#LTW: heartbeats

[skelavender]

She takes a breath, “Was Jason someone you’d normally be interested in?” “Yeah.” Scully is silent for a moment. “Did you–” he glances over at her, “Did you not know I’m bisexual?”

read the finale of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

Thankfully, the Bureau allows them to fly out directly from Las Vegas. The flight is smooth, and they touch down in DCA that evening. It had been Mulder’s turn to drive them to the airport, so they fetch his car out of long term parking and head towards Georgetown to drop Scully off. They chat idly until they’re a couple blocks from Scully’s apartment. 

“Mulder,” she says, “The rest of the victims said that their attackers were their type, that they were actually attracted to them. Was that guy–”

“Jason.”

She takes a breath, “Was Jason someone you’d normally be interested in?”

“Yeah.”

Scully is silent for a moment.

“Did you–” he glances over at her, “Did you not know I’m bisexual?”

Scully blinks repeatedly. “Um. No.”

“Oh. Well, uh,” he removes his hands from the wheel to do jazz hands and forces a small laugh, “Happy coming out to me, I guess.”

For a moment, Scully just stares at his profile, at how the passing streetlights dance across his face in a rhythmic fashion as they weave through the tight streets of Georgetown. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Mulder clears his throat and speaks. “You don’t… have an issue with that, do you Scully?”

Scully’s voice has tied itself in a knot at the back of her throat. At the very least she manages a “No.” She wants to say more, wants to tell him about her own experiences, but she can’t manage to get it out.

“Are you sure? You’re acting kind of–”

“I am too,” she blurts, her mouth finally managing to form some actual words.

“Oh.” Mulder’s voice is laced with genuine surprise, a tone she doesn’t usually elicit from him.

Scully takes in a ragged, uneven breath. “I– I’ve never told someone about it before.”

“Oh,” this time, softer, “Thank you for telling me, Scully.”

“I’m not doing the jazz hands.” She does a poor job of breaking the tension, but Mulder gives her a laugh anyway.

“You really didn't know? About me, that is.” He asks.

“No, how should I have?”

“Well, I kind of thought it was an open secret. And you’ve seen me interact with the Gunmen, they flirt with me as much as they do with each other, and vice versa.”

“They– what?”

“You’ve— Jeez, Scully you’ve never noticed that either? Next you’re going to be telling me you didn’t know they were dating.” Scully is oddly silent. Mulder breaks his eyes away from the road to look at her with raised eyebrows. “ Seriously ?”

“Which ones?”

“All of them! All three of them! They’ve been together since ‘91!”

“Oh. No, I didn’t know. Is there anyone else we know in a relationship I’m unaware of?”

Mulder takes a deep breath, and speaks entirely deadpan, “Well, I should probably tell you about my sordid affair with your brother.”

“Yeah, Mulder? You and Charlie?”

“No, don’t be silly. Me and Bill .”

Scully laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

“What, I’m not good enough to boink a Scully?”

That makes her actually snort. Oh buddy, if only you knew . “Please never, ever use the word boink again.”

“Noted,” Mulder laughs as he pulls into a conveniently located parking spot in front of Scully’s building. 

Scully’s eyes are soft when they land on him. “Are you going to be okay tonight, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Scully, I’ll be fine.” He waves his hand dismissively, “I mean, I don’t love the fact that I’ll have to walk around for who knows how long with the last person I kissed having been on a dare like I’m in middle school again, but I’ll be okay.”

He turns to Scully and they lock eyes. She considers him for a moment and lets an idea roll over in her mind. Her eyes fall to his lips.

Fuck it.

“I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to, you better tell me now.” 

Mulder sucks in a surprised breath before letting out a shaky “Alright.” Scully brushes her palm across his cheek to pull him in, and presses her lips to his.

The kiss is so light it’s barely there. The very tips of their lips brush, chaste, but it fills her body with a buzzing sensation, like every one of her cells has been electrified. 

She wants so badly to lean in closer, kiss him harder, deeper, to press into his skin, to climb into his lap, shit, everything . She’d let him fuck her right here. 

But she can’t.

Scully pulls away from her partner after just a moment, putting a couple inches between them. She can’t have it. She can’t let the dynamic change, can’t risk entering a relationship that endangers her job, his mission. More importantly, she can’t risk the rejection. A kiss is a kiss, especially one as feather-light as that one, and people do it meaninglessly every day. The potential of anything more goes hand in hand with the potential of him not wanting that and messing with the dynamic, or, worse, to her losing him entirely. She couldn’t bear it. Their friendship and partnership have to come first. 

She removes her hand from his cheek and pats him on the shoulder casually, as if she hadn’t just crossed the line in the sand. “There you go, Mulder.” she hopes her voice doesn’t sound as fucking wrecked to Mulder’s ears as it does to her own. “Now the last person you kissed isn’t a freaky sex gambler.”

“Uh-huh.” Mulder’s eyes are wide, his voice starstruck. “Thanks,” he adds absently. 

She shifts back into her own seat and grabs her things. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“‘Night, Scully.”

She closes the car door behind her, and as she walks up into her building. She can feel his gaze on her back as she walks up to her building, but doesn’t turn to meet it. The image of his wide eyes, full of something she can’t name, is burned into her retinas as she makes her way into her apartment. 

When she peeks through the blinds, his car is still there on the street.

***

Two hours later, the two agents find themselves in very similar positions, with Scully curled up in her bed and Mulder on his couch. They go through the same waves of missing each other, of longing for the other’s touch, across the ten miles between their apartments. The chill of the emptiness next to them. The hollow silence, which should be filled with another heartbeat.

Mulder makes it two hours before calling Scully. He should be more concerned about waking her, but she hasn’t held it against him thus far. He dials the phone. 

As it rings, he reflects on their time in his car that evening. The awkward coming out, her concern for him, the kiss. 

Damn, the kiss.

It had barely even happened. Mulder’s not entirely convinced he didn’t make it up. Her lips were so light on his, but it left him lightheaded and swaying on the way home. He needed to wait in his car for nearly half an hour before he was present enough in his body to drive home. 

She kissed him. She kissed him.

Mulder will hold the memory close to his chest forever. He doubts he’ll get the chance to kiss her again, doubts he would ever let him, so he’ll take the sense memory – the smell of Scully’s faded honeysuckle perfume and her soft palm against his cheek – and weave it between his ribs so he could keep it close to his heart, tuck it in with his–

“Mulder?” A voice comes through the tinny speaker of his phone, breaking him from his reminiscing. 

“Hey, Scully,” he says, “Did I wake you?”

“No. No, I haven’t, uh, I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Me neither. It’s… I don’t know, too quiet or something? I guess I got used to Vegas pretty quickly.”

“The streets of Alexandria aren’t as exciting at night?”

“Not quite.” He smiles into the phone. “Hey Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder?”

“If I can’t sleep, and you can’t sleep, can I…”

“Come over?” she requests quietly, her tone almost grateful, as if she hadn’t wanted to be the first one to bring the idea up.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” It comes out like a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

A mere 15 minutes later, Mulder raps his knuckles lightly against her door, not wanting to disturb her neighbors. It swings open almost immediately, revealing a robe-clad Scully with her hair tied back. She ushers him into the apartment with no greeting. 

He follows her to the couch, and they take their places a couple feet apart in front of the tv playing a nondescript medical drama. 

“Something specific keeping you up?” Mulder asks, breaking the silence.

She shakes her head, “No. It’s just… one of those nights.”

“I know the feeling. I have a lot of those nights.”

The medical drama fills their lull.

“How accurate are these things?”

“Medically? Not at all. Regarding interpersonal drama…” She makes a so-so gesture, wiggling a flat palm back and forth. 

“Really? Did you have interpersonal drama when you worked in a hospital setting, Dr. Scully?”

She stiffens a little, and scoffs in an attempt to cover it. “You’re going to have to get me pretty drunk if you want me to tell you about my med school sexcapades, Mulder.”

“Sexcapades? I’ll put it on my to-do list.”

Scully shakes her head looking down at the clasped palms in her lap. The right one is laid over the left, hiding the wedding ring she had slipped onto her finger almost as soon as she walked in the door, but forgotten to remove before Mulder had arrived. She doesn’t think he’s noticed it yet. 

He has. He’s just too tired to bring it up, and figures it’s a conversation for when they’re both better rested. 

That’s the same reason he hasn’t asked her why she kissed him in the car. If it had felt as… jeez, felt as magical for her as it had for him. If it had meant as much. 

Mulder breaks his eyes away from the neutral territory of the tv to look over at his partner. A travel day’s worth of puffiness lines the skin under her eyes. He’s used to seeing her this late at night, usually on cases and stakeouts; he’s not used to seeing her this tired this late at night. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you sleep?”

Scully’s eyes flit to his for a moment, but settle on her hands, shy. “No, it’s okay Mulder, I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

He snakes an arm across the back of the couch, fingers brushing the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter closed. “C’mon Scully, lay it on me. What can I do to help?” 

Scully catches the sigh before it leaves her throat, but just barely. She leans her head back into Mulder’s hand, his fingers tangling in the loose bits of hair that are too short to be captured by her bun. Practically reading her mind, Mulder runs his hands through it. When she speaks, she can’t hold back the sigh, “ That. ”

“That’s nothing.” 

When Scully opens her eyes to look at him, he pats his thigh. As she shuffles down to put her head in Mulder’s lap, his nails scrape up through her hair into the bun, and remove her hair tie. He snaps it wordlessly onto his wrist, right next to the one she used to propose to him mere months ago, and continues his ministrations, twirling and scratching and petting her slightly tangled copper locks. 

