#Skinner Vineyards

[wine-porn]

Skinned Alive

Been a minute since I dug into one of these Sierra Foothills stunners. As I have raved before, these are some clean, amazing, nearly-perfect wines from El Dorado–a region which is my FAVORITE of all the Sierra range. Pale transparency in the glass–absolutely clear even at depth–showing a golden glow to the rosy core. Bottled in flint–a bold move with any red–but zero sediment or haze anywhere.…

[randomfoggytiger]

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part I): Colony and End Game

Bill and Tena (not “Teena” because of a Two Fathers script I read that spelled it that way, thanks @x-files-scripts for posting them~) Mulder are “two complicated, flawed, beautiful people” that deserved a deep-dive of their own. In doing a frame-by-frame, however, I discovered there was more than meets the eye to their character; and, slowly, one post turned into who knows how many. So, without further ado, let’s begin. 

Pilot

During their first case, Mulder stops being a jerk to his little spy when Scully shows up at his motel door, shaking and scared. After the dust has settled and all is calm, he opens up about his sister’s abduction and the fallout it had on his family: “I was 12 when it happened. My sister was 8. She just… disappeared out of her bed one night. Just gone, vanished. No note…. It tore the family apart. No one would talk about it. There were no facts to confront, nothing to offer any hope.” 

The only one who seems to have found hope and comfort from the past is Mulder, who goes on to explain how he found the X-Files and used hypnosis to recall his sister's abduction. He never mentions what his parents' thoughts are about this path he has taken; and doesn't bring them up again for a long time.

Aubrey 

The first memory Mulder relates of his father is in Aubrey as he and Scully bat the likelihood of genetic predisposition back and forth: “Whe-when I was a kid, I’d have nightmares and I’d wake up in the middle of the night thinking I was the only person in the world. And I would hear this--” crunching down on a sunflower seed to illustrate-- “My dad would be in the study eating these.”

This was obviously comforting to a young Mulder, likely stretching to a time before Samantha’s abduction when his family hadn’t fallen apart yet. (It also ties into the discussion on insomnia later in this post.)

Colony

Mulder and Scully are interrupted from their mytharc quest by a summons from Skinner, who relates that Mulder’s father had been trying to contact him all afternoon. 

Mulder runs to the basement to call Bill Mulder back; and is shocked when Tena picks up. As she passes the phone off to her ex-husband, Mulder shifts his cellphone nervously to another hand. His nerves are only heightened by his father's cryptic answers-- "I received a very strange phone call this afternoon. I called your mother. We think it is extremely important that you come up here as soon as possible.” 

It's important to note that Bill tells Mulder that both he (which he denies later) and Tena wanted their son to "get up here"-- the up-here meaning Tena’s house in The Vineyard. What’s interesting about that is: Bill has not separated a meeting place with his son from his former wife’s house, all three of them taking for granted that they’d meet at Tena’s. It’s such a blurring of boundaries and lines that it’s easy to see why Mulder blurs those boundaries constantly with Scully, modeling his parents’ separate-but-not-really relationship. 

Mulder has shifted in full-blown panic while Bill continues to dodge questions-- “I’ll know more when you get here”-- and hangs up, much to Mulder’s frustration. 

Mulder leaves immediately, dumping the investigation in Scully’s lap.

When he arrives at the Vineyard, Mulder is stopped from walking inside by Bill on the porch-- “Your mother needs some time.” 

Mulder goes in for a hug naturally, implying that at some point hugs were a tenuous normal between them, at least in times of crisis. 

When Bill swiftly blocks his attempts with a hand stuck out for a handshake-- 

Mulder is aggrieved, but accepts it. 

He is further pushed away by the distance Bill places between them: “SHE wanted you to come. It’s a difficult time.” He almost implies that Mulder was invited up because Tena requested it, not because he wanted his son there. 

Bill Mulder appears distant and cold from the first moment we see him. The invitation and longing seems to be, by his own words, from Tena; and Mulder’s emotional outreach appears to be personally undesired and refused. 

However, it’s incredibly important to note his facial expressions and relaxed posture whenever Mulder isn’t directly looking at him;

because, once his son has been redirected away from scrutinizing, Bill’s real feelings slightly bubble to the surface: he’s nervous and unsure. His smoking seems to be a distraction or a crutch as he tries to relate his jumbled feelings about the whole affair:

“The certainty. The calmness-- a comfort that allows you to move on. We bury our memories so deep after all that has been destroyed… never expecting--” 

Here Mulder cuts his father off, having observed his mother through the window talking with a woman and roughly wiping away tears with her handkerchief: 

The first time we see Tena is as a dynamic woman: her hands are traveling all over her scrunched up face, expressing intense emotions through her jerky movements and mile-a-minute talking.

Bill reveals that the woman is Samantha, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. (And, though the music is swelling menacingly and not painting him in the best of lights, in retrospect he isn’t menacing or smug: just… processing the shock in his own way.) 

Tena is wide-eyed, amazed, bewildered, and hopeful when her son walks in the room.

After a night spent talking and processing, Mulder takes an active role in putting Tena to bed: 

As he settles her in, Tena reflects: “After all those sleepless nights, I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

Mulder pulls her down gently, turns out her light, exhaustedly tries to softly soothe her for sleep-- "Well, you're exhausted. We all are. It's after 5:30."

Tena response?  “Oh, I just need a couple of hours.” 

She continues to comply as her son reiterates “Try and get some sleep", settling more firmly against her pillows and watching as he tucks her in, turns out her light, gives her a kiss, and begins to close her shades.

This interaction is CRUCIAL in the early stages of Mulder and Tena’s relationship dynamic: 

1. Tena is afflicted with the same insomnia issues as her son. In fact, the two of them demonstrate an underlying rote awareness and second-nature routine as he becomes her caretaker-- pulling back the covers, settling her pillows, and guiding her into bed-- and she a compliant but wired patient-- “Oh, I just need a couple of hours”-- after having spent all night talking and enduring an emotional upheaval. (Insomnia doesn’t seem to simply be a post-traumatic response connected to Samantha’s abduction: Mulder states in Aubrey that he would be up late, or wake from a nightmare, and hear his father comfortingly cracking sunflower seeds in the study. Since these memories are from early childhood, it’s hard to speculate how late Bill Mulder’s habits were in comparison to a young boy’s bedtime.) At the very least, Mulder and Tena seem to have bonded over their terrible sleep routines. That would also explain how Mulder is a natural at tucking Scully in or letting her sleep on his shoulder. 

But most importantly: 

2. Tena and Mulder have an emotionally open relationship (or did until Demons.) Most often I find theories, meta, or fics depicting Tena as cold, aloof, or withdrawn; but this firmly establishes that she has no qualms talking about her vulnerabilities with her son. And furthermore, she has done so in the past, often enough that Mulder takes her declaration as a fact that doesn’t faze or surprise him. It explains Mulder's comfortability with emotional expression-- wide-eyed in his earnestness to not only help Scully heal in a crisis, but to empathize with victims and the downtrodden. It also explains why he gives so many forehead kisses and comforting hugs: he expressed his love and care for his mother in those ways, and she likely did it for him as well when he was small. It seems, however, that since Samantha's abduction the role has solely fallen on Mulder because of how effortlessly they fell into these heartfelt but wonky dynamics.

Before Mulder can leave, Tena pops back up and asks fearfully: "Fox, it is really her, isn't it?"

Mulder smiles, tired but content; and replies: "I don't see who else it could be."

Tena is not very reassured;

but she trusts her son and his instincts. When he further admonishes her to "Go to sleep", she sinks back on her pillows

and obediently closes her eyes against the worry.

As demonstrated, Tena and her son’s relationship is heavily baked in trust and trauma. She obeys his every word, clings to his every assurance, leans on him more than he leans on her. It’s a credible reflection of Mulder’s insanely trustworthy character: so many people rely on him and trust him on his word alone-- his mother, Scully, Skinner, TLG, even acquaintances and informants-- willing to put their jobs and their lives at risk to stand by him. Because Mulder is pure Truth: he lives by what he seeks. 

Now: does this mean Tena is a compliant wallflower who does the bidding of everyone around her? No. Her stubborn, tough-as-nails nature will be explored in a future post about Talitha Cumi. 

Regardless-- thus ends Colony. 

And thus begins-- 

End Game 

After the loss of Samantha (who no one knows is a clone at this point), Mulder leaves Scully on the bridge with an ominous parting statement: ”I already told Skinner, that was the easy part. Now I gotta tell my father.”  

This is when Bill Mulder’s true nature is revealed: emotionally disconnected and harsh to protect against the scars of trauma. 

Bill arrives at Mulder’s apartment with an expression much more open and, perhaps, optimistic than he had on their previous meeting.  

He even starts the interaction by teasing his son-- “You didn’t have me come all this way to give me good news”-- which is a fascinating window into how Mulder developed his sense of humor.  

The fact his dad is so cheerful and trusting is a further blow to Mulder, who had seemed to recover his family in one night only to lose it himself, again, in the next.  

Bill sees that disaster lies ahead, donning the armor of stern anger to smoke out the truth. His son has become a suspicious character to interrogate and correct. 

Mulder turns back-to, shakily explaining: “Samantha’s gone… Dad. I lost her.”

Bill pauses for a couple of heavy seconds, baffled, unable to wrap his mind around that thought. 

When it clicks, he begins speaking rapidly-- “what do you mean ‘you lost her’?”-- taking swift steps into the room. For a split second, raw, vulnerable fear and hurt is written all over his face:

Mulder keeps silent for a stretch; but finally explains that his partner had been held hostage and Samantha needed to be exchanged. While he is fumbling with his words, his father’s eyes begin to glisten, and his mouth becomes more and more pinched to keep back the emotion. 

“You let this man take your sister? …Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me?” 

“I… can’t explain it to you”-- Mulder pleads-- "But, um, I believed I was doing the right thing, Dad.”

His gestures are unsure: hand flailing as he tries to grasp an explanation, eyes averted to the floor, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Bill reads this all as guilt of thoughtless action, which turns to useful anger he can use to blockade off his feelings. 

As Bill perceives it, his son’s actions have hurt him deeply, and lost Samantha for possibly the last time. Despite knowing how dear she was to the family, his son traded her for the safety of a work partner from (likely) the very people that had taken her in the first place. Bill sees this as reckless, and harshly punishes his son like a child who has killed a little bird in his careless actions. Chastisement has become the modus operandi. 

“Was this your decision?” 

Those words will haunt Mulder to his dying day...

(or would have if Samantha had not been a clone.) 

“Yes.”

Bill Mulder was a military man; and you can tell he trained his son by those hard standards as well. He stands erect before his father, shouldering the blame and answering his commanding officer with a direct affirmative. But at the same time the little boy peeks through--trying to protect himself by tucking in his chin and manfully facing his punishment instead of slinking off into the corner to cry.

And like a little boy, he tries to show his father he's learned how to be good and take responsibility for his actions: “I’ll tell Mom.”

Bill continues his correction speech: “Do you realize what losing her again is going to do to your mother?” His barely restrained tears give away his true meaning: Do you realize what you’ve done to me?

While he expects straightforward honesty from his son, Bill himself practices deception by avoidance. He cannot bear to peer into the darkness of his own emotions and pain; so, he deflects them by projecting onto Tena. 

When Mulder falters and doesn’t answer, Bill’s thinly held anger seeps through with more his clipped, uptight inflection:

“Do you?” 

He is exuding more outwardly forceful control because his own has internally slipped.

Here it is demonstrated how alike and dissimilar father and son are. They both protect Tena in their own steadfast ways, but in very different ways. Mulder comforts and soothes her distress while Bill tries to guard her from the pain by wrapping her in protective layers from the outside world. He is angered that an unavoidable heartache was brought to her doorstep because it’s another home he couldn’t keep the conspiracy out of, following her even when she had tried to escape from his connections by leaving him. You could easily make the case that Bill is still in love with Tena-- whether it’s in a fond, by-gone-days affection bred by guilt or love that couldn’t be revived after the horrific loss of his family (similar to what Scully and Mulder went through during their breakup years.) 

Mulder tries and fails to compose himself as his face crumples and his voice cracks: “I’m sorry, Dad. I-- I’m sorry.” 

Bill turns abruptly to leave, overwhelmed; but pauses when he remembers the envelope left by Samantha for Mulder. 

“Your sis--” his face softens, almost cracks;

then hardens as he copes by distancing himself as quickly as possible-- “...Samantha left this at the house for you.” 

Mulder's anguish overcomes him again at the thought of a posthumous letter from his sister;

giving Bill ample time to retreat, slamming the door behind him.

This next part is still relevant, as it demonstrates Mulder's coping strategies he learned from his parents.

Mulder softly grasps the letter, expecting it to be a heartfelt note; but is surprised to see she'd written cryptic instructions that leads to an abortion clinic. He immediately turns tail and flees from his emotions by running headlong into his quest for answers, uplifted he can distance himself from the bog of guilt and head towards more active salvation. He may have lost Samantha; but perhaps he can redeem his failures with the Truth. He sees hope in that. 

Thus ends End Game. 

Thank you for reading! I will be adding more parts in future; but that might take a bit. In the mean time--

Enjoy! 

[spookyshipperfics]

Do You Like Scary Movies? Fic Masterlist

Find me on ao3

This collection of fics has Scully and Mulder entering the universes of iconic horror movies.

*MSR is always the main focus. *No knowledge of the movies is required before reading. *These are NOT scary, but any warnings will be provided when necessary.

**********

Bigger Boat - ao3

Scully and Mulder investigate a mysterious pair of shark attacks off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard, but things aren’t exactly as they appear.

Jaws Inspired / Words: 9,658 / Rating: E

If You Were That Stoned, What? - ao3

Scully and Mulder head to Camp Crystal Lake to investigate the grounds, but things are derailed by partying camp counselors. Instead of breaking up the party, though, they become a part of it.

