

Scully grabbed him and hugged him tightly.

Pre-IWTB deeply depressed Mulder locks himself in the bathroom.

@msrafterdark's (Ao3)

Can you write a fic where Mulder finds some gray hairs

“I feel old,” He confesses, “I feel…like I’m less of what I used to be, like there’s even less to offer you.”

The teasing is gone; the spark of honesty that always frightened yet thrilled him when they were younger is now alight in her eyes. He can’t help but smile softly at her.

“I love your gray hairs, Mulder,” she murmurs, “I love your frown lines, I love your laugh lines, I even love your achy back.”

Scully catches her partner checking for gray hairs.

@oceanofthesky/noifsandsorbees's open door. (Tumblr)

she leaves the key, leaves a way for him to know that if he can ever do what she couldn’t, if he can pull himself out of his head, that she is still right there.

it’s three months before he uses it. she comes home from a long day of work in the height of summer to him in her bed, snoring lightly under the sheets. she thinks she should be annoyed, that she should tell him that she can’t handle the emotional toll that has become their relationship tonight, but instead she is just grateful to have his warmth to crawl in beside.

Breakup Scully leaves the door open for her partner.

@audriesfic/audries's battle scars

it’s a cry of pain and then her name, curving up at the end to become a near pitiful whine. she’s out of the bathroom and taking the stairs two at a time before he even gets past the the first syllable. she’s never been the creative one, in her family or her marriage, but her mind conjures impressive images of sniper bullets through windows and sudden cardiac arrest. she’s breathless by the time her feet hit the cool tile of the kitchen.

his name is on her lips as he turns to her, one hand covering half his face. he fixes her with one puppy dog eye and pouts, points an accusatory finger at the cabinet where she keeps the glasses. it’s eye level, (because who puts glasses on the top shelf, mulder. how do you expect me to reach?) and he looks as though he’s been terribly wronged.

Revival Scully "heals" Mulder's cabinet injury.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[seek-its-opposite]

X-FILES All Souls || 05.17

[seek-its-opposite]

Mark thinks about a mirror, a cubicle, about Helly’s smart mouth. The axis of the world, slipped, some time ago, and the depth of some unknown horizontal. Yesterday he had remembered the words: prime meridian, but had not known who or where it was.

–

post-2x10. Mark and Helly spend a long weekend alone on the severed floor.

[seek-its-opposite]

Hey looking for an xcops MSR fic - any recs?

I have lots of X-Cops fic recs! All of them are not strictly MSR, but they are all very good and related to that episode. Enjoy! Big Debut by Kelly Moreland It's show time! Fancy by @lotsoforangesoutside Mulder and Scully get some friendly advice... Feedback by Sheryl Martin So what DID the FBI think of the COPS show? In Other Context: And the Winner Is… by Mary Greten A Cameraman's worse nightmare. In Other Context: Trust Me, Baldy by Mary Greten After the dawn... Inevitable by Flynn He knew it was inevitable. They both did. They'd known since New Years .... since that day in his apartment doorway last autumn .... maybe even since before Africa. Sooner or later, they were going to end up in bed. For real. Inversion Layer by Blackwood Agent Scully has an admirer, or two. A Nice Hot Breakfast by ScullyGolightly Mulder and Scully try to decompress after their action-filled night on the streets of Los Angeles nothing to hide by seek_its_opposite @seek-its-opposite This, for once, isn’t their usual dialogue. (post "x-cops") Raw Footage by Scullysfan Finally someone has proof Mulder and Scully are doing it during commercials. Remotely Controlled by Marguerite Be careful what you think is a good idea, A.D. Skinner. Follows "X-Cops." (This is NOT MSR. People think I need to mention that.) Shoot Out the Lights by David Hearne X-Cops post-episode Stargazing in L.A. by TeaGirl42 Now that Mulder has found some closure regarding his family history is he ready to move on with the rest of his life? A short story based on Mulder and Scully's visit to L.A - what will they do with their evening off following their starring role in 'Cops'. Angst-free happiness. The Thing With Feathers by Diana Battis A hope starved eventually dies. Traffic Jam by Trixie A discussion about fear. Untitled by @mldrgrl Prompt: "Delete that. Now." Untitled by @purrykat After the X-Cops episode airs, Scully is getting a lot of attention. Insert: Jealous!Mulder. Up in your arms by admiralty @admiralty-xfd Mulder's search for his long-lost sister has finally come to an end. What does this mean for his relationship with Scully? And where do they go from here? We're Not Here To Get Involved in Personal Problems by cecily_sass @cecilysass Forty minutes after the end of the events of X-Cops, Mulder and Scully are still in Willow Park. Scully wants food, sleep, and resolution of her (entirely professional) problems. What happens in the weary early morning hours of February 21, 2000. Willow Park: Aftermath by Kelly Moreland Scully gets ticked at the way Mulder acted in Willow Park. Xenia by @aloysiavirgata Brunch in Willow Park

