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spooky-nerd · 4 years ago

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I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes.

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

#txf fic #msr #the x files fanfic #the x files #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #christmas fic #x files fanfic #mine

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serahsanguine · 6 years ago

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Vacation Series Pt. 2. Halloween Surprises Ch, 5

This is the second book in a two-part series

Book one. - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

Book Two. - pt. 1, pt, 2, pt. 3, pt. 4,

All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen

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Notes; This chapter is to fill the prompt 'Boo' all will be revealed.

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Today is Halloween which only meant it was Halloween party later on that night. There was a lot of preparations to be made before then. Mulder woke up several hours ago to a very naked Scully, her skin was quite warm to the touch, she must have disposed of her clothes during the night. He could feel his erection already starting to build. How could it not, he had the women of his dreams sleeping peacefully next to him her perfect breasts so round full and exquisite, her little round ass crushing into his pelvis.

He kissed into her neck and she woke up slowly to them, he could tell she was awake but simply enjoying what he was doing. He scooted towards her knowing it would make her hum or moan.

“Happy All Hallows Eve Scully.”

“Mmm, Good Morning Mulder.”

“I’m very thirsty for you,” he said in between bites and nibbles in his best Dracula type voice.

He couldn't see her but knew she rolled her eyes at the comment. She soon lost all cognitive speech as she felt his fingers thread over her stomach. He nuzzled into her hair as her hand reached behind her and started stroking his length from root to tip.

“Scully, Jesus.”

He felt her giggle as he placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing her back flush to the mattress. He looked deeply in her eyes seeing nothing but love and adoration from her. They were nose to nose just staring at each other. He lay there on top of her sketching her face in his mind forevermore. His heartbeat was getting louder and louder inside his ears. Feeling the rush of blood flow down into his body he brought his mouth to hers.

In that split second before his very touch on her body made every nerve electrify. It's the anticipation, the suspense, the build-up. Making her crave his body more and more. His mouth wasn’t enough, his touch wasn't enough she needed more, she wanted to feel every inch of him covering her body filling her up making her cry out in pleasure.

He stopped kissing her and looked down at her face, her lips pink and swollen and body flush with arousal he kissed the way down her midsection leaving little red blotches in his wake. He kissed one breast, taking the whole nipple and flesh into his mouth sucking and biting she was writhing and moaning calling his name over and over. He soon moved to the other breast giving that one the same attention as the first.

He moved his mouth down to her thighs then to her knees slightly pinching them and tickling them. He opened her legs to get better access as he worked his mouth on the inside of her thighs before stopping at the apex of her legs. He could smell her arousal so beautiful and sweet like honey, her smell so addictive he could never get enough, he moved his fingers down the sides of her body and through her slick folds before his mouth descended on her clit.

Her body was shaking uncontrollably his actions perfect and magical she didn’t know what he was doing with that tongue to make it feel so perfect and she didn't care. Her hands wove through his soft silky hair. Her body was buzzing, his every touch even a slight one as light as his shoulder next to her thigh felt electrified. Then all at once, he felt like he was everywhere from the tips of toes to the top of his head, his body ignited with a flurry of sensations as her body writhed beneath his, her climax taking over every millimetre of her body.

He lay there and watched as her body came undone, she honestly didn’t know how beautiful she was especially in the heightened sense of pleasure where all inhibitions and exceptions went out the window and she became completely primal it was completely breathtaking to watch. He watched her come back to reality, his body once again flush against hers.

She opened her crystal blue eyes and stared at the depths of his hazel ones. He began to speak and she was mesmerized by his voice. She felt him slip inside her she hummed but listened to what he was saying

“You are my drug, Scully. One-touch and the intoxication is instant. Whatever you want to do is what we'll do and there isn't a thing I can do to stop you - not that I'd want to. Just your scent sends me into a heady trance, one that doesn't end until our bodies are still once more, just warm and snuggled in as close as two souls can be.”

He was slowly pumping inside her taking his time like they had all the time in the world. She was rendered speechless as one lone tear slipped at the corner of her eye. He saw it and looked instantly worried. She saw his face and hushed words to reassure him.

“They are happy tears I promise I just feel truly blessed,” she wanted him to feel some of the passion and love that he was showing her. She felt her hand on his lower back, her legs on either side of his naked body as she squeezed her hips to let him know she was ok for him to lose control.