Scully does not squeak. Really, she would call it more of a dignified sound of contentment. Not a squeak. She certainly does not press further into the soft cotton of Mulder’s sweatpants. 

Absently, she speaks. “I haven’t had someone do this since…” she trails off, trying to think back to the last time someone other than her hairstylist had put their hands in her hair. “Shit, since Ethan, I think.”

“Ethan?” Mulder inquires, curious.

“Guy I was dating when I first got assigned to you. It didn’t last long, he didn’t like all the travel. Didn’t understand how important it is to me.” She pauses for a moment, considering whether or not she should disclose the next piece of information. “I’ve only ever had boyfriends do this.”

“Well you’ve upgraded, Scully. Now you’ve got a husband doing it.”

She hums sleepily, “Thanks, Mulder.”

“Of course. Anything.” It comes out like both a promise and a confession. He means it; she could tell him to jump and he would just ask how high. He would bury a body for her. He would give, and give, and give. Running his hands through her hair doesn’t even register as a favor. If anything, being this close to her and being allowed to touch her like this, so intimately, it’s a selfish act. He would beg on his knees for her to let him do this, to let him care for her like a boyfriend, like another kind of partner. Like he yearns to. 

Scully smiles into his thigh, perfectly content, and closes her eyes. She’s asleep within a couple minutes, and when Mulder notices her breath evening out, he lays his head on the back of the couch. His pinkie settles gently onto her pulse point, counting the steady thadump thadump thadump of her heart, and he follows her to sleep.

<- previous chapter

[randomrats-sims2]

Telly gave birth to a baby boy with Drency eyes at some point (risky woohoo is like that) - this little one is of course Jaufre’s, despite the fact that Telly has slept with both Jaufre and Ames. Naturally, as is the Drency way, Jaufre wants nothing to do with the boy, but abandoning a baby boy (even one with The Curse) comes with it’s risks, so said he ‘might change his mind’.

Now that he’s in prison, he can’t change his mind, and although Ames knows of the child, his mother Verrel does not. If Verrel was the father, well - she’d adopt him in a heartbeat.

Little baby Keeesh (three e’s!) however, had a different fate. Keeesh is born to Ceesendra and Galius, and although being illegitimate, Galius has no legitimate male children (yet, hopefully he doesn’t end up like Robert, taking forever). Although Galius isn’t publicly or legally claiming Keeesh as his child, he is doing so quietly, funding his growth as is possible and being generally present. If Galius doesn’t have any male heirs of proper age should something happen to him, Keeesh will inherit whatever is left.

A part of this is also because Galius’s new marriage to Eved won’t be disrupted with an illegitimate heir, because Galius has always been promiscuous, and is a known cheater. Galius is also too self-centered to care if it makes her angry (and Eved WILL stick around, as her new LTW is a golden anniversary, and leaving to join the church makes that LTW unobtainable.)

Keeesh is also adorable, unlike Hatriel the Living Polygon

[skelavender]

“Here.” He reaches his fist out, palm down and holding the necklace just as he had when he first gave her the chain in their office a couple months ago. Her cupped hand slips under it, and he drops it into her hand.  “Thank you for holding onto it.” “Thank you for letting me.”

read chapter six of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

Mulder’s fingers dance around the chain on his neck as Scully settles into the driver’s seat of their rental car. He tugs gently, and it lifts from under his collar. The ring falls into his palm, and he inspects it alongside his own. He loops the chain off his neck before he can think too hard and does something silly like ask if he can keep it on and let it keep grounding him like it had in the alley. 

“Here.” He reaches his fist out, palm down and holding the necklace just as he had when he first gave her the chain in their office a couple months ago. Her cupped hand slips under it, and he drops it into her hand. 

“Thank you for holding onto it.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

The drive back to their motel is silent. Without discussing it, Scully stops at a pizza shop open late and grabs their usual. Neither of them have eaten since lunch. 

After eating and doing their usual practiced dance of preparing for bed, they lay down next to each other, on their backs and a few inches apart with twin empty stares to the ceiling. Mulder is holding back the touch he craves, with his left hand tucked behind his head to keep him from reaching out and his right resting on his chest, right on the spot where Scully’s ring had burned him back into reality. Scully’s hands rest delicately across her stomach. They’re silent, neither one knowing how to even begin unpacking the events of the evening. 

It’s Scully who finally breaks the silence.  “I’m not mad at you, Mulder. You know that right?”

“Maybe you should be.” he murmurs

“I’m not.” She’s insistent. “I was for a moment, when I first noticed your radio was off and saw you interacting with him instead of focusing on the mission. But not once I realized what was happening. Every victim described their problems and their surroundings becoming irrelevant, Mulder, it’s not your fault.”

“You’re not one of my problems, Scully, you’re my partner.”

“But the case is a problem. It’s to be expected, if these people were able to mess with your head.”

Scully is looking at him now, he can feel her gaze on his profile. He continues to stare into the abyss of the ceiling, refusing to look back at her. “I didn’t even recognize you, Scully, I abandoned you–”

“You didn’t.” She’s more forceful this time. She softens when she continues. “Mulder, let's just… go to sleep, okay? We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright”

Scully reaches out and intertwines her fingers with the hand on his chest. Her touch is light, hesitant. Mulder encourages the contact, strokes his thumb along hers. When she turns away, she takes his arm with her so he’s curled around her, both of them on their sides. He complies, and shuffles closer.

They fit.

***

Scully wakes up in his arms again. It’s only the second time, but she’s starting to recognize the feeling in her chest as that of coming home. Like she has always belonged here, slotted into Mulder’s front side, the contours of his form the edge of a puzzle piece that’s been waiting for her corresponding shape to fill in.

They’ve shifted in the night. She’s laying half on top of him now, palm pressed against the pulse point in the side of his neck as if she had felt the need to check that it had kept going through the night. It isn’t necessary. She can feel his heart in his chest beating right under hers, the rhythms perfectly in sync.

She only realizes he’s already awake when she registers his hand on her head, stroking through her sleep-tangled hair. 

Instinctively, Scully tightens her hold on Mulder. His eyes flick down to see hers open. His hand on her hair stills. 

“Morning, Scully.”

“Good morning Mulder.”

“You ready to get up?” he asks, “It’s only 6:45, but we can get a head start. When’s debrief?”

“Eight,” she says, “Let's just stay here for now.” She buries her face back into his chest, and he continues his ministrations. 

They do, eventually, manage to get out of bed and to the police station to see what Sanchez and Dapshutte got from Jason. Neither detective appears to have slept.

“Late night?” Mulder teases as they approach.

“Ha-ha, Mulder. Not all of us kissed and ran last night. You gonna tell your wife about that?” Dapshutte all but snarls. Sanchez elbows him in the ribs, and Scully gives him her coldest glare, the one that says apologize now or risk dismemberment, starting with your dick . 

Dapshutte folds in a millisecond, “That was out of line, sorry man.”

“She already knows.” Mulder doesn’t waver, but looks down on Dapshutte with judgment. It’s the truth.

“So what did you get last night?” Scully tries to refocus the group.

“Full confession,” Sanchez slaps a file down on the table. Scully reaches out to open it, and finds a transcript inside. “He sold out the whole ring too. They had been testing this experimental tech, hidden in those big ugly glasses, to obstruct their faces on videotape. Came from some Silicon Valley crackpot worried about ‘the rise of the surveillance state.’”

“Holy shit,” Mulder says, skimming over Scully’s shoulder. “Did they say how they managed to tamper with their victims' memories?”

“He insists that they didn’t. He’s been acting like he knows nothing about it.”

“He’s explained everything except for that?” Scully asks, surprised. 

“Yep.”

“Let me talk to him.” 

Sanchez sweeps out an arm as if offering Scully a silver platter full of criminal ass to kick. She points Mulder to the observation room, and he complies. 

When Scully enters the interrogation room, Jason is looking worse for wear from spending the night in a cell. She takes a seat without a word, and takes him in. If she’s being honest, he reminds her a little bit of her brother Charlie. 

“Alright, what do you want?” Jason snaps after a moment of unnerving silence.

“A confession.” Scully replies simply.

“I did that already. I told them about my group, gave them bank routing numbers, meeting places, told them about our glasses, everything. What more could you want?”

“Your description of the glasses only affects video surveillance. What about people’s memories?” Jason is silent, frozen. Scully continues as if considering, “You didn’t affect Mulder’s long-term memory, so it’s not an idle ability of the tech. You must do it after. Is that in the glasses too? Will we find it when we take them apart? Or is it a separate device? I’m going to figure it out one way or another Jason, it’s going to be a hell of a lot better for you if you just tell me now. I might be a little nicer than I usually am to people who hurt my partner if you answer my questions truthfully.”

Jason considers for a second, before he speaks, “My organization was chosen to test the tech because of our… subtlety. People tend to remember only what they want when it comes to us.”

“So your victims only remember that they were attracted to you, and their friends only remember that you seemed like someone they would take home.” 

Jason nods.

“How do you make people so enraptured? I don’t buy for a second that you’re just that charismatic.”

Jason gives her a lopsided smile, oozing with charm, and just about purrs, “No? Are you sure about that, Dana ?”

Scully blinks at him. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“No? Why not?”

“Well, if what you’re saying is true, people see what they want to see in you. I want to see a convicted criminal, not a potential bedmate. Does your appearance change to whoever is looking at you?”

“No,” he says, “This is my face.”