Friday the 13th Inspired / Words: 4,284 / Rating: M

Vacancy - a03

On the way to a case, Scully and Mulder lose their battle against the rain and have to spend the night at the Bates Motel. Smuttiness ensues.

Psycho Inspired / Words: 2,859 / Rating: E

I Don't Want to Talk - a03

Scully’s grief over losing Emily returns on a new case, and she turns to Mulder for unexpected comfort.

Rosemary's Baby Inspired / Words: 1,159 / Rating: M

What Lurks in the Forest - a03

Hikers are missing. Stories of an ancient being are whispered by the locals. Mulder drags Scully to the forest to investigate. Something strange is keeping them from the truth, but it only pushes them closer together.

The Ritual Inspired / Words: 8,285 / Rating: E

Darkened Skies - a03

Scully and Mulder help out Skinner when bird attacks derail his vacation to a seaside cottage. Everything changes after they are forced to take cover in a phone booth.

The Birds Inspired / Words: 1,719 / Rating: E

Viewing Experience - a03

Mulder and Scully have a scary movie night that inspires them to reveal their feelings. Basically, the ’90s version of “Netflix and Chill.”

The Exorcist Inspired / Words: 1,951 / Rating: T

These Dreams - a03

While unwinding at a bar, things get a little bit awkward, a little bit silly, and A LOT flirty when Mulder asks Scully about her dreams.

Nightmare on Elm Street Inspired / Words: 1,919 / Rating: M

These Dreams (Part 2) - a03

This is a follow-up to These Dreams. Now that Mulder and Scully have confessed their dirty, secret, and unprofessional dreams to each other, they set about making them come true.

Nightmare on Elm Street Inspired / Words: 1,655 / Rating: E

Talk to Me - a03

Scully and Mulder are broken up, but when feelings about William resurface, Mulder tries to comfort her in his own way. Takes place somewhere early in the revival, meaning there is angst.

Frankenstein Inspired / Words: 1,142 / Rating: E

Boyfriend - a03

Scully and Mulder might have recently crossed into a romantic relationship, but that doesn’t mean she wants to call him her boyfriend. However, when Mulder surprises her while babysitting her godson, it has Scully questioning her stance on labels.

Halloween Inspired / Words: 3,056 / Rating: M

The Finer Things - a03

Scully and Mulder are sent undercover onboard a luxury train to investigate the presence of a suspicious and undocumented train car. Playing a wealthy married couple is tricky, but they run into even bigger issues when an unwelcomed agent gets sent in for backup.

Horror Express Inspired / Words: 15,681 / Rating: E

Unprofessional - a03

Scully isn't happy when a case sends them to a New Orleans swamp. She's even less thrilled when a local tour guide gets the hots for Mulder and invites him to dinner.

Hatchet Inspired / Words: 1,876 / Rating: E

Something - a03

Mulder is ready for something more with Scully, but his hopes for romance shatter when he realizes Scully has reconnected with her ex-boyfriend.

Trick 'r Treat Inspired / Words: 1,787 / Rating: T

Discussing the Case - a03

While investigating the Babysitter Killer, the local PD files a misconduct complaint against Scully and Mulder. They swear it’s a misunderstanding, but if they want to keep their jobs, Skinner has to shadow them, ensuring the allegations of “unnecessary touching” and “standing too close together” aren’t true.

Halloween H20 Inspired / Words: 8,397 / Rating: E

Fascinating - a03

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

Blair Witch Inspired / Words: 1,405 / Rating: M

Fascinating (Part 2) - a03

Scully and Mulder continue their hike in the woods after the new development in their relationship. If only Skinner wasn't around to witness it.

Blair Witch Inspired / Words: 1,651 / Rating: T

[skinnervineyards5]

 Wine enthusiasts and aficionados, are you ready for an exquisite journey from vine to glass? El Dorado Hills, nestled in the heart of California's wine country, offers a unique and enchanting wine tasting experience that you won't want to miss. In this blog, we'll explore the best wineries in the region, the art of wine tasting, and take a closer look at Skinner Vineyards, a hidden gem among El Dorado Hills' lush vineyards.

[aristocratslog]

The Voice Actress from Anna J. Takayama on Vimeo.

Kingyo, a veteran voice actress working in Tokyo, possesses a unique ability to see the soul in all things, living and inanimate. The voice acting world is changing and she must find a way to reconcile her way of living with the modern industry.

東京で働くベテラン声優の金魚は、全てのものに魂を見出す少し変わった能力を持っている。変わりつつある声優業界で彼女は自らの生き方を考え直さなければならない。

Written, Directed and Edited by: Anna J. Takayama 作・演出・編集：高山杏奈 ------

"With its impeccable compositions and captivating lead performance, The Voice Actress offers a sensitive peek behind the scenes of an ever-changing industry. This patient study of imagination and aging achieves extraordinary depth thanks to Anna J. Takayama’s soulful direction, and we are delighted to support the career of such a remarkable talent." - SXSW Mailchimp Support the Shorts Award Jury

"A visually stunning and moving portrait of an aging actress competing against the younger generation, which also seamlessly deals with grief and sexism, while ultimately embracing the courage to be different and to honor one’s true self." - Palm Springs ShortFest, Best of the Festival Jury

"Bold and delightfully original. A playful, tender and universal story about remaining unapologetically yourself in a relentless world, from a director with a refreshingly unique cinematic language. From the pacing to the use of colour, from the framing to the lead performance, Anna J. Takayama's 'The Voice Actress' is a vibrant, feminist gem of a film." - Leeds International Short Film Competition Jury

CAST Urara Takano - Kingyo

Daisaku Hokura - Director Otome - Idol Ujisuke - Producer Itsuki - Sound Mixer Ryuji Takahashi - Screenwriter Michiko Nonaka - Assistant Michael Aaron Stone - Executive

Masayuki Ishibashi - Salaryman Kiri Halebale - Mother Taishi Nagamatsu - Father Gajumaru Nagamatsu - Son Noriko Hokura - Woman Yuki Iwaka - Friend Yuki Okuda - Friend Ariyo - Young Voice Actress Ayane Hayakawa - Young Voice actress Nonoka Mamiya - Young Voice actress Rui Egawa - Young Voice actress Taichi Shimizu - Young Voice Actor Taishi Hamamoto - Young Voice Actor Takuya Umeda - Young Voice Actor Yuto Ohashi - Young Voice Actor Aoi Maeda - High School Student Kaoru Togashi - College Student Mizuho Kanai - College Student Shunya Nitta - Salaryman Hararyo - Pachinko Player Kenichi Kawata - Boyfriend Mio Komura - Girlfriend Yukio Arai - College Student Asatte - Asatte the Goldfish

CREW Anna J. Takayama - Writer, Director, Editor Joe Skinner - Producer Conor Murphy - Director of Photography Kumi Nemoto - Co-Producer Jackson K. Segars - Co-Producer Natsuki Kato - Associate Producer, Graphics Design, SFX Artist Kyo Yaoya - Associate Producer, Graphics Design Sunnie Kim - Assistant Camera Andrew Yip - Production Sound Mixer Jun Endo - Graphics Design Kiri Halebale - Script Supervisor Julien Pinault - Production Assistant Chaka - Recording Studio Consultant Marcy Robinson - Colorist Lucas Greenwood Andrei - Workflow Supervisor Rachael Black - Online Editor Myahdellese Jones - D.I. Assist Rebecca Conner - D.I. Assist Megan Rumph - D.I. Producer Tiffany Gale - D.I. Production Coordinator Ariyan Hashemi - VFX Martin Anderson - VFX Ryan Billia - Sound Designer and Re-Recording Mixer

FESTIVALS & AWARDS SXSW Film Festival 2022 - "Special Jury Award Winner" The Martha's Vineyard Film Festival 2022 Lighthouse International Film Festival 2022 Short Shorts Film Festival & Asia 2022 - "Audience Award Winner, Japan Competition" Palm Springs ShortFest 2022 - "Jury Special Mention, Best of the Festival Award" DC Asian Pacific American Film Festival 2022 - "Jury Award Winner, Best Performance for Urara Takano" L.A. Shorts International Film Festival 2022 Asian American International Film Festival 2022 Flickers' Rhode Island International Film Festival 2022 HollyShorts Film Festival 2022 - "Best International Film Award Winner" Edinburgh International Film Festival 2022 Nevada City Film Festival 2022 - "Best Narrative Short Award Winner & Best Director Award Winner" Nara International Film Festival 2022 Woodstock Film Festival 2022 Nashville Film Festival 2022 Mill Valley Film Festival 2022 New Hampshire Film Festival 2022 Hamptons International Film Festival 2022 Raleigh Film & Art Festival 2022 Raindance Film Festival 2022 Urbanworld Film Festival 2022 New Orleans Film Festival 2022 San Diego Asian Film Festival 2022 Leeds International Film Festival 2022 - "International Short Film Competition Winner" Hawai‘i International Film Festival 2022 Izmir Short Film Festival 2022 New York Japan CineFest 2022 Fargo Film Festival 2023 - "Best Narrative Short Film Competition Winner"

thevoiceactressfilm.com/

[lilydalexf]

Here are some very good casefile fics where Mulder and Scully are in an established relationship. Enjoy! Above Rubies by Rachel Howard Biological weapons, ghosts, sex, guns, bad guys galore, Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and a partridge in a pear tree. All the Way Home and Head Over Heels by @syntax6​ A tale of shoes and death. Antidote by Rachel Howard and Karen Rasch Strange doings in a tiny western town bring Mulder and Scully out to investigate. Once there, they uncover a deadly experiment that may cost both of them their lives. Backlash by Joann Humby After a year on the run, a series of bombings mean that everyone agrees that it's time for Mulder and Scully to stop running. Blood Oranges by @syntax6​ The latest victim in a series of brutal murders has a surprising connection to Mulder, but it's Scully who has the connection to the killer. Their relationship might not survive either one. Caught in the Act by Parrotfish A secret is revealed, threatening to permanently dissolve the partnership between Scully and Mulder. Embers by @syntax6 Tiberton is a town rife with buried bodies and buried secrets. But at least one of the two won't seem to stay down. The Ghosts of Thurmere Hall by Stephen Greenwood Mulder and Scully, still trying to reconcile their new status as a couple, travel to England to investigate the mysterious goings-on in an old manor house. Indiana Filth by Lapsed_Scholar And thus was she consigned to hiking in Indiana in March. She supposes that there are some days when hiking in Indiana in March might actually be pleasant. Jack by Exeley_61 At the age of innocence, a child witnessed the brutal murder of his mother at the hands of a monster. Ten years later, can Mulder and Scully prevent such brutality from happening again, risking more than their lives, but their hearts as well. . . . Malevolence by aka "Jake" When ex-ISU Chief Bill Patterson is found dead in his prison cell with his face slashed and his eyes cut out, Mulder and Scully pick up the hunt where they left off five years earlier. Still convinced the killer is not a man but an evil spirit, Mulder pursues his own investigative methods, bringing him to the brink of insanity for a second time. Meanwhile, Scully is desperate to solve the case before she loses Mulder to his demons forever. Malus Genus by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda What’s *your* evil spirit? Midori No Me by FridaysAt9 When several couples go missing from a 55+ community in Florida, Mulder and Scully are once again assigned as an undercover married couple tasked with solving the case. Mulder can’t wait to play house as a retiree, but because of the nature of their relationship at its current state, Scully isn’t so sure. Set post Plus One. The Miraculous Series by mountainphile Scully and Mulder, while in pursuit of a miracle, uncover the one that already exists between them... Nights of Shining Armor by Gina Rain A tale of shared dreams, fractured fairy tales and great expectations gone awry. In short, Mulder and Scully investigate a serial kidnapping case. Partial Abandon by MoJo Scully takes a twelve hour break in the Big Easy with Mulder for some pure MSR. Resurgam by Ophelia (ophelia_interrupted) Something very angry is haunting a tiny graveyard on the Vineyard. The Second to Last 7-Eleven by Punk and Sab (V. Salome) Across the street, a bank clock proclaimed it was 99 degrees, and the sky was black from another fire. Seeds of Synchronicity and Diametrically Opposed by mountainphile Six years after the events of “Aubrey,” Scully and Mulder revisit the Missouri town to confront old demons and lay new ones to rest. Unnatural Disaster by Michaela It's hard enough when your mistakes come back to haunt you. Harder still when you're a federal agent. Hardest yet when your partner's help is the first thing you need, but the last thing you want ... Wing and Prayer by Revely Spoilers: En Ami, primarily. Vague spoilers for Je Souhaite and all things. This takes place before Requiem.

[cecilysass]

The Boy on the Beach (7/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging@today-in-fic

Chapter 7: Many Times I've Lied; Many Times I've Listened

The soundtrack for this chapter is Over the Hills and Far Away, by Led Zeppelin, from their 1973 album Houses of the Holy. This song peaked as a single in July 1973, but the album was a bigger success and was #4 for the year.

Berkeley, California 88 Hours After Scully Vanishes 1999

The grad students thought their voices were much quieter than they actually were. Mulder, flat on his back on the couch in the lounge, hands covering his face, could hear them anxiously conferring in the hall.

“He’s in there? Still?”

“It’s only been thirty minutes.”

“What’s the new photo of?” He thought that was Eujung’s voice. She was one of the new additions to the pool of grad students floating around, helping Anish and Georgette work on whatever it was they were so intently and furtively working on.

“A sign for some dance studio in Cape Cod,” whispered Anish. “Near where he’s from.”

“So that means she…”

“Shhhhhh,” Anish whispered. “Yes. It means she’s there for sure.”

It meant more than that. It meant something else. Something so hard to hold in his head that Mulder was having a hard time parsing through it himself, much less explaining it to the grad students or Skinner.