[seek-its-opposite]

[seek-its-opposite]

how to say "I love you" in x-files [105/?] ⤷ 6.04 — “Dreamland”

[seek-its-opposite]

Is there a fic author whose characterization feels most accurate to the “real” Mulder and Scully to you?

Been mulling over this for a few days.

I didn't want to pick one author over another-- they're all unique in their own ways-- so I picked what authors made an impact on my early fandom reading. Why not? :D

In no particular order:

Apostrophic/@mappingthexfiles: She nails tongue-in-cheek Scully: a particular brand of sarcasm, wit, and lovingly-pointed jabs that blows me away every time. Scully doesn't have a sharp nature; and her quiet strength and contemplative introspection is a quality that, I believe, keeps Mulder always locked in-- all of which Apostrophic details. (If you want fics that focus strictly on dialogue, then Jamie Greco provides Apostrophic's on-point punch with more comedy and less plot. Highly recommend-- I reread Breathing constantly.)

@baronessblixen/Baroness Blixen: Truly awe-inspiring. The turns of Mulder's mind are so singularly spot-on, the details of the world so pivotal to the overall story, and the ebbs and flows of Scully's confidence are just... they never get old. I learn something new about each time I reread another fic. I could talk about her work more if I loved it less (isn't that the curse of really loving something deeply?); but to make up for my tongue-tie, I shall admit: it's a regular habit to pull up my favorite fics of hers and just read, read, read before bedtime. I can't get enough; and I never will.

doctorhelena: I've only read Something in Between but, my word, incredible. DH's understanding of Mulder as a flawed human who is barreling past his own traumas while trying to integrate back into his old life is top-tier-- especially considering that this fic is told from Scully's perspective. Not only does DH nail Mulder and Scully (who is absolutely delightful and sympathetic and capable and strong), she throws in Doggett and dive-bombing robins for fun; and each of her additions knit so rightly into the canonical world of The X-Files that I feel robbed every day the show writers didn't think it up to fit between Three Words and Empedocles.

@sigritandtheelves/DarlaBlack: sigrit's work is so visceral that I'm transported to the texture and feel and smell and taste of each microscopic fiber or atom. Her famfics are manna from heaven; her humor gets me every time; her style and taste carve out a niche in The X-Files's confines. Mulder is Mulder; Scully is Scully-- what higher praise could there be?

@slippinmickeys/SlippinMickeys: Oh, boy. Where do I begin? Not only are her AUs multi-chapter, not only are Mulder and Scully post- S9, IWTB or Revival (or as parents-- my happy place) what I wanted in the later canonical series, and not only are her characters living and breathing people, but slippinmickeys also sucks me into long paragraphs of description, world-building, and tension-weaving without losing me.

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls: I. can't. get. over. GBMK's. fics. How many AUs? How many moving pieces that all tie together like magic? How many one-off stories and plots? How. And Mulder is Mulder! And Scully is Scully! And William is William! Her style glides effortlessly into The X-Files's world-- as "at home" as a native puzzle piece. Ghost can do anything; and she does it so well that it's unfathomable.

@seek-its-opposite/seek_its_opposite: Whewwwwww, good stuff. Recommend you pick a fic, any fic, and start reading. You want a beefy, juicy, one-of-my-favorite-short-pieces-ever? photosensitivity. You want a longer piece about Scully and Doggett and Eddie van Blundht in Mulder's absence? all the old familiar places. You want a fic about Mulder's Season 8 return peppered with amnesia (and this line: "Maybe all Mulder children are fated to forget everything except the fact that they've forgotten. The baby kicks.") memento (vivere). Her work is poetry without clutter and frills: art in motion. Gorgeous because it's thought-provoking.

