#Skinner: Agent Mulder what are you wearing?

[singeart]

@janini-panini thought of the cutest idea, unfortunately I had to make it funny <3

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Reviving that Love

Let's have an assortment of mature, (mostly) fluffy, coupley Revival fics, shall we?

This list only scratches the surface; but hopefully it's enough to soothe a particular itch.

**Note**: Another Revival list I've done is Beefy Revival Mulder (and Other Muscular Mentions)-- perfect pairing to this, I believe.

Loose chronological order below~

@oohnotvery/the_eternal_optimist's Always Wanted

But he has a key to her place, because they’ve always had keys to the other’s place, even in horrible times. It arrived in the mail one day, sealed tightly in a bubble-wrapped envelope, addressed from her to him with a handwritten note that he hadn’t even bothered to read before crushing it up in a ball and tossing it into the trash can. Several hours later, in a fit of frustration, he had fished the note out of the trash and shoved it, unread, into a kitchen drawer.

Breakup Mulder realizes Scully has been waiting for him.

@aloysiavirgata’s (Ao3, WBM, Gossamer, LJ, Alt. LJ)

Si Hoc Legere Potes, Liberaliter Educatus

"It was very important to Deputy Director Skinner that you two meet with me. He felt that you needed some guidance before you could resume any kind of professional partnership."

I grit my teeth. You're a dead man, Skinner. 

S10 Mulder and Scully run laps around the FBI recruitment therapist.

I need a fic with Scully's stolen dog Dagoo, and her wearing a Knicks tshirt.

“This is the one I ripped a piece off of for Boggs, Scully. This isn’t just my Knicks shirt. This is my favorite Knicks shirt. I’ve been looking for it!”

She pulls Tesla closer. “Stop violating the fourth amendment, Agent.”

“Stop violating the eighth commandment, Doctor.”

Post The Weremonster Mulder and Scully debate dog names and Knicks T-shirts.

What's your Mulder and Scully Thanksgiving sex headcanon?

"I'm going to die," she mumbles, her eyes half-lidded in tryptophanic stupor.

Mulder and Scully are stuffed after dinner.

@flukemen?/@pinebluffvariants/scienceandmysticism/contradictiontonature's (Ao3) Tie (prompt #1)

“Hello?”

“You know it’s me.” He did. “What are you doing?”

“I’m shopping. And I hope you’re using your bluetooth.” He could tell she was driving from the white noise over the sound of her breathing.

Mulder uses Scully's expertise to pick out a tie.

@hemisphaeric's (Ao3)

"Mulder you need new clothes"

The next day they decided to go into town and do some shopping, after Scully had had to tell Mulder for the tenth time he needed clothes and that no, he couldn’t wear those old ones just to seduce her.

Scully helps Mulder pick out new suits for his new job.

Let me carry some of the pain for you

Suddenly warm hands were touching him but he didn’t react. He couldn’t react, feeling so distant from everything. Scully was speaking, he recognized her voice, but not her words, those were like a white noise in the back of his head, which was so loudly screaming.

“I am better Scully, for real” he didn’t realize he had started talking at first, but he couldn’t stop, tears fogging up his vision.

Mulder panics, thinking Scully will leave him again.

touch.

Things had changed again in the last period though, she had come home; she had been spending time there with him more and more frequently. He understood her necessity to take things slowly, to test the territory before diving in head first, but he felt ready for it.

Mulder is glad to have Scully back.

Mulder, Scully and Elon Musk

She pushed him away and swatted at his arm. “You woke me up early to talk about Elon Musk??”

Mulder wakes Scully early for Elon's rocket news.

grumpysimon's Morse Code

He asks you for a pen. The genius always loses things. Your coffee comes and he spills a little on the napkin. He taps on the table. Morse code, maybe. You’re too tired to figure out what he’s saying to you in secret. You say his name and that smile is more crooked than ever.

Scully secretly loves Mulder's obsessive passion.

@baronessblixen/Baroness_Blixen's

Belong

He closes his eyes and counts. What will it be, he wonders. The sound of a car or their creaky door?

Another minute passes before he hears the soft squeak behind him.

Mulder tells Scully he's "done okay without her."

A few months after they're back on the x-files, Mulder's notices that his neck and shoulders are sore.

Mulder feels better and promises - with a wink - to do the same for her, she just needs to ask. She doesn't ask but Mulder knows her feet are sore a few days later, after hours of walking around. He silently starts massaging her feet while consorting in his hotel room, half-empty take-out containers on the bed next to them....

Mulder doesn't replace his chair-- which is just fine, because Scully becomes his masseuse.

Mulder giving Scully a foot massage

“Exactly. My feet hurt and I need a break. I’m not…” She trails off again as she massages her foot. 

“Not young anymore?” Mulder offers and her head shoots up like a rocket, her eyes shooting daggers. 

“Not used to it anymore.”

Post Ghoulie Scully's high heels finally catch up to her.

There's No Place Like Home (Ao3)

He loves her stubbornness. Once, she told him that she fell in love with him because he was stubborn. Well. That was the pot calling the kettle black. No one is as stubborn as his Scully. 

AU-- Nothing Lasts Forever Mulder brings an injured Scully home.

Growing Old (with You) (Ao3)

“Just wait til you’re my age,” he jokes.

“55 looks good on you.” She proves her point with a kiss on his nose. “I can only hope to look as good as you when I turn 55.”

“You will. And I will remind you of it. If I’m invited to your birthday, that is.”

“You’re always invited to my birthday.”

Scully drops in for Mulder's 55th, assuring him his aging concerns are overblown.

A Study in Chemistry

"I didn't know you cared for this kind of movie, Scully." Mulder, sprawling on her bed, in her motel room, looks slightly disgusted at the small screen where two generic actors share a truly boring, less than passionate kiss in a typical, cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

"I don't," she says, returning her attention to the case report they're supposed to be working on. Despite his words, Mulder's eyes are glued to the movie and Scully can't help but smile.

Mulder and Scully bridge the gap between them-- and all because of Hallmark and memories.

Surprises Are Best Served Ice-Cold - Chapter 1

They both start towards each other at the same time, laughing.

“Mulder, I don’t remember how to stop,” she says, trying to get her skates under control.

“I’ve got you,” he says calmly and she hopes he’s right because she loses her balance, stumbles the last few steps towards him and crashes right into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

Mulder surprises Scully with a frozen over lake for Christmas.

A Day in May (Ao3)

Mulder puts on cheesy Christmas music and turns down the lights, creating a mood. They share a cup of sugary hot cocoa with mini marshmallows and whipped cream. When Scully raises her eyebrows at the cream, Mulder dips a finger in and deposits a blob on her nose.

“Live a little, Scully.”

And she does.

Mulder forgoes sleep to help Scully decorate their tree on Christmas Eve.

Night Out

"I can't breathe." Mulder is pouting. She wants to be angry with him - all of this is his own fault, after all - but he looks so miserable and yet so adorable that she feels sympathetic. She strokes his cheek and smiles at him.

"I'll make you make some soup."

"Are you sure I'm not dying?" he asks again, coughing. She offers him some tea and he sips it noisily.

Mulder gets sick after a night of Squatchin.

@wtfmulder/@momdadimpoppunk​‘s (Ao3) 

post-Plus One

“You reasoned your doppelgänger out of existence,” he says flatly. She smiles against his bare shoulder, nodding.

“She was a very reasonable woman.”

He laughs softly, the rumble of it caressing her cheek. 

Post Plus One Mulder and Scully catch a few winks.

ficlet; twenty-six years

On her side of the desk, he has procured for her a plain blue baseball cap, a skinny caramel macchiato, and a not-skinny blueberry muffin.

She sits down as he hums and types away at something, taking a bite of the muffin and putting the cap on her head.

Scully always guesses which anniversary Mulder is celebrating.

fluff 🤢

They’re packing up the basement just one last time. They both learned early in life that saying goodbye is so much easier when it’s a choice, and the moment holds no bitterness, no fear.

Post Revival Scully finds flowers she'd once given Mulder in their basement office.

@myassbrokethefall's untitled rm9sbg93zxjz post-ep

Scully had chanced to see a picture of a blobfish on the internet some months ago and he wasn't sure he had ever, in their years and years together, seen her laugh so hard. It was one of the best things that had ever happened to him, frankly, watching the outsizedly hysterical reaction of Dana Scully MD, his serious scientist partner, to a picture of a lumpy, slimy, theatrically frowning fish on the internet. He had brought it up at every opportunity for weeks, renamed the wireless network at the house Blobfish Cove, found a way to work a reference to it into a meeting with Skinner, once printed out a picture of it and left it on Scully’s pillow, and watched in utter delight as she got the helpless giggles every single time. (Even the Skinner time. He hadn't even asked, just looked wearily at some point behind their heads for a few seconds before sighing and continuing on.)

AU-- Robot episode Mulder dreamed up the whole thing.

@onpaperfirst's (Ao3) Honey Hi

The doors slid open and Mulder wrangled a cart from the corral.

“They set up the little rooms and it makes you feel like you’re at home,” she said. “It dulls your senses. You forget you’re in public. And all of a sudden you’re in the middle of a fight about which rug matches the couch.”

“Let’s not fight in Ikea, Scully. It’s so bourgeois.”

Part II to Home, Home, Mulder and Scully's romantic life is examined through the lens of perfectly balanced humor... and their IKEA trip.

@ghostbustermelanieking's (Ao3) bearing north (Ao3)

“The cops out front will stop him,” Mulder says comfortingly.

She nods. Her skull is still pounding, but she feels limp in his arms, safe. “I tried to fight him off,” she says. “I almost did. But he got angry and shoved me into the pool. I hit my head.”

Mulder takes Scully home after she's injured while pursuing a perp.

"You’re beautiful, you know that?” (Ao3)

She turns her eyes up to meet his, burning blue eyes in the night. “You’re… all I have left now, Mulder.” Names are left unsaid between them, but they all register in his brain, like a knife. “I think my leaving was for the best, but I’m ready to come back. You’re my family, Mulder.”

Scully proposes to her Mulder.

@settle-down-frohike's Headcanon: It started after her first disappearance, on a flight to nowhere North Dakota.

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

My Struggle II Scully hopes she can comfort Mulder once more.

@lilydalexf/LilydaleXF 's My Andromeda

He looks back at the road and answers honestly, "I didn't watch many shows. The ones I really wanted to see I wasn't allowed to watch. Except after excessive begging."

"And on nights you could successfully sneak into the TV room after your parents fell asleep." It's a statement, not a question.

"You know me so well, Scully."

Mulder and Scully imagine a night of stargazing.

Eternity Awaits

"Mulder…. We need to go to bed."

"You don't want to freeze together?"

"Not on this decrepit couch I don't."

Post This Mulder and Scully discuss their eternal conversations.

Apostrophic/@mappingthexfiles's

This

Mulder said Push a third time and they both groaned with the effort of heaving the massive piece another three feet, barricading it firmly against the bedroom door.

“What does this,” he gasped, “remind you of?”

Scully, drawing in deep gulps of air, pushed herself up on her elbows, propped on the edge of the chest. She did not say the fleeting thought that had gone through her head: maybe it was not a bad thing Mulder had not been present at the birth of their child.

“Um,” Scully said.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. Panting out, “Towers of furniture.”

Post This Mulder and Scully move their furniture back into place.

The Scully Treehouse of Horror

The automatic taps don’t turn on and off for him. He’s invisible to its sensors. The alarm, on the other hand, blares every time he walks in the door. Sometimes, even, once he’s inside the door and has been for some time. He’ll get up at night for a drink of water and Scully gets jarred out of postcoital bliss by the klaxon siren of intruder alert, intruder alert, Mulder cursing at the sink in the kitchen, yelling for Scully....

If she yells back for him to punch in the code, he does the wrong birthdate or botches the spelling of Queequeg. More often than not, she pads out in bare feet, tying her robe, entering the right code, filling the glass with cold water, sleepily herding a grumbling Mulder back to the warm bed.

Scully's house hates Mulder; and she loves him all the more for it.

Lapsed_Scholar's Wake-Up Calls

On their way into work, his phone rings. It’s just a wrong number, and the other commuters don’t really take any notice, but Scully arches her eyebrow.

At her questioning look, “Do you recognize this theme?”

“Vaguely. Should I?”

“It’s our theme song, Scully! And I think it suits us. Kind of spooky.” A beat. “Don’t you remember our movie?”

If possible, her eyebrow climbs higher.

Mulder always ratted he and Scully out to people-- and still does now, years and years later.

@slippinmickeys/SlippinMickeys's

Prompt: ballet slippers, chocolate pudding in a can, Wyoming

It was like a Carlton Varney fever dream; like a brothel with aspirations. Mulder actually paused in the doorway and leaned back out to double check the address number on the side of the house.

“Wow,” Scully said, daintily setting down her suitcase a few feet inside the door. She wanted to make a joke, but Mulder looked appalled.

Mulder books a truly terrible vacation spot.

Prompt Drabble Collection - Chapter 12

“I want something I can’t make.”

It was Day 18 of self-isolation and if you looked at quarantine like the stages of grief, they had rolled easily past panic and guilt, skipped loneliness altogether and were deep in the grip of isolation.

Scully shot him a look.

Mulder and Scully are sick and tired of COVID quarantine.

Prompt: Mulder & Scully vacation Christmas/Hanukah at the Quonochontaug cabin post season 11

“When was the last time you stayed here?” she asked, wrinkling her sensitive nose at the smell of dust, of mildew.

One suitcase on the floor at his feet, one still in his hand, Mulder closed the door behind him, his face ponderous. “Overnight?” he clarified. “I think I was nineteen?”

Post Revival Mulder and Scully spend the New Years in the old Mulder summer home.

outsquatchin94's Joy to You and Me

“Those hipsters… But Scully, that was such a look. Also, I hate to break this to you, but I’m quite sure it’s in the back spare room somewhere in a box.”

For a moment, he thinks she’ll spring off the couch and go find the offending object. She doesn’t though, she only smiles a little.

“I think we turned out okay in the end, even without the sleeping bags.” And Mulder has to agree with her.

Mulder and Scully discuss her old jacket.

@msrafterdark/msrafterdark's A concept : slow dancing on an ill lit front porch late in the evening while it’s thundering and maybe just starting to rain?

When they’re like this again, as though no time has passed, the pleasure of the familiarity is so good it almost hurts her. To have him well again, to be safe and wanted and in his arms is only made sweeter by the fact that the knocks and falls they have taken ultimately only made them stronger.

Mulder and Scully, the Unremarkable House and dancing.

@tofuttim's Comfort and Chaos (Ao3)

The rain pelted relentlessly against the windows of the small cabin. The night air was cold, but inside the cabin, a fire and a shared bed with Mulder kept her warm. The sound of the storm thrusted her thoughts back to the beginning. 

The beginning of forever.

Scully asks Mulder what he remembers about their first case.

@defnotmeyo's (Ao3) The Cost of Living is Just Right

The beds are wrapped in white and light grey sheets with sky blue pillow cases on the spare pillows. The tables all look like something you would have seen on the Jetsons.  

It takes a bit of time for Mulder to feel comfortable at Scully's apt.

Ingot Silver

“Birthday time, huh? We could go uh,” he licked some sauce off his finger as he moved a dish over to the sink, “we could go squatchin’.” He turned and winked at her.

Mulder learned plans an evening dinner for he and his Scully.

the “before i even needed glasses” line

Then, on days he doesn’t hate himself (and those days are multiplying and growing closer together all the time), he remembers he has a son, healthy and alive. He has the love of his life and while she’s not home yet, her toothbrush is back in his bathroom.

Post Cathedral episode Mulder isn't letting his homie get away ever again.

It really looks like Mulder when youre seeing two of everything.

“Mulder… you… you hurled a raccoon down our stairs.”

He shrugs, sheepish as ever.

“Like… you hurled him.”

“It was for Daggoo!”

A raccoon holds the Mulder-Scully household hostage.

I always laugh at that bit in detour where mulder is like “if ur lucky u get seventy-five (75) yrs. if ur rly lucky u get eighty

She refrains from rolling her eyes, instead slides in front of him and slinks an arm around him, patting that soft of his oblique threatening to turn into a love handle.

“Charlie has a decent head of hair,” Mulder mumbles.

“Charlie is four years younger. And you made it passed 50, Mulder. You won.”

Scully reassures Mulder he still looks gooooooooood.

BONUS (HAD TO INCLUDE THESE FOR THE MSR)

@monikafilefan/MonikaFileFan's

Language of Love: Prompts of Angst and Romance - Chapter 6

A sudden rise in emotion crests in her throat when she sees the wondrous look of awe and admiration seize the love of her life.

It’s the exact look she saw grace is face eighteen years ago.

“Mulder…” she whispers, raking her fingers through his silky hair as he grins up at her with a trembling chin.

Post Revival Mulder feels his baby move during the witching hour.

39 and 82 from the prompt list 😁/Just Breathe

“She’s here and she’s beautiful, honey, she’s just—”

“What, Mulder?” Scully shot up onto her elbows with her heart in her throat. “She’s just what?”

“It’s fine. She’s fine, Scully. She just looks like a he.”

Her jaw dropped. “What are you—are you sure?” Their slippery, pink baby covered in layers of vernix and blood mewled in protest as Mulder lifted the tiny bundle away from the comfort of his warm chest and pointed wide-eyed between its legs.

Mulder and Scully and unexpectedly fast Halloween baby makes a chaotically competent three.

RoseThornhill's

Spooky Mulder: The Revenge

Excited dad!Mulder wants a spooky theme for his Halloween daughter's name.

Alice is a Punk Rocker

Mulder, Scully, and their Halloween baby are happy together, despite a few bumpy patches.

@myownsuperintendent/MyOwnSuperintendent’s Renewal

She tries to shift in the bed, to touch him too, and he stops and pulls back.  “Don’t try to sit up,” he says.  “They made me promise I wouldn’t disturb you.”  He’s trying to smile at her through the tears in his eyes.  “You’re all right,” he repeats.  “Please don’t scare me like that again.  Not ever again.”

Post Revival Scully loses a lot of blood during delivery, which helps convince Jackson to stay with his family and new sister a bit longer.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 10/34 - new years rockin' eve

[Read on AO3]

After the pleasant, downright normal Christmas they'd had, Mulder wasn't surprised that their New Years Eve was spent being chased by zombies like something out of one of his bad horror flicks.

He did, however, get to spend it with Scully, which was all he really could have asked of the day.

Their first few days back at work had been pretty run-of-the-mill. The traffic in the hallways was a little lighter, with some agents taking additional days off until after the new year. They used their slow days to complete the adoption paperwork and send it in, which allowed them to put it out of their minds so they could finally focus on work.

Aside from Skinner briefly asking in passing if they'd actually done it (trying his hardest to appear only mildly interested), it was easy to forget the monumental step they'd taken over the holidays. Their rings remained safely tucked under their clothes while on the job, but when he was at home, Mulder liked to wear it in its intended place, finding it helped him focus his thoughts when he twisted it idly on his finger.

A mangled arm was a small price to pay for ringing in the new year with his partner by his side, all things considered. A happy ending for all, most especially for Frank Black and his daughter.