He wasn’t looking at the photo any more. It was sitting on his stomach, face down.

“Is he flipping out? Losing it? Because he’s armed, you know.”

“He’s fine,” Anish hissed. “Just give him a little more time. It’s a lot for him to take in. Did you read the informational thing I printed out for you about his sister? It will help you to understand what he’s going through.”

Mulder wondered what informational thing that was, exactly. Anish was proving to be quite the little researcher. And quite the Mulder handler, too. An apparently essential position. One recently vacated.

“Agent Mulder,” Eujung’s voice suddenly cut through loudly into the lounge, kind and fake. “Do you want us to get you something to eat? Some of us were going over to the student center.”

“No,” Mulder called back. “I’m much too busy flipping out to eat right now.”

Silence from the grad students.

“I’m okay,” Mulder tried again, more sincere. “Fine. I’ll eat later.”

“Uh. All right,” came Eujung’s uncertain voice. “Well, take care.”

Mulder listened to the sounds of them padding off. He took his hands off his face, looked up at the fissured office ceiling tiles above him. When he felt prepared, he pinched the corners of the picture, lifted it above his face and aimed his gaze at it again.

Falmouth School of Dance. He didn’t particularly remember the sign, but he sure remembered the place.

He began to take himself step by step through a logical series.

If she were in Falmouth, she probably was trying to get the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. Skinner’s theory seemed to be conclusively proven right.

But. But, but, but. He tapped his fingertips aggressively against his forehead.

He had never told her about Samantha’s dance studio. Had he? He really didn’t think he did. If he had ever mentioned Samantha took dance, in passing, he wouldn’t have had any reason to mention where, specifically.

If Scully had to guess where Samantha Mulder might take dance, she wouldn’t come up randomly with a dance studio in Falmouth, since it was a pain in the ass to get there from Chilmark. He should know. He and Samantha had taken that trip on the ferry often enough. His mother had some connection with that studio; probably some friend with some fancy schmancy society association had insisted it was the place to go or some bullshit. But why would Scully be looking for Samantha at her ballet class anyway? Why not just go straight to the family home in Chilmark?

He looked at the image. The Falmouth School of Dance was not so close to a major thoroughfare that she was likely to just come across it. He could picture exactly where it was, on a quiet side street, in a converted old house. Still there today, if he wasn’t mistaken.

There’s only one way Scully would know to go there. Only one person could have told her, shown her. One person she would trust.

Samantha had been rehearsing in that building for her Christmas recital. He couldn’t remember when, exactly, those rehearsals had been. (If only he did have hyperthymesia, he thought, not for the first time.) But she had extra rehearsals the week before her abduction. The police had questioned him afterwards about it. Questions about the rehearsals, about taking the ferry, about whether they talked to strangers in Falmouth. All of that was dropped early on, he remembered, probably seen as irrelevant to her abduction.

If Samantha had a rehearsal the day Scully arrived in Falmouth, that means he, Fox Mulder, would have been somewhere in Falmouth, too.

Which could mean. Which would imply.

This idea couldn’t quite find a place to lodge in his mind. It kept skirting the edges of his consciousness, not quite planting. He couldn't bring himself to imagine it.

Instead, Mulder indulged in something secret, something he had done way too many times in the past few days. He pretended he had hyperthymesia, maybe even extreme hyperthymesia. But he didn’t visit the useful memories of 1973.

Instead, he revisited in his mind the moment in Scully’s apartment from a few weeks ago. The moment she told him he didn’t need to sacrifice his happiness.

He tried to recreate the expression on her face, the tender glint in her eyes, but this time, he imagined he didn’t argue back. In his mind’s eye he did what his heart told him, he wound his fingers in her messy hair and kissed her hard. He imagined pressing tiny kisses all over her sweaty body; he imagined murmuring truthful words into her ear.

“Agent Mulder,” Anish stepped into the door of the lounge. “Agent Mulder, can we talk to you?”

“Can’t right now, Anish. Having a meltdown.”

Mulder re-covered his face with his hands. He wanted to hide back inside his soothing fake memories.

“Well, can you take a break?” Anish said. “Because Georgette has been working on something, and we want to show you.”

November 25, 1973 Falmouth, Massachusetts

Scully couldn’t have said exactly what she expected the actual, flesh-and-blood, 1973 Samantha to be like. Her core picture of Samantha Mulder was second hand, impressionistic: the archetypal little sister, long braids, come on, Fox, big toothy smile for the camera. This core image had plenty of noise and static; there had been the Samantha clones, after all. So many false leads, even in Mulder’s memories.

If she had given it serious thought, she would have realized that no little girl is as uncomplicated as her older brother views her. Especially not as he remembers her after he has lost her for decades.

Scully herself was just about Samantha’s age. What would she seem like if she were viewed only through Bill’s memories of her at eight? Would he remember her as she really was?

For that matter… in this new and revised 1973, Scully was a disappeared nine-year old. In the new and revised 1999 that grew from this, for all she knew, her siblings were the custodians of her memory. After all, there would be no Agent Mulder to remember Agent Scully, to wear her cross faithfully.

Samantha walked straight up to her brother, her lips in a line, when rehearsal ended. She wore a mauve coat and carried a trim white dance bag over her arm. Her braids were still pinned up over the crown of her head, with some unruly curls starting to escape around her face. Scully couldn’t stop staring at her: the vanished sister in the flesh.

“Fox,” she said. Her voice was lower and more husky than Scully expected. “Madame Brindell wants to talk to you about the recital again.” She seemed to notice Scully sitting there, and she gave her a questioning look, but did not acknowledge her.

“Sam, there you are,” the boy said, springing to his feet. “Madame Brindell’s going to have to wait.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “Because guess what? We’re on a mission.”

It was startling, his continued use of that word. Scully supposed it wasn’t surprising. He certainly seemed to like it in 1999.

“A mission,” Samantha repeated, her forehead creasing slightly. She glanced behind her at her dance studio. “What kind of mission?”

“This woman is a time traveler,” said the boy, importantly, gesturing to Scully. In a whisper: “She’s from the future.”

Scully, appalled at the boy’s direct, theatrical approach, stood up and cleared her throat. “Samantha,” she said, forcing a smile. “Hi. I’m Dana Scully. You probably can just call me… Scully.”

You’re the mission, Samantha, she didn’t say. You’ve always been the mission.

Samantha gave Scully a small, polite smile, but turned back to her brother, sighing in obvious exasperation. “Fox,” she said, “very funny. Now can you please go talk to Madame Brindell before we leave?”

The boy’s soft jaw set. “No.”

“But she can’t find anyone else. We’ll be missing someone for the recital.”

“I don’t care,” the boy said, impatiently. “I told her no. Didn’t you hear me, Samantha? Important visitor from the future? Mission?”

Samantha’s eyes narrowed. “Did you make this whole story up so you won’t have to dance in the recital?”

“No,” he said. “And Sam, did you happen to notice there is an adult stranger here saying what I’m saying, too?”

Scully turned to the boy, trying to follow. “Her teacher wants you to dance in a ... ballet recital?”

The boy waved his hand dismissively. “They seem to have some kind of boy shortage … but I said no.”

“But you know how to dance ballet?” Scully repeated. This was information she couldn’t possibly integrate with her understanding of adult Mulder.

“They just need a boy who can waltz,” Samantha said in a matter-of-fact tone, as though that explained it. “Just to waltz with the girl who plays Clara in the first act, during the Christmas party scene. Just for five minutes on stage. It would be easy.”

“They want your brother to waltz?” Scully said, still not quite getting the mental image.

“Ugh, this is nothing,” the boy snapped. “This has nothing to do with anything.”

“My brother is really good at the waltz,” Samantha said. “Madame Brindell says he’s elegant on his feet. Because of all his ballroom dance classes.”

“That’s a complete lie,” insisted the boy with a little groan. “I’m terrible at the waltz, the rhumba, the foxtrot, all of them. She’s just desperate for someone to do it, and I said no.”

“We need someone,” Samantha said. “You’d be in the recital with me.” Her voice was still casual — she didn’t beg — but her green eyes had an intense cast, the look of someone who wanted something very badly but was holding back.

It was such a familiar expression to Scully. As familiar as picking up sunflower seed shells from a rental car carpet.

“You should do the recital,” Scully said, abruptly to the boy, surprising both siblings.

“What?” He sounded shocked. "Why?"

“You just should.”

The boy looked reproachfully at Scully. “Didn’t you say you were my partner?” he said. “On my side?”

“I am on your side. I just know more than you, and I think you should do the recital, Mulder … Fox.”

“What could my sister’s stupid recital possibly have to do with anything? Why would I waste time making an idiot of myself?”

Scully only lifted a shoulder in response, hesitant to say too much more. Samantha’s eyes darted uncertainly between the boy and Scully.

The boy exhaled an aggrieved sigh. “I can’t talk to Madame Brindell now, or we might miss the ferry,” he said. He looked unhappily at Scully, and then at his sister again. “But fine. Fine! Maybe I can talk to the teacher at the next rehearsal.”

Scully nodded her head, satisfied. The boy began to walk, huffily, down the path, towards the street, and Samantha watched him, puzzled, as she and Scully began to follow after him.

Samantha gave Scully a sidelong glance with new interest.

“So,” she said, after a moment of walking side-by-side. “Who exactly are you, again?”

***

They sat together on a wooden bench on the ferry, the three of them, with the boy in the middle. They sat inside where it was warmer, within view of the coffee counter, and Scully considered using some of her last coins to buy a styrofoam cup of coffee, but she didn’t. She now found that she rather superstitiously didn’t want to walk away from the Mulder siblings even a short distance if she didn’t have to.

So after she had changed into her stolen clothes in the bathroom – carefully rolling up her San Diego sundress into the duffel bag for possible later use – she stuck close to the Mulders: the three of them a distinct trio, watching other ferry passengers from afar.

When she returned from the bathroom, the boy had been in the process of telling Samantha the whole story as Scully had told him—rather rashly, in Scully’s view, since Samantha was young, and they had not discussed strategy in advance.

He recounted it like it was an exciting action tale, like it was a comic book, and Samantha just stared at him, gimlet-eyed. Maybe it was right to trust him to handle his own sister. Then again, he had a well-documented tendency to make reckless moves, even when he was in his thirties.

When he was finished, Samantha leaned over him and spoke directly to Scully. “You’re really an F.B.I. agent from the future?”

“Yes,” Scully said cautiously, hoping that this experience wouldn’t encourage the Mulder siblings to believe any wild story a stranger approached them with.

“Sometimes Fox tells me things that aren’t true,” Samantha told Scully in the rather low, unchildlike voice she had.

“Sam,” protested the boy.

“Not always in a mean way,” Samantha said. “Sometimes he tells me things that aren’t true so I will … pretend with him. It’s a game we play together. I thought this might be like that.”

The boy, wedged between Samantha and Scully, looked embarrassed and shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, this story is true,” Scully said, and gave the boy a curious look. “I know it doesn’t seem like it is, but it is.”

“What year is it, where you’re from?”

“It’s 1999,” Scully said. “So twenty-six years from now.”

Samantha and the boy sat up in their seats immediately and locked eyes in delighted wonder.

“1999?” the boy said rapturously. “That’s almost the year 2000.”

Samantha swiveled her head back to Scully again. “Do you live in space?” she whispered.

“No,” Scully said. She was alarmed by the nearly identical joyous expression on the siblings’ faces. On adult Mulder, singular, it usually meant an endless series of curious questions was about to unfold, and on children Mulder, plural, she suspected it meant something equivalent.

“Do you have flying cars?” the boy asked.

“No,” Scully said. She considered. “Unless you count airplanes. Which of course you have in 1973, too.”

“But you have time travel?”

“Well, I suppose,” Scully conceded. “Although it was a mistake. If you had asked me only a week ago, I would have said it was theoretically possible but not practical.”

“Do you have robot servants?” Samantha said. “Like on The Jetsons?”

“No – not really. We have computers, which do help us with–.”

“Wait, in 1973, you should be a kid, too, shouldn’t you?” the boy asked, suddenly. “Like me?”

“I was the first time,” Scully agreed.

“So somewhere around 1973, is there a version of you, Dana Scully, who’s my age? A pretty red-headed 12-year old girl? Lonely, looking for companionship?”

Scully smothered a smile. “No,” she said. “I took the physical place of my 1973 self. I woke up in my childhood bedroom. And I’m a little younger than you. I was only nine in 1973.”

He made a face. “Oh. Then you’re really more Samantha’s age than mine.”

“Well, three years’ age difference is essentially the same age when you’re adults,” Scully said, feeling strangely defensive.

“So you’re only one year older than me?” Samantha asked, staring up at Scully. “Really? How can that be true?”

“Sam. I’m three years older than her,” the boy said. He sat up straight, squaring his small shoulders and doing his best to be visibly taller than Scully. He spoke in a fake baritone, waving his finger. “Hello, I’m F.B.I. Agent Fox Mulder.”

Both Samantha and the boy dissolved into giggles, making so much noise that people standing in the coffee line turned to stare at them. Scully, self-consciously flashing an apologetic smile at the onlookers, found she wanted to watch the pair giggle. Laughing like this, without worry, the boy looked almost unrecognizable, very little like her adult Mulder.

Samantha stopped laughing, obviously thinking of something else. “Do you know me, in 1999? Am I an F.B.I. agent, too?”

Scully turned to look quickly out the windows on the opposite side of the ferry at the windswept gray of the Atlantic. “No,” she said, neutrally.

“Can you remember who won the World Series and Superbowl for the past twenty-six years?” the boy asked, quickly. He hadn’t seemed to note her reaction to the last question. Adult Mulder would have, but this was not, she needed to remember, adult Mulder.

“No,” Scully said. “I’m afraid not. But I might be able to remember some of them.”