@touchstoneaf/touchstoneaf: Not only does she worm around in Mulder and Scully's brains for breakfast, but touchstone is single-handedly picking apart Season 9's lazy mytharc while solving each and every poor writing choice that led Mulder and Scully astray. Her Amor Fati: Fated Love series is on-going but well-worth the read; and if you want to skip right to the action, pick up in Part II and speed through to Part III (you'll miss Scully's getaway plans, process, and final goodbyes to her old life, though.) I was reading this while watching a God of War: Ragnarok playthrough, and now both are permanently joined in my mind. Awesome.

@onpaperfirst/onpaperfirst: Hoo, boy. She's got range, she's got style, she's got mature Mulder and Scully in the bag and an angsty epic rewriting of Season 5. Raccoons under the porch; vampire chairs in IKEA; Bond, James Bond and forks-- honestly, what's not to love?

@melforbes/melforbes: This author's an interesting little puzzle to me: ordinarily, Mulder and Scully moving through the world on a lower frequency-- coziness and hearth and home and brain surgeries included-- is a tricky act to pull off. But melforbes strips away all narrative pretenses and gives us a straight, undiluted shot right into her character of choice's vulnerabilities and desire for peace. Her work switches from beautiful to haunting; and it glistens and shines in an ethereal, polished way which IWTB's beautifully shot angles attempted to replicate.

@catarinquar (WBM ): A splash of adrenaline, a dash of danger, and an introspective pause to revel in the solid weight of loss and strength: catarinquar's journeys are packed with wieldy motion. Mulder and Scully are devoted to each other and their cause; and careful to guard their own secret keeping while stepping around the other's anxieties. It's a tantalizing mix that gently shifts with each minuscule realization-- perhaps not always forward progress, but definitely always somewhere.

@lifewithwilliam-blog (WBM): An entry-a-day of William's first two weeks of life. It's so tender and sweet, soothing and loving; and one I read up to Entry 10 before running away and chanting, "Canon ends here! Canon ends here!" Good stuff.

@cultureisdarkbeer/CultureisDarkBeer: A master of long-form fill-ins for Season 5 (and 6): Mulder and Scully; Skinner and Diana; the IVF journey (and its painful failures); and much, much more. The atmosphere here is approachably dark-- a darkness that proves itself atmospherically worthy: not drainingly depressing, but utterly X-Files.

@scenes-in-between/scullywolf: Incredible work on each fill-in ficlet (linked under "scullywolf.") Her fics span the original series-- and even professionally works in Mulder's brain disease via bonus journal entries. Such a good read.

ScullyLikesScience: If I recall, SLS's long-form fill-in fic (He Is the Master of His Fate, She Is the Captain of Her Soul) tackles Mulder and Scully's entire relationship. Not only is her focus on Mulder and Scully's struggle with fate vs. freewill personally rewarding to me, but the chapters focusing on Mulder's return are particularly engaging. Throwing this in here because why not?

Those are off the top of my head. No matter my state of being or circumstances in life, I can crack open any of these authors and be transported to the exact characterization and mood I'll need to get through anything. May wonders never cease~.

[seek-its-opposite]

The Baying of the Six-Pound Hound

For the @twocakesficfest (several months too late) prompt:

immortal / invincible queeqeg who likes to show up and mess up a case or two (probably by eating the victim - e.g. Mulder: the victim walked away, cut to a tiny dog dragging a leg away)

A very special thank you to @leiascully for catching all my nauseating tense changes, ensuring I didn't accidentally summon any evil spirits, and making me work a tiny bit more to get them smooching.

[on Ao3]

1. 

He'd been in an uncharacteristically deep sleep when the yapping woke him up, which made it all the more annoying. It was rare for him to be so fully disconnected from the waking world. Typically, he'd float just below the surface of consciousness, the smallest noise enough to rouse him. But on this night, in a narrow, single-story motor lodge wedged up in the Colorado mountains, Fox Mulder had been completely, deeply, aslumber.

