#and he lets mulder blame himself for it not once but TWICE

[agent-troi]

words cannot express just how desperately i want to punch bill mulder in the mouth

[danascully77]

#10 angst and/or #10 general from the prompt list :)

#10 angst “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?” and/or #10 general “You want to play pretend? Well two can play at that game.” from the prompt list :)

I picked the first one, but tried to work in the second. Hope you like it! <3 

Mulder’s been back from the dead for a few weeks now and things are tense. He’s barely spoken to Scully and tries to avoid looking at her pregnant stomach when they are forced to be in the same room. His eyes will flutter down before snapping up to hers with a sad, detached look in his eyes.

The interaction breaks her heart every time.

Sighing, Scully knocks on the door to his apartment and waits. It feels foreign, this formality. Before his disappearance and subsequent death, she would knock once and then let herself in. It didn’t matter if she was there for work or a casual hangout (or toward the end, for sex). And then after he was gone, she would key into his place to spend the night in his bed. Even though it was lonely and her heart broke for a man she thought she’d never see again, it felt natural to claim ownership of his space.

Now she feels like an intruder even after he opens the door and lets her inside.

She wants to scream, to holler at him, to slap him when he glances down at her stomach before turning away with the same broken expression. He hasn’t even asked her about her pregnancy and it makes her want to throw-up. Why isn’t he happy? Does he regret getting her pregnant? Does he wish she had left him dead?

Too many thoughts burn in her mind. She’s trying to give him space. Coming back from the dead after an abduction can’t be easy (she knows about the latter) and doesn’t want to rush him. Yet, his complete lack of questioning hurts. She longed for him for months and now to have him back as a shell of himself is hard to take.

“I brought Chinese.” Scully says, awkwardly holding up the bag of take-out.

“Thanks.” Mulder takes it from her and settles them on the couch to eat the feast she brought. Scully catches him watching her out of the corner of his eye as she slowly brings herself down to the couch, grunting silently as the weight of her stomach pinches her spine before she rests against the cushions.

“Need another pillow?” Mulder offers, sliding it behind her back before she can nod in affirmation.

The question and action stun her. It’s the closest he has come to acknowledging her pregnancy.

“Thanks.” She whispers. It’s silent then, for the next few minutes as they both pick at their food. Neither are very hungry, but chewing gives them a distraction from talking. Mulder’s tv is on in the background and they both stare at the poorly written sci-fi movie playing out on the screen.

Scully tries to subtly study him from the corner of her eye as she eats. He seems tense and rigid, his lanky limbs coiled as if to spring to action at any moment. She knows his forced vacation/firing is hard on him, making his re-animation even more painful, but there seems to be something else upsetting him. Scully wishes he would speak with her, but can’t find the words to ask him about his feelings.

They were stunted in that department before the abduction. Now it’s even worse.

As a sigh draws from his lips, his food discarded on the coffee table, she knows she’s been caught studying him. She sets her own food to the side and turns to stare at him directly. “Can we talk?”

“About?” His response is smooth, but she catches the slightly annoyed undertone.

“Us.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“What is there to say?” This time his tone is less subtle and Scully bites her bottom lip at the irritation in his voice.

“How are you feeling?” It’s a weak question, a cop-out. They both know it. On a normal day, Mulder might let her get away with it, but not tonight.

“Scully, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Check on me.” Mulder waves his hands in front of him. “Hang out like we used to.”

“Why not?” Scully’s nervous. Does he not like her anymore? Does he blame her for not saving him?

“You must have more… important things to do now.” His eyes glance purposefully down at her stomach.

“Oh.” Scully breathes, looking down at her own body. “I’m fine. My doctor said I’m still okay to be active.” Her eyes glance back up at him to find that his jaw is tight and his fists are locked at his sides.

“I didn’t mean that you should stay home.” The low, dark quality of his voice scares her slightly. Scully can tell he is pissed, but isn’t sure why. At her confused expression, Mulder sighs again. “I just meant that you must have someone else to be with now.”

Scully’s confusion turns to utter shock. He doesn’t realize I’m pregnant with his kid. The realization slams into her like a ton of bricks. It all makes sense now. Mulder would have no reason to assume this pregnancy is because of their few nights together. She was sterile. He doesn’t know that they got their miracle.

Her jaw opens and closes twice before she reaches for one of his closed fists. “Mulder, look at me.”

“Scully, I can’t do this.” Mulder shakes his head, anger leaking out of every pore. She tries to cut him off, but he stands suddenly to pace the apartment. “How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?”

The heartbreak in his voice draws tears to her eyes. “Mulder.” She tries again, but she can’t get off the couch quickly because of her large stomach and fumbles as he continues to pace.

“You haven’t even mentioned his name. Am I that much of an embarrassment that you don’t want me to know who he is?”

“Mulder, you’re wrong. Let me explain.” She’s desperate now, trying to get off the couch but the old cushions are too soft and she keeps sinking back as she tries to stand.

“I get it, Scully. You thought I was dead, but it’s only been a few months. Months. Am I that easy to get over?”

“Mulder.”

“I should have stayed dead. You should have left me in the ground.”

The moment he switches to self-deprecation in the form of suicide, Scully loses her patience. “Mulder!” His name is a loud shout and it finally draws his attention. “Get me off the fucking couch.”

The annoyance and anger in her tone surprises him and he moves quickly to assist her in standing. He sees her tears forming and mistakes them for frustration. When she’s finally vertical, Mulder’s eyes drop to the floor, deflated now that the anger is gone. “If you want to go back to just being friends, I can pretend that I’m okay with it. I’ll pretend for you, Scully.”

“Mulder, I don’t want you to pretend.”

“Oh.” Mulder nods, tears prickling his own eyes. It’s the first time since being back alive that he has felt any other emotion other than anger and betrayal. “I understand. Thanks for coming to say goodbye.”

“What? No, Mulder. You’re not giving me time to explain.” Scully grabs his hands and holds firm when he tries to pull away. “Look at me.”

“Scully.” “Mulder, shut up and look at me.”

His eyes lock with hers and he stops trying to pull his hands free. His taller frame bends slightly toward her out of an unconscious impulse to be closer and they take a few seconds to breathe. The emotions in the room feel like electricity and both of their bodies have goosebumps from the adrenaline.

“Ask me.” Scully whispers.

It takes him a second to understand, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Ask me.” Scully prompts, blue eyes shining up into his with unshed tears.

Mulder gulps and glances at her stomach before meeting her gaze once more. “Whose child…” His voice breaks for a second. “How did you meet…” Mulder sighs. “Is it someone I know?”

Scully smiles a small smirk and drags his hands to touch her stomach. He flinches and tries to withdraw, but she holds steady and tries to ignore the pain in her heart as he attempts to jerk away.

“It’s yours.” Her voice comes out shaky and an octave too high, her fear evident in the quiet of his living room.

Mulder stutters for a second, his eyes rapidly moving up and down from his hands on her stomach to her face. “What?” It’s a breathless question when he is finally able to form words.

“I found out the day you went missing.”

“How? You were sterile. I thought the in vitro fertilization failed?”

Scully shivers as she feels his hands grip her stomach, no longer trying to rip away from her. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t realize he is actively holding her now. “The in vitro did fail.” Scully confirms. “But we had sex…” The word makes her blush despite everything they’ve gone through. “… and…” She breaks off, nervous about saying the word they used to promise to one another.

Mulder’s eyes widen and a tear falls down his cheek. “You got your miracle.”

Scully holds back tears at his wording, reaching up to swipe his from his cheek. “We got our miracle.” Scully holds her breath then. This is the moment. The one that’s been a long time coming. They are either in this together or Scully is about to become a single mother.

The baby kicks before Mulder can respond and he jumps back an inch, staring in wonder at her stomach. Her shirt moves a bit as the baby presses against her, flipping in the womb. Mulder’s mouth opens in shock, looking back at her face in wonder. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really. Sometimes the baby rests on my spine, which is painful, but otherwise it just feels… different. But good different.”

Mulder nods, listening to every word. His hand, which was pulled away from her when he jumped in surprise moves slowly back toward her body. “May I?”

“Of course.” Scully confirms, lacing their fingers before pressing his palm flat on her stomach. “If you hold here sometimes you can feel a kick or two.”

A few seconds later, Scully is proven correct as if the baby in her stomach was waiting for a performance cue. A foot kicks out against her stomach lining and Mulder huffs a pleased laugh in surprise.

“Oh, Scully.” Mulder whispers in breathless awe. The baby kicks again and Mulder pulls Scully into a tight embrace. It’s a bit awkward because of her protruding stomach, but he makes up for it by folding his taller frame around her. “We’re having a baby.”

The moment Mulder takes ownership of their child, Scully’s unshed tears burn down her cheeks. A sob breaks from her lips and she clings to him, fingers digging into his back through his t-shirt. “I’ve missed you so much, Mulder. I… oh god… I thought I was going to raise our child alone.”

Mulder pulls back to cup her face, stroking her wet cheeks. “Scully.” Her whispered name conveys all the emotions they are feeling. She cries openly, watching as Mulder does the same. He opens his mouth to say more, but a kick against his abdomen draws his attention and they both laugh instead. “Our child.” Mulder whispers with a broad smile.

Scully nods and gasps quietly as Mulder drops to his knees. Her hands land in his hair, fluffy from the few weeks he has been back without a haircut, and she strokes his scalp as he slowly lifts her shirt.

“Oh.” A startled gasp breaks from her mouth as his lips land on her bare stomach. The feeling of his pouty lower lip touching her skin makes her body tingle and her fingers dig lightly into his scalp. Emotions pull in her chest and she sobs when he kisses all across her stomach.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” Mulder whispers to the baby after he is done with his kissing exploration.

The words break Scully’s barely withheld resolve and she lets out a loud sob. Bending down, Scully tugs on his hair and slams her lips to his with a wild desperation. Her tears mix with his on his cheeks as she devours his lips. The kiss is messy and sloppy and uncoordinated. Too many emotions make it frantic, but neither of them seem to care. The fact that they are kissing again overshadows finesse.

They pull back as Scully whimpers a sob against his lips. “Scully.” He breathes, standing to pull her back to his chest.

“Please, Mulder.” She whines, not entirely sure what’s she’s asking for but knowing she can’t stand to be without him for a second longer.

As if understanding, Mulder laces their hands and leads her to his bedroom. It’s clean and organized, a sign that Scully was living there during the months that he was missing, but his worn clothes litter the floor. The sight makes another sob pull from her chest and Mulder is quick to remove her shirt, discarding it among his own clothing.

Scully turns slightly, suddenly bashful about the state of her larger body, but Mulder catches her by her arms, holding her steady. “You’re still so beautiful, Scully. I’ve missed your body.”

“Mulder.” She whispers. She realizes that she hasn’t said his name this many times since his disappearance and it feels heavy and reverent on her lips.

Mulder runs his hands across her hips, catching the band of her leggings. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, her pants are peeled from her legs and she is left standing in her bra and panties. Mulder moans softly, tracing his fingertips up her thighs. They are slightly larger from the extra weight she is carrying and he smiles as they tremble under his hands.

“Gorgeous.” Mulder praises, kissing her hip right where it meets leg.

“Oh my god.” Scully moans, emotions raging wild alongside arousal.

“Is it okay if we…?” Mulder trails off with a slightly embarrassed flush.

Scully giggles and the reprieve makes her feel lighter. The emotional break good for both of them. “Yes. We can have sex while I’m pregnant.”

“I have so much research to catch up on.” Mulder smiles from his position on his knees.

The statement makes Scully’s heart lurch. He is going to research how to be a father. The thought makes her reach for him, bringing him back to his feet. “Can we skip the foreplay? I need you inside of me.” She’s slightly embarrassed at being so blunt about their first time back together, but she doesn’t care.

Mulder must not mind because he nods and kisses her once before stripping off his own shirt and pants. The sight of his bare torso makes her reach for him, stroking up his chest with flat hands.

“Please.” She breathes again.

“How do you want to do this?” Mulder responses.

Scully bites her lip. She wants to be able to see him while they reconnect, but she also knows that doggy-style would be easier with her pregnancy. “I’ll start on top.” She decides. It won’t be for long, but she needs to look at him as she takes him inside her body.

Mulder nods and quickly drops his boxers before sliding onto his bed. He watches with admiration as she slips out of her panties and sheds her bra before straddling him on the bed. It takes a few moments and Mulder’s assistance to get her there, but once she is in place they hold hands on top of her stomach for a few beats of their hearts.

“Ready?” Scully whispers.

“Ready.” Mulder nods.

Their moans join as they cry out into the bedroom, the first few inches of his shaft slipping into her sex. When he is buried inside of her, pelvis to pelvis, they pause and stare at one another. Neither can believe they are here, like this. It’s breathtaking and surreal.

Slowly, Scully begins to bounce up and down. Her movements are small, unable to lift completely with her added weight, but they don’t mind. It keeps him incredibly deep and strokes against her g-spot almost immediately. Scully gasps in surprise at the sudden intense pleasure, stunned that they still fit together so perfectly.

Mulder unlaces their hands to hold her hips, a grin spreading over his features at her slightly wider hips. “Pregnancy looks good on you.”

Scully blushes. Her breasts are larger and swollen as well and sway heavily as she rocks on his hips. Her hands cup them when the swaying starts to ache and smirks a small grin when he moans in response.

After a few more minutes, her breathing gets heavy and her thighs sink against his legs. “Mulder, I can’t…” She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. He rolls them gently over so that she’s propped against some pillows on her back. It takes them a few minutes to get things just right for her back, but it doesn’t kill the mood. Mulder slips back inside of her still just as hard as he was.

With her stomach in the way, Mulder can’t hover above her and settles for pulling her legs over his hips as he rocks into her at a ninety-degree angle to her body. Scully re-cups her breasts as they bounce on her chest and Mulder groans softly at not being able to suck on her nipples.

“Another time.” Scully gasps, catching his longing stare.

He smirks and nods, keeping his thrusts steady in and out of her. Her wetness coats his shaft and he moans at the sight of their arousals joining between their thighs.

“Scully.” Mulder moans. “I’m not going to last much longer.” He sounds apologetic, but Scully shakes her head to dismiss his embarrassment. He just came back from the dead after all. He can’t be expected to have stamina. Not when the love of his life just told him that the baby in her belly is his.

“It’s okay.” Scully promises, reaching for one of his hands again.

“Are you close?”

“No.” Scully admits with no malice in her voice. “But the pregnancy makes orgasming tough sometimes.”

“I can wait until…”

Scully cuts him off with a shake of her head. “I don’t care if I don’t orgasm tonight. I just want to feel you come in me.”

The bluntness makes Mulder groan and he squeezes her hand. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Scully nods with a smile.

They had only slept together a few times before he went missing, but she learned quickly that he was a very thoughtful lover. She never went without an orgasm, often coming multiple times in a session. Scully knows it’s not in his nature to come first, but moans as he lets himself go just this once, confident that she is telling him the truth about her desires.

His hips piston a bit harder and quicker inside of her, stroking himself along her slippery walls before tipping over the ledge of pleasure. He cries out her name, fucking her through his orgasm as he empties inside of her.

The action makes them both think about the child in her belly and after he spurts the last of his orgasm into her core he falls next to her, collecting her in his arms. Her ass meets his softening cock, their arousals smearing on her lower back, but neither mind the mess. His arms keep her close and they breath in unison for a long time.

“I’m going to be a father.”

“I’m going to be a mother.”

Mulder holds her stomach, feeling the baby wiggling around in her stomach and Scully’s hands join his on her body.

There are a lot of unknowns left to figure out. Their relationship, the x-files, if they will co-parent while living together, etc. but for right now they are back together and that’s all that matters. Scully’s in his bed with him and she isn’t alone anymore.

Turning onto her back, she kisses him deeply before settling back to be the little spoon. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, Scully?” “You do know I love you, right?”

Mulder hugs her tighter to him. “I do now. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“I should have explained the pregnancy the moment you woke up.”

Mulder kisses her shoulder. “Let’s talk about this later. I just want to hold you and our baby for a while.” Scully smiles as his thumbs brush her belly back and forth. It’s quiet for a second longer. “I love you too, Scully.”

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

[recurring-polynya]

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla​ said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

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Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

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“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

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“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

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Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

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They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

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“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

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Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

[atths--twice]

Moving right along...

Chapter Five      5/8

Dinner and Decisions 

Mulder takes Scully on a “date” and they enjoy their time together.

Mulder knocked on Scully’s door, feeling a little nervous. He had asked her to dinner and he was not sure if he made it sound like a “date” or just dinner. He would take either, but he did not want to push her or imply anything untoward. He had considered getting flowers, but then thought that would be too much.

So there he stood, heart pounding, waiting for her to answer. Hoping it might be a date, but not unless she wanted it also.

The door opened and he was hit with a wave of Scully scent. All of everything at once- her hair, her soap, her perfume. It was overpowering and nearly dropped him to his knees.

“Sorry. I’m running a little behind. I was doing laundry earlier and then I took a bath. I sat down for just a minute and woke up still in a towel. My hair was all over the place from sleeping on it when it was wet, so it’s been a bit of a process to get ready on time,” she said in a rush as she quickly opened the door and turned back inside, putting her earrings in as she turned back to look at him.

“Sorry, Scully. I heard the words-bath, towel, and wet. Did you say something else?” he asked as he hung up his jacket, closed the door, and turned to her with a smile, which quickly changed to an open mouthed quiet gasp.

She looked beautiful. She always did, but tonight she was even more so. She was wearing a dark green dress that was casual, but also dressy. It had short sleeves, a few small buttons that went across to her left side so it seemed to wrap around her, and the bottom was fuller than her usual business skirts.

None of this was anything though, compared to all the flesh looking at him, notably the chest flesh. It was more open than any shirt she had ever worn and he was treated to more cleavage than he had ever seen from her. Aside from the dire moments when he had seen her naked, he had never seen so much of her skin. He would need all his willpower to not stare directly at her chest.

This was going to be hard. In all aspects.