“Make sure you write down all you can remember,” the boy said solemnly. “We’re going to bet on them. We’re going to make a fortune off this, Sam.”

Samantha grinned widely and leaned her cheek against his arm. “What do you need to do while you’re here? What is the mission?” she asked Scully.

“I’m going to explain,” Scully said. “I will. I just need some time to completely think it through and get a lay of the land. But it has to do with you and your brother. Keeping you safe.”

That quieted the siblings. They didn’t look at one another, but seemed to both be mulling it over, Samantha’s head still resting slightly against the boy’s arm.

“How are you getting back?” the boy asked Scully, his brow furrowing. “To 1999?”

Scully forced a smile. “I don’t know,” she said. “After I complete our … mission, I guess I might try to track down the scientist who sent me here and see what he knows.”

Hearing the words out loud, she could hear how futile, how unlikely that sounded. She could find Hays, but where would he be in his research in 1973? And what if the incident that sent her back was more accident than purposeful anyway?

But she was not ready yet to think about the implications of this, the implications of what in her heart she already knew. That she was, in all likelihood, never going back.

The boy was watching her, she realized, as she blinked back her worry. She would have to be more careful about that. Even though he wasn’t her Mulder, exactly, he was still a perceptive kid.

“So,” she said, clapping her hands together, “what can you tell me about Martha’s Vineyard?”

Berkeley, California 89 Hours After Scully Vanishes 1999

Three grad students sat around the conference table, waiting, all of them with intense, owlish expressions on their faces. Georgette, Paolo, and a tall guy Mulder didn’t know. Their eyes followed Mulder expectantly as he and Anish walked in. It gave him a little twist of anxiety.

“Uh, hey,” Mulder said. “I mean this in the very best way, but don’t you all have any work of your own you’re supposed to be doing?”

Georgette, clearly the one in charge, didn’t respond to the quip. She was tall, serious, very organized. Anish told him her parents had once been Black Panthers and now ran a successful family bakery in Oakland. He wondered how they would feel about her helping F.B.I. agents as a side project.

“Agent Mulder, we know the F.B.I. has been interrogating Dr. Hays.”

Mulder nodded wearily, slumping into a chair. He wasn’t supposed to discuss it with civilians, but he knew there had been little progress with Hays. Skinner had been shielding Mulder, mercifully, from all the internal maneuvering happening on the case at the Bureau, but he knew that there was resistance to his time travel thesis.

The more rational seeming explanation was that Scully’s disappearance had actually been a tragic death, the side effect of an irresponsible experiment set into motion by a mad scientist and a reckless partner. He imagined there were probably going to be agents looking into it as a homicide or manslaughter case. He wondered if they’d be coming to ask him infuriating questions soon.

“Well, here’s the thing. I know Hays pretty well,” Georgette said. “I’m his advisee. And I don’t think he’s going to tell the F.B.I. anything, no matter how much Agent Scully might be in danger. He’s …” She looked at Anish, and then at the other students at the table.

“An asshole,” Anish filled in. “An ego.”

Georgette nodded emphatically. “To say the least. Now we—,“ she gestured among the students, “don’t have access to everything he worked on, but we have access to a lot. We’ve been able to reconstruct some of it. And we think we can go further.”

Mulder perked up. “Okay. You officially have my attention. What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have the key to Hays’ office,” Georgette continued. “I watered his plants for him when he went on vacation. So yesterday I let myself in, and I looked through his desk drawers until I found his password on a sticky note, and then I went on the man’s computer. Since then, Marshall, Paolo and I’ve been going through his notes.”

Paolo inclined his head in the affirmative. Marshall, apparently the lanky guy Mulder didn’t remember seeing before, grinned.

“All right,” Mulder said cautiously. “That’s great. Don’t keep me in suspense. What’d you find?”

Georgette pursed her lips. “So you know that Dr. Hays theorized that extreme hyperthymesia originated with an area of the brain some people call the God module. He believed that the ability to project one’s mind into the past was related to telepathic ability. That it was physiologically possible for anyone, but only developed naturally in certain people. In our research here, he could provoke it in anyone with electrical stimuli, which is what we thought we were doing with Agent Scully that day.”

“What you … thought you were doing?”

“It’s just I’m starting to think that for Hays, the EH was a front, a bunch of smoke and mirrors,” she said. “Or horseshit, as my grandma would say.”

“Why? Why do you say that?”

“Because looking at his notes,” Georgette looked over the papers, “there’s not that much about the EH here at all. I think his real work hasn’t been about EH for quite some time. Judging from his files, I think for years now he’s had a shadow project – he’s been interested in another latent ability of the human mind, one that he also thought he could bring to life with mild electric stimulus. And we think that’s what he was testing out with Agent Scully.”

“The ability to initiate time travel?” Mulder breathed.

Georgette looked at Paolo and Marshall, and then nodded.

“Time travel as a latent human ability? That anyone could develop?” Mulder blinked. “That’s … an enormous claim.” He could just hear, in his imagination, how Scully would object.

Georgette nodded knowingly. “Mmm-hmm,” she said. “It gets more enormous, too.”

“For what it’s worth, we don’t think Hays expected it to work with Agent Scully,” Marshall added. “We think he was doing some preliminary testing while doing the EH, and he was surprised when it worked.”

Mulder’s jaw tightened. “No offense, Marshall, but that’s not worth very much.” At the young man’s startled reaction, he pressed his eyes shut. “No, no, I’m sorry. It valuable to know his mindset. I’m just …”

“Agent Mulder hasn’t been sleeping,” Anish broke in.

“Right. And when I do,” Mulder nodded, “weird, weird dreams. But Georgette, if there’s an area of the brain that can somehow spontaneously time travel, why don’t I investigate cases like that all the time? Why aren’t there people who have developed that capacity on their own, in the same way there are people who have telepathy or EH?”

Georgette bit her lip. “Well, for one,” she said, “Hays believed that all of these abilities were more or less dormant in most of the population because they weren’t … human in origin. I think that’s one reason he came to you to begin with. Because of your reputation.”

Mulder was silent a moment. “Okay,” he said. “Do you believe that, Georgette? About the origin of these abilities?”

She glanced at Anish, lifted a shoulder. “I don’t honestly know, Agent Mulder. I know this is some freaky shit, neurologically speaking.”

Mulder nodded, folded his arms over his chest.

“It could be that this ability is very rare, or even naturally dormant, without the right electrical stimuli,” Georgette continued. “And the other piece here is that, judging from what we’ve seen from Agent Scully’s experience so far, the time travel ability is multiversal. That is, her time travel ability caused her to jump multiverses. That could help explain why we haven’t seen examples of people using it before. If they have, they essentially left our multiverse.”

There was another silence as Mulder processed that.

Marshall cleared his throat. “But Georgette,” he said. “I have a question. What do we think happened to the other Dana Scully? The one from 1973, from the other multiverse?”

“The little girl?” Georgette said. “I think we’re assuming she was replaced, essentially, by our Dana Scully, the grown-up one from our 1999, when she was sent there.”

“So the little girl, what, disappeared?” Marshall said. “Do we know that for sure? What if she was … sent somewhere else? Displaced?”

“Sent somewhere else?” Mulder’s eyes fixed on Marshall anxiously. “Sent where? Like sent here?”

Nobody answered.

“Well, she’s not here, right?” Anish said. “She wasn’t sent to our 1999. Or she’d be … you know, here.”

“Unless she was sent to her original physical location,” Mulder said in a low voice. “Unless she showed up in San Diego.” He swallowed. He couldn’t believe the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He had an unpleasant image of a lost child version of Scully wandering alone through San Diego naval housing in 1999. “I can call San Diego PD, ask some questions. I know her old address.”

“A few of us could drive down and check it out,” Anish offered.

Mulder didn’t know how to cope with a tiny version of Scully, what to tell a likely-terrified kid from 1973. Not to mention, he was pretty certain the San Diego PD wouldn’t easily release a strange child with no apparent connection to him into his custody, much less into the custody of some friendly grad students. It would probably end up being yet another difficult discussion with Mrs. Scully, and legally maddening.

“We should check it out, but I don’t think she’s there,” Georgette said firmly. “That’s my gut. I think people just replace themselves in multiverse time travel. No displaced kid versions.”

“How could you possibly know that, Georgette?”

“I don’t, Marshall,” Georgette replied. “I don’t know anything for sure — none of us do. It’s just my gut. And on that topic…”

She turned to Mulder again.

“Let’s talk about what’s really important here — whether we could do it ourselves,” she said. “Because I think we could.”

“Do what?” Mulder sat up straight. “Do what ourselves, exactly?”

“Send someone to the same 1973 as Agent Scully. And bring someone back.”

Mulder ran his hand slowly through his hair and stared, his mouth falling open slightly, at Georgette. He didn’t know how to react to this unexpected hope.

“What makes you think that, Georgette?” he asked.

“We have most of his notes,” she said. “We’re all pretty fucking smart, all his advisees. I have a good idea of how to do it, if I can get a few hours with some other neurology students to help me troubleshoot. Anish, Eujung, Marshall, Paolo. And, like I said, my gut says we can.”

All at once, Georgette appeared very young to his eyes. She had wide brown eyes, soft rounded cheeks. How old was she, anyway? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? What did he know at that age? How many mistakes had he made?

His face must have revealed his uncertainty. Georgette’s hands, resting on the surface of the table, balled into tight fists. “Agent Mulder, I don’t know if you saw or if you remember, but I was talking to Agent Scully right before she disappeared, when she was sitting in the chair. She was asking me about my research.”

Mulder had forgotten that was Georgette. He remembered the look in the young woman’s eyes directly after Scully vanished, when she turned and looked at him through the glass. Sorrow. Horror. Pity.

“I don’t like that Hays made me a part of her own mind being used against her,” Georgette said. “I think I have a shot at helping to bring her back. We all do. You just need to trust us to try.”

Mulder nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can do that. I'm listening.”

For one thing, I have absolutely no choice.

[astridncs]

Prompt request for Scully and Mulder making love under the stars on a beach while camping early in their relationship

Hi anon! Thank you for the prompt <3 It was def a challenge since I'm so inexperienced in writing mature-ish scenes, but I really tried my best on this one. I hope you'll like it. xx Also on AO3 [tagging @today-in-fic]

Tips on writing mature-ish scenes are also welcomed <3

Under The Stars

---

They have finally been granted some time off by Skinner when the last case they did went well. So, Mulder decided to take Scully out to Martha’s Vineyard to spend their “vacation time”.

Their time off was for a week and most of those days were either spent inside the house or strolling the area looking at shops and eating local food. But, it was going to be their last night, so Mulder convinced Scully that they bring out a tent to the beach and spend the night camping there. Although Scully was a little reluctant, she agreed.

They ate dinner at one of the restaurants that wasn’t far from the area they set camp at and it was already getting dark when they got back, so, Mulder decided to start a fire for them both. Scully who was inside the tent applying mosquito repellent, called out to him, “Mulder!”

“Yeah?” he answered back.

“I’m bringing out the spare blanket out there, okay?” she said.

“Okay. And can you please bring me some of the repellent? I feel like I’m getting eaten alive out here.”

The fire was already lit up when she got out of the tent and she loved how it illuminated Mulder.

“Here you go,” she said handing him the bottle. “I’ll set the blanket here.”

While Mulder was applying the repellent, Scully couldn’t help but notice the way his arms flexed; the way his muscles moved. She unconsciously bit her lip and didn’t notice until Mulder called her name.

“Baby, Scully, take a picture. It’ll last longer.” He said winking at her direction.

“Shut up.” She replied, but she couldn’t help the grin on her face.

He sat down beside her and pulled her close to him. His wrapped his arms around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. The crackling of the fire, the waves softly crashing at the distance, and sounds of the insects around them made their night peaceful. It was such a beautiful night and with just their luck, the stars were out.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” Scully softly said as she looked around and then raised her head to watch the stars.

“Yeah, it is beautiful.” Mulder replied, but his attention was to her face who was looking up to the sky. He still couldn’t believe he is in a relationship with this woman. It still amazes him how she has accepted and loved him the way he is. He has never felt so lucky in his life.

Scully blushed and burrowed her face into his neck when she caught him looking at her. This relationship of theirs was still quite knew, but it felt like they have been a couple for such a very long time.

“I love you, Scully. So, so much.” He tells her softly.

She smiled at him, “And I love you too, Mulder. So, so much.”

He captures her lips into his own and their kiss got heated, Scully couldn’t help but let out a moan.

“Mulder, I want you.” She whispered looking into his eyes.

“Okay, let’s go back to the tent.” He tells her as he began to stand up.

“No, I- I want you here.” She said in a small voice as he pulled him back down.

Mulder smiled and nodded. He understood what she meant and leaned in to kiss her. The kiss was slow and sensual – it was of passion and so much love. He laid her down and helped her undress before he took off his own clothes. He smiled at how beautiful she looked; laid on the blanket looking perfect.

“Mulder, please.” She softly begged. It didn’t take him another begging before he kissed her and entered her.

They made love under the night sky. Not caring of the world. They were in sync – the way they moved and the way their moans echoed into the night.

“Mulder, I’m so close.” Scully gasped as Mulder entered her.

“Me too, baby.” With a final thrust of his hips, he spilled into her. He nuzzled her neck and was muttering her name when he slowly came down from his high.

When he pulled out, they were panting trying to catch their breaths. One shared look and laughter filled the air. Mulder leaned into her and pressed a kiss on her lips.

“I love you so much, Scully.” He tells her as he tucked a piece of auburn hair into her ear.

“I love you too,” She softly tells him. “Thank you for bringing me here. I loved it so much.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m happy you agreed to come.” He smiles, “One day, we’ll be back here again.”

“I like that. But, I think we should go to the tent now. It’s getting chilly.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” He helps her stand and find their clothes.