Scully watches as the older man wraps the girl in his arms, burying his face in her hair. It's a sweet sight, but something about it makes her grow pensive, her expression darkening.

“What kind of world would we be bringing a child into, Mulder?” she asks quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from the little family as they leave the room hand in hand.

Her words surprise him in their negativity, drawing a halfhearted chuckle from his throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Scully, but adoption usually means we’re getting a kid that’s already in the world, doesn’t it?

Her shoulders deflate a little and she casts an unamused glance in his direction, looking far more vulnerable than she typically allows herself to be.

“You know what I mean.”

He does. Of course he does.

“Well, it’s the same world people have been bringing children into for millennia,” he reasons. “And now we’re about to be in a whole new one.”

He nods back at the TV screen, tuned in to Dick Clark's coverage of Times Square. All those people, completely oblivious to the dangers lurking in this world that defy logic and reason. Zombies are the last thing on any of their minds as they count down to the new year. 

“But I believe mankind, in its essence, stays the same,” he finishes.

He'd faced this question months and months ago when Scully had asked him about IVF. Was this a life he could bring a child into? Was he a person worthy of being a father, even if only by genetics? The conclusions he'd come to had not been arrived at lightly.

“We can do this, Scully,” he says, softer. Sure. “We might have to make some changes, but… when it comes down to it, you and I are no different than anyone else wanting to raise a child.”

She gives him a disbelieving look, her eyebrow quirking into the air. He knows what she’s thinking; The reanimated corpses they'd just encountered would like a word.

“No, think about it,” he continues. “What's the one thing all parents—well, the good ones—have in common?” His question is semi-rhetorical, and she doesn't seem inclined to respond, so he answers for her. “They want what's best for their children, and they do all that they can to provide it to them because they love them. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty willing to do just that. And I think you are too, if these are the things you're worried about.”

Scully sighs, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Mulder…”

“I promise to protect you and any children we may acquire from zombies and all other supernatural forces of evil, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” he adds, his joke finally drawing a smile out of her.

“Don't call it 'acquiring,’ Mulder,” she says with a breathy laugh. “That's weird.”

With the mood successfully lightened, he turns his attention back to the TV, where Dick Clark is beginning to count down.

“The world’s a-changing, Scully,” he says as he moves closer, tilting his head up to watch the broadcast. She mirrors him, standing close by his side.

“Thirty seconds, now. Thirty,” Dick Clark announces as the camera hones in on the Times Square ball, lit up in bright colors as it begins its descent. “Hug your friends and loved ones tight. What the heck, whoever that person is next to you. No time like the present!”

Now there's an idea…

“Here we go!” the announcers chant.

Ten!

Mulder looks down to his left. Well, she is standing next to him, after all. Why not?

Nine.

She's smiling. She has a beautiful smile, too. He's always thought so.

Eight… Seven… Six…

New Year's Eve is plausible deniability, right? If this doesn't work? Maybe there's a written rule somewhere he can check…

Five, four.

Well, it’s not like they haven’t done it before…

Three. Two.

Is this a stupid idea?

One.

Without further ado, Dick Clark's voice cheers, “Happy New Year 2000!” and Mulder makes his decision, leaning toward her with purpose. No turning back now.

She catches him at the last second, and by then it's too late to play it off. The only option is to follow through.

And follow through he does.

His eyes flutter closed as his lips make contact with hers, their touch light and tentative as it had been in the courtroom just a week before, only this time, he waits a moment longer to pull back. Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and it immediately sends his heart pounding into his throat, and he finds he can't speak. Auld Lang Syne is playing, but the sound fades from his ears.

The only thing his senses can hear, feel, taste, smell, is her.

When he opens his eyes again, she is staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Her hand hasn't moved, and neither does he.

“I—”

“Mulder, I—

Whatever words he was trying to conjure to explain himself die on his lips in an instant, and he can do nothing but gape at her. The air feels charged, and all at once he wishes he'd never done it and that he'd done it years ago.

His eyes flick down to her lips and then back to her eyes, desperate to know what words will come out of them next.

“I– got a call from the adoption agency,” she finishes, and his thoughts come crashing back to the present, his heartbeat pounding at an alarming rate. However he'd thought she might finish that sentence, that wasn't it. 

She's looking at him though, worry flickering in her eyes.

“Th– the adoption agency?” he asks, his good hand slackening its hold on her lower back.

She nods.

“What did they say?”

Suddenly he feels nauseous, like maybe the mixture of zombies, drugs, and potentially life changing news was a little too much for his stomach all in one night.

“They… said that our application looks good, and they want to schedule a preliminary interview.”

At this, even his fingers on his injured arm have to reach out to her, brushing against the fabric of her shirt at her waist and stretching his sling to its limit.

“What?”

She nods again in confirmation, looking equal parts scared and excited.

“Scully that's– that's great news! It's good news, right?”

He doesn't know what he'll do if she gets cold feet now. A crushing blow like that isn't exactly how he'd like to start out this century, much less the millennium. 

Her hand drops to his shoulder and she smiles, holding tight to him.

“It's good,” she confirms, though a trace of doubt still remains in her voice.

He pulls her into a hug, resigning his poor limp arm to be stuck uncomfortably between them, but otherwise holding her tight.

“Mulder, we're actually going through with this?” she asks into his shoulder.

He nods emphatically, a wide grin stretching his face. “Heck yeah, Scully!”

“They could still tell us no.”

His little pessimist. Good thing he's got enough belief for the both of them.

“Not until they've seen us and we've pled our case,” he says, pulling back to look at her. “Call ‘em back and make an appointment!”

Tears begin to pool in her eyes and she nods shakily again. “Okay,” she says, and releases his shoulder to wipe the wetness beneath her eyes. “Okay, I’ll– um… I’ll call them tomorrow.”

He wants to kiss her again. He wants to so bad, but he doesn't. Emotions are understandably high, and this entire situation is so confusing and complicated already, that he's not sure anymore where they stand.

One day, he thinks. One day he'll find the courage.

“Hey, Scully,” he says instead, placing his hand on the back of her neck to capture her attention. 

She looks up at him tearfully. He shrugs and smiles goofily, relief and hope shining in his eyes.

“The world didn't end.”

~~~

Should I? Oh, why not. One more chapter. It's the weekend.

Chapter 11/34 - confessions

The interview with the adoption agency is scheduled for Friday of that week, which Skinner happily approves time off for. That leaves less than six days to prepare, and Scully busies herself with making sure they have everything they could possibly need to maximize their chances.

The night before the big day, Mulder is ordered to come over for a last minute study session (not that he would have been unwilling if she’d asked nicely, but with the stress she’s under, it comes out as more of a command). It feels like Arcadia again, going under cover, making sure they both have their stories straight.

Only this time, their cover is more or less their real life, give or take a few necessary oversimplifications.

“So, we’ve covered employment, medical history, familial relationships…” Scully lists, kneeling beside an array of papers spread out on her coffee table. “Am I leaving anything out?”

She bites the tip of her pen, glancing over her notes with her brows furrowed in thought. Reviewing this stuff could mean the difference between a happily ever after and rejection, that’s the scariest thing. She just wants to be thorough, and Mulder—bless him—has humored her thus far, answering questions, finding solutions to explain their… less than ordinary pasts. 

It takes her a moment to notice when he doesn’t immediately answer, the silence dragging on just a little too long. Her first assumption is that he’s fallen asleep—which she wouldn’t blame him for if he did—but that assumption is quashed the moment she looks up at him on the couch, the serious expression on his face instantly shifting the mood.

“Mulder?” she asks, a worried crease appearing on her forehead.

"You know, we never talked about it," he says quietly, carefully, glancing across the coffee table at her. “Not really.”

"About what?" She’s starting to get anxious.

"The IVF."

And there they are, the three letters that still fill her stomach with dread and immense sadness anytime she hears them.

I. V. F. 

"Mulder..." she starts, but he only leans forward, reaching out across the coffee table for her hand.

"I want to. I really do, Scully. I need to talk about it. It could come up tomorrow."

"I don't really like... thinking about it,” she says softly, wanting desperately to look away from the pleading expression that she knows she can’t say no to.

"I know. But don't you think we should?” he argues. “I mean, we can't brush it away like it never happened, Scully, I won't do that. It was important to me."

She doesn’t want to hear this. Her heart twists painfully, and she slams her eyes shut to lock down the tears beginning to form, shaking her head. Sure, she knows he’d wanted it back then, had hoped it would succeed. But it’s too late. It’s in the past, and she’d like to leave it there, if at all possible. To hear him say, in as many words, exactly how much he’d invested emotionally in those tiny embryos…

She doesn’t think her heart can take it.

"Since when do you like talking about things like this?" she asks, trying once to pull her hand away. “Things that… cause you pain?”

He clings on tighter, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand with both of his. "I can tell you the exact moment, Scully, and it’s when you knocked on my door in a dingy motel room and asked me what those bumps on your back were."

His earnest words stun her into silence.

Rain on the windows. A story of tragedy and determination. Honest words coming from the lips of a man she’d met only days before.

That trust had been there from the start.

He stands from his place on the couch and circles the coffee table, carefully pushing aside the papers in front of her to make a space for himself to sit. "The past hurts, but somehow—” he continues, “somehow you make it easier to face. To me, at least."

She sighs, turning her head so that she can muster enough strength to answer his heartfelt plea. Articulating something like this is not her strong suit, but for him, she’ll try.

"I– I've never wanted anything more in my life,” she breathes, the admission one she has never spoken aloud. 

It’s the truth, though, and he knows better than anyone how difficult that is for her. Scully is not one for dreaming big, expecting rich blessings from the earth or her life. She, like him, has grown used to being disappointed, to having the things she wants taken away from her. He could make an itemized list, if he wanted to, of all the ways they’d been let down. Even the expectation of a clean, comfortable motel room has been slowly drained from her, and yet she had still allowed herself to hope in this.

“You know, for a minute, I really did think it had worked, that I was—" She pauses, leaving the word pregnant to hang in the air. Instead, she takes a shaky breath and continues. "Do you remember that day I got sick in the car on the way to a crime scene?"

She doesn’t have to specify which one, because it had only ever happened once, that was what was so odd about it.

"I thought that was it,” she says, “I thought that maybe—"

"I thought the same thing," Mulder cuts in.

Of course he had. She’d guessed as much that day, too, between bouts of heaving into a plastic bag in the front seat of their rental car. 

The way he treated her extra carefully, taking turns slower, making a point to turn on the blinker with every lane change on the highway, stopping at a gas station for some ginger ale… She had allowed it all, too—the special treatment—because what if she was? She couldn’t risk it until she knew for sure. If that was her only chance…

Her lower lip trembles and she ducks her head. "I tried to keep my expectations low, but..."

His finger lands on her chin, tipping her gaze back up to face his.

"It would have been pretty cool, huh?” he says, offering her a small smile for comfort. “Can you imagine telling Skinner out of nowhere that we combined our DNA in a petri dish? I think the vein in his head might have actually burst.” He laughs, and is graced with the smallest of smirks for his efforts.

"I'd have these dreams,” she continues. “What our baby might look like, what personality they'd have. Whether they'd… be more like me or like you."

His lips. Her hair. His passion. Her scientific mind.

"Well, hopefully you,” Mulder speaks, smiling at the thought. “I think you've got your hands full already with one of me. There are many who would say you were crazy even to ask me in the first place."

She looks up at him with her head tilted, her eyes softening.

"I knew what I was doing."

She can tell by the way he brushes off the compliment that he doesn’t believe her, so she doubles down.

"I'm serious, Mulder. You're brilliant, imaginative, bold, caring... I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't want my child to share those same qualities."

She loves Mulder. She loves every infuriating little thing about him. She'd have been lucky to have a son or daughter with his kind, gentle personality, his determination to keep fighting when everything in his life is telling him he can't win. Teena Mulder didn't know what she had, with Fox Mulder as a son. He should have been loved, cared for, nurtured, supported all his life. Instead, Scully has the sense that the first and only person he has trusted to give him all that is her, and that is not a responsibility she takes lightly.

"I pictured this little boy,” he says, his lips curled in a sad smile as he speaks. “Dark sandy blond hair with just a hint of your red. Blue eyes just like yours. Jeans absolutely filthy with dirt and grass stains on the knees."

She closes her eyes, allowing the picture to form in her mind. She smiles, but it's pained. Such a beautiful thought, never to be.

"How can I miss someone so much that I don't even know?” she asks, the hurt audible in her voice. “Someone that never existed?"

Mulder presses his lips tightly together in thought, his eyes trailing over the room. 

"They say that grief is the love we have that has nowhere to go, because that person has left us,” he starts, his voice reverent and pensive. “They never talk about how to love a person we never had in the first place, or a dream that’s just out of reach. But still, I think that love feels just as real as any other kind.”

He has a way with words, her Mulder. It has been the bane of their assistant director’s existence on numerous occasions, when such existential ponderings found their way into his reports.

But now… Well, it's just another thing she loves about him. She wonders if he's allowed himself to grieve for Samantha, or if his belief that she's still out there somewhere makes him fall into that second category.

"I just wish I hadn't put us both through that,” she says. “That I dragged you into it..."

"I'm glad you did,” he’s quick to assure. “Scully, that day you asked me was one of the happiest days of my life. The future is such a messy, terrifying thing, sometimes. You showed me that it doesn't have to be that way. That there can be hope. I'd forgotten what that felt like."

She's silent, unsure of what to say in response to that. He has all the right words, and suddenly, she has none of them.

"I don't regret it for one moment, Scully. We gave it a try."

She purses her lips, forcing back tears that are threatening to spill. "I don't think I could have done it without you," she says, shaking her head. 

"Well, obviously,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a cheeky smile.

She gives him a look. "Mulder…"

"I know, I know,” he says, turning serious again. “I'm honored that you let me be a part of it." 

That she would have let him be a part of so much more. A family. Everything, if he had wanted it.

"Well, listen,” he continues, “we ace this interview tomorrow, and we're back on track. Plenty of kids out there that need a home, right? Someone's bound to pick us."

His optimism emboldens her. "I hope so."

"We got this, Scully. They're gonna take one look at you and know for certain that you're meant to be a mother."

She distracts herself from his sweet-sounding words by focusing her attention on his loosened necktie, smoothing it down with one hand. "I'm picking out your tie,” she declares. “No alien decals or wild shapes and colors."

"I think it shows personality," he says in mock defense.

She can’t help the fond smile she flashes at him, glancing up into his eyes. "Not tomorrow, it doesn't."

-.-.-

The agency they ended up going with is out in Annapolis, so on the day of their interview, they drive out together, mostly in silence. Scully fidgets with the folder full of information and other documents they might need, picking at the corner of it while she goes over the important points in her head.

Mulder holds the door open for her when they arrive at the building, and she double checks that her ring is in place on her finger before approaching the front desk to check in. They’re instructed to take a seat in the small waiting area, and Mulder follows and sits down beside her. On the coffee table in front of them are a stack of brochures, the same one she found on Mulder’s desk what feels like forever ago. That had been the catalyst for this entire affair, and now look where they are.

She never could have imagined it.

A few minutes later, a plump older woman appears from behind a door, smiling at them warmly. 

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?” she says, checking her clipboard.

Scully stands, followed by Mulder. “I, uh– I go by my maiden name. Scully,” she corrects.

“My apologies, Ms. Scully,” the woman says, leading them into her office and taking a seat behind a wooden desk. 

They sit down in a pair of chairs opposite her, taking in their surroundings. There are dozens of thank you cards lined up on the windowsill behind the woman’s desk, presumably from families who have benefitted from the services offered here. It fills her with a cautious hope, though does nothing to quell the restless feeling that has plagued her since she woke up this morning. Mulder has kept his cool, so far, and she wonders how he does it.

“My name's Brenda Koske,” the woman continues, introducing herself. “I’ll be your case manager throughout this process. Should we just get right into it, then?”

They nod, unable to do any more than that at the moment.

“Okay, then,” Brenda says with a beaming smile, opening up a file folder on her desk. “So, tell me about yourselves, what made you look into adoption?”

"Well," Scully says, looking at Mulder for approval. "I– We found out a few years ago that I am unable to have children. We tried in vitro fertilization last year, but... it wasn't successful."

The woman at the desk nods and jots some information down in a notebook. Scully suspects their story, so far, is a familiar one. 

"And how long have you been together?"

Scully's mouth drops open, but she isn't sure what she'll say. Before she has a chance to stammer something out, Mulder answers, "A little over seven years, now." He’s confident. Sure of his answer, despite it being a lie, or at least an egregious stretching of the truth. 

The case manager writes down some more.

"And I see here that Ms. Scully has petitioned for the adoption of a child before. Emily Sim?" she states, checking her notes.

Scully tenses, and Mulder puts a calming hand on her knee.

"It's a long story," he says, answering for her, "but Emily unfortunately passed away from her chronic illness before the adoption proceedings could get very far."

Brenda nods. "I understand that this is a difficult subject, Mr. Mulder, I'm just trying to get all the information I need. From what I see here, this child was the biological child of Ms. Scully. I'm afraid I need more of an explanation."

She knows Ms. Koske doesn’t mean any harm by asking these questions—after all, they’d prepared for them last night. But it’s still hard to hear them come up.

Thankfully, Mulder was paying attention and is more than willing to take the lead.

"My wife was treated for her infertility by a doctor we couldn't trust,” he explains. She still finds it odd to hear him refer to her in that way, but it makes sense that he does it now. He can’t very well call her ‘Scully’ in front of the woman they’re trying to convince to give them a child. 

Now comes the next part of their explanation. 

“Her ova were stolen and used without her knowledge or consent, and Emily was a result of that. It was complete happenstance that we even discovered what happened."

"I'm very sorry you went through that, Ms. Scully," the woman says, looking genuinely sorry for her. "Quite a world we live in."

You have no idea , Scully thinks, and nods in recognition of Ms. Koske’s expression of sorrow.

"And you're married?" she asks next, her pen hovering over a checkbox on the form in their file.

"Yes, just recently,” Scully answers. The box gets checked.

"Congratulations! Why the long wait, if I may ask?" Brenda says.

“I ask myself that every time I look at her,” Mulder says while leveling her with his adoring gaze. He’s dialing up the married man act, which he is definitely within his rights to do, but it still catches her off guard. She hopes he doesn’t overdo it, risking tipping off their case manager.

"It, um– It never really seemed like something necessary for us to do," Scully answers, ignoring his sickly sweet comment and hiding her blush.

Mulder turns back to Brenda and adds, "But we figured, if adoption works out..."

"We'd like to make it as simple and straightforward as possible," Scully finishes.

"It certainly will help," the agent says, nodding as she jots down another note. "Where would the child be living?"

"I– We have an apartment in Georgetown.” Scully’s heart flutters anxiously at the close call, thankful she was able to correct herself before misspeaking.

"An apartment," the woman says as she adds that to her notes. It's impossible to tell if she means it in a good or bad way, and Scully can’t make out her handwriting enough to tell.

"I have money set aside from my father's estate," Mulder cuts in, causing Scully to look at him in confusion. "We'd eventually like to buy a house, if this works out." This wasn’t something they’d talked about in any of their previous discussions, nor has he ever mentioned it before, so she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. When she catches his eye, he gives her a subtle shrug.

They’ll have to talk about this later.

"I'll put down the Georgetown address for now," Brenda says, smiling encouragingly at them. "Just a couple more questions for now, you guys are doing great." Scully exhales in relief, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "I have to ask about your work. Your medical history tells me that your jobs put you in some pretty dangerous situations. What are your plans should a child be placed into your care?"

Mulder nods and squeezes Scully's hand, encouraging her. They'd planned for this, too.

"I plan to take a step back,” she answers, “I've spoken with our boss, and he's assured me that I could return to a teaching position at Quantico while serving part time in my current department as a consultant."

"Mr. Mulder?" Brenda says, turning to him next.

"I will be doing the same."

Scully looks at him incredulously, which the woman thankfully misses. 

"It's time for us to settle down,” he continues, avoiding her questioning stare. “I think we've accomplished most of what we set out to do with our work, and we can't keep doing it forever, especially if we want to start a family. I've talked to our director about seeking out replacements for the both of us. Someone else will take over the department, while we lend our expertise as needed to the new agents."

This is the first she’s hearing about this too, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut, letting him say whatever he needs to say. Starting an argument about this now would not tip things in their favor. 

But he can’t be serious about giving up the X-Files, can he? It hadn’t even crossed her mind to ask. Arguably the main reason he started the unit was to look into the disappearance of his sister, and that case remains unsolved. Would he just walk away? Would he resent her for it eventually, if he did? 

"I'm glad to hear you're making strides in that direction,” Brenda comments, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “I was afraid we wouldn't be able to consider your application on account of your chosen field of work, but it sounds like you’re serious about starting a family.”

She writes some more and it falls silent. Mulder wraps his other hand around Scully's, bringing comfort and reassurance to them both.

"Last thing—and I'm sorry to keep bringing up difficult topics—” Brenda starts again. “Ms. Scully, you were diagnosed with cancer three years ago. Is there any chance it could return? You understand why I have to ask, don't you?"

"Yes– I understand,” Scully nods, swallowing nervously. “Um, no, I've been told there's little reason to think it will ever come back. I've been in remission over two years now."

Brenda nods and makes a final note, her pen leaving the paper with a flourish. "That's great, I'm so happy to hear that." She closes her notebook and file and smiles. "Well, you two, it sure sounds like you're overdue for a happy ending. Hopefully we can do something about that." 

She shakes each of their hands in turn, standing up from the desk to escort them out. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you, we'll be in touch as soon as your application is approved, and then we'll start looking for potential matches."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Koske," Mulder says, the perfect picture of a responsible adult worthy of becoming a parent.

Scully mumbles her own "Thank you," too overwhelmed to manage more words than that.

Mulder places a hand on her back and leads her out of the office and into the hall, standing closer to her than he usually does when they walk this way. His neck bends so he can see her face, and he whispers, "You hear that, Scully? She said when our application gets approved!"

Scully shakes her head, not wanting to get ahead of herself quite yet. 

"She said 'as soon as', not when,” she corrects.

"Same thing,” he argues. “Come on, that went well, don't you think?"

"I hope so," she says.

His stride is confident and energetic. "It did, trust me. We had all the right answers."

"I was so nervous. I knew she would ask about my cancer," she states, shaking her head in disappointment.

"She was just being thorough,” Mulder assures her. “Cheer up, Scully, the part we had to worry about is over! I'm taking you to lunch."

"Mulder, we really should just get back to work—” Scully tries. She’s supposed to be the responsible one, after all. Reining him in. Wasn’t that why she complemented him so well?

"We're celebrating. One step closer to being parents, right Scully?"

It’s time she admits it to herself: she failed at reining him in years ago.

Now, she just goes with the flow. The best surprises are around the corner when she does so. 

She hopes that this time is no different.