“Ha ha,” she said, as she finally got her earrings in, and adjusted her dress. Seeing him looking at her, she smoothed it again. “Is it too much? I bought this dress awhile back, and I’ve never worn it. You said dressed up, so I figured this would be a good chance to wear it. I can change if it’s-“

“No!” He cut across her and she looked at him in surprise. “No, Scully. You look great. It’s a beautiful dress. You make it look beautiful,” he said in a calmer, sincere tone.

She gave him a look before saying thank you. She turned and went into her room and he was left alone with his racing heart. Jesus, he needed to calm the hell down. This was just them having dinner, like they had done thousands of times. Perhaps a bit more dressed up, but still just dinner.

Her feet padded softly across the floor as she came back into the room with a necklace in one hand and her shoes in the other.

“This necklace has a catch on it that is hard to close, and open for that matter, so I don’t wear it often. Could you see if you could do it for me? I think it would look nice with this dress,” she asked, as she set her shoes down and walked over to him.

“Sure,” he said, taking the necklace from her as she turned around.

He fumbled a bit with the clasp, but finally got it open. He placed it over her head and then worked to put it back together. He had to try a couple of times to get it closed, and he could have blamed the clasp, but that was not the only hold up. He was distracted by her scent, her nearness, and the small scar on the back of her neck.

He was not often in this position, with free rein to stare directly at her neck, and be this close to her in this way. He felt such guilt about that scar and what lay beneath it, the cause and reason for it. He wanted to kiss that scar and make it all better, to take back all the bullshit she had gone through as a result of it. He hated himself for her suffering. She did not deserve any of it

Finally the necklace clasp was closed and he was forced to step back. “There you go,” he said quietly, still feeling that guilt.

She touched it, turning toward him, and smiling her thanks. It was a beautiful necklace. A silver chain with small diamonds leading to one slightly bigger one in the middle.

“My father gave this to me, when I graduated from medical school. I love it, but it’s too fancy for everyday. Seemed like a good choice for tonight, though,” she told him with a smile, running her fingers across the diamonds.

He watched her do it, looking at the necklace, but also noticing her chest again. He needed to stop or this would be a very long night. He looked away and imagined those revolting flukeman bites until he had calmed down.

She had put on her shoes and grabbed her jacket by the time he glanced back at her. She gave him an odd look as she put her jacket on and walked over to him.

“Ready?” she asked him with a smile. He nodded, grabbed his jacket, and they headed out the door.

They drove down toward the waterfront in Georgetown and Mulder parked the car. Walking down closer to the boardwalk plaza, Mulder started to lead her toward the restaurants with a hand on the small of her back, but she stopped walking and looked at him.

“Mulder,” she said, looking at the restaurants around them. “These places are so expensive. I... thank you for everything you’ve done the last few days, but we don’t need to go anywhere too expensive. I... honestly, Mulder...” She looked at him beseechingly.

“Scully, no, we aren’t eating in any of these places,” he said with a wave of his hand. “No. They are nice, but they are expensive and I have something better planned.” At her surprised look, he smiled at her. “I invited you out to dinner. You think I don’t have a plan?”

She smiled and laughed softly, as she reached out and linked her arm through his. He continued smiling as he looked down at her before stepping forward and continuing to the restaurant he had chosen.

Just past the big fancy restaurants by the waterfront, there was a smaller Greek restaurant. Close by the water, but not in the prime location. Mulder pushed the door open and ushered Scully inside. He walked up to the podium and told the hostess his name, as he hung his jacket on the coat rack.

“Fox freaking Mulder!” Came a cry from across the room.

A woman came rushing up and crushed Mulder in an embrace, adding a kiss on each cheek. She had dark hair, laughing eyes, and a beautiful smile.

“Hello, Nia. How are you?” he asked as she held his face in her hands, and he saw Scully smiling as she let him go.

“Oh my god! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you! I saw your name on the reservation list, and I about screamed Ma’s ear off. How are you? Last we heard you were working for the FBI? Are you still working there?” She stepped back and grabbed his hands.

Mulder smiled as he looked back at her. He squeezed her hands and then dropped them as he turned toward Scully, gesturing to her and she stepped toward Nia.

“Yes, I have been working at the bureau for awhile now. Nia, this is my partner at the FBI, Dana Scully. Scully, this is Nia Costas. We grew up together in Chilmark. This is her family’s restaurant,” Mulder said by way of introduction.

Scully and Nia shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Nia then grabbed some menus and led them to the table, laughing and telling stories about Mulder when he was younger, that made him blush and Scully laugh.

The table where they sat down, had a wonderful view of the water. Scully looked at it approvingly as she sat and took the menu from Nia. Nia told them their server would be right out, winked at Mulder, and walked away.

Scully raised an eyebrow at him as she smiled, but he shook his head. There had never been anything more than friendship between them. Although, he'd had a boyish crush on her when he was younger.

“Nia was one of my friends when I was younger. She was a killer baseball player and could run faster than any kid I knew,” he said, smiling as he remembered those days.

“Mr. Fox Mulder! Look at you, so grown up!” A woman, who could only be Nia’s mother, called loudly as she came bustling up to the table and Mulder stood up to greet her.

She was a large woman with pillowy arms and big hair. She grabbed Mulder in a tight embrace and then kissed him as Nia had, leaving two large red lipstick kisses on each cheek, causing Scully to laugh. She held his face in her hands as she looked at him and inquired about his family, work, and his life. He answered as best he could as she fired her rapid questions at him.

She turned her attention to Scully and Mulder introduced them. Mrs. Costas pulled Scully into an embrace as she had stood to greet her as well. Mulder laughed at her help me face as she was all but smothered by the larger woman.

She told them to sit and she looked at Mulder and smiled. She grabbed his chin and told him how proud she was of him. Mulder’s smushed face made Scully giggle and he felt her happiness invade his heart.

Mrs. Costas finally let him go and told them anything they wanted was on the house. Mulder tried to argue with her, but she put her hand up, took their menus, and walked away.

“I guess we’re getting whatever she brings us,” Mulder said, as he rubbed his aching jaw and wiped his lipstick covered face.

Scully laughed again and looked out at the water, Mulder following her gaze as he watched a few of the boats gliding past. Scully took off her jacket and put it on her chair behind her, leaned forward, and looked out the window again. Mulder glanced back once, then twice, trying to keep his eyes off of all the Scully flesh now presented to him.

Just then, the server came up and brought them some food; a Greek salad which they both enjoyed. Then came some meatballs, lamb, and then steak. It was delicious and they ate their fill. Scully not quite as much as Mulder, but if the sounds she made were any indication, she enjoyed the dishes.

After they had finished their food, they asked for a coffee. When Mrs. Costa walked up to check on them, Mulder told Scully about the delicious baklava she used to make. She waved him down and told him to stop, but they could she she was pleased. She squeezed his face again, thanking him for the compliment. She disappeared into the kitchen and personally brought them a huge piece of her homemade baklava to share, along with their coffee. It was as delicious as he remembered and he fought Scully for the last bite.

There was a small band playing in the back of the restaurant and after they had finished their meal, Mulder asked Scully if she would like to head back and listen to them. She said she would rather walk around the plaza, and he nodded, agreeing it would be nice.

They said goodbye to the Costas, Mulder being hugged and kissed within an inch of his life. They hugged Scully goodbye as well and Mrs. Costas gave Mulder pointed looks over her shoulder. He smiled back, putting on his jacket as he said goodbye again, and Scully put her jacket on as well.

The night air was cooler than the restaurant had been and to Mulder it felt wonderful. It had felt overly warm to him in the restaurant. Scully seemed to feel the same as she took deep breaths and fanned her jacket a few times. She grinned at him, as he offered her his arm, and she took it as they headed for the boardwalk and started walking.

“So... how long did you have a crush on Nia?” Scully asked after they had walked in silence for awhile and he chuckled.

“Probably about... a year? When I was around eleven. I don’t think I really knew what it was until I was older, but it was definitely a crush. She was fun and happy and her home was the same way. My home was the opposite. I liked going over to her place after we had all been out running around during the day as there was always a lot of people, food, and that baklava... God. I used to dream of that stuff at night.”

She laughed quietly. “The food was definitely delicious. Although, it technically was free and by dinner invite standards, I think you still owe me a meal." She stopped walking and stepped away from him. She leaned against a railing, looking out at the water, crossing her arms.

“Is that right?” he asked, as he too leaned against the railing, looking at her and smiling.

“I mean, you invited me out, yet you didn’t pay for the meal. Ergo, you still seem to be on the negative side of things,” she said, as she glanced at him, shrugging her shoulders, trying to stifle a smile.

“Hmmm,” he said, reaching up and rolling his bottom lip between his finger and thumb. “If I buy you some ice cream later, will that be good enough to shut you up?”

“It might,” she said with a thoughtful look on her face as she lost the battle and smiled at him.

He nodded, dropping his hands to his sides, then locking his hands in front of him, as he looked out at the moon shining in the water. He looked back at her as she continued to look at him.

He shook his head and then looked away from her. “Scully, I’m so sorry this didn’t work,” he said quietly, as he kept his eyes on the water, unable to look her in the eyes. “I wanted it for you so badly. Something good to come from all this bullshit. A good thing born of the bad. I just-“

“Mulder, no. Let’s… I don’t want talk about it anymore. It won’t change anything and... it just... it creates a hurt where it’s not needed." She rested her head against his shoulder and looked at the water. “We tried. We did what we could.” She shifted and stood up straight, touching his arm and he turned toward her. She looked him in the eyes and reached for his hand.

“I... I don’t expect a miracle. I know that it’s improbable, but... I was able to see a way to get my faith back, at least a little. I have that to lean on and for that I am thankful. For my faith... and you." She squeezed his hand and he turned his hand, causing their fingers to intertwine. “You’ve helped in so many ways and I am truly thankful for that, Mulder. I’m the one who should be taking you to dinner,” she said with a teary eyed smile.

“Hmm. Meet halfway and call it even?” he asked with a squeeze to her hand, as he stroked her cheek with the other.

“Throw in that ice cream you promised and you got a deal,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“As long at it’s not that tofutti rice shit, I’m in,” he said, shaking his head, taking his hand from her face.

She laughed with a nod and he nodded back as he grinned at her. He turned and started walking again, keeping a hold of her hand as they walked around the plaza for awhile, before heading to the ice cream shop.

When they walked in, they found it was quite packed for a Monday evening. They waited in line and ordered, each getting a cup. Scully seemed to regret her choice, and Mulder assured her they could share.

Wanting to avoid the crowded shop, they went back outside and found a bench along the plaza and sat down. They ate in silence, Scully stealing so many little bites of his ice cream, he finally switched with her and she smiled her thanks at him.

When they were finished, they drove back to her place. She invited him up and he accepted. Walking in, he took off his jacket and reached to help her take off her own. She asked him to open a bottle of wine while she used the bathroom. Walking back to him, she asked him to first help take off her necklace.

He reached for the clasp again as she turned her back to him, and he fumbled with it the same as before. This time, when he accidentally grazed her neck, he saw her shiver. He did it again, purposely, and she exhaled a very light moan. The necklace finally popped open and he caught it. Sliding it around her neck to hand to her, he felt her lean back into him, and he had to work hard at not moaning.

She stepped forward and clasped her necklace, her eyes burning into his as she turned around. She was breathing hard, he could see her chest rising and falling. He felt the fire that had started when she opened the door, and had continued to burn all evening, now threatening to reduce him to ashes.

He saw her eyes flick to his mouth and his heart pounded. Danger lights were flashing in his mind and he knew he needed to step back. This was not the time, not now. Not after the last couple of days.

"Red or white?” he asked in a rough voice, stepping back as he cleared his throat and waited for her answer.

“What?” she asked, confused as she tore her eyes from his mouth.  

“The wine, Scully. Do you want red or white?” He knew it was a poor excuse, a way to push back, but he was terrified. Terrified she would regret pushing past anything other than the friendship they shared. If she did... Jesus, it would break him.

“Oh,” she said, with surprise, as if she had forgotten she had asked him to open a bottle. She sighed and looked down, her shoulders seemed to slump a little. “Whichever one, Mulder. I don’t really have a preference.” She turned to leave and he shook his head. God, he was such a fucking coward.

“Would you rather I made some tea?” he asked her.

She turned and looked him right in the eye, shaking her head as she stared at him. “No, Mulder. I think we could both really use a drink,” she said as she held his gaze and then walked into the bathroom.

Shit. His heart had stopped, and then exploded at a pace he had never experienced. He almost tripped as he tried to hurry and get to the kitchen to open the wine before she came back into the room.

He picked a red, quickly pulled the cork, and poured them each a generous glass. He brought them to the coffee table, waiting on the couch for her, as his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

She came back into the room a few minutes later. She had taken off her shoes and she tucked her feet under her as she sat on the couch. He leaned forward, picked up their glasses, and handed hers to her. She nodded her thanks as she took a big drink. He followed suit and then they sat without speaking for awhile.

He felt his ears ringing, sure she could hear the blood pumping through his veins. He saw her take another drink out of the corner of his eye and he also took another drink, shifting a little closer to her.

He put his arm on the back of the couch, and lightly touched her neck, moving his fingers in small circles. She closed her eyes at his touch and he felt her relax into it. The wine settling in her belly, combined with his touch, seemed to bring her a peaceful feeling.

She leaned into him more and sighed. Her eyes opened slowly and she stared at him differently than she ever had before, and he felt his body respond everywhere. It was too much. He needed to leave before things went too far and they could not go back.

He moved his hand, set down his glass, and got up to leave. She stood too, quickly setting her glass down, and followed him. She caught him at the door and she placed her hand on his arm causing him to turn and look at her.

“Mulder…” she whispered, her hand sliding down off of his arm.

He stared at her, his hands itching to touch her. To hold her face. To kiss her. He swallowed as best he could when his mouth was so dry.

She held his stare as he fought an inner battle. His need to touch her won out and he placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb grazing across it. She closed her eyes at his touch and exhaled. He stared at her, amazed anew at how truly beautiful she was. His heart pounded hard and his breathing increased.

She opened her eyes and they were like a magnet, pulling him in. He leaned forward, but then pulled back. Goddamn. They had been there before, in this uncertain place. In front of the invisible line they never seemed to be able to cross. Unwilling to give in to what they wanted and scared of revealing how they truly felt. He felt the sinking feeling of disappointment that they would never get there because they could never take that risk. Risking the partnership they had scared the shit out of him. He took a step back and dropped his hand from her cheek.

As he did, she stepped forward, staring at him for seconds that felt like a lifetime. Then, she grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

Kissed him hard. Crushing her lips to his, keeping a firm grip on his shirt, giving him no chance to flee.

_______________________________________________

Oh... here we go! These two.. They always have to fight that inner battle of what they should do when it comes to their feelings. Scully just stepped up and showed her hand. Time to get this party started...

Also, I had watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding while I was writing this and I picture that entire family in the restaurant of this story. I love that movie, it is so sweet and crazy and loud. It’s beautiful.

[dreamingofscully]

Season 5/FTF Summary

THEME: RISK

Other Seasons: Season 1: INNOCENCE Season 2: IT’S PERSONAL Season 3: THE STANDARD  Season 4: BARRIERS

They are both punished for opening up to each other, for expressing how they feel, for trying to do something different.

SCULLY

The season starts with Scully vowing to do something different than she has been for the past 5 seasons. She folded in on herself after her abduction, needing answers, needing to be strong, and she holds onto that isolation like a shield. At the same time, her affection and love for Mulder deepens - he’s brave and selfless, intelligent and humble, relentless and appreciative. When she gets sick, she realizes it only hurts her to be so closed off, that she’s missed so much out of her fear of getting close, letting people in, of exposing herself, of feeling too much and then being hurt.

So, she takes a risk - tries to deepen her relationship with Mulder, open herself up to the idea of raising a child that she thinks is her sister’s, only to be punished for it. Mulder rejects her, holds back precious knowledge from her, and his ex-partner and lover shows up - causing her to fear the loss of the most important relationship and its potential to grow into something more intimate. The daughter she never knew, stolen from her twice. And the chip that saved her takes away her autonomy. It’s a horrifying season for Scully, and the things that happen with Mulder are insignificant when compared with the rest.

Scully has been growing more and more dissatisfied with working on the X-Files. The losses she suffers this season only serve to strengthen these growing concerns. She knows that the people she wants to hold accountable for doing terrible things usually (always?) escape justice (”Tunguska/Terma”, season 4) and feels like her and Mulder have been manipulated for their own ends (”Redux”). If she cannot hold people to justice what is the point of working for the FBI? Even if she could somehow get answers, get the truth, there are no actions left for her to take after that. 

The one thing holding her to the X-Files is Mulder. She’s had his back, saved him countless times. She knows what would happen if she wasn’t there. The relentlessness that she loves about him keep him tied to the X-Files even if he can never get justice or satisfying answers. But this season she begins to doubt not only the potential for them to have a deeper and more intimate relationship, but her effectiveness as his partner. Her fear of giving up her rigid skepticism causes significant issues - among them, Mulder getting committed in “Folie à Deux”, their office and work being destroyed in “The End”. He chooses her proof over the nebulous never-ending quest but this choice ends in disaster. 

And someone shows up who used to be partnered with him (and who loved and was loved by him), who is a specialist in “para-science” and that Mulder trusts. Wouldn’t this woman be better suited to support Mulder, to give him what he needs, that Scully thinks she is incapable of providing? Diana’s injury sets those insecurities to the side, and in the gap between The End/FTF Scully supports Mulder, turns his black mood around. Things are good between them again, hopeful.

The events in FTF come and Scully’s insecurities rear up again. They’re getting split up, transferred. The only thing keeping her in the bureau (working with Mulder) is being torn from her, so she tells Mulder she’s quitting, not thinking that she has a significant contribution to their work, and being dissatisfied with it anyway. Maybe they can have a relationship outside of work, if she stays near him?

Mulder’s admission that he needs her, that she completes him and his intention to kiss her flips her world upside-down. She knows, now, how he feels about her, that he appreciates how much of an impact she’s had on his work and life. That he knows her skepticism grounds him, steers him in the right direction. He flies across the world to save her, cures her with something he held in his hands. The potential of the vaccine renews her faith in their pursuits in the X-Files as well, gives her something concrete to pursue.

