#big jacket scully

[buzziightqueer]

Darkness Falls 1x20

bonus end pic

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt! Vulnerable post-case Scully. She can be prickly (because I love your Scully) but also delicate. Case-related vulnerability is my most favourite vibe in the series and every so often I get sad that there are no more moments to watch. Thank you 💜

By the time she gets around to taking it off, her blood-soaked starched blouse has all but melded with her skin. They have to peel it from her body with a crackling sound. Her jacket is already stiffly tented in the corner.

He will burn those items later, he will burn and burn and burn.

***

Acrid scent of gunpowder in the air still. Blood like pennies baking on hot tarmac. Cortisol, adrenaline.

Terror.

Her grasping fingers, her grasping hands, her wracking sobs even as he pried her away to check for wounds.

***

Mulder helps her to his bathroom, holding her elbow as she staggers beside him like a fawn. Her hair is dried in ragged, bloody clumps.

He settles her onto the toilet lid, gets the bath running at her preferred level of scald. He squirts in a few blobs of his pine-scented body wash, which begin to foam. Scully smiles a heartbreaking smile in thanks.

“Bubbles,” he says, inanely.

Scully’s chest is caked with blood, even with her shirt removed to reveal the stained satin of her bra. Her belly is streaked with it, her black trousers rusty and stiff.

How is there any blood still inside her? How is she still here?

She has her arms crossed at her lap, her head bowed. He cannot see anything but her white shoulders and her draggled hair and her dark, narrow thighs.

“Scully,” he whispers.

She gazes up, hollow-eyed. “He didn’t…” she begins. “We never….”

She looks away, lower lip between her teeth.

“Oh, Scully.”

His hands are gentle at the clasp of her bra; he turns his eyes from her breasts even though he’s seen them.

He unbuttons the fine wool trousers at her waist, slides them down with her dark panties. He doesn’t look or touch or breathe more than he has to because the idea of connecting any of this to lust makes him sick.

Her hips, the dark triangle of sunset hair between her thighs, are also sticky with blood. The lace clings a little and she winces. Her trouser lining tugs. Finally, she is nude. She is so small and so bloody and so bare, like a newborn creature.

Mulder guides her towards the tub, averts his eyes like she is Artemis bathing. Tries not to think the name Diana.

Scully, breast-deep in bubbles. Scully dripping rusty rivulets in the steam. Her tears are silent now, streaking paths down her blood-smattered kidskin face.

Mulder fills a scuffed blue plastic Knicks cup with water, curves his palm around her eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, and she does, distant, outside of herself.

He sluices water over her head until it runs clear, until she is sleek as an otter, a siren, a goddess. She gasps a little, spreads her fingers against her skull.

Her freckles are magnified by the falling water, her eyes a little too big. A little too round. Her nose is straight and queenly throughout however; her lips parted like a budding tulip.

He massages pearly-blue Head and Shoulders shampoo into the rare, persimmon beauty of her hair. He massages her scalp until she purrs a little. He touches her until his nerves are settled.

“Mulder,” she says, and grasps his forearm in her fine, pale hand. Her face is pre-Raphaelite. Her face is like a D below middle-C; a plucked bowstring, still quivering.

Agent Mulder is already in love.

“Padgett was crazy, he was -“ she begins.

“Sshhhh,” he says. “I have conditioner.” He holds the bottle out, a drugstore brand promising THICKNESS!!! and SHINE!!!

She laughs and it warms him like a hot toddy, like the sun in August, like the sand at Ninigret Pond.

***

Scully is clean, finally, even her smudged makeup rubbed away. They’ve drained and refilled the tub with fresh water, with fresh bubbles. She seems like herself again, not so dazed.

He passes her his robe, turns his head to hold it out when she stands.

“You��re so Victorian.”

“Oh, you know how much I love to lie back and think of England.” He glances over. “The memories are so nice, Phoebe and all.”

Scully ties the too-long belt in a big square knot. “It was kindly meant.” Her smile is soft.

“I know.”

They shift awkwardly for a moment in the small space. Scully looks like a kid dressed up as an angel for a Nativity play in that enormous robe, her bare face and bare feet and tumbled halo of hair.

“Thank you,” Scully begins finally. “I couldn’t have-“

“I’m sorry,” he says at the same time.

Scully frowns. “Why on earth are you sor-“

“My neighbor. So I feel like I..I don’t know. I led him to you.” He picks at a non-existent hangnail.

Scully sighs. “Oh, Mulder.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t… I didn’t mean to make it about me, I know these are your choices, that you’re not some damsel in distress. I just hate when these things hurt you.”

Things is such an inadequate word, but no word ever could be adequate.

Scully blinks. She opens the door, wafts into his bedroom with the steam. Trails his bathrobe like a court gown.

Mulder follows after, wary. Watches her sprawl on his bed, far from the blood stains in the living room. He’s already called the crime-scene cleanup company.

Again.

She pats the bed next to her. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

He laughs a little at that, remembers her looking a lot like this years ago in Bellefleur, in that awful motel with that terrible brown Clairol wash on her hair. He flops next to her. “Any mosquito bites you want me to check, Doctor Scully?”

She thumbs his cheek. “I was a child.”

He kisses her nose so that he doesn’t kiss her mouth. Though why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t they?

“I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea…” he quotes. Trails off. What are they doing, this isn’t a partnership. This is strange and awful and gorgeous. Her dying baby in his arms, her ova, her-

“In her sepulchre there by the sea…” Scully murmurs. “In her tomb by the sounding sea.” She closes her eyes.

They breathe one another’s air. They breathe artificial pine scent, dryer sheets, warm nitrogen. Faded cotton, old paper.

“Are you okay?” he asks, so he doesn’t slip a finger between her thighs. So he doesn’t say I love you the way oysters love the morning tide.

Her finger at his lips, her breath on his lashes. Her sweet, warm skin and her extraordinary brain and the scarred palimpsest of her body right here.

“No,” she says, stroking his jaw. “But I will be.”

****

She stays with him all night and he stays with her all night and they are arranged like the Lovers of Valdaro.

His coffee pot is programmed. His carpet is soaked in her blood, her gun is going to be the subject of an investigation.

He and Walter will protect her.

***

She loses the robe at 2AM, mumbling something vague about being tangled and too hot. Her naked body is now asleep against his chest and he lets go, finally, in the sweet vulnerability of her slim arms that can heal and kill.

[baronessblixen]

Asking For Miracles

Merry Christmas, @katebeckets! I'm your PoangPal Secret Santa, and as I am mostly a writer, you're getting a fic 😁 You said you were enraged that we didn't get to see Mulder and Scully reunite at the end of "Redux II" (same, btw). So I wrote a scene where Scully tells him that she's in remission. It's angsty - but of course, it has a happy end. I hope you like it!

(Here's the AO3 Link)

@poangsecretsanta @today-in-fic

“Mulder, I know it’s late, but I- I need to see you.”

The words Scully left on his answering machine still ring in his ears, even half an hour after he first heard them. By the time Mulder arrives at the hospital, his legs are like lead and feel as if he’s just finished a marathon. Every step he takes is pure agony; if only he could turn around and run. That, of course, is not an option. Not when Scully asked for him. 

Mulder enters the hospital lobby, the place as familiar as his own home by now. He nods at Jeff, the doorman, and he nods back at him. Maybe he recognizes Mulder, or he has compassion for every sad soul that passes by.

He stops in front of the elevator, his fingers fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. An elderly woman standing next to him eyes him wearily when he presses the elevator button twice more. He’s grateful she’s not making conversation as they step inside. His thoughts are loud, screaming at him. They have been ever since Scully’s phone call - another one he missed. The sound of her suppressed tears is too familiar; it already haunts his nightmares.

It’s late. The hospital is deserted – save for the elderly woman, who’s clinging to her purse, staying with him on the elevator until they reach the oncology ward. They share a silent look, pain evident in their movements as they set out in opposite directions. 

A phone call late at night is never good news. Scully must have called him just after 9 p.m. He grabbed his jacket as soon as he heard it, not even caring if it – or he – smelled bad. Scully is all that matters. 

Yet, now that he’s here, he slows down. The closer he gets to her room, the smaller and heavier his steps become. As long as he’s out here, and as long as he hasn’t looked into her eyes, and heard what she has to say, he can pretend. He can pretend the disease isn’t taking her life, cutting it way too short.

He passes room after room, getting closer to the truth. For once, Mulder doesn’t want it. He wants the miracle, the fantasy. From somewhere he hears music. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. It’s an older song, melancholic. A woman singing about wishing she had a river she could skate away on. Mulder thinks it’s a Christmas song. Who plays Christmas music in the middle of the year? He considers telling Scully about it, hoping it will make her smile. 

It’s no surprise that he hates hospitals. He’s hated them long before Scully got sick, but not always. The first time he remembers being in one was when he was a toddler, just about three years old. On his first visit, he was apprehensive. He knew the concept of hospitals from books; big, white rooms with doctors looking like angels, sometimes healing, sometimes taking people to heaven. That’s how his grandmother Mulder had described it to him when he’d asked. 

The angels, his grandmother had explained, too, had taken good care of his mother and his sister. As a new big brother, he had to know these things. It was his time to be brave. Just like now, he thinks, as his shoes squeak against the linoleum. Back then, his much smaller feet had shuffled along, trying to keep up with his father, who was holding his hand in his large, steady grip. Before that day, Mulder can’t remember his father ever holding his hand.

The room Mulder remembers is filled with a sunny warmth, despite it being November. What are the chances of it having been a sunny day? But that’s how he remembers it. Just like he remembers the soft smile on his mother’s face and the way he had to stand on tiptoe to see Samantha and her squishy face. Seeing her cemented his fate; he was a big brother and he would look after her forever. Only that forever had been taken away from them. Much like last night when he lost her again. No matter what he does, he keeps losing.

The memory ends there. In the following years, hospital walls became tainted. There was blood and screaming. Samantha broke her collarbone and Mulder broke his arm. His grandmother died; the angels she’d believed in taking her away. The memories are strung together like a pearl necklace in his mind; one painful memory after another. An endless circle. Now, there is another memory to add.

He stops in front of Scully’s hospital room. All is quiet. The music has stopped. His heart, however, hasn’t. It’s thumping steadily, loudly. So loud in fact that he wonders if Scully can hear it through the closed door. He closes his eyes and knocks.

“Come in,” Scully’s muffled voice says and so, finally, he does. His eyes find hers the second he steps inside. Her face is puffy - puffier than he’s seen it in weeks. The hollowness for once hidden. How many tears has she cried without him here? She throws him a small, shaky smile. A laugh falls from her lips that sounds more like a hiccup.