~~~

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[oohnotvery]

Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 21)

(Happy birthday, Dana Scully <3)

Scully

Scully wakes up tangled in stiffly-starched hospital bedsheets. Beside her, Mulder sleeps so peacefully that she presses her ear to his chest just to assure herself of his heartbeat. She rests there for a few long minutes, head against his heart, quietly contemplating the things that brought them to this moment and wondering how the next few hours, days, and weeks will play out.  

She is just starting to rise off Mulder’s chest when a noise at the door makes her jump. A.D. Skinner raises his hands in surrender, his mouth twisting awkwardly as he enters the room and shuts the door behind him. Scully sucks in a deep breath, surprised at how fast her heart is racing.  

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, her underused voice cracking. “You startled me.”

Her boss’s eyes flicker briefly over the two of them and then down to where her hand rests on Mulder’s chest. He clears his throat, mildly uncomfortable with their entanglement, and Scully flushes under the scrutiny.

“How’s he doing?” he asks with a nod towards Mulder.

She swallows against the dryness in her throat, suddenly acutely aware of her thirst. “Better,” she says with an experienced glance at the monitors beeping around them.

A hint of a smile rises to Skinner’s face. “I heard the story. It’s pretty amazing he survived.”  

Emotion bubbles up in her throat and she finds herself momentarily unable to speak. She manages a short nod. Skinner takes a step closer, his fingers finding the railing of the hospital bed. He grips it tightly, his knuckles turning white. His eyes rise to meet hers and she sees that they are clouded with concern.

“It’s amazing you both survived,” he says after a moment.  

Memories start to roll in.

She can’t decide if she’s hallucinating. Could that be . . .? Is that really A.D. Skinner, out here on this twisted wild hellhole of an island?

Her legs shake with exertion as she climbs over a fallen tree and tries to get his attention. It’s not yet clear if he sees her.

“Sir!” she shouts feebly, because even in the jungle, she will insist on honorifics. “Sir!”

Skinner’s bald head turns and a fierce set of eyes pins her in place. Vietnam-trained, he doesn’t even seem to register the shock at seeing Special Agent Dana Scully dead on her feet, wearing only a bra and pants, trekking wildly through an untamed maze of trees. Instead, he breaks out into a run, shoving brush out of the way like he’s slicing through butter.

He reaches her in seconds, his strong, calloused hands gripping her arms and keeping her upright.

“Dana, are you okay?” he’s asking her, but she’s gesturing behind her, pointing towards the hidden beach where Mulder lies half-dead.

Her body trembles fiercely as she mutters directions to him, as she clings to his shirt and begs him to get Mulder to safety. Her legs seem to have realized that she has reached some semblance of safety, because they start to give out. Skinner wraps his arms around her more fully as she collapses to the ground.

“Find him,” she begs, just before her vision goes black. The last thing she feels are muscular arms encircling her body and lifting her into a sturdy, supportive chest.

In the hospital, Scully licks her lips apprehensively. “Sir,” she begins, her eyes flitting down to the blanket, “thank you for finding me out there. Thank you for getting us to safety.”

She chances a glance up at him and sees an uncharacteristic warmth spread across his face. He nods sharply, his eyes telling her everything she needs to know. I’d do anything for you, Dana. Maybe what Mulder said was true, she muses with pinking cheeks. Maybe Walter Skinner does have a bit of a crush.

Mulder stirs, his eyes blinking open, and Scully instantly places a palm against his stubble-roughened cheek. “Mulder?” she murmurs, and he smiles into her hand. “Mulder, Skinner is here.”

“Skinman saves the day,” her partner croaks as he comes to full consciousness, and Scully is reminded of the fact that no matter how much she loves this man, she will sometimes want to slap him too.

“Agents,” Skinner announces, his face morphing into solemnity, “when you’re up for it, you’ll join us downstairs, Room 208. We’ve commandeered a conference room here in the hospital.”

Scully frowns. “Is A.D. Kersh here?”

Skinner hesitates, his mouth pulling into a frown. He shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets, giving them a long, knowing look. “We have things to discuss, agents.”

**

Dressed in borrowed blue scrubs, they walk to Room 208, Scully still fuming over Mulder’s refusal to use a wheelchair.

“You almost died,” she mutters testily as they trek down the hallway.  

He flashes her a cocky grin. “You can baby me all you want later, Scully,” he assures her. “Just let me have this one final moment of dignity before we get the ass-kicking of our lives.”

After Skinner left, they both agreed that things on the home front were likely not good. Although everyone—everyone but Kersh, they agreed—would consider it a victory that they survived their ordeal, the Bureau was undoubtedly furious with them for going rogue during the investigation.

They reach the door to Room 208 and Scully turns to look at Mulder. He glances down at her warily, all his earlier joking vanished. An unspoken agreement shifts between their gazes—it’s us against the world.

Scully pushes the door open.

Immediately, she takes stock of the room, unsurprised to see Skinner, Lydia, and Grace—who was airlifted with her—sitting around the table. What shocks her, however, is Joe, whom she hasn’t seen in days. She senses Mulder’s surprise too, feeling him seize up beside her.

Joe rises from his seat at the table and takes a few steps forward, giving Scully time to assess him. He looks not only uninjured but also healthy. Whereas everyone else appears worn, weathered, and emotionally drained, Joe looks vibrant, his complexion glowing, his eyes bright. How this man, whose cowardice almost cost Mulder his life, could show his face around here, is beyond Scully’s comprehension.

Instinctually, she glances up at Mulder, whose expression has become unreadable.

Joe stops a few feet in front of them and his mouth falls open. Words of apology scatter out of him, but Scully isn’t listening. She’s watching Mulder. His face has shifted into a slight smile—warm, friendly, almost serene. He covers the gap between him and Joe and extends his hand to the man, who hesitates slightly before reaching out and shaking. Joe looks instantly relieved.

Mulder claps his left hand over Joe’s shoulder and Scully frowns, suddenly uneasy about Mulder’s uncharacteristic forgiveness. Has he experienced some sort of memory loss?

But then his expression changes, his eyes narrowing, his mouth curling into a grimace. He draws back his right hand and lobs a blow, sucker punching the life out of Joe, sending the man stumbling backwards. Wasting no time, Mulder advances quickly, fists flying at Joe’s head and torso, catching him in the groin for good measure.

“You spineless, heartless, cowardly son-of-a-bitch!” Mulder shouts, pounding his fist over and over into Joe’s face. Blood starts pouring out of the man’s nose and soaking through his shirt.

Skinner jumps forward, yanking Mulder away so forcefully that they both fall to the floor in a tangled heap. Scully rushes forward but Skinner reaches Mulder first, dragging him by the front of his scrubs to toss him violently into the nearest chair. Scully shoots her boss a sharp, disapproving look.

“Watch it!” she yells, her eyes warning Skinner not to make another move on her convalescent partner.

Ignoring her, Skinner stabs a stern finger at Mulder, his face red with rage.

“Sit down and shut up, both of you!” he barks.

Mulder looks like a wild beast about to pounce and Scully goes to sit beside him, placing a hand on his knee. He glances at her irately.

“I know,” she says, nodding supportively. “I know.”

No one bothers to give Joe a hand, and he eventually finds his way back to his chair, pressing the hem of his shirt to his bleeding nose.

“That man betrayed us,” Mulder spits furiously, and Scully squeezes his leg in warning. “He has no right to be here—”

“Mulder—” Scully cautions.

“I said shut the hell up,” Skinner growls, yanking off his glasses and furiously cleaning them on his shirt. “One more word out of you, Mulder, and I’ll make personally sure that you’re not released from this hospital for another month!”

The fear of confinement is enough to make Mulder’s mouth snap shut, but Scully can feel the energy thrumming off him. The room falls silent with anticipation. Skinner finishes cleaning his glasses and then takes a deep breath.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he begins quietly. “First and foremost, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, you should know that Joe and Lydia are not FBI agents.”

“What?” Scully breathes, her eyes flickering towards the table where they sit. Lydia meets her gaze briefly and her cheeks darken. At her side, Mulder tenses.

Skinner nods solemnly. “They’re not even American. They’re Canadian citizens. As you read in your briefing, the island you were on is disputed U.S.-Canadian territory, so this mission was a joint effort between the two nations. Lydia and Joe were sent to us as your Canadian counterparts, but they aren’t trained in the same skills you two acquired at Quantico.” He pauses. “They’re not field agents; they’re desk workers. Both highly trained in research, data analysis, auditing, ethics, and . . . internal investigations.” His voice peters out.

Scully stands before she even knows what she’s doing. “Desk workers?” she asks in disbelief. “You sent the two of us out into the field partnered with desk workers? Two untrained, wholly unprepared desk workers?” Her voice quivers with shock and she takes a step forward, pointing a trembling finger at Skinner’s chest. “Do you know how dangerous that decision is? How costly it ended up being for us? Desk worker Joe chickened out on us at a crucial moment, and Mulder nearly died for it!”

She feels Mulder’s palm warm the small of her back. “Scully’s right,” he says, but she shakes him off.

“We both almost died! For an entire day, I had to live with the thought that my partner was dead!” Her voice breaks. “How could you, Skinner? How could you authorize something like that?”

Skinner rips off his glasses again and rubs at his eyes harshly. He motions for them to sit down again but Scully doesn’t move. “There’s more to it than that, agents,” he finally says, his voice no longer angry, but fatigued.

“Tell me.”

But before Skinner can speak, Lydia stands. “Joe already told you all this when we were being held in the lodge, but we were deliberately sent to spy on you,” she admits quietly, meek as a mouse. Scully whips around, eyes pinballing between Joe and Lydia. Lydia looks like she’s about to throw up. “We didn’t know much about the two of you when we were assigned to this detail. But then we read your files and learned you had a history of . . . disobedience.”

Scully’s cheeks flame with rage.

Skinner places a hand on her arm and she smacks it away. “Agent Scully,” he says, his eyes meeting hers plaintively, “Dana.”

She meets his gaze distrustfully.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t know. Not until yesterday morning did I know the extent of this assignment. Kersh is the one who suggested the assignment, who vetted the Canadian candidates, and who suggested mixing up the marriages.”

“Why?” Mulder asks, although it’s becoming remarkably clear where this is going.

Skinner shoots them a meaningful look. “I’m just speculating here, but I think he wanted to see just how far you two would go to . . . misbehave. To disobey direct orders.” Skinner sighs. “I believe this was a setup. Not intended, of course, to go as far as it did. I don’t think Kersh ever dreamed you’d be placed in any actual danger. The entire existence of a cult—especially a blood-lusting one like the Black Sands turned out to be—was highly speculative in the first place. The fact that you got so entangled in this mess is really a mystery.”

Mulder slams his fist against Scully’s empty chair. “We almost died out there!” he reminds Skinner.

Scully is about to speak when Lydia steps forward. “Dana,” she pleads, “I’m so, so sorry. We never knew it would go this far. Our directive was to catalogue your behaviors and indiscretions. We never believed—nor dreamed—that we’d be faced with an actual threat.” She steals a glance at Joe, whose nose appears to have stopped bleeding. “I can’t speak for him, and I—I don’t agree with his actions. But I am truly, truly sorry.”

As she speaks, Scully slowly begins to realize that the woman was never intended to be backup or protection or even help. She was merely sent to collect data. The fact that she went as far as she did to save their lives . . . Scully swallows and turns away. Maybe Lydia deserves more credit than she’s been inclined to give.

Grace’s soft voice rises above the mix, surprising Scully, who’d almost forgotten she was in the room. “Lydia was really brave,” she adds. “I helped her and Joe get out of their bonds while you two were in the bath.” She glares at Joe contemptuously. “Joe ran off immediately. I—I can’t speak to his actions at all after that point. But Lydia was the one who insisted on following you all down to the beach. She had the idea to get the kayaks.” Grace pauses, then meets Scully’s eyes. “And I know it’s just killing her, what she did to Mulder.”

Scully breaks their eye contact, emotion clawing up her throat. She retreats to her chair, where Mulder throws an arm over her shoulder protectively. She rubs furiously at her temples as a headache begins to set in.

“And what’s your involvement, Grace?” Mulder asks. “Are you not a member of the Black Sands?”

Grace shakes her head. “No, I am, actually.” She looks nervous. “I—I wanted to help you all once I found out Evan’s plan.”

Scully regards her coolly. “And why didn’t you help the dozens of others who have been sacrificed before on your island?”

Grace fixes her with a dark look. “I told you when we met that my brothers left the island for the mainland. That was a lie. My brothers were sacrificed as teenagers, one right after the other. They were some of the youngest members of our community to volunteer their lives. Because that’s what we were taught from a young age—that volunteering for the sacrifice was our highest calling. But after they died, I stopped believing. And I started doing everything I could to convince others to stop believing too.” She pauses, swallowing hard. “You two were the first sacrifices I’ve ever had the chance to truly save.”

Scully feels a wash of shame pour over her as she hears Grace’s confession. “Thank you,” she eventually says. She meets Grace’s eyes, then Lydia’s. “Thank you both.”

**

It’s been half an hour since they retreated back to Mulder’s hospital bed, but Scully is still angry. Skinner sits at the end of the bed, his face creased with concern.

“Kersh is being investigated for this,” he assures them.

They both nod, but Kersh’s betrayal still hangs thickly in the air. Skinner clears his throat, glancing up at the ceiling nervously.

“But,” he says with a sigh, and Scully feels the room grow tense, “that wasn’t before he made some pretty serious allegations against you two.” When he refuses to meet her gaze, Scully knows what allegations Kersh must have made. Associations flit through her mind. Inappropriate sexual conduct between partners. Official reprimand. OPR hearing. Suspension. Termination.

“I did what I could to silence any speculation as to the nature of your . . . relationship,” Skinner says. “But that’s about as much as I can do for now.”

Mulder shifts as Scully drops her gaze to the blanket. “Exactly how much damage control did you do, sir? I may not have much of a reputation to protect, but Agent Scully . . .” His voice peters out.

Skinner shrugs. “I can’t say how much of this has reached the water cooler, honestly. There’s not much I can do about that.” He glances over at both of them, his gaze turning serious. “As for whatever it is between you two, I’d try to keep it as discreet as possible.”

Scully groans into her hands and Skinner rises to leave. Only when she hears the door snick shut does she open her eyes and turn to Mulder. He’s regarding her with just a hint of mirth.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she moans, “everyone thinks we’re sleeping together.”  

He laughs, patting her knee in consolation. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s the first time people have thought that about us.”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. To hell with what they think.”

They fall silent, Scully mulling over the mess that they’ll be returning to upon their arrival in D.C.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder prods. She looks up, finding him staring at her with open curiosity. “I’m starting to put the pieces together. Grace said something to you, didn’t she?”

She frowns, crinkling her nose. “When?”

“I saw you two talking in the lodge, the night they kidnapped us.”

Her eyebrows rise as she remembers—Grace’s first kindness of many. Oh. Oh. A slight smile rises to her lips as she makes the connection.

“She warned me not to drink the tea.”

[deathsbestgirl]

something here.

pilot:

squeeze:

mulder's so upset when scully thinks he's "crazy" — earlier in the pilot he says "i'm not crazy, scully. i have the same doubts you do."

as much as scully wants mulder's trust, mulder wants scully to take him seriously. and that's what happens in that graveyard.

then again in squeeze, he knows others think he's spooky but it would break his heart if scully thought so too. this is the first time she witnesses the mockery and gets a little taste of it herself. colton calls her "mrs. spooky" and she's upset by the perception of her job. until she decides she's on the victim's side, on mulder's side. other agents aren't that dedicated. they care more about climbing the ladder, gaining accolades & recognition, more "important" titles. but that isn't what mulder cares about, and when it comes down to it, it isn't what scully cares about either. she wants to make a difference.

in the pilot, mulder poses a question to her about the x files. "maybe what you can explain to me is why it's bureau policy to label these cases as 'unexplained phenomenon' and ignore them." i think it rattles her, and the first few cases really highlight what the fbi as an institution cares about. if they deem a case unsolvable, or not in their best interests (like with melissa), it's tossed aside & buried. until someone like mulder digs them out.