Another risk for Scully -- I think it’s likely that the initial IVF conversation occurs sometime this season between All Souls and The End. Scully wants to keep her connection to Mulder, wants to explore the possibility of a relationship with him outside of the X-Files. I think she’d be too self-conscious to ask him to be a donor after DIana shows up, once she starts doubting the possibility that she could have a romantic relationship with him. She doesn’t expect her question to lead to a more intimate relationship, but she holds out hope that one day, down the road, they could have that together. Diana throws a wrench in those ideas, that Mulder may have feelings for another woman, that the reason he’s rejected her isn’t because of Scully herself, but because he’s been holding a torch for Diana.

MULDER

Mulder’s awareness of his feelings for Scully are a new thing for him. Her illness caused him to realize what he felt. I think he almost takes comfort in being more loving with her when she’s sick because he feels like if he’s going to lose her anyway, so there’s no point in keeping things hidden away. He enjoys the idea of his suffering because he deserves it (see my thoughts on “The Field Where I Died” about this in particular). He does everything in his power to save her because that’s just what he does, and he just cannot lose her even if he thinks that’s what he deserves.

Once she gets better, he’s not willing to risk their current relationship for what he views as a selfish desire for more. His previous relationships have not been healthy - the women he was involved with manipulative and abusive of his guilt-complex. It was easy for him to blame himself for failed relationships. The relationship with Diana, in particular, caused him to deny his feelings for Scully for so long, caused him to push her away even when he knew he loved her. Mulder can’t help but make parallels - that Diana worked with him on the X-Files and abandoned him because of his obsession. He absolutely couldn’t lose Scully because she means more to him than anyone else ever has, and up until now, he associates romantic entanglements with failure, caused by him.

It’s hard for him to deny his feelings, though. Scully’s near-death experience in The Red and The Black makes him desperate. He comes close to telling her his true feelings in “Folie à Deux“ (she’s his “one in five billion”). The thing that finally snaps him out of his stubbornness, though, is his belief that she’s leaving him anyways. When Scully says she’s resigning in Fight the Future, he thinks he won’t see her again. He thinks the only way to keep her is to have her as a partner - even if they don’t have the X-Files, if they have the potential to work together again he can keep her in his life. So, he tells her. It’s spontaneous - both the admission and the near-kiss, but that is a very Mulder-y thing to do. 

At the end of the movie, he tries to push her away again briefly because of how close she came to dying, because of HIM. Scully sticks by him, reminds him of his words and their near-kiss, what they almost had. They hold hands and it almost seems inevitable what will come next. Not only does he have Scully by his side, sharing in his quest (that he has a renewed faith in), but he knows she saw something incredible. He thinks he can finally share his beliefs with her, his wonder at all of the unexplainable things he finds fascinating. I’m not sure if he’s convinced himself that she feels the same way as him, but she also hasn’t rejected him and reminds him of their moment in the hallway. 

Things... might turn around for them, finally. (... Poor Mulder, and Scully.)

[slippinmickeys]

Fools In The Rain

Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…”

XxXxXxXxX

It had been a bit of a shitshow from the start, Scully thought, as they ran down the wet cobbles of Prince Street, dodging puddles and doing their best not to slip and fall.

What had started as a weekend work session at Mulder’s apartment had turned to pell mell running through a deluge when lunchtime rolled around and Mulder had nothing in his fridge or pantry but a jar of pickles and 3 month old milk.

Scully supposed she was partly to blame as well, having turned down Mulder’s offer to have pizza or Chinese delivered, and they headed out into Old Town without checking the weather.

They’d landed at the Majestic, which had a salad Scully had been craving for weeks, and midway through lunch, the sky had opened up and the heavens wept. And wept. And wept.

Their waiter suggested they stay as long as they needed to for the weather to clear, and, feeling bad for taking up a table on a busy Saturday, they both ordered a drink. And that’s how they found themselves, 3 Yuenglings and 2 rather large Sauvignon Blancs later, dashing through Old Town, and the 15 minute break in the rain they thought they had ended up being only about 5.

It was pissing rain, they were soaked to the skin, and as uncomfortable (and tipsy) as she was, Scully wasn’t about to soak the back seat of some pour cabbie’s ride when Mulder’s apartment was only another 3 blocks away.

When they were one block away, Scully had almost fallen twice, and at that point, Mulder took her hand and didn’t let go.

Hegel Place loomed ahead, and of course Mulder fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before they practically fell inside, finally out of the weather.

Scully looked at Mulder as they ambled toward the elevator bank. She hadn’t seen him this soaked since the hurricane thing with Arthur Dales down in Florida, and his hair plastered to his head, with little rivulets running down both cheeks reminded her of an otter. She thought of Mulder holding a rock with two hands trying to open a clam shell and she laughed out loud, the sound of her guffaw echoing down the hallway. Mulder shot her a look askance.

This was the last time, she promised herself, she was ever drinking in the middle of the day again.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was glad Scully thought this was funny, because an hour ago, he was pretty sure she’d wanted to kill him.

Not just for the fact that he had no food in his house when he’d invited her over, but he’d also forgotten the envelope of receipts in the office that they needed for their last two expense reports, which is why they were working on a Saturday in the first place. He’d been as chivalrous as he could while they were out, hoping to make up for it – picking up the tab at lunch and helping her over giant puddles at several intersections too deep and wide for her to jump over.

He suspected her mood had more to do with the ¾ bottle of Marlborough’s best she’d had after lunch than his own quiet acts of heroism, but he let her lighthearted laugh take some weight off of the day’s general mood.

He grabbed another look at her as they stepped off the elevator on the 4th floor, and he forgot about his own discomfort at the sight of her.

She’d dressed down, it being a weekend, and had been wearing an apple green fitted sweater and a pair of lightweight black slacks. Both were now clinging to her almost lewdly, plastered to her body like they didn’t want to let go. Her hair she’d pushed back with both hands and it was slicked back away from her face. He was reminded of the old Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues he’d hoarded in college, and his mouth went dry despite the humidity.

“Mulder?” Scully said, looking at him quizzically.

It took him a moment to realize they were standing in front of his door. He shook himself and unlocked it.

XxXxXxXxX

The second they were inside, Mulder disappeared into his bedroom and was back a moment later, shirtless, toweling off his hair with one hand, while he held out a towel to Scully with the other.

It took her a moment to take the proffered linen, momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare chest.

At various times in their partnership, Scully had had the opportunity to see Mulder shirtless – generally while he was injured and under duress – and she’d seen him both sprinkled lightly with chest hair, and shaved bare. He was currently the latter, his skin smooth and slightly tanned, the definition of his rectus abdominis pointing like an arrow to the area of his anatomy she shouldn’t be thinking about but definitely was.

“Here,” he said, as she took the towel. “You can have the bedroom to change. Grab anything in the dresser to wear – if you put your wet things outside the door, I’ll run them down to the laundry and throw them right in the dryer.”

She ran her eyes over him again as she nodded and walked slowly back toward his bedroom, closing the door behind her and giving the towel a dubious sniff for freshness.

It smelled like Tide and Mulder, a heady combination that brought her to flashes of his clasping embrace, of evidentiary conversations in rental cars, in interview rooms -- his low brushing voice three inches too close. It was fresh breeze and moschate, and she pushed her nose into it and let herself have the briefest of moments.

Moving herself off his rug and onto the hardwood,  she peeled off her clinging clothes, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. She toweled off quickly and moved to his dresser, assessing her choices.

She dismissed dress shirts and slacks, passed by jeans that she’d practically swim in. Finally in the bottom drawer, she found what might work – a tatty pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring and a faded Knicks T shirt.

She gave herself a quick look, realizing that all her clothes without exception were completely soaked through, and she’d have to sit in Mulder’s apartment for a good hour wearing his loungewear sans bra and panties.

She’d have driven home right then and there if she felt like she wouldn’t be driving slightly under the influence.

Gathering up her sopping clothes and holding them in front of her like a shield, she headed for the door.

XxXxXxXxX

Mulder was rifling through his desk drawers on a mission to find quarters when he heard the door to his bedroom snick open.

He turned toward her, and there she stood in an old pair of sweatpants and his Knicks shirt, dwarfed by their size, looking like a bird just emerged from an egg. She held her wet clothes out in front of her like a sacrifice proffered the gods.

“Never let it be said,” Mulder said, straightening, shoving the loose change he’d found into a pocket, “that no one looks good in sweatpants. You’ve proved the adage wrong.”

She gave him a small smile, and he leaned forward, taking the bundle of wet clothes from her.

The rain had stolen whatever makeup she’d been wearing and she was fresh-faced and nubile—her skin having the dewy collagen look of a Neutrogena commercial, and Mulder thought his best course of action was to get down to the building’s laundry room before he embarrassed himself.

He changed into jeans and a grey T shirt quickly and bounded out the door, careful not to look behind him.

Once in the laundry room he discovered that all it took was a rainy Saturday for the rest of his building to decide that it was laundry day -- all the dryers were currently being used. He threw the pile on top of one that had the least amount of time left on it and made his way back upstairs.

He opened the door to find Scully leaning over his desk almost suggestively, peering out the windows.

He cleared his throat and she straightened.

“There’s definitely going to be flooding by the river,” she said, looking at him over shoulder. “It’s still coming down out there.”

A few years ago there had been more precipitation than normal and the river-adjacent areas of Old Town had flooded – he and Scully had gotten close once and watched people with canoes and kayaks paddling down the street. He thought back on the memory fondly.

“The dryers are all in use down there,” he said to her as she turned and made her way to his couch. “It’ll probably be another—“

He cut himself off as she sat on his couch, tucking her feet under her. The loose T shirt pulled at her chest as she settled on the couch and her nipples were pert and erect, pushing against the fabric.

“It’ll be…?” Scully said, looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat and turned, looking for something he could busy himself with.

“Probably at least 30 minutes before I can get all the clothes in,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I’m going to make some coffee.”

Scully declined and he beat a hasty retreat into his kitchen. How he was going to survive this day with his reputation and manhood intact, he didn’t know.

XxXxXxXxX

Scully pulled down the blanket that had been resting over the back of the couch the second he was gone and wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. As soon as she’d sat down she could feel her nipples pushing against the soft cool cotton of his T shirt, and while it felt divine – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat around in just loungewear (probably college) – she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She was feeling a little drunk, and a little in love with her partner, and a little morose because there wasn’t a damn thing she could really do about it.

And Mulder was of course sashaying around in bare feet and jeans and a tight grey T shirt, with his damp hair and his delineate biceps and she wondered how many years past seven she would possibly be expected to not jump his bones.

It wasn’t fair.

He came into the room then carrying two steaming mugs. She lifted her eyebrows at him as he held one out to her.

“Tea,” he said, by way of explanation since she’d declined coffee.

She accepted with a small smile, but thunked her head into the back of the couch in defeat, still feeling petulant. He was even being thoughtful. Why the hell did he have to be thoughtful and sweet right now?

She took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue and the heat of the brew sliding down her throat made her shiver.

Mulder noticed, his brows creasing in concern.

“You’re cold,” he said in a voice tinged with frustration, and Scully could tell just by looking at him that he thought he’d somehow let her down again.

“Here,” he said, moving toward her, opening up his arms and gesturing with one hand toward himself.

She was feeling buzzed and weak and sorry for herself, so she just stood and walked into his embrace, the blanket falling down behind her.

It’s so effortless, she thought, her arms tucking perfectly under his ribcage and around his waist, her head snuggling under his chin . It’s not fucking fair.

She breathed out a sigh and so did he, his warm breath wafting around her, smelling sweetly of the yeasty fug of beer and a warm, masculine scent of what was just indefinably him.

She wondered how long they could stay like this. How long until the phone would ring or the doorbell would chime or another monster would come to call.

She could feel her hair starting to soak a wet spot through his shirt, so she pulled her head back, turning up to him to apologize, and found him closer than she expected, his head bent down as if to tell her a secret.

Later, she would blame the wine (it wasn’t the wine), or her time of the month (it wasn’t that) or the lunar pull of Mercury in retrograde--anything to blame but her own weakness—but whatever it was, she found herself on tip toe, pushing her lips into the cushy softness of Mulder’s own, his breath sucked in in surprise.

There was a split second where he didn’t react, his body tense and unmoving and her belly dipped low, the rip of embarrassment of his not reciprocating about to tear through her, but then he did move, his lips suddenly pushing into hers urgently, his arms pulling her into him, locking like vices.

The tip of his tongue tentatively touching her lips was all it took for her to let go. She could feel something inside herself unclench and suddenly she was filled with an insouciant lightness and she smiled, she actually fucking smiled and let her own tongue dart out to meet his.

Fuck it, she thought.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had to be her call. It always had to be hers, Mulder knew, and that she’d called it today of all days, in his cluttered, dusky apartment, her hair slicked back, pluvial and sleek, the tips of her breasts pushing toward him through his own worn T shirt was almost too much to take in. He felt like he was living out a good bad dream.

Scully hummed low in her throat when he plunged his tongue inside her mouth to taste her and the sound turned him animalistic. He reached down to grab her ass, grinding his hips into her and that move elicited a gnarl from her as well, so he continued on lifting, hoisting her up into the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him and he could not believe how perfectly she fit into his arms. It was like she was made for him. Strategically, specifically crafted for ultimate Fox Mulder compatibility. Breathless from the realization, he almost didn’t notice that she was yanking at the bottom of his shirt, and he leaned back, trying to catch her eye. Her eyes flicked to his and her tongue rested on her upper lip as she drew breath. He shuffled his feet a bit and backed her up against the wall outside his bedroom, her breath catching as he pressed her into it. “I like where your head’s at,” he said, gently nipping at the flesh of her neck, “but I don’t want to put you down.” “Shirt. Off.” Was all she managed to get out and he grinned into his ministrations. He pressed her further into the wall and brought up his knee, using it to hold her in place while he took his hands off of her and ripped his shirt up and over his head.

The next thing he knew, she was grinding herself into his leg, using the friction from the whole of her weight pressed into small square inches of his knee.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She shared the sentiment. Their pull toward each other had always seemed elemental, gravitational—an undeniable force more than a fleeting biological imperative. Had she known touching him this way would feel like this, she would have done it ages ago. It was electric. Anywhere his skin touched hers, it sent a frisson of awareness through her, of lust.  She remembered that gravity was the most powerful force in the universe. When she ground her hips into his knee again, he gave a strangled moan and hoisted her up, moving them through his bedroom doorway and into the room. He paused at the foot of the bed, his mouth on her neck and mumbled into her— “Do you… do you want this?” She almost laughed. His concern about her consent was touching –she also felt a nudging in the back of her mind – a pinging worry that they both might regret this later and she knew he was feeling the same—but the fact that he was asking while she was dry-humping his hips was a comedy unto itself. “Yes, Mulder, Jesus,” she answered, just as he sunk his teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. He laved his tongue over the bite, an apology, and tipped her back onto the bed then, needing no further encouragement. Before she knew quite what was happening, his hand was under the waistband of the sweatpants and his fingers were curling into her sex. Her hips bucked up off the bed at the sensation. “Jesus, Scully, you’re so—“ she nodded at him, knowing the evidence of her arousal would not be hard to come by and she blew out a lusty breath, looking him in the eye. “I need you,” she said, “now .” He stood quickly and raked his jeans down over his hips, kicking them aside. She moved to do the same—wanting no barriers between them, but he held out a hand and stopped her. “No,” he said, “leave it on. Leave everything on.” He knelt back down on the bed, and reached a hand to cup her breast through the thin material of the T shirt, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb over where her nipple was straining through. She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hot flesh of his back as he brought his mouth to her other breast and sucked on her through the shirt, his breath hot through the material, his tongue soaking it through. He moved then back up to kiss her and the wet spot he left on the shirt turned cold and she thought she might come just from the sensation. He kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and she could tell he was trying to draw the experience out, but she pushed into him and turned the kiss ruttish, reaching down to grab him, stroking him while trying to draw him to where she most wanted him, not wanting to wait, not able to.

She felt him reach down and pull the waistband of the sweats down, just enough. He positioned himself at her entrance and canted his face back just enough to catch her eye before easing into her.

She returned his look, unblinking, and his top teeth bit into his bottom lip as pushed himself the rest of the way into her, pausing at her apex, filling her right up to her soul.

Love. She’d felt it for him for years, but couldn’t say it. How could she put a word to something so much bigger and stronger than herself? How could mere words contain it? Four letters. Seven years. Miles and miles of feeling inside of them.

Other people felt love, but they didn’t feel this. It was too big, too consuming, too frightening. If other people felt love, she was sure, it was merely in the prinprick light of a star — what they had filled the whole of the sky.

She felt tears forming in her eyes, so she shut them tight and nudged him with her hips. He took the hint and started moving, slow at first, but quicker as she dug her fingers into his back and pulled her knees up to his shoulders. The new angle had him hitting her perfectly and she could feel the slow tingle of orgasm starting to build.

She could tell by his breathing that he was close too, and she pulled him tightly to her, his head tucking into the curve of her neck, the wet slap of their coupling the only sound in the room save their urgent breaths, syncing together as they seemed to do with everything else.

And then she was there, her orgasm starting with a rush from her toes that flashed up through her body like quicksilver, pulsing at her center in a rush. That was all it took for Mulder to come undone as well, and he groaned once and clasped her to him, and they rode out his climax together.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He kept his head tucked into her shoulder, but reached up as their breathing slowed, running his fingers gently down her cheek and into her still damp hair.

“That was...” Mulder mumbled into her shoulder, not knowing how to finish, “I feel like we should high five.”

He finally tilted back to look at her, and caught her wearing an impish grin, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

He felt something dip heavily in his heart and he turned serious.

“I can’t go back to the way we were,” he said, “knowing what this is like, how this feels.”

“Do you think it’ll be too much?” She took his hand from her hair and held it to her cheek.

“I think it’ll never be enough.”

“I… I know what you mean.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Do you forgive me for forgetting the receipts?” He asked her after a few minutes of comfortable, reverential silence.

She blinked at him slowly and ran her fingertips lightly up his arm, goosebumps following her touch.