Scully nods. “So you’re claiming that you, and the members of your group, were able to escape because of some innate ability?”

“Yes.”

Scully leans back in her chair. “And I’m supposed to just believe that?”

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you,” Jason gives a snakish grin, “You and a jury.”

Suddenly, Scully understands why it’s been so easy. Why Jason has confessed so openly. He knows exactly how insane his story sounds, and how unlikely a jury would be to believe it, how hard this case would be to prosecute. 

He knew, at the end of the day, he would walk. 

“Right. Thank you for your time.”

“That’s all we’re going to get from him,” Scully says as she enters the observation room where the crowd has been watching the interaction. 

“What do you mean?” Dapshutte asks.

“Nothing else he gives us is going to be useful. You can keep interrogating him if you want, but his story is unbelievable. Even if it is the truth, no jury is going to buy it.”

“So what the hell do we do with that?”

“Your best. I know I don’t have to tell you that cases involving sexual assault have notoriously low conviction rates, but you still need to give it the same dedication you would any other case. The rest is up to the judicial system. You can’t be held responsible for how they handle it, or a potentially biased jury who wouldn’t want to taint a young man’s bright future.” Scully’s voice drips with dramatic malice at the last phrase.

“You think, even with the manslaughter charges, there won’t be a conviction?” Sanchez inquires.

“It’s possible.”

“That’s… horribly depressing.”

“Yes, it is.” Scully sighs. “I think Agent Mulder and my work here is done, unless you are going to need anything else from us?”

“Nope.” Dapshutte says a little too fast. “We’ll be able to handle it.”

“Great. You have our office number and emails if anything else were to happen.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Agents.” Sanchez says diplomatically.

“Yeah, uh, bye.” Dapshutte speeds out of the room.

Scully turns to Mulder, “You about ready, Mulder?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the file he is still holding when he responds, “I’m going to finish going over this, give me a few minutes.”

“I’ll just grab some coffee then.” Scully pushes her chair back. 

“I’ll join you, if you don’t mind?” Sanchez mirrors her action. 

“Of course not.”

The coffee pot is, unfortunately, empty, and Scully and Sanchez are stuck standing in awkward silence, watching the machine brew. 

Sanchez breaks the quiet, “You called him your husband.”

“Excuse me?” Scully heard him perfectly well, but she needs a moment to figure out her response.

“Last night, through the wire, I heard you call Agent Mulder your husband,” Sanchez explains, “I don’t think Dapshutte heard it, he wasn’t connected when you said it, but the other day he said you weren’t married.”

“I said what I thought would get the guy off the fastest.”

“And shouting FBI wouldn’t do that?”

Scully’s jaw stiffens. “It probably would have, but I don’t always think clearly when it comes to protecting Mulder.”

“I see.” Sanchez drops the issue, but Scully can tell that he’s not entirely convinced.

Scully pours coffee into two paper cups and goes to leave. Before she leaves the break room, she turns back around to face the detective. “Sanchez?” He looks up from where he’s pouring his own mug of coffee. “You’re a good detective.” Her smile is all the confirmation he needs that he was correct. 

Plus, the sight of the two Agents walking out of the precinct with Scully’s hand tucked into Mulder’s elbow doesn’t hurt.

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

You’ve got to admit, Scully, that’s not just a coincidence.” “No, it’s not.” she says, “But it still sounds far-fetched.” Mulder gives her a lopsided smile, “Far-fetched is my middle name.” “Say that five times fast.” “Fox far-fetched Mulder, Fox far-fetched Mulder–” Scully just laughs.

read chapter two of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

When she wakes, the first thing Scully is aware of is a sense of peace. The second is the fuzzy warmth. The third is Mulder.

He had made it under the covers before falling asleep in his undershirt and slacks, mirroring her own business clothes. They’re not quite cuddling with each other but they’re close to say the least. In the middle of the bed, arms pressed up against each other. 

It’s shockingly intimate. No lines were crossed, but it feels good. 

She presses a little closer, and feigns sleep as she lets herself soak in the morning stillness. Mulder makes a sleepy sound and shifts. After a moment, she feels a kiss pressed to her forehead and hears her own name whispered into her hairline.

Scully blinks sleepily and looks up at Mulder, “Hey, Mulder,” she says. 

“Good morning. You want to shower first?”

She nods, and they both go about their morning routines in comfortable silence. When Scully gets out of the shower, Mulder informs her that the detective he had spoken to had called to tell them that there had been another victim, and to meet them at the crime scene. They show up with twin coffee cups in their hands. 

A man approaches them as they approach, “You must be the FBI agents.” 

“Yes, I’m Agent Mulder, and this is my partner Dr. Agent Scully.”

“Good to meet you both. I’m Detective Sanchez, we spoke on the phone.”

“What’s the deal with the new victim?” Mulder inquires.

“32-year-old Casey DiMarco. Her story is more or less the same as the others, bar, agreeing to take someone back to her apartment, sex, waking up in the park. My partner, Detective Dapshutte, is with her now.”

The group approaches where the other detective is sat next to Ms. DiMarco, who is wrapped in a shock blanket.

Scully steps forward, “Ms. DiMarco, I’m Agent Scully, and this is my partner Agent Mulder. Could you tell us what you remember?”

“I went out with a friend to celebrate her new promotion last night, at Ol’ Davey’s,” Ms. DiMarco says, “It’s the same place we usually go. I mean, the bartenders know us by name. We’re regulars. I met… someone. I don’t know who. He was attractive, and charismatic, and it felt like everything else faded away. I knew I was there with my friends, but I had no reason to spend my time with them. I invited him back to my place. And I woke up here.”

“Can you give me a physical description?”

“I can’t remember his face very well, but I think he was blonde?”

“Shorter or taller than Agent Mulder?” Scully asks, motioning over her shoulder without looking back at her partner. DiMarco’s eyes take him in. Scully pretends not to notice the note of appreciation behind her eyes, and tries to tamp down the stirrings of jealousy in her gut. 

“Shorter.” DiMarco says.

“Any notable tattoos, scars, moles?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Did you have sexual intercourse with him?” Scully suggests.

“Well I didn’t exactly invite him over to look at my stamp collection.”

“I’m only asking this because I have to, but how much did you have to drink last night? Was it enough to impair your judgment, or do you suspect that he drugged you?”

“That’s the thing,” DiMarco says, “I wasn’t drinking last night. I had a soda, but I left it at the table with my friends, he was never anywhere near it. Everything is crystal clear. I remember saying bye to my friends, driving home, the sex, everything.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We fell asleep, and I woke up and saw him putting his clothes on to leave. I wasn’t exactly expecting him to whisk me off to breakfast the morning after, so I just went back to sleep. And I woke up here.”

“Thank you, Ms. DiMarco. Here’s my card, give me a call if you have anything else that might help us figure out who did this to you.” Scully holds out a card, and DiMarco accepts it.

“Thank you.” 

They head back towards the car, Mulder’s hand hovering at Scully’s back as she traverses the uneven ground in her heels. She angles her head into the space between their bodies. “So what’s your theory, Mulder?”

“You know my theory.”

“Sex demons?”

“Evolved sex demons. It doesn’t fit perfectly with some of the legends, but society’s changed. They’ve got elements of sirens, incubi, and succubi. I think they’ve evolved and, and maybe reproduced with different breeds or something. Since people are more willing to have casual sex these days, they got bored. There’s less of a chase, or not enough evil in it. They’ve had to add some of the thrill into it, so based on the message boards I found, they place bets on who they can get into bed.”

“And how do you know those boards are connected to this string of attacks?”

“They mention locations where victims were picked up on the day before it happens. I checked this morning while you were in the shower, and the most recent posts mention the bar DiMarco was at. You’ve got to admit, Scully, that’s not just a coincidence.”

“No, it’s not.” she says, “But it still sounds far-fetched.”

Mulder gives her a lopsided smile, “Far-fetched is my middle name.”

“Say that five times fast.”

“Fox far-fetched Mulder, Fox far-fetched Mulder–”

Scully just laughs.

*** 

They spend the rest of the day interviewing other victims who had woken up in that park in the past month. Their stories all match DiMarco’s – flirting, sex, sleep, park. The victims are a mix of genders, as are the attackers. Those who were out with friends report that the friends' experiences are similar. They found nothing odd about the individual when they are at the bar, but can remember nothing about them in retrospect. 

That afternoon, they stop by the bar DiMarco attended the night before, Ol’ Davey’s, hoping that the bartender might have some information.

“Agents Mulder and Dr. Scully, FBI.” Mulder says as they approach the unoccupied bartender. Both Agents flash their badges. “We have questions about a couple patrons you had here the other night.”

“We’re investigating the attack of a woman who was at this bar last night,” Scully explains, “It’s the most recent in a series of similar incidents.”

“I can almost guarantee I won’t recognize them, last night was packed,” the bartender says, “but you can look at the security tapes.”

“We would appreciate that,” Mulder says.

“Back this way,” the bartender leads them to a back office, and rewinds the tape, “When should I be looking at?”

“Just before 10 last night. She came in wearing a polka dot rain coat.” Scully explains.

“Oh shit, Casey? Is she okay?”

“I thought you said you wouldn't be able to remember any faces?” Mulder asks.

“Well yeah, but I remember Casey,” they say, “She’s a regular. I know her. I don’t think the guy she was talking to had been in before, though.”

“Can you give us a description of the man?” 

“I–” the bartender pauses, “No, I can’t remember a thing about him.”

Scully turns to Mulder, “Just like the others.” 