(and okay i was going to write about something completely different when this hit me, so forgive the change of topic but it still feels connected to me. though i'm not sure i can explain it exactly)

when they first meet, mulder says "so who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, scully?"

and then in squeeze:

"you're down here too"

and in piper maru:

this is right after skinner tells her melissa's case is going inactive. and she doesn't tell mulder, but to come down to the basement after news like that and mulder is digging into a case no one is investigating, very possibly doesn't want investigated, because he cares and those men deserve answers & justice — she's blown away by him & she tells him & he has no idea how much it means to her in this moment. he doesn't let anyone be forgotten if he can help it.

he's teaching her that it's okay to care & love openly. she is so extremely reserved, in a professional capacity & who she lets into her heart. and i really think what she says about mulder describes scully at her core, how she would be if she didn't wear a mask all the time. he lives her values. he makes it okay for her to be bold & smart & loving & vulnerable, everything that she is. and when she can't, she follows him, defends him, protects him as he does it for everyone.

all this to say: there's a reason she's in that basement too. and i think it's the same reason he's down there too.

[catharsisxf]

'Tis the Season

Rating: T

Prompt: Running into an ex at a Christmas party

AO3 link

_______________________

"Remind me again why we're here?"

Scully playfully nudged him as they stood in the center of a large hotel ballroom. People in formal wear mingled about, stopping at various tables situated around the edges to place their bids.

Skinner had informed them they'd won (lost?) the lottery this year to staff the charity silent auction the FBI sponsored annually. Most agents were thrilled at the chance to spend an evening dressed up and mingling with the DC elite...but they weren't most agents.

Although Scully initially balked at the idea of spending a precious Saturday night at a work function she admitted she didn't hate the fact that they weren't off on some case hundreds of miles from home so close to Christmas.

She stole a glance at her partner as he surveyed the crowed warily. She'd second guessed herself when she put on the black floor length gown with an asymmetrical neckline earlier this evening. But any doubts were erased when Mulder stopped by to pick her up and his jaw practically hit the floor. She'd blushed and told him he didn't look so bad himself. Which was the understatement of the century. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo.

He looked at her then, a smile forming on his lips. "What?"

Their relationship had been teetering toward something the past few months. She could feel it. In the past she would've been embarrassed to be caught staring at him so blatantly but she simply shook her head slightly and smiled back at him.

After a beat, he grazed her shoulder and motioned to the bar at the far end of the ballroom. "I'm going to grab us a couple drinks."

"Mulder, we're working," she gently admonished.

"Hey, 'tis the season," he winked.

She watched as he purposefully made his way through the crowd.

"Dana!"

She turned and her eyes widened as she saw a familiar face approach. "Daniel? But...what are you doing here?"

"I'm on the Board of Directors at GW University Hospital. Moved here a few years ago." His eyes skimmed her from top to bottom and back again before adding, "You look fantastic." She caught the subtle predatory gleam in his eye that made her uneasy. "You know," he continued, "I've been to several of these but it's the first time I've seen you here."

"Well, I don't usually attend these types of functions."

"Ah yes, you're busy saving the world through...what was it I read?...investigations into the paranormal?" He gave her a sarcastic smirk.

She considered the man before her. Was he any different than the one she'd left all those years ago? The self-assuredness that she'd once found appealing just felt patronizing to her now. Nothing like Mulder, she thought. Even when he didn't fully trust her in the beginning there was still respect. He had questioned her motives for staying too but it came from a place of concern and, dare she admit it, love.

Just then her partner appeared at her side carrying two flutes of champagne and she quickly grabbed one. "Oh! Um...Daniel this is Agent Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is Dr. Daniel Waterston. He was my...professor in medical school."

She could see the older man sizing him up as they shook hands. "Pleased to meet you," he said in a way that sounded like he was anything but. "I was just discussing with Dana how her talents are being wasted at the FBI."

She saw a slight tensing of Mulder's jaw that would be imperceptible to anyone who hadn't known him as long as she had. "Actually, I'd say it's a perfect fit. Her medical expertise is critical to the success of our division."

Daniel scoffed at him, "Right, I'm sure chasing aliens and monsters is exactly what she'd hoped to be doing at this point in her career." He turned his attention back to her. "You know, I'd really like the chance to reconnect...both professionally and personally."

On instinct she grasped Mulder's free hand with her own. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea." She looked up at her partner as he raised his eyebrows slightly. She sincerely hoped their unspoken communication wouldn't fail her now.

Daniel's eyes narrowed as he waved his hand vaguely between them. "So you two are..."

"Together, yes," Scully interrupted him before he could put a label on it.

"I assumed you were just coworkers."

Mulder, not missing a beat, simply stated, "Well, we're not just coworkers although we certainly started out that way. She means more to me than I can ever truly express."

His voice had dropped to almost a whisper as if the last sentence was meant only for her. He brought their interlaced fingers to his lips to place a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She blushed from head to toe under the intensity of his gaze and she felt the air crackle with energy between them.

After what felt like an eternity Daniel cleared his throat. "Well...good seeing you, Dana." She was only vaguely aware of him retreating back into the crowd.

Mulder absently rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. "So...old friend of yours?"

"Not really," she smiled affectionately at him.

A waiter passed them and they took the opportunity to place their untouched champagne flutes on the tray.

She decided right then she wouldn't be content to wait and see when the teetering would finally send them over the edge. Their hands still entwined, she pulled him determinedly towards the ballroom exit.

"What are you doing?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

She slowed only long enough to give him a heated look. "Giving fate a push."

[baronessblixen]

Hi! Idk if you're still taking prompts but what about: Scully bringing Mulder tie shopping!

Signed @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm 🤗

Fictober Day 1 | Wc: ~ 1000 | tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2022 and @xfilesbingo

Bingo square: Walter Skinner

Ties That Bind

Every once in a while, Walter Skinner is convinced he’s spent too much time with Mulder and Scully because sometimes his mind will play inexplicable, downright spooky tricks to him. Today is one of those days.

He’s at the Tieroom, his favorite store to find ties. It’s upscale, classy and most of all quiet. At least it always has been before. Today he swears he hears Mulder’s familiar grumble and Scully’s less familiar giggle. Scully doesn’t giggle often which is why he would know the sound anywhere.

But it can’t be. Agents Mulder and Scully can’t be here in the Tieroom. He’s never seen Mulder here and judging by the ties he wears, he’s never set foot into the store.

There’s it again. He rounds a corner and follows the voices. Clearly, he’s lost his mind. Any second now he will see that it’s not Mulder and Scully, that his mind is mocking him. He needs to dial down on the coffee and sleep more. Think less about his two agents and their shenanigans.

“So what do you think, Scully?”

Skinner stops dead in his tracks. His mind hasn’t been playing tricks on him at all. There they are in the flesh. They’re both in casual clothing and Mulder is parading a tie around which must be why Scully is still giggling.

“Better than anything you have in your closet,” she says.

“Why, have you been snooping?” Skinner can’t tear his eyes away as Mulder prances towards her. Scully doesn’t budge, doesn’t seem to mind him invading her personal space. Rather, she seems to welcome it, despite her crossed arms.

Their faces are so close that if it weren’t for their different hair colors, Skinner wouldn’t be able to tell where one begins and the other one ends. He knows he shouldn’t be spying on them, but this is his place. His refugee. And if he’s honest, he’s mesmerized.

He’s long known that something is going on between the two of them, even if he’s never been quite able to figure out what exactly. This might be his only chance. Once, shortly after becoming their boss, he developed a crush on Agent Scully. After all, he’s just a man. It didn’t take him long to understand that no matter what they said, or what their files said, Mulder and Scully were a union, an item. Essentially married. Truth be told, he’s been waiting for them to make it official – and not just because he could use the money from the office pool.

“Mulder, I’ve seen all your ties. Isn’t that why we’re here? You need new ones.”

“I like my ties,” Mulder says with a pout. “I thought you liked them too.”

“The other day you wore a red tie with yellow and gray dots on them.”

“And?”

“And they hurt my eyes.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Mulder mumbles. Their banter sounds like what Skinner would hear around the office, whenever he catches them in an unguarded moment. This time, though, Scully tugs at his sleeve so that Mulder turns back to her.

“Just two or three new ties, Mulder. I do like the silly ones, too. Sometimes.” Skinner can’t see her face, but he thinks she must smile at him, because Mulder’s expression softens. He, too, smiles.

“You know I like to piss off Skinner with them.” They both laugh and Skinner narrows his eyes. He knew it. But he finds that he can’t be angry. After all, he’s the one watching a moment that is not meant to be witnessed by him.

“All these ties look like something he’d wear,” Mulder adds.

“That’s because his are classy.” Skinner’s chest swells with pride.

“Maybe you should take him to your mother’s on Sunday then.”

“But I want you there,” Scully says and for the first time since this thing started, Skinner feels a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t be seeing this. Whatever is going on between them – and now he’s convinced it’s more than just your average partnership – it’s between the two of them.

“You know my mom loves you.” There’s something she’s not saying and their eye contact is so intimate that Skinner has to look away. He turns away and stares at the bow tie display in front of him. He’s their boss, for Christ’s sake. What they do in their private time is none of his business.

“I’ll wear the Walter S. Skinner tie.” The real Skinner turns back around, half hiding behind the display. It’s a good thing they only have eyes for each other, because one look over here, and he’d be found out. He could walk away, and he should walk away. Just one more moment of this and then he’ll leave. He doesn’t need more ties anyway.

“Thank you, Mulder.��� The earlier merriment has made room for a heavy earnestness that makes Skinner want to make sure they’re okay. He watches as Mulder sits down on of the velvet stools provided to try on shoes. Scully steps in between his legs and puts her hands on his shoulder while his land on her waist.

“You really think the tie looks good on me?” Mulder asks looking up at her. Even from here Skinner can see the utter devotion in the other man’s eyes. He’s in love. It should have been obvious to him, but it hits him like a bucket of ice cold water. Mulder is deeply, irrevocably in love with Scully.

“You look amazing, Mulder,” she says and Skinner has to strain to hear her.

“Amazing, huh? Maybe even… hot?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she says, her hands going to his cheeks. She frames his face and leans down to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Skinner is not a jealous man, never has been, but damn, Fox Mulder is one lucky son of a bitch.

“Let’s go pay for these and then get out of here.” That’s Skinner’s cue. As soon as their backs are turned to him, he rushes out of the store. He’s never left the Tieroom without a purchase before but there’s a first time for everything.

Two weeks later he runs into Mulder at work, stopping him when he sees the new tie on him. Scully was right: it looks good on him.

"Congrats on your new tie," Skinner says with a smile, hoping the younger man can read between the linea. The blush on Mulder's face indicates that he does.

"Thank you, sir."

"Take good care of it," Skinner reminds him.

"I will."

He watches Mulder walk away with a smile.

[spookyshipperfics]

The Finer Things (Chapter 1)

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

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? 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.

Read a Sample: You’ll want to pack predominantly dressy casual, but formal wear will also be required.

Skinner’s advice still bounced around Mulder’s skull. What did dressy casual even mean? For a man who wore a suit and tie nearly every day, he worried the slacks and collared shirts shoved in his suitcase weren’t up to code. The rental car suddenly felt hot, and he cracked the window.

Mulder had been told a lot over the last two days. He and Scully would be riding the Dusty Mountaineer, a train that twisted and wound through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado before opening to the deserts of Utah and, finally, Nevada. It was five days of luxury meets majesty, or at least that’s what the brochure promised. And while that all sounded fine and dandy, they weren’t going for leisure.

The Dusty Mountaineer’s last few trips had included a mysterious train car unaccounted for in any brochures or official travel documents. The FBI suspected some sort of smuggling operation—firearms, drugs, chemicals—but whispers of strange creatures being transported to a testing site in Nevada warranted a knock on the Spookys’ basement door. After all, Mulder had recklessly jumped onto a train only a few years ago for similar reasons.

This train ride would be different, though. For starters, he and Scully would be going undercover as a married couple… again. Goodbye, Rob and Laura Petrie. Hello, Pete and Chrissy Curtis. Who would’ve thought that with all this chaos, the contents of his wardrobe would be what broke him?

“Scully,” he said, glancing at her in the passenger’s seat, where she leafed through documents containing information about their cover stories. “What do you consider dressy casual?”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she rolled her eyes. The sigh of annoyance confirmed it. “Mulder, if the items you brought are anything like what you’re wearing now, you’ll be just fine.”

His shoulders relaxed in his sports coat. He felt considerably better about the fitted white T-shirt and khakis beneath it. “You think?”

“I do,” she responded dryly, and Mulder couldn’t help but sneak another peek at her. Outfitted in a light blue dress that was much more form-fitting than anything he’d ever seen her in, it was difficult to bring his attention back to the road. He did, though, trying to ignore the memory of her smooth thighs peaking from beneath the fabric.

“What do you do for work?” Scully’s voice drifted into his ear, jolting him back to reality.

“What?”

“What do you do for work?” she repeated.

The fluttering papers in her hand reminded him why they were here in Colorado. He had more important things to worry about than how soft Scully’s thighs looked. He was a goddamn FBI agent about to go undercover for five days. Maybe that’s what was really making him nervous. It wasn’t the definition of dressy casual; it was pretending to be married to Scully. It had been easier in Arcadia. He hadn’t really known what to expect. He didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy touching her or calling her pet names.

“Well, dear,” he began, “I’m a community college professor specializing in conspiracy literature and theories, but I also teach history because that’s what pays the bills.”

“Good,” she remarked.

Deciding to go for the extra credit, he continued, “You teach pre-med at the same college. That’s, of course, how we met. What was it now? Seven years ago?”

“Six,” she corrected. “Just like in real life.”

“I know. I know,” Mulder assured her. He knew exactly how long ago they’d met. Scully had changed his life when she’d walked through his basement door. Something like that you didn’t forget. “I’m thinking of making that part of my schtick. You know, the whole forgetful husband trope. I’m bad with anniversary dates. I forget to pick up milk on the way home.”

“That tracks,” she said, and this time, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Birthdays aren’t a strong suit of yours, either.”

“Not a strong suit of Pete Curtis,” he countered. “I want to be clear that this is strictly a character choice.”

Any snarky rebuttal Scully might have tossed back at him was left unsaid. Instead, she let out an excited “wow.” After rounding the last bend, the Dusty Mountaineer came into view. The fifteen-car train was a shiny black and decorated with elaborate gold accents and lettering.

“It looks like something out of an Agatha Christie novel,” Scully remarked.

Mulder nodded. “Let’s just hope this story doesn’t play out like one of hers. I could do with a little less murder.”

The Dusty Mountaineer’s narrow hallways were wood paneled, the floors a floral carpet. It was a bit like stepping into a time capsule. There were no TVs or other technological entertainment, and even the staff were outfitted in clothes of a different era.

“Dinner is served at six. Our dress code requires passengers to dress appropriately when not in their rooms. Formal attire is required for the cocktail party on Friday night.” Jamie, the crew member assigned to walk them to their lodging, continued rattling off rules and detailing the agenda before stopping at a cabin on the far end of the first sleeper car. “This is you, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis.”

Despite everything Mulder had seen thus far, he still wasn’t quite prepared when Jamie pulled open the door. His eyes swept across the cabin and widened. The wood paneling continued inside their room, which contained a full-sized bed, a small table for two, and a sofa. Cubbies and hidden closets allowed for tidy storage. A shelf holding complimentary champagne and glasses hovered above the table.

It was a far cry from the derelict accommodations they were used to. The Bureau had splurged only because people thinking they had money could work in their favor. If the stupid rich couple was caught in an area of the train they shouldn’t be, they could chalk it up to entitlement. Money clogging their brains.

Still, being allowed to even exist in this old-timey glamour sent a secret thrill up Mulder’s spine. He automatically reached for Scully’s hand. The need to conceal the action as part of their cover had him practically shouting over Jamie, who had barely finished explaining how to convert the sofa into a cot. “This is great, isn’t it, honey?”

“It’s beautiful,” Scully responded, and he could tell by the way her eyes glistened that she meant it.

Running on a diet of caffeine and adrenaline, they took advantage of the three-course dinner and complimentary champagne. Upon returning to their cabin, Mulder offered Scully the en suite bathroom first. He took the opportunity to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Scully emerged in silk pajamas a few minutes later, a cloud of minty toothpaste and something floral—lotion maybe—trailing behind her. Mulder followed her gaze to the far end of the cabin, where the full-sized bed loomed. He realized then that this wasn’t like Arcadia at all. There was no downstairs couch to retreat to at night.

Find the rest on a03

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

chantilly lace

msr, humor & smut | explicit | 2k words | ao3 | tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder and Scully were late for work for the third day in a row. Their physical relationship was still fairly new and in the first few weeks, they had agreed: no sleepovers Sunday to Thursday. Well, Scully proposed it and Mulder acquiesced because he was just happy to be around her and would take what he could get. But then it became harder and harder for both of them to say goodbye each day they left the office and one of them kept coming up with an excuse to call or visit on a weeknight. So the old rule was nixed in favor of a new rule: work couldn’t be affected by their relationship and they needed to keep it under wraps. 

But it was so hard to resist her in the morning, sleep soft and naked and pressed against him. Mulder was just a man, right? And he didn’t hear Scully complaining about their morning romps. In fact, it was quite the opposite and she seemed more than satisfied. Well, unless “God, Mulder, don’t stop, yes, yes, yes” had another meaning he was not aware of.

Luckily no one noticed them entering the basement office after 9 am, but one day, Skinner was going to call down and realize his two least favorite agents weren’t in on time. They were still taking separate cars to the Hoover building, leaving a few minutes apart so they didn’t arrive at the same time. Mulder was trying to talk Scully out of that as well - it seemed ridiculous to waste the gas and he doubted anyone was paying that close attention to them. But he knew he was already on thin ice when Scully entered the office grumbling about Mulder making her twenty minutes late to work.

“Well, maybe if you wore some clothes to bed,” Mulder muttered under his breath.

Scully struck him with her patented stare, with one eyebrow quirked. “Excuse me?”

Mulder cleared his throat. “I mean, maybe if we both wore clothes to bed. Waking up naked next to you, also naked, is too great of a temptation in the morning.”

Scully looked pointedly at his crotch. “You think clothes are going to stop that?” she asked incredulously. 

“Hey!” Mulder exclaimed, offended on behalf of his penis. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Maybe we should go back to weekends only?” she suggested innocently, looking through the files on her desk.

“Nuh uh, no way,” Mulder emphasized. “If you recall, that didn’t work out so well the first time.”

He didn’t want to be a sap, but he would miss her too much if they returned to their original schedule. Sure, he saw her every day in the office, but it wasn’t not the same as hanging out after work, eating dinner, and going to bed together each night. 