“Ask me again once my clothes are dry,” she said, and crooked a finger at him, all things forgiven.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The End

[scullysexual]

Charlee’s Solo X-Files Rewatch: 01x03: Tooms

Yeah there’s no board this week because I forgot to make one and I’m almost on my period and can’t move. 

😊 = Yes.

😞  = No.

😡 = It happens/it appears and I’m not happy about it.

❌ = It doesn’t appears/happens and I can’t be sad about it. 

MONSTER OF THE WEEK EPISODE.

Case: Mulder and Scully investigate a series of killings were a one hundred year old man (or koala) can fit through impossibly small spaces.

Monster: Eugene Victor Tooms.

Favourite Quote: Is there any way I can get it off my fingers quickly without betraying my cool exterior?

Would I recommend It: Yes! It’s great. If you wanted people to get on board with the MoW episodes this was a great way to go.

My Initial Thoughts: I don’t find this episode as creepy as other people do.

State: Maryland.

Special Minor Character of the Episode: Tom Colton.

Special Prop of the Episode: The Microfiche Projector.

Mulder’s Theory: A 100 year old serial killer is going around and overpowering 6 ft something men.

Scully’s Scientific Explanation: Genetic mutation.

Inappropriate Mulder Humour: That entire Reticulan speech.

Inappropriate 90’s Terminology:  😞

Scully’s Favourite Sentence(s): Are you suggesting I go before the Violent Crimes Unit…

Scully Doesn’t Suffer:  😡 (she gets attacked by Tooms

Mulder Drives: 😊

Scully Drives: 😊 (well, she’s sitting in a car that she must have driven over to the crime scene)

Brief Case Appearance:  😞

Sharing Glasses:  😞

Scully Says OMG:  😞

Scully Autopsy:  😞

Scully Smiles:  😞

Scully Writes a Report: 😊

Scully Ditch:  ❌

Scully Pyjamas:  😞

Scully Wears A Skirt:  😞

Stupid Tiny Gun Watch:  😡

Mulder’s Hand on Scully’s Back:  😞

Mulder and Scully Talk On The Phone:  😞

Scully Costume Change: 8.

 Below the cut are my thoughts throughout the episode. You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to. 

Awkward soft porn music…

Plot twist, it’s Pennywise in the drain.

So why didn’t the dude go grey when Tooms sees him? Were his Tooms eyes not working here?

Question: How is Tooms unscrewing the screw that should be screwed into a wall?

Tooms be strong. That door busted.

Oh look it’s this dick! Remember when Scully had friends then she met Mulder and he was her only friend.

She seems so far away from him. Good, stay away from him, Scully!

That’s a lie. He’s lying.

Yes let’s look at these possibly gruesome pictures while eating lunch. Great idea.

“Mrs Spooky…” that’s kinda cute.

You’re making everyone uncomfortable now, Mulder.

This scene is so stupid. Tom’s confused, Scully wants to die, and Mulder’s having the time of his life.

Omg Mulder is wearing gloves.

It could be a koala. Koala’s have ten inch fingerprints.

I love her outfit here.

She’s wearing the shirt from Ice.

So why is Scully doing the profiling? She’s a mEDiCaL dOcToR, not a profiler.

“Working in an area that’s a bit more down to earth” cue laughing. That’s not funny. That’s a shit joke. Don’t laugh at Scully, she’ll whoop yo ass.

Red pants, really?

Mulder got grandpa clothes on.

Remember when they requested backup?

What the fuck is that STANCE??? Someone give these two a LESSON please.

“She’s not in the car!” What?

Mulder shook that Sculls is right. Get used to it.

I don’t like this hairstyle Scully’s got going on…soz.

The worried look Scully gives Mulder.

Tooms has such a baby face.

Again, why is she profiling? That’s not her job!!!

This dude is worse than Tom, fuck me.

Do not shout at that woman you utter asshole.

She needs to fix that collar, it’s annoying me.

She doesn’t need you protecting her!!!! Piss. Off.

Hey, touch the necklace once and it works, don’t touch it twice.

Scully likes Mulder more than those other twats and I don’t blame her.

They sit any closer they be sitting on each other…not that I’m complaining.

But it could be a koala.

This is a nice house.

I would have been cooler had we not seen Tooms in the beginning. It makes sense to see him now though.

That’s a real dude going down that chimney. Also the bones popping…ew.

This dude looks like the other dude.

Can we maybe stop with the touching props that have relevance later please. Let me use my EYES.

Considering they had a load of beef with the director, that shot of Tooms coming out of the shadows was a really good shot.

And awkward slow-mo bit. Honestly, it’s so weird.

Scully doesn’t like you anymore, go away.

Or it could be a koala.

This thing is disgusting get it out of my face.

Ant-eye is such a foreign pronunciation to me. It always throws me off whenever I hear it.

A mood.

“Never was born.” I think you got your words mixed up.

“I’ve been waiting 75 years for you.” *cut to Scully*. I don’t think that shot was intended to be funny but it is and I laugh every time.

What is a Sheriff?

Mulder sitting on a poof.

I don’t know if that Tooms is doing is on par with the Holocaust like.

He got some livers finding in his boxes.

Omg he actually does I fucking forgot omg.

And he looks the exact same…shocker.

Pierre Paris…can you get anymore French than that?

Credit scene!

That’s a tiny ass room. My studio is bigger than that shit.

When she tucks the gun into her pants. Omg I am gay.

It’s adorable that Scully fits and Mulder is technically crouching.

Does he learn from touching bile? No he does not. At least he didn’t eat it.

Finagling.

Snagged.

Remember Scully’s necklace? No? Well it’s a good job Mulder touched it before. Now you remember.

“You got it…Spooky.” *cue laughter.* Honestly these jokes aren’t funny. Come up with funnier jokes if you’re going to laugh.

Do not come barging into a room that Scully is occupying and start shouting at her!!!

SHE’S STILL A GOOD AGENT!!!!

You just got told, Dickface!

I’d make a comment about Mulder talking to himself but I do that to so…

That’s an ugly ass phone. I don’t like it.

Is this the first time we see Scully’s apartment?

Also why does Tooms beeline for Scully anyway?

That’s unfortunate.

Why hasn’t she taken off her shoes yet?

Good job that person came out of that door at that moment otherwise he’d be stuck outside.

I really like how they work together to cuff him

Question: why doesn’t he just make his arm skinny and slip out of the handcuffs? I don’t think he knows he’ll get shot at the moment he goes for Scully again.

Tooms be the weird kid at the back of the class who be sniffing glue.

She touched him.

Final Thoughts: Tooms is creepy but I don’t find the episode creepy. That final shot with the music. I’m so glad Tom Colton never came back- or those other dudes- because they are all just assholes and I don’t like them. I like Squeeze, it can definitely hold my interest for 45 minutes.

[sigritandtheelves]

The second time they made love. MSR

Again, Forever

Explicit |  3.2k wds | fluff, angst, smut | late season six

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT. Maybe that’s what happens when you haven’t written in a while? Anyway, here’s to climbing back on the horse, I guess. This might be considered something of a sequel to “Another Beautiful Saturday,” but you don’t need to have read that at all. Makes sense timeline-wise, though, and a few people asked about a follow-up. Be gentle, I feel out of practice 😅

—

Once, and they could call it a mistake. They could too easily blame tension and riled up emotions, and how it’s been too long for both of them. Twice would signal purpose. Intent.

Of course it hadn’t been a mistake. Those moments (such unbearable sweetness of his fingers in her hair and his body inside hers) had been waiting for them at the end of this long journey toward each other. It had been the end of the endless biding, and a heart-rending inauguration of some new stage. But it was only afterward that Mulder had realized how inevitable it had been, and he was anxious to cement his claim on their new future. This is us together. This is real, he kept thinking. He wanted her to know these things.

His fingers tapped on his desk in anticipation. She’d had almost an entire day without him to second guess, and he didn’t want there to be another minute of possible doubt. He would tell her with his eyes, and then tonight he would make sure she knew—they had done right. All of it was right.

She entered with some trepidation, he saw: a worrying of her lower lip, a nervous hand tucked behind her ear. Her shoulders pushed back against some non-existent weakness he might perceive in her.

“Hey,” he said to her, and he couldn’t help the softness of his eyes. I know those lips, he thought. I know that hair, how it falls over the pillow when she arches her back. The lightest flush of pink colored her cheeks.

“Good morning,” she said, and moved to her desk.

They worked tentatively around each other for a few hours, more careful than usual. No wild theories. No Mulder-you’re-crazys. He wasn’t worried. They’d find their way back there, to eye-rolling and exasperation and subtle flirting, only it would be different this time because it would really be foreplay and afterward he would really get to touch her. He almost hummed, thinking about how all their small bickerings would pay off in the end.

Around noon, he stood and stretched. Without a word, he slipped a folded piece of paper onto her desk space, smiled at her, and ducked out the door. He hovered in the hallway, listening to the paper crinkle as it unfolded, and smiled again before moving on.

Dear Dana Scully,

I am headed to the food court around the corner. Please come join me if you want. I wanted to tell you that I can see your summer freckles through your makeup, now that I know they’re there. I packed a change of clothes in my trunk because twenty-four hours already feels too long. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to drive you home, feed you, and make love to you at least twice before we have to work again. Your face when you come is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

-FWM

He knew he was ridiculous: he could be the stupidest sap when he finally sensed the flow of affection from another person. But he felt that she needed to know what he was thinking. She deserved that, after how he’d been this past year. When Fox Mulder put his mind to something, he did not skimp on the details, and he’d decided that this thing with Scully, he was going to do it right.

While he waited in line for sushi, she appeared beside him without a word, only a half-swallowed smile on her lips. There were agents and other feds crawling all over the place for lunch. Her fingers, though, brushed the back of his hand, and her eyes skated sideways toward him. He hooked his pinky around hers for the briefest of seconds. When the line moved forward, he touched her back and felt her breathe deeply. They ordered and he tried to pay, but she put her hand on his and shook her head. Her treat today—he had promised to feed her dinner. He smiled and nodded.

They ate at a small, round café table where their feet bumped frequently and their hands sometimes brushed and when she took a sip of her diet soda, he leaned forward to pretend to whisper something in her ear, but he kissed the soft shell of it instead. When he sat back, she was smiling. “Mulder,” she said, the barest hint of her old exasperation in her voice.

“Hmm.”

“How are we ever going to get any work done?”

The top of his foot bumped her ankle. “Ask me again tomorrow,” he said, and felt the heat of his own smile on his face.

—

He stopped to pick up their dinner on the drive back to her apartment: two kinds of pasta and a bottle of wine and even a large slice of tiramisu for their dessert. Scully swallowed hard and watched him settle the bag into the back seat. She couldn’t stop the fidgeting hands that betrayed her sense of unease.

She knew Fox Mulder as a dedicated man—when his mind was set, he would see anything through. She wondered, though, how far was through? Was he doing this right just so they might move on, so he could label the case of Dana Scully solved and then turn his attention to deeper mysteries? Did he just need to get it out of his system? He gave her a lopsided smile when he climbed back behind the wheel, which eased her fear slightly. He could be only himself, she realized, which meant that he was sometimes achingly sweet. For a time at least.

“I hope it’s okay,” he said.

“It smells good.”

He nodded, let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer, and then backed out of the space.

Over dinner he talked of various American water-based monsters and folkish legends that made her roll her eyes and laugh in relief while he tugged on her fingers and begged her to give his whimsy a chance. Only ever himself, she thought, and then she made his jaw drop when she told him about seeing a ghost with Melissa when she was twelve.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” he said, and she just shrugged with the slyest of smiles.

“You’ve plied me with wine, so I’ve told you a secret,” she said. “I don’t usually drink on a work night. Or any night, really.” She licked coffee flavored cream from the end of her fork while he watched.

“Scully, if you’ll tell me ghost stories, I’ll bring you wine every night of the week.”

She shook her head. “Not likely. But you can bring me dinner any time you want. Help me clean up?”

They were sudsing and wiping and drying and feeling the tension build when she turned to him with a dish towel in her hands, suddenly more awkward than usual around him. “Thank you for dinner,” she said.

He dried his hands and nodded, watching her closely. She felt the pressure of his gaze. “You okay?” He asked. He put a hand on her elbow, and she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “I just… Is this real, Mulder? I mean…” But what did she mean? That it wasn’t a game? That he wouldn’t get tired of it as soon as the next lead came along? That a certain brunette wouldn’t wander back in and take him away at any moment?

“Of course it’s real,” he told her. “Scully.” He stepped closer, reached out to touch her hip.

“What about all the reasons not to?” She asked. “What about how you’ll run off without telling me and jump on the back of a moving train or go running head first into some hostage situation?  You can ditch Scully your work partner, but…”

He was nodding. “Hmm,” he said.  “But I can’t ditch Scully my girlfriend?”

She blushed. “Well…”

He tugged her toward him and she slid even further into his personal space. Their torsos were almost touching. She could feel her own blood with every heartbeat. “Are you asking me if I’m going to screw this up?”

She frowned. “I didn’t really mean it like that.”

Mulder dipped his head toward her to press a kiss to her temple. “It’s not a bad question—one I’ve asked myself a few times.” Another kiss, closer to her ear this time, and she was beginning to not care as much about the answer. But he pulled back and looked her in the eye. “I don’t deserve how good you are.”

The words rubbed her wrong, and she felt her nerves rise again. “That can’t be an excuse.”

She watched the look on his face falter as he took in the meaning of her words, realized what he’d really said. “I know.”

There was a pause while she bit her lip and watched the soap bubbles in the sink slowly pop and disappear. “And it isn’t true.” She looked up at him again, at the vulnerable crease between his eyebrows, the way his lower lip stuck out in worry. “You deserve to be happy,” she said. “You deserve to have the things you want. I just meant that I want you to be sure that’s what this is.”

“What this is?” He asked, confused.

“That it’s what you really want.”

She watched him come to understand, watched disbelief cross his face first and then a smile come onto his lips. He shook his head. “A year ago… hell, a month ago, I couldn’t have told you for sure what I really wanted. But that’s only because I wouldn’t let myself see. Scully, you need to know… this has always been what I wanted. Always. Since before I even knew it. Maybe since before I met you.” He raised his hand to her cheek and she let her eyes fall closed at the feel of his skin on hers. She turned her head to press her lips to the heel of his palm. HIs mouth came down near her ear again. “This has been here all along, Scully. Waiting for us to catch up to it. Nothing in my life has ever felt as right.”

She nodded, knowing it was true and wanting to let herself finally believe. “I know,” she whispered, and opened her eyes to find his watching her with such intensity. Her Mulder. God, she loved him. The feeling was suddenly overwhelming. “I’ve never… It felt so right, Mulder.”

He studied her, then tugged her the final inches to press against his body that was warm and solid and smelled so good. She slipped her arms around his neck. “Let me show you how real it is,” he said and lowered his forehead to hers. “You can still call me crazy, Scully. You’ll still try to prove me wrong. But if I have this,” and he kissed her on the nose, then between her eyebrows, and she let out a little choking laugh. “I won’t want to jump onto moving trains anymore.”

Her eyebrow went up. “Are you saying I’ll suddenly inspire caution?”

He grinned. “Well. Some.”

“Hmm,” she said, pressing her hips closer to his. “Do you think right now, though, that we could be a little less cautious?”

She felt the effect of her pressing against him. He growled and lowered his lips to hers. “Definitely,” he said into her mouth, and then he was kissing her with all the anticipation of the past two days, all of his need to show her what he felt. Scully pressed her own love into his mouth, into his skin with her hands in his hair and her finger slipping behind his ears, holding his stubbled-scratchy jaw. She didn’t say the words yet, but tried to make him feel them. I love you, she thought, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. He accepted it all, and gave back in turn, and soon he was dragging her toward the hallway, scooting their bodies eastward while still holding them tightly together. She was laughing and pulling at the hem of his shirt and trying not to stop touching him as they moved.

In her bedroom, he unbuttoned her top while her fingers wrapped around his forearms and they watched each other with lust-heavy eyes. Her breathing was short and quick. He pushed the shirt down her arms before she did the same for him. Their clothes came of piece-by-piece like this, one at a time while they looked at each other. It was nothing like the wild crashing and coming together of their first time, when they’d been worked up from a day in the sun, when the slow build of the past six years had ramped suddenly to a frenzied tension that crashed and crumbled around them.

Scully slipped her right index finger into the waistband of his boxers and dragged it along the hem, feeling the heat of him grow until she encountered smooth hair and then the hot weight of his erection against her knuckle. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat. She let her finger slide up his length, and the sound came again, more insistent. A second finger joined the first, then her whole hand, moving slowly to hold him, to just squeeze gently and feel his warmth. He groaned.

Mulder unhooked her bra and pulled it off so her breasts felt free and heavy in the warm air of the bedroom. She arched her back into the sensation, lifting them toward him. “Beautiful,” he said, sliding one hand to cup her left breast while the other went to the curve of her hip, pulling her toward him so he could kiss her again. She stroked gently while he gripped and rubbed and tweaked each of her breasts, making her moan and lift her knee to his hip. His right hand, warm and just a little rough, scooted the length of her torso to slide under her own panties, and he gasped at how wet he found her. “Oh my god, Scully.” His middle finger slipped along the wet seam of her, explored, made her buck against him. Then, with a bold insistence, it delved inside her and she whimpered a slow “ohhh.” He kissed her neck where it met her shoulder and she almost came right there and then.

“Mulder.” It was a statement: an acknowledgement and an encouragement and a reassurance. Her hand moved over him at the same rhythm he set with his finger inside her and she realized they were both still wearing underwear and standing five feet from her bed but already they were moments from making each other come. His hips jerked first toward, and then away from her, and he slowed his hand. So did she. He kissed her cheek.

“Slower,” he said, and she nodded.

Still, he pushed her underwear down and then off, and then his own boxers, and he walked them both to the bed where he pulled her down to lay across the comforter with him, skin to skin. Their whole bodies touched along their lengths. She watched his eyes grow dark with want and his lips turn up at the sight of her watching him. When his arms came around her, it was like she was inside him, like they were fused and buzzing along every inch of touching flesh. His cock lay warm and heavy between them, pressed to the soft skin of her belly, so she pushed against it with her hips, felt him push back in turn; she murmured “hmmm.” She rubbed her nose against his chest, kissed the place above his heart, and found she couldn’t help herself from saying it: “I love you so much, Mulder.”