After dusting off the blanket and trying to put out the fire just a bit, they head to their tent hand in hand.

The trip was worth it, even much so that they’re together. Mulder, he thinks, that going back to the Vineyard wasn’t all too bad, especially when Scully’s with him.

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (1/8)

This is the sequel to “Of the Eight Winds,” which began from a small simple prompt from Sunflowerdeedsandscience: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” That prompt took on a life of its own that became ‘Of the Eight Winds.’ This fic immediately follows the events of that piece — I would encourage reading it first if you haven’t.

This is not written in the same Rashomon structure as the original — it is absolutely linear. Hope that doesn’t throw anyone.

I’ll be posting the first two chapters today, and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also find it on AO3 here.

PROLOGUE

They say in the heat of the moment, you have five seconds to make a decision. Five seconds between right and wrong. Five seconds between life and death. As Mulder stood watching one gun pointed at his children and another pointed at an immensely pregnant Scully, five seconds seemed an eternity.

XxXxXxXxXxX

6 Months Earlier

She watched the house from the shadows. Occasionally from her car. It was harder to follow the woman as she worked at a secure government facility, but the man was easy. He had a small private psychology practice in a townhouse in Old Town. He usually ate lunch at a Panera near the office or brown bagged it from home.

The kids both attended a private prep school out in McLean. The girl drove herself and her brother most days. The boy would often stay late for sports practice (ice hockey, if the equipment was any indication) and the man would usually pick him up. Their lives were pretty routine.

After two weeks, she finally made an appointment with the man’s scheduling service and waited nervously in the outer office. Right on time, he opened the door.

“Olivia?” Dr. Mulder smiled at her, “come on back.”

She passed him through the doorway and settled into a plush leather couch.

He sat down in a chair across from her and crossed his leg, looking relaxed. Up close, she noticed that his hair was starting to grey at the temples, but he still looked fit, and conveyed an easy manner.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, trying to calm her nerves.

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his notebook, “I see you were referred to me by Dr. Heitz Werber?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

She took a breath.

“I grew up here in DC. After grad school… My father worked for the State Department and I, uh, went into the family business.”

Dr. Mulder nodded, his expression neutral.

“I can imagine that’s pretty stressful work,” he said.

“It was,” she said, “I don’t do it anymore.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to fill the silence. She went on.

“The work I did… it hurt people. And I’m… I’m trying to make amends.”

His expression gave nothing away. She steeled herself, took a deep breath.

“Dr. Mulder, my name is Olivia Kurtzweil. Our fathers knew each other a long time ago. I’m here to warn you. You and your family are in danger. Your wife and her baby…”

His nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several pictures.

“I can prove it,” she said, “This is me and my father, this is me and your sister Samantha. And this is our fathers together.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said, his voice tight for the first time. He was not looking at the pictures.  

She rose.

“There’s not a lot of time.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it, set it next to the pictures, which she left on the office’s small coffee table. “Call me at this number. Soon. I’ll tell you all I can.”

With that she left, her heart hammering in her chest.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlington Cemetery May 2nd, 2018

Mulder descended the stairs quickly, the leather bottoms of his dress shoes scraping loudly on the dusty grit of the steps. The occupants of the underground lair were the perfect people to call when you needed information, but good housekeepers they were not.

He entered the code on the security box at the door at the bottom of the staircase, and the door swung open.

“Guys?” he called into the cavernous space once the door sealed shut behind him.

“In here!” he heard a muffled call from near the back.

He stepped around gunmetal shelves awash in circuitry and computer parts and turned right into the sanctum sanctorum of the place: the desktop on which sat the AMD Threadripper 3000. Two men were hunched over the screen, one sitting, one standing just behind him.

Grease-stained napkins were wadded up next to the keyboard and crinkled butcher paper sat nearby, sporting the red-splotched remains of marinara sauce and a few errant banana peppers.

“You want a meatball sub, Mulder?” came the nasally voice of the man standing, “We got extra.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being up all night with heartburn, Langly, but thanks,” Mulder said, and Frohike turned from the chair, his wispy hair now more white than grey.

“They’re from Gino’s,” he said around a mouthful, “you’re missing out.”

“Tell that to Gino,” Mulder said, “didn’t he die of a heart attack in ‘04?”

“His wife is still running the place, bursting with health,” Frohike said, and reached for a styrofoam cup.

“But she doesn’t eat the subs,” said Mulder, and swung into a nearby chair. “Where’s Byers?”

“Staying with Suzanne for the weekend,” Langly said, like he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that safe?” Mulder asked. The Gunmen had been hiding out in a government-built safehouse under their own graves in Arlington Cemetery for more than a decade.

Langly shrugged.

The three men looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder spoke again.

“What did you find?”

“Enough,” said Frohike, turning back to the screen. Mulder stood and walked up behind him.

Frohike tapped a picture on the screen.

“Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, “born December 4th, 1963, daughter of Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil and Ruth O’Brien Kurtzweil. Graduated from Sidwell Friends School in Washington DC in 1981, got a PhD in both Biology and Virology from Boston University in 1987. Employment records get kind of muddled after that, but it would make sense if she worked for the State Department, though what a Biologist/Virologist would be doing for State is troubling.”

Mulder leaned back. It was the same woman who’d been in his office earlier that day.

“And the pictures?” he asked, “of our fathers together? Of her and Samantha?”

“The real McCoy,” Langly said, “they don’t appear to be altered in any way. Sent them to Chuck Burks, too. He concurs.”

Mulder sighed heavily.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Frohike asked, his tone serious.

“She came to my office today, Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, nodding at the screen, “she told me that Scully is in danger.”

“In danger?” Langly said, puzzled, “how?”

“Scully is…” Mulder paused, “she’s pregnant,” he said, and he saw both men’s eyebrows go up. “This woman told me that our family... that Scully and the baby are in danger.”

Frohike and Langly traded looks.

“We haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy,” Mulder went on, “and Scully’s OB is an old friend from med school that she trusts implicitly. This Kurtzweil woman knows about the baby and insists it’s in danger. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Firstly,” said Frohike, who stood and put a hand on Mulder’s shoulder, “Mazel tov.” Mulder smiled at him. “Secondly,” he went on, “it appears as though this woman is telling the truth -- at least about who she is -- I would talk to her. See what you can find out.”

“How’s Scully taking this?” Langly asked.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Mulder said, and the boys traded another look. “I didn’t want to scare her without knowing more.”

Frohike squeezed his shoulder again and then let his arm fall.

“Let us know, huh?” he said, “However we can help.”

Mulder nodded and drifted back toward the door, a ball of worry sitting heavy in his gut.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Where are the kids?” he asked as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I had a good day, thanks for asking,” said Scully with a grin. She was loading the dishwasher and turned to look at him. Her face fell, turning serious. “The kids are upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I had a patient come in today…” he started, and her features softened. She probably thought it was just empathy for one of his patients, a tough case. “Scully, she showed me a picture of herself as a kid. With Samantha.”

“What?” Scully said, standing up straight, “how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and moved past her and into the living room, making for the bookshelf that held old family photo albums. He pulled one out and skimmed through it. Pulled out another. Halfway through, something caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of pages until he saw it. A picture from the same 70’s-era party at his childhood home on the Vineyard that Olivia had shown him. There was his father standing next to Alvin Kurtzweil, and down in the corner, both wearing swimsuits and gap-toothed smiles, pigtails frizzy and wet, sat Samantha and a 7 year-old Olivia Kurtzweil.

He felt his breath leave him.

Scully had come up quietly behind him, put her hand on his arm.

“Mulder?” she said.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

He pulled the note Olivia had left with him out of his pocket. She picked up on the first ring.

“Olivia, this is Dr. Mulder,” he said. “We need to talk.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning at 9:00am, they found themselves sitting across their kitchen table from Olivia Kurtzweil, Special Agent Monica Reyes, ASAC John Doggett and Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Scully was sitting, arms crossed in front of her defensively, at the head of the table. Reyes sat next to her, looking at Kurtzweil with an equal amount of curiosity and distrust. Doggett was too amped up to sit and paced through their kitchen. Skinner sat, quiet and still, looking as menacing as ever at the far end of the table.

Mulder felt a certain odd protectiveness toward Olivia, and couldn’t help but treat her a bit like a patient.

“Olivia,” he said calmly, “why don’t you start at the beginning.”

The tale she spun was as fantastic as anything they’d ever heard in their years on the X-Files. Olivia had been groomed from childhood to work on what she called “The Project.” When Samantha Mulder had been abducted, The Project had used her DNA to create alien-human hybrids. Throughout the years, these hybrids had been used by different factions of The Project to further their agendas in relation to a colonization project that Olivia said once threatened the world. She had fought with others to bring it down and now, The Project’s last ditch effort to resurrect itself lay in the cells of the child Scully was carrying.

“How was my father involved?” Mulder said, his voice like ice.

“Your father did everything he could to protect you and your sister,” Olivia said after a pause. “He was the person I initially approached when I became disenchanted. He and I worked together for years dismantling everything we could.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

“You were at my father’s funeral a couple years ago,” he said, recognition dawning on him, “I saw you at his wake.”

Olivia nodded.

“He couldn’t save your sister,” she said, “but he saved you. And in the end, he saved me.”

“My sister,” Mulder said, his stomach feeling as though it were in his feet, “is she alive?”

“No,” Olivia said, “I’m so sorry. And that’s the problem. Your sister’s DNA was the only one that was able to create viable hybrids. Her DNA was the key. And the last living hybrid sacrificed herself before a rogue faction could get her. That rogue faction is after Scully and your baby for the DNA markers particular to your family.”

“Then why aren’t they after me?”

“The particular markers they’re looking for are rendered dormant after a baby is born. The genetic material they can use is only found in--”

Scully spoke for the first time, finishing Olivia’s explanation. “Embryonic stem cells from our baby.”

Olivia looked pained and nodded. “It’s their last, best hope for restarting the program,” she said.

“How do they even know about the pregnancy? We haven’t told a soul.”

“A hack on your medical records is my guess. HIPAA means nothing to these people.”

“I’m less concerned with the how and more concerned with the why,” Mulder said. “You say embryonic cells. That means they’re on a clock, right? Once the baby is born...”

“Destroy the umbilical cord. The placenta. Those cells are only found in a few places. Destroy anything they might be able to use. After that… you and your baby will be safe.”

“So no one else in our family is in danger?” Scully asked. Her eyes darted unconsciously to a family picture that was framed on the wall above Olivia. It was a candid photo, taken the year before when they had hired a photographer to take Lily’s senior portraits. In it, Mulder and Scully were holding hands, looking at their two kids who were laughing about something Will had said. They were all smiling and carefree. In the moment, it felt like a world away.

“I know the technology and the biology it draws from,” Olivia said, “I helped design it. Their only hope is getting their hands on the embryonic stem cells from your baby. If you were planning on getting an amniocentesis test -- don’t.”

“Why not?” Skinner asked, “why not just give them what they want?”

“Because they’ll never stop,” Reyes said.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “She’s right. They take and they take, and they don’t care who gets hurt or what is lost.” She looked to Mulder. “Your father and I worked for years to shut it down. Finish it. Hide your wife. Protect your baby. Once it’s born, you should all be out of danger.”

“Tell me about this rogue faction,” Doggett’s voice coming from the corner of the kitchen startled everyone.

“Mercs for hire,” Olivia said, “Only one of them that I know of is familiar with the working pieces of The Project. I don’t know him well. I only ever saw him in the periphery.”

“Do you have a name?” Doggett asked.

“I doubt it’s his real one,” Olivia said.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us,” said Reyes, who shot a look to Doggett.

“I only ever heard him called ‘Krycek,’” she said.

Mulder felt his gut drop.

XxX

“What do you think?” Mulder asked Scully, as they sat together around their empty dining room table. Doggett, Reyes and Skinner had left and it was nearly noon, the sun bright outside their windows. Nevertheless, the room felt cold. Mulder could feel anxiety press on him from all sides as though he were under water.

“I don’t know what to think,” Scully said, a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, which had just started to push out. “Mulder, for almost fifteen years our lives have been ordinary, calm. After all this time…? It strains credulity.”

“Scully I would agree with you. But… some of the things we saw when we were on the X-Files… We know credible threats. This feels like a credible threat.”

“Do you really believe everything she said? About your sister?” He could see her skeptical reserve crumbling.

Mulder let that question sit in the air for several long moments. “Just tell me if the science checks out,” he finally said.

Scully huffed an almost amused sigh. “I couldn’t even begin to-” she started.

“Scully, you yourself were filling in the blanks of Olivia’s story. If what she says is true, does the science check out?”

Scully gave him a long look. “Yes,” she finally said.

He held her gaze, a feeling of overwhelming affection coming over him. “Scully,” he said quietly, “we have to get you somewhere safe.”

She looked down, added another hand to her abdomen so she was cradling it with both. On the countertop, there was a half drunk bottle of Deer Park and a single yellowing banana. Someone had left their iPhone headphones sitting in a semi-coiled loop, and there were crumbs in front of the toaster, dishes in the sink. They sat in the middle of a half-lived life.

“I won’t leave without you,” she finally said, “without you and the kids. We all do this together. If the threat is really what Kurtzweil says it is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them trying to use you or the kids to get to me.”

Mulder nodded curtly.

“I’ll go to the guys,” he said, “see what they can do for us. Skinner and Doggett and Reyes will do what they can to protect us, but I think given everything we’ve heard, it’s best to avoid… governmental oversight.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Scully said.

“We need to leave soon. We can’t wait.”

Apgar jumped on the table then, looking for affection. Scully, who normally wouldn’t tolerate a cat on any eating surface, reached out and pet the cat absently, her eyes far away.

“Where are we even going to go?” she asked.

[lepus-arcticus]

48.

Billy Miles has a voice like an echo, or an epilogue. 