He'd been dreaming, too. Not his usual fretful nightmare but a rather sweet dream that featured his partner. It wasn't the first time he dreamt about her, although those dreams were typically of a more erotic nature and would leave him waking up feeling filthy with guilt—and more often than not, rock hard. He'd dream of bending her over the desk in their basement office, burying himself in her, and hearing her soft little moans as he gripped the curves of her hips. Or they'd be on the couch in his apartment and she'd be in his lap, riding him as he watched the smooth undulation of her breasts. These dreams would send him to the shower full of shame. He'd shut his eyes and take himself in his fist, gripping his cock with a firmness that bordered on pain to break the mounting tension with enough self-punishment that he could face Scully in the morning.

But this most recent dream left nothing to be ashamed of. They were walking hand-in-hand, fully-clothed, down a Georgetown street near her apartment. The sun warmed his face and Scully's small hand fit perfectly in his. They weren't in pursuit of a suspect or off to meet an informant, just strolling aimlessly like two people in love. In a way, this mundane dream felt more illicit than his most perverse fantasies because it seemed like more than anything he deserved. He could better imagine a tense moment, even an argument between them, dissolving into frenzied sex than allow himself to indulge the idea of a happy, out-in-the-open relationship with Scully. Which was why this dream was so lovely—and why it had been so frustrating when the yapping shocked him awake.

It sounded like Queequeg. But Scully didn't bring the dog with her on cases, not since– Shit , he remembered. Scully's annoying little furball of a dog, whom she inexplicably loved (which, he considered fleetingly, might bode well for her capacity to love other irritating beings), had died on the shore of Heuvelmans Lake, eaten by an alligator, or Big Blue, depending on who you asked.

The barking must have been coming from one of the neighboring rooms. But Scully was in the room to his left and the room to his right had appeared to be unoccupied when they arrived. 

By the time he showered, dressed, and made it outside to meet Scully at the rental car, she was already waiting for him with a cup of bitter coffee from the urn in the motel lobby. 

"That dog wake you up, too?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him as she sipped from her styrofoam cup. "What dog?"

"Nevermind," he said, unlocking the car door.

They snaked around the mountain to the ranger station where they'd planned to meet the park ranger who’d supposedly spotted the Slide Rock Bolter. The Bolter, according to legend, was a giant landfish with a forked tail that could pick up a lumberjack and split him in two. It also had the jaw of a whale, the teeth of a shark, and the power to cause avalanche-like rock slides, hence the name. The ranger who contacted Mulder claimed that his partner, who’d gone missing the previous week, had been swallowed whole by the Bolter.

Their interview proved to be less than illuminating and they spent the rest of the afternoon hiking the mountain on their own searching for the creature. The high altitude left them both breathless so they were slower than usual as they ascended. Mulder was annoyed that they couldn't cover more ground before the sun started to set. Their descent was even slower as neither had brought the right shoes and they found themselves stumbling down the rocks and grasping onto each other for support.

Then, he saw it. A flash of auburn darting between a row of skeletal aspen trees. He gasped. 

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face him. 

"I saw something," he said. 

"The Slide Rock Bolter?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Probably just a fox. Maybe a coyote.” Although, if he were being honest,  it kind of looked like a small dog.

Scully shrugged, turned away from him, and started heading back down the mountain. 

2.

He didn’t want to say anything, but Scully's apartment smelled bad. It normally smelled nice. Like the candles she lights or even freshly baked bread, even though he knows she doesn't bake bread. But now, it smelled like wet dog. He specifically wouldn't bring that up because she hadn't owned a dog in nearly a year now. For reasons that might have been, depending on who you asked, his fault.

He tried to hide his disgust as he spread open a file of photographs on her kitchen table, but the odor was truly overpowering. It was as if Queequeg—or let's say any anonymous dog who had not been eaten by, depending on who was telling the story, Big Blue or an alligator—had been mucking around in sewer water after not bathing for several weeks.

"Sorry, Scully, but what's that smell?" he asked finally. He felt his stomach contents rising to his throat, and it wasn’t because of the gruesome crime scene photos on the table.

She paused and tilted her chin up to the ceiling. He watched as she sniffed the air in sharp, short inhales through her perfectly proportioned nose.

"I don't smell anything," she said. 

"Really?" he asked, stunned. "It smells like—and I don't mean to bring up any unpleasant memories—wet dog in here."

She sniffed again, then shrugged. "I really don't smell it," she said, shaking her head. "But I can open a window if you want."