And then they both grew still at the revelation. It had come unbidden, but not unconsidered—had been true for years, but always pressed down below the line of verbal acknowledgement. When he didn’t respond right away, she began to worry, the room’s quiet feeding her always-primed seeds of self-doubt where Mulder was concerned. She swallowed. His fingers had stopped on her hip and her shoulder. For a moment, his chest movements halted with his breath—a dizzying minute in which she held her own breath, too. And then he crushed her to him, squeezed her whole body against his and kissed her head. “Oh, Scully Scully Scully. God.” His palm swiped between her shoulder blades, down her back to touch on the swell of her hip. He leaned back only enough to tilt her face up, to trace her cheekbones with his thumbs, and she swore his eyes looked wet.

“Did I say it too soon?” She asked.

He shook his head, laughing. “No. Never.” He was kissing her again, his hand slipping between them, fingers drawing a line along the length of her thighs where they touched, up up from her knees toward the small tuft of hair, as his tongue slipped between her lips. She lifted her knee, kissed him back, and felt herself flushing hot all over. His mouth moved to her jaw, to her ear to nip the lobe and he whispered, so soft, “I love you, Dana Scully.”

She wasn’t prepared for how it felt to hear him say it. It was like she had too much blood, too many nerves, and they were all squeezing her, all lighting her on fire. “I love you,” she whispered again into his own ear, and he said it back a second time, too. They passed the words between them, back and forth, over and over, while lips also traversed a landscape of skin that tightened and hardened and swelled and pebbled under brave explorer tongues.

When he pushed inside her, he said it again, and she couldn’t believe this was only the second time they’d done this. She gripped his hips with her knees and his face between her palms, fingertips in his soft, sweaty hair. “Always,” she said. “Always. I always will,” she said before she couldn’t speak any further words because then they were speaking another kind of language.

—

After, when they’d found their way under the covers, Mulder trailed his knuckles along her arm from bare shoulder to elbow, eyes on her hair that spilled across his chest, watching the rise and fall of her breathing. This is us together, he thought. This is real. This thing between them was rendered true by more than just intent and purpose, more than just a determined second coupling. It felt cosmic, bound to the moving stars and clockwork of the universe, cemented in some great history of forever. He was waxing poetic, he realized, like any good lovestruck fool. He kissed the top of her head and pulled the blanket tighter. He’d promised her twice before work tomorrow; they should rest.

“Good night, Scully,” he said into her hair.

She took an extra deep breath and let it out with a “Hmmm g’night, Mulder.” He loved especially how easily she fell asleep in his presence. He thought how she must feel safe, and it made him smile.

He reached out a reluctant arm to switch off the bedside lamp.

The room fell dark, and they both slept quiet until morning.

[thatswhatisee]

Remember, Remember

This is my take on "What if the bee had not stung Scully in the Hallway Scene?" In Fight the Future. Also available at AO3

I want to thank @agentelmo, @handsofabitterman, and @mldrgrl for their help in the early stages. Tossing ideas around with them made me come with a certain structure to this project. This first chapter has been betaed by dksculder, @ enigmaticdoctorscully , and @settle-down-frohike . Without their feedback, I wouldn't have been able to get this here.

I also want to thank Vicky @frangipanidownunder for her writing workshops that have helped me become a more confident fanfic writer.

English is not my native language and feedback is much appreciated. Without any further ado, here is the story.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Chapter 1

I go for a run. I run like my life depends on it. Which I find ironic in a way, as I’m a fox myself. At least that’s what my parents have thought to name me. Different from my animal counterpart, though, at this moment I feel more like a prey than a hunter. I run away from this morning’s events, trying to erase the frustration and anger with sore muscles and the release of endorphins. That should make me feel better. At least that’s what I had hoped for when I had set my foot out of the door, right before dawn, with the air still chilled.

I pass by silhouettes of trees and hedges; not a soul is out in the park. The streetlamps show me where the track ends and the green grass starts. I follow the concrete path. My nostrils smell dew and the loamy scent of the Tidal Basin on my right. The Washington Monument is on this side too. All lit up, a white phallus among the darkness, putting on pretentious display all American masculinity. Even in architecture we, men, show that our dicks need to rule everything, seeking power and a release of oxytocin to their owners.

A flood of oxytocin should have made me better as well. Or so they say. It had made me feel good, actually. So good, so relaxed that I fell asleep; it was the moment I opened my eyes that everything went downhill.

But what would I know about hormones anyway? 

She, on the other hand, would know. The perks of being an MD. Her bedside manners need some work, though. That I can say. I bet that’s why she chose to be a pathologist. And coming to think of it, that is also probably why she had been single for almost all the time I have met her.

If I am a fox, she is, apparently, a praying mantis.

But it was my mistake. Five years working with a person. Five years of a partnership based on trust and repressed feelings were thrown down the toilet. I should have never kissed her in that hallway. And why did she have to choose that moment to let down a guard that has been up and successful for so many years? She should have slapped me in the face, that’s what she should have done. I would have deserved it.

The first rays of sunlight have started to warm up this summer morning and I’m still thinking of her. I guess it’s not time to turn back to the car and drive home yet. The cool breeze on my face is a good contrast to the warmth my tracksuit provides me, as I feel the drops of sweat running down my body. It’s a pleasant sensation. It makes me focus on the moment I’m living and not in the past. 

The sunlight bathes my surroundings and the day has warmed up as I approach The Jefferson Memorial. A few joggers run by and the city is starting to wake up. I think it’s time to finally go back home.

As I leave the shower and head to my bedroom, the remnants of last night’s developments assault my senses. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The room smells like her and I swear I can hear again the soft moaning coming from her mouth when my tongue drew number eights on her neck. My blood runs south and stirs my dick. I sigh. My body tenses and I yank the sheets out of the bed to throw them in the hamper with force. The sunlight passes between the slats of the blinds, bathing a piece of the floor. It makes a kind of patterned spotlight to my yesterday’s outfit. My stomach clutch with the sight. I grab my gray T-shirt from the floor, ball them up in my hands with clenched teeth and toss them in the laundry basket.

When I’m back to putting away clothes, something else calls my attention and I stop mid-stride. Giving it further inspection, I notice it’s a smashed bee. My heart races and I feel ultra-awake by adrenaline. I run and search frantically all over the place for a container to put the insect.

Once it is secured tight inside a small transparent pot I grab my cell phone and press speed dial one: Miss bedside manners.

Before I even hear the first ring, my heart races and I fumble with the phone to press the end call button. I throw it on the couch in a huff and I groan. I start to pace the living room, rubbing my temples as I try to think of who could help me out with that insect. Yes, I know that I will need an entomologist, but I have a hunch that this bee is no ordinary honey-maker. And only a pair of eyes, who have seen the virus through the microscope before, could back me up, complete and enrich my theory.

I groan again.

I guess that’s what phantom limb syndrome feels like.

I arrive at the Lone Gunmen’s office and I am greeted by Frohike, who opens the door and starts to look behind me as if my presence alone was not enough for him.

“Where is the delectable Agent Scully?”

“I dare you to call her that on her face. She will kick your ass.” and then I remember. “Though that will be a little difficult since she is moving to Salt Lake City.”

“Salt Lake City?! What the heck did you do to her, man?” he barks, his face betraying indignation. He closes the door and I get inside. I try to deny my involvement in her departure – even though deep down, I’m guilty as charged – but I am interrupted by Langly and Byers. They have stopped their nerdy business and are now gathered around me and Frohike. The latter informs the others of the latest development.

“What did you do to Scully, dude?” blondie asks me.

I don’t know if it’s Frohike’s indignation or Langly’s astonished tone that does the trick, but I snap.

“Why do you all think I have done something to her?!”

“Easy, dude, we just want to understand what happened. But you were always ditching her, so we assume things.” says Langly.

“And you have a tendency to sleep with your female partners” Frohike points out.

“That happened only once.” I say, unable to look them in the eyes.

“Yeah, with the only female partner you have had before.” Shortie patronizes me.

“She and Diana are completely different people. Besides I’ve sworn that I would not let my dick get in the way again.” Yeah. Congratulations to me.

“Well, agent Scully is very hot. It would be understandable if you had not been able to resist temptation…” 

“Can we, please, stop talking about her?!” I admonish and interrupt Frohike’s rant. “The FBI transferred her after all that Dallas fiasco. And that’s why I’m here.” I take a deep calming breath. “I need your help. They are trying to blame us for what happened and all I have had before were theories, but no substantial proof. Until…” I get the vial with the bee from my pocket and show them. “...I found this in my apartment.” 

I share with them everything that Kurtzweil had told me. I tell them all the things I have seen in the last days: the cornfield, the white domes, the bees.

“If this bee is carrying the alien virus, as I suspect it is, it changes everything. It will prove that there is a real threat to people out there. And the X Files is the only division in the FBI that can handle these kinds of investigation. They will need to reopen the unit. And they will not be able to make a scapegoat of me.”

“And maybe Agent Scully can come back to Washington.” Frohike says.

“That is not up to me. She had her options before and she has made her choice.” I sigh. “And I think I already said I don’t want to talk about her, right?”

I notice how they look at one another, tension in the air. That’s when Byers, finally, decides to offer his input.

“So you’ll need an apiologist or an entomologist who we can trust to look at this bee. Someone who can catalog the anomalies or find traces of the virus.” 

“Yep. And I need it by Monday, at noon.”

“Monday?!” Langly exclaims. “Dude, today is Friday! Do you have any idea how long it takes to run full background checks on people and come up with somebody who is clean? How are we going to do that and then ask them to do the job on such a short notice? And moreover on the weekend?!”

“I know. But that’s when I have an OPR meeting. The FBI forgot to ask me when it’s the most convenient time for me to have my ass kicked.”

“So let’s get to work!” Frohike says and retreats himself along with Langly to their computers. Byers stay put and then approaches me, in a conspiratory voice.

“I know that you don’t want to talk about Agent Scully, but I just wanted to say that I have experience with loving a woman and then have her ripped out of my arms.”

“I’m not in love…”

“You may fool yourself, Mulder, but not me. Anyway, I just wanted to say that if you ever want to talk about it, I can be your man for that. I won’t judge or make fun of you.” He pats my shoulder twice and goes for his computer. 

And I stay there, glued to that spot, dumbstruck.

 I leave the Gunmen’s office with the remembrance of the taste of her lips in my tongue. Thank you, Byers! Now all I can think of was how our lips barely had met in that hallway and her tongue was already inciting me, proding for more; how our breaths became heavy and faster; how I pulled Her body closer to mine, and...

...And how I needed to burn that out of my mouth and mind.

So I get in the car and drive all the way to Casey’s Bar, in Southeast Washington. When I get there, though, I don't even leave the car as I remember that blonde bartender. She would be sure to inform me that my ‘lucky number’ was actually three times less than what I really needed.

I go home instead. The bottle of scotch in the liquor cabinet will have to do. All that is left for me is to drown my sorrows into oblivion. And that’s what I do until I have the burning taste of alcohol in my mouth only. 

When I regain consciousness, the sun has already set and a loud trill pierces my ears. And my head for that matter. I am sprawled, face down on my couch, a pool of drool coming out of my mouth. I unstuck my cheeks from the leather and the difference in height makes it feel like a sword punctures my brain. Looking for the source of the noise, I realize it’s my cell phone that is making that awful sound.

I get up to my feet, as steady as I can under the circumstance, and answer the device. I am greeted by a female voice who calls me ‘Fox’. And the way she says my name –in such a soft, caring voice that doesn’t make me flinch– tells me that it can only be one person.

“Mrs. Scully?”

“Yes, that’s me. Have you seen Dana?”

“I last saw her early this morning. Has something happened?”

“We were supposed to have dinner at 7 p.m, but she neither showed up or called.”

I check the time and the VCR clock tells me it’s 9 p.m. “Have you tried her cell phone?”

“Yes, and her home number as well, but she is not answering either. This is not like her.” her voice became brittle. “I was wondering if you guys had had a last minute trip that she had forgotten to tell me or some other work-related issue had come up. I just… I just have a bad feeling about it all.”

Me too, Mrs. Scully. Me too. I feel the bottom of my stomach chill and sink. “Hang by the phone. I’ll figure out what happened.”

I end the call and dial the Lone Gunmen. When one of them answers the phone I don’t even bother to listen who is on the other side and start barking orders.

“Stop everything you are doing right now. I need your help again. Scully is missing.”

Chapter 2

[iloveurscratchybeard]

Moirae - Part 6

To catch up:   Part 1   /   Part 2   /   Part 3   /   Part 4   /   Part 5

Huge thanks to @frangipanidownunder and @lepus-arcticus for the minor character workshop last month! That’s what inspired me to write this chapter the way I did. Tagging @today-in-fic @tshining @alienbaby-babymama @tumblessuckthis @peacenik0 @piper-scully @shyromanticfreak   @pickingoutchinapatterns and @settle-down-frohike for feedback. Thank you for following along with me as I write my first multi-chapter fic. My apologies if I screwed up the Russian.

  He sits in the shadows, out in the cold, and it's a comfort to him. It's where he belongs, where he feels important. His time is coming, he knows it is. He was tired of being unremarkable, of blending in with the other pretty boys, getting average grades at an average school. Had he continued on that path with his peers, he would have found a wife, settled down and continued to live that subpar life with a mortgage and a desk job and no notoriety to speak of beyond being the employee of the month and perhaps getting a 2% raise at the end of the year. Alex Krycek was built for more than that. He was going to show them. If only his larger than life father could see him now, he'd think twice before slapping him in the face and telling him he was worthless. "пошёл ты в баню to you, too, Pops."

Mulder is over at her place tonight. He follows the building around to the bay window of her living room. He watches the figures inside through the slats in the blinds with a delicious thrill. Look at the way Mulder presses her body into the couch, his chiseled ass flickering golden with the light of the fireplace. He's pumping her with languid ease, taking his time. Her hands are wrapped around his biceps and she watches his face with such an earnest display of affection. There is something about the way they are locking eyes with one another. This is more than just a good fuck - and Krycek knows a good fuck. But he doesn't know this...a connection that takes a presence of its own and fills the room. She wraps her legs around his waist, arches her back up, her breasts now unknowingly exposed to Krycek as her unbuttoned shirt falls open further to her sides. Mulder dips his head down to taste them, one at a time, and Krycek can hear her moan faintly through the double panes of glass. Suddenly he changes positions, lifting up onto his heels and taking her calves in his hands, spreading her legs wide as he thrusts into her. His muscular thighs are flexing with his quickening movements and Krycek feels anticipation building in his own scrotum as he watches. Once, twice, three times and he sees Mulder’s ass muscles clench as he lets out a strangled cry and collapses forward, his head coming to rest in the softness of her breasts. This is the point where Alex would button up and run, but they just lie there together. Her hands busy themselves with drawing circles in his scalp and they close their eyes against the glow of the flame.

***

His position as Mulder's new partner earns him certain liberties to learn more about his mark. He thinks if he wasn't assigned to destroy his life, he would ultimately like the guy. There is a dark neuroticism to him that intrigues Alex. He works hard to try to earn his trust, to be the open mind that he thinks Mulder is looking for. And yet, he knows Mulder still doesn't trust him. He finds himself jealous of Scully, of the easy camaraderie they share. Mulder is still bringing her into their cases, using her as his confidant and sounding board.

He’s ordered to tail Scully. The smoking man feels she is Mulder’s greatest weakness, and Krycek can’t help but feel that it’s more than just keeping Mulder from discovering the truth, that it’s a personal vendetta to break Mulder’s spirit.

She spends a lot of time in the morgue between her classes and autopsies. She goes to church on Sundays and has lunch with her mom and sister afterward. She reads long novels in the bath and sneaks bits of dark chocolate late at night. She sings flat tunes in the kitchen when she's making dinner, and she does the crosswords in her fluffy robe, her feet propped up on Mulder’s lap and she fucks him with such an honest reverence that Krycek wonders if that is what it must be to be in love.

The Duane Barry case takes them out of town and once again, Krycek is sick of being kicked around and underutilized. He wants so badly to be acknowledged that he almost forgets that succeeding at the FBI is not his main gig. He takes his frustration out on Duane Barry, subtly setting Mulder up to take the blame. Everything is falling in line and he knows he will be rewarded for his loyalty soon enough. He only feels mildly bad for what is about to take place. After all, he is mostly unaware of what insidious plans his smoking overseer has in store for Mulder and Scully. He won't be to blame for whatever mishaps befall them. He is just following orders. He will miss watching them though.

***

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket are too bright for his eyes. He spends so much time in the dark. He pulls his baseball cap a bit lower to disguise his face and keeps out of her view as he pretends to read the labels of random products at the supermarket. He has been told his job tonight is very important. He needs to keep her in his sight and report her arrival home immediately.

She grabs random items without putting much thought into them, her distraction evident in the way she paces back and forth between the aisles. She appears to make up her mind about something and heads to the back section by the pharmacy. Krycek ducks down and reads the label on some cough syrup, turning just in time to see her quickly grab a box and turn toward the checkout line. He stands to follow behind her and pauses as he passes the area she was just nervously pacing in front of....pregnancy tests. 'Way to go Mulder,' he chuckles to himself. This little bit of information is really going to score him some points, he hopes. A fucking Mulder spawn, that's some good leverage.

He sees her run something over the scanner at the cash register. It starts beeping manically and she bolts quickly from the store. He follows two car lengths behind, all the way to her apartment before placing his call.

“Scully’s home.”

“Good. Good. You’ve done good work tonight, Alex. You are dismissed,” the brittle voice on the other end directs.

“You don’t need me to stay on - help with whatever you have planned next?” He needs to do more to show his value. He is more than another set of eyes. He is a great man; he will be the one in the position of power someday.

“I will let you know when your services are further needed.”

“And Agent Scully?”

“Agent Scully will no longer be an issue.” The line goes dead. Krycek sits in his car in silence.