He points his chin to the screen in front of them, where Casey DiMarco walks into the bar, “Maybe this’ll tell us something, though.”

The bartender leaves them to watch as Casey sits with her friends, and eventually keeps catching glances at someone across the bar, out of sight of the single camera. After 20 minutes of sped up footage, the figure approaches Casey. His back is to the camera until he turns to lead her towards the bar.

“There,” Scully reaches out to grab Mulder’s arm in anticipation, hoping to catch their first glimpse of the attacker. Instead, he turns to reveal a glitch over his face. One that follows his face and obscures his identity as he crosses the screen.

“Damn it.” Mulder says.

“He must have some sort of tech,” she says, “Something that obscures his face to cameras and people alike.”

“Or some kind of ability.”

“It’s not some magic power, Mulder.” Scully rolls her eyes.

“Oh, but it can be some kind of sci-fi tech?”

“It’s more reasonable than magic!”

“It’s not magic, it’s folklore–”

“Did you guys find anything?” The bartender pokes their head into the office.

Scully sighs, “Yes and no. Can we take this tape? There’s a glitch I want to be analyzed.”

“Yeah, of course. No problem.”

Scully thanks them, and she and Mulder leave for their motel room to retire for the evening. 

***

The next morning, Scully wakes up to a cold bed and low murmuring from the bathroom. Mulder must be on the phone. A glance at the clock tells her it’s not yet six, so the topic of his conversation can’t be good. 

“Another victim?” She asks as Mulder steps out of the bathroom.

“Yeah,” He says, “But this ones going to require less interviewing and more autopsying.”

“They’re dead?”

“As a doornail.”

“So they’re escalating?”

“It looks like it. We’re expected at the crime scene in an hour.”

They get ready, once again working around each other’s routines like they’ve been doing it their whole lives. When they arrive at the crime scene, Scully makes a beeline for where a group of crime scene techs are crowded around the crumpled body of a young man, taking samples and photographs. She snaps on her gloves and crouches down to inspect it, while Mulder hangs back to discuss with the detectives that beat them there. 

“Morning, Detective Sanchez. Dapshutte.” Mulder greets.

“Good morning, Agent Mulder.” Sanchez offers a nod.

“Any information on the victim yet?”

“Student ID and driver’s license in his pocket both say Terry Bishop. We haven’t notified the family yet.”

“I’d like to join you when you do, if that’s alright. Scully will want to do the autopsy herself, but we can go while they transport and prepare the body.”

Sanchez agrees, and is called over to review some paperwork. Mulder, not feeling the need to join him on that venture, peeters awkwardly around the crime scene while Scully does her scientist thing. Eventually, Detective Dapshutte saddles up beside Mulder, swagger in his step like he owns the park they’re currently investigating. He nods towards where Scully is bent over the corpse across the clearing. “So, you tapping that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you and the lady agent, you know…”

“I’m married.” To her, he doesn’t add. He lifts his left hand from where his arms are crossed and taps his ring finger.

“Damn, really?” He asks. At Mulder’s raised brow, he continues, “You seem to be very… comfortable with each other. You two really aren’t together?”

“You’re a detective, aren’t you?” Mulder asks, voice steely.

“Yes.”

“Then detect. Do you see a ring on Agent Scully’s finger?”

“No?”

“Then draw your own conclusions, detective.”

A tense moment passes. Unfortunately, Dapshutte does not seem to have been suitably put in his place. 

“Man, I really don’t know how you aren’t doing a pretty little thing like that.”

“What did you just call Agent Scully?”

Detective Dipshit ignores Mulder's question, “So she’s single? I can ask her out?”

“I really suggest you don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s got a gun, and she’s a hell of a shot.”

“Oh, please, she wouldn’t–”

“I’ve been on the receiving end.”

Detective Dipshit finally turns to Mudler, shocked. “Really.”

“Yep. And if you keep talking about her like that, I can show you how accurate I am, too.”

“Jeez, ok man, I’ll back off.”

“That’s for the best. Now excuse me.”

Mulder leaves Detective Dipshit in the dust and bravely approaches the body, which Scully is bent over. She looks up at him when he approaches.

“That Detective Dapshutte is a real piece of work.” Mudler grumbles.

“What’d he say?” Scully asks below him.

Mulder shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You get anything from this guy?”

“Not yet.” She stands up to crane her neck slightly less while looking up to talk to him, “The M.E. has agreed to let me do the autopsy, she’ll give me a call once it's processed and ready for me. Are we notifying the family, or are the detectives taking care of it?”

“We’re going together.”

“Great.” She says, implying that this was not, in fact, great.

“Or I can tell them we’ll take care of it?”

She nods, then purses her lips. “What did Dapshutte say to you?”

“Nothing I’d like to repeat.”

“About me?”

He responds hesitantly, “Yes. And about how it must be so difficult to remain faithful to my wife while working with you.”

She lets out a laugh and Mulder smiles, glad that she’s more entertained by this detective’s particular skeeviness than disturbed by it. 

“I said you’d shoot him if he made a move.”

“Thanks, honey.” Scully pats him on the arm affectionately, and they return to their car. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

“So you’re saying these… creatures bet on their victims?” “They’re like Incubi and Succubi, but they don’t seem to have a sex or gender preference. Sirens, maybe? Usually, they can be deadly, but these ones seem to have turned it into a game,” Mulder says. “Creatures like this are usually sustained through sex, and usually choose one victim at a time and move on once they’ve killed them, these ones get around. They’re…” “Sluttier?” She suggests. “You said it, not me.” OR Newly married (but only on paper), Mulder and Scully take on Las Vegas, and the (literal?) demons within.

read chapter 1 of heartbeats, the second installment in the fall into place series, on ao3, or below the cut!

Your heart is what moves you. It’s what keeps you alive. It spreads through your body what is needed to stay alert, to manipulate your body. It keeps your brain functioning. Your heart is your life force. 

But love. Love is what keeps you going through trials and tribulations. Love is in both distance and proximity, in words and in silence. It’s everywhere. 

In the medical sense, your heart is a muscle. Spiritually, your heart is everything. 

***

Since she put it on her finger in the hospital for the first time since her only-on-paper marriage to Mulder, Scully’s wedding ring has become a bit of a thing. 

When she’s home alone, she wears the ring on her finger instead of on the chain around her neck. She takes it off only to wash the dishes and shower. It was like wearing it in the hospital had broken the seal for her, and now she was addicted to it. The weight on her finger is a comfort. 

She misses it, when she goes back into the office and has to go back to wearing it around her neck. She finds herself reaching to run her left thumb along the palmar side of her ring finger, where metallic star shaped grooves should lie. If Mulder notices, which she suspects he does, he doesn’t mention it. 

After Nebraska, something shifts. It’s like a switch has been flicked, and Scully is letting pet names slip out when talking to her partner. It’s another habit she can’t seem to stop. 

Without looking up from the autopsy notes she’s reviewing, “You have to finish that report, sweetheart, or Skinner will chase you down for it.”

When he drops a glob of ketchup onto an X file he’s reading while eating lunch, “I told you to wait until you were done eating, honey.”

It’s addicting. So is Mulder’s blush whenever she lets one slip out. 

He doesn’t call her anything back. No baby, no darling. She hadn’t really expected him to, though. He doesn’t need to. The way Mulder says Scully drips with affection, like it’s an endearment all on its own.

She knows that Mulder expresses his love through his actions. He doesn’t need to tell her he cares about her, his actions do it for him. He charges into danger to save her, frequently. He does her favors without asking for anything in return. Just on this alone, she knows he loves her. Of course he does. They’re best friends. 

But he is also physically affectionate. 

He touches her frequently. A hand on her lower back as they climb up the stairs of a porch when they’re about to interview someone. A finger against her hairline when a piece of hair falls into her face. A knee bumped against hers as they share lunch on a bench on the Mall. It’s perpetual. It’s nothing new, but she fucking loves it. 

Now, for example, as they examine a file laying in front of them. Scully is sat at the desk chair with Mulder hovering over her, one hand braced on the desk, the other on the back of her chair. His arm brushes the small strip of skin on the back of her neck between her bob and her blazer. 

It’s electrifying. 

“So you’re saying these… creatures bet on their victims?”

“They’re like Incubi and Succubi, but they don’t seem to have a sex or gender preference. Sirens, maybe? Usually, they can be deadly, but these ones seem to have turned it into a game,” Mulder says. “Creatures like this are usually sustained through sex, and usually choose one victim at a time and move on once they’ve killed them, these ones get around. They’re…”

“Sluttier?” She suggests.

“You said it, not me.”

“Mulder, they’re just a group of people who bet on conquests. It’s gross, sure, but I don’t see how it’s an X file.”

“Well that’s the thing, Scully, it’s a literal X file.” Mulder flips the file to reveal a photo of a man’s bloody back, two jagged lines criss crossing his skin. “I’ve been following it online for a while, but the local PD wouldn’t respond to my emails. The victims remember everything except the face of their attacker. No trace of drugs in their system, except small amounts of alcohol. And they’ve all woken up in the same park, with an X carved into their backs, shoulder to hip.”

Scully leans back in the chair, pressing into Mulder’s hand., “So we’re going to Vegas? It’s not exactly our usual small-town USA destination. ”

“Well what’s the worst that can happen, Scully? We get drunk and end up getting married again, this time by Elvis instead of Bartlett Tiddlywinks?”

“Well, it’d be equally ridiculous.” She says, “I’m not protesting. Just saying it’s… different. Refreshing.”

Mulder straightens, removing his skin from hers. She mourns the loss. 