His rhythm increased and his body felt slick against her own, his head fell to the crook of her neck, her hand raking his back she was close but she also knew he was closer. Her breathing changing, she heard her moans timed to his thrusts. Her heart was racing and matching his, in seconds his lips were upon hers again and it was just long enough to intoxicate her mind before he stopped again. His body went rigid his thrusts stopped he emptied himself inside him.

“Oh, God, Scully,” he mumbled out in the heat of the moment and hearing her name from his lips sent her into the abyss right alongside him feeling her walls clutch him hugging him her body soul melding with his and floating off into the sky, floating away with the morning sun.

He lay on top of her and suddenly feeling guilty for his weight so he moved by her side but she soon missed him and he felt the rush of her heat at his side as she placed her head on her chest. Each listening to each others breathing letting the moment sink in and not letting it pass by.

A few hours later mid-morning/early afternoon.

The sun was high in the sky and it was semi-warm for October. They had been in the main house for a while trying to help make the house suitable for a party. The french doors were open creating a small breeze. Scully had been pretending to bake some sort of chocolate blood orange cookies, but instead, she had been watching Mulder move furniture. He had taken his shirt off several minutes ago he was dripping with sweet his hair was going in several different directions. She could not help but admire his physique with his toned chest and ripped stomach muscles. His little patch of hair that started just underneath his trouser line and up his stomach. She licked her lips and she started at his arms they had got a lot bigger in recent months everything had. She knew he had been running, and swimming a lot more but she also knew he had been boxing at the FBI gym she just never really found the time to appreciate it.

She stopped looking at his body and looked up at his face to find his green eyes staring at her, watching her watching him. She turned her head away quickly hoping he didn't catch her blush. Next thing she felt was his wet body come behind her his hands wrapping around her stomach and he kissed her neck.

“If you got it to haunt it.”

She fully belly laughed and her head fell back into his wet naked shoulder.

“How much more do you have to do.”

“Not much, I need to move two more tables and then place the food trays on them, the boys said they're hanging the decorations since they have the ladder and then it's time for us to start getting ready for the par-tay.”

“How many people are coming?”

“Not that many or so I've been told, as you know they don’t trust many.”

He let go and she nodded and placed the last batch of cookies into the oven.

“What’s got, you so worried Scully?”

“Nothing I just want it to be special, it’s our first Halloween as a couple.”

He looked at her in a certain way and let her words sink in, he couldn’t be any more in love with her it wasn't possible. The fact she was worried it wasn’t going to be special because it was their first Halloween together made his soul hurt.

“The fact that I am with you and knowing you love me makes it special because without you I am nothing.”

She placed the oven mitts on the kitchen table and gave him a kiss as a thank you they stayed like this for a few minutes before they broke apart to start on the finishing touches for later this evening.

Early evening.

They had agreed to get ready in separate rooms and then they would both be surprised at each other's costumes but Mulder made Scully promise they would end up in the same room after the party. And her reply was ‘as if it were a question’ which made him laugh.

Mulder was putting the finishing touches on his Beetlejuice outfit there was half an hour left before the party would begin. He had sprayed his hair green before putting on the black and white striped outfit. He took one last look in the full-length mirror before walking across the landing into their shared bedroom. He knocked and heard her shout to come in. He walked in but she was nowhere to be seen. And within a couple of seconds, his heart fell to his stomach as he saw Scully's outfit.

She was wearing a white shirt with jagged rips all the way through with splattered fake blood on it. She was also wearing a tartan mini skirt also covered in fake blood, her legs covered by an off white knee-high sock with a small bow. At the top, her hair frizzy and wild. Her face paint was grey with black sunken eyes her lips bright red and fake blood dripping from them.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing his little angel Scully had dressed as a schoolgirl zombie.

“You’re a Zom-babe.”

She watched as his eyes went as black as little saucers as he raked his eyes up and down her body watching his eyes made a blush creep onto her face. Thank God for this face paint.

“Mulder you don’t look too bad yourself, I didn’t know you were a Beetlejuice fan.”

“It’s a classic Scully.”

“I have something for you Mulder.” she walked towards him holding a white envelope and suddenly he had a worried look on his face. “It’s nothing to be worried about Mulder I promise.”

He nodded and took the white envelope from her hands. He looked at both sides and it was completely blank and she was giving nothing away. He opened the envelope careful not to rip the contents which lay within.

He took out the card and flipped it to see what was on the front. His eyes scanned what was there. Which was a cartoon ghost with a speech bubble that read, “Boo there is a surprise that waits for you.”