“You get one more chance, Mulder,” Scully warned. “We need to be on time for work tomorrow.”

—

Mulder collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavy. “That was amazing,” he praised. 

Scully was sitting on the floor, one elbow on the bed, Cheshire grin on her face. He had no idea how she was so good at blow jobs, but he was a little nervous to ask. She had suggested it as a way to calm him down overnight and hopefully it would do the trick. 

Mulder tugged on her blouse, still somewhat out of it. “I can return the favor, you know,” he offered.

Scully shook her head, “I know you can, but then we’ll have to deal with that again, and we’ll never get any sleep.”

She was right - oral sex would just give him another hard-on that would need to be addressed. Better just to call it a night now.

After coming back to his senses, Mulder grabbed his boxers and sweatpants. “See,” he said to Scully, wiggling his eyebrows comically. “Two layers of clothes! We got this, Scully!”

She rolled her eyes and got up, grabbing her overnight bag on her way into the bathroom.

Mulder went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Frequent sex was making him dehydrated. He brought a glass back for Scully too, who was just finishing up her nighttime routine. She walked out of the bathroom and Mulder did a spit take.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Scully had on a nightgown that had to be the ugliest thing Mulder had ever seen. It was very modest; the skirt fell all the way to her feet, sleeves to her wrist and a high collar that covered almost her entire neck. There were lacy frills everywhere and the monstrosity was a pink that clashed hideously with her hair.

Scully twirled around. “My grandma got it for me when I went to college. She was worried my ‘innocence’ would be ‘compromised,’” Scully added the air quotes, “and this would scare away any potential suitors.”

“And why do you still have it?”

“Well, it’s coming in handy tonight, isn’t it!”

Mulder smirked, “Wow, she really knew you’d be beating them off with a stick, huh.”

“Well, beating you off at least,” Scully joked.

Mulder laughed at the double entendre and got in bed. Scully went out to the living room and returned with pillows, which she placed in the middle of the bed.

“Scul-lee,” Mulder whined. “Is that really necessary?”

“There will be no hanky-panky the rest of the night,” Scully proclaimed. “Or morning,” she added.

“You don’t have to worry about anything happening while you’re in that get-up. I feel like I’m sleeping next to my great aunt Beatrice.”

“Good,” Scully said primly. She turned off the light and settled back into bed.

“Hey, Scully, when I said I liked Chantilly lace, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Go to sleep, Mulder,” she admonished.

The pillows (and the dress) stopped Mulder and Scully from touching each other at all during the night. Mulder woke up rested and unaroused for once. Victory! He checked the time: it was a little before their alarms were set to go off so there was no way they would be late today. Scully was hidden behind all of the pillows, so he threw them on the floor so he could observe her sleeping. Her face was mushed into the pillow and her hair was a mess, but he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her in bed with him. And not only in bed, but in his life too. 

Mulder took in the nightgown she was wearing. Man, that thing was ugly. And it showed practically no skin, so unsexy. He felt like a Victorian gentleman, getting excited about seeing a woman’s ankles. Though, Scully had nice, delicate ankles. And hands too. Actually, it was a little thrilling, how covered up she was. Mulder would have to unwrap her if he wanted to see what was underneath. What was she wearing underneath? Wait a second, he wasn’t supposed to be having these thoughts. He better wake up Scully to put a stop to this madness. Of course, Mulder couldn’t just do it normally. He had to kiss her, since that was all he was getting this morning. She was unresponsive at first, but then he could tell she was awake when her lips started moving under his. 

“Mmm, good morning,” she said sleepily.

“Good morning,” Mulder replied, moving to kiss her ear, then the tiny part of her neck that was exposed.

She smelled so good; it was going to be hard to stop. And Scully wasn’t helping matters, she hooked a leg around his waist to bring him closer. Mulder tried to keep his hips away from hers but it was useless. His hands began roaming her body covered by the nightgown, which was actually really soft. He could feel her puckered nipples under the fabric and it was tantalizing being able to feel her body but not truly have access to it. Mulder brought his hands to her ass, trying to feel what she was wearing. Plain cotton panties to go with the outfit? He couldn’t feel anything so maybe it was the sheer underwear she wore under tight skirts. Mulder tried pulling the bottom of her dress up so he could satisfy his curiosity, but it was too tight to push up in their position. She had to take the nightgown off anyway to get dressed, so he wasn’t in trouble yet.

“Mulder,” Scully gasped, breaking away from their kiss.

He pulled back a little. “We should stop, right?” he asked.

“No, don’t stop,” she responded, and turned over in his arms so she was on her stomach. She propped herself up on her knees and all of the blood in Mulder’s body rushed to a certain part of his anatomy.

He used both hands to ease the fabric up her legs, so curious as to what he would find. Which was nothing.

“Scully,” he groaned. She slept all night next to him in this prim and proper nightgown without any panties. Was she trying to kill him? He admired the creamy globes of her ass before bending over to leave a little love bite on one cheek. She jerked forward and then pushed back, clearly wanting more.

“I don’t think this is appropriate attire for a woman worried about ‘hanky panky’,” Mulder commented, using her words from last night. He took no time at all removing his pants and boxers. It appeared that the two layers didn’t really stop much in the end.

He lined himself up behind her, fingers gripping her hips, cock sliding along her folds. Jesus Christ, she was wet. He pushed the dress up higher, until it was just hanging off her shoulders, so he could caress her breasts. He pinched her right nipple and Scully whined.

“Mulder, please.”

“Shh, be patient, baby,” Mulder cooed. He was enjoying teasing her, but was starting to realize he couldn’t hold out much longer either.

He eased in slowly, trying to quell the instinct to thrust quick and fast. She felt so good and he didn’t want it to be over too fast. Plus, he owed her an orgasm.

Mulder started a steady place, feeling the pleasure start to build. He let his hands roam Scully’s body, enjoying her soft skin. He knew she wouldn’t be able to touch herself easily in this position, so he did it for her, fingers softly touching her clit in a way that he knew would drive her crazy. His feather-light touch was purposely getting her closer without pushing her over the edge.

“Mulder,” she whined again.

“What, baby?” he asked.

“More,” she begged.

He couldn’t deny her when she felt so good, was so good to him. He thrust harder and increased the pressure of his finger on her clit, so that he finally felt her tightening around his cock. He followed soon after and they both fell back on the bed, out of breath.

After a few moments, Scully sat up to pull the ugly nightdress all the way off and flung it over the side of the bed.

Mulder started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I can’t believe the dress didn’t work. Scully, I promise I can be a gentleman.”

Scully snorted. “Mulder, did you hear me complaining? This is as much my fault as it is yours. We’re both to blame for our … vigorous physical relationship,” she said delicately.

She continued, “Plus we’re still in the honeymoon phase. Our relationship is still new; it will wear off.”

“Wear off?” Mulder asked, a little surprised by the thought. “Scully, I can assure you - nothing is wearing off. If this is the honeymoon phase now, what’s it going to be like when we’re actually married?”

“Married, Mulder?” Scully asked, her tone neutral. She turned on her side to look at him, her arm propping up her head.

Mulder felt his face turn beet red. “Shit, I’m sorry, Scully. I don’t even know your thoughts on that and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he started rambling to cover up his embarrassment. 

Scully leaned over to cup his cheek and then kiss him. “I get to pick out the ring,” she whispered when she pulled back, a smile forming on her face.

Mulder’s heart felt full and he was suddenly smiling so wide his mouth hurt. He pushed her back so that he could hover over her. The look of love on Scully’s face surely mirrored his own. He wanted to stare at her all day and know that there was someone that cared about him, loved him. But he also had a bone to pick with her. 

He used his weight to pin her to the bed. “You’re in trouble, though, for that stunt you pulled.”

She looked up at him questioningly.

“Not wearing any underwear? That was naughty, Scully.”

“What are you going to do about it, Mulder?” she challenged.

They were late for the fourth time that week.

[mollybecameanengineer]

Incubo

Summary: The week before Scully goes on maternity leave, she and Mulder head to New Jersey to investigate a series of suspicious deaths. However, neither of them could have predicted how personal it would become.

word count: 7686 | Teen | MSR | @today-in-fic

Read on AO3 or check out the first chapter below the break

This is part of an episodic series called A Second Chance. All the episodes are collected, in order, using AO3’s series feature. The concept of the series is to rewrite seasons 8 and 9. It deals with Mulder’s return from the dead, the birth of William, and Mulder and Scully trying to juggle family life with impending doom.

If you don’t want to read the whole thing, but want to read this story, here is what you need to know…

Previously on A Second Chance: Mulder has returned to the living. Scully is pregnant with what she believes to be their child, but Mulder has doubts. However, he has publicly acknowledged the child. Mulder and Scully are now living together. Since he was declared dead, Mulder had to be re-hired by the FBI, rather than having a job to come back to. Reyes has been partnered with Doggett since This Is Not Happening.

Chapter 1

Today was Mulder’s first day back at the FBI – and it wasn’t going well. 

He and Scully had gone back and forth about him starting before or after the baby was born. But after the debacle with the oil rig, he wanted his badge back. When he’d received his official offer, he filled out the paperwork and requested to start as soon as possible, though it meant he’d have to take unpaid leave when the baby came.

But now that he was sitting at his desk (or Scully’s desk, he wasn’t sure who had ownership at this point), trying to log on to the computer so he could do hours of mandatory trainings, he questioned why he had been in such a hurry. 

Glaring at the screen, he tried again: 

username: fmulder 

password: tru5tn015cully 

The computer told him, yet again, that his username and password weren’t recognized. 

If it had been just him and Scully in the office, he would have been cursing and possibly kicking the trash can by now. But with Doggett and Reyes quietly typing away at their desks, he felt like he had to restrain himself. 

Scully came over and started looking through the file cabinet. She was wearing loose pants, a sweater, and flat dress shoes – all concessions to being 36 weeks pregnant. Whenever she was near, he wanted to reach out and touch her, caress her stomach. He didn’t understand why this was – before he had been abducted, he’d liked to touch her. But now it felt like more of a compulsion. He chalked it up to evolution. He was trying to possess or protect his mate, or some such crap. 

Again, he wished Doggett and Reyes would get out of his office, so he could hold her.

“Why aren’t you doing those trainings?” Scully asked, glancing at his computer screen. 

“The stupid thing won’t let me log on.”

Scully came over and leaned against the desk. She looked uncomfortable. It was probably a good thing this was her last week at work, before maternity leave. Mulder didn’t relish the idea of weeks in the office without her, though she thought it might give him a chance to bond with Reyes and Doggett. 

Maybe he could convince Skinner that four of them in this office was two too many. Though maybe he should also lay low, because his boss had done some fancy finagling to get a fourth agent assigned to the X-FIles. 

Scully looked at his computer, then down at his onboarding paperwork. “That isn’t your username anymore.” She pointed to the paper. There, clear as day, it said his email was fwmulder@fbi.gov.

“They changed my email?” 

Reyes spun around in her chair. Evidently she’d been listening. (All the more reason to get the interlopers out of their office.) “I just sent you an email. It’s fmulder, right?” 

“It was,” Mulder replied.

“It didn’t bounce back. Let me check the directory.” Reyes turned back to her computer, while Mulder typed in the new username. This time it worked, he was in. He started up Outlook, and waited for the emails to load. 

Scully had gone back to her rummaging (he wondered what she was looking for). He was half watching her, half looking at Outlook, when Reyes spoke again. “Um, Agent Mulder? I think you have a problem.” 

For a moment he thought she was talking about his staring at Scully, but then he saw she was still looking at her computer. 

“What is it?” Scully asked, walking over to Reyes.

“There’s two Fox Mulders.” 

Mulder joined them. Sure enough, in the directory, there was him, with his picture from 1986 and fmulder email, and then him again, with the picture he took this morning, and his new fwmulder email. 

Scully looked up at him, smirking. “What do you think? Doppelgangers? Alien Bounty Hunters?”

Doggett spun around in his chair. “Well, whichever Mulder you are, I think we have a case.”

-----

Doggett and Reyes had left for New Jersey several hours ago, leaving Scully and Mulder (who was still doing trainings) behind. They had asked Mulder if he wanted to come along, but he’d declined. Scully wasn’t surprised. A man had shot himself in the head – it didn’t seem like an X-File.

“Six down, two to go, Scully,” Mulder said, making a show of closing the window on his computer. 

She gave him a fake smile and a thumbs up. He’d been announcing stuff like this ever since Doggett and Reyes left. 

He seemed more himself once they were gone. She understood that Mulder was protective of their space, but at some point he was going to have to accept that the X-Files wasn’t just them anymore. Scully viewed the inclusion of Reyes and Doggett as a good thing, particularly with the baby on the way. She didn’t know how else she and Mulder could keep the X-Files open. 

“Hey Scully,” Mulder called to her, already clicking through his next training. “Did you know that the videos that aren’t mine that used to be here is a type of sexual harassment?”

She looked up. “Yes. You didn’t?” 

He shook his head. 

Scully was surprised. “You actually thought it was appropriate that they were here?”

“Well, no, I guess not. I never thought about it.”

Scully sighed. For an intelligent man, he was oblivious sometimes. 

“Did you feel harassed?” Mulder asked, seeming genuinely concerned. 

Scully considered his question. At the time, eight years ago, she hadn’t felt harassed by the porn. She had thought of it more as a concession to being in a male dominated field. She had been much more bothered when her co-workers tried to touch her or called her ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart.’ Or the hundreds of ways they excluded or belittled her. A little porn had been low on her list of grievances. 

But that didn’t mean that she had been totally comfortable with its presence. 

She tried to distill her complex thoughts. “I thought it was unprofessional, but I wasn’t offended.”

Mulder, looking appeased, turned back to his computer. “Actually,” he said, scrolling, “we do a lot of the things on this list.”

“It’s only harassment if it’s unwelcome.” 

He playfully leered at her. “Oh, so you welcome my,” he turned back to the computer, “aggressively asking you out on dates?”

She rolled her eyes. “Mulder, you’ve never asked me out on a date, aggressively or not.”

He stood, and came over to where she was sitting. He leaned down, invading her personal space. “Well, maybe I thought you’d think it was harassing…”

“Why don’t you try and find out?”

Her lips were on his before he could respond. Though it was wildly inappropriate for them to be making out at work, Scully figured some light fooling around couldn’t hurt anything. Mulder had just started kissing her neck when they were interrupted by the phone. 

“Scully, I’m pretty sure that was sexual harassment, but I’m not sure who was harassing whom,” he said, as he returned to his desk to answer the phone. “Mulder.” He paused, then said, “Hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker.” Mulder pushed a button, hung up the phone, and said, “Ok, go ahead.”

Doggett’s voice came through the phone. “Like I was saying, this body is pretty weird. The ME can’t make heads or tails of how a man was shot in the head but there isn’t any sign of a firearm being used.”

Scully stood, and joined Mulder. “You mean there isn’t any powder residue?”

“Not just that,” Doggett replied. “There’s an entry wound, but no exit. Yet the ME couldn’t find a bullet.”

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. “That is odd.”

“That’s what we were thinking. Look I don’t know if you can, but getting your insight on this one would be a real benefit, Agent Scully.”

“Can you send the body here?” Mulder asked.

“It probably won’t get here before I go out on leave,” Scully cut in before Doggett could reply. “It’s only a four hour drive to New Jersey. We can leave after my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

“We’d really appreciate it,” Doggett said. 

Mulder shrugged. “If you think you can make the trip.”

Scully nodded and after making arrangements with Doggett, Mulder hung up the phone.

“This reminds me of that man from Nevada–”

“Crump,” Mulder interrupted. “Mr. Crump. Do you think the military is testing those radio waves again?”

Scully shrugged. It was possible. Though if they were, she hoped it ended better than last time.

Keep reading on AO3

[iamprchung]

The Spider and the FBI: Part 3 "Without Ever Knowing the Way"

FYI: Anyone who thinks I'm strictly a Skinner/Scully fan fic writer. This story is equal parts Mulder.

Synopsis: On the run from a hitman, Skinner and Scully scramble to convince their terrified prisoner, with a crippling fear of flying, to return to D.C. for his own safety. Meanwhile, Mulder's pursuit hits a snag when his car breaks down, forcing him to hitch a ride with two enigmatic young women who detour him deep into the Wyoming wilderness, leaving him stranded with no way to contact his colleagues.

References in-story of note: Circa 1999: Bugle Boy Jeans Commercial – Search YouTube, it worth the reference. Reference: Romey and Michelle - IMDb

"Without Ever Knowing the Way"

Part III of "The Spider and the FBI"

by PR Chung

I-84 BFE, Wyoming Friday, July 2nd 6:47 a.m.

"Shit! Piss! Damn it!"

This was not the usual manner in which Fox Mulder greeted the breaking dawn light, except when forced to the shoulder of the road by a knocking, failing rental car.

Steering the faltering vehicle to the side of the road he sat there watching the sunrise wondering if he should get out and look at the engine; he didn't know what good he could do, he wasn't much on mechanical tinkering. At least he had to try, it was the least he could do to maintain some sense of dignity for his gender, even if no one knew he had tried.

Shrouded in the saffron predawn light Mulder stood before the daunting spectacle of American engineering, feeling intimidated, incompetent, and doomed. Oxford had not offered a shop class, not that he would have taken it if they had, and his father hadn't been the type to pass down the traditional patriarchal knowledge of car mechanics either.

He glanced around at the nothingness- hills, mountains in the distance, deserted road to the right, deserted road to the left-- Squinting back and forth across the landscape and down the road again. He couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was he going to do?

Out of habit he had reached for his absent cell phone half a dozen times before spotting headlights on the western horizon. They grew closer, coming into view as a semi-trailer truck, then passed up the motioning federal agent like a speeding freight train.

Mulder coughed and hacked away the dust blown up into his face by the truck. Wiping his eyes he didn't see the car immediately behind the truck. It stopped a few yards ahead of him across the road, hesitating a long moment before it began backing up slowly.

He stifled his coughing, cautiously eyeing the car, expecting the unexpected as it stopped directly across from him.

It was an early model Mustang hard top with Idaho plates, maybe a 69', the blue body paint fading and the white vinyl top yellowing with age. The windows were rolled down, and he could see two young women smiling back at him.

The fare skinned redhead behind the wheel had her long curly hair pulled back into a loose, carefree bun and wore horn-rimmed glasses, while the lightly tanned brunette passenger's hair was bobbed and far too short to pull back except behind her ears.

"Are those Bugle Boy pants you're wearing?" The redhead called across the road to Mulder.

He glanced down briefly. "If I say no, are you going to drive off leaving me in a cloud of dust?"

The two women swapped playful grins.

"I won't let her." The brunette called back.

"You got help coming yet?" The redhead questioned him.

He glanced toward the open hood. "No, but after I set it on fire and make smoke signals help should come."

The two glanced at each other as if communicating telepathically.

The brunette leaned forward to look at him. "You're not a serial killer or something are you?"

Mulder laughed. "No. Are you?"

"I'm not, but I'm not too sure about her." She jabbed a thumb toward the driver grinning. Then, she called to him again, "you want to get breakfast?"

*******************************

The Chugwater Inn Chugwater, Wyoming 7:15 a.m.