“Good. I’ll submit the request to Skinner today, and let you know what time our flight leaves tomorrow.” His grin is lopsided and wicked, “See you in Sin City, Scully.”

***

She does not see him in Sin City. She sees him in Skinner’s office at eight in the morning, following twin 6am phone calls from Skinner informing them that their travel request would be approved under certain conditions, which he needed to discuss with them before they left. 

Scully arrives first, and is sitting on the couch in the anteroom with her ankles crossed delicately when Mulder waltzes in, not caring that he is seven minutes late. 

“What do you think it is?” He asks in lieu of a greeting.

“I don’t know,” she replies, “It can’t be that bad, though, if he’s still approving the request.”

“I guess not.” Mulder sits on the couch next to her, chewing at his lip.

Inside the office, Skinner sits at his desk, contemplating the dynamic between his two most codependent agents. 

There’s been a shift between them recently. Not just the fact that Mulder wears a wedding ring that he won’t tell anyone about, or that when Scully’s neckline shifts there is an extra gold chain around her neck that wasn’t there before. They’re just more… settled. At peace. 

But they’re still holding back. 

Maybe Skinner’s too attached to the Agents, maybe he’s meddling in a relationship that isn’t his business. But someone has to do something, and it isn’t going to be either one of them. Plus, if they get caught within the next month, Kimberly owes him $50.

Skinner stands to let the Agents into his office, holding back a smile. He’s got a bet to win. 

Mulder and Scully sit in silence until the door to Skinner’s office clicks open and the man himself leans out.  “You can come in now, Agents. My apologies, I had some paperwork to prepare.”

They settle in their usual chairs surrounding Skinner’s desk. 

“Agents, I called you in to inform you of a change in regulations related to your… situation.”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up, “Situation? Meaning the X files? Don’t tell me someone’s trying to have them closed again.”

“No, thankfully not. I was referring to your and Agent Scully’s… um…”

Scully stiffens. “Marriage,” she fills in.

“Yes.”

“Is a piece of paper filled simply for convenience's sake really going to prevent us from working together? No one else can investigate the X-files, sir, no one else would be as effective, or as dedicated–”

“Neither of you are being removed from the X-files, Agent Scully.” Skinner cuts her off.

“Oh,” Scully shifts back in her chair, not realizing she had sat forward during her passionate rant.

“I’ve been pressured to make budget cuts recently, and it’s been determined that travel expenses are the best way to do so. As a result, when possible, Agents traveling together will be asked to share hotel rooms. This isn’t going to affect most male/female partners, but considering the legal status of your relationship…”

“Anything to save a couple hundred bucks for the Bureau.” Mulder nods.

“Yes. Unless you have any strong objections.”

“Can we discuss it in private for a moment, sir?” Scully requests, and Skinner nods. 

“Of course, feel free to step out for a moment.”

They do so, and Mulder hunches over to speak with her, placing a gentle hand on her elbow. “Are you okay with this, Scully?”

“Yes,” she says, “I have no reason not to be. I just wanted to make sure you were, too.”

“We end up in the same room for all but sleeping half the time anyway. I would have suggested it so we didn’t have to bother calling on room over when there’s a development in the case, if it weren’t for the FBI regulations.”

“It makes sense.”

“Yeah.” she nods, and pushes the knob to tell Skinner they’ve come to an agreement. 

“Hey, Scully,” he says, and she turns back around to face him, “I call top bunk.”

She rolls her eyes with a small smile and pushes the door open.

***

They fly into LAX and drive to Las Vegas, because apparently Skinner was serious about those budget cuts and it’s ever so slightly cheaper. 

Mulder drives, and Scully naps in the passenger seat. She blinks awake when they’re 30 minutes outside of the city. 

She opens her eyes to see Mulder’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel. She hasn’t moved yet, he hasn’t noticed she’s awake. She gets to just watch him.

She loves him like this, relaxed behind the wheel. She loves him other ways, too. Just about every other way. She loves him absorbed in a case file in the office, chewing on some unidentified piece of plastic. She loves him standing behind her while they’re briefed on a case, a few inches closer than she’d let anyone else stand. She loves his face bright with laughter across a dirty diner table.

She can’t remember when she fell in love with him, but it’s been there for a while, a constant background simmering of affection. She supposes it happened slowly, between rental cars and stuffy basements and sterile morgues. She fell in love looking up at him, watching him listen to her like there was nothing else in the world he would rather have his attention on. Not like she was the only girl in the world, but the only one worth his time and attention. 

Mulder loves her too – that much is clear to Scully. But he loves her in the fierce, protective way that he loves the X-files, a far cry for the soft affection she feels for him. As much as she wants him to, he doesn’t see their bond as romantic. Mulder’s dedication to Scully is in the same vein as his dedication to his search for the truth. It’s just unyielding loyalty — the Fox Mulder way. He doesn’t do things by halves. 

His wedding ring shines in the streetlights as they pass, evidence of that very fact. Still, it amazes her that he wears it. It probably causes more problems than it solves, but he keeps it on anyway. It makes her feel important. 

She closes her eyes again, and rests until he touches a gentle hand to her knee where it rests near the center console. 

“Scully,” Mulder says, “We’re a couple minutes away from the hotel.”

She hums in acknowledgement and shifts to sit normally in her seat. “What time is it?” She asks groggily.

“Just after ten. We’ll wait until the morning to talk to the detective in charge?”

She agrees as they pull into the parking lot. She stays in the car while Mulder checks in. He taps on her window, which she is certainly not napping against, thank you very much, a few minutes later. She steps out of the car.

“Room 208,” Mulder says, holding out a key to her. “They’re out of doubles, but I’ve been assured this room has a couch I can sleep on.”

When they get into the room, Scully makes a beeline for the bed and faceplants onto it. She groans into the mattress, and hears the couch squeak under the weight of Mulder. After a moment, she shifts her head to look at him and laughs.

Mulder sits on what can only be described as the smallest couch known to man. It’s not even something that could be categorized as a loveseat, it looks more like something that came out of the child’s section of an IKEA. All six feet of Mulder sit crunched on the tiny piece of furniture, looking like a giant from a children’s book. 

“Bit of a tight squeeze there, Mulder?”

“A bit.”

Scully stands and starts to remove her blazer, heels, and tights, “The bed’s big enough for two.” She settles on one side and gestures to the empty spot to her left.

“You’re sure?”

“Mmhmm,” she affirms sleepily. 

Mulder stands up and settles on top of the covers, “Do you mind the tv?” He asks.

“Go ahead, m’asleep.”

He laughs softly, and looks down at his sleeping partner. He reaches down and brushes a piece of hair out of her face. “Good night, Scully.”

She doesn’t respond.

next chapter ->

[skelavender]

No one in the crowd seems to be scoping out the patrons for a potential partner – or a potential victim. She stirs her drink absently, and lifts the straw to her lips. “We don’t see anyone with the glitch on the cameras yet,” Sanchez says over her earpiece, “It’s just going to be a waiting game.” Scully sighs and takes another sip of her drink. At the very least, she’ll be well hydrated by the end of this ordeal.

read chapter five of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

On her solitary drive across Las Vegas, Scully formulates her cover. It doesn’t have to be deep, given the fact that she would only be there tonight, but she still likes to center herself in the new personality before she takes it out for a spin. 

For her role of alluring seductress, she reflects on some of the more sexually open women she knew in college. The girls who were able to go home with a new person every week. The ones she admired, but who a younger Dana had been so afraid of interacting with. Retrospectively, she can recognize it as attraction she hadn’t understood, but at the time she had considered it holdover prudishness from her Catholic upbringing. She had only really accepted it in her final semester at UMD, when she found herself in a casual relationship with a woman named Adelaide, who had TA’d one of her classes a couple years prior. Scully had found herself wanting the relationship to go deeper, but had never been able to broach the topic with Adelaide, or anyone else. She never spoke of it.

Tonight, she’ll be one of those girls, oozing sexuality. She’ll offer sly smiles, flutter her eyelashes, tilt her head just so. She’ll leave dark lipstick stains on napkins, perhaps on the edge of someone’s ear as she whispers an invitation into the alley for some time alone. The alley where her backup would be waiting once she gave them the cue. 

When she enters the bar, the first thing she does is spot Mulder at a booth in a dimly lit corner. She lets her eyes skip over him, not wanting any potential onlookers to see the recognition in her eyes. She settles into a seat at the bar where she’s in his sight line and he’s in her peripheral vision.

When the bartender comes around, she requests a vodka tonic and is presented with a tonic with lime, as was organized. She glances around the bar to identify any potential suspects, but it seems to be mostly populated by groups of businesspeople interacting among themselves. None of them seem to be scoping out the patrons for a potential partner – or a potential victim. She stirs her drink absently, and lifts the straw to her lips.

“We don’t see anyone with the glitch on the cameras yet,” Sanchez says over her earpiece, “It’s just going to be a waiting game.”

Scully sighs and takes another sip of her drink. At the very least, she’ll be well hydrated by the end of this ordeal.

***

Mulder watches Scully as she waltzes into the room and settles in a prime location at the bar. She’s gorgeous, and it’s a bit difficult for him to keep his eyes in appropriate places. No one approaches her. He responds when Sanchez asks questions over the coms, carefully speaking into the rim of his drink to cover the one-sided appearance of his conversation. 

After forty-five minutes of waiting, because the men of Las Vegas apparently have horrible taste, someone approaches not Scully at the bar, but Mulder in his shadowy booth.