[frangipanidownunder]

Lost and Found: fic

Missing scene from End Game. How does Mulder tell his mother that Samantha was a clone? Inspired by this post from @alienassmuffin. Tagging @settle-down-frohike too.

She’s upright in her chair, looking towards the window, because it’s too hard to look out on the world when you’ve cut yourself off with prim swathes of lace. There are several glossy magazines fanned across the polished surface of the thick-legged coffee table. A coaster depicting a Victorian watercolour of a forget-me-not. An empty vase stands on the side table in the sour lemon glow of a fringed standard lamp. Teena Mulder is a portrait waiting to be painted. Neat, contained. A vessel holding in a life.

              “Mom,” he ventures, stepping onto the carpet’s lush pile, so incongruent to the hollowness of everything else in the room.

              “Fox?” She snaps her head round to him but doesn’t smile. He can’t remember the last time he saw her smile. Even when Samantha was in the living room she was bewildered, thankful, amazed, confused, lost but not happy. Teena Mulder’s happiness vanished along with her daughter, one cold November night.

She taps the chair next to her, unfolds a handkerchief and dabs at her nose. “I was just thinking…” but she doesn’t tell him what about.

You realise what losing her again is going to do to your mother? Do you? The blame loaded into every syllable of his father’s statement is still bitter on his tongue. How do you tell your mother that her missing daughter was found and is now dead and yet was not her daughter at all?

              “How are you, Mom?” Whatever you’re feeling you can’t blame yourself. From his father’s slow-burning rage to his partner’s light tone of empathy, he has yawed on the waves of what seems like a fitting destiny. Telling his mother the truth.

              “Samantha hasn’t been back,” she says to the empty vase. “I thought we might visit that little antique store on Main, you know the one? With the olive green sign out front that says…oh, I forget what it’s called now. My memory is…sit down, Fox. Please. You’re making me tired watching you like that. You always did like to stand, run, climb. Always poking your nose into holes and touching things and picking up bugs. Samantha was content to sit and read or draw.”

              The cool covering of the chair is slippery and the smooth wood under his hands leaves him unable to anchor himself. His mother carries on and on, remembering minutiae from a childhood that was so abruptly ripped from his grasp.

              “Samantha won’t be back, Mom.”

He slips it in between the near-drowning on the beach when he got rumbled by a breaker and the nest of robin’s eggs he hid under the desk in his room. She looks at him, hanky pressed to her mouth but her expression doesn’t change. She simply stands and takes a gilt-framed photo from the mantel. Smiling Samantha, all braids and braces, chin resting on hands, elbows dug into the grass, one foot up behind her.

“We ate that toffee ice cream you used to say tasted like melted honeycombs, remember, Fox? And Samantha would cry because she thought all the bees would die.”

“It wasn’t really her. That woman, Samantha. It wasn’t her.”

His mother clutches the photo to her chest and her hanky floats to the carpet. “She would like the desk in the antique shop. It has gold curlicues inlaid into the top and it’s polished mahogany. A bit like the one your father had in his study, do you recall it? Samantha sat at that desk and drew horses on the blotter pad and your father would get so angry because she’d use all his ink cartridges. That blue-black. So dark, so, so dark.”

He pats her shoulder, once, twice, feels the delicate pattern of the knitted cardigan under his touch. She leans a little towards him and he breathes in the lavender scent of her. Her skin is surprisingly smooth against his rough cheek. She doesn’t weep. She doesn’t sink into him. She lets him embrace her and the edge of the photo frame digs in between his shoulders.

“It would have been nice to take her to that shop, don’t you think? Eat ice cream.”

“Yes, Mom. It would.”

 He drives back down Main Street. The shop is open but he doesn’t go in. He shades his eyes to see through the window. The desk is resolute in the corner. He pictures Samantha – the child – sitting at a chair, crossed legs swinging beneath her, tongue between teeth, sketching with one of their father’s fountain pens.

We know where your sister is. It’s more a threat now, than a lead. If he finds her, then what? He will be forever responsible for her being back, instead of being missing. He steps back into the late sun. The sign on the antique shop fascia reads ‘Lost and Found’.

He stops by the camp shop further along the strip and picks up some cold weather gear. His flight from Tecoma leaves first thing.

[shania-twain]

i’m still in love with who i wish you were (mulder/scully) part 3/?

Summary: “You were abducted, Scully,” Mulder said, sensing her confusion, “do you remember anything?” Post Requiem. AU.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | AO3 LINK

i’m still in love with who i wish you were (part 3/?) Fandom: The X-Files Pairing: Mulder/Scully Season: post season 7 Title: Wish You Were by Kate Voegele

TW for mentions and discussion of abortion

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

One Week Later

With a deep sigh Mulder raised his fist and knocked once, twice, three times on the door, awkwardly shuffling his feet. Would she let him in? Would she tell him to go away and leave her alone?

He thought she would be angry. Upset, even. He completely understood why she’d be annoyed with him, he was definitely used to that. Since she got out of the hospital she had asked him for some space, he was always hovering and she hated it.

After she had said she wasn’t sure if the baby was alright, Maggie asked in a shaky voice that they leave them to speak privately and Mulder was not going to make the situation worse by causing a scene and demanding an answer from her. Before leaving the room, Scully sensed Mulder’s discomfort and quietly told him: “No one is hurt. Please let me talk to my mom.”

And while those words gave him little relief that both Scully and the baby were physically fine, it was the tears in Maggie Scully’s eyes that unnerved him. But he nodded and the two men left the room.

He hadn’t seen or heard of Daniel Waterston since that day. Mulder figured it was due to Waterston’s panic after hearing of Scully’s baby. The man probably hadn’t seen a baby in over thirty years, much less raise one. Not that he’d ever have a chance to raise this one, his. He would fight every demon, alien, paranormal entity that he ever came across all over again to keep Waterston from his child, their child. And he would do the same for Scully, would do whatever he could for her to gain her memory back. If there was no chance of that happening, he’d spend the rest of his life getting to know her. He’d try harder to open himself up to her. It took them seven, almost eight years to finally get together romantically and he had hope it wouldn’t take as long this time around but he wasn’t sure yet of how different this Scully was. Or...Dana. All he knew right now was that Daniel Waterston was out of his way and he needed to talk to...Dana….and talk about the baby and how to proceed with everything. Maybe he’d even tell her of some of their adventures and it would trigger a memory. Mulder faintly recalls Waterston saying something about not speaking on things from her past but it was probably just to throw him off. Daniel Waterston was someone from Scully’s past and, he hoped, Mulder would be a part of her future.

Mulder would laugh at the Lifetime movie of it all if he hadn’t come face to face with Waterston as he answered the door to Scully’s apartment. The man’s serious expression turned to a satisfied smirk.

“Hello Fox Mulder, fancy meeting you here.”

Mulder grimaced at the man’s handshake, not at all bothering to play nice. “Why are you here?”

The older man shrugged nonchalantly. “I come where I’m needed.”

Mulder’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re not needed here. You just think you are. What kind of game are you playing, messing with Scully’s memory like this?”

Waterston let out a chortle. “I’m much too old to be playing games, Fox. I suspect you are, too. Chasing around aliens and hunting for Bigfoot. When you could be working at a real job catching real, live people doing bad in the world.”

Mulder didn’t take the bait, just stood up straighter. “I have my reasons for what I do. And I’ve seen things, seen things you can’t even possibly imagine and so has Scully.”

“Not anymore,” Waterston clucked his tongue, walking past Mulder and into the hallway, clearly on his way out.

Mulder resisted the urge to yell back at the man. Why was he here and why did Scully want him here? He intended to find out but for now there were bigger, more urgent matters at hand. He needed to check on Scully and finally talk to her, really talk to her about what they were going to do, how were they going to raise this child, where she was going to work...There was so much and it was so overwhelming, Mulder never blamed Scully for needing time to herself. He just missed her and worried about her and wondered if she was alright mentally and emotionally. Did she even remember anything from her abduction? Was it similar to the last one? Did she even believe she was abducted or had the person or being wiped that from her memory as well? So many questions that Mulder hoped to ask but had no idea if she would even be up to seeing him today.

She was obviously up for seeing Waterston, he thought bitterly.

The apartment was quiet save for the cringeworthy sounds of mailing tape screeching as it’s pulled apart coming from the direction of Scully’s bedroom. What the hell was she doing in there, wrapping presents?

He walked toward her bedroom and found Scully sitting cross legged on her floor, surrounded by boxes, a permanent marker in her mouth as she taped another one closed.

“You moving?” he asked her, crossing his arms, hurt by the fact that she didn’t even bother to mention it to him. This wasn’t his Scully anymore, he reminded himself, this woman didn’t even know him. Although, he felt as if this version of Scully would still have the decency to inform the father of her child that she was moving. Did she even know he was the father?

Did he even know if he was the father?

What if something happened while she was gone and she was impregnated by something or someone else?

The thought made him so sick he felt bile rise in his throat and he quickly tried to push it down and cleared his throat, remembering that she had began to feel sick right before she was taken so the baby had to be his.

Right?

Scully didn’t even glance at him, only continued to focus on her task. “Mhm,” she hummed over the marker stuck in her mouth, then removed it. “As I’m technically out of a job now and do not remember the training it took for me to join the FBI..” she finished taping another box full of books. “I’ll be moving in with my mother until further notice. Hopefully I can get a job at a local hospital.”

Mulder tried not to make this about himself and tried to be supportive. But he couldn’t stand the thought of being further away from her and the baby. Even though it was months and months away, the time would go by so fast and they really needed to start preparing. He knew she would prefer to start now, old Scully or not, she loved to be prepared.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mulder said, trying to convey a casual tone, “you can easily get a job around here and - and you can move in with me. Or - we can find a bigger place. You know, for the baby.”

Scully looked up at him then and he noticed she looked uneasy at him once again, towering over her, hovering. He lowered himself to his knees, trying to look less...intimidating? Was he intimidating her, making her nervous? Scully was usually the intimidating one. Perhaps she became that way after teaching at Quantico and joining the FBI to fit in with the boy’s club.

“I know you don’t remember me,” Mulder said sadly but looked into her eyes, “but I would never let any harm come to you, or the baby. I just want...I just want to be close to you both.”

Scully looked away, unable to look into his melting brown eyes any longer. She turned her attention back to the boxes in front of her. “That’s very nice of you but the doctor says I should stay with a family member. It’ll only be temporary anyway. Luckily I’m good at saving money and don’t have to start from scratch.”

“I’ll pay for you to keep your apartment until you can catch up!” Mulder offered, having that same feeling of her slipping away from him he’s had before.

“It’s not about catching up,” she said, “I would just rather be around my family until I can figure something out, ok?”

Mulder bit his lip, nodding. He really didn’t want to push her.

He tried to change the subject. “I ran into Waterston, he was on his way out.”

Scully was silent, still devoting attention to her packing. He knew this Scully. The one that didn’t want to talk when prompted, the one that would talk when she was ready after she took time to sort through her feelings and thoughts.

Finally, she said: “He was just helping me pack a few heavy things in the kitchen.” Mulder hadn’t even noticed boxes on his way in. “He’s helping me move my stuff.”

“Why?” Mulder wondered with a small, self conscious smile, “you could’ve asked me, Scully.”

Her voice was strained with aggravation, picking up the roll of tape again. “I don’t know you.” Screech. Rip. “And my name is Dana.”

“I know that’s your name!” Mulder exclaimed, his annoyance also beginning to flare up. “But we call each other by our last names because we were partners. For seven years. It’s hard for me to just stop.”

When Dana said nothing, he continued. “And I under stand that you don’t know me. But I’m willing to still help out and I’m willing for you to get to know me again. And for me to get to know you, even.”

She did not meet his eyes, but her face did turn pale and she swiftly got up and stumbled to her bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Mulder panicked for a moment and then frowned at the sound of her muffled vomiting.

Mulder got off his knees, cringing at his protesting bones and made his way to her bathroom, opening the door to find her kneeling above the toilet, her face buried in her arms. She was shaking and he leaned down to rub her back, hoping it was soothing rather than irritating. She made a groaning sound but did not tell him to stop, so he didn’t.

“How long have you been feeling like this, vomiting?” he wanted to know.

“This is only the second time,” she mumbled into her arms, “the first time was after I got back from the hospital but that was only because of the shitty food they gave me. At least I think it was.”

Mulder found himself smiling at her language. His Scully normally would refrain herself from cursing most of the time but he liked how casually she used expletives. His smile widened at the thought of telling Dana what she’s eaten in the past on their many stakeouts and car trips where there was nothing but old school diners that “probably serve roadkill” she had once said and endless amounts of fast food. “Have you eaten today? I can go get you some soup or crackers or whatever it is pregnant women eat.”

“I haven’t eaten today,” she told him, still muffled. “Daniel brought me food but the smell made me nauseous. Which could be why I’m like this now.”

“Well, what do you feel like eating? I’ll go get it.”

She hesitated and he looked over her shoulder to see one eye peeking at him. He smiled kindly. “A cheeseburger sounds really good right now.”

Mulder nodded, patting her back. “Ok, I’ll go get one from your favorite place. And then we can talk?”

Dana raised one eyebrow in question. She had a favorite burger place? One they apparently frequented? He looked so hopeful, so eager to please, her heart plummeted again at the sight. “Yes,” she breathed, “yes, we can talk.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Scully,” he called to her from his spot at the kitchen table. She acknowledged him with a “hmm?” and opened a drawer. “Have you been avoiding me because you’re afraid of me?”

His question was so sudden, out there, almost harsh in the way he said it. He needed her to talk, the quiet they’ve been stalled in has been slowly driving him crazy. He watched her eat her burger, taking her time. He didn’t know if it was because she was savoring the flavor or she wanted to delay talking to him as long as possible. It had been a week now and he deserved to have answers, even if she didn’t have any, the least he could do was help her figure things out.

Scully stopped her movement, butter knife in hand. She was packing her silverware now. He could see her breathing heavily and his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Of course I’m not afraid of you, you’ve given me no reason to be.” She reassured but her expression was off putting. She looked conflicted, her eyebrows drawn together, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. That was most definitely a Scully move.

He nodded even though she still wouldn’t look at him. When he didn’t immediately say something back to reassure her that everything would be fine, she went back to arranging her silverware.

He finally responded. “I was researching the risks of pregnant women being abducted and came up with pretty much nothing. Guess that doesn’t happen too often,” he joked weakly. ”And then I ended up reading on all the things that could go wrong for the baby and almost threw my computer out the window. Of course, as a doctor, I’m sure you’re aware of those things.” When he didn’t get a response from her, he continued, his voice gentle. “It’s ok if you’re scared. I’m scared, too.”

She still said nothing and his annoyance at the silence began to turn to impatience. He tried coaxing her now. “And not even risks for the baby, but risks for you.”

“I know all the risks,” she finally said and he heard the I’m a doctor follow behind it.

She put her handful of spoons down and walked over to him. He could tell she was annoyed at him now, maybe even angry with the way her eyes glowed but he did not back down.

“Talk to me, Dana,” he said, “let me in.”

She was next to him now, her belly showing no signs of a baby yet. She was small and thin, he figured it probably took a few more weeks until she would start to show.

She sat in the chair next to him. He watched her face for a long moment, seeing her thoughts play across her face as she debated what to say. She took his hands in her small ones and he tried to brace himself for what she would say after so much silence.

“Fox…” she started, “I’m not sure if I should do this. If we should.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, too surprised by this to even correct her on the use of his first name. “We’re obviously not together anymore but I’ll - I still want to be in this baby’s life. I still want to be the dad. We - you asked me to.” He paused, not sure if he should bring this up but went on, “before all this. You asked me to be a donor and - and I said yes and then we went our separate ways after I - well, after I left the next morning but on my way home you called and you asked if I would be the dad. I took it as you meaning to raise our child with you.” He wanted to ask if that’s what she had meant but she clearly didn’t have a clue of this time in her life. Her face was impartial, almost blank. She held no previous feelings for him. Or - by the looks and sounds of it - their child. “Come on Dana,” he tried cajoling her with his dry humor, “you may not remember but you took care of me many times, even shot me once. If you can handle me, you can absolutely handle a kid.”

She did not laugh, she did not smile.

Her lips formed a straight line and he knew that meant she was holding a retort back.

Please,” he urged her, nudging her hand with his thumb. “Talk to me.”

She took her hands away from his abruptly, almost hurting his feelings but he swallowed and tried to prepare himself for her words, her worries.

“I don’t want a baby at this time in my life. I don’t even know who I am, I only remember who I was. And who I was isn’t ready for a baby. Who I was was focused on work.”

Mulder hung his head in frustration. He understood what she meant, it was all too much but his hands clenched into fists at the thought of his Scully not wanting this, how overjoyed she would be at this.

He tried taking her hands in his again, reassuring her by looking into her eyes. “I’ll be here for the baby, I’ll help you.”

She said nothing though and he felt the small worry in his stomach grow. Scully always had words to say back. The fact that she was not responding told him that she was still sticking with what she wanted and he suddenly began to feel desperate.

“If you’re worried about financial reasons, I can take care of that. And we’ll get a nanny! For after the baby is born.”

But she was shaking her head. “I don’t want this burden on you.”

Burden? She felt like this baby would be a burden to her? To him? Mulder noticed himself beginning to feel protective over this child, this being they created and he knew she had wanted so badly. He then realized he was also not only being protective of their child but of the Scully he knew.  

“Dana, it’ll be ok.” Her eyes met his again and he was surprised to find they were still dry.

They were cold. “I’m not the Scully you knew, Fox. I’m not at a time in my life that I remember where I want a child. I’m not ready. And yes I am aware that I’m not getting any younger.”

He bristled at her words, feeling anger swell up in his chest. Why was she being so goddamn difficult? Why couldn’t she want this as much as he did?

Mulder’s next words were biting, harsh, sarcastic in its tone. “So what - are you going to go get an abortion?”

Scully looked down at her lap, almost ashamed. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Mulder let go of her hands then, complete disbelief filling his features and he let his arms drop to his sides. Then he suddenly remembered her in the hospital, her lack of words when it came to telling him about the baby, Maggie Scully’s crying face.“You’re serious about this,” he said, feeling defeated, “you’re really considering it.”

