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i’m gonna THROW UP look at them

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Mulder Would Never Let Scully Walk Away with Words Left Unsaid

I could never understand some fics/meta where Scully and Mulder dance around their feelings until Scully feels wounded, won't communicate, and splits their relationship with silence. And the problem doesn't have too much to do with Scully (aside from the fact that she faces hardship head on with shoulders squared, not backing down from personal problems.) The problem, really, rests with Mulder's characterization.

Mulder, with all his flaws and fixations, would have too much righteous fury to let Scully walk away with words unsaid.

Not in a bad way, either:

In Ice he spits out "I want to trust you." In Beyond the Sea, he yells "You could be dead right now!" In One Breath, he rails against Scully's coma, her family's decisions, the men that were getting away with her abduction and impending death. In Anasazi, he confronts Scully over her perceived treachery ("taking your LITTLE NOTES.") In Elegy, he snaps that Scully withheld information from him, implying that she owed him more because of their trust and partnership. In All Souls he admits his heightened fear that Scully was being emotionally manipulated by what Father Joseph(?) was saying. And pivotally in FTF he ran into the hallway when Scully was literally walking out of his life, pinning her on her misunderstandings and telling her intensely how wrong she was by confessing his love in the most Mulder way possible. His intensity and fervor isn't threatening: it's raw, intense vulnerability-- with Scully, with informants, with his parents, with his boss, with his friends, with his enemies. This continues the rest of the series (Triangle, One Son, Milagro, Field Trip, En Ami, Closure, etc.)

The only time Mulder has ever let Scully leave something unsaid is because she was fragile in the face of another trauma, giving her space to recover before he probed the issue further: the almost rape in Genderbender, Scully's second kidnapping in Irresistible, her injury in Fresh Bones, her prison jump scare in The List, her bristle in Never Again, her avoidance in Memento Mori, most of her health scares in Elegy, her daughter's death in Emily, her Pfaster part two in Orison, etc.) His deep care for her revolves on the axis of trust: he will let her recover, but he inevitably needs her to be transparent with him.

This is a core part of Mulder's character from day one: David Duchovny talked about how he portrayed Mulder as an intense, morose character, narrow-mindedly searching for the Truth to the detriment of everything. He often incorporated that fallen-from-a-pedestal quality in Mulder's reactions to Scully, making him disagreeable, taciturn, and more human. And Mulder made his intentions clear from the first time he met Scully, baldly telling her he knew she was a spy each and every step of the way until she earns his trust with her guileless, morally impeccable behavior.

Mulder is a man who sniffs something buried and digs and digs and digs at it until it's brought into the sunlight and exposed. He has always treated-- will always treat-- Scully the same; and she respects that about him, trying to answer as transparently as she can in the moment (always honest, yet not always vulnerable.) Whenever Scully has withdrawn, Mulder has pursued. (That's also why Scully was so confused in Three Words when Mulder was listless in the face of many unanswered personal questions-- his trauma manifesting until he is given an enemy to pursue. But that's a post for another time.)

This perception of Mulder not only tramples on MSR's delicate balance with their layers of communication; but, more importantly, portrayed Mulder as someone who would let Scully go years without addressing THAT THING just because he wouldn't want to lose her. And while it's true that Mulder and Scully don't talk about THOSE THINGS openly, it's not because he's afraid (or she's afraid) he'll lose his partner: far from it, he's too certain she'll put up with all his nonsense and come along anyway (and all the shenanigans she's endorsed-- and will endorse-- prove him right.) In fact, Mulder's lesson was not to brush Scully aside and not to too easily abuse her sacrificial nature ("selfish and narcissistic", "mystery of the heart", "life on this planet".) He just didn't want to talk about THOSE THINGS yet; because he couldn't "settle down, ...approach something of a normal life" because Samantha was still unrecovered. But that's another story for another time~.

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OctoberFicFest Day 5: Serpent

This year I’m using the Spooktober prompts from ArtSeaMoni on Twitter.  Rated T for some mentions of sex.  A brief expansion on “Never Again”.

She was afraid of snakes, once.  Now she’s getting one inked on her skin.  Ed watches her with eager eyes, his lips parted.  He keeps wetting them with his tongue, the tip darting out.  The parallels are not lost on her.