“I came as quickly as I could,” Mulder says, flinching when he realizes that’s a lie. He may have driven to the hospital as fast as he could, but he took his time arriving. 

“I thought you should hear it first,” she says, sniffing. She grabs a tissue out of a half-empty box and blows her nose. “This is ridiculous,” she adds, avoiding his eyes. “I just- I called you first when I- and you… you were the first person I wanted to call when I found out.”

Blood rushes in his ears, his temples throb; this is the last moment before he knows. Once she says it - once the words are out there - they can’t be taken back. It will be real.

“They did more tests. I- the last PET scan showed no improvement and I-,” she trails off and Mulder’s knees buckle. No improvement. There’s no cure for this cancer, just like Scully said months ago when she asked him to come to the hospital for the first time. No cure, no improvement. There’s only one way this can end. He wants to cover his ears; it can’t be true if he doesn’t hear it, or see it. 

“I wasn’t ready to accept that,” she goes on, her voice steady. She glances at him as if waiting for him to say something. It’s not like him to remain quiet, but what is there to say? He wants to get on his knees and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in. “So I asked for more tests. When you’re dying, doctors will do whatever you ask of them.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Mulder mumbles and Scully cracks a smile.

“We did another PET scan, among other things, and Mulder- I don’t know why is this so difficult to say.” Another hollow laugh from her and he can no longer keep his hurt in. It expels from his mouth as his lips begin to quiver. Scully’s eyes open wide.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out her hand and he’s too weak to deny her, to deny himself. Her skin is as soft as ever, her touch as assuring as it’s always been. He’s crying openly now, weeping. The tears are blurring his vision, but he sees what’s important: her in the hospital bed, smiling up at him.

“You shouldn’t have to comfort me,” he says with a sob, trying to compose himself. He thinks of his father, of the way he watched him dismissively the night his grandmother died. When Mulder, at ten years old, had wiped his tears away with the sleeve of this sweater, he had asked his father why he wasn’t crying. Wasn’t he sad? His father hadn’t replied and only stared at him before he’d wandered off.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Mulder,” she says, tugging at his hand. “Sit down.” When he doesn’t, she tugs more strongly. “Sit. Please.” He does, his hands folded in his lap as if waiting to start a prayer.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says softly.

“You’re a mind reader now?”

“I don’t have to be. I should have started with the most important news,” she says, waiting. He knows she wants him to look at her. He braces himself before he lifts his eyes to hers. Hers are brimming with tears, just like his own.

“My cancer has gone into remission.”

Mulder stares at her, not understanding. These are the words he wants to hear. Remission. Cured. Yet, he can’t believe them.

“You believe everything but not this?” she teases, her voice shaky.

“You’re- and the cancer? It’s- it’s.” He doesn’t know what to say. How do you describe a miracle? It just is.

“Like I’ve been trying to say, I couldn’t accept that there was no improvement. My mother… my mother and I prayed together and then I knew I couldn’t give up. I asked for another PET scan and more blood tests. Mulder, I don’t know what… something changed. Whatever it is, whether it’s the chip or, or-”

“You’re in remission,” he repeats, his brain finally catching up. She nods.

“I’m in remission. The PET scan shows great improvement. The tumor is shrinking.”

“I can’t- it’s shrinking? You’ll be fine?” He reaches for her other hand, needing to feel her. Again, she nods, smiling.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. Mulder stares at her, watches her, and sees his whole future. Their future. Together. His lips quiver again, but this time from joy. Scully nods, understanding him without a single word spoken.

“Come here,” he says, desperate. He lets go of her hands and engulfs her in his arms. Their positions on the bed are awkward, but they make it work. His heart thumps against her chest, and he feels hers, too. He doesn’t care if it was the chip or a miracle. For once, he doesn’t care about uncovering a secret truth. He just wants to hold her in his arms and have her by his side for as long as she wants to be.

“Will you stay?” she asks into his neck. Her lips are warm and wet and her touch brings him back into the here and now.

“I’ll stay,” he says. He’ll stay as long as she will endure him in her hospital room.

“I need to call my family,” she whispers and he loosens his grip on her. Her face is as wet as his own feels and he wipes at her eyes with his thumb. Her blue eyes are almost translucent and he’s in fear of losing himself in them. Instead, he finds himself nodding along, reaching for the cell phone on her bedside table and handing it to her.

“Tell them right away,” Mulder says. “Say you have good news.” He smiles sheepishly. She doesn’t need to know about what he’s gone through in between her call and her breaking the news to him. Still, he’d like Mrs. Scully and Bill Jr. to know what they’re in for so they won’t have to worry anymore. There’s been too much heartbreak already. Scully nods at him, new tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Mulder muses and Scully’s eyebrows knit together.

“It’s not Christmas,” she says with a chuckle and he takes her hand into his, entwining their fingers. She lets him. He marvels at their laced hands, remembering the song from earlier. He hopes the woman found a river to skate away on. He hopes she found her happiness somewhere along the way. Or maybe what she was looking for was right in front of her eyes the whole time. He knows what’s that like. 

Mulder lifts his head and grins at her, falling deeper in love with her, allowing himself the full force of his emotions for once. The skepticism in her expression lets him know that she’s about to call him crazy. Or she would if this weren’t the exact moment her mother picks up the phone.

“Mom?” she says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. Mulder squeezes her fingers to remind her he’s here with her. “I have something to tell you-…,” Scully goes on and looks at Mulder. There are so many things unspoken between them, and so many possibilities now for their future. 

“It’s good news.”

[sensitivehandsomeactionman]

While I've revisited eps to make gifs, I haven't done an attentive rewatch in many years. So, I rewatched the pilot. The boys look so young 👶😄. There's a ghost story, or maybe there are two ghost stories. One is the obvious, the woman in white. The other is Sam being haunted by his past, with Dean like a link to an older era. He pulls back the curtain to an American Gothic horror tale, with his vintage car, and vintage cassette tapes, and vintage persona. Sam is the modern young man, about to head to the future, but just when he thought he was out...

I wouldn't say Dean pulled him back in. That gentle tug wasn't enough to do it, in fact. Dean has bravado, but is surprisingly soft-spoken and tentative in the way he watches for Sam's reactions like a hawk. Even when he pushes Sam on the bridge, his eyes are wide and hurt, and his hushed, "Don't talk about her like that" is not so much angry as it is a plea.

Sam seems completely self assured. He's worldly, smart, decisive. I feel as viewers we're following him from the respectable suburban world to the bad place. With John leaving a vacuum behind him, literally the empty motel room, both boys seem to fill that space -- Sam immediately connecting with John's research, while Dean dons the mantle of John's protective coat. Pleasing metaphors of inheritance.

Speaking of inheritance, Jessica's death in the same manner that killed his mother is what pulls Sam back in. He's now on the same path as John. He's the one who commands the "we" in "We got work to do." Another pleasing story parallel.

Dean is the older brother, but I'm always struck that at this stage he's almost delicate. The eyelashes, the bracelets, the too big jacket. He's positioned in this trope as the bad boy, yet Jensen always has an inherent good guy quality. He's so funny, but it's like a vaudeville act. He's insanely charming and devil-may-care, but you get the sense he's also down on his luck. He's odd and fun and intriguing.

The desaturation and shadows of the cinematography never get old. J2 are beautiful and immediately as watchable as Mulder and Scully. There are some stunning women and recognizable character actors. Of course some of it seems dated, now even more retro than intended lol, yet the Americana parts are mythic and hold up as a motif. Bonus points for including a public library for research. They're searching for a shade of a father; they can't go home, there be ghosts; home is an empty husk of trauma. Still love this pilot.

[bitingdrivers]

I kinda miss my wife.... (Bones au) 🥹

hi anon!! sorry it took me so long to answer!!

thank you for thinking about them!! i miss them too! so much!! i think about them so much, but i think the au is on a little hiatus currently. i have so many ideas and plans for bones Max and Daniel, and i really hope that one day i will get to write a big full fic for them!!

for now, here's a little ficlet i wrote (literally just finished it and didn't even reread it so please excuse me if it's bad lol) i started watching X Files recently and got inspired, so here you go

“So, which kind of alien is it? Green or gray?” Daniel asks, leaning to look over Max’s shoulder. 

“This is of course not an alien, Daniel,” Max says, mentally rolling his eyes. Daniel has been pestering him with this since they both got called in here – the entire 4-hour flight and however long it took them to drive to this spot in the middle of the desert. 

“Of course it is!” Daniel objects, pointing at the remains, “Look at…”

“Her,” Max supplies. 

“Look at her! Her face is all wrong and weird, and she has a space suit!” Daniel says. His eyebrows climb above the rims of his sunglasses. 

“This is very rude, Daniel. If your corpse was left in a desert in 40 degrees, your face would also look like that,” Max replies.

Daniel huffs, “And the space suit?” 

“Probably some kind of special wear, like my jumpsuit,” Max says. 

Thankfully, he’s not wearing one today – they put up a big tent to cover the remains, but even in shade, Max has already sweated through his white t-shirt. He can’t imagine how hot Daniel most be, bound by stupid FBI rules to wear a suit when on duty. He left his jacket in the car, now standing in light-gray slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Max keeps getting distracted by the way his tattooed forearms glisten with sweat.

He clears his throat, looking down at the body again. “It’s hard to tell, the coyotes and carrion on birds shredded the fabric too much. We will know when Charles can look at the body.”

Above him, Daniel hums. “Yeah, you’re probably right. If this was an actual alien, it wouldn’t be us working this case,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“What? We are the best, who else would they ask?” Max asks, confused. There is no other team like them, Max would know it there was.

“Mulder and Scully,” Daniel replies, like it’s supposed to mean something to Max.

Max’s confusion must show on his face, because Daniel grins mischievously.

“You know-,” he says, then whistles a short melody. 

Max blinks at him. “I don’t- What is phew phew phew phew phew phew? Who are Mulder and Scully?” he asks, trying to whistle the same tune.

Daniel laughs. “They are a lot like us, actually. I’m Mulder – a very handsome, very cool FBI agent who believes in aliens,” he says, running his hand through his sweaty curls. “And you’re Scully – a doctor who doesn’t think aliens are real.”

Max rolls his eyes at him. “I never said I don’t believe in aliens. I just don’t think these remains are alien. And why are you handsome and cool, and I’m just a doctor?” he asks. 