“May I sit?” the man asks when he approaches, but doesn’t wait for a response before sliding into the booth and pressing right up against Mulder’s body, pressing the box of his mic kit into his hip. Mulder is about to protest, but when he looks at the man’s face, his voice dies in his throat.

Good god. He’s fucking attractive. 

“Uh… huh.” Mulder stammers.

“My name’s Jason,” the man’s voice rumbles in his chest, and his hips are pressed so close to Mulder’s that he can feel it reverberate through his own body. 

“I’m… Mulder.” His lips form the words without his permission. The hell are you doing, focus on Scully! Something inside him says, but it’s fading away, too quiet to pay attention to over the rush of attraction. 

“Mulder,” Jason repeats, his voice honey-sweet, and Mulder doesn’t think his name has ever sounded so pretty. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You too.”

Jason’s eyes rake up and down Mulder’s torso through thick-framed glasses, “Mind if I stay a while, Mulder? I think I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Sure,” Mulder smiles, basking in the attention.

They chat and laugh. He feels light, except for a cool sensation on his sternum and a feeling like he’s forgotten something really important he has to do. Something just outside the scope of what his mind can reach that he can’t remember. Like he left his keys at home. 

A tendril of hair falls into Jason’s face as he talks, and Mulder’s hand absently rises to brush it out of his face. There’s something familiar about the action, like he’s done it recently. There’s a ghost living in a hole in his mind, the source of a mixture of love and strife that he can’t identify right now, and doesn’t feel the need to with Jason’s attention focused so intently on him. 

Under the weight of Jason’s appreciative gaze, the whole world fades into the background. 

***

An hour and two tonic with limes later, no one has approached Scully. It’s a little upsetting, if she’s honest. She knows she’s attractive right now, she doesn’t need a man’s attention to confirm that, but this dress has a job to do, damn it.

Mulder, on the other hand, has seemed to make a friend. Though that might be understating the energy bouncing between Mulder and the man who sat down next to him about fifteen minutes ago. 

He turned his mic off after the man sat down. At first, Scully assumed that he was one of the local PD’s officers that she hadn’t met, that the man sat there to keep Mulder’s cover. But given the proximity of the two men now, she doesn’t think that’s the case.

Mulder’s looking at him with a softness that she usually doesn’t see on him unless it’s directed at her. His laughter is deep in his chest in a way he usually only lets out around her. And right now, he’s brushing a stray tendril of hair out of his face in a way he usually only does for her. 

Just this once, she’ll admit it. She’s damn jealous. And more than a little upset. 

He’s supposed to be her backup, goddamn it, and instead his attention is focused intently on someone else. It’s wildly out of character.

That realization sparks concern in her gut. 

She lifts her glass to her lips and to cover them as she speaks to the detectives in the van through her wire, “Sanchez, who is that Mulder is talking to. One of your guys?”

“Is that why he hasn’t said anything?”

“That’s my guess.”

“He’s in a blind spot on the cameras, I can’t see anything. I see all of our plainclothes officers on the cameras, I don’t think he’s one of ours.” Dapshutte chimes in.

The man next to Mulder leans in to whisper into her partner’s ear, the way she expected to be whispering to someone tonight. A grin blooms across Mulder’s face and he nods before both men slide out of the booth. Mulder’s fingertips reach out to brush across the small of the man’s back.

Scully feels her face glow red. That’s her spot. That’s where Mulder touches her. 

“They’re moving. Try to catch them on the cameras.” Scully doesn’t bother with the glass this time, almost certain now that she’s not being watched by someone trying to fuck her and carve an X into her back in the name of winning a couple hundred bucks. 

She’s pretty sure they’ve already set their eyes on Mulder.

***

As they maneuver through the crowded bar towards the door, Mulder’s hand takes up residence at the small of Jason’s back. The placement is familiar, but it’s just another sensation he can’t anchor to a memory. Just like the voices that have been in his left ear, the ones Mulder hasn’t been listening to. But they can’t be all that important, because they aren’t Jason. 

Jason, who is now pressing Mulder up against the rough brick wall of the alleyway. Jason, who is leaning in and pressing their lips together. 

Mulder lets out a squeak from the back of his throat, but wraps his arms around Jason’s back to press his torso closer. Between them, something round and solid presses into Mulder’s chest. He should know what that is. The part of him that cares is pressed down further. 

“Hey!” a voice, laced with fury, chimes in from the door behind Jason, “That’s my husband!”

Jason pulls scant inches away from Mulder to look at the newcomer. She’s familiar. He knows her. The object at his sternum stings harder. Several things flash across his mind’s eye in quick succession. A boxy, grey blazer. A cross necklace. A tangle of wires and a hospital bed. A carefree smile. Two rings, one on a chain.

He removes his hand from Jason’s back and presses it against the object pressed against his chest. Her ring. 

Scully.

Her eyes are locked on Jason, “FBI, put your hands in the air and back away from him.” Jason, with fear in his eyes, does as he’s told.

A man rushes into the alley with his gun drawn, and approaches Jason to cuff him. Mulder’s eyes don’t leave Scully. Once Jason is cuffed, she lowers her gun and rushes to Mulder.

“Are you alright?” She asks, “Mulder?”

“Scully,” he murmurs, and pulls her against him. He presses his nose into her hair. She hugs him back. When she backs away, she grabs his head and moves it around to check for damage, then places two fingers below the curve of his jaw to measure his pulse. 

“Your heart’s beating too fast.” Her voice is laced with concern, and Mulder realizes that this is Dr. Scully standing in front of him, assessing his health.

“I’m okay. What happened?”

“You made better bait than I did,” Scully says, “Jason’s the one who made the post for tonight. He’s part of the group that’s been attacking people.”

“He’s… oh.”

“You were acting unusual, but your table was out of the range of the security cameras and we couldn’t tell if he was the perp or not. When I saw you two leave, I had Detective Dapshutte check the cameras in the alleyway, and he had the same glitch over his face as the last two.”

“Oh.” Mulder nods and feels himself sway a little. Scully braces her hands on his arms to keep him upright.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital.”

“I think I just want to go to bed.” His voice is small.

She pauses for a moment, and Mulder can tell she’s trying to determine if he’s in a fit enough state for her to take care of him, instead of around the clock monitoring a hospital would provide. “Okay… okay.” She turns to Sanchez and Dapshutte and, after checking that they can take care of getting Jason to the precinct and the ensuing interrogation and paperwork, informs them that she and Mulder will be returning to their motel. 

Mulder would normally insist on interrogating the suspect, but considering the fact that he was making out with him not five minutes ago, even he will admit that he’s probably not the best person to do so. And he’s cold now, numb. The world around him seems off color and unfamiliar. He wants to feel safe, and the best way to do that is by clinging to the presence of the woman in front of him. Preferably literally. He needs her. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice shakes around the words. 

“Sweetheart, you did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She pulls his head down to press a kiss to his forehead. He leans into the contact, starved for her touch and even more desperate for her forgiveness. 

His knees buckle a little, suddenly weak. Scully’s arms are around him again, and he flops gracelessly onto her. She doesn’t even stumble, just accepts his weight and keeps him upright. His head falls to her bare shoulder, and her hands go to his hair to stroke it soothingly. 

“You’re okay, Mulder. You’re safe.”

In her arms, he agrees.

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

“I’m going to take the gawking as a compliment. This time.” Scully says. “Holy– shit.” Is all Mulder can manage. “If you keep saying that every time I get a new dress, I’m gonna end up with an ego to match yours, Mulder.” “You deserve it. I mean, holy shit, Scully.

read chapter four of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

Mulder wakes slowly, coming to in a haze of comfort and peace. He lets himself soak it in for a moment, before opening his eyes and trying to focus on the blurry mess of copper and cream that he knows is Scully. 

They’ve shifted in the night, now so close that her face is not even an inch away from his. Her breath comes in consistent puffs across his lips. He would barely even have to move to kiss her. But he won’t. He wouldn’t. He can’t. 

He evaluates their intertwined bodies. They lay in the middle of the bed, each having moved into the other’s space in equal measures, and their limbs are so intertwined that he can hardly tell which are his and which are hers. It’s everything he’s ever wanted to wake up to. 

And everything he knows he could never have. 

Scully married him because it was easiest. It was practical. The mutually beneficial solution to a problem. He keeps having to remind himself of this, a mantra he repeats whenever he notices himself falling too deep into the marital bliss he craves. She’s not really yours. She’s not really yours. 

But god, it’s nice to play pretend. It’s not as though it takes effort. Loving Scully is Mulder’s default setting. An unconscious action, one he doesn’t need to maintain. It’s stitched into his autonomic nervous system, woven in with his heartbeat. 

Scully interrupts his pining by making a sleepy sound and grabbing at him tighter, effectively shifting her torso in further towards his own warm body. A moment later, she opens her eyes. Neither of them move. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice rough. 

“Hey,” he echoes.

“What time is it?”

“I don't know, I only just woke up.” He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break their bubble of proximity, but he lifts his torso to look over Scully’s shoulder at the clock anyway. “Six forty-eight.” He places his head back on the pillow. “Alarm hasn’t gone off yet, we have a couple more minutes.”

She hums contentedly, “‘M gonna stay here.”

“Alright,” he starts to get up, but Scully’s grip on him tightens. She doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even think the action was intentional, but Mulder settles back in to keep her warm for the next twelve minutes all the same.

***

Scully calls Sanchez to explain their plan for that night, and asks him to sort out the logistics. They delay their anticipated meeting at the police station so that he and Dapshutte can do so, and she drags Mulder shopping for her so-called “siren seduction outfit” instead. 