Nor is the idea that the symbol she’s chosen is more associated with Mulder than with anything else in her life.  She knew of the ouroboros before she met him, she thinks.  She isn’t certain anymore: many of the things she knew have been reforged in the crucible of their shared thoughts, their origins lost in the heat of their debate.  Sometimes her mind feels like a snake, her thoughts coiled and muscular, weighty, lulled to sluggishness or primed to strike.

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A prompt if I may ask for one, how sick does Scully have to get before she will admit she is sick? Cancer arc hurt/comfort please

I hope this enough hurt/comfort! There's definitely cancer arc angst. Wc: 1340. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Fictober Day 2: Whispered Words

She's been on her feet all day, slicing and dicing, trying to keep up with Mulder. Same old, same old. Except it's not. Her muscles protest as she changes out of her scrubs. Her legs barely lift, and she stumbles, catching herself just in time against the lockers. She looks around, her cheeks flaming red, but she's all alone. She sits down to tie her shoes and when she leans forward, the slight headache she's been ignoring all day, presses against her forehead, reminding her of the unspeakable.

Mulder is waiting for her, roaming the halls restlessly like a caged animal.

"There you are," he says when he sees her, and she forces a smile. "Any anomalies?" He asks, cracking a sunflower seed. The sound is loud in her ears, and she startles.

"No," she says, "nothing abnormal." Mulder makes a disappointed noise. She can't blame him; they're stuck in this case, every lead a dead end.

"Let's go back to the office. There must be something we're missing." She tries to keep up with Mulder's long, athletic strides and finds that she can't. She should have kept on her sneakers. The heels squish her toes, make her slow and sluggish. Mulder stops to open a door and Scully, breathless, averts her face so that he doesn't notice. When his fingers come into contact with her back, right where they always do, at the tip of her tattoo, tears shoot into her eyes. Her glazed skin cracks and she winces.

Mulder, oblivious to her internal turmoil, removes his hand but the pain remains. Ahead of her, his form turns blurry. Every step is agony, like she's walking on coals. The heat spreads thickly, gathers in her stomach.

"Scully? Are you okay?"

How many 'I'm fine's’ are too much, she wonders as she stares at him, leaning against the wall. She's breathless, can't take in enough air. Her stomach revolts against everything and she prays silently like she never has before to please, please not be sick right here, right now.

"Hey." Mulder is by her side, crouching down to be eye-level with her. She doesn't want to look at him. She wants to tell him that she's fine. She wants to be okay.

"I'm- I don't-," she breaks up, sobs; she doesn't want to cry but her tears fall anyway. If she doesn't say it, if she doesn't admit she's sick, then she won't be, right?

"It's okay," Mulder says and touches her arm. "Do you- can you walk on your own? Do you need an ambulance? I'm gonna call-"

"Mulder, no." She puts her hand on his where it lays on her arm. "I just want to go home. Just... home."

He helps her out of the building and into the car. They're taking baby steps. One foot in front of the other as if she's just learned how to do it. Mulder is quiet next to her but his thoughts are screaming, piercing through her mind.

"What about work?" She asks once they start driving. Her tongue feels three times its normal size and it's a struggle to get the words out.

"Work can wait. It's not that important."

Any other day she would protest. Any other day she'd tell him she was better already. Today, though, she stays silent, accepts the fate her body has inflicted on her.

She leans her head against the cold glass window, watches the scenery pass by. It makes her nauseous. They drive past roadkill; a small fox, its life over before it's really begun. Scully closes her eyes against the pain, against the unfairness of it all.

She doesn't remember falling asleep but when she opens her eyes again, they're at her apartment building and she's in Mulder's arms.

"What are you doing?" She asks, her voice thick with sleep.

"Didn't have the heart to wake you," he says, his words in her hair, like new fallen snow. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick," she says, too exhausted to lie.

"We're almost there. Can you stand? I need to unlock the door." As if she were his grandmother's porcelain, he puts her down and opens the door.

"I can walk," she says quickly before Mulder can pick her up again. He follows her like a guard dog, watching her every move. She walks straight to her bedroom and collapses on the bed.

"Do you want me to call your mother?"