When she said nothing, he scrambled out of his chair, startling her as he forcefully shoved the chair back under the table. He was seriously pissed now and she looked up at his shaking form, her eyes wide.

“Fox -”

“Unfuckingbelievable,” he hissed.

“Fox,” she tried again, “I didn’t say I was going to do that. It’s just an...option.”

“As opposed to what other option, if you don’t want it, Scully?” his voice was getting louder and she felt herself get smaller at the sound. “As opposed to you giving up the baby?”

That stung. She had struggled with this decision, agonized over it even. It was not something she took lightly, it was something that was on her mind constantly, the weight of it wearing her out and she would sleep for hours and hours. His words hurt her. His words stung so much she felt tears immediately come to her eyes. But they were no match for the swift arrival of her anger. She stood up from the table then, her eyes flaming, her height coming up to just below his shoulder but she felt her indignation made up for their uneven stance.

“It’s my body and I’ll do with it what I damn well please.”

And she turned on her socked feet to open her door and lead him out.

But he wouldn’t let it go just yet.

“And what about me,” he brought up himself, his own heartbreak over the situation. “What about how I feel? Don’t I get a say in this?”

Dana turned to him and sighed tiredly. She did not like to argue and she hated confrontation, especially about such a difficult subject. She had enough of a hard time thinking on it herself and talking about it with her mother, who was also heartbroken over this situation. She ran a hand down her face. “I haven’t even gotten to think much about it yet, ok? I haven’t made up my mind.”

Mulder’s voice was lower now, softer. “Then let’s think about it together. Please.”

He held his hand out to her in a peace offering and for comfort and she almost took it, needing comfort and feeling the pull of his deep brown eyes. But she didn’t. She needed space.

“I want to be alone right now,” she whispered, matching his tone, and feeling her stomach drop with guilt as he lowered his hand, at a loss for words.

Mulder wrapped his arms around himself. He was starting to feel like this was a lost cause. She was right, it was her body and she didn’t know him anymore. He was going to lose her. He was going to lose his child. And even worse, Scully was going to lose her child. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Please,” he begged again, “you don’t understand. The Scully I knew before...this happened - she wanted this. She wanted this so badly. The first time the IVF failed for us, she cried. I’ve never seen her as devastated as she was that night and we’ve been through some pretty emotionally jarring things. Please. If you ever get your memory back, you’ll be crushed if you go through with this.”

“You’re talking about the Scully you knew as if I’m not right here! I am Scully! She is me!” Dana exclaimed angrily, “I’m so tired of hearing of the person I used to be. I’m not her anymore, ok? I can’t be her for you! I can only be who I remember I am.”

Mulder pinched his fingers in between his eyes, feeling defeated but not wanting to back down. “Dana, I promised you I would help get your memory back. I will do everything in my power to make sure you get it back, so you don’t have to feel this way, this torn. I don’t want you to feel this way, I just want you to please listen to me when I say don’t give up on this baby. You may feel like you don’t want it now but I swear you will one day and you’ll regret it so much if you...abort it.”

Dana’s eyes were glittering with fury and pain. He had no idea how torn up about this she was. She felt so lost in her own body, lost in this world and apparently the only one who ever caused her troubles like this came from this man before her. “And who are you to tell me what’s best for me? I’m stuck in this situation because of you. Everything bad that’s ever happened to past me is because of you.”

He felt his world crumbling down around him. She was blaming him for everything. It was his biggest fear to lose her. He had always anticipated her leaving him, finally directing her finger toward him and blaming him for all that went wrong. He already blamed himself for everything that went wrong. If only it weren’t for his quest for the truth and his need to have answers, she wouldn’t have lost the people she lost. She wouldn’t have been abducted the first time. She wouldn’t have ever had cancer. She wouldn’t have been stung by that stupid fucking bee. She wouldn’t have had a child that was born only to suffer. She wouldn’t have been shot she wouldn’t have….

For years he felt it would only be a matter of time before she would realize what she had lost was his doing. If she never met him, was never assigned to him, none of this would’ve happened. But then he thinks of how his life was changed since meeting her, thinks of how different life was without her in it now. Empty, meaningless. He wouldn’t have his work if it weren’t for her, would probably be back in violent crimes, which he hated. He wouldn’t have her to banter with on conspiracy theories or wouldn’t have her to call late late at night or early in the morning when they had to run off to the next unusual case or simply because he couldn’t sleep and he’d talk and talk and she’d listen, amused and cranky over the phone as she mumbled responses sleepily into the receiver until he fell asleep. He realized his dependency on her early on in their partnership, after she had more than gained his trust and she began to become dependent on him. He liked it that way though, liked that they could rely on each other no matter what, sometimes even without communication, though often their actual communication skills were terrible. After the first few nights they had been together, it wasn’t so bad. They were beginning to open up more to each other, they were happier, and hadn’t felt that way for a long time. Then they lost each other yet again. How did they get here? How did they overcome so much together, finally be together (for so short a time) only for it to all fall apart again? Mulder felt his outrage radiate outward and his hands began shaking at the thought of whomever did this to her, to them, to their unborn child.

“You’re my best friend,” Mulder whispered suddenly and Dana wanted to claw at his puppy eyes. “We never talked about really personal things for a long time, hardly ever our feelings, but that didn’t matter because you’ve always been my best friend.”

This information did not soften her. She was really getting tired of hearing about her past self. She wanted to move forward with her life. She really wasn’t getting any younger and with this man around, would be dragged down down down until she felt she was drowning in forgotten memories of the person she once was. She looked at the begging man before her and felt bad for him. He was losing someone close to him, someone she couldn’t give him.

He’s losing more than that and you know it, she thought.

Scully sighed at this situation, uncrossing her arms. “Look, I’m sorry things happened the way they did. And I know that she...I...meant a lot to you. And I’m sorry you lost her. Me.” She shook her head. “But I have to move on with my life. I can’t spend the rest of it dwelling on who everyone is used to me being. I have to get a job, go to work, be the person I can remember. And that person was not some - some alien hunter.”

Mulder wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch a wall, kick at something, break something, shake her shoulders to make her see him, make her see reason. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t walk away. Why couldn’t she just give him a chance. She wanted to leave him. She didn’t even want to try and get to know him again. He felt like his heart was shattering and falling to the floor at his feet. She doesn’t want me in her life anymore.

“So that’s it then?” he asked with a bitter tone, throwing his arms up in disappointment. “You’re just going to give up? On me? On yourself? What if your memory comes back?”

Dana’s voice was small. “Daniel says the odds of that are unlikely.”

Mulder was speechless only for a moment. Then, his eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open and his body was still, rigid. His voice was like ice, cold, cutting. “Did Daniel tell you to have the abortion?”

Dana was so taken aback by that it took a minute for her to respond, but Mulder interrupted before she could. “I’ll kill him, Dana, I swear I’ll rip him apart with my bare hands!”

“No, he had nothing to do with that!” Dana shouted, “he was just here to help me! Not put pressure on me like you’re doing!”

“Oh, he was here to help, was he? He has a strange way of showing it,” Mulder argued, “trying to convince you that there’s no chance you’ll remember anything, trying to help you ‘move on with your life’ and forget about the one person that’s been the constant in your life for seven years so he can have you all to himself!” Mulder was yelling again and he had never yelled at her like this before but he hated that he was losing her this way, to this man. “But oh, he can’t have you with a child, he’s too fucking old to handle that just like he was too preoccupied with you last time to pay attention to his kid! Yeah, great idea, go back to him!”

“You’re an asshole,” she said, her voice scratchy from screaming. She would not cry in front of him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I told Daniel I didn’t want to ‘start over’ with him. I told him I wanted to move on with my life, just as I’m telling you and he helped me pack a few things. He handled this a hell of a lot better than you are. He listened to me and understood where I was coming from.”

“I understand, Dana. Believe me, I do. And it sure as hell is my business because that’s my baby in there too!” He felt immense relief over her telling Daniel she did not, in fact, want him again. But she was still adamant on where she stood, with him, with the baby. She was not going to change her mind and he could not force her to. He knew this. He felt the defeat crush him like a ton of bricks toppling over his head, his shoulders and he sank down to her couch, sitting with his head in his hands in disbelief.

He felt a small hand hesitantly touch his shoulder. Then a raspy whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.” A pause. “It just doesn’t feel right to me. My mind and life right now are nowhere near ready for a child. It wouldn’t be fair.”

He wanted to say no, this isn’t fair, none of this is fair, everything bad is happening and he could do nothing to stop it. He was quiet, almost calm if it weren’t for his tensed up shoulders and weary body.

“I think you should go,” her raspy voice said and what remained of his heart broke into a million pieces.

Mulder watched her open her door and made his way out, feeling helpless. What the hell was he going to do? He feared he was going to lose this baby, perhaps the only thing left tying them together and if he lost that he would inevitably lose her. She wanted him to go. She wanted him to let her go. She did not want him or his baby in her life.

Mulder left the apartment.

End of part three

[baronessblixen]

Hi love! So I read this somewhere and it gave me an idea for a prompt. Basically after Mulder says yes to IVF, he goes back and wonders why him. He knows that Scully finds him reckless, stubborn, he himself knows he is an asshole sometimes (esp. to S). So maybe he goes back to confront her about her choice of why him and S explains. I think this also comes from M's reaction to compliments (remember Piper Maru?) I know you have tons to write but whenever the inspiration strikes :) - Detour Anon

You always have such wonderful prompts for me! I’m not sure I did this one justice. I tried my best. Set right after Mulder leaves Scully’s apartment in Per Manum. 

Tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

Mulder can’t quite keep thegrin off this face. Neither can he keep his eyes on the road. Or hisconcentration in check. A baby. He and Scully are going to try and have a baby.Not in the most traditional way, mind you. But when have they ever beentraditional? Behind him a car blows the horn; Mulder didn’t notice the trafficlight had changed from red to green. He puts his foot on the gas pedal, hopesthat his mental autopilot directs him towards the Hoover Building and not intosome ditch.

A baby.

A tiny human that’s halfher and half him. Mulder has never seriously considered having children. Itcame up once when he and Diana were married. She was late and while they waitedfor the results, they used the tediously long minutes to speak about What If.Mulder didn’t want a child even if he never said the exact words to her. Notthen, not with Diana. The negative result was the beginning of the end anyway.Though these days he knows it never should have started in the first place.

There is no doubt inMulder’s mind that Scully will be a wonderful mother. In his mind, the baby isa small boy, who won’t have to compete with the hazy memory of Emily, a sisterhe’ll never meet. He’s got floppy hair, a reddish brown; the color of mapleleaves in late fall. He’ll ask all the important questions with his big eyes:as big as saucers, as blue as the clearest ocean. Mulder loses himself in hisdaydream, in the idea of her child. Hers. Except it’s not going be just her.The poor kid, boy or girl, might end up with his nose. A car passes him by, thedriver gesturing angrily through the window. Another traffic light he’s notpaid attention to, Mulder realizes. 

His thoughts turn darker,change direction and his smile fades. Be careful, Mulder. Don’t jump on thattrain, Mulder. Don’t eat the evidence, Mulder. What if this potentialchild turns out just like him? Not listening to what he’s told, alwaysconvinced he knows better. Stubborn as a mule (though he’d never admit it toanyone). Reckless with his life and the feelings of others. Mulder sighs.Scully thinks everything through; whether it’s about which salad she shouldorder, what clothes to wear or who to father her child. But then why him? Sooverwhelmed by her request, he did not even think about the Why. Once againhe’d jumped right in. After she asked him, after she told him to think aboutit, he made his decision before she even left his apartment. The words hadtickled his throat and only the expression on her face had stopped him. Thinkabout it, she told him, tell me in a few days. That was Friday. Today, onSunday, he could no longer keep quiet. Once or twice he wondered what she’d doabout work. Whether or not she wanted him around for any of what would comeafter conception. None of his thoughts were as vivid as his dreams about thesmall child, pudgy arms and legs, squealing in delight, begging to be held.There was never a question as to what his answer would be.

Mulder’s car comes to astop. So much for his autopilot: he is back at Scully’s place. Work can wait,he decides. It’s Sunday, after all. 

“Mulder?” Scullyis surprised to see him back. “Please don’t tell me you changed your mind.I just called Dr. Parenti.”

“No! No, I didn’tchange my mind. I was just wondering if you really thought this through?”No gentle preamble; he needs to know and he needs to know now.

“Excuse me?”

“No, that’s not what I- can I come in? I’m not sure your neighbors need to hear this.” She letshim in, crosses her arms in front of her. Mulder can’t blame her. This time shedoesn’t ask if she can take his coat. Sweat breaks out on his forehead,trickles down his back and makes his shirt stick to him. 

“So you did changeyour mind.”

“No, I didn’t but Scully…why me?” Her eyes grow big, soften.

“Why you?” Henods, waits for her answer. 

“I’m not exactly a price,am I? You could choose anyone, Scully. Some handsome genius with impeccablemanners and perfect genes. Why not choose that guy?" 

"Sit down,Mulder.” He does as he’s told, her tone not giving him any other choice.She sits in front of him on her coffee table. She puts her hands on his thighs,their heads close together as if she’s about to share a secret with him.

“If you’d said no, I’mnot sure I would have gone through with it. When Dr. Parenti asked me about apossible father… there was only you, Mulder. You were my first thought.”

“But-” Shemotions for him to be quiet. He bites his lip hard, nods. Scully is thereasonable one in this partnership. How does she not see his faults?

“You’re passionate,Mulder. You’re caring.”

“I’m stubborn.”He adds with a sheepish smile.

“You are,” Scullyagrees with a matching expression, “but you’re stubborn in a good way. Younever gave up on me, Mulder. Not when I was missing and not when I was inAntarctica. You never give up.” He’d go anywhere for Scully. If someonehid her away on the moon, he’d find her there, too. But her eyes tell him sheis not done yet; must sense his remaining doubts.

“You have a beautifulmind,” she puts a finger against his forehead, “I love how your mindworks. Well, most of the time. Your communications skills could use somework.”

“But Scully-” herfingers moves down from his forehead, touches his nose and lands on hislips. 

“I’m not done yet.You’re so open, Mulder. I know that your inclination to believe in just aboutanything drives me crazy sometimes. But it’s one of your greatestqualities." 

"You really thinkthat?” Scully nods. 

“You infuriate meconstantly, Mulder. But that doesn’t change the fact that I think you’re awonderful man. The only man I can imagine myself doing this with.” Thereis something more she wants to say, he thinks. Her cheeks flush in a soft pinkand he wonders if she considered telling him he’d make a great father. They’renot ready for that conversation just yet, though, and they both know it.

“I’m not too uglyeither?” He grins at her, tries to take the seriousness out of theirtalk. 

“Did I answer yourquestion, Mulder?” Scully’s hands are back on his thighs. Her face isstill close. He could easily close the distance and kiss her, but they’re notquite ready for that step either. Soon, her eyes seem to tell him, and he nods,answers two questions; the one she asked and the one she didn’t.

“I should really go backto the office now.” Disappointment washes over her face and he regretssaying it. Before he can take it back though, she’s already gotten up; themoment is gone.

“Thank you again,Mulder. Dr. Parenti will call you with the details soon.” Back tobusiness. Mulder gets up, too, sweaty and spent. He wants to hug Scully againjust to feel her close, but doesn’t. 

“See you tomorrow? Atwork?” Scully nods, gives him one last, tiny smile.

“Seeyou at work.” Mulder leaves with a stomach full of butterflies and a mindfull of images of their precious baby boy. Soon.

[atths--twice]

Putting the Z in the X-Files

After a frustrating meeting, Mulder and Scully go out for lunch and proceed to have a drink... a few drinks.

This was a story I posted in March, but hey... it’s always good to reread a fun drunken story, right? 

Mulder had seen it on a shelf in a bar a few years ago. As much as it had intrigued him, the thought of how it would taste gave him pause. Green alcohol was never as good as it may appear.

Even if it was in a glass alien head.

He had learned the hard way about green alcohol while he was in college. Parties which he attended with Phoebe when she had pushed and pulled at him, trying to get him out of his shell, had made him uncomfortable more often than not.

Phoebe would leave him once they arrived, and he would grab whatever bottle was closest, regardless of color or taste. His only desire in that moment, since he had been forced into a social situation, was to numb his brain for a while and perhaps slow it down.

As a result of those nights, the mornings were often spent with the taste being regurgitated violently from his body. After enough nights and days of that pattern, he had sworn off alcohol altogether.

Especially green alcohol.

So though an alien shaped bottle would undoubtedly be fun to own, he was certain it would not be worth the money to simply sit on a shelf and never be enjoyed.

___________

At a late lunch one day, after an extremely shitty meeting, in which they had been reamed for a case that was definitely not their fault, Scully sat beside him, sighing and swearing under her breath.

“Such assholes. How was any of what happened our fault?” she asked him for the third time since they had sat down and he shook his head.

They were sitting at the bar, the room crowded with men and women in business suits. Tables filled with lawyers, politicians, and fellow agents. Many of them were day drinking and some seemed to have been there for quite a while.

“Let’s get a drink,” he suggested, above the sound of the raucous laughter from the table to the right. It was as much a surprise to him as it was to Scully, judging by the look on her face. She stared at him and he shrugged. “When in Rome…” He looked around at the tipsy people and she nodded as she did the same.  

“We’d like a drink,” she stated loudly, curt and to the point, waving the bartender down.

“What’s your poison?” he asked, slapping his hands down on the bar as she looked around.

“What’s in that alien head?” she asked, pointing at the middle shelf. He turned around to look as Mulder raised his eyes to where she was pointing. It was identical to the one he had seen a couple of years ago, though perhaps just a bit smaller.

“Scully, no. It’s probably melon or something frou-frou. Both of which will be disgusting.” He shook his head as the bartender turned back around.

“No man. It’s vodka,” he said, as he took it off the shelf.

“Flavored vodka?”

“Nope, it’s just green colored vodka,” he said, putting it down in front of them. “Do you want to try it first? Or just have me surprise you with a mixed drink?” He smiled at Scully and she glanced at Mulder.