Feeling relatively restored, Dana Scully opened her motel room door to a crisp, bright morning. The air was cool and still fresh with the smell of the overnight storm. It had sounded like quite a violent storm in the distance, and probably had been rather severe to the west, but only a moderate amount of rain had fallen over the motel for half an hour or so, helping sooth her restlessness and lull her back to sleep.

Closing the door, she scanned the parking lot taking a deep breath of the clean air, noticing a couple packing up their car across the way. The man appeared older than the woman did, but not by a great deal Scully noted as she watched them exchanging chat and laughing briefly, working together loading bags and rearranging the miscellaneous necessities of road travel in their vehicle.

What was their story? She wondered for a moment, setting aside her instinctive deduction fine-tuned by so many years of analyzing and observing. How had they met, she wondered, through friends, relatives, perhaps a crowded bar had set the scene, or maybe a business meeting? Perhaps some peculiar incident in a park or along a busy street? Something common or the likes of a light-hearted comedy-romance film...?

After a few minutes, the couple took a step back to scrutinize their work then kissed as though rewarding one another for a job well done.

Scully lowered her eyes from the private scene, feeling a stitch of sadness as she started toward the next room.

Just a few feet before she reached the door of Skinner and Bernstein's room she stopped as it opened suddenly. Travel bags in hand Skinner came out, stopping when he saw her standing there.

They looked at each other as though silently asking just what the hell had occurred last night. Was he angry with her? Was she angry with him?

No, she thought. Irritated maybe, but not mad. There were more than a few times when she had truly hated him, but anymore she could remain angry with him only very briefly and even then, it was more hurt than anger.

"Good morning, sir." She greeted him quietly, taken back some by his attire; a navy pocket polo shirt, jeans and navy wind breaker were a striking contrast from the definitive FBI uniform of a starched shirt, suit and tie she was so accustomed to seeing him in.

Skinner dipped his head. "Scully," he replied and appeared to be appraising her clothing as well. She too had dressed more casually than she had been the last few days; navy slacks and a baby blue cotton knit blouse rather than the two suits she'd been alternating between since Tuesday.

"I guess I should have thought to bring something more casual myself." He commented finally then nodded toward the bag in her hand. "Packed and ready?"

"Yes, I was just coming over to get the car keys."

"Good," he grunted starting toward their rental car. "My assistant just sent information on the man Mulder has in custody to the Albany County Sheriff's department."

"She did?" She questioned following him, puzzled. "How did...?

"Mulder copied my office with what came back on the prints and photo," he explained popping the trunk open.

"Who is he?"

"Steven Machenko, an ex-cop out of Pittsburgh, wanted for the disappearance of four people in three states." He announced taking her bag and putting it in the trunk. "And currently running with one Lawrence Martin Gryzwac according to Mulder. He picked Gryzwac out of a group of mug shots of those Machenko had been associated with in the past as the man who got away."

"Gryzwac?" She repeated. "The same man under suspicion for the disappearance of a witness in the DiGiovanni trial last year?"

"The same. And also suspected of the disappearances of several other federal witnesses who choose not to take protection from the bureau." He shut the trunk and looked at her. "We've got to get off the open road with this guy, we're nothing but moving targets."

Scully glanced around their surroundings. thinking. "Perhaps we can persuade Bernstein to be sedated for air travel. Stressing the reality of his life being in immediate danger we can avoid the issue of infringing on his rights. "

"The only rights anyone's going to be concerned about are last rights if we don't do something and fast." Skinner declared. He took the eye drops from his jacket pocket he’d taken from Bernstein and handed them to her.

Scully frowned at the small half empty bottle he had just placed in the palm of her hand. "What's this for?"

"You're in charge of Bernstein's pharmaceutical needs from here on out."

"All right, but..."

"I have a feeling it wasn't a stomach virus Mulder picked up."

***********************************

Wet? Gooey? What was this...? What's that rushing sound? I'm moving. I'm in a vehicle, but I'm not driving. Scully?

With a thousand questions in his mind at once, Mulder awoke to find his cheek resting in a pool of his own saliva and a wicked wind whipping at his face and hair. Next he was aware of being on his side, lying on a vinyl bench seat and staring at the back of another, only this one was a bucket seat- the fading black vinyl covered in smudges of dirt, the sort of marks gone unnoticed and uncleaned by those who rarely got in the back seat of their own car.

Wiping his face, he pushed himself up slowly, seeing the back of two heads coming into view- chocolate and cinnamon tendrils swimming in the wind.

"Hey there, sleepy head," Sally driving said looking back at him through the rearview mirror.

The brunette twisted in her seat throwing an arm over the headrest gazing closely at Mulder.

He vaguely recalled the introductions that had been made once he'd crawled into the back seat... how long ago? Good God, hadn't they reached civilization yet? How long had he been asleep?

"Or should that be sleepy-fed, G-man?" The brunette playfully questioned him.

He offered a thin-lipped smile. "I must have dozed off, sorry about that."

"No problem." she said and mirrored his smile, her eyes flickering devilishly.

He glanced at his wrist to look at the time, but his watch was in his bag, and it didn't much matter because it wasn't working.

"Uh," he began, glancing around at the sun-drenched landscape rushing past the open windows. "How long have I been asleep?"

The brunette shrugged and looked at the driver.

"A little while." The redhead answered, grinning.

Mulder nodded, beginning to feel odd about his decision to accept the ride.

The two of them seemed harmless enough, coming from St. Anthony, Idaho on their first fledged road trip, heading to an Uncle's Fourth of July celebration in Cheyenne. They seemed like two free-spirited young women who enjoyed getting away just as much as the next guy... But Mulder wasn't that next guy, he had business to take care of.

Inconspicuously he pressed his arm against his side making sure his gun was still securely in place. Relieved, he felt the solid metal pressing between his arm and his ribs.

"Um," he racked his brain for the redhead's name, plucking it up out of a sleepy notch still lingering in his mind, "Mary... Lou, uh, how long until we get to... to the next town?"

"Not long," the brunette answered turning back to face forward in her seat. She bent forward and Mulder could hear her rummaging through what sounded like plastic cases. Tapes, he thought as she straightened and put a cassette into the player. "Maybe twenty minutes."

He nodded to himself, wondering if he'd gotten the names mixed up earlier. "Uh, Sally," he tested the name on the redhead, "what’s the next town?"

"Didn't the sign say something like Jacob's Notch?" Again, it was the brunette who responded to his question.

"Yeah, that's it. Jacob's Notch." Sally answered glancing back at him through the rear-view mirror, jade green eyes just visible over the top of her horn rims.

Mulder rolled the name over in his head a few times studying the roadside and expansive landscape. He didn't recall seeing a town with that name on his maps, how big-- or rather, how small- was this place? Would he be able to get another car there or would he have to make further arrangements to get to yet another town for a car?

"We're not on the interstate anymore." Mulder realized aloud. Neither of the women responded.

"Why did you leave the interstate?" He asked.

"Jacob's Notch was closer than anything on the interstate." Sally finally answered but Mulder knew that couldn't be true, but as long as they got into a town with a phone soon, he was fine with this little side trip.

***********************************

Jacob's Notch.

It wasn't quite what Mulder had hoped for; downtown consisted of two buildings on either side of a gravel covered road that was barely wide enough to fit two cars side by side. The post office, a tiny slat-board house to their left, was white-washed and startling bright set against the blue sky, while the general store, a slightly larger slat-board building to their right, was in varying states of disrepair.

Mulder noticed an old-style phone booth set away from the general store, a black cable running directly to it from a telephone pole along the road.

"Hey, look, they serve home style breakfasts," one of the women exclaimed as they pulled off the road into the parking lot.

"Jesus," the other replied, "what, do you have to eat standing up?"

Mulder didn't care if he had to eat standing on his head as long as he had some food in him and the use of a phone.

"How far back did you pick me up?" he asked as he climbed past the front seat and out into the blaze of daylight.

Marylou and Sally looked at each other over the top of the Mustang.

"Fifteen or twenty miles?" He asked. "I'll need to tell the rental agency so they can tow the car."

"Um," said Sally, or was she Marylou?

"Well, uh," said the other.

Mulder jutted his jaw out at them. "Thirty?"

Marylou opened her mouth, but the redhead spoke first. "I think it's closer to maybe ninety-five miles."

"Ninety-five? How long was I asleep?" He exclaimed.

"Well, I think it's really closer to about a hundred and twenty-five." Marylou adjusted the total mileage between him and his rental car.

Mulder pulled his mouth in tight against the volley of curses he was on the verge of shouting at them. Hands on hips he lowered his head shaking it. "I knew we were off the interstate," he told them after a second of composed consideration. "But how the hell far off the interstate did you take me?" His voice rose in volume as he brought his head up.

"Well, duh, I just told you,” Marylou rolled her eyes, "about a hundred and twenty-five miles."

"North? South? And why?"

The redhead shook her head then cocked it to the side. "Some thanks that is for picking your butt up off the road."

"You never said where exactly you were going, you know." The other one told him.

Mulder shook his head and focused on his shoes for a moment, collecting his thoughts. God help me, I hitched a ride with Romy and Michelle. "North or South, ladies?"

"North." The redhead answered, snatching her purse out of the car, and slinging it over one shoulder. "Highway 220."

"Just off of highway 287." The other one added.

"Thank you," he said with amazing control and started for the phone booth.

"Don't expect us to buy your breakfast now." The redhead yelled at him stomping toward the general store.

"I'll save you a seat." He heard Marylou call back to him before he shut the phone booth door.

He watched her trot off after her friend, unintentionally noticing the sway of her hips and the contours of her bare legs seeing how her cut-offs didn't leave a great deal to the imagination.

"No, no, no," he warned himself, and jerked the phone receiver up to his ear.  

Silence.

“No, come on,” Mulder flipped the receiver tab several times and listened intently.

Silence.

The phone was dead. Beyond pissed, Mulder slammed the receiver down and tried to jerk the phone booth open. The door resisted, jammed, the hinges caked with ages of dirt. He fought with the door a second or two before he freed himself and started for the general store, having only more trouble with that door as well; pulling instead of pushing as the faded sign announced on the dusty glass.

Pushing through the door he immediately heard a crash, then saw a chaotic spill of cans at his feet, flowing from behind the door. He craned his head around seeing that he'd hit a shelf that was far too close to the door.

"Easy there," he heard someone warn. Turning his eyes up seeing Marylou coming through a jumble of shelves and barrels jamming the small confines of this store. "This place is even smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside."

"I had no idea..." he tried to explain kneeling to pick up the spill.

"We almost did it too," she told him kneeling as well.

"What in the hell is going on out there?!" It was like the voice of God raging from somewhere beyond the cluttered cracker box of a store.

Mulder, with his arms full of canned meats and soups, looked up to see a man who looked as old as God emerging from the clutter of shelves. He glared down at the two of them, and Mulder was convinced if the man had the power to smite them, he would have.

"Always in a damn hurry," he declared with a stereotypical grouchiness of a storeowner in a small town. "Never looking at what you're doing or where you're going."

"Okay, Yoda," Mulder mumbled then lifted his tone to be heard, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize the door... was so close to the shelves."

"We'll get all this back on the shelf for you, sir." Marylou assured the old man.

"Well, hell, that's fine and dandy but shut that damn door while you're at it," he reprimanded, "you think electricity grows on trees."

"Oh, not at all," she answered motioning Mulder to let the door shut.

Moving aside Mulder fumbled a few cans that hit the floor rolling. The old man looked at this and grunted disapprovingly before he turned to go back to what he'd been doing.

"That was a quick phone call," Marylou said helping pile cans into Mulder's arms.

"The phone doesn't work." He told her.

"None of the phones are working!" The old man's voice boomed from in the back. Apparently his hearing was in perfect, if not above average condition.

"The storm knocked them out last night." It was Sally. She was standing over the top of them, hands on hips, her mouth screwed up to one side derisively.

"The storm knocked them out last night." The old man repeated her. "Swoll up the river and knocked out the Battle Creek bridge, made a damn mess of everything all the way down to Laramie from what I heard on the radio."

Marylou looked at Mulder, her eyes etched with genuine sympathy. "We'll get you to a working phone, I promise."

*****************************

Route 34 North Albany County, Wyoming 8:17 a.m.

"How long would the flight be?"

"Two and a half hours at the most," Scully assured Bernstein over the back of the seat. He looked pale, truly torn by the idea of being killed and flying on a plane. "With the sedative, I promise you'll be half asleep before we even get you on board."

"You know this is coercion, don't you?" The man told her nervously looking out the window.

"If that's the way you see it, then fine," she replied, tired of trying to be decent with him. She had been as easy about it as she could since they had put him in the car; gingerly working his confidence, being honest and patient. "We, as agents of federal government, are fully within our rights to do whatever is necessary to keep you out of immediate harm, and if that involves administering a sedative by force then that's what I'll have to do."

"Scully," Skinner said, his voice low, cautioning.

She glanced at her superior. His expression was tense-- not an unusual thing in its self-- but he was shifting his focus between the road ahead and the side view mirror guardedly, as though watching something.

"What is it?" she asked, checking her side view mirror.

Far back on the road she saw another car, its chrome bumper gleaming in the morning sunlight.

"What?" Bernstein demanded straightening in the set. "What's the matter? Why are you so quiet?"

"Sit back and be quiet." Skinner told him.

"No. No, I won't," he jerked around in the seat looking out the back window. "We're being followed, aren't we?"

"Sit back and shut up." Scully ordered him harshly, watching the car in the side mirror. "How long has it been back there?"

"I noticed about half an hour after we left the motel. It's pacing us." Skinner announced grimly.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." His voice was gruff, a tinge of indignantly thrown in with the growing tension.

She should have known better than to question him on something like observation, nothing quite like interrogating your boss while he was under pressure.

"They're coming closer!" Bernstein declared, still looking out the back window.

"Get out of that window." Skinner ordered him stepping hard on the gas pedal.

The car was close enough now that Scully could see it was a large early model American made vehicle- possibly a Lincoln or Cadillac, and likely with a massive engine that would overcome their gas efficient rental easily.

"Here it comes," she announced needlessly.

Skinner already saw the car surging forward, closing the gap between the two cars rapidly. He floored the gas and the engine roared, but the six cylinders were no match for the monster eight-cylinder car racing up on them.

Bernstein ducked down in his seat while Scully braced herself, just in time. Seconds later the rental car was violently rocked forward as the larger car deliberately rear-ended it, Skinner's hands grappled with the steering wheel his teeth gnashing.

A blast sounded and instantaneously the rear window exploded, glass rained down on Bernstein and flew into the front seat, tiny chunks skipping off Skinner's head, landing in Scully hair.

"Hold on," Skinner called out jerking the steering wheel to the left, taking the car onto a side road at a harrowing speed, the mid-sized rental car fishtailing wildly as the tires hit the unpaved surface.

Narrow and winding through brush and trees the road was muddied from the previous night's rain, riddled with potholes, and definitely not meant to be traveled on at any high rate of speed.

Struggling against the violent jolting, Scully turned to look for the pursuing car; it had gone sideways on the highway trying to duplicate the crazy turn Skinner had made but was quick righting itself and following them onto the road.

They hit another rough depression in the road, the car shuddered from the impact and Bernstein bounced off the rear seat and onto the transmission hump on the floorboard yelping miserably.

Skinner felt the car suddenly veering out of his control, the rear swinging in the opposite direction that he steered. Instantly, before they could react, the car pitched off the road, sliding down a muddy incline into a thick line of brush and trees leaving the car all but resting on its side.

Knowing it would be useless to try driving the car out of this situation, Skinner unbuckled his seatbelt quickly and drew his gun, ready for the driver of the sedan was undoubtedly above them on the road they'd just come off of by now.

Scully, fighting against the fun-house-like angle they'd been placed in, unbuckled herself and drew her gun, turning then to check Bernstein. He was pressed against the passenger’s rear door, shaking his head, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"You people are going to get me killed!” He yelped at her.

"A plane ride doesn't seem so bad now, does it?” Scully huffed as she rolled down her window.

Tree branches bowed toward her, threatening to spring inside the car through the window that had been holding them back. Scully turned, leaning with her back against Skinner's for leverage as she brought her feet up and began kicking at the branches, forcing her way through the window and brush.

"Follow her,” Skinner ordered Bernstein who refused to move until the rear driver’s side window exploded into a shower of glass.

"Knock, knock!” A man's voice shouted from out of sight. "I know you hear me down there!"

Bernstein had the other window down in a heartbeat, going out headfirst, Skinner following. The three of them, federal agents, and prisoner, crouched together in the thick tangle of branches and brambles, bullets zinging past them, pinging off the car.

"I hope you took the insurance on that rental,” Gryzwac yelled.

"I can't see him,” Skinner declared searching for the shooter.

"Boy, Chief, they are gonna' be pissed when they see what you did..."

"We've gotta' get out of here." Bernstein panted darting his eyes around the area desperately seeking passage through the brush. "We have gotta' get out of here now!"

"Shut up," Scully told him harshly after a bullet whistled past her head.

She too was searching both for the shooter and an escape route, but it was Bernstein who found the way-- or least what appeared to be. The man lunged away from the cover of the car headlong into the thicket, branches snapping and cracking as he trudged away like a spooked Bull Moose.

"Bernstein, stop!" Scully shouted after him.

"Damn it!" Skinner growled sparing only a glance back over his shoulder before he returned two more rounds at their unseen assailant.

Swatting at branches and bugs Bernstein crashed through the brush with Scully gaining on him despite the constant barrage of foliage slapping at her face and tangling her feet. Panting, near hyperventilation, he burst free of the second and third growth nearly stumbling straight into a swollen churning river. Wild with anxiety Bernstein started left then right, tramping along the soggy bank.

Scully stumbled free of the snarled grove stopping short of the river before spotting Bernstein.

"Stop!" She shouted and started to aim her gun at him but stopped. There was more gunfire from behind her, only closer now than where she had left Skinner at the car. She could see movement in the thicket and hoped it was Skinner.

"Bernstein, wait..."she turned and called after the frightened man trying to follow him down the slippery bank. She saw him stop and thought for an instant he had yielded but realized he had only stopped to fan something away from his face... and quite frantically.

"Watch out!" She called seeing him pitching too near the edge of the bank.

Bernstein was ducking and fanning at the wasp-like insect buzzing dangerously close to his face, only irritating it more by smacking it with the back of his hand.

"Bernstein?" Scully called out to him just as he shouted grabbing his face with both hands. "Bernstein! No!" She exclaimed sprinting toward the man, watching him stumble off the bank and into the river.

In the seconds he was still in view Scully saw Bernstein struggling against the strong current, handicapped by his cuffed hands. Reflexively she followed the man into the water, intending to help but only to quickly realize her own need of help.

She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, but the current was even stronger than it had appeared, and it was all she could do to keep her head above the torrent of muddy water.

Skinner stumbled out of the undergrowth firing back in the direction he'd come, just in time to see Scully dive off the bank into the raging river. His mind reeled for a second at the sight. Her action could only mean that Bernstein had gone in...

"Damn-" the curse was cut short as a bullet whizzed past his cheek. Ducking down Skinner heard a distant call, small and desperate.

"Help...!"