He smiled and opened the card and inside the card it read, “No Trick.. Just A Treat! Our family is growing by two little feet. Introducing Baby Mulder due March 2020.”

He couldn’t believe what he read so he read that page over and over again he was in shock. He finally looked up to see her smiling from ear to ear her eyes were alight with joy.

“Is this true?” he managed to stutter out in his shocked state. She nodded her face still plastered in a smile

“How far along are you?”

“About 12 weeks I'm due about the 11 March. ”

“How?

“When the birds and the bees get together the stork brings...”

“Alright I get it,” he said sheepishly, “I didn’t think you could have children?” he asked confused.

“The doctors always said there was a 98 percent chance I could never get pregnant as there wasn’t enough ova that reside there but it seems that you have super sperm.”

Now he was grinning from ear to ear, he was like a boy in a candy shop and the shopkeeper told him he could have anything he wanted.

Tears of joy started slipping from his eyes, “Me.. You.. A baby?”

He hugged her and kissed her with a passion of a thousand suns before kneeling down in front of her stomach kissing it.

“Hi baby I’m your Daddy, you’re Mommy and I are going to love you till the end of the universe,” he was the happiest man alive he loved her and he loved this child they had created together.

She watched as he felt her stomach and talking to the baby she knew that he or she could not hear Mulder but she wasn’t about to ruin this moment.

“Mulder we need to get going or they are going to send out a search party.”

“I love you Scully.”

“I love you too Mulder, always.”

He stood up and smiled taking her small hand inside his large one and interlocking their fingers he lead her outside the bedroom and down the stairs and towards the main building. It took no more than five minutes for them to arrive at the main building the sky was dark and the stars shone brightly above them and everything had changed for the better. The party was in full swing as they arrived. The disco lights were shining from corner to corner, highlighting the walls with decorations, balloons, cobwebs and fake spiders. A smoke machine was making everything foggy it would truly be a Halloween party to remember.

“Mulder. Scully Nice to see you”

“Wow, Frohike the Ghostbusters really?” Scully said laughing.

“Yeah, the plasma guns even shoot real plasma.”

“I really don’t want to know,” she smiled.

“Hey, my man what's got you so happy?”

“Nothing just brilliant surprises that’s all.”

“If you say so,” he muttered but soon picked up again “Right, you two no sex in the bathroom this time because I am not cleaning it up.” They both turned bright red in remembrance of that night. “Anyway enjoy that night you know where the alcohol and food so help yourselves.”

Mulder leads Scully towards the punch bowl as promised there weren't many people at the party and knowing the Lone Gunman the way he did he told Scully to stay away from the punch as it was packed full of alcohol to get everyone blitzed. He grabbed a cup full of juice and grabbed himself a beer finding a small table to sit and talk about the last hour.

Lucky the music was on low and they could hear themselves.

“Thank you for not telling the Lone Gunman.”

“My pleasure I took the initiative that you wanted to tell you, mom, first ”

“Yes I do, but you’re the first person I told.”

“You’re my everything Scully always,” he put his hand inside her’s and they smiled at each other truly happy in the moment.

They spent the next couple of hours just enjoying the company around them as well as spending time with each other. His hand kept returning to her stomach and he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. They both joined in with the classic party song and even joined in on the Time Warp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. and seeing Mulder sing the song over ecstatically made Scully laugh so hard, everyone stared at him but she knew he was only singing for her.

They were now slow dancing in each other's arms her head was on his chest listening to the lull of his heartbeat.

“We should get going before it starts back up.”

“What do you mean? Everything is winding down.”

“Trust me, Scully, it doesn't stay that way for long.

She did trust him with her life and her heart and she linked her arm inside his and headed home for the night but managed to grab a few pieces of chocolate cake before exiting the door. He looked at her suspiciously and she smirked mischievously.

Several hours later Mulder was sitting staring out of the window into the open ocean as waves hitting the sand silently. The small grains of sand being washed away swirling, turning, floating into open waters. The moon cascading its white glow of the ocean's surface. His mind was in a whirlwind of emotions, Scully had told him they were having a baby. That she got pregnant, that he had got her pregnant. Their love had blossomed, this was a miracle and he was ecstatic, he had wanted a family since the last time they were in the quaint house. He didn’t mine a boy or a girl he just wanted it healthy. Though if he thought about it he could imagine a little girl with Scully’s hair and freckles but with his eyes and her nose.. Or a little boy with his hair and blue eyes with small freckles he smiled at the thought.