They are getting distracted from their work again, keeping not only themselves, but other cops and technicians here, in the middle of the desert under blazing heat, but this banter with Daniel is too fun. Watching Daniel’s face crinkle in delight and hearing his honking laugh is always lovely, but being the one to provoke it is even better. 

Daniel puts his hands on his hips. “Well, she’s uh…very beautiful too, and smart,” Daniel says, looking away. 

Max feels his cheeks heat up, but chooses to believe it’s the desert heat. “Well, she is not that smart if she doesn’t think aliens are real,” he says, not thinking.

Daniel taps his fingers on his belt, unclasps his gun holster, then closes it back.

“No, she’s very smart. Without her, Mulder wouldn’t be… wouldn’t be as cool, probably,” he says, meeting Max’s eyes.

Max feels the energy between them change, but doesn’t know what to do with it. He can’t think of what to say, so they are stuck looking at each other – Max, kneeling at the ground near the remains and Daniel standing above him, both sweaty and flushed from the high desert sun.

Thankfully, they are saved by an FBI technician coming up to tell them that they are finished with sweeping the area and should probably start packing evidence for the lab.

They get distracted by packing, so Max remembers to look up Agent Mulder and Dr. Scully only when they are waiting at the airport for their flight back.

“This is a show? You said they were real people, Daniel!” he says, exasperated.

Beside him, Daniel laughs. “I never said that! I thought you knew it’s a show.”

“I didn’t! And how could you say I’m like Scully? She’s a medical doctor, Daniel!” Max points out. “I can’t believe it, we’ve been working together for a year, you must know the difference by now.” He shakes his head disappointedly.

“Hey,” Daniel says, holding up his hands in surrender, “In my defense, it’s an old show, I forgot what kind of doctor she is.” He shrugs.

Max squints at him. “Fine, I will forgive you for now,” he says, “But only because you were right, they are very similar to us… Although, she has a gun and I don’t.”

“She’s also a woman, and wears suits, if you haven’t noticed,” Daniel says, slumping further on his seat and closing his eyes.

Max shrugs. “Both pretty achievable.”

“You will not be getting a gun, Max,” Daniel asserts.

Max rolls his eyes, huffing instead of thinking of a reply. It’s no use anyway, Daniel is too stubborn. Instead, he busies himself with replying to messages from Charles and Lewis, asking when he and Daniel will be back in Washington.

He finishes typing a message for Charles when Daniel speaks up again.

“Do you wanna watch it?” he asks, opening one eye to look at Max.

“The show?” Max asks, locking his phone. 

“Yeah, on the flight.”

Max hums. “Okay,”

Daniel nods, “Cool,” then goes back to his nap.

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 24: Decompress

Here you go @calimanc 💞

She's had a long fucking day. She couldn't even begin to detail what's been so exhausting about it. She's too worn out. It was all the things she did and all the people she dealt with and the disappointing sandwich at lunch she only ate a few bites of and the pebble that nearly turned her ankle and the weird smell in her car from some fast food remnant that had gotten lodged under the seat somehow. Just one damn thing after the other from the moment her alarm went off. The coffee filter overflowed and she got a mouthful of grounds. Her favorite pen disappeared. Her coat pocket has a hole in it and there are miscellaneous little objects inside the lining that bump against her as she walks.

Scully just wants to lie down and hope sleep overtakes her before hunger does.

She opens her apartment door and recoils, her hand going to the grip of her pistol. Someone's been here. Someone is here, or at least she hopes so, because there are lit candles on her table. Artfully arranged around them is a tasteful display of takeout boxes. She sniffs: steamed rice, General Tso's chicken, beef with broccoli, and the off-menu garlic eggplant she can't resist. All her favorites. There's a container of egg drop soup, too, and a greasy bag that surely contains egg rolls. The tv is on, the opening scene of The Exorcist frozen on the screen.

Mulder emerges from her bathroom. "I couldn't find napkins," he says, brandishing a couple of washcloths.

She steps into the apartment and takes the washcloths from him. "Napkins are in the kitchen."

"I didn't want to go through all your drawers," he says with a cheeky little wink.

She tosses the washcloths onto the little table with the answering machine and goes to get cloth napkins out of the drawer in which she keeps them, as if she throws a lot of dinner parties. As if she's thrown any since her father passed away. But she still has the napkins. They're aspirational. She hands a couple to Mulder and he puts them on the table, silverware arrayed on top. He puts the cutlery down correctly next to the plates, which doesn't really surprise her; he has those old-money manners.

She's too tired to even ask him why he's here. She looks at him mutely, one eyebrow ghosting higher.

"You skipped lunch, Scully," he says, answering her unspoken question as he helps her out of her jacket and hangs it up.

"I had a sandwich," she says in a doubtful voice.

"You had two bites of a sandwich." He pats the back of a chair. "Sit down."

She sits. He spoons portions of the various dishes onto her plate, adds an egg roll with a flourish. He brings her a glass of water with just the right amount of ice. He sits and serves himself, and they eat. He talks, but he doesn't ask her questions. It's what she thinks of as Mulderchatter, an endless patter of interesting facts and outlandish theories. It washes over her like a warm bath.

When they've eaten, he maneuvers her to the couch and washes the dishes. The leftovers are stored tidily in the fridge. The candles are snuffed. When he's done, he joins her. She's just staring into space. He picks up her remote, presses play, pulls her feet into his lap, and takes off her shoes. He squeezes her feet gently with his big hands. It feels nice. She's too tender to want the pressure of a real massage, either emotional or physical.

They watch the movie. She's seen it a number of times, can mouth some of the dialogue. He flinches at the scary moments, which is satisfying, because she doesn't. She lets herself drift, anchored by the weight of his hands still cupped over her feet. By the time the movie's over, she's half-asleep.

Mulder wiggles out from under her feet and scoops her up, helping her stand. He slips one arm around her and walks her to her bedroom. There's a pair of clean pajamas lying on her comforter, so he did go through some of her drawers. Somehow that's comforting too, even though she's absolutely certain he's now seen her underwear. He's seen it before. She's got nothing to hide from him.

"Don't go yet," she says. "Please."

"You got me," he promises.

He turns his back while she changes. When she's done, he helps her into the bed. She stares up at him until he sits on the edge of her mattress. He toes off his shoes. She scoots over to make room for him and he lies down on top of the covers. He puts his arm over her.

She shouldn't be soothed by this, probably, but she is. She accepts that about herself at this point. She tries to be superhuman, but everyone needs touch. She's not a wire monkey. She needs Mulder: the bulk of his body next to hers, the even rhythm of his breathing, the faint whiff of cologne from his skin.

She knows he'll be gone when she wakes up, but he'll stay until she's at peace. That's what matters. He did this for her: saw her aching inarticulate need and brought her gifts to nourish her, body and soul.

"Mulder," she mumbles.

"I'm here," he assures her, and she thinks she feels his lips brush her forehead, but she's already sliding into sleep. It's all right. He knows.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s3

mulder bursting into his apartment in episode 2 after actually returning from the dead, only to find scully and skinner holding each other at gunpoint. he immediately asks if she is okay and pulls HIS gun on skinner, too (yes, he WILL threaten to kill their boss for her, thank you very much)

(and then they have this moment where they reunite for real and she smiles at him- i thought they were going to kiss but they didn’t, but either way it was so precious and genuine it made me lose my mind)

this exchange in the disease center archives: “lots of files” “lots and lots of files” yeah <3

after they flee through the back exit of the archives escaping what seemed like the entire US military, they meet skinner at a little diner in maryland, with all things seemingly forgiven between them

how he holds her after she learns melissa passed away, and how they both agree that they need to get back to work in order to keep them from going mad with grief (they were both in mourning at the same time- his dad's death was still very recent- and it is so touching to me how they were there for each other at every step)

they way they glance at each other while the “psychic” stupendous yappi is making incredibly vague claims about the killer at the crime scene in episode 4 (omg... does anyone have this gif?)

(and when the psychic claims that mulder has “negative energy” and needs to leave the room, she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere)

later in the episode, he comes in with the news that the item at the crime scene was made of chantilly lace, and he says “you know how i like it” in reference to the song by the big bopper. she makes the FUNNIEST face!!! it's a momentary mixture of horror and disgust before she composes herself. it is hilarious, i’ll see if i can find it. then she slaps a file on his chest and wishes him good luck in observing bruckman.

also, he is nearly killed in that episode, and scully shoots his would-be murderer- then they have one of those “comforting each other on the floor after nearly dying moments” that are like catnip to me

“imagine if it were true, scully. imagine if you could come back and take out five people who had caused you to suffer. who would they be?” “i only get five?” “i remembered your birthday this year, didn’t i?” <3 (from episode 5)

in episode 7, scully noticed that mulder had been carrying dental x-ray plates throughout their whole investigation, but never bothered to ask why because they were at the point in their relationship where such things do not need to be discussed

scully learning in episode 9 that she is slowly dying from the tests they performed on her while she was taken, and breaking the news to mulder- how he softly says “but you’re fine, aren’t you scully?” because he cannot bear to lose her (AUGHHHHHHHH) (and she confesses that she doesn’t know if she really IS okay… why do they place so much sorrow on her shoulders?)

mulder trapped on a ticking time bomb of a train in episode 10, calling her to say “scully, let me tell you, you haven’t seen america til you’ve seen it from a train” “DAMN IT MULDER, WHAT HAPPENED?!” <- lmaooo he has this constant Need to diffuse tension with a quip

scully is going through A Lot of Emotions in episode 11, and when it is time for them to go, mulder holds out her jacket for her to put on <3 and then goes and does the statement by himself as per her request so she can go “run an errand” (confession for the first time in 6 years), which he obliges without question

so much of the episode 12 dialogue: “mulder, you’re not thinking about trespassing onto government property again, are you?” “it’s too late, i’m already inside” (incredibly deep scully sigh) “well, what’s going on? what do you see?” <- yeah that’s them. if you’re gonna break federal law, at least tell her about it in depth.

scully sleeping with her phone on her pillow, waiting for another of mulder’s calls. when it finally comes, he’s going on and on about bambi and she is clearly displeased. finally, he asks “scully, can i confess something to you?” and she VISIBLY winces, with pain in her voice, but pushes through and says “yeah sure, okay” (this one KILLED me because she did NOT want to hear about his love life but she wanted to be a good friend... scully is so kind)

(and all he had to say was that he hates insects lmao)

((and how the episode starts with the two of them making a planet of the apes reference, then ends with bambi and dr. ivanov flirting by making a different planet of the apes reference))

mulder is losing his damn mind in episode 14, hadn’t slept for days, and was sneaking out to a crime scene. scully is so worried she tells him to stay exactly where he is and that she will be there soon so they can “work this thing out together, okay?” trying to talk him back into being himself, making sure he is safe... that's partnership <3

in episode 16, mulder gets in a car crash, but wakes up to find scully next to him in the hospital. he has a bandage on his head looking all pathetic, and she greets him with a smile. i wanted to bottle this moment and drink it like fine champagne.

their drive to north dakota after scully confronted the man who shot skinner and her sister- how tense that ride had to have been. what did they say? anything at all? i need to know, i need 10 fics NOW

and their conversation at melissa’s grave- how they both bring flowers, how he touches her shoulder, the way she shares her father’s friend’s theory that the dead speak to you from beyond the grave, which is a conscious. and how he, the man who is always pondering the meanings of life and death and what comes between, says honestly “that’s interesting. i’ve never thought of it that way” 

her falling asleep on his shoulder during the stakeout in episode 17; how he lightly taps her face to wake her up and says “i think you drooled on me”, which prompts a very fast and very embarrassed apology (!!!!!!!!!)