"What for?" She mumbles, feeling Mulder remove her shoes.

He doesn't answer right away but he's still there because she feels his hand on her ankle.

"Mulder?" She asks.

"To help you... get changed, eat something. Do you want me to call her?"

"No. I'm fine." As long as she doesn't open her eyes again. She will manage. Her clothes are loose enough to sleep in; she's done so before.

"Tell me if anything is uncomfortable." She hears Mulder's voice, but it doesn't register. The sound of a zipper tears through the silence and as cold air hits her legs, she realizes it's her own. Mulder is removing her pants. She should say something, stop him. But she can't. The words won't come. She shivers and Mulder mumbles an apology, quickly finding her pajamas.

"I won't look," he swears with a gentle smile that distracts her for just a moment. He opens her blouse, one button at a time. "Bra on or off?" He asks, glancing at her face. Only someone who's never worn a bra would ask that question.

"Off," she manages to say. Mulder nods, keeps his eyes on her face and takes her bra off. How often has she dreamed about Mulder undressing her? How many fantasies has she had? None have ever been like this. Not a single one. She’d scream if she had the strength.

He helps her into an oversized t-shirt that she's certain used to be his. Neither comments on it.

"Lie down," he says. "I'll get you your meds." Scully listens to him moving around in her kitchen and swearing once or twice. She can't move. Her eyes keep falling shut, too heavy to stay open. She fights it, fights everything. Somewhere in her apartment, Mulder is talking. She hears snippets, deducts that he must be talking to her mother. 'Tired' is one word, 'worried' and 'stubborn' are uttered as well.

"I'll take care of, Mrs. Scully. I won’t leave her alone," Mulder says close to her bedroom. Fresh tears threaten to fall. This is everything she didn't want. Nothing was supposed to change. She's a medical doctor and she should know better. This is only the beginning.

"I'll call you if anything changes. Bye." Mulder walks back into the bedroom and sets a cup of tea and crackers on her nightstand. He leaves again, returns with a small bucket, a towel, and another blanket.

"I hope you're not crying cause the tea tastes bad." She touches her cheek, unaware that she's started crying. "Do you need anything else? Do we need to call your doctor?"

We. Not her, we. She merely shakes her head no, not trusting her voice.

"I won't leave. Anything you need, just tell me. Okay? Anything at all." He touches her forehead, his fingertips gentle against her skin.

"Try to get some rest, hm?"

"Where are you going?" She asks him.

"The living- I can stay here if you want." She's too tired to fight it. She knows in half an hour, an hour tops, her limbs will feel as if they're freezing. She will shiver and there will be nothing that can keep her warm. Except... tonight, she wants to take. This disease is taking from her every day, chipping away at her life every passing moment. Tonight she'll, too, be outlandishly demanding.

"Stay," she whispers. "Please stay."

In the next few hours, she falls in and out of sleep, eats, drinks and gets sick. Repeatedly. Mulder is right there with her, never once leaving her side. In the morning, when she feels better, they don’t mention it. They never do.

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Torn between wanting the Dr to hurry up and do my covid test, so I can leave home quarantine tomorrow, and not wanting him to interrupt the Men's diving final!

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INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS (2009) + letterboxd reviews insp

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Just some hurt/comfort set after “Folie à Deux”. Tagging @today-in-fic

Shared Comfort

“Oh Mulder,” his name falls from her lips in a tortured whisper. He watches as she applies medical ointment to his red, chafed wrists, the scent making his eyes water. Or that��s what he tells himself anyway.

Looking at Scully, seeing her vibrant hair, her blue, watery eyes, he is filled with calmness. There‘s no sound here except for her breathing, and his own thoughts. 

“Think I‘ll live, doc?”

“Not funny,” she says with a stern look. “How are you feeling? Do you want me to give you something to sleep?”

He shakes his head. “The nurse, she… I should be asleep already.” He‘s bone-tired, his muscles aching. But how can he close his eyes? Falling asleep does not seem like an option. 

“It‘s the adrenaline,” Scully says, putting the cap back on the ointment. She continues to rub his wrist, applying gentle pressure. “It will wear off soon. You need to sleep, Mulder.”