His hesitation was meteoric, a quick check of the woods to make sure the coast was clear. On the run he pulled his glasses off and shoved them as deep as he could into the pocket of his shirt—

better that they should break there than while wearing them, he thought briefly before heaving himself into the swirling river.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Continued in part 4

[atths--twice]

Chapter Three

I Did What You Asked

Checking into the motel and meeting some locals.

Pines Motel

8:30 p.m.

“He didn’t speak to you?” Skinner asked.

“No, sir,” Scully said, rotating her neck as she stood at the back of the rental car and Mulder took out both of their bags from the trunk. “The doctors said his blood pressure had begun to rise and he was extremely agitated. They sedated him so he could rest.”

“And his injuries?”

“Dehydrated as you mentioned. Cuts and bruises, a few that are…” She drew in a breath and let it out, not quite of how she wanted to phrase her words.

“What, Agent Scully?”

“The injuries are odd. I hesitate to say until I know more, but they seem almost… ritualistic.” She paused, catching Mulder’s expression of raised eyebrows as she heard Skinner sigh loudly in her ear along with the sound of ice cubes falling into a glass.

“Ritualistic?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It can’t ever just be cut and dry, can it?” he mused and she turned away from Mulder as she smiled softly.

“Not usually, sir,” she said and he huffed out a breath.

“Okay, thank you for the update. Hope for better news tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodnight, Agent Scully.”

“And to you.”

She hung up and put her phone in her pocket, turning back to Mulder and sighing.

“Was he angry that we couldn't speak to the victim?”

“No,” she said, taking her bag from him. “But, I believe we may have driven him to drink. I heard ice filling a glass.” She gave him a look and he nodded.

“Or… maybe he has company,” he suggested as they made their way to the motel rental office. “Did you hear any dulcet tones asking him to please leave work at the office and to join her?”

Scully stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes as she tried not to allow that image into her mind.

“Maybe Peggy, the receptionist on the third floor? I’ve heard her mention him before,” he continued.

“Mulder,” she warned as she shook her head.

“Agent Rhodes, Jackie, do you know her? She said one time she’d like to bounce a quarter off his ass. No wait, I think she said a fifty cent piece. Said she thought he could handle it.”

“Could you stop?” she asked, opening her eyes and staring at him. “I don’t want to have those thoughts about Skinner in my head.”

“Everybody does it, Scully. Didn’t you say so yourself once?” He grinned at her and she shook her head.

“There’s a huge difference between the discussion of the drive of a species to procreate and thinking about your boss having a fifty cent piece bouncing off his ass, thank you very much.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, smiling at her as he reached for the handle and pulled the door open, a bell tinkling from above as he held it for her. “He wears tighty-whities, Scully. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

She stopped again and looked at him as he raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Goddamn you, Mulder,” she said under her breath as she walked beneath his arm into the lobby and he laughed as he followed her.

“Hello,” said the young woman behind the counter with a smile. “Welcome to the Pines Motel. I’m Darcy. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Scully said, smiling back with a nod, and taking out her badge. “Agents Scully and Mulder.”

“Oh, you’re here about the missing men,” Darcy stated, shaking her head, her long black hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. “It’s terrible. Just terrible.”

“Do you know any of the men?” Mulder asked and she shook her head again.

“Not personally, no. But I know of them. One of them is… was? the brother of a girl I knew in elementary school.” She sighed as she looked up their reservation on the computer and nodded as she reached for two room keys with on green keychains.

“Do you have any idea as to why they would have disappeared?” Mulder continued his questioning and Darcy stared at him, unblinking.

“I don’t,” she said in a low voice. “But… I mean, you’re with the government, right? You’re here to help?”

Mulder glanced quickly at Scully and then smiled at Darcy as he leaned against the counter.

“We are,” he said with a nod and Darcy nodded back.

“Brent, my old classmate's brother, he… he was into some weird shit.”

“What do you mean?” Scully asked with a frown.

“I… I probably shouldn’t say, but if it helps to find him…?” She looked at Mulder and he smiled kindly at her. With a sigh, she nodded. “Drugs mostly. And he hung out with this group of people who liked going to old graveyards and having “parties” where they acted out deaths or held seances, calling back spirits from the graves around them.”

“Did you ever go to the parties?”

“Once,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was during a weekend home from college a few years back. Honestly, the parties are really just an excuse to get smashed and then have sex in the graveyard. Not really my thing. Then or now. It’s too creepy.”

“Well,” Mulder said and shifted slightly. He cleared his throat and Scully frowned, wondering what was causing his discomfort.

“Maybe people saw them continue with the parties, especially around this time of year, and they didn’t like the desecration of a sacred place?” Scully offered and Darcy shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just know it wasn’t my scene and the next time I was asked, my answer was no thanks.” She smiled as she handed them the keys to rooms six and seven. “I hope you’re able to find Brent and the others. He’s not the best person I know, but he doesn’t deserve whatever happened to him.”

“Thank you, Darcy,” Mulder said, smiling at her as they stepped back. “We-”

“I did what you asked,” a young boy said as the door opened suddenly, slamming against the outside of the building, the bell tinkling loudly. “What else do you want me to do, Darce?” He ignored Mulder and Scully, walking between them and toward the counter as he pushed his dark blonde hair from his eyes.

“Jesus, Steven,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “Be careful. The door nearly came off its hinges.”

“Oh, calm down,” he said, looking back at the door and finally noticing Mulder and Scully standing there. “Who’re you?”

“They’re FBI agents, Steven.”

“Really? Like in the movies?” he asked excitedly, walking to Scully and smiling. “Can I see your badge?”

She looked at the boy, who could not have been older than twelve, and nodded as she took her badge out to show him.

“Wow,” he said, touching it and then looking at her. “That’s so bitchin’.”

Steven! You better not let mom hear you say that.”

“I won’t,” he assured her, rolling his eyes at Scully and she felt an instant liking to him. “Can you tell me about being an FBI agent? Have you ever arrested anyone? Or… oh, shot anyone?”

“Steven,” Darcy groaned. “Let them go to their rooms. Sorry. He’s my little brother. I know he can be a pest.”

“I’m not a pest,” Steven shot back. “I just want to know.”

“If you help me with my bag, I’ll tell you,” Scully said and Steven’s eyes widened as he took her bag and nodded.

“Which room are you in? I can show you where to find it.”

“Well, there’s some debate on that,” Scully said, taking Mulder’s key from him with a sly smile. “Point us in the direction of rooms six and seven, please.”

Mulder smiled as he thanked Darcy again and then opened the door, letting Scully and Steven walk out first.

It was not far to their rooms and soon they were saying goodnight to Steven, who seemed awestruck by both of them after hearing how they had both arrested people, though they did not mention people they had shot, even as Mulder had rubbed near his right shoulder with a wink to Scully.

Setting her bag down in room six, she turned the heater on to its maximum level. Mulder waited outside while she then opened door number seven and again turned on the heater, staring at him from the doorway.

“Shouldn’t take too long,” she said and he shrugged with a smile.

“Okay. But can I at least set my bag down?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Holding it while you wait for the rooms to warm up will be your penance for the information you shared about Skinner. I can’t unhear that or scrub that image from my brain, so you get to stand in the cold, with your bag, while I choose between the rooms.”

He laughed and nodded, his bag hanging from his shoulder, as he put his hands in his pockets.

She walked back and forth, testing out the warmth of each room and muttering tighty-whities under her breath every time she passed him. Finally deciding that room six would be best for her, she handed him the key to room seven.

“Of course, if the heater craps out in the middle of the night, I will be taking your room,” she informed him as he took the key.

“No, you’ll be sharing the room,” he corrected her. “I don’t have any plans to move from a comfortably warmed room into a cold one. I’ll be sure to save you a nice warm spot, if your heater does indeed crap out.” She stared at him as he smiled. “Goodnight, Scully. Give a shout if you need to join me.”

He walked to his door and she walked to her own, glancing at him as he paused and looked over at her.

“For any reason,” he said, his smile gone and his eyes serious. He nodded and went inside his room, closing the door behind him, as her breathing rate increased and she stood on the threshold of her room.

Stepping into her room and closing the door, his words continued ringing in her ears for quite some time.

Give a shout if you need to join me…

For any reason…

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part VI): Bonds Once Forged Are Not Easily Broken

Now, we come to first meetings and (second?) reunions-- and part of that will be focused on Mulder and Doggett's throwdown.

On the one hand, Doggett's poured literal blood and sweat into finding and retrieving this man-- first as a job, then as a friend. Allegations of a crush for Scully (which I don’t buy) aside, he’s a good man that's done good work. 

On the other hand, Mulder has primed himself for battle: seething with vengeance for three months of torment and three months of death, and with nowhere to direct this hatred, Doggett has become an easy target. From Mulder’s perspective, sudden helping hands were always revealed to be turncoats; and the newest recruit just so happening to weasel in under everyone's nose at the most opportune (or inopportune) time and being completely "above reproach"? Unlikely.

In short, it’s not going to be a pleasant meeting for the X-Files' newest agent. 

Introducing the Buddy Cop

We must devote a short amount of word space to Doggett, since he will morph into a pivotal player in Mulder’s post-abduction shenanigans from here on out. 

After his “capture” by Absalom and “rescue” by the FBI, he sits, disturbed, in Skinner’s office while the latter man debriefs him. Both are candid and unguarded with each other-- a dynamic he, Skinner, and Scully developed in Mulder’s absence-- not hiding the fact they're mutually bothered and skeptical over Absalom's claims and needless despite (though for different reasons.)

“It may not be the best way, but it is certainly one way to catch an escaped convict-- I’ll give you that, Agent Doggett,” Skinner remarks, nose still buried in his agent’s report.

“I’d just as soon stick to the old fashioned way, Sir. That shot was a little too close for comfort.” 

“You said this man claimed the US Census Bureau had data, information that he was after that connects to this man that was shot on the White House lawn.”  

“'Proof', he said,” Doggett nods, adding, “that ‘they were here among us’.” Then, turning away and scowling contemplatively, he adds, “Whoever they are.” 

Before Skinner can voice his next thought, the door snaps open and in walks Mulder. 

A few interesting first thoughts: 

Mulder’s shirt is at least a size (if not two) too large, adding to his disheveled, harried integration back into a normal life. And, yes, Skinner’s shirt is also oversized… but not that oversized. It makes me wonder if the clothing department created the illusion of Mulder’s weight loss and trauma by sizing up his wardrobe; and if so, clever touch. (Will have to keep an eye on the rest of the men’s wear this season to compare and contrast... if I remember.)

His face is very grim and very serious; his posture is rigid; and his eyes remain fixated on Doggett's, even during his cursory “Sir” to Skinner as he closes the door. 

Doggett senses his animosity immediately, turning grim as well-- but doesn’t think to take a defensive stance, likely chalking up Mulder’s standoffishness to natural aloofness exacerbated by his inexplicable return.   

And his instincts seem to pay off: Mulder collectedly walks up to him, softly asking, “Is this John Doggett?” with an upward head tilt thrown in. All signs point to the returnee being tense but friendly; and the newcomer stands with a hand outstretched to welcome the other man home. 

And then, the push. 

Mulder barrels past Doggett’s handshake, not breaking form as he immediately shoves the other man back into his chair-- a very pathetic smack, really, despite the force that could have been exerted from his forward momentum (another little tell that Mulder is not physically up to snuff, yet.) 

Doggett, collapses, stunned; and Skinner rushes into to grab his former agent as he launches into rapid fire accusations. 

“I hope you’re not commending him as a hero for what he did in this thing because he is not,” Mulder insists, maintaining burning eye contact with his adversary while ignoring and talking over Skinner’s commands to back off. 

“I’m not about to referee a boxing match,” Skinner warns (hey, an S.R. 819 reference!)

Doggett’s scowl deepens as reality sinks in, his emotions vacillating from utter befuddlement to insulted awe while rewinding the last few seconds. He attempts to recapture the friendly mood; but it fits falsely on his face, making him look even more like a stilted, Consortium double agent. 

“Just what’s the problem here?” 

Mulder is not convinced-- no one in his shoes probably would be-- and he spells it out for everyone in the room. 

“The problem? You occupy an office that used to be devoted to finding the truth and now you’re busy burying it, that's the problem.” 

Doggett tries again, a little more animosity seeping out through his voice, shifting posture, and wagging finger: friends he will be, but not punching bag. “Whoa, you musta got your wires crossed somewhere, Agent Mulder.” 

“You got that man killed,” Mulder snaps.

Incredulously raising his eyebrows, Doggett snarkily repeats, “I got him killed?”  

“Because of what he knew, of what he could expose,” Mulder continues, pushing closer against the boundary of Skinner’s shoulder (who, it seems, is destined to referee Mulder’s fights with or without his say so.) 

“You see this, Agent Mulder?” Doggett snipes, pointing at the deep cut across his cheek.

Undeterred, he responds, “I see you sitting there, Agent Doggett.”

After a weighty pause, Mulder ends the interrogation with, “It’s good enough for me”, another haunted pause, a last look at Skinner, and a swift trudge back out the door.

Skinner waits until he leaves before lowering his guard, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to drum up an explanation for Doggett. Slowly turning, he begins, “You gotta understand what he’s been through, I mean, now he’s back and you’re--”

But Doggett is nodding dismissively and leaping out of his chair to the other door before Skinner can finish, unwilling to hear out a string of weak excuses for Mulder's appalling behavior.

More interesting thoughts:

Even though Mulder is biased against Doggett, the latter does seem paint-by-the-numbers guilty, an exact specimen the Syndicate used to dig up and dance around with impunity. Doggett gives very little away, doesn’t justify his position, and uses survivable wounds as "evidence" of his innocence-- all of which have been used at sundry times throughout the show.  

Mulder is obviously not in a state to clearly weigh evidence in Doggett’s favor, running blindly around to stop the aliens from abducting anyone else ever again (alluded to in this post.)

Although Mulder is furious for Absalom during this conversation, he is really demanding justice for himself. Every line spoken to Doggett points right back in his direction; and he is conscious of that, trying to avoid his experience and safeguard against it permanently simultaneously. 

Skinner is aware of this on some level, excusing Mulder’s bad behavior to Doggett’s face while also understanding Doggett's righteous anger at boss in turn. 

But the conflict doesn’t end there. 

Doggett has struggled all Season 8 to support, befriend, and be an ally to Scully. He advocated for her, saved her life, and kept her from danger over and over again; yet she didn’t open up to or confide in him unless absolutely forced. Despite that, he still helped safe guard her secret, find her partner, and support her after Mulder’s death-- and all this while battling imposter syndrome in himself. 

Doggett never tried to compete with or measure up to Mulder (that was Scully’s struggle); but from day one, he felt isolated and rejected, doing his best to build good relationships with Scully and Skinner. By proving his stripes, he thought it would earn him equal consideration as a partner and a person. However, his insecurity-- that the others would sideline him the minute Mulder came back-- is proven true (and would continue to be proven true the rest of Season 8.) He suspected Mulder curated a type of jealous loyalty, and he was right: even Skinner, whom he formed the closest friendship with, takes Mulder’s side over his own. 

Skinner is left alone in the office, pondering how best to tackle both agents’ issues. 

Friends in This Life and After (and This Life Again) 

Mulder hops over to Scully’s apartment where he is surprised by Frohike opening the door (tilting his head and immediately pulling up his cheeks in a smile.) 

It’s a beautiful moment: the man in Scully’s kitchen six years ago is here now to greet and invite him in, rushing over to it before the others could. Not only that, but Frohike is also the first person to make a genuine joke at Mulder’s expense, one so cheery and hearty that it redirects Mulder's sarcasm into sincerity.

“You know, it’s really not fair. You’ve been dead for six months and you’re still better looking than me.” 

An interesting note: something strange and morbid begins to happen here as well: Mulder uncharacteristically sticks his hand out for a shake, standing on formalities with a friend who’s been through thick and thin with him. 

And while it’s bad enough to view this as an insecure attempt on Mulder’s part to become "reacquainted" with his former friend, another-- and worse-- parallel could plausibly be drawn: his father’s distant overtures in Colony: a way to keep loved ones at a distance so they don't see flaws and scars up close, perhaps.

Frohike ignores the handshake entirely, finishing his joke and latching onto Mulder with a fierce, all-encompassing hug. 

And Mulder is euphorically happy: that someone saw him instead of his traumas, that he’s been recognized as “normal” despite his experiences, that his experiences don’t define him in at least one person’s eyes.

Frohike’s lack of reserve and whole-hearted affection frees a part of himself still under lock and key; and he laughs unreservedly, returning the unexpected hug with affectionate back pats and thrilled cooing noises after the former somberly concludes, “Though not by much.” 

There is no expectation or agenda or fear or worry between the two, allowing the undead to relax into the moment and fully feel for the first time: he picks up on Frohike’s pain, soothes it by letting the hug last longer than usual, and even settles into the moment with him-- “Melvin…”-- before keeping their dignity intact with a well-timed joke.  

Abashed that he might have lingered too long-- but not ashamed--, Frohike steps back, assessing his friend’s mood with a completely serious “Sorry”; then, after Mulder nods good-humoredly and walks off, reaches over to close the door. 

An interesting speculation: why would Mulder cut the moment short?

Obviously there’s discomfort he’s still navigating post resurrection, but he was never the huggy, touchy guy with his friends to begin with. Frohike’s hug, while welcome, is more unnatural than normal.

And, personally, I like to think the eagle-eyed staring from the rest of the group is the real reason. (The cut-to is hilarious if you aren’t expecting it, by the way.)  

Byers advances with a welcoming “I think it goes without saying that we’re all, uh… tremendously relieved,” too overjoyed to notice Mulder’s polite, tight smile.

Langly’s greeting is tremendously less subtle: “And not just because we had big questions about your involvement in a certain blessed event.”

This next interaction is the second huge make-or-break for this episode: like the first scene back in Mulder’s apartment, this, too, can be easily misconstrued; and is entirely dependent on context.

Caught off guard, he raises his head, freezing his face and darting his eyes over to Scully. He and Scully have not yet discussed the baby, but he knows it’s his (posts here and here.) Are Langly's implications a result of her indirect interference or a natural result of his normal impetuosity? Furthermore, what has Scully told his friends about the baby? Has she told them about the baby? Has Scully rustled up an opportunity to press for more, he wonders.

Mulder knows Scully is not above premeditation, especially about big events in her life (her father’s death, her cancer, her adopted daughter, her distrust of Diana, etc.), and this incident harkens back to another four-against-one scenario in the not-so-distant past (her confrontation at TLG's in One Son.) He and Scully just resynced yesterday, post here; but this comment out of the blue immediately activates his conspiracy radar.

One look at her face, however, dispels that notion (for now): Scully didn’t know this was coming, eyes pivoting sharply from Langly’s direction to Mulder's. Having nothing to hide, she doesn't look down or away; and even betrays a sense of humor in the tilt of her head and tuck of her chin. Her relaxed face invites Mulder to see the absurdity of this strange moment rather than be bowled over by it.  

The camera pans back to Mulder right before everything registers-- showing his downfallen face and penetrating gaze--

and captures the split-second of reassurance and quick snap back to good humor. Catching Scully's comedic undertone, he reciprocates with a mock suspicious face-- the same used later in Empedocles-- complete with squinting, glinty eyes, head tilt, and imperceptibly opened mouth.