(also, pusher kept calling mulder "g-man" over the phone, so when they hang up he turns to her and calls her "g-woman" <3)

their very excellent coordination between scully grabbing the fire extinguisher and mulder using his jacket to douse the flames that episode

(and all the times in pusher they lean their heads together to share a phone <3)

when mulder has to go into the hospital to catch the pusher, he leaves his gun behind so he won’t hurt anybody- and he’s terrified and so is scully, so they look into each other’s eyes while holding hands before he departs

how she runs into action when he is in danger in the hospital; how she interrupts his game of russian roulette with pusher, and how she SCREAMS when he puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger; that visceral "damn it, mulder!" filled with so much emotion in just a few words

how he fights the pusher’s mind control to prevent shooting her harder than he fought the mind control that made him fire at himself (!!!)

and after mulder escaped, having fired every round into pusher so he knew he wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again, he watches as he is on life support. scully grabs his hand, having seen how terrified he had become, and tells him not to let this man take up any more of his time.

in episode 20, they receive roky’s fantastical report on his men in black encounter, which mulder reads aloud while scully lies on the bed of their hotel room, looking baffled (it is so CUTE!!!)

waking up to mulder in her room soon after that, having been under some mind control influence the night before, wondering why he was in there, and mulder trying to explain no, she actually invited him in!!

walking into the bait shop together in episode 22, sharing an umbrella while she holds the dog's leash <3

mulder offering to join her walking her dog, but she smiles and lifts up her jacket to show her gun and says she’ll be fine 

the whole conversation on the rock, but some highlights include “hey scully, do you think you could ever cannibalize someone?” and how she compares him to ahab (they’re both “so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology”, which he responds to with “scully, are you coming onto me?”)

but then he gets very serious, talking about how he wishes it were enough to just Persist Despite It All and be free of expectations, how he loathes that “you’re actually expected to make something of your life- achieve something, earn a raise, wear a necktie”, and he is the antithesis of ahab because he might be happier with a pegleg. and god, that one makes me emotional.

(and then they both quote a line from the book <3)

oh, and i could not finish this list without this banger from episode 23: “he’s lied to me from the beginning. he’s never trusted me” “scully, you are the ONLY one i trust”

(cue tears as scully collapses into her mother's arms) (cue tears at mulder's dogged persistence he could bring her back, but it took a mother's love instead) (and cue tears that such love had been extended to him by mrs. scully, so much so that she knew he would never, ever threaten her baby)

[justicecaballer]

big fat F for the styling mid season 7. the tailoring of scullys jackets is sharper than it has ever been. u can visibly see the thread count increase in mulders shirts. and while it looks good in isolation. it looks Bad.

they took scullys hair also. so sad. beefing hard with the year 2000

[windwenn]

hi! is it okay if i use your drawing of scully and mulder in the big jackets for a rentry (with credit/link to post in rentry)? totally okay if not, i want to ask beforehand !

Totally fine👌 thanks for asking :)

[slippinmickeys]

Proof of Life 6/?

1. It is a long road that gets bumpier every day. The thought of food makes her nauseous. The thought of work makes her sick. She doesn’t change out of pajamas, doesn’t leave the apartment, except when forced. Her hair is now roughly the same stringy mess as it was after weeks in captivity.

The network has retained a lauded psychiatrist and Scully meets with her several times, but doesn’t say much. Scully relays how Murray died, what she felt when the rebels put their hands on her. The doctor, who insists that Scully call her Karen, carefully tells her that Mikey is missing and presumed dead, his camera and equipment having turned up in a shot-up warehouse on the edge of the city. She tries to help Scully process her grief, but can tell that she is withholding something: Mulder, like a shadow standing in the corner of the room with them, a ghost only Scully can see.

Scully doesn’t want to share Mulder with her, with anyone. He’s hers, she thinks. Hers. Karen brings him up once, but Scully stays completely silent, keeping her face carefully and stonily neutral.

When she gets home and she closes her eyes, she pictures Mulder laying back in the rumpled Hilton bed, sucking his fingers clean, a sated look on his face. The more she thinks of him, the less she’s present.

She touches herself one night when Ethan is asleep beside her, but her gummy fingers can’t reproduce his touch.

He’s somewhere in the world, she tells herself. At least he’s somewhere out there. But then so was his sister, her picture on the side of a milk carton.

The world can be dark and cruel. The world is a very big place.

***

She can hear Ethan on the phone, hushed whispers. “She’s not really eating.” “I’m not certain she even wants help.” “It’s like she’s still in that hotel room. I don’t know what I can do to get her out of it.”

The last one actually makes Scully laugh out loud. Little do they all know. It’s not that she’s mentally stuck in room 1055 at the Hilton. It’s that she’s stuck outside of it. It’s that she wants to go back.

***

Her mother gets her in a pair of pants and she washes her hair just so she doesn’t have to hear about it.

“You look peaked,” her mother says, her hands wrapped around a tea cup, the waitress sashaying away from their table. Maggie’s head is tilted to the side, appraising.

“I’m not certain that helps, mother.”

Maggie’s eyes narrow and then relax. She looks down at the milk swirling in her Earl Grey.

“I know it’s a process, Dana,” she says. “But I wish you’d let us help you. Or at the very least attempt to help yourself.”

Scully sighs.

“Ethan says-“

“Oh fuck Ethan,” Scully hisses, the words coming out more vicious than she intended.

Instead of shock or offended pearl-clutching at Dana’s outburst, her mother’s face wilts in sympathetic grace. She reaches out a hand, her fingers cold, her aging skin like fine paper.

“I know you're afraid,” she says. “I know you’re afraid to tell me. But you have to tell someone.”

2. Mulder gestures at her jacket. “You a reporter?”

She nods, slips it off. It’s far too big. It was given to her to fit over the flak jacket she wears in the field. A flak jacket the rebels have taken, along with everything else she carried. The room feels small and she can sense the men who march back and forth outside of it.

“You?” It feels odd to make small talk.

He holds up the camera. “Photojournalist,” he says.

“Who do you work for?”

He shrugs. “I’m freelance. This month, it’s Newsweek.”

She isn’t sure where to put the jacket, what to do with herself. He looks so relaxed and comfortable that she feels like she’s trespassing.

“Listen,” he says, no doubt sensing her discomfort. “Mi casa es su casa. Please make yourself at home. I’ve been here for a few days, but it’s not like I’m paying for the room.” He quirks a smile at her and she relaxes a little, throws the jacket over the back of the room’s only chair.

He pulls his knees up, sits up a little straighter.

“Are you… okay? They didn’t hurt you?” His face is cut like a Roman bust, all nose and character.

She wants to tell him about Warren. About Mikey, who she hopes is still alive.

“They didn’t hurt me,” she says instead.

He looks relieved. “They drop off food every couple of days,” he says. “The water in the bathroom works, but just barely.” He makes a move to stand and she flinches, which causes him to freeze. She feels stupid, but she hasn’t come out of flight or fight yet, her amygdala controlling her higher functions.

“I swear on my life, Dana Scully,” he says quite seriously. “I won’t hurt you, either.”

For some reason, she believes him.

3. In the taxi on the way to the studio, she brings up something that has bothered her since he said it.

“They didn’t release me,” she says.

“What?” Ethan asks, perplexed. He has been staring out through the window, lost in thought.

“You said…When we were on the phone, right after we were rescued, you said that the network paid the rebels a lot of money to release us. But the rebels didn’t release us. The Navy did. The rebels are dead.”

Ethan doesn’t seem to have an answer, turns back to the window.

“You keep saying ‘us.’”

It wasn’t just me in that room, she thinks, but Ethan knows it. She thinks he finally understands.

The cab smells like fake pine tree and B.O. Odd that they didn’t send a town car.

“We’re almost there,” he says, dejected. The window he’s staring through is streaked with rain, the outside world smeared like a watercolor.

4. She’s weary of her own pain. It’s all very tedious, even to her.

She awakes one night suddenly from the hard grip of a dream, her stomach a tight knot, her pajamas soaked with sweat. There is something happening to her, something not right.

She stumbles to the bathroom. Behind her, Ethan breathes deeply once and rolls onto his side.

When she stands up from the toilet and looks down, the bowl is bright with blood, clots sliding down and pooling in the bottom. It has been three months since her last period, but she has been underweight, under pressure, under water; her body as uncooperative as her mind.

In the morning, still wracked with a backache like a metal hand clamped around her spine, she calls a friend from med school, gets an appointment first thing.

***

“Were you raped?” Rebecca asks her, no nonsense, peeling off her nitrile gloves and depositing them in the exam room trash can.

“Was I…?”

“You’re having a miscarriage, Dana,” her friend says, with a little more empathy, rolling her little exam stool back over to the table where Scully is pulling her feet out of the stirrups.

“I know you were…” Nobody can really bring themselves to say ‘held hostage.’

“No, I… No,” Scully says. “I wasn’t raped.”

Rebecca tries to talk to her, but there is something happening. The numbness she has been feeling begins to shed from around her heart like a calving glacier; the pain, the hurt, the apathy all slough off and are replaced, not by anger or sadness, but by a blooming, unbridled and pure conviction.

When she gets home, she walks up to Ethan, her strides so quick he’s actually startled.

“I’ll do the interview,” she says, a little aggressively. He stares at her a long moment before picking up the phone.

5. Morocco, sun bleached, Moorish influence writ large. She treads ancient Amazigh paths, walks across bright patterned tiles soft with heat. She’s wearing white, not just for the weather, but for the purity of it; she feels cleansed of a burden and born anew.