Mulder remembers a whole generation stolen into the sky, a rain-beaten cemetery, the spice of pine needles crunching underfoot. He senses the parabola of their small, searching lives, the clumsy tautology of their strange and lovesick saga. He recalls the first time he touched her, the giddy exhilaration he felt as he first beheld the white slope of her bare shoulder. 

Fate or choice, it hardly matters. There was never a time before her. There is all the time in the world ahead. 

One last look into the blaze outside, before they let the blackout curtains fall. 

-

That frightened, bleeding girl from the diner, her fat-cheeked baby on Scully’s knee. 

Mulder contemplates the implications—he can’t help but see the child as somehow saturated with starlight, knit through with filaments of the otherworld. An inherited radiance, trauma in the blood, the unsteady aura of the reluctant traveller. 

He can’t help but wonder—

The baby sucks noisily on Scully’s knuckle. Her hand is doused in drool. He remembers how she was with Emily; immediately devoted, intensely tender, making a mother of herself without a moment’s hesitation. That secret part of her, unfurling like a corpse flower in its seventh hothouse year. 

For too brief a time, Emily knew what he knows: she is the safest place, the truest north, the candle in the window on a moonless night. 

-

She is pale and cold at his motel door. 

His spread of old photographs and case notes slips to the carpet and scatters as he pulls back the comforter. He pries off her shoes and briefly squeezes her small, chilly feet between his palms. 

She thanks him sheepishly as he tucks her in and folds himself around her. He’s touched that she would even come to him; his proud little stoic, ever loathsome of needing anything or anyone. It is a rare treat to comfort her, and he basks in it, breathing in the clean scent of her hair, holding her close. 

Sometimes, when he thinks about it, he really can’t believe his dumb luck. He remembers the unexpected delight of sifting through her senior thesis: it had been snotty and cocksure, playful, audacious, the most intellectually and creatively stimulating thing he’d read in years. Her first handshake was firm, her first kiss soft and hungry. He’d fallen for her all at once, and then again, very slowly, over years and years. 

It’s time, he thinks, burying his nose into her shoulder. It’s time. 

“It’s not worth it, Scully,” he murmurs.  

“What?” 

“I want you to go home.” 

“Oh, Mulder, I’m going to be fine,” she sniffles, but he senses that she’s only saying it out of habit, only trying to cover for the grievous crime of borrowing a bit of warmth, of craving a bit of comfort. 

“No, no, I’ve been thinking about it,” he continues, hurting for her. “Looking at you tonight, holding that baby… knowing everything that’s been taken away from you. A chance for motherhood, and your health—and that baby…,” he swallows back a fresh swell of emotion. “I think that… I dunno, maybe they’re right.” 

“Who’s right?” 

“The FBI. Maybe what they say is true, though for all the wrong reasons. It’s the personal costs that are too high.” 

She should be restoring health and life with her skilled hands and beautiful mind, receiving tearful declarations of gratitude in hospital waiting rooms, write-ups in medical magazines, plaques at conferences. 

“There’s so much more you need to do with your life,” he whispers. “There’s so much more than this. There has to be an end, Scully.” 

He presses his lips to her cheek. Her hand frets within his. A warm tear slips over one of his knuckles, becoming cold as it travels over his skin. She snuggles closer into him, and he can’t hold himself off any longer—he allows himself that forbidden image, the one he hasn’t indulged since the IVF failed, the one where she’s heavy with his child, well-fed in a way she hasn’t been since her cancer, glowing with the radiant happiness of miracles. 

-

Scully is out sick. 

Her dizzy spells are getting worse. He’s been finding her slumped in corridor chairs with her head in her hands, leaning drunkenly on walls, and, to his violent concern, flat on her back on the forest floor. His covert bursts of research assure him that this is normal for some women, but still, he banishes her to bed, moves the TV to her dresser, leaves her with a kiss and a triple latte in decaf incognito. 

There is no work, and there’s a chance that there won’t be, not ever again. In the office, he slings his feet up onto the desk and spins a basketball, lazily inspecting the homey disorder of their office: their omnium gatherum of weird tchotchkes and bibelots, outdated med school textbooks, a chunk of raw jade, the rolled maps in their wire basket, his intramural track and field trophies besides her marksmanship commendations. The room is their story, written in airport gift-shop magnets and grisly polaroids, redacted reports, the walls fire-scarred, the green chair stained with semen. He’ll have to set up a home office, he thinks, unwilling to imagine a world without their lovingly-curated clutter. 

He’s pulled out of his preoccupation by a knock on the doorframe. Skinner wanders in, and Mulder feels a smack of affection for the old guy—hell, at this point, he’s almost a friend. 

There is no forthcoming letter of termination or notice of reassignment, not even a signature AD verbal ass-whooping. 

There is, however, a twist. 

Krycek, that one-armed bastard, all comely, belligerent grit; behind him, an undead Marita Covarrubias, retaining all of her glacial film noir self-possession. Their intrusion feels like an astonishing violation of his endangered sacred space. 

A flame of rage licks him deep, but it quickly withers to embers. Once the fight goes out of him, he feels like he’s thumbing through a yearbook, or a smudged, yellowed newspaper. They are extraneous threads, those two, fraying brails; Jacks in a card game long discarded in favour of the warmth of the hearthfire across the parlour. 

So this is the swan song, he tells himself—the final pursuit, the terminating inquiry. The price of admission to the great awaiting Eden. Beyond, there is a land of sleepy Vineyard summers, of deck stain and manuscripts, scrubs in the washing machine, sourdough starter thriving in a repurposed jam jar in the fridge. Beyond, there is a new life of making and growing, their wartime days all laid to an uneasy rest in the vegetable garden out back. 

He will pay this last toll. He owes this much to Scully, cancer-scarred and sisterless. He owes it to the brief memory of Emily, their first ill-starred child. To those two unlucky zygotes, and all the foolish and extravagant dreams he harboured for them. 

This time, perhaps he can earn a different fate.

-

Dawn begins to lift the unquiet night. His travel bag is at the door, his hair is still damp from the shower. He sits down on the bed, traces the crook of her elbow, reaches out to move a stray wisp of hair from her face. She awakens softly into his palm, as if from an enchanted slumber.

“Hey,” he says softly. “My flight’s in an hour. Skinner’s outside.” 

She gazes up at him from the shadows, her eyes shining with a love so plain that it knocks the breath right out of him. Through an ache of adoration, he bends to kiss her, and she receives him with desperation, latching onto him and making sweet sounds of protest when he reluctantly pulls away. 

“Don’t go,” she pleads, sitting up. She is Venus in lavender satin, Onuava, a nymph arisen from the lake. She has pillow marks on her cheek. Sometimes, she looks like she does not belong to this world, but has slipped through from the transient dimensions beyond. 

He finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “I won’t be long. And when I’m back...” 

A moment passes. “When you’re back,” she says. “Will you marry me?” 

The fae queen offers him a cup. He knows he will drink, and that he will gladly remain hidden in her realm forevermore. 

“Ah, Scully,” he says. “Thought you’d never ask.”

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1  // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3  // Chapter 4 // Read on A03

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

tagging @today-in-fic​

CHAPTER 5

The phone rang three times before she answered. My jaw ached as I tried to mask the slur in my voice when I told her who was calling. I realized it was a long shot ringing her number but I needed something to get my head on straight. I told her I was in Georgetown and as luck would have it she did not have a shift at the hospital that evening. She accepted my invitation to have a drink. I confirmed her address and I said I would wait outside the building to meet her, adding to look for the forlorn gentleman with a grey fedora. We disconnected and I exited the booth then walked to the curb to hail a cab. 

Scully’s apartment building was tucked into a quiet tree-lined block on Q Street. In a town built on history this neighborhood dripped vintage charm with neat colonial rowhouses and brick sidewalks. I paced a slow line in front of the staircase then stretched a foot on the bottom step. The sound of a door opening and heel clicks on brickwork caught my attention. There she was. A vision in a short-sleeved olive green sweater with a high neck, wide-leg trousers gave way to dark t-strap shoes that peeked out from under her pant cuffs. Her ginger-red hair was pinned up halfway and decorated with a small flower. I straightened up and tried to smile as she landed on the last step. 

“God, what happened to you?” she questioned before I could even greet her properly. 

“And hello to you too.” I replied.

“Oh, your cheek,” Scully frowned, “This reminds me of when we first met.” She inspected my face without laying a finger on me. I tipped back my hat slightly so she could get a better look. In the afternoon sun her eyes processed a diagnosis and she reached out a caring hand to touch my jawline but withdrew it quickly. Fingers formed a loose fist instead as her hand dropped slowly towards her hip. I cleared my throat.

“Serves me right for interrupting someone’s lunch, huh?”

“Must have been someone important for them to leave a mark like that,” Scully said, stepping back and adjusting her handbag. I shrugged then said,

“No, just me being a nosy cop.” I found myself staring as she smiled.

“So now that we’re here, where are we off to?”

“There’s a little place I visit when I’m in the neighborhood.” I slipped my hands in my pockets and gestured with a nod down the block. She joined me at my side and we strolled for a few silent moments. Her presence helped to mute the extra noise in my head. Though with each intersection we crossed I was still checking my corners, making sure we weren’t being followed. After the little scene I caused at the restaurant my guard was up. I knew I could never be too comfortable with my surroundings and I certainly didn’t want to put her in danger.

We walked farther down Q street and crossed over to 33rd to a small bar named The Blue Note. I opened the door for her and followed inside. It was your standard set-up with a small stage on the side arranged for a jazz combo. Too early for a gig, so the jukebox in the corner played the matinee performance. Regalia from the university littered the walls but in a more dignified fashion, like the proprietor was trying to distance the establishment from looking like a run-of-the-mill college bar. Still, it was dark, smoky, and my kind of familiar. Only a couple of bar flies had landed to start their day-drinking. I ushered her through a fresh haze of cigarette smoke to an empty spot at the far end of the bar. She took a seat and I adjusted my barstool, sitting close but not too close. Scully caught the attention of the stout bartender.

“I’d like a vodka tonic and my friend here will have?”

“Whiskey.” 

The man nodded and scuttled back to fix our drinks. I put my fedora on the bar and ran a hand through my hair.

“Can you tell me about this case you’re working on?” Scully asked as she placed her handbag in her lap. I thought about how much I wanted to divulge so I kept the names and places to a minimum.

“It involves a drug ring, fairly standard for the vice unit. However the fly in the ointment is that it also involves an investigation into my partner.”

“Wait, the one who was buried at Arlington?”

“The very same,” I answered as the bartender delivered two short glasses. I grasped the drink and raised it, she mimicked the motion. “Cheers,” I said before taking a long sip and swirling the ice cube around. Scully sampled her drink as well and I continued.

“The papers painted it that he was killed in the line of duty. Now, I was there that night. It was the same night I got a hot lead kiss on the shoulder and I think my partner was bumped off in a deal that went sour.”

“Your partner was a hophead?” she asked as she twisted the bottom of her glass on the bar napkin.

“I didn’t suspect he was a hophead,” I said after I downed the last of my whiskey, “but the medical examiner ordered blood work that confirmed he was sky high.”

“Did you see who shot at you?” she asked after a beat, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the highball. 

“No, but we did get a match on the weapon. So all I need to do is take him in .”

“Let me guess, that’s who gave you the bruise.”

“Very perceptive Scully. It was one of his goons actually.” I said as I rubbed my left cheek and glanced reflexively over my shoulder. She held her glass close to her lips and thought for a moment before taking another sip to finish it off. Scully pressed her lips together and focused on her now empty glass. I caught the change in music from the jukebox; a heavy piano piece that fit the tone in our little corner of the bar. I flagged the bartender and ordered another round.  She was hesitant at first on the refill but I guess she didn’t mind my company and decided to stick around. Time seemed to slow to a halt, dripped down like molasses on a winter day.

“Enough about me and the DCPD, I want to know your story.”

“My story, Mulder? I don’t think I’m as interesting as all that,” Scully said as she glanced at her hands, admiring the tidy red varnish on the nails.

“Try me,” I replied as our second round arrived and my attention was now only on her.

“Let’s see...you already know I’m a nurse,” she began with a gesture, “I’ve been one since before the war. Schooling was no cost and once the conflict started I opted to stay home in Maryland to fill the nursing shortage. My brothers had gone through the gauntlet at the naval academy and were sent to San Diego then the South Pacific respectively. It would have broken my mother’s heart if I joined up and got shipped off too” She paused and took a drink. “My sister and mother stayed in Annapolis but in ‘45 I headed to Washington to continue with medicine. There was more I wanted to learn and more ways I felt I could help.”

“And that’s how you ended up in Georgetown?”

She nodded and softly exhaled.

“After I buried my father, I buried myself in studies, work, and other hobbies. I figured if I kept myself busy enough I wouldn’t have time to think about the loss.” Her shoulders shrugged and she absentmindedly toyed with a strand of hair then swept it behind her ear.

“Any travel in that time?” I asked, hoping she had an answer. I was shit at small talk when I wasn’t using my badge.

“California after the war ended to see my brother Bill and his family for Christmas, then last year I took the train up to New England for a change of scenery.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with that area. My parents live on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“It’s really lovely. I was fortunate to visit in the fall.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she recalled the memory. A pleasant silence then fell between us. More small talk followed, less personal this go around. Filler subjects like the weather and sports weaved their way into conversation. I was pleased to learn she was a baseball fan and was hoping for a better season than last year. 

The bar was getting more clientele and as much as I wanted to stay and extend my friendship with Mr Jack Daniels, I figured we should make it last call. I paid our tab and escorted Scully outside, placing a featherweight touch on her shoulder as I guided her through the open door. The air felt cool as the sun hid behind passing clouds, setting up for another storm. She thanked me for the drinks and though she was a captain’s daughter who could certainly hold her liquor, I offered to walk her home. 