Scully-- relieved he’s gotten her point, amused at his antics, and intuiting his unreadiness to broach the baby topic-- deadpans, “So much for playing a hunch, Mulder,” while raising her eyebrows and shifting her head level-- a tease back, and a transition to more serious discussions. 

“The, uh, Gunmen were able to decrypt the data you found on Howard Salt’s hard drive.” 

Frohike joins them in time for Mulder’s roundtable “thank you” nod; and, all together now, the men give their full attention to Scully's synopsis of their findings.

CONCLUSION

Doggett has been shoved, his friends have embraced him, and he and Scully have reengaged their unspoken effectively-- all good things for Mulder. Firing on all cylinders in the company of those that love him helps resurrected man feel back in action, feel alive, feel like himself.

Of course, this is a small bandaid for the bigger, gaping wound of his abduction trauma… and, of course, that problem isn't helped by the confirmation of Scully's (well-meaning) premeditation during the course of the next five minutes.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[katy-kt-katie]

Uncle Vicent

November Open Prompt Challenge Prompt: “Character A is nervous for Character B to be liked by family because their family is notoriously difficult to please.”

Notes: I took a little creative license and made it less about the family member being hard to please and more about them being intimidating because of their stature.  Also- this is NOT a baseball story, this is an MSR story with a sprinkle of baseball thrown in.

Rating : MATURE

Thank you so much @agent-troi for the Beta read! You are such a kind, supportive person!

Read here on AO3: Link

“Ohhh,” Scully mewled, softly. His hand pinning hers above her head as he thrusted into her; in and out, in and out.

“Baby, you are so hot,” Mulder whispered into her ear. “Fuck, Skinner,” he continued.

“Mulder,” she panted, “Stop worrying about that, it’s just a movie,” she leaned up and pushed her lips towards his and kissed him assertively, pushing in her tongue, lathing the soft skin inside his pouty lower lip.

He grunted, still annoyed.

“Mulder,” he thrusted, and she moaned, “I’m yours,” thrust and moan. “No one else's,” thrust and moan. "Haven't been for years,” thrust and moan. “Fuckkk,” she whined as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, coming apart in climax.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you? Since we met, isn’t that right?” his voice low and growly as he approached his own climax.

“Yes,” she said, light as a feather still floating from a profound orgasm.

“Mmm, Scully,” he groaned, finishing and collapsing onto her chest.

She stroked his face gently before getting up to use the restroom and slipping into the luxurious terrycloth robe supplied by her fancy Beverly Hills hotel room. She climbed back under the covers, next to Mulder and smiled.

This thing with them was still very new but she’d quickly realized her normal aversion to cuddling was non-existent in the arms of Mulder. She snuggled up against his chest and sighed, happily. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. Maybe I could lay like this forever, she thought just as her stomach growled loudly, making Mulder laugh out loud.

“Hungry, Scully?” he teased.

“I guess so,” she hid her face deeper into his chest, just a tiny bit embarrassed. “I only had some popcorn earlier. Should we order some room service? Come to think of it, Skinner would be curious if we didn’t charge anything to the FBI card he gave us.”

“True. He might just think we were making out the whole night,” he tickled her side.

Scully giggled, “Guilty.”

Mulder stood to find the room service menu.

“Hey Mulder, before I forget, I wanted to take you to meet my uncle tomorrow. He lives out here. He heard I was out here in January and he’s mad I didn’t come see him. He’s working tomorrow so we will have to meet up with him where he works.”

“Meeting the family, huh Scully?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“He’s my dad’s brother and we haven’t done a great job keeping in touch with that side of the family. But I have so many fond memories of him growing up.”

“Sounds good Scully. What’s his name? You don’t call him Ishmael or some name from Moby Dick too, do you?”

“No,” she giggled, “It’s Vincent. Uncle Vincent.”

“Okay, Uncle Vincent, it is,” he said, smiling. “How about some steak, Scully?” 

“Mmm. Sounds good,” she grinned.

Mulder picked up the phone and dialed room service.

//

Mulder would have happily laid in Scully’s arms all day if he could have. Sunday was a day for reflection and worship, and he would gladly worship at the altar of Scully and reflect on his burgeoning love for her.

Their shift into lovers was what he’d always hoped for; and now that he had her, he wanted all of her, all of the time.

But she had smacked him on the butt and told him to get ready and so here he was up and hopping into a cab she’d set up.

Scully had told him to wear something casual, which he thought was odd to meet an older family member, but he happily dressed in jeans and t-shirt, and she did the same.

It was about twenty minutes in the cab, and he took in the palm trees and sunshine as they rode.

Scully grabbed his hand and started to stroke his thumb gently, “My Uncle Vincent…he’s a great guy…but he intimidates people.”

“Oh?” Mulder asked. 

“Yeah, I think he will like you though.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Mulder, remember the private baseball lesson you gave me?”

“Yeah,” he leaned over and nuzzled his mouth against her ear, “How could I forget…hips before hands Scully,” he winked.

She giggled, “I loved that night, that’s when I knew something was going to happen with us.”

He smiled and kissed her gently on the lips.

He sighed and laid his head on her shoulder for a beat, before continuing the conversation in confusion, “Scully, what does that have to do with your Uncle Vincent?”

“Well Mulder, I actually grew up around baseball. A lot of baseball. I pretended I didn’t know because I,” she smirked, “I liked you touching me.”

He nodded his head cockily and whispered, “You don’t have to worry about that ever again honey, because I would touch you all day, every day if I could. I plan to make up for lost time.”

She giggled and smacked his shoulder lightly, “Mulder, what it has to do with my Uncle Vincent is, he’s worked for the Dodgers my whole life and I grew up going to games with him.”

Mulder felt the cab stop and realized they had pulled up to Dodgers Stadium. His mind started flying through the few details she’d told him, and his eyes flew wide open in astonishment.

“Vincent Scully,” he said out loud and cocked his head, “Scully, do you mean Vin Scully?” he shook his head in disbelief. “The Vin Scully, that’s your uncle?”

“Yep, I figured you may have heard of him” she teased and grabbed his arm after paying the cabbie. “Come on, let's go find him.” 

Mulder’s memory began to shuffle through so many things he’d heard and read about her famous Uncle. He’d been the play-by-play guy for the Dodgers for decades. He was definitely one of the most famous voices in baseball.

“Heard of him, Scully, the man is a legend.” He ran his hands through his hair, “Shit, Scully now I am nervous.”

“That’s why I haven’t told you before, you baseball nut,” Scully said, giving him a reassuring squeeze around the waist.

//

Scully was not surprised to see her Uncle and Mulder hitting it off. 

Mulder was grinning cheek to cheek as her Uncle regaled him with a particularly fascinating story about Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale. She enjoyed the view, watching the grown man she loved acting like an excitable kid with her Uncle.

She crossed the room and wrapped her arm around Mulder. “This one, he’s a good one, Dana.” Uncle Vin said, winking at Mulder.

“I’m pretty fond of him,” Scully smiled at them both.

“You know, Vin, we’ve worked together for seven years now. Every man in the FBI is intimidated by Dana. She’s a sure shot, absolutely brilliant, not to mention she’s saved my life several times,” he blushed, doting on her to her family.

She raised on her tiptoes and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, thanking him for his sweet praise.

“Oh yeah and she’s drop dead gorgeous, too,” Mulder grinned.

All three of them smiled and paused for a beat before Uncle Vin began to nod, clearly thinking about something serious. “Dana, I know your dad wasn’t sure about the FBI for you and he didn’t live long enough to see where it took you. But I know he’d be very proud of you and all you have accomplished.”

Dana gave her Uncle a hug, “Thank you Uncle Vin, that means a lot to me.”

"So, kids, I have to get to work. Someone has to broadcast this thing,” Uncle Vin chuckled, “But I have two tickets for you behind home plate, if you want to stay and watch.”

Mulder looked like a kid in a candy store, asking with his eyes, can we…can we?

“Thank you Uncle Vin, we’d love to,” Scully beamed.

A box of cracker jacks, a stadium dog and two cold beers later, they found their seats in prime real estate.

Their romance was still new, and Scully was reluctant to display her affection publicly in D.C., but here in L.A. it felt like they were just another random couple. She leaned into him and sighed. 

“I can’t believe your Uncle is Vin Scully, Scully!” Mulder said, with a bite full of hot dog in his mouth, “And he’s such a sweet guy.”

She smiled at her handsome man as mustard dripped down the edge of his lips.  She reached over and cleared it with her finger. It reminded her of a case their second year together when he wiped barbecue sauce from her lips. She remembered being so surprised when he did it and smiling at him thinking something might have sparked between them.

She giggled to herself, thinking there was a spark, but man was it slow to flame. Mulder turned to her and smiled as she licked the mustard off her fingers. She wondered if he was having the same memory.

He broke his attention from the game for a moment and pressed his lips softly against her ear, whispering, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

She kissed his cheek, and he shifted his face slightly and found her lips for a chaste kiss.

“Ohhh, Sheffield!” He stood up clapping as a Dodger player hit one out of the park.

As the L.A. sun shone on them and blanketed them in warmth, she laid her head onto his shoulder and sighed. He kept watching the game and she kept watching him. 

[the-spooky-alien]

Here I am with an angsty piece because I'm having feels over two FBI agents with chaotic lives who go through too much shit- Hope you'll like it !

Scully's pliant under his touch, allowing him to lead her away from the empty hospital room even though her gaze lingers on the bed where her sister has died mere hours ago. He wonders what she sees there, what her weary eyes muster. If she can still distinguish the slight dip in the mattress from where her sister lay.

The walk to his car seems to take forever, the journey to his appartment even longer – he is not going to take her back to the place where her sister got killed. She doesn't need to see what her sister left behind for her in her appartment.

(An empty bed and a stained carpet. This is the legacy of Melissa Scully, and his heart falls at the thought.)

Scully isn't saying anything, looking out of the window as her forehead touches the cool glass. Her eyes are dry, her face placid. There's no telling what's happening behind the carefully crafted facade she wears. But he knows what it's like to lose a sister. He knows her pain as well as his own, understands the numbness freezing inside of her, the calm before the storm.

He reaches out and grabs her hand, wrapping his fingers around her icy ones.

He squeezes once.

(For a moment he thinks this is all. She's too far away to be aware of his touch, lost in herself and her memories, carving her sister into every parts of her mind so she won't ever forget the sound of her laugh or the sight of her sleepy and bleary-eyed. It's what he did when Samantha was abducted. Took all the memories he had of her and put them in a corner of his mind where it wouldn't be forgotten. It did nothing to protect them from the passage of time because life is cruel like that. It takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left behind but a couple of vaguely remembered memories, empty beds and empty rooms.)

Surprising him, Scully squeezes back, going as far as to intertwine their fingers. His eyes flicker to hers but she's still watching outside. He toys with the idea of asking her how she feels but discards it almost instantly. She won't answer him and he already knows how she feels.

The car comes to a stop in front of his building. He's debating whether or not he should let her a moment alone in the car when her voice echoes in the heavy silence, sharp and cold.

''It should have been me.''

Everything in his body stops.

During a brief second, he's paralysed by the amount of self-loathing seeping from her tone. Not once in their three years together has he ever heard her talk that way, trembling with a rage directed at herself. He's familiar with the feeling but she's not, and never has been, and it just feels so wrong.

''Scully, it wasn't your fault,'' he reminds her gently, terrified that saying the wrong thing will break her.

''Of course it was,'' she snaps, face contorting with a mix of guilt and disgust that tears at his heartstrings. ''I knew I was in danger in my appartment. I wanted to meet her on her way here, but Skinner was waiting for me and I just forgot.'' Her eyes finally wells up with tears as her lips quiver. ''I forgot to warn my own sister for a potential danger, and because of my negligence, she died.''

His grip tightens around her hand, an instinctive answer to the slight shake of her body as she tries to repress her sobs. ''It still wasn't your fault. You didn't hold the gun to her head, you didn't shoot. Scully, the men at fault here are the one behind this whole conspiracy. The ones who killed my father, who abducted you.''

''But I could have saved her,'' Scully chokes, closing her eyes in a last effort to stay composed in front of him. ''God, Mulder, the bullet was meant for me ! I should have been the one to die, not her !''

(The picture of her dead body, of her empty hospital bed, is enough to make his stomach twist.)

She breaks then, wheezing around a breath that wouldn't enter her lungs, too constricted around sorrow and guilt. Without hesitating, he pulls her to her, the console digging into their sides. Her face lands against his chest, her hands gripping his shirt, and she cries.

For a sister she will never see again. For the look of disappointment her mother sent her, blaming her for the death of Melissa. For herself, lost in a wallow of lies and truths altogether, burdening loss after loss, pain after pain.

For the fucking sight of this empty bed.

He nuzzles her hair, peppering kisses on her scalp while whispering to her, hoping his voice is enough to keep her anchored with him. He can feel her slip away from him, drowning underneath guilt and self-hatred and the knowledge she could have done better for her sister. She's being dragged into a darkness he knows too well, memories of Melissa piling on her shoulders, turning bitter and ashen.

He has no idea what to do because for more than twenty years, he's been struggling to escape this darkness, the Samantha-shaped hole in his chest. He knows how empty the family reunion will be, now that her father and sister are gone. He understands deep in his bones the layer of hurt and disappointment in her mother, her brothers, that will maybe never go away. There's nothing he can do to soothe the ache simmering in her heart, to relieve the burden in her mind.

So instead, he tugs her impossibly closer, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame until she feels safe to lose herself in him. He's here to keep her from bursting into thousands of pieces.

He always will be.

''I know it hurts,'' he whispers in her ear, rubbing her back when she chokes around another sob. ''I know it feels like it's your fault, that you should have tried harder, that maybe if you had been more attentive, or quicker, or anything, you could have saved her.'' For a brief moment, he's back in that room, watching Samantha gets taken away while he's frozen in his spot. But Scully shudders against him, drawing him back to her. ''But it's not. You didn't know for sure you were in danger. And you told me you did try to reach out to her through the phone.'' He pulls back slightly to cup her cheeks, wiping her tears with as much tenderness as he can muster. ''You did everything you could do to save her.''

She shakes her head, her face scrunching up and he sighs. ''Come on,'' he says softly, disentangling them, ''you need to rest.''

Scully follows him to his appartment like a ghost, mute and cold, gripping his hand like she's terrified of ever letting him go out of her sight. He tightens his own grip on her, leading her to his bedroom, helping her to undress. As soon as she's under the covers, she curls up in a ball, her whole body tense.

Sitting next to her, he tucks one strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. She isn't crying anymore, even though her body shakes as if she's trying very hard not to make any sound, to bury everything so deep in her body until she stops feeling like bursting into tears.

''Do you want me to stay ?'' he asks, sliding his hand to her back, rubbing and kneading her tense muscles.

She pinches her lips, screwing her eyes shut. ''I don't-'' she begins, only for her voice to die down. Then, her eyes open again, and he's struck with the pain, the sheer exhaustion, behind them. ''I don't deserve it.''

She could have slapped him in the face, and it would have hurt less.

''Oh, Scully...''

Burying her head in his pillow, she lets out a heart-wrenching sob. It comes to him instinctively, without thinking. Pulling his shoes off, he lays on the bed beside her, curling his whole body against hers. One arm draps around her waist, the other wriggles underneath her until she's completely caged by his body.

Her face finds its way in the crook of his neck. Her fingers dig into his skin but it's not as painful as watching her break down in front of him. Each of her racking sobs cut him deeper than her nails ever could.

''You deserve so much, Scully.'' He kisses her head, hopes she can feel every words he's going to speak, that they will carve themselves on her skin. ''And I didn't know Melissa like you do, but she was your sister. She loved you. She wouldn't hold her death against you because it wasn't your fault.''

He knows there isn't an easy way to discard her guilt or her pain. He can only try and hold her through the nightmares, just like he wished someone would have hold him when Samantha was abducted. Be there to catch her when everything will be too much and she will yearn for a sister she will never get to hold anymore.

So that's what he does.

[642stories]

Story #34, The X-Files Winter Ficlets 5/28

"One dance."

Read it on AO3

He doesn’t recognize her at first. She’s standing with her back to him among other agents, Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and some big guns, holding a champagne flute in one hand. The rim is slightly stained with her lipstick. It’s several shades darker than her usual everyday choice, and he wonders whether it would leave a stain on the collar of his crisp, freshly starched white shirt if she tucked her head in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t really care. He would gladly let her stain any of his clothes as long as he could hold her in his arms. She’s wearing a backless black gown, two thin straps holding the silky piece in place. As she laughs at someone’s joke, she tilts her head back, exposing a long beautiful neck. He’s drinking in the sight of her, stunning and utterly oblivious to what she does to men around. He could bet dollars to donuts Skinner would be already making advances to her, has she given him any signs that they’d be welcome.

Seeing all these men leering at his Scully makes Mulder clench his jaw until his molars grit. He knows that his jealousy is irrational. He has no claim over her. Not in that capacity, Mulder reasons with himself. Sometimes he wonders if Scully is aware of what an attractive woman she is. Seemingly untouchable and reserved, she carries her weight gracefully, drawing people with her kindness and intelligence, so they are gladly at her beck and call.

It’s obvious to Mulder that she enjoys the party and he marvels at a chance to see the Dana Scully of her old halcyon Mulder-free days. She is a social butterfly, and he thinks that she has rubbed off on him just a little. Being an introvert through and through, he used to waste away his life at work on weekdays and in the confines of his apartment at weekends. He doesn’t mind hanging out with other people anymore, as long as she is by his side.

Mulder puts down his empty champagne flute on the tray as a waiter passes by, and crosses the distance between him and his beautiful partner. Scully’s eyes flick up to meet his and she smiles swiftly. He greets his colleagues, shakes hands with their boss, and turns to her fully.

“Dance with me, Scully.” She eyes him with amusement and then nods and puts her delicate white hand in his bigger tanned one. He takes her glass and leaves it on the nearby table as he leads her to the center of the dance floor.

“Are you wooing me, Mulder?” She whispers, flashing a soft smile at him, one eyebrow arched delicately.

He loves the sound of her name on his tongue. Stressed at the beginning and trailing off at the last syllable. She drags it like taffy. 

“Well, I promised to wine and dine you sometimes, didn’t I?” Scully chuckles. Her breath tickles his skin, and the sensation sends goosebumps down his back. Mulder pulls her closer, one hand smoothing along the satiny expanse of her back, the perfect canvass for his fingers.

He can’t stop thinking of how good her body feels against his, how well it fits. With each movement, his hand slides across her soft bare skin, the curve of her hips beckoning his touch. She shifts a little closer to him, one of her hands resting on his chest, right where his heart is contracting two hundred beats a minute. It would be so easy to lean down and kiss her. Her cheeks, her lips, her pale peppered with freckles shoulders.

“What’s this song?” Scully inquires quietly. 

“I’ve no idea.”

“Mmm...” She hums in his shirt and closes her eyes.

They both feel that burning intense thing hanging in between, which neither is ready to acknowledge. But as they move across the dance floor, matching each step to the rhythm of the music, Fox Mulder finally admits to himself that he’s blissfully and irreparably in love with his partner special agent Dana Scully. 

____

Soundtrack "Underneath the Christmas Lights" by Sia