There are tall stools in front of an old zinc bar, a row of dead soldiers. Overhead a ceiling fan rotates lazily, swirling the hot, sticky air.

“You’re a hard man to find,” she says.

“Not hard enough, apparently.” His speech is slightly slurred. He’s older than she thought he’d be, grizzled as a possum.

She swings into the seat next to him, motions to the bartender. On the tabletop in front of them, next to all those empty beers, sits a felted hat all wrong for the climate. She doesn’t speak again until there are two new bottles in front of them, already blanketed in condensation.

“Marrakesh is certainly a choice,” she says, taking a pull.

“I like to haggle in the souks.”

“That where you got those gloves?”

He is wearing fingerless gloves; leather, worn in the palms.

He finally turns to look at her and must be startled, as he begins to blink rapidly.

“Do you know who I am?” she asks.

He nods, a dry swallow dipping his Adam’s apple.

“Where’s Mulder?” she asks. Simple, direct.

His forehead crumples.

“I fucked up,” Frohike says on a hiccup. “I fucked up and I almost got him killed.”

Scully nods silently. There’s no refuting that one simple fact.

She turns on her stool to look out the entrance of the bar, where a wall of red clay and chalk runs just beyond it, the ramparts circling around the medina of the ancient city, the fortifications the same color as her hair.

“There’s one part of that particular narrative that you’re failing to realize,” she says.

The little man turns to her as one might twist to gaze upon the divine.

“If he hadn’t been there,” Scully starts. “If he hadn’t been taken, too,” she goes on. “I’m not sure what would have happened to me. I’m not certain I would have survived. So really”—she picks up his hat and hands it to him, turning to look him in the eye—“what you did was save my life.”

Frohike gazes up at her like he’s witnessing a miracle. His eyes are watery, red-rimmed, his expression full of awe. He takes his proffered hat.

“I need you to help me find him,” she says.

[atths--twice]

Building Blocks

Being a child of a Navy man means leaving those you care about behind. But not always forever…

I absolutely loooove this one. I hope you do too.

Kittery, Maine Naval Housing Late October, 1973

The leaves crunched under her feet as she ran to the wooded area just past the last row of houses. She turned around and checked to see if anyone was watching her before she slipped past the big tree and kept running, her breath coming out in white puffs. 

Stopping in front of the small, rather warped shed that her father had moved back into the woods for her to use as a fort, she turned the handle with cold fingers. Her mother would tut when she saw that she had once again forgotten her gloves. 

“It’s fall now, Dana,” her mother had said many times recently. “You need to wear your gloves. And your hat.” 

Whoops. She had forgotten the hat as well. 

But it would be fine once she was inside the shed, as it was slightly warmer than outside. 

She opened the door and let out a deep breath before stepping inside and taking off her backpack. Moving the two folding chairs and collapsible tv tray to the center of the space, she opened her backpack and took out the food and items she had brought with her. 

Two chocolate Ding Dongs, a canteen full of water, and a bag of tortilla chips were placed on the now open tray. She had wanted to bring the Doritos as she was partial to them, but she knew her mother would notice if they and the Ding Dongs went missing. 

The chairs opened and arranged, she sat down to wait, her mouth watering at the thought of biting into the chocolate treat in the foil wrapper. 

A whistle sounded, the one she had taught him, and she looked out the open door to see him walking toward her. She grinned even as she felt her heart speed up, something it had been doing lately when she saw him, though she did not understand why. 

“Hello there, Dana Scully,” he said with his lopsided smile, his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“Hello to you, Fox Mulder,” she replied, suddenly feeling very nervous. 

“Oh, Ding Dongs… those are my favorite,” he said as he stepped inside. 

She knew they were. Of course she did. 

“I was going to grab different chips, but…” 

“You mean these?” he asked, pulling Doritos from his backpack and handing them to her. She grinned and nodded as he sat down, taking out his own canteen. “I know you like those.” 

“I do.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled at her as he picked up a Ding Dong, unwrapped it and handed it to her. 

“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him and feeling her stomach jump when his fingers brushed hers. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asked, unwrapping his own treat and taking a bite. 

As they ate, she showed him the drawings she had made, discussing what she wanted to do, her nerves falling away as she spoke. 

“Wow. It looks really good.” 

“Thanks.” 

“You’re the smartest person I know, the way you figure out all of those plans,” he said and she stared at him in disbelief, as she always did when he said stuff like that to her. “Even better than some of the boys in my class. And your brother for sure.” He smiled and she felt her cheeks getting warm. 

“He doesn’t listen to me,” she said quietly. 

“Because he’s dumb. Not smart like you. Come on, let’s get to work.” 

They left the little shed and walked further into the woods where they had been building a treehouse over the summer. The other kids living on the base had been around to help when they were all out of school, but had since lost interest. 

Some of the older boys, like Fox, who at eleven was two years older than her, had left because they had not wanted to listen to her ideas. They teased her and called her drawings and plans girlie and dumb.  

“What’s girlie about it?” she had demanded, tears pricking at her eyes though she would not let them fall. 

“Oh no, she’s getting mad,” Paul, one of the oldest boys had said while the others laughed. “Watch out for the tiny thing.” 

“You shut up,” Dana had yelled and they had laughed even more. 

“Let’s go. Who wants to be listening to a little girl anyway. We’ll make our own treehouse. Much better than this baby one.” 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

And they had left, laughing and mocking her as they did. 

All of them except for Fox, who had walked over and wordlessly picked up the paper Paul had crumbled and tossed on the ground. Fox had smoothed it out against his pant leg and handed it back to Dana. 

“Where should we start?” he had asked and she had turned around to wipe her eyes so he would not see her tears. 

As the weather began to change, they were the only two who continued to venture out into the woods, gathering fallen branches and bringing items they found at home to add to the treehouse. 

Truth be told, the shed was better, but the treehouse required work and figuring things out like a puzzle. Dana loved puzzles and building things with her hands, something most other girls, including her older sister, did not want to do. 

Fox, an only child, spent a lot of time on his own, exploring the woods or reading. Occasionally he joined the older boys, playing whatever sport was popular at the moment. It being fall, football was taking over and he was a good addition when they needed an extra body. 

Paul had teased him when they first started playing, telling him he was spending too much time with Dana and calling her a baby. They had a fight, Paul gaining a black eye from it and Fox a busted lip, but after that, Paul never said anything to Fox about her. 

Dana had been furious at first, telling Fox that fighting was stupid. 

“What if he had knocked out your teeth? Or busted your head instead of your lip?” 

“He wouldn’t. He’s bigger, but I’m faster. He’s lucky it was just his eye that I hit.” 

“But, Fox-”

“He shouldn’t say things like that,” he had interrupted, staring at her with a serious expression. “Not about anyone, but especially about you. You’re a hundred times smarter than him and he knows it. He won’t bother you or talk about you anymore. I promise.” 

And in that moment, when she had not been expecting it, not truly understanding what was happening, she had fallen in love for the first time. 

“You know,” Fox said, as they climbed up the ladder they had made from pieces of scrap wood nailed to the tree. “I think we could maybe somehow connect this treehouse to the other tree there.” He pointed as Dana stood on the landing and followed his finger. “Do you think we could?” 

“Mmm… maybe. If we…” She stepped closer and looked at the tree with its wide branches and thick trunk. “We could make a… like a bridge? I think it might be difficult, but I could draw something up tonight. What do you think?” 

“I think it would be great. Make Paul eat his words.” He bumped his shoulder into her and she grinned. 

“Yeah. It would.” 

“Come on. It’ll be dark soon.” 

When the light began to fade and her fingers had long since remembered how it felt to be warm, Fox had dropped the hammer back into the small toolbox. 

“Well, it’s the most we can do for today.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, blowing on her hands to warm them. 

They climbed down and walked back to the shed. They put away the chairs and tray, put on their backpacks, and walked out the door, closing it securely. 

He walked her to her house and then waved as he walked away, whistling the whistle she had taught him once again. She watched him until he turned the corner and he was out of sight. 

At her desk in the bedroom she shared with her sister, Melissa, she drew up plans to connect the trees and make a large treehouse. She was happy with how it turned out. Her eyes scanned the paper to look for any mistakes before she placed it into a protective folder to show Fox the next day. 

_________________

She waited for him, Twinkies sitting on the table this time, but for the first time ever, he did not show up. When it got too dark to see, she used her flashlight to guide her way back home, her heart aching and tears clogging her throat. 

Melissa was over at a friend's house and Dana was thankful she had the room to herself so she could cry without being seen. 

After her cry, as she lay in the dark, she heard something hit her window. Looking over, she saw when it happened again. Getting up, she opened the window and looked down to find Fox standing on the lawn. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there today,” he said, dropping the small rocks in his hands onto the ground. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not wanting him to know how much it had hurt her. 

“It does. Can you come down? I need to talk to you.” 

“You already said sorry.” 

“Please, Dana,” he said softly and she nodded before she closed the window and left the bedroom. 

She left out the back door and walked around the side of the yard, meeting him on the front lawn. 

“I am sorry I wasn’t there today. I wanted to be, but there was a good reason.” 

“What reason?” 

“My dad got new orders,” he said, staring at her with sad eyes. “We’re leaving.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “My parents have known for a couple of days, but they just told me this afternoon.”

“You’re leaving? Where are you going?” she asked, tears clogging her throat again. 

“Overseas. Japan.”

“Japan…” Dana breathed. “That’s so far away.” 

“I know.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

“Two days.” 

“Two days?” she asked, unable to hold back the tears that fell down her cheeks. 

“They need my dad quickly. I don’t understand it all, but we leave in two days.” 

“I… I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, wiping her face. 

“I don’t want to go either.” 

“But you have to,” she said, knowing how life worked in the Navy- you went where you were told without question. 

“I have to,” he replied, nodding his head. 

The front door opened and Dana’s mother stood on the threshold, surprised to find them both standing there. 

“Fox? Is everything okay? Your parents are alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a tight smile. “I… I didn’t meet up with Dana earlier and I came over to apologize.” 

“Oh, well that was kind of you.” 

“I have to get back home now,” he said, nodding at her mother and then looking at Dana. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” she whispered, nodding her head. 

He turned around and walked in the direction of his house, never looking back at them. 

“He’s such a nice boy,” her mother said and Dana began to cry, her hands covering her face. “Dana? What is it, honey?” 

Dana ran to her mother and threw her arms around her waist, crying into the long sweater she wore that smelled of cinnamon. 

___________

“We won’t finish the treehouse,” Dana said the next day as they stood staring at it. 