He shakes his head and gives her half a smile. “You should sleep though.” He looks around, for the first time realizing that Scully only got them one hotel room. There‘s only one bed. “Are you- you‘re not leaving, are you?” His voice sounds shaky to his own ears. 

“I thought we could share for the night.” There‘s an innuendo stuck in his throat that he swallows.

“Thank you,” he says instead.

“Is there anything you need?” Her fingers are still wrapped around his wrist, but she‘s not trapping him; she‘s anchoring him here, to this moment. He‘s overcome by thankfulness for her. By love, too. She‘s done so much for him already. How can he ask for more, again and again?

When she became his partner, she didn‘t sign up to share his trauma, all his nightmares. This one barely scratches the top ten of what he‘s gone through. Yet, he can‘t fathom closing his eyes and losing sight of her. 

He doesn‘t have the right to ask her, but he can‘t fight his exhaustion any longer.

“Can you just… stay?” Her expression is puzzled. “Hold me?” he asks in barely a whisper.

“Of course.” Her reply is just as soft before she helps him lie down, covering him with the comforter. “I‘ll be right back,” she promises, quickly running her fingers through his hair. He listens to the intimate sounds of her bathroom routine that he knows she‘s keeping short tonight. For him. She‘s back before he‘s dared to blink.

“Promise me you‘ll try to sleep,” she says, her breath smelling of toothpaste. “I will be here.”

“I know,” he says. “You believed me, Scully.” He blinks, his eyes feeling as heavy as lead. 

“I saw it,” she admits, meeting his eyes. 

“So we‘re both crazy now, huh?” His eyes drift close but he cracks a smile.

“You‘re not crazy, Mulder.”

“Are you coming on to me, Scully?” He wonders if he‘s asleep already, if maybe this conversation is just a dream. He scoots closer to her, shamelessly stealing her warmth and her strength. But she doesn‘t seem to mind. Instead she holds him closer, her hand on his back as if to steady him. His one in five billion. Who else would hold his broken soul and cherish it?

She doesn‘t reply, but he never expected her to. Her hand finds his, her slender fingers tangling with his broken ones. She lets go of his hand and he‘s about to protest when she touches his lip where it bust open. 

“Kiss it better?“ He jokes, wondering how many innuendoes he has to throw out until she bites.

“Will it hurt if I do?” 

He must have reached the magic number. His eyes open and he can barely make out her face. 

“I don‘t know,” he says, staring at her. The sheets rustle as she leans over and presses the lightest kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Did it hurt?”

“No. No pain.”

“Good. Try to sleep now, Mulder.”

“Hmm,” he hums. He wants to say more, needs her to know that he needs her here. That her arms are holding him together and safe from the nightmares. 

“I won‘t let go,” she promises, tightening her grip on him. But he doesn‘t need to say anything because she already knows.

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msr + tenderness | redux 2

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7x10 / 10x04

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 9: Stubbed Out

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Even being a coward takes effort.

Mulder’s been stressed for days, trying to forget his phone conversation with Mark and attempting to hide his agitation from Scully. It’s not going well. He hasn’t successfully kept many secrets from her since they met, and at this point it’s practically impossible. If Mulder acts at all furtive or suspicious, she catches on like a shark smelling blood in the water and circles him until he surrenders.

Maybe she’s deeply perceptive; maybe he’s just not that subtle.

His resolve to keep his mouth shut lasts until Wednesday, just after lunch.

He’s built himself a fortress of stacks of newspapers on the desk, leafing through them with a magnifying glass. Scully’s in the annex, looking at some fibers under the microscope. They’ve got a case, which usually sucks up all his attention, but the phone call from a few days before is still buzzing in his ears.

“Hey, uh, has Mark mentioned the cafe incident?” he asks from across the room.

Scully keeps her eyes on the microscope. “No, he hasn’t, actually. It was hardly an incident,” she adds, switching out the slide. “You need to relax.”

Clearly, she’d picked up on his nervous energy. For once, he wishes Scully could just read his mind. Then I wouldn’t have to figure out how to tell her, Mulder thinks.

There’s no easy way out of this.

“Have you seen him since then?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Scully huffs out a breath. “We went out last night. Mulder, I’m trying to focus-”

“He called me,” Mulder admits suddenly. “On Sunday.” Whelp, consider the beans spilled, Mark, he thinks. You dick.