"Nah, it's okay."

He tried to run through his explanation of the case as quickly as possible. Three victims found without tongues, but no evidence of any procedure or act that would've resulted in the loss of said tongues which, their friends and family members insisted, were surely present before their deaths.

"The killer could be a surgeon and have access to fine tools or even lasers for seamless cuttage," she said, examining the autopsy photos.

"Mmmhmm, mmhmm," he nodded, trying to open his mouth as little as possible to keep the scent out. "But there's no sign of cutting or scarring. Which there surely would be if the procedure was performed so recently? None of the victims were missing for more than 24 hours—and all had been seen, with tongue no less, within a day. No wound could heal that fast, right?"

"So, what's your theory?" she asked. "Cat got their tongue?"

She was pleased with her little joke and gave him a rare, precious Scully grin. He wanted to at least humor her with a laugh but the mention of a cat—so close to a dog that smelled like crap—made his stomach gurgle yet again and he had to swallow sharply to keep the acidic bile down.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah, it's just...that smell. It's nauseating."

She shook her head again, that long neck taunting him. "I'm a little concerned," she said. "Are you feeling alright? A sinus infection could cause phantosmia. Or a head injury. Although you weren't banged up much on our last case."

"I'm fine," he said. "Anyway, it's not a cat I'm thinking of, but a cannibalistic spirit documented by Algonquian-speaking Native American tribes in the Northern US and Canadian wilderness.” 

"A wendigo?" she asked, eyebrow arched and ready to fire.

“Very impressive, Scully,” he grinned. “Although you should know that merely saying the spirit’s name is considered taboo. Some believe doing so could summon it into being.” 

She rolled her eyes.

He swallowed hard, and continued. “The spirit possesses a man, who then becomes unable to resist the temptation to eat human flesh. Specifically, the delicacy of the tongue."

"So you think a possessed person ate the victims' tongues?"

"Perhaps," he says. "And the legend goes that because it's actually the spirit feasting on human flesh—not the killer himself—there are no wounds where the tongue is removed. It also explains how these victims lost more than half their blood volume with no signs of trauma."

"It could be severe gastrointestinal bleeding," she said, ignoring his theory. "Perhaps as the result of a communicable illness which would explain why three members of the same community died in the same manner."

"So you think they shat out all their blood?"

"It's not unheard of," she shrugged. “Have any of the victims traveled to a region where ebola is endemic?” 

It was all making him nauseous now. He thought he'd gotten used to it after being in the room for a few minutes but the smell, if anything, was getting worse.

He felt vomit rising into his mouth and cupped  his hand over his lips. "Sorry, Scully. I gotta--" he started before bolting to her bathroom and puking into the toilet. 

"Are you okay?" she asked when he re-entered the room, eyes bloodshot.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he said. "Listen, why don't you take a look at those photos and we'll discuss more in the office tomorrow. I better get going."

"Jeez, Mulder, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were pregnant, between the heightened sense of smell and the vomiting. But that sounds like one of your theories, not mine."

"Very funny, Scully," he said, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and heading to the door.

In the hallway, he gasped a sigh of relief. Whatever disgusting dog odor permeated Scully's apartment fortunately hadn't made its way out here. 

3.

At first, he thought the sharp prick at his heel was Scully's toenails. He was about to tease her about trimming them when he realized she was sitting beside him on her couch with her feet tucked underneath her. They were back at her apartment a week later debriefing their previous case. He hadn’t been able to prove the existence of a cannibalistic spirit and she hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible scientific explanation so they were left in their typical stalemate. Although the animal smell had dissipated, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. 

He was listening to her recount her autopsy findings when— fuck , there was that sharp biting sensation again. He involuntarily kicked out his foot as if fending off an invisible ankle-height assailant. 

"What's wrong?" Her eyes popped open. 

"Shit, sorry Scully," he said, trying to settle back down. "I could've sworn something was biting my ankle.”

"Biting?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he trailed off, folding in half to examine the carpet underneath the sofa. "Almost like a little dog."

"Like Queequeg?" She smirked. 

"Actually, yeah, I think that's exactly what it was like. Like that fur ball was nibbling at my heels.” 