“We could try to get as much done as we can,” he suggested and she shook her head. 

“I don’t really feel like it,” she said softly. 

“Me either. And I have to be home soon anyway,” he admitted. “I have to pack up my stuff. My mom said she could, but I want to be the one to do it.” 

“I would too,” Dana whispered, thinking about someone else packing her most prized possessions and how much it would bother her. 

“I hate that we won’t be able to try to connect those trees. I’m sure whatever you came up with would have done it.” 

She looked at him and he stepped closer to her, hugging her for the first time ever. It stunned her for a second and then she was hugging him back, closing her eyes as she tried to memorize how it felt to have him so close. 

He stepped back and let her go, smiling sadly as he let out a deep breath. 

“See you tomorrow, Dana Scully.” 

“Yeah. Tomorrow, Fox Mulder,” she said, forcing herself to not cry. 

He inhaled and nodded before he walked away, the special whistle the last thing she heard. 

____________

Dana’s whole family, along with a few other neighbors, stood on the street saying goodbye to the Mulder family the next afternoon. The women gave them food they had baked while the men offered advice that was already known by everyone. The kids in the neighborhood said goodbye, giving Fox small trinkets he could carry with him in his bag. He nodded his thanks, his eyes often finding Dana’s in the small crowd. 

“Alright,” Bill Mulder said, shaking Dana’s father’s hand for the last time. “We have to get going. Time to shove off.” Everyone laughed out a groan and stepped away from the car calling out for safe travels. 

Fox walked up to Dana and smiled, his hands in his pockets. 

“I’ll write to you,” he said. “Once we get there, I’ll send you a letter.” 

“Okay,” she whispered. 

“Here,” he said softly. “I want you to have this.” From his pocket, he took out a smooth, flat, black stone. “I found this one day out in the woods and I really liked it. I was going to put it in the treehouse, but now… you’ll have to do it… when it’s finished.” 

“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him and nodding as she looked at it. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Fox! Come on!” his father shouted and Fox sighed. 

“I have to go. Goodbye.” 

“Wait! I have something for you too.” She took a folded piece of paper from her own pocket and handed it to him. “It’s a drawing of the treehouse.” He opened it quickly and she watched him as he looked at it. 

“You finished it,” he said with a smile. “It’s perfect.” 

“No. But it’s good.”

“It’s perfect,” he said again, smiling with a nod. 

“Fox,” his mother said. “We have to get to the airport.” 

“Okay, Mom.” He stepped forward and hugged Dana for the last time. “Goodbye, Dana Scully.” 

“Goodbye, Fox Mulder,” she whispered. 

He stepped back and hurried to the car, getting in and closing the door. He waved to her and she waved back, holding her tears in until their car had left the neighborhood and he could no longer see her.

___________

She never did finish the treehouse. Her heart was no longer in it. 

And six months later, when her family was relocated to the state of Washington, she broke off one of the ladder rungs to take as a keepsake. Adding it to her ‘Fox Mulder’ box, which consisted of the rock he had given her when he left and the three letters he had sent her from Japan, she walked out of the house and did not look back. 

___________

June 1977 San Diego, California 

Dana locked the bathroom door and took the Polaroid picture out from where she had hidden it under her shirt, her heart thumping almost painfully in her chest. There had been a few pictures and she took the one that she felt would not be missed. 

Seeing him so unexpectedly, as she and some other girls in the neighborhood had come to meet the new family, had made her freeze in place. Her ears rang and the conversation had suddenly sounded far away. 

Fox Mulder, four years older than the last time she had seen him, was smiling at the camera with the same lopsided grin. His hair was longer and his face leaner, looking more like a man. But she could still see the boy she once knew. 

“Did you take these pictures?” she had asked Susan, the older of the two sisters they had just met. 

“Umm,” Susan had said, looking at what Dana was showing her. “Yeah! Well, no. I didn’t take them, but I was there. Isn’t he dreamy? You’ll never guess what his name is!”

“What?” Dana had said, not letting on just yet that she knew him. 

“Fox! Isn’t that a hoot?” Susan had said, laughing with the other girls. “He was so sweet. He wasn’t really attached to any of the girls, but he danced and talked to all of us. One of the girls at the party had my camera and took those pictures. He was a good sport, but I don’t think he really wanted his picture taken.”

”When was this?” Dana had asked, looking through all the pictures again. 

“About six months ago, at a Christmas party at the base we just left.” 

Six months ago, Dana thought, touching his face in the picture. And two years since I’ve heard from him. 

But… he still had the ability to make her stomach flip and her heart race. Even more so now as she could recognize the feelings for what they were and what they had always been. 

She loved him. He had been the first boy she ever loved and the one by which she measured all others. 

And how she missed him. 

Putting the picture back under her shirt, she splashed some water on her face and left the bathroom to ask Susan if she knew how to get in touch with Fox once again. 

_____________

June 1981 Annapolis, Maryland

Dear Dana, 

I still can’t believe I heard from you after all this time. I’m so sorry we lost touch. You have no idea how sorry. 

It’s going to sound crazy, but the day your letter arrived, I had been thinking about that old treehouse and wondering if any children played in it or had added to it. I’m sure if they have, it won’t look anything like your vision. Only you could create something like it. 

“Dana! Come on! You’re going to be late!” 

“Yeah! I’m coming!” Dana called back, putting the letter she knew by heart after all these years back into the ‘Fox Mulder’ box with a smile. 

She checked her hair one last time, grabbed her cap and gown hanging on the back of her door and her shoes from the floor, before she ran down the stairs. 

“It’s your graduation and you’re the last one out the door,” her father said, tapping his watch with his eyebrows raised. 

“Looking good takes time, Daddy,” she said, smiling impishly as she hung the gown up on the small hook and went around to get in on the other side of the car. “We have plenty of time.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed and shook his head, checking his watch again as he too got in the car. 

______________

October 1982 Cornell University

Dana was reading as she walked to her dorm, checking to see if the answer she had put down in a test was correct. She stopped walking as she scanned the pages, holding her breath until she let it out as relief washed over her. 

“Not that I doubted myself,” she said quietly, closing the book. “And now you’re talking to yourself. Stop it or people will think you’re crazy.” She struggled to get the book back into her bag and when she finally did, she turned and ran directly into someone. 

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” she said, stepping back with an embarrassed chuckle. “I need to watch where I’m go-” 

She stopped speaking as her eyes widened and she took another step back. 

“Hello there, Dana Scully,” came the familiar words that were now spoken in a much deeper tone. 

“Hello to you too… Fox Mulder,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief as he grinned the lopsided smile she loved so much, his hands in his pockets. “What? How are you here? How did you know where to find me? What are you doing here?” 

“I called my mom, who then hunted up the number and called your mom, who then called me back and could not stop gushing over her incredibly brilliant daughter who was currently at Cornell University studying to become an engineer. Well… when I told her I wasn’t at all surprised to hear that, she laughed and said no, she supposed I wasn’t.” He grinned at her and she shook her head again. 

“So you’re… you’re just here? Here?” she asked, her brain not quite understanding what her eyes were clearly seeing. 

“Yeah. I’m here.”

They stared at one another, taking in the new faces they saw, while also seeing the friend they had once known so long ago. She smiled slowly and then threw her arms around his neck, crying and laughing at the same time. 

“I have missed you so much,” she whispered. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he said and she laughed as he squeezed her tightly, lifting her off her feet and spinning them in the crisp autumn air. 

“Please don’t leave again anytime soon,” she said and he laughed as he set her down. 

“I have absolutely no intention of doing any such thing.” 

“Good,” she said, staring at him and still feeling as if it was all a dream. 

“How about we get a cup of coffee? I think we have some catching up to do.” 

“Yeah, we do,” she agreed and he grinned. 

Gesturing for her to lead the way, she began to walk and he fell into step beside her. His hand brushed hers and her stomach flipped as a flush crept over her body. When his fingers intertwined with hers, she exhaled a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief second, a smile tugging at her lips. 

“Do you think the place we’re going to will have Ding Dongs?” he asked and her eyes flew open as she laughed. 

“Not likely, but I know a place close by that sells them.” 

“Good,” he said, squeezing her hand as they continued on the path. 

No, she thought with a smile and almost imperceptible shake of her head. It’s more than good. So much more than good. 

_________

November 1990 Boston, Massachusetts 

It was late, but she was nearly finished with her project. She had drawn and redrawn it so many times, the lines were beginning to blur. 

Stepping back, she looked at it and nodded, feeling that sense of completion she did every time she got it just right. 

Leaving the papers laid out so she could check them over one more time in the morning, she laid the rock Fox had given her so long ago directly in the middle. Pressing two fingers to her lips, she kissed them and then touched the rock before reaching to turn off the light above her large drafting desk. 

Before she did, her eyes landed on the drawing of the treehouse she had made and given to Fox to take with him when he left for Japan. He had saved it, always keeping it pressed in one of his favorite books so it did not get lost. He had carefully traced over her pencil lines with a black pen when it had begun to fade, wanting to preserve it. 

He had surprised her with it the first night in their first apartment. 

“That’s been all around the world,” he had said, touching the black frame as they both looked at it and her eyes filled with tears. “And now it’s finally back home.” 

It had sat on a shelf until it was the first picture they hung in their new home. 

The second was their wedding picture and some days she was not sure which one she loved more. 

Leaving the office, she intended to head to bed, seeking Fox’s warm body to snuggle into, but a light coming from the backyard porch stopped her. 

She walked through the kitchen and smiled when she saw Fox wrapping multicolored Christmas lights around the railings. Grabbing her jacket, she put it on as she opened the door and stepped outside. 

“What are you doing out here, you crazy man?” she whispered, mindful of the late hour. 

“Adding ambience to our little corner of the world,” he replied, smiling at her before returning to his task. 

“And you couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

“No. No time like the present,” he stated, reaching for the last strand and beginning to wind it around the handrail. 

She watched him as she shook her head, too many emotions suddenly nearing the surface. 

“Hey,” she said softly. 

“Yeah?” he replied just as softly.  

“I love you.”

He looked up and smiled, abandoning the lights and walking over to her. She tilted her head back to look at him and his eyes dropped to her lips. 

Pushing onto her tiptoes as he lowered his head, their lips met in the middle, her hands pressed gently to his cold cheeks. He pulled her closer and she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Still the smartest person I know,” he whispered against her lips and she exhaled a chuckle. 

“And?” she prompted teasingly, pulling back to look at him. 

“And,” he said, smiling the smile that would forever make her feel weak in the knees. “I love you too.” 