“A taste couldn’t hurt,” she shrugged and Mulder stared at her, her words innocent, but his mind thinking things that were far from it.  

“Two shots coming up." The bartender grinned, grabbed two glasses, took off the top, and poured them each a drink. Sliding them towards them, they picked up the glasses with the green liquid.

It smelled strong and potent, and made his stomach roil. He looked at Scully, planning to tell her never mind, and he saw she was already drinking hers down. He raised his eyebrows and watched her close her eyes and clear her throat. Not wanting to be outdone, he threw his back and then it was his turn to clear his throat, his eyes watering.

“That’s good,” Scully rasped out. “Surprise us, please.” The bartender smiled, grabbing the bottle and turning around.

Mulder glanced at her again as she wiped her mouth on a napkin. Pushing the plate with the last few bites of her salad away from her, she stole a french fry from his plate, and smiled at him.

“This has been a really shitty day.”

“Agreed.”

“I think some alien vodka might help with changing it.”

“Hmm…”

She smiled again and he laughed softly.

“Here you go. Two UFO’s,” the bartender said, setting down their drinks, which were in a tall, wide, bumpy glass and only slightly less green. “Surprise.” He wiggled his fingers dramatically and winked at Scully, which caused Mulder to frown.

“Mulder, look at the bottom of the glass,” she said with a snort. At the bottom of the glass, was a tiny glass alien giving a peace sign. She snorted again, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a drink.

“Ohhhh… that is good.” She took another drink and he took a tentative sip. To his surprise, it was good. Grapefruit, vodka, lime, and something else he could not quite pinpoint.

Scully drank hers down quickly, proving just how shitty the day had been. Humming her approval, she got the attention of Sir Winky the bartender for another.

“You want the same?” he asked, looking at Mulder and raising his eyebrows. “Or something completely different?” He winked again and Mulder looked from him to Scully, waiting to see what she would say, hating how brazenly this winker was flirting with her.

She stared at the bartender and then placed her hand on top of Mulder’s on the bar, giving it a squeeze.

“I’ll stick with the same, thanks.”

The bartender looked at their joined hands and nodded, turning to make them each another drink.

“Jesus, what an asshole,” she scoffed, letting go of his hand. “Men… seriously. He has no idea who you are to me. What if you were my husband?”

The thought of them married made his mind race, just as her comment had a few minutes ago. He cleared his throat and took another drink, trying to cover his discomfort.

“The guy works for tips, Scully. Can’t blame him for trying to see what he could get,” he said with a shrug as he finished his drink, setting the glass down.

“Oh, I have a tip for him,” she said, fanning her face, which he now noticed was a little flushed. He smiled as he waited for her to finish. “Don’t flirt so much and get me my goddamn drink.” He laughed and she looked at him with a grin.

Two more drinks were placed in front of them and Scully picked hers up, taking a large drink and smacking her lips when she was done.

“Really good,” she said, before taking another drink with a smile.

Twice more drinks were placed in front of them of which Mulder was almost always a half drink behind. He was not much of a drinker, nor was Scully usually, but she obviously was that afternoon. He became fascinated as he watched her, forgetting to drink the green, nearly glowing beverage.

Her black suit jacket had been hung rather crookedly on her chair, and the light blue shirt she wore, gaped between the buttons when she leaned forward, giving him a peek of a red lacy bra and white creamy Scully skin.

He knew he should not be stealing glances, but how was he supposed to resist? He could only remain so strong before biology took over and his eyes strayed to that straining second button, wondering how soft that skin would feel against his lips.

A taste couldn’t hurt, right? he thought, imagining the sounds she would make if he was given the chance to have a taste.

Her skirt was also drawing his eye. It kept rising up before she would tug it back down, bar stools not exactly skirt friendly. She was telling him about something she had read recently, but all he could think of was how his fingers itched to push her skirt up and see what kind of stockings she was wearing.

Traveling with her for years, he had seen many different colors of pantyhose hanging in her bathrooms to dry. Recently though, he had walked into her bathroom and seen stockings. Actual stockings.

Thigh. High. Stockings.

The first time he saw them, he had frozen. Mumbling something incoherent, he had left the room hurriedly, needing a moment, or ten as it were, to collect himself. The meal she had brought in was cold when he had rejoined her, but the chance of embarrassing himself had passed.

“I need the bathroom,” she said, breaking into his thoughts, slurring her words as she stood unsteadily to her feet. “Get me one more.”

She touched his back, her hand lingering longer than usual, her nails scratching lightly as she tried to hold onto him, before she was able to walk toward the bathroom. He laughed softly as he watched her weave a little and then she disappeared around the corner.

“Get you anything else?” the bartender asked, taking Scully’s empty glass and looking at him.

“One more each of the same,” Mulder said, draining his glass and handing it to him.

“Well, lucky for you, that’s about all that’s left,” he said with a laugh. “You two have just about finished off the bottle.” He walked away to get the drinks and Mulder took a drink of the water that sat beside him. He was beginning to feel a bit dizzy, but happily he felt better than he had before they had a drink.

Or five.

“Hmm,” Scully said, as she sat back down. “Did you order the drinks?” She looked at him with her eyes slightly closed. He laughed as he watched her and she opened  her eyes.

“Yeah, I did. Apparently, we have just about finished off the bottle,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe we’ll win a prize or something.”

She laughed and put her head in her hand, staring at him with a smile. He smiled back as the drinks were set down along with two shot glasses, each a little less than half full.

“That’s it, you two have finished the bottle. Congratulations. Here you go,” the bartender said as he handed Scully the empty alien head and she clapped happily.

“Mulder! Look at that! We did win a prize!” She laughed and handed it to him, picking up her shot glass and drinking it down. He picked up his own shot glass and drank it. Lifting the other glass, he raised it to hers.

“To the victors!” he shouted, and they clinked their glasses together.

Taking their time, this time around, they drank their last drink a little slower. The alien head sat between them as they sat quietly. He looked at it and then over at Scully.

“You don’t want to take it home?

“We’ll put it in the office,” she said and he sighed heavily. “We’ll be back down there one day, Mulder. Until then, you should hold onto it.”

He smiled at her and nodded, taking another drink, and watching her. She smiled and closed her eyes, her chin back on her hand. He stared at her, as always, amazed by her beauty. She sighed and opened her eyes, staring back at him.

“Here’s your bill folks.” Both of them jumped as the bartender slapped the bill book down on the bar.

Mulder finished his drink as he reached for the bill. Scully downed the last of her drink and wiped her mouth. Mulder took out his wallet, placing the cash for the bill and a tip in the bill book, and pushed it back across the bar. Standing up, he wobbled a bit.

“Whoa,” he moaned, holding onto his chair. “Those were… stronger than I thought."

He picked up Scully’s jacket and held it out for her as she stood up. It took them each a few tries to get her jacket on properly, both of them laughing drunkenly. Finally able to figure it out, she turned around with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t forget our prize,” she giggled, looking at the alien as she tried to button her jacket.

Giving up with “pshhh,” he picked up the alien head. Placing an arm around her shoulders, they walked out of the restaurant, laughing as they bumped into each other.

They walked outside and waited for a taxi, no chance either of them could drive home. Scully hummed and giggled, even snorting at times, as she leaned into him.

“Aww, he’s a good little alien." She laughed, looking at the bottle and giving it a pat.

“He is. And a good prize for all our hard work,” he said, rocking on his heels, the world feeling unbalanced. Or maybe it was him, he was no longer sure.

“What should we call him?” she giggled, placing a hand on his chest. “It’s spinny out here. Do you feel it?” She laughed when he agreed and she moved her hand from his chest, instead touching her cheek, her eyes closed. He smiled as he looked at her and then tapped the aliens head.

“Al?” he said, and she opened her eyes, with another “pshhh.”

“Al the Alien?” She blew a raspberry and made a thumbs down motion, causing him to laugh.

“Okay. Something better then.”

“As if it could be hard to figure out something better than “Al,” she said as she blew another raspberry, her thumb down once again, and he laughed.

The taxi arrived, cutting off their conversation. He opened the door for her, telling the driver her address as she got in, smiling at him as she did.

“You keep thinking,” she said, closing the door and waving goodbye with a giggle. He smiled as he watched her taxi driving away.

“It’s just us now, Al,” he slurred as his taxi pulled up. “She’s right, I need to keep thinking. Al’s a terrible name.” Getting in the taxi, he vowed to think of a better name.

As soon as the world stopped spinning so fast.

__________________

The next morning, he felt as though every sound was like a tiny hammer in his head. Scully handed him some ibuprofen and a bottle of water, looking as bad as he felt. He stared at her and she shook her head with a groan.

They somehow made it through the day, which felt as though it was five years long. Shuffling slowly over to the elevator, she sighed loudly.

“So, you wanna get a drink?” he teased, as they stepped out of the elevator, and she exhaled disgustedly. He laughed and then groaned as his head pounded. “Ugh, no more drinking on school nights.”

“A good rule,” she exhaled again and nodded.

Arriving at her car, she turned to him and closed her eyes with her eyebrows up. Opening them, she sighed and groaned. He smiled and nodded gently, the pounding beginning to ramp up once more.

“See you tomorrow, Scully,” he said with a sigh, waving goodbye and walking away.

“Zinnia,” she said, and he turned around.

“What?”

“The alien. We should call it Zinnia.”

“Like the flower?” he asked, feeling confused as he walked back toward her.

“No. Well… no.”

“Then…”

“It was the way I felt simply standing still and the sound I heard all day in my head. Such a loud buzzing Z noise.” She closed her eyes, groaning as she rubbed her temples.

“It’s still in there,” she whispered and he laughed, rubbing at his own head.

“How about just ‘Z’?” he asked and she nodded with a smile.

“Z is fitting. And way better than ‘Al.’” She rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows at him. He narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled. “Tell Z I said hello when you get home.”

Getting in her car, she drove away and he laughed with another groan before walking to his own car.

______________

A few weeks later, they stood in the basement office and smiled at each other. Checking out the room, cleaning up and organizing, there was one final thing that needed to be done. Reaching into the brown paper bag on the desk, he took out the alien head and handed it to Scully.

“You should do the honors,” he said and she grinned.

Looking around, for the best spot, she found it. Not too obvious, but someplace they could see it from nearly every area in the office. On top of two thick books about ancient civilizations, she made sure it was sitting perfectly, moving it back-and-forth, until it was just right.

Stepping back, she grinned at it and then at him. He nodded and stood next to her, bumping her shoulder as they both laughed.

“Welcome to our office, Z,” she said as he walked to the filing cabinet and took out a file. She sat down behind the desk and he sat in the chair on the opposite side.

Grinning at him, she nodded and he opened the file, reading out the highlights of the case as she rolled her eyes. When he finished, she sighed and began to discuss the improbabilities of what he presented, effectively shooting down the majority of his theories.

He grinned as he listened and watched her, her hands moving wildly as she gestured at him and the file in his lap. Glancing over at Z, he thought of Scully’s drunken promise that they would be back down in their basement office one day. Once again, she was right. Nodding with another grin, he looked back at her.

It was good to be home.

[greekowl87]

Fic: Chicago Layover Pt 3

Catch up.  Part One. Part Two.

A/N: This is shorter than I intended but I have writer’s block. Also, another confession, I suck at writing smut. I’ve written it twice if you include the last chapter. So that’s what the next part will be, once I move past that writer’s block.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Borrowing.

Morning.

Mulder could hear the soft snoring coming from next to him. Somehow during the night, Scully had rolled over and taken a majority of the blankets with her. He chuckled softly to himself. This would make for some interesting teasing if he ever choose to use it. In fact, he wished he had a polaroid camera with him just so he could have that moment to keep forever. He got out of bed slowly so not to disturb her, throwing his legs over the bed to stretch his sore muscles. He padded to the other side of the bed and took one more gander at Scully.

She literally looked like a burrito, or a piece of sushi, with the only part of her sticking out was her head. Her red hair fanned out around her face like a lion’s mane, with her mighty small snore sounding just like a roar. The past thirty-six hours had been so worth it.

Mulder shifted his gaze from her back outside. The storm still showed no signs of letting up. He flicked on the tv to the local news. He watched the unfamiliar Chicago news team.

“Well, if you’re just joining us, we hope you are still safe and sound,” the woman anchor started. “Because this snow won’t let up.”

“That’s right, Carol,” the man continued. Footage flashed of cars stuck in snow, hazardous road conditions, the airport frozen, and a few brave souls trying to make it in the streets. “The city and airport are still shut down. O'Hara isn’t expecting flights to resume for at least another 48 hours. Unless it is an absolute emergency, city officials and emergency services are imploring people not to go out. With that being said, let’s go to our weatherman, the man with the plan, Don Henderson. Don?”

“Thanks, Jim.”

Mulder watched the aged meteorologist babble on about the forecast, how the weather was not getting any better. The snow totals were mounting close to two feet but the snow would be ending in the evening and then they were going to attempt to try and catch a flight back to Washington. Honestly, though, he wouldn’t mind spending one more day in this little hotel room. He debated attempting to get the Bureau to reimburse him but he found himself a little prideful and considered this entire thing as something he was doing for Scully.

They still had a full day left and weren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow afternoon. He had only seen the tip of the glacier of what they could be. All the day was cuddle and he got to fulfill one of his fantasies with her, and it had been amazing, to say the least. He felt his heart grow even more, filling with love, pride, and gratefulness. He could not the remember the last time he had felt like this. Just this contentment, warmth, and happiness. He liked it.

“Mmm…” He heard the very uneloquent grunt come from the blanket burrito. “Fuck. Mulder!”

He kept his chuckle silent as he stood over his partner. “You ringed, Scully?”

“What did you do to me?” She was squinted at him and made a useless effort to untangle herself.

“Stay still,” he said softly. He bent down and kissed her before his deft hands began to unravel her from the blanket burrito. “As much as you want to blame me, I wish I had been in there with you. How did you manage that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She relaxed as Mulder helped untangle her and felt her heart jump when his warm hands caught hers. “I don’t snore, contrary to what you say, and I most certainly did not do that.”

He held his tongue but merely smiled and he felt her instantly relax. He liked the rare, relaxed Scully. It was a true joy. “We still have a full twenty four hours, Scully,” he teased.

Scully felt emboldened with the moment, almost reckless, but she knew she was safe because it was Mulder. “Twenty-four hours?”

“Twenty four hours,” he parroted.

“Twenty four hours to be as platonic as possible,” she teased. “I am going to take a shower and change into something else. Do you mind if I borrow a tee shirt, Mulder?”

He licked his lips at the thought, which was not lost on Scully. “Of course,” he coughed, clearing his throat. He went to his bag and grab one of Knick’s tee shirt and handed it to her. “Um, would you like any help?”

“Maybe later,” she said, walking past him. “We could go searching for Big Blue in the whirlpool. In the meantime, why don’t you order us some breakfast?”

There was going to be a later.

“I’ll run downstairs and see if they have a newspaper as well,” he said softly.

She nodded and got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Don’t take too long.”

… .

Mulder could not help from grinning as he hit the down button on the elevator. This was still happening. He and Scully and they hadn’t even gotten to grand finale yet. He really just wanted to take her to bed right now and be done with it. While he suspected…no, he knew. He knew it would be mind-blowing. Six years of foreplay and verbal sparring between them to come down to one moment. Why not prolong it a bit more and play this platonic friendship game? Even though there had been nothing platonic about yesterday afternoon when he got to act out one of his fantasies.

The elevator finally landed in the lobby and he stepped out to see it just as desolate as when they checked in. He walked to the front desk and smiled slightly seeing the young lady that had to check them in the night previously.

“Just get here?” Mulder asked casually.

“Never left,” the front desk person replied. “But the hotel is good. They give us food and board when the weather gets like this and I’m getting paid time and a half during this storm so I can’t complain. How is everything so far, sir?”

“Fine,” he replied, smiling. “Just fine.”

The front desk woman chuckled and went back to her work. He wondered if it was that obvious. Mulder picked up one of the complimentary copies of ‘The Chicago Tribune.’ He glanced at the little shop next to the front desk that held basics like toiletries, candy, soda, and even bottles of wine. He nodded to the goodies. “Do you all do room charges?”

“Yes. I just need a card for the account.”

“Can you use the one I gave you at check-in?”

“Yep.”

Mulder went over to the little shop and picked out a bottle of red and some of Scully’s favorite chocolates. She would probably kill him. But he remembered there time chasing mothmen in Flordia when she brought him mini bottles of chardoay and cheese from the gas station and he ignored the obvious sign. Like hell he was going to make the same mistake twice.

… .

Scully’s shower was quick. She just needed to feel human again after almost going 36 hours without a shower. She toweled herself dry, combed her wet hair back, and pulled on Mulder’s pilfered Knick’s shirt. She sighed, looking herself in the mirror. She did not see Scully staring at her. She saw Dana. The Dana that enjoyed cuddling in bed, sleeping in, doing nothing, and just being carefree. But the part of her self that she normally kept hidden, Dana the woman, was peeking through the cracks too. She wondered if Mulder saw her like this too.

“Scully, I’m back. I got us the paper too.”

She smiled to herself. Well, if he didn’t see her now, he would. She left the bathroom and saw him stop dead in his tracks. Oh yeah. He’s noticing. She took the newspaper from his arm and the plastic bag from him, feeling his eyes roam her body. “What did you get?” she asked.

“Um…” Mulder coughed, trying to clear his throat. “To quote you, it gonna be a part-tay.”

She arched an eyebrow and looked down into the bag and saw the wine and her favorite chocolates. “Part-tay,” she mumbled affectionately. She looked back up and saw something in his eyes that made her feel hot to the core. “You’re not going to run off looking for some ghost ship or Chicago yet, are you, Mulder?”

He shook his head wordlessly. She took a few steps forward and picked imaginary fuzzies from his tee shirt. She trailed her fingers lightly southwards down his chest. His breath hitched and he tensed as she lightly caressed his thigh instead. She nodded in approval. “Best order breakfast again,” she said, walking away. “I imagine we have a lot of platonic activities planned.”

God, was she trying to kill him, he thought giddily.