“I don’t have to tell you that’s impossible.” He detected a hint of sadness in her voice and his heart sank, not for the first time, for all that their work had taken from her.

He opened his mouth to tell her about the other recent events—the barking sound, the flash of auburn in the Colorado wilderness, the wet fur smell of her apartment—but he knew she’d just dismiss it all.

“What?” she asked, sensing he was on the verge of revealing something. As if they were on a case and he was holding back a vital piece of information. Something he had been guilty of doing in the past, he knew, but he usually had a valid reason. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Mulder….” She dipped her chin down as her eyes bore into his.

Powerless against her, he told her everything. "Maybe he's haunting you," he concluded.

"Oh, no, Mulder," she said definitively. "I don't think it's me he's haunting."

4.

They decided to hold a seance the next day. Scully sneered at first but ultimately went along with it without needing too much convincing. She still had Queequeg’s leash and collar, so they set up a small shrine on her coffee table. She gathered a mismatched array of candles from the bathroom and living room and put them around Queequeg's memorabilia.

"How does this work?" she asked. 

He considered reminding her that she'd demonstrated the ability to transcend the boundary between the living and the dead in the past, but that would have required bringing up her father, which would have put a damper on this otherwise delightful evening. Scully felt warm next to him and they were essentially hanging out without the pretense of a case. Sure, they were having a seance for a dead dog, but how else would the two of them bond after hours?

"Let's just close our eyes, hold hands, and try to summon his spirit."

"Is this just an excuse to hold hands, Mulder?"

"Any excuse I can get," he said, as he reached out to take her hand in his. He hoped it came off as a joke, but he really did mean it. It felt so good to hold her hand when neither of them were near death. 

"Mary Todd Lincoln used to host the nation's most renowned spiritualists at the White House for seances to speak with her late son," Mulder said, trying to lend an air of legitimacy to their makeshift session. "Even honest Abe would sometimes make an appearance."

"Don't we need a medium?" Scully asked, keeping a firm hold on his hand. 

"I figure you could play the role, Madame Scully," he said, tipping his chin in her direction. She smiled. He liked making her smile. Her smile always had the effect of flicking a switch deep in his belly that felt like the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings.

"I think Melissa and I had a Ouija board back in the day."

"Pfft," he snorted. "The Ouija board is a purely commercial invention. I don't think anything made in the same factory as Chutes and Ladders can be trusted to commune with the dead."

Scully smirked. "I assumed Ouijia boards would fit right in with the Fox Mulder cosmology."

"Then, Scully," he said, shaking his head, "I don't think you know me at all."

He grinned at her and she smiled back. 

"So, how do we start this thing?" she asked.

"First, we have to close the circle." He extended his free hand to hers and she squeezed tightly onto it.

They stood silently for a beat, facing each other, holding hands. He wasn't actually sure if there was a spiritualist reason for creating the closed circle, but it had to have roots in ancient concepts of energy channeling. He'd done silly little seances in college, typically led by witchy girls with dyed black hair and crystal jewelry, and they always stressed the importance of not breaking the circle. Once he had taken the time to dive into the occult and 19th century spiritualism—the heyday of the modern seance—he couldn't find anything on the importance of maintaining a circle. But then again, if holding one of Scully's hands was nice, holding both of them was even better.

He closed his eyes and, without saying anything, sensed that she'd closed hers, too. He relished the trust she placed in him, listening as her breathing slowed and deepened. He inhaled the heady mix of candles they'd gathered from around the apartment. Vanilla and eucalyptus mingled in the air with musk and gardenia and he suspected these weren't all supposed to be lit at once, but somehow it worked. 

"Do you want me to say something?" she asked, her soft voice drifting over to him in the dark.

"Um, if you want," he said.

She paused, then began. "Queequeg, we welcome your spirit into our circle. If you're near us, please make your presence known."

"Not bad, Scully," he said, giving her hands a squeeze.

"Melissa used to do this crap all the time."

"Hey, don't rain on my parade over here."

"Sorry," she said with a giggle that set his soul aflame.

"We miss you, Queequeg, you were a good dog," she went on. "You didn't always smell the best, especially when you were flatulent, which seemed to be more often than not—"

"What were you feeding that dog?" Mulder interrupted.