[oohnotvery]

Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 16)

Mulder

“Think they’ll notice we didn’t actually bathe each other?” Mulder asks childishly as they pull their clothes back on. His mind is working double time to both commit the past few moments to memory and to completely erase the arousal coursing through his system. Now is really not the time to be distracted by Scully’s body.

She snorts.

Jules and Harlan approach them silently, and he wonders whether they oversaw or overheard anything. With Harlan’s gun pointed at Scully’s head, Mulder reluctantly allows Jules to handcuff both of them. He notices that Jules is extremely careful not to touch his skin.

From this moment on, the woman tells them, her voice taking on a distant, far-off quality, no one else is allowed to touch either of you. You have been purified by your act of love.

In the pouring rain, Harlan and Jules lead them to the front of the lodge, where a dingy van waits to transport them to their deaths. With handcuffs on, it is awkward crawling into the backseat, but they each manage.    

Jules drives and Harlan keeps the gun trained on them in the backseat. Mulder knows where they’re going as soon as they get on the road leading down to the beach. In the dark, he glances over at Scully and wonders if she, too, knows where this is headed.

She meets his eyes and he sees the fire there, the will to live. The will for them both to live.

But that moment in the tub—as sexy, as heady, as incredible as it was—hasn’t changed a damn thing for him. Fuck, maybe it’s even made him double down on his original position. If it comes down to it, her life is more valuable than his. He will give up everything for her.  

The sea looks choppy and stormy as they clamber out of the van and onto the beach. A single rowboat sits perched in the sand and Mulder swallows painfully. He’s not a very composed seafarer, not even on a calm day.

Harlan forces him and Scully into the center of the boat, which is wider and longer than he would have guessed. A stranger haphazardly tugs a life vest over each of their heads, and Mulder idly wonders if anyone notices the irony of that.

Two burly, hefty men he’s never seen before take up the oars as Jules and Harlan settle in beside them, Harlan still clasping his gun despite the handcuffs. No one’s going to jump out of the rowboat. Out here in the open ocean, on a night this stormy, that’s a death sentence in and of itself.

As they pull away from the shore, immediately battling waves that seem far too high for their little boat to navigate, Mulder reaches over and clasps Scully’s hands in his. Their life jackets bump awkwardly and he can hardly see a thing.

“We’re going to capsize,” Scully mutters over the roar of the storm, and Mulder’s stomach clenches. How will either of them survive being thrown into the sea when their hands aren’t free to swim?

Out in the distance, Mulder spots the lights of the waiting yacht bobbing furiously in the stormy sea. It’s clear where they’re going; it’s not clear what will happen to them once they’re on board.

The rowboat lurches violently in a big swell and someone screams. He starts to hope that maybe Jules and Harlan will fall overboard and that this will all end here. Hell, maybe he could even manage some creative maneuvering to jostle one or both of them out of the boat. As if reading Mulder’s thoughts, Harlan pokes Scully’s back with his gun. Ah, he remembers.

Characteristically, he gets sick about ten minutes into the rough journey, and to his mortification, he has to lean over Scully’s lap to vomit overboard.

“God, Scully, don’t remember me like this,” he pleads half-jokingly as he retches over her knees, “don’t let this be your last memory of me.”

“Jesus, Mulder.” She clings to him in the choppy ocean and rubs at his back soothingly with her bound hands.

They eventually do reach the yacht, to Mulder’s surprise and relief. One of the rowers docks the rowboat alongside the yacht and points out a ladder leading up to the deck. He doesn’t know how they’re supposed to scale the ladder in these conditions, with hands bound, but Harlan points that gun at them again, and they make their wobbly, dangerous ascent, Scully going first.  

As he and Scully clamber over the side of the yacht and onto the deck, he sees Jules and Harlan retreat back into the rowboat, taking a seat next to the rowers. The rowboat jumps wildly in the ocean but they don’t pull away from the yacht. They remained docked there, as if they’re waiting for someone.

Mulder glances around expectantly. Are they being abandoned on board? Marooned on the open ocean on a stormy night? That can’t be too bad. Scully can steer a ship, right?

But then he sees someone approaching, a gun held aloft in his hands.

Oh, shit, he remembers with a violent start.

Evan.

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: leather jacket, pay phone, Southern accent.

Mulder’s Southern accent is pure Hilton Head; the Long Island Lockjaw of the magnolia-and-sweet-tea set. His mother’s people came from here and he learned to golf with them. Mulder knows about Lowcountry food and unironic madras trousers and herons in the pre-dawn light. He knows when to say “The War of Northern Aggression,” with a laconic wink.

Mulder knows all the lyrics to “The Battle of New Orleans.” He happily eats shrimp with the heads still on.

Scully - lower middle class Navy brat with aristocratic cheekbones and a chip on her fine shoulder - is his acceptable Yankee wife. She’s never going to say “pecan” the proper way. Never going to cut her eyes just right at white shoes after Labor Day. They named her Jessica and said she was from Sag Harbor, and the Louis Vuitton tote bag is getting her by.

Scully, in AquaNet and Lilly Pulitzer, misses Mulder’s Mid-Atlantic cool, his New England snobbery. Misses his firm opinions on Chicago-style pizza (a casserole) and Billy Joel (unironic legend). She wants her hand pressed to his sternum in a grey t-shirt and a leather jacket, a faded hoodie from the Vineyard.

Mulder (Emmett, she hisses in her own head) knows that quality families would never repair the upholstery because it’s déclassé to care. Would never

Mulder eats a cheese straw, Mulder nuzzles her tingling ear in the steamy June evening, tells a funny story at the Cavendish-Lawrence wedding.

“I swear to Christ, Jessica had to pull over and find a payphone,” Mulder says, to his starry—eyed audience. “My poor sweet girl on the side of the road with a tornado alert, ordering Christmas presents.”

Mulder clutches her to him, his fingers big and hot and wide against her waist as the audience titters with admiration. Mulder smells like fresh cotton and old money. Mulder looks like the best terrible decision she’ll ever make.

She’s going to fuck him tonight, she decides. She simply cannot stand it anymore, and it would be such a shame to waste away without having had him, like some medieval ascetic. She wants him to lick her tattoo, to bind her to the living world.

Mulder drops a kiss on her buzzing cheek, near the tiny neutron star encroaching on her very essence.

She hears the tide lap against the dock, laughs the way Jessica is expected to laugh.

She feels alive, like sparks rising towards the sun.

[scullygazer]

Hi! I know you shared your top 10(ish) episodes in the questionnaire and I’d love to hear why those episodes!!

Hope you’re having a wonderful week!

❤️🤍 secret santa 🤍❤️

Hi!!! 👋💜

This is a hard question, for the S1 episodes, Eve and Darkness Falls are two that got me hooked on the show. I love the parts in Eve where Mulder and Scully are playing "parents" to the Eves, I feel like that was really sweet (until they find out they are evil of course and poisoned their drinks 😂).

Darkness Falls is one of my favorites not just for Scully's awesome and iconic colorful jacket but because I enjoy the outdoorsy eps (Quagmire and Detour are like that too for me). There is something about Mulder and Scully being out in the middle of nowhere that leads them to the best bonding moments and them talking and having deep conversations on cases is so sweet and I feel like those are some of my favorite scenes on the show. I always wish we had seen more of that type of thing throughout the series.

Wetwired is a really interesting one to me. I love how they show that Scully's worst fear is Mulder betraying her. It's so sad in the scene where Mulder thinks the body they found is Scully and I feel so bad for him when he thinks that she is dead. Losing Scully is his worst fear. They really have grown to love and trust each other so much even though it has only been a few years that they have been working together at this point. Scully also in the scene at her mother's house is so well-written (it's very intense and you can really I think feel how scared Scully is that Mulder will hurt her and also seeing her at the end of that scene with her mother was sweet as well). I think both Gillian and David are amazing in their roles and this episode shows that and how well they play their characters.

The Dreamland eps are kind of funny at various moments but I also think that there are parts of it that show different sides of the characters. We see Mulder and Scully in the car at the beginning and Scully talks about her desire to live a "normal life" at times and that I think is a big part of the show. She is torn between settling down and getting married and having a family and her life with Mulder solving cases and traveling. I find it interesting that Mulder sort of gets a taste of that in his body swap where he ends up switching lives with a married man with kids. I also would have loved to see Scully body swap with somebody (perhaps even Mulder 😁). Also, Mulder being such a good guy and trying to help with Fletcher's marriage is great too.

Thank you so much for stopping by! I hope you are having a great week and that you have a wonderful weekend as well! 💜

[spookyshipperfics]

Fascinating

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: M

Tagging: @today-in-fic

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

What is it About? An awkward hiking scenario results in Mulder and Scully sharing a tent. The problem... Skinner is also there.

*This could probably pass for T, but I went with M just to be safe.

Read it: “What do you mean you forgot the tents?” Mulder’s voice competed against the distant rumble of thunder. His eyes bounced accusingly between Scully and Skinner.

“I thought you packed them, Agent Scully?”

“I thought I did, Sir.” Scully was all innocence and raised eyebrows. “When you said the tents were ‘ready to go’ in your garage, I assumed you meant in the backpacks.”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Mulder muttered.

Scully whipped her head in his direction, her gaze hot daggers. Mulder knew her patience was thin. That if Skinner wasn’t here, he could very well be a victim of homicide at her capable hands.

“At least one of us is prepared,” Mulder added, smirking despite Scully’s wrath. There was something cute about her annoyance. Rosey cheeks and exaggerated eye rolls were a secret treat.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“Maybe it’s the witch. Tearing us apart. Creating chaos.”

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to blame this on some outlandish folk myth,” she shot back. “If that’s the case, I’d have to declare your theory—”

“Fascinating,” he intruded. The bickering was always fun, even with Skinner there to bear witness. He almost felt guilty as a raindrop hit her forehead. The weather had soured as quickly as the mood. Still, Scully wasn’t supposed to be here. Neither was Skinner.

It had started as a slide show presentation on the Burkittsville disappearances. It wasn’t an X-File, not really. Dating back to the 1880s, the mystery had no federal call to action. The missing persons reports were never verified. The idea that a witch was behind it all seemed even more unlikely. Mulder wasn’t surprised when Scully shot him down. It wouldn’t stop him from investigating on his own time, and he’d told her so. What Mulder hadn’t expected was for Scully and Skinner to follow him. The excuse: Skinner was an avid hiker when he wasn’t pushing pencils. The truth: they were worried he’d go rogue again. After all, it hadn’t been that long since he’d jumped ship, quite literally, off of the Queen Anne.