She doesn’t make Mulder look through the options this time. It’s a far less weighty decision than her wedding dress is. It’s a quicker affair, and they’ve left the department store in under an hour. They are strolling through the mall towards their car, shopping bag in Mulder’s hand, when they hear a voice call out behind them.

“Agent Scully!” Both Agents turn around to see Casey DiMarco striding towards them.

“Ms. DiMarco, how are you doing?” Scully greets. 

“I’m alright, under the circumstances.” She replies, “I was gonna call you this afternoon. I talked to the friends I was out with the other night, they said they couldn’t remember anything specific about the guy, just that he was my usual type. Nothing about him seemed off to them.”

“So another dead end.”

“I’m sorry they didn’t have anything more helpful.”

“Don’t be sorry, that’s nowhere near your fault.” Mulder interjects. “Thank you for asking them, we’ll pass it along to Sanchez and Dapshutte.”

“Thanks,” DiMarco says, “So, are you guys taking advantage of Las Vegas’s renowned tasteful fashion scene?” She nods towards the bag in Mulder’s hand.

“It’s for the case.” Scully clarifies.

“Scully’s going to try to lure the guy out.”

“You’re dangling her out there like bait?” DiMarco sounds offended on Scully’s behalf.

“It was my idea. Don’t come after Mulder.” Scully shifts to cross her arms defensively, “I appreciate your concern, Ms. DiMarco, but I’m an investigator, this is my job. It’s well planned out.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“And you think you’ll be able to get this guy?”

“Yes, I do.”

DiMarco is quiet for a moment, before continuing. “Thank you, Agent Scully.”

“Of course,” Scully lends her a small smile, “That’s what we do.”

“Well I’ll…. See you around I guess.”

“Stay safe, Ms. DiMarco.”

“Thanks, Agent Mulder.”

***

Upon their return to the motel, Mulder pulls up the betting group’s message board on his laptop and confirms that the group is targeting a more upscale bar that evening. He relays the information to Sanchez and Dapshutte to make sure the logistics are ironed out. Scully packs her new dress and a makeup bag before they head to the police station to discuss the plan for what Mulder has mentally been calling Operation Triple S: Scully’s Siren Seduction. 

They enter the conference room and Scully settles her bag in the chair next to her own. Detective Dipshit takes note.

“What’s that?” He juts his chin towards Scully’s bag.

Scully, eternally unbothered, simply lifts her eyebrow and counters with, “Well you didn’t expect me to seduce the perp dressed like a fed, did you?”

“So you brought–”

“A dress, yes. No need for me to wear it now, though, so I’ll stay in this until just before we leave. Now, what’s our status? Is everything in order?”

Dapshutte stutters at the quick change in topic, and possibly a little at the thought of Scully in something other than pantsuit-chic, but outlines the preparations so far. The operation has been approved, and their gear is set up. The bartenders have been forewarned about the operation, and know to offer Scully non alcoholic beverages, even if she requests a drink to keep her cover. 

“Well boys, good job. Sounds like you have it all sorted.” Scully pushes her chair back. “I’m going to go get changed, and I’ll meet you back here to get wired.” She disappears through the door, and the two detectives follow her to brief their assisting officers.

When Scully reenters, Mulder is alone in the conference room and messing with equipment on the table opposite the door. When he turns around at the sound of the door opening, he drops the mic in his hand. 

Mulder drags his eyes up Scully’s body, jaw hanging open absently. The heels are the same ones she was wearing before, three inches high and black. He’s pretty sure she’s got the same tights on too. She is, however, showing four more inches of thigh than she was in her earlier gray pencil skirt. The dress is a deep green, loose around her thighs, but clinging to her torso and revealing the skin between her breasts. Nestled between them, her wedding ring. Mulder, very carefully, does not let himself think about that. 

Scully strides closer to where Mulder stands, awestruck, and places two fingers below his jaw to press the hinge closed. She smirks, proud of her transformation, and Mulder notices that she’s also changed her lipstick. It is now a darker red than she usually wears. Mulder’s brain goes a little haywire. 

“I’m going to take the gawking as a compliment. This time.” Scully says.

“Holy– shit.” Is all Mulder can manage.

“If you keep saying that every time I get a new dress, I’m gonna end up with an ego to match yours, Mulder.”

“You deserve it. I mean, holy shit, Scully. I’m not going to be able to get the Dapshutte off you, much less the perp.”

“We could always threaten to shoot him again.”

“That’s uh, a good plan.”

“Mhmm.” Scully affirms, “Mulder, would you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Scully touches her ring gently, and when she speaks, her voice has the same tone, “Would you hold onto my ring for me? I would tuck it into the top of my dress, but there isn’t really room.”

“Yeah– yeah Scully of course.”

Scully lifts the chain over her neck and drops it into Mulder’s outstretched hand. She feels naked without it. Even though she’s only been wearing it for a couple months, it feels like a part of her skin. Instead of slipping it into his pocket, as she anticipated, Mulder lifts the chain over his own head, and tucks it in where the top couple buttons of his shirt are undone. When it’s tucked safely next to his heart, their eyes meet. Scully can read the concern in Mulder’s gaze.

“I’ll be okay.” She whispers.

“But what if–”

She braces a hand on his arm to cut him off, “I’ll have backup. You’ll be a couple tables away, a couple more plainclothes officers inside, and Sanchez and Dapshutte and their guys will be in the van. I appreciate your concern, Mulder, but I’ll have protection on all sides.”

Mulder takes a deep breath, “Okay. Okay, yeah, Scully, you’re right. I’m worried for nothing.”

“Good. Now, help me with my wire?” He nods and passes her the wire he had been untangling. She tapes the microphone to the skin below her dress’s low neckline, and presses the dangling end down to the skirt. She then retrieves the box that Mulder offers her and lifts the bottom of her dress to reveal the top of her thigh-highs, and tucks it into the band. She holds out the end of the wire from between her legs. “Can you get it into the box? I can never seem to get the wires in right.”

Mulder nods and squats to where the box is tucked into her thigh-highs. He gulps. These are not the circumstances in which he usually imagines kneeling in front of Scully, but he’ll take what he can get. He clicks the wire into place in a practiced manner, and stands to tower over her once more. 

“Thank you,” Scully says.

“Of course, Scully. Anytime.”

Mulder fits his own wire by himself, taking his shirt off unabashedly. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, after many, many unsexy visits from Dr. Scully.

Scully admires the glint of her wedding ring on the chain around his neck. Somehow, it makes her feel more possessive than its twin that lays on his finger daily. Maybe it’s the secrecy of it all, maybe it’s the fact that he has it for safekeeping. Either way, she likes it. 

Mulder is buttoning his shirt up when Sanchez knocks on the conference room door, and leans in to tell them that they’re ready to go. 

As Mulder replies in the affirmative, Dapshutte passes the now-open blinds of the large window into the bullpen. He double takes at Scully, and almost drops the box of equipment in his hands. He stares and Scully levels him with her sharpest I’ll cut you, bitch gaze, complete with tensed lips and a lifted brow. 

After a final check of their wires and earpieces, Scully hops into their rental car and Mulder into Sanchez’s, and they depart for the bar. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

“But you hate autopsies.” “No I don’t!” Mulder protests. Scully lifts an eyebrow. “Ok just because I almost passed out once–” “ Four times , Mulder.” “Okay, fine a couple times, but really, it was because I hadn’t eaten!”

read chapter three of heartbeats on ao3, or below the cut!

Mulder’s hand dances across Scully’s back as they step up onto Gianna Bishop’s porch. He tells himself it’s in case she slips on the wood in those death traps she calls heels, but he hasn’t seen her do that once, so it’s really just an excuse. 

Scully rings the bell, and the door swings open immediately to reveal a middle aged woman with a concerned expression. Her eyes rake up and down the agents’ bodies before she asks, “Can I help you?”

Scully speaks before Mulder gets a chance to. “Gianna Bishop? Agents Scully and Mulder, FBI.” They both flash their badges. “Would we be able to come in for a second to speak with you?”

Her concerned expression deepens, “Oh, this is about Terry, isn’t it?”

Scully just nods. 

Mrs. Bishop opens the door to them and guides them into the living room, where the agents settle on the couch across from the chair Mrs. Bishop chooses. 

They’ve sat in thousands of living rooms in this same configuration. Usually, however, the person on the other side of the coffee table already knows that their loved one is dead. That’s one good thing about being a unit that travels to their cases: they aren’t usually around until a couple days after the fact, and don’t usually need to take on the burden of telling a mother that her son has died. 

“Mrs. Bishop, I’m afraid we come bearing bad news.” Mulder opens. He fucking hates doing this. Why the hell did he volunteer for it.

“Terry’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God.” She buries her face in her hands.

“How did you know? Did you think Terry was in trouble?” Scully inquires, leaning forward.

“I woke up early this morning, and had a feeling something horrible had occurred. It was like a fuzzy feeling in my chest. I knew Terry would be awake, he’s usually up late playing his games, but when I called, he didn’t pick up.”

“When was this?”

“Just after three this morning. I’ve been awake since.” She removes her face from her hands and sniffles, looking up at Scully. “Please, what happened to my son?”

“He was found in a park a couple hours ago. His injuries were similar to a series of attacks Agent Mulder and I are investigating.” Scully explains. “Do you know if he went out last night? Had you spoken to him about any plans yesterday?”

“Terry was over for dinner on Sunday, but that was the last I spoke to him.” 

“Is it normal for you and Terry to go five days without talking?” Mulder asks.