Scully looks up at him then, brows furrowed. “He did? Why?”

“First of all, let me make it clear that I wanted nothing to do with any of this,” Mulder says, setting down the newspaper. “He dragged me into it. I wasn’t going to say anything but it’s been pissing me off.”

Scully gets up from the little table and walks over to the desk, perching on the edge of the chair across from him. “Mulder,” she says slowly, “What are you talking about?”

“Mark called me on Sunday night, saying he had some questions for me regarding your character.”

“My character,” Scully echoes, eyes sharp and questioning.

“That’s what he said,” Mulder says, picking up a pencil and rolling it between his fingers nervously. His heart is leaping in his throat. “But what he really wanted to know was if you… um. Sleep around.”

The words land heavily, their weight sending ripples through Mulder’s body.

Scully’s face turns to stone. “Really,” she says tightly. “I don’t see how that is any business of his, or yours,” she adds.

Mulder’s blood pressure has to be at a record high. “He mentioned something about planning for long term, and his daughter. And he thinks we, um.”

Scully crosses her arms, and Mulder’s never seen such an icy, quiet rage. “He thinks we what, Mulder? Tell me exactly what he said.”

Mulder digs the point of the pencil into the desk until the sharpened lead snaps. “He thinks I fucked you,” he says quietly, not looking at her.

“Oh,” she says, louder than he expected. “Well, that’s lovely, Mulder. Did you happen to tell him that it’s not true?”

“I essentially said ‘see you in hell’,” Mulder admits.

“Right,” Scully says, pressing her lips together so hard they turn white. “And you weren’t going to inform me of this because…”

“Because it’s none of my business,” Mulder explains. “I didn’t want to overstep.”

“A first,” Scully says sharply.

“Hey, I learned from last time,” he replies, feeling suddenly defensive. Why am I in trouble here? “You made it pretty clear after Jerse that this is your life, and I’m genuinely trying to honor that. But your boyfriend called me, Scully. I didn’t ask to get dragged into this shit.”

She’s angry now, and he can’t tell if it’s directed at him or Mark. It feels like both. “You didn’t think I might want to know about this, Mulder? You didn’t think to give me a heads-up that the man I’m seeing thinks I’m an easy lay?”

“Whoa, whoa, nobody said that,” Mulder says quickly. “And I’m telling you now because I think you should know I had this conversation with him. I’m sorry I waited but I was unsure how to-”

Scully’s eyes are red, and Mulder stops. “Scully?” he asks quietly.

“He kissed me,” she says hoarsely. She takes a deep breath. “Can’t think why… don’t really want to think why.”

Mulder feels hot and cold all at once.

“It’s funny,” Scully continues, “I-I could tell he wanted more. It was surprising, and not entirely unwelcome, but I stopped it because something felt off.” She emits one small sniff before setting her jaw firmly. “I guess now it makes sense.”

“Scully…” Mulder says softly.

She gets up from the chair. “Thank you for letting me know,” she says woodenly, before returning to the annex and sitting behind the microscope once more.

Well that went perfectly.

-

They barely speak for the rest of the day, buried in their respective piles of research.

At the end of the day Scully packs her briefcase with short, sharp movements, her shoulders rigid. She slips into her coat, and Mulder sees her mouth set in a grim line.

“Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

She shakes her head once, the smallest negative movement. “I have a phone call to make.”

-

He leaves the office about forty minutes later, a parcel of newspapers under his arm; homework he knows he won’t be able to focus on.

He takes the elevator to the fourth floor of the parking garage, and sees Scully standing at the far end of the row of cars, leaning against the cement wall, cigarette in hand. He walks to her and rests his elbows on the wall, looking out at the twilit city.

“How many of those have you gone through?” Mulder asks, peering around her in search of burnt stubs.

She doesn’t answer, just holds the cigarette out to him. He hesitates, then gingerly takes it and raises it to his mouth. There’s smudges of lipstick on the filter, and he’s not a good enough man to ignore the eroticism of it.

“I haven’t smoked since ’89,” Mulder says, exhaling. He passes the cigarette back to her.