"Shut up," she said. "But no matter how poorly you smelled at times, I loved you very much and truly enjoyed the time we spent together. If you've come back because you're angry at Mulder for leading you to your demise at the hands of an alligator—"

"Or Big Blue," he piped up.

She tugged on his hands and ignored him. "If you're angry at Mulder, he'd like to take this chance to apologize and request your forgiveness so you can transition on to the next plane in peace."

"Scully, this isn't half bad," he said, genuinely impressed. 

"It's your turn now—go on, apologize."

"Are you serious?"

"Do you want him to stop haunting you or not?"

Mulder smiled and tried to convey his happiness through their grasped hands.

"Queequeg, this is Mulder speaking. I want to apologize for calling you names and dragging you out to Heuvelmans Lake where you met your untimely demise. I wish we could have spent more time together with Scully—” 

She cut him off with an adorable snort of a laugh.

"—listening to Scully talk. And have Scully check us for fleas and ticks."

Her giggle was a full-blown laugh now. He was desperate to open his eyes and see her face light up. but he’d bought into this seance, so he wasn’t about to break it now.

"I checked you for ticks once , Mulder," she said. "And that was because we'd just spent the night in the woods."

"Well, you're welcome to check again any time."

"I think we're getting off topic," she said, collecting herself. "Keep talking to Queequeg."

5.

There was no gust of wind, flickering light, or even jingling collar bells ringing through the room after he finished speaking, but they both sensed a change. It was as if a six-pound weight had been lifted. 

"I think his spirit is free," Scully whispered to him, solemnly. 

"Run free, Queequeg," he said. He gently opened his eyes and found that hers were open too, and she was looking at him warmly. Despite her reputation for being cold and closed off, he knew that Scully emanated warmth. Once she let someone into her life, she’d hold them in her warmth and protect them with her loyalty. He was only slightly peeved that she had opened herself up to Queequeg before him.

She loved with a fierceness and dedication outsized for her tiny frame. Then again, everything about Scully was larger than her small size would suggest. Her brilliance, her strength, and yes, her love, all seemed like they should overwhelm someone so tiny, but Scully managed to contain it all in just a few inches over five feet.

In that way, she was  like Queequeg. An outsized force stuffed into a small package, with a tuft of auburn hair, who would bite if necessary. He wouldn't dare compare her to Queequeg out loud, though.

Instead, he said, "He was a good dog."

"I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I don't know if we ever saw eye to eye, per se, although that might've been more of a height issue." He gave her a crooked smile. "But I know you liked him, that he kept you company."

"That makes me sound pretty pathetic," she sighed. 

"I didn't mean that. Just that—" he paused to choose his words carefully—"it's nice to come home to someone. I know fish aren't really the same as dogs, but sometimes it's soothing to see them after a long day of the shit we deal with. It just helps me put things in perspective—I'm dealing with lies and gaslighting and conspiracies, and they're just obliviously swimming along and enjoying their lives. A dog must be similar, I imagine."

"Yeah," she nodded. "It was like that with Queequeg. Whenever I'd get frustrated with work or with you"— he gasped in mock outrage and she just smiled and continued—"he'd always be here and look so excited to go for a walk or get his dinner. The consistency was comforting. And he was good at cuddling. He'd get so warm, like a little ball of heat."

"You know, Scully," he started, "I'm available for cuddling if you're ever feeling cold."

“I’ll keep that under consideration.” She smiled. “For now, want to stick around for a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” he said, and she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a bottle and glasses. 

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to speak with Queequeg's spirit," he said when she returned,  accepting a glass of red wine from her. 

Settled into the opposite corner of the couch, Scully sat with her legs scrunched up underneath herself with her own glass of wine. He couldn't deal with how precious she looked—nor with how far away she sat.

"Get over here, Scully," he said, patting the cushion next to him.

She smiled, untucked her legs, and moved to scoot over next to him. He transferred his wine glass to his left hand so he could drape his right arm over her shoulder. 

"Maybe Queequeg just has to realize that I'm not a threat to you," he said. Emboldened by her lack of response to his arm over hers, he started lazily tracing circles on her tricep. "Then he'll stop haunting me."

"You're not a threat to me," she said, seriously.

"Come on, Scully." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I'm responsible for so much shit that's happened to you over the years. If I were a little Pomeranian in love with you, I'd do everything in my six-pound power to make this Mulder guy's life a living hell."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think Queequeg was in love with me?"