Now, Mulder was shoved into a tent with Scully and Skinner, the avid hiker who apparently couldn’t be bothered with double-checking he’d packed pertinent survival gear. It had been too far to hike back. The impending rain demanded they make camp quickly, none of them considering what the next steps would look like. With the tent erect and raindrops pelting, the next steps were… rough.

Awkwardness invaded the space, which was not quite big enough for two people, never mind three. They took turns stripping off heavy jackets and boots while avoiding eye contact. No one was getting into pajamas. That much was clear.

After pulling off his sweatshirt, Mulder’s nighttime attire would consist of jeans and a cotton T-shirt. Skinner—well, he didn’t actually care what Skinner would be sleeping in because Scully had been hiding skin-hugging leggings and a baggy sweatshirt beneath her coat. The reveal stole Mulder’s attention, and he forced himself to avert his eyes as she took to hands and knees to spread thermal-insulated blankets across the tent floor.

Mulder cursed and thanked the universe when they decided he would occupy the middle spot. It makes the most sense, Skinner had rationalized, and Scully had agreed while worrying her bottom lip.

God, that lip.

Mulder couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like between his own teeth. The image haunted him to the tent floor where he realized sleeping between his beautiful partner and his boss would be just as this-can’t-be-happening horrible as he hypothesized. But it was happening. Just like a restless, dead asleep Skinner was scooting closer to him and, in turn, sending him nearer to Scully. It was cruel, really. Of all the times he’d fantasized about getting Scully into bed, it never accounted for Skinner snoring behind him. If it weren’t for the steady thump of rain or his sheer exhaustion, irritation would have kept him awake like caffeine.

The next time his eyes fluttered open, the pinky beginnings of sunrise had invaded the tent just like he had invaded Scully’s space. Wrapped around her like a cat, his hand had slipped under her shirt, fingers resting just beneath the swell of her breast. He startled at the realization, his heart reeving to life like a chainsaw. Scully shifted and stiffened. The universe’s second sinister joke. Mulder had his hand up Scully’s shirt, and now she knew.

He pulled away extraordinarily slow like he wanted to extract the pin from a grenade without triggering an explosion. His palm barely moved two inches when she stopped him. The grenade might not have exploded, but he nearly did. To his total disbelief, Scully’s little hand tugged his upward until it returned to where it started.

Hesitant fingers extended to caress soft skin with this new permission. He explored the warm space beneath the weight of her breast as his thumb stretched higher until he couldn’t take it anymore and cupped her fully. Scully whimpered. His jeans got tighter. Skinner still snored from behind him, the sound far enough away that he must have rolled over.

Mulder could care less. Scully’s breast was in his unworthy hand. He squeezed. He fondled. He teased her nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. Scully wiggled backward. Her back rammed into his chest, her backside against his eager groin. Her sweet-smelling hair muffled his groan.

There were thousands of words on the tip of his tongue. Questions. Assurances. Dirty sentiments. All of them were lost in the moment. Instead, he chose greed. His hand slid from her breast to the band of her leggings. He needed to feel her. To know if she was as wet and warm as he suspected. His fingertips dipped beneath the elastic of her pants just as Skinner’s heavy arm slammed across his waist.

Mulder almost screamed from the suddenness. He’d just gone from rounding third base to Skinner intercepting the ball. If Mulder listened closely enough, he could practically hear Skinner shouting, “You’re out, loser.” Mulder cuddled Scully. Skinner cuddled Mulder. If anyone had walked in, the three of them would surely be filing for unemployment. Maybe they’d even have to settle for jobs slinging peanuts at his metaphorical baseball field.

“Mmmm,” Skinner mumbled. “Shit. Sorry.”

Mulder grumbled a bitter “Don’t worry about it,” but nobody was there to hear it. Scully fled the tent with mutterings of “getting breakfast” while Skinner scooted away like he’d been electrocuted.

When Skinner requested privacy to change, Mulder exited the tent. Scully had a few protein bars in her hand and tossed him one with a shy smile. The forest smelled like rain. A dampness hung around them, dark and gray. There was something else there, though.

Hope.

The sun’s rays warmed the higher they got. Bright light penetrated the tree line. Birds chirped, hinting at good things to come. He felt the same about Scully, standing there with mussed hair and peach-colored cheeks. Energy had shifted. Their weather pattern had changed. The forecast, he hoped, was bright and sunny.

“Hi,” he offered.

“Hi.” Scully dropped her gaze before resettling on his eyes and then his lips.

“This morning… I…” Bright and sunny, he reminded himself. “I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen. That there isn’t something there.” He almost slapped a hand over his mouth.

Scully’s cheeks blazed pink, and his stomach flip-flopped. Suddenly, the need to apologize rose like bile in his throat. They were partners. Co-workers. “Scully… listen,” he stumbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, Mulder,” she interjected, chin proud and shoulders back. Her stare was still glued to his lips. “I liked it.”

Mulder nearly fell to his knees, but then he noticed Skinner had appeared. The assistant director strode up with a brow-furrowing expression on his face. “Liked what?”

Mulder couldn’t help the glower that consumed his face. In one poorly timed second, Skinner returned to public enemy number one. “Scully… uh… was just saying how much she liked my theory on the Burkittsville witch.”

“Really?” Skinner’s eyebrows arched in disbelief.

“Really,” Mulder echoed. “What were you just calling it, Scully? You used a very particular adjective.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she was always quick to play the part. His partner. His friend. The woman who had stolen his heart the moment he’d met her. “Fascinating,” she grumbled.

And just like that, Mulder was grinning again.

Come show some love on a03 here.

[myassbrokethefall]

xf rewatch: jersey devil & shadows

Two early-series stinkers (affectionate) that, at least in the case of Jersey Devil, have achieved cult status or at least meme status for generally being enjoyable as hell. I imagine Fox executives side-eyeing a little, like, what is this, bring back those Squeeze guys or that Chris Carter who wrote the first couple… Really? Uh oh.

I have a deep and abiding love for Shadows partly because I once wrote a recap of it for a fan project, and being me I watched it like 85 times while taking copious notes and turned in a probably 10,000-word analysis, so I know it very well. I DO feel my love for it is justified, partly in its campiness and general silliness (GHOST BOSS. BLOOD BATHTUB. MURDER… AT THE ATM [MACHINE]) but also because Mulder and Scully are great in it, really Detectiving the hell out of the case, interviewing a hilariously mannered and conveniently expositional cemetery groundskeeper, doing a face-to-face with the medical examiner (Howard Graves… Is Very Dead) (she is my favorite, I say this every time, RIP Lorena Gale), and really using their combined powers of Believing and Skeptical in convincing Lauren to cooperate. Yes, there are TWO entire scenes where Scully misses the paranormal thing by seconds; yes, Mr. Dorlund is transparently evil to a ridiculous degree; yes, Lauren wears A LOT of Laura Ashley-ish florals (and this is the episode of Scully's glorious Halloween outfit of black suit, orange blouse, white tights; ah I love it). But, look, at the end, the case is over, and Mulder is like, well, case is over. Should we maybe go see the Liberty Bell? How often do we get to see scenes like that?? For that bit alone I love it, and that's without the Mulder slo-mo (in all of our hearts) jacket swing, Scully's Poltergeist impression and general horror-movie knowledge at the ready, Mulder with his feet on the chair, once again Dr. Ellen Bledsoe being the greatest, Mr. Dorlund getting his uh, wrist squeezed very threateningly with his uh, gold bracelet, by a ghost, Mulder's UNNECESSARILY flirty move of swinging his arm around Scully and breathing on his glasses to show her he snagged a fingerprint… ah it's great. Forget those Squeeze guys, hire these dudes! …They what? OUTSTANDING news.

One more thing I find amusing about Shadows is, I recently was reminded of Glen's ancedote that it came out of a note they got that Mulder and Scully needed to help people. Heheh. "This bitch needs help, get in there, you jerks!" I yelled at Mulder and Scully in multiple scenes this time through. I'd say Ghost of Howard Graves ultimately did more helping in the end, with his supernatural powers, but they tried. And they managed to stop saying vaguely flirtatious dialogue while staring intensely into each other's eyes long enough to at least give her a little encouragement I guess.

I skipped right over Jersey Devil, which is also a silly episode but, honestly, I think comes off better of the two of them. On the other hand, would I say that without the legendary appearance of the Bigfoot Titties drawing? Hard to say. I should add that Mulder and Scully are CRIMINALLY adorable in these episodes, still in their rosy-cheeked (or over-blushed), round-faced big-eyed high-voiced toddler days, and it is difficult to imagine that THE UNIVERSE COULD CONTAIN anything cuter than the last scene (Who was that on the phone? A guy. Same guy as the other night? Same guy. What are you doing, Scully? Going with you to the Smithsonian.) Despite them referencing (in BOTH these episodes) the having or not having of a life (side note, I can't express how common the phrase "get a life" or "he has no life" were back then; that was like cool slang man), vestiges of said life-having remain, with Scully having girl talk with Ellen (I remain obsessed with that exchange: "I thought you said he was cute"/"He's a jerk. …He's not a jerk. He's obsessed with his work"), The Date, Scully's old professor (wonder if she fucked that one. ha), and even more subtle things like Mulder saying "Thanks, Fran" after signing out a car. (Other people work at the FBI! And Mulder and Scully know their names!) (I also found endearing the extremely quick shot of the comics that Fran has taped to her desk. Very nice little set detail.) It all feels so ordinary and workplacey, which I am finding really enjoyable; it's like, a normal government office where people work, and Mulder and Scully also work there, and it just enhances it (enhance!!) when they're working a case and suddenly like a ghost causes a car accident. Or when a hot naked lady (I was impressed with how clear her ass was in the iTunes version of this; I suppose they didn't really bother to blur it back in the standard-definition days and I guess now we are all enlightened in the seeing of asses on TV) attacks Mulder in a dramatically lit warehouse. (Hey baby, come up to Vancouver, you can be on my show! Is something I suspect DD said a lot in the early to mid 90s.)

I'm really not trying at all with this post, sorry. I will wrap up with the revelation that, at least according to the procedural forensic efforts of my friend and me, Bill Dow who plays Chuck Burks plays NOT ONE, BUT TWO DADS in this episode — the guy in the 40s, and the guy at the end hiking with his kid. (Same kid too, I think.) Yes? No? Why isn't Chuck Burks on the convention circuit? Is my question.

Anyway, The X-Files rules. Next up, Ghost in the Machine, which I haven't seen in ages so that should be fun. Sorry these posts are so incredibly lame, lmao. Send tweet