“Sorry to break your streak,” she murmurs, taking a puff. He watches the smoke escape her full lips, her angelic face profaned by tobacco and a dishonest man’s kiss.

“You didn’t,” he says softly.

They watch the world rotate below.

“I broke it off,” she says, eyes tracing the skyline. He doesn’t need to ask what she’s referring to, and she doesn’t elaborate.

Mulder shifts his weight awkwardly. “That night we got drunk… you asked if I thought you were settling.”

“Mm,” she hums. “No spark,” she recalls.

He nods. “It didn’t feel right to say at the time, but the answer was yes. You should be with who you want to be with, Scully. Someone who makes you… makes you feel things. Not the guy who seems good on paper.”

“It would have been right to say,” Scully says. “I asked you. I don’t- I don’t know why you’re suddenly hellbent on staying out of my life, Mulder, when I’m asking you to be in it. I appreciate your respecting my privacy and boundaries, don’t get me wrong; it’s a welcome change from past experiences. But I… I need a friend.”

There’s a tightness in his chest at her words. “I guess I’m overcorrecting,” Mulder admits. “You’ve been through so much hell, had so much taken away… I wanted to let you choose for once.”

Scully shakes her head. “This mentality you have of letting me choose isn’t much better,” she says softly. “Someone else still controls the information. You trying to protect me by omission doesn’t give me much more agency, Mulder.” She stubs out the cigarette and turns back to the rows of parked cars. “You of all people should know the most empowering thing you can give someone.” She starts to walk away.

“What’s that?” he asks.

She looks back at him. “The truth.”

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Mulder and Scully + touch for @danjlevy

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Mulder and Scully through the seasons + hands 

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When We Drive

MSR, rated M- 11.3k words - AO3 Link

Hundreds of hours, thousands of miles, and the conversations Mulder and Scully have in between.

Ch. 1: Corn Fields, High School, and Sexual Debuts

Ch. 2: Early Flights, Used Tissues, and a Swan

Ch. 3: Mars, Mercury, and An Asshole

Ch. 4: Ginger Ale, Saltines, and Shifting Shapes

Ch. 5: Motel Wine, Bushwhacking, and Body Tetris

Ch. 6: Ghost Ships, Bruises, and a Pretty Damn Good Kiss

Ch. 7: Domestic Disputes, a Highway Reverie, and Nachos

Ch. 8: Seven Seconds, Seven Years, and Day One

Ch. 9: Alarm Clocks, Discretion, and Shared Soap

Ch. 10: Resurrection, Gestation, and Frozen Casseroles

Ch. 11: Birth Coaching, Physical Enormity, and Dad

Ch. 12: Getting Out of the Car

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When We Drive, Ch. 10: Resurrection, Gestation, and Frozen Casseroles

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, Rated M

Alexandria, Virginia

April 7, 2001

He’s alive.

Scully can’t decide what feels more unreal; the past six months without him, or the fact that he’s back from the dead, buckled into the passenger seat of her car.

Her belly is cumbersome in its fullness and thrumming with life, and her lower back aches; but she hardly cares. Because Mulder, her Mulder, is breathing and healing and living right next to her.

She looks at him frequently, at safe intervals as she drives. Her eyes graze over the healing scars on his cheeks, the bags under his eyes, his messy crop of hair, and he’s so beautiful she fears she might cry. Again.

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When We Drive, Ch. 7: Domestic Disputes, a Highway Reverie, and Nachos

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated M

Interstate 15, San Diego County, California

3:02 PM PST

March 1, 1999

Scully is mad at him.

She’s stiff in the passenger seat of their stupid undercover minivan, fiddling with a loose thread on her robin’s egg blue sweater set. She looks beautiful in that color, and he almost wants to tell her, but her mood is so sour that he does’t feel like. She’d probably just snap at him again.

He got to spend six days being fake-married to Scully, and not once did they get to enjoy any of the perks of the arrangement. It was a long shot, but Mulder is nothing if not a believer in improbable odds. They spent all of one night in the same bed, but Scully banished Mulder to the couch the next morning after he casually mentioned the fact that she snored. She’d insisted it was allergies due to the premature springlike weather in Southern California, but if it bothered him so goddamn much, he was welcome to take the sofa in the living room from then on.

It was all downhill from there.

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