“Yes. He’s very busy at school, but he always makes time to come back on Sundays, so it’s alright.”

“Do you know who might know where he was last night? Does he have a friend or roommate you have contact information for?”

“You’re best off talking to Hannah. I have her information somewhere but I… I don’t know where, it might take me a while to dig it up…”

“Would you be able to do that for us today? It’s imperative that we figure out where Terry was last night, so we can retrace his steps and find out what happened to him.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bishop.” Scully retrieves a business card and a pen from her jacket. “I’ll leave my card with you, and I’m writing down the local detective’s cell phone number for you to pass on to Terry’s friend, or in case you think of anything else that might help us.” She writes the phone numbers in her looping, Catholic school cursive and hands it over before she and Mulder rise.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bishop.” Mulder reaches out to shake her hand. “And we’re so sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Bishop’s eyes well up with tears and she moves her spare hand to cover her mouth, “Oh god, people are going to be saying that to me all the time, aren’t they?”

Mulder gives her a sympathetic smile, “Unfortunately, that seems likely. People never know what else to say.” The group makes it back towards the front door, and Mrs. Bishop shuts it behind Mulder and Scully.

They both pretend not to hear the sobbing as they descend the porch stairs. 

***

When they get to the morgue, Scully is surprised to see Mulder turn off the car and get out with her.

“You’re coming in?” She asks over the roof of the car, surprised.

“Yeah, I might as well. Nowhere to go until Mrs. Bishop calls with an update on the guy’s friends.”

“But you hate autopsies.”

“No I don’t!” Mulder protests. Scully lifts an eyebrow. “Ok just because I almost passed out once–”

“Four times, Mulder.”

“Okay, fine a couple times, but really, it was because I hadn’t eaten!”

“Mhmm. And this has nothing to do with the fact that the last time you left me alone in a morgue I got hurt.” Mulder looks a little sheepish at that. Scully continues, this time her voice is softer, “I’ll be fine, Mulder. There are no so-called witches to attack me here.”

“And I’ll know that for sure if I stay.”

She takes a deep breath, “Fine,” she relents, “But I’m not waving smelling salts under your nose this time.” She starts to head inside.

Mulder catches up with her in two paces, despite her head start. “Not once have you had to use smelling salts on me, Scully,  because not once have I passed all the way out!”

She laughs. “I think that by using the phrase ‘pass all the way out’ you’ve just proved my point.” 

***

Scully has another man’s heart in her hands. It’s not an irregular occurrence, but she often finds herself struck by the concept, even after all these years of med school and autopsies. It used to keep a man moving. Now it sits quiet and still between her palms, at rest. 

The local M.E. has been accommodating enough, but seems a little bitter about Scully swooping in and taking the only interesting case she would see this week. She’s been perfectly civil with Mulder though, chatting idly in the office while Scully slices and dices Terry Bishop. 

“So you’re married?” Dr. Abigail asks. Scully can hear every word of her conversation with Mulder through the open door. A glace up would reveal Mulder leaning against an unused desk, his back to the window to the autopsy bay, and Dr. Abigail in the chair of her own desk. 

“Yes, I got married a few months ago.”

“It’s a beautiful ring.” Abigail notes.

“It is. She picked it out, hers has the same pattern.”

“She’s alright with all the traveling?”

“She understands the demands of my job.” 

“Understatement of the year” Scully murmurs into Terry Bishop’s chest cavity. She gently lifts the heart out.

“You miss her?”

Easy as breathing, Mulder replies, “Every second she’s not by my side.”

Halfway to the hanging scale and holding the propelling object of a human life, Scully freezes. Her mouth pops open slightly in shock and her head snaps in the direction of the office window to look at the side of Mulder’s head. He’s fiddling with the ring, a private smile on his face.

At first, she thinks he’s lying to protect their cover. Saying what one would expect from a newlywed. As far as she knows, neither of them have ever outright lied about their relationship, they’ve only even answered people’s questions in an evasive manner while barely skimming along the confines of the truth. But examining Mulder’s face, Scully doesn’t think he’s lying. It’s worse than that. 

He’s telling the truth.

Scully tries not to look like she’s desperately in love with him. 

She fails.

Whatever. She doesn’t think Terry Bishop will judge her too harshly. 

***

Scully peels her gloves off and tosses them in the biohazard bin by the office door. 

“All done?” Mulder asks, stepping off his position against the desk and towards his partner. 

“What’d you find?”

“Well, his death was likely an accident. Terry Bishop was severely hemophiliac. Given the fact that no other victims have died, the wounds didn’t measure any deeper, and there’s no clear difference between Bishop and the other victims to suggest a copycat, I’d say that the perpetrators didn’t mean to kill him. They just cut his back like the rest of their victims, and he bled out because his blood couldn't clot correctly. It’s not an escalation, it was an unintentional death.”

“Well that sounds like good news, right?” Dr. Abigail asks.

Scully levels her with a disapproving look “Well I wouldn't say good, a man is still dead. But it’s reassuring that we have no evidence of escalation.” She turns to her partner, “Have you had a chance to check those message boards you found?”

“Yeah, they mentioned a bar called Lucky’s.”

“Some fortune it brought Bishop.”

Mulder scoffs, “Also, I hope you don’t mind that I picked up your cell, but Mrs. Bishop called with the information for the kid’s friends. You ready to go talk to them?”

“Yeah, just let me get out of…” she motions to her clothing, “I don’t think autopsy scrubs are appropriate for the ��hey, tell me about your dead friend’ conversation.”

“Probably not.” Mulder concedes, and Scully heads to change. 

***

Bishop’s friends lead them to the same bar mentioned in the message boards, which provides them with another tape. This one features a woman, short and curvy, with sleek brown hair running down her back and a glitch following the features of her face as she dances around the bar with Terry Bishop. 

When Scully calls the lab at the local field office to tell them that she has another tape, she’s greeted with the information that the one of Casey DiMarco’s assault has been analyzed and they could not find any source for the glitch. Sanchez had compiled a collection of similar tapes from other victims, none of which had revealed additional information. 

“Nothing?” Scully asks.

“Not a thing. There’s nothing wrong with the camera or the videotape, it’s just what it captured. He might as well have been wearing a mask.” the woman on the other end of the phone says.

“So it’s possible that he had some sort of tech that emitted a, a frequency of some sort that confused the cameras, in a way they couldn’t pick up and wouldn't live in the video?”

“I mean, I guess so? But I don’t know of any tech that can do that.”

“Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean no one’s come up with it. Thank you for your help.” Scully hangs up, and turns to Mulder, “You got that?”

“Nothing from the tape?” 

“I don’t know what I expected, someone tampering with the tape in any normal way would make our jobs too easy.” 

Mulder pulls the car into the parking spot, and they both step out into the motel parking lot. Neither of them speak as they get ready for bed. It’s not until they’re under the covers that Mulder speaks to the ceiling. 

“I hate having to tell people that their only child is dead.” Scully turns toward him and inspects his profile. “She’s alone now. No husband, no children. What’s she going to do?”

“Grieve,” Scully replies, and Mulder turns his head to look right back at her. “Just like we have.” She shifts onto her side, “Just like we’ve each grieved our fathers and sisters.”

Mulder scoffs, “Hopefully in a more healthy way than me.”

“She’ll follow the same strokes. She’ll cry. She’ll bury him and visit his grave weekly. She’ll throw herself into something, work, or a relationship, or a hobby. Hopefully we’ll be able to give her some kind of closure, so she can fixate on something less destructive than solving her son’s murder. And she’ll heal.”

Mulder grabs her hand where it rests between them and shifts to mirror the position in which she lays. “We have to give her that closure, Scully.”

“We will,” she says, “I have a good feeling about it. We’ll catch them.”

“A good feeling? We have no suspects, no explanation for how they’re able to erase their victims memories or wipe their faces from the security cameras, just a bunch of stray leads pointing us to different bars, different crowds, different perps. We have nowhere to go.”

Scully is quiet for a moment. She has an idea, but he won’t like it.

“Oh I know that face,” his voice is laced with a tone of disapproval.

“I’m not making a face!”

“Yes you are, that’s your ’I’m about to suggest something Mulder won’t like’ face.”

“I do not have a face for that.”

“Yes you do, and you’re making it right now. C’mon, Scully, spit it out, what is it?”

She bites her lip, “They post what bar they’re going to before they go, right?”

“Yes.”

“I think we should go to the bar.”

“Ok. So what’s the catch?”

She bites her lip. “I think I should go and… try to entice them.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder, listen. We can have a van outside, with Sanchez and Dapshutte monitoring the video cameras for someone with the glitch. You can be inside watching me, in case someone approaches. I’ll be bait, but I won’t engage.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know, but I think it’s our best option.”

Mulder sighs. She’s right, they have to do something more proactive to catch them, to shut them down. “We have to give Mrs. Bishop closure,” he whispers.

“Exactly.” she pauses, and puts her empty hand on their clasped ones. “Mulder, I’ll be fine. We’ll be safe about it.”

“Okay. We’ll call Sanchez and Dapshutte in the morning,” he relents.

“Thank you, Mulder.” She doesn’t need his approval, they both know that, but she appreciates him being on her side. They fall into sleepy silence for a couple minutes, until Mulder breaks it with a tone not dissimilar to a 10 year old girl whispering to her friend at a sleepover past midnight. 

“Hey, Scully?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I going to have to take you shopping again? For a dress to seduce a siren?”

“Oh, shut up Mulder.”

<- previous chapter next chapter ->