He turned away from the view and he wanted to keep up the tradition of reading a story or two a night and maybe reading will help settle his mind and let him fall asleep. He crept into the room and watched as Scully's body rose and fell with her deep breathes. She had fallen asleep virtually as soon as she got through the door. He crept in the room grabbing the book from the bedside table before exiting and creeping back down the stairs grabbing a blanket along the way. He got comfortable on the sofa and began to read out loud.

“In a conversation with Mrs. Peggy Balley at the bus station in Williamston, my first book ‘Historical and Traditional Tar Heel Stories’ was mentioned. Legends are among my favourites, Mrs. Bailey said that her mother, Mrs. John Mobley, who lives on Prison Camp Road, might give me some stories. I got in touch with Mrs. Mobley, and the following story was the result.” he was very intrigued and carried on reading.

“On one occasion Mr. and Mrs. Mobley visited his mother, Mrs Jane Bowen, who lived near Bear Grass, During the night they were awakened by a noise in the yard. Mr. Mobley went to the door and called out ‘What’s going on out there?’ The noise stopped for a few minutes and they returned to bed Mr. and Mrs. Mobley were not satisfied, so they went back into the yard and listened closely. This time they heard a baby crying. They followed the cries, which led them to her sisters home a short distance away.”

“Upon reaching her sisters home, they called her. She came to the door and Mr. and Mrs. Mobley told her about the babies cries. She went into the yard with them and they all listened carefully, hearing the baby crying again. They searched all around the house and the area near by, while the cries grew more faint the finally faded away. The mysterious phenomena were never solved. however, a short time after this Mrs. Mobley’s brother dies. Prior to his death, his baby girl had died. The family often thought that this peculiar occurrence, in some strange way, was concerned with the babies cries and the father’s death they wondered if, by some coincidence, the baby was crying for her father to meet her in heaven. After all, he died soon afterwards.” his eyes grew heavy and everything went black.

#txf fanfic #TXF #The X-Files #the x files #the xfiles #the x-files fanfic #The X Files Fanfic #msr fanfic #msr #mulder and scully #mulder and scully fanfic

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mulderitsme · 6 years ago

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the DeadAlive recap. i don’t know how i’m still functioning.

aaaaaaaaaaaand we’re diving right in. is it wrong to think scully is looking as beautiful as ever while wrapped in grief? because she does. i love the shot of her kneeling by the grave and skinner watching over her. because once again, he is standing next to her, comforting her, sharing her pain. as bonkers as this arc has been i really appreciate the evolution of this relationship. get you a friend like walter skinner.

kersh is still an asshole but doggett continues to be a good lil’ nugget. dedicated to finding the truth even if he’s not quite ready to accept it yet. still hellbent on protecting and helping scully, because he promised her he would, no matter what. i love doggett the nugget. a good nugget.

scully with a big belly!! finally! i was beginning to think we’d never see her showing. let me see all the waddling, it’s adorable! how many months has it been? never mind that, i don’t want to know.

okay you can’t throw lines like this in my face and leave it at that. what happened?? is she okay?? take good care of the alien baby baby mama!!

again with the flawless skinner x scully scenes!! oh how i love this scene, her desperation, her anger when she’s denied what she didn’t even dared to dream, her “i want to see him” shifting into “i need to see him” - because she does, she does need to see for herself, whether it’s a false hope or a true miracle. once again, she refuses to be coddled, to be spared a truth that might hurt her, break her. she wants to know. she needs to know. and skinner knows it. yet still he wants to protect her; while ultimately letting her decide.

*killing me softly playing in the distance* her hand on her belly ahjsqkfdlq

first skinner, now doggett. they get it. they know her. they know, she knows it’s going to break her. they only want to spare her the pain. but they truly, deeply respect her, so they’ll respect her decision. if she needs to see him, they will let her. she’s so, so brave - they love and admire her for it - but sometimes, they wish she’d be less brave and take the easy road. but scully wouldn’t be scully if she did.

ugh i love, LOVE that she puts her hand on his chest to make sure he’s alive! the joy on her face, the way her smile is blooming with each breath. and when that’s not enough, she puts her ENTIRE FACE on his stomach to physically feel him breathing in and out. that’s her mulder, first missing, then dead, now inexplicably returned to her once more, but this time, he’s alive. this time, she won’t let him slip away. oh gillian and your sweet, sweet faces of pain. how you break me so