As we turned the corner and walked back up the block I still felt that we weren’t alone. I kept a close stride next to Scully as we neared her building. She ascended the steps and I joined her at the door. This time her hand found my cheek. 

“I hope to see you again,” she said as she gently stroked my jawline, “But next time without any occupational damage.” 

“Can’t make any promises, doll,” I said moving closer, feeling her fingers twitch, catching a flutter of her eyelashes as she exhaled. My gaze was soft, hypnotized by her features. She grazed the stubble on my skin then Scully raised her chin and placed a soft sweet kiss on my injured cheek. 

“Take care of yourself, detective.”

Through the narrow pane of glass on the building’s door I watched her walk up the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder giving me a final flash of that flower nestled against her red hair. As I turned and walked down the steps I noticed a car parked across the street and a man with a sharp suit and glasses leaning against the side.

“Are you following me?” I called out once I was on the sidewalk, my hand on the butt of my weapon.

“This is your surveillance detail?” Skinner questioned.

“Chivalry isn’t dead yet, Captain.”

“Something’s come up. Get in,” Skinner said as he motioned to the car. I walked around the front of the cruiser and opened the passenger door joining him inside.

“I heard about your incident with Carlo Lodi today.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You’re damn right it does, Mulder. This city is more connected than ever. I had a conversation with our friend Alex Krycek when he returned the squad car you lent him. Seems that he was privy to information regarding a Vincenti heroin shipment tonight.”

“Ha! What did you have to trade for that info?” I asked. He tensed his jaw then said,

“Continued protection. It appears he’s been sitting on this since we first interrogated him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“There will be a boat arriving at the Navy Yard tonight. Small crew. They are going to make a transfer to one of the warehouses, but it’s up to you to find how they’re moving the shipment from there.”

I took a moment to process the details of my assignment. 

“Will I have back-up?”

“Via radio. Do not engage after you make the mark. Follow standard tailing procedure.”

“If you’re going to send me on a suicide mission, can you at least drop me off in Alexandria. I could use a shower and something to eat.” Skinner gave me a sideways glance and turned the key in the ignition, bringing life to the cruiser. He shifted into gear and we were on our way back across the Potomac.

[wine-porn]

Syrah for Days

A lil Sierra Foothills sunshine in the glass tonight, and this is NOT your typical super-ripe heady Amador-etc-type Zin or Rhone. These Skinners are a different breed: clean and un-toasted, not black-concentrated in the glass, but clear and refined–tasting and smelling much more akin to Northern Rhone or even Sonoma Coast versions. And while those nuances will get points off from the…

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector’s Edition: Off-The-Wall Crazy Crack Fic {Edited}

Skinner’s gremlin birthday, Mulder and Scully adopting a Cheerio loving alien, nightmarish insurance claim calls, failed pipe repair with bubble gum-- this has all the crazy adventures that Chris Carter likes to pretend don’t exist (and do because I say so.) 

(Note: I separated this out from my original crack-fic post for better ~thematic~ order... and also because I had others that necessitated a re-ordering.)

Loose chronological order below! 

Diadem’s Happy Birthday  

““Crossing in to his office he hung his jacket in the small closet space hidden in the rear wall.  It was only upon turning back to his desk that he noticed the small parcel, set carefully atop a stack of mail.  It was hexagonal, about eight inches tall, and was wrapped in shiny green paper.  It was taunting him.    

Silly as it may be, his first instinct was to run.  Unfortunately he had a meeting in twelve minutes, so that was not an option.””

Skinner spends his birthday alternately bonding with and vainly hiding a Furby in his desk (at least he has someone to celebrate his special day with.)  

Yasinta Widjojo’s Monster Mash

““What's up?' Mulder asked.        

'Have you had your computer crashed lately?' Langly asked.        

'Of course, everyone had.' Scully shrugged.        

'It might not be as easy as you think it is. We discovered that some crashes were actually caused by an unknown biological entity in the system itself.' Byers said as he turned away from his computer.””

CSM’s latest nefarious scheme-- unleashing little monsters on the computers-- is stopped by TLG; but it explodes before they can pick it apart for information.

Satchie’s Claimed

““Now fully recovered and back at work, Mulder waged war against his health plan like a modern day Don Quixote tilting at imaginary windmills.  His medical claim had been denied five times without explanation, and he was incredibly frazzled.  Numerous phone calls to the hospital and claims office were less than productive.  He was inundated with past due notices and harassing phone calls from the hospital threatening to turn his account over to a collection agency, as well as letters from the health plan stating his claim could not be paid under the terms of the contract.””

Mulder has recovered from one of his many hospitalization stays only to encounter the real nightmare: insurance calls.

FootlessData507′s

Do You Want to Believe?  

““You whistle on your way to the Hoover Building. Why shouldn’t you whistle? You are a straight, well-educated, white American male in your thirties. You feel relevant and vital. “Stand aside!” your stride seems to say. “For I am a straight, well-educated, white American male in my thirties!” Nodding at a perfect stranger on the street, your body language adds, “And I grew up on Martha’s Vineyard!” However, your relevance and vitality diminish somewhat when you enter the Hoover Building, and diminish even more when you reach the audiovisual equipment room and are informed by Marge that you can’t have the good projector today because the Financial Crimes section needs it.”"

An alternating POV ‘Pick Your Own Adventure’ with Mulder whistling through his haphazard day and Scully trying to bail him out of his choices.

CLONK!

““Does Mulder know you’re here?” demanded Langly, who was sitting beside Frohike. The woman across from him flinched.            

“Excuse me,” she snapped, “what’s going on? Do you all know each other?” She tucked her hair, which was every bit as long and blonde as Langly’s, behind her ear.          

“Mulder doesn’t know I’m here,” Scully answered, “and I’d appreciate it—”    

“Why should she have to tell Mulder she’s here?” Frohike demanded, turning on Langly. “Unless she’s here for an X-File—”            

At this possibility, Frohike and Langly both started swiveling around, searching the basement for anything inconsistent with a Unitarian speed dating event.””

Scully’s cousin drags her out of her comfort zone in the pursuit of men-- at a different faith’s church with strangers and two Ken-doll identical twins... and TLG. It turns into a group shout and gossip session before all of them meet up with Mulder at the movie theater.

This is SO good. SOOOOOOO good. Everything weaves back and in on itself.

@scullysexual​/@bigfootwrites​/PostApocolypticAlien’s

Mulder and Scully Adopt an Alien

““The grey creature’s back is to him but Mulder can see in its hands is a bag of his Lucky Charms.

In a surprise, he drops his gun. It crashes to the floor startling the creature who turns in surprise. Its big black eyes stare up at Mulder with wonder and fright, the Lucky Charms bag clutched tightly in one hand, a marshmallow held frozen in the air in the other.

Then it starts screaming.

And Mulder starts screaming in response.

And everyone is screaming.””

Mulder is enamored with his cereal alien... until it bonds with Scully, who beams like a proud kindergarten teacher. Then Mulder gets petty and jealous.

Mulder and Scully Adopt an Alien Part 2

““I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” says Scully, shaking her head.

“It’ll be fine,” says Mulder with no hint of worry in his voice at all. “He looks fine.

”The ‘he’ referenced is the alien- dressed in one of Scully’s dresses from when she was younger, Mulder’s baseball hat covering his head.””

Mulder and Scully have to sneak their alien friend into FBI headquarters to (hopefully) find resources to return him home. They’re almost immediately in trouble, of course.

Char Hall’s Switch  

““Agent Mulder,"  Skinner began.    

"Yes?"  Mulder answered and Skinners face clouded with confusion.  Scully poked Mulder in the ribs and stepped forward.    

"She's funny, isn't she?  What can I do for you, sir?" she said calmly.  She felt like a fool.    

"Uh, you two have another case to do.  Mulder, I need you in my office in a half an hour.  Scully," he said, turning towards Mulder.  "I need you to perform an autopsy in bay four.  Pronto."  he said and stalked away from the office.””

Scully is woken in the office by the unpleasant realization that she and Mulder have body swapped. Mulder’s not happy, either; but his day gets worse every time he runs into cronies from her old life. (Also, they both get shot, so....)  

eponine119′s X-Mas

““"They'd been having hard times - in school, financially - it's conceivable they would be looking for an easy solution to their problems."

"Asking Santa?" cried Scully.  "These were seventeen and eighteen year old girls, Mulder, they've got to have more sense than that."

"I know," Mulder informed her, "My source tells me they intended to document Jolly Old Saint Nick and sell the pictures to the highest bidder.”"

Santa is kidnapping little girls to use as slave labor. He’s kinda evil, and makes them forget.

Mystic’s Plumbing

““...Their eyes raised to the roof where the drops originated from, a small hole with a circumference of about an inch.

"Rain?"  Mulder asked.

"We're in the basement."  Scully reminded.

Both never taking their eyes off the hole.””

Skinner finally cracks after seeing his agents drenched in water, failing to plug up a ceiling leak with bubble gum.

Kel’s The Shortest Mulder MedicalTorture Ever Written

““He vomited again and again, and he did not want to eat anything, not even sunflower seeds.  

Mulder said he felt fine but Scully said he had acute appendicitis. She took him to the hospital herself, to make sure that he didn't accidentally go to Antarctica.

The emergency room doctor did horrible things to Mulder, like push on his sore tummy and put a needle in his arm.””

This puts all medical torture hurtfic into simplified sentences while condescendingly patting the reader on the head. This SPOKE to my soul, which was ravaged with the wounds of bad X-Files fics. No joke I have a read a story based on all the mentioned tropes (and more.) Perfect. 

Amy Schatz’s

Everything But the Kitchen Sink

““Scully," he whined, looking up at her.  "I don't like Hazlenut/Irish  Cream/Ginger/Mocha/French  Vanilla/Chocolate Mint  coffee!   And  I  really don't  like  Peach/Pear/Apple Turnovers!"      

Scully shrugged.  "So?  You didn't want to come  to my mother's   house   for   Christmas,  New   Year's,   Easter, President's  Day,  Columbus  Day,  St.  Patrick's  Day,   my birthday,  my cousin's shower, or Spring Cleaning  Day,  but you were glad you did afterwards, right?  So give the coffee and  pastry  a try."  She hoped that he would buy  that  and just  leave well enough alone.  Scully was not up to a fight with *Her* today.      

Mulder shook his head, suddenly feeling rebellious, and thinking  that this insanity had gone on too  long  and  too far.  "But, Scully-"    

"Mulder!" she hissed, "stick to the script!"

Meta-- Mulder and Scully are salty with the thousand-and-one unrealistic scenarios they have to act out each day, courtesy of the Writing Overlords.If they step out of line just a little, the punishment is swift, severe, and hysterical: for example, Pendrell in alluringly compromising positions for Scully. (READ THIS AND WEEP WITH LAUGHTER.)

Enjoy!

[skinnervineyards5]

Unveiling the Hidden Gems: Exploring Somerset and Fairplay Wineries in California

California is renowned for its diverse and vibrant wine regions, and nestled within its picturesque landscapes are the hidden gems of Somerset and Fairplay. These charming wine destinations offer a captivating blend of natural beauty and exceptional wines, making them a haven for wine enthusiasts seeking unique and memorable experiences. Read More - https://skinnervineyards5.wixsite.com/skinner-vineyards/post/unveiling-the-hidden-gems-exploring-somerset-and-fairplay-wineries-in-california

[sweetfuse]

God Only Knows What I’d Be Without You

AO3 link

Rating: Teen & Up

Words: 3,521

Former high school sweethearts Mulder and Scully have a chance encounter almost 20 years later

______________________________________________________________

Sometimes he still thought about her. Not too often, but often enough that he allowed himself to wonder, to ponder all the “what-ifs”. Maybe, if they stayed together, he wouldn’t feel so damn lost.

Being back in the Vineyard was something new enough. D.C. hadn’t worked out, not the way he’d wanted it to, and there was something kind of comforting about the house he grew up in. Still, he felt lost. Imagining where his life would be now if he’d just said something different, or done something different was a constant pastime for him. If he'd just changed one thing, where would he be now?

…

Dana hadn’t been back to Massachusetts in, oh, how long had it been? Two years? Her parents had moved to Florida, Missy to Washington state and her younger brother Charlie had landed some big finance job in New York. Bill and his wife were the only ones who had stayed. He’d called her last month to announce the birth of his third child, a baby girl. She was sorry that she wasn't able to be there sooner, that she couldn’t get away to fly out when the baby was born. Better late than never, she figured as she packed a wrapped baby gift in her suitcase.

…

Mulder was starting to regret that he had grabbed such a small basket. That old adage about never going shopping while hungry was proving true as he continued to stuff more and more frozen dinners into the already full basket. Heading to the front for checkout, he noticed a woman, petite, standing on her tiptoes with arms straining to reach a can of formula. “You need some help?” he offered.

“Mulder?” When the woman turned, smiling awkwardly at him, he was flooded with emotions. Scully. He hadn’t seen her in what, almost twenty years? Had it been that long? It sure didn’t feel like it. He could remember it all like it was yesterday. “Scully!,” he said, a little too loud, “You come here often?” He grimaced at his own horrible joke, but she let out a soft, genuine chuckle anyway. That was him alright. “I’m just here visiting. Bill and Tara just welcomed a new baby last month. I’m the only one in the family who hasn’t met her yet. I hear that she’s adorable though. Well, I know she is. They’ve sent me a ton of pictures and-“ She was rambling. Shut up, Dana, shut up! “Anyway, I was just here to get a few things for them. Baby formula and uh, chocolate, I think it was? But as you can see,” she gestured up at the baby formula. “I can.” He smiled at her and set his basket down before easily reaching up and swiping a tin down from the top shelf. “So, uh, how ya been?” He tried to smile but it didn’t seem right. Had he forgotten how? “Good. I’ve, um, I’ve been good. You?” She was rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers fiddling with the hem of her blouse.