"How could he not be?" he spit out without even thinking. "I mean—" he tried to recover—"you took good care of him."

Scully just gave him a Cheshire cat grin. She wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"You think that's all it takes to fall in love with me? If I take care of you?"

"Well, there are lots of reasons a guy—or a dog—could fall in love with you. You're loyal, kind, and caring. You're fucking brilliant. And you're not half-bad to look at either."

"’Not half-bad,’” she repeated, frowning. “I’m flattered, really.” 

“Give me a break. I’m trying to play it cool here,” he admitted. 

She blushed and took a sip of her wine. He did, too, as if trying to use the alcohol to mask his sudden confession. Although it was his first sip and he'd been drunk in love with her for longer than he cared to admit.

"Oh, fuck it," he said. He leaned forward to set the wine glass on the coffee table and pivoted to face her. Bravely, he delved into uncharted territory. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, Scully. I'm not about to speculate on what got Queequeg's gears going, but if he's anything like me, he wouldn't be able to resist you. Frankly, I'm jealous of how many nights he got to spend in your bed."

"I didn't allow him in the bed."

He smiled wide. “Of course you didn't," he said. "Because you know about things like pet dander and how sleeping with a dog in your bed can interrupt your REM cycle and that's another reason why you're so lovable.”

“You’re making me sound more anal-retentive than lovable.” She looked up at him with sad eyes before quickly glancing down again. 

“Oh, Scully, you know that’s now what I mean.” He leaned forward to nudge her shoulder with his. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, her eyes still downcast. 

“Just that—” He paused, struggling to find the words. “You’re so you , Scully. You’re so fully realized, so completely yourself, but not in a way that makes you predictable or boring. It just makes it all the more thrilling when I learn something new about you that somehow both surprises me and fits into the puzzle of what makes you you.”

“And that fact that I didn’t let a dog sleep in my bed somehow makes me more lovable?” 

“It does to me.” He brought the tip of his pointer finger to her chin, softly encouraging her to look back toward him. “What I’m trying, and apparently failing, to say is that I love everything about you. I love that you’re particular and exacting. I love that you force me to be honest and vigorous in our work, and I love that you’re part of my life outside of work, too. And while there’s nothing I value more than our friendship, I hope I’m not being too presumptive to say that I’m getting the feeling we’d both like to be more than friends.”

Terrified, he searched her eyes for confirmation, any sign that his feelings were reciprocated. But she simply stared back at him, her chin wrinkling as she considered his words.

“Although, I suppose, sharing your bed with a creature a lot larger than a Pomeranian might be much more disruptive to your sleep cycle,” he added. 

“I might not mind the interruption,” she said finally, her voice low and breathy, her eyes still locked on his.  

“Even from your defiant, alien-chasing, nutjob of a partner?” 

“Do you mean my incredibly tenacious, intelligent, and loyal partner for whom I might just harbor similar feelings?” 

"Do you think Queequeg would approve?" he asked.

"Let's find out," she said. Before he could question her, Scully's lips were pressed against his. She tasted like tannin-rich wine but also something deeper and more Scully-like: warm and tangy with other unidentifiable undertones that he could drink from his whole life and never get enough of.

He took her wine glass from her and placed it next to his on the coffee table. With both hands free, she felt her way up his arms to frame his face. His own hands wandered wildly, up her back, through her hair, on her soft and tender cheeks. She opened her mouth to him and he tasted her tongue with his. He felt his body responding to her kiss—and judging on how she was squirming and shifting her hips towards him, he knew she was responding as well.

Just as he was about to slip a hand up and underneath her feather-soft sweater to caress the even softer skin underneath, he heard a low, deep growl off in the distance.

He pulled away and faced Scully, puzzled.

“That couldn’t be—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I heard it, too. I think my neighbors down the hall got an English bulldog. It’s not a ghost.” 

“Good enough for me.”

“I should kiss you more often if it gets you to agree so easily.” She smiled at him, inching even closer on the couch.

“I think you should test that theory, Agent Scully.” 

She leaned in again. This time, there were no howls or growls interrupting them.

[seek-its-opposite]

okay maybe 2025

2024 i'm finishing the long fic i'm so serious <3