...

When she noticed that the car parked next to hers in the lot had a SETI sticker on the back windshield, and another sticker proudly proclaiming “MY OTHER CAR IS A UFO” on the bumper, she smiled to herself. There was only one person she could think of who would drive something so ridiculous. Just when she turned around, she was met with a familiar face. “Ah, and just when I thought I’d finally escaped you!” “Shut up, Mulder.” She laughed, showing a more genuine smile this time. He could never forget that smile. Taking their second encounter of the day as some sort of sign, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and cast her gaze down at the asphalt. She spoke slowly, deliberately. “Mulder, would you like to grab some lunch?” “Why, Scully, how forward! I thought you’d never ask.”

...

The diner was the same. The plate of fries, the glass of iced tea, the decor, the menus -- even the company he kept today were all the same. He could remember them coming here all the time when they were younger. After sports games, before and after prom, for lunch on weekends, anytime they wanted something to eat, it seemed. “So, Mulder, what brings you back to the Vineyard?” she asked, stuffing a fry into her mouth. He had been expecting her to ask, he just didn’t want to answer. “Just, uh…just visiting. Just wanted to see the house before we sold it.” This was a lie, Scully could tell. Still, though, he would tell her in due time, just like he used to.

Eating lunch with Dana Scully was like some sort of dream. He had wondered what it would be like, almost two decades later, to be with her, spend time together like they used to. She smirked at him from across the table, and he was suddenly struck by a vision of her, of how she was then, being swallowed by an oversized Smiths t-shirt, eyes wide and playful, looking at him from across the booth. She had changed, sure, opting to wear clothes that fit her and had since grown into her babyface. That look, though. He would still do anything for her as if he were the same sweaty-palmed teenager, head over heels in love.

The waiter came over to hand them their checks. "Fox? Dana?" A tall, stocky bald man stood before them, eyes wide in surprise behind his wireframe glasses. "Skinman?" the two said, almost in unison. They had been such frequent customers in the past that they were on a nickname basis with the owner. "I always told you not to call me that! It’s Skinner," he groaned, though any annoyance he felt quickly faded back into a huge grin. "The two of you are still together, right? Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?" Scully surprised everyone by reaching across the table and grabbing Mulder's hand. "That's Mr. and Mrs. Spooky to you." She smiled at Mulder, silently telling him to play along. "Congratulations! How many years has it been?" Mulder took the lead this time. "It'll be fifteen years tomorrow, actually! We got married on Lake Okoboji. She'd always wanted to go. Spent our honeymoon driving around the country to different UFO hotspots. Can you believe Dana is still into all that crap?" He laughed, proud of his lie. Scully glared at him and threw a fry at his head. “Treat your wife right or I’ll charge you double, Mr. Spooky,” Skinner said, winking at Scully.

...

“I have to get back to Bill and Tara soon but--” Scully said, lingering next to the entrance of the diner. “No! Of course! I’m sorry I kept you so long. I’m sure the baby is getting hungry.” She lingered next to him, a bag of groceries in one hand. This was surreal, almost, like some kind of dream sequence. He even smelled the same. “Can I stop by your house first? If that’s okay, I mean. Since you said you were going to sell it and all. I’d just like to see it one last time.”

…

The house was just like she remembered it being. The (now peeling) paint was the same, the furniture, everything. It smelled the same, too, like Mulder. She hadn’t been there since she’d broken up with him. Pushing the memory down, she allowed herself to go deeper into the house. Kitchen, living room, dining room, before stopping at the door to his room. “May I?” she asked. “Sure. It’s the same as it was when I left. My mom left it as it was and I haven’t really been through any of it yet.” He hadn’t been joking. “You still have the magic eye poster?!,” she laughed. She was sure she had spent hours as a teen staring at it as they lazed around in his bed. “This whole room is like a time capsule, huh Scully?” He poked his head in the door and pulled a few sunflower seeds from his pocket. Great, she thought, he still eats those, too. She traced her hands over spines on the bookcase next to his bed, taking note of the dusty magazines and hand-labeled VHS tapes. “Hey, hey! Don’t look too closely at those!” he rushed over to try to pull her away. She picked up one of the tapes — Busty Blondes BJ Bonanza. Classy.

She'd found his keepsake box in his closet and was leafing through notes -- drawings his sister had done, an old class schedule from high school, a photograph of the two of them. They'd looked so young, him with his shaggy hair and giant headphones around his neck, her with her long auburn hair braided in two pigtails with over-sized glasses, Mulder's arm wrapped protectively around her middle. She found another picture with him in a tux and her in a handmade mint green prom dress with an a-line skirt falling a few inches below her knees, both smiling widely with eyes sparkling. Next was a slip of paper with the words, "Call me, Spooky," with a heart and her old home phone number written neatly next to it. She couldn't believe he had kept the note she'd slipped him in the cafeteria in 10th grade. She was about to say something when she heard her phone ring. She glanced at the screen for a moment. “I have to take this, sorry!” she apologized as she hurried out of the room. He could hear her out in the hall.

Hey, Ethan! How are you? I’m doing okay. I’m sorry I forgot to call, I went to the store to pick up some things for Bill and Tara and I ran into someone. Oh, just an old friend. Just, uh, just a girl I went to high school with is all. We got caught up talking and I guess I just got distracted. Yes, yes, sorry. No, no, I love you too. Goodbye.

She walked back into the room, smiling as though nothing had happened. “Sorry, Bill called. He was wondering where I was.” Two lies, he noted. Lying to him and to whoever Ethan was. Mulder flopped onto his bed. “Put some music on, Scully! I’m sure there’s some great stuff in there.” “What are you in the mood for, Mulder? Looks like you’ve got a little Paul Simon, The Cure…The Waitresses? Dear God, Mulder, this room makes me feel old.” She picked up an LP and took out the worn record, remembering how many times they must’ve played Thirteen by Big Star and how many times Mulder had quoted the lyrics to her. “Don’t be silly, Scully! You don’t look a day over…,” he took a moment to count on his fingers, “thirty-five!” he finished, triumphant over figuring out her age. She glared at him as she put the record on to play and he gave her a cheesy fake grin in return. She snorted and affection swelled in his chest, thrilled that he could make her laugh the same as he used to. He had to stop the urge to kiss her. She fell onto the bed next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He drew a sharp breath before asking, “Scully? Who is Ethan?”

She didn’t seem disturbed that she was caught in a lie, instead opting to remain where she was, still leaned against him. “Oh, you heard? Sorry. He’s my, uh, he’s my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for a couple years now. He actually proposed to me the day before I left.” “Oh, congratulations. When’s the wedding?” He did his best to mask the disappointment he felt. “I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say anything, really. I said I wanted to think about it.” “You hadn’t thought about it before?” “No, I guess I hadn’t. We moved in together last fall and things have been…they’re good. They’re, um, they’re really good. I have no reason to say no, but….” “You have no reason to say yes, either?” “Something like that.” She smiled sadly. He understood her. The understanding and compassion he showed her then felt unparalleled to anything Ethan or any other man she’d been with had ever shown her. “I just feel like maybe he’s as good as I’m going to get, you know? I’m thirty-five. He’s nice, handsome, has a good job. He loves me. That should be enough.” “But it isn’t, is it?” She only shook her head in response.

Scully stood suddenly as if trying to break free from the feeling of discontent. She started rooting through his closet and pulled out a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her clothes. “I remember wearing this when we used to ride our bikes down to the beach. Remember the night we built a fire and ended up falling asleep and how worried my mom was? I was wearing this then, too.” Mulder was surprised to hear that she remembered just as much, if not more, about their time together than he did. Truth be told, in her time with Ethan, time with Jack, time with other men who had left her unfulfilled, she would think back on summers spent with Mulder eating ice cream on the pier or exchanging gifts at Christmastime or going to the prom. Rationally, logically, she knew this was nostalgia and that everything she remembered was tinted with a rosy hue. Statistically speaking, high school relationships don’t last. The odds of finding your soulmate at sixteen are slim to none. If she hadn’t ended things with him then, they would’ve surely broken up for another reason, right? But nothing beats the magic of first love.

“Mulder?” Her voice was soft, quiet. “I wish I could go back and live it all again.”

“Scully?” “Yeah, Mulder?” “I love you.”

She buried her face in his chest for a moment and allowed him to hold her. Holy shit, holy shit. Mulder wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. “I want to go down to the beach,” she said. “I haven’t been to the beach in years.”

The night air was cool and crisp and the water was calm. Scully hiked up her skirt and waded in the sea, laughing and waving at Mulder as he watched from a blanket a few feet away. She seemed so young still, like the same person she was back then. Mulder watched her and felt young again, too. She came up and laid down next to him and rested her head on his chest. He moved to put his arm around her and rubbed small circles into her shoulder with his thumb. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Bill. I think he still hates you. Remember when you got into a fistfight at Thanksgiving?” She laughed at the memory. “Hey! He threw the first punch, and all I did was defend myself. I stand by that!” “You had that black eye for a month! I couldn’t take you anywhere, Mulder!” She was all smiles and laughter until suddenly her face turned somber.

“Do you think I made a mistake? Nothing feels the same as it did with you. Every other relationship has felt empty.” She remembered how small she felt all those years ago when she told him she was leaving him. Mulder shook his head. “You did what you thought was right at the time. I know what you mean though. I feel like I’ve been searching for it this whole time, whatever it was we had. I think you’re the only person who’s ever really seen me.” “Mulder?” “Yeah?” “Can I kiss you?” He said nothing and stayed stock still, staring at her with wide eyes. She nodded. “I mean it.” He didn’t answer, only moved in to kiss her first. He was slow, unsure at first. When she reciprocated he allowed himself to go in deeper, to savor it, to allow his hand to rest ever so lightly on her waist. When he finally pulled away, he laughed. “What’s so funny, Mulder?” His laughter was infectious. “Remember our first kiss? When I dragged you out here to watch for UFOs?” She nodded. “I lied about expecting to see UFOs though. I just couldn’t think of a better date than arguing with you about aliens.” “You wouldn’t’ve seen anything anyway," she protested. "You were too busy staring at me.”

“You’re more spectacular than any UFO I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s only because you haven’t seen any.” She playfully punched his arm and he grinned. “Mulder? I think that-” She was interrupted by her phone ringing. “Ethan?” Mulder asked, disappointment audible. “No, no,” she said, “it’s Bill. I think I need to go. I think that I might do something I’ll regret if I stay.” She rushed to her feet and turned towards the house. It was already dark and she was starting to get herself in trouble. He grabbed at the hem of her skirt. “Scully, wait. I want to say something.” “Mulder, I don’t think—“ “Scully, I love you.” “Mulder, that isn't true.” “Yes, Scully, it is! I always have. It’s always been you.” “That’s not true. You haven’t seen me in almost twenty years, Mulder! You don’t know me anymore. You haven’t known me since I was 17. You haven’t known me since I left. Do you have any idea how much I’ve been through, how much I’ve changed? You don’t, Mulder!” Her voice was soft and shaking, despite the power of her words.

She was right, he couldn’t refute it.

“Why did you come here then, Scully? Just to jerk me around?” His voice was pleading. She sat back down next to him. “No, Mulder. I was happy to see you. I still think about you. But that’s just how brains and memories work. I’m only remembering the good parts. If I still love you, it is only the idea of you as you were then.” She was always so damn rational, always scared to show her emotions, less God forbid someone mistook them as a sign of weakness. That much clearly hadn’t changed. Still, though, she had always been unusually open with him and it seemed that she still was. Some things don’t change, he figured. “You’re the only one I’ve told,” she said. “About what?” “About Ethan. I haven’t even told anyone he proposed. I just feel like it’ll be too embarrassing if I turn him down later. My family loves him, my friends love him. Everyone loves him but me.” “Well, I guess I gotta make it even then, Scully.” “What do you mean?” “Back in D.C. I had a girlfriend. A fiancee, actually. Diana. My mother gave me a family heirloom to propose with. She was saving it for Samantha but I guess since she’s not here she figured I was the next best thing. Turns out, she was having an affair with a guy from my work, of all places. Came home early one day and caught them. It’s crazy, you know? I’m way more handsome than that guy. He had some stupid ass haircut and the most punchable face I’d ever seen. Like, what did that guy have that I didn’t? But he had Diana.” “Mulder, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” “Don’t apologize, Scully. Better it happened before we tied the knot, right? Plus I was able to get most of my deposits back so all's well that ends well I guess.” He still had that carefree attitude. “Come on, Scully, I’ll take you back to your car. Bill and Tara are waiting.” He took her hand and led her back to the house.

...

“Mulder, thank you for tonight. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’m sorry about...” She fished her keys out of her purse to unlock her car. “Don’t marry him, Scully. Don’t marry him if you aren’t sure.” “Well, Mulder, there’s nothing he has that you don’t.” She gave him a playful smile and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek before getting in her car and driving off, leaving him there, stunned.

He had a lot on his mind as he trotted back to the house. He thought about her, about Diana, about himself, about where he was going. He spent the whole walk home in a daze that was only broken by a blaring car horn and an angry driver yelling at him to watch where the fuck he’s going. He unlocked the front door and made his way to the bedroom where he returned the forgotten record to the sleeve before noticing a slip of paper sticking out where she’d taken the record out hours ago. She’d always done that, marking the place where she’d taken an LP out in an effort to keep things organized. He grabbed at the slip of paper and started to crumple it up before he noticed something written on it.

“Call me, Spooky” in the same neat print and a new phone number with a heart next to it.

[mulderspice]

pls mulder yelling at skinner to remake his bougie ass drink 3 times and skinner is silently suffering like "shut up marthas vineyard bitch i am your BOSS"

he writes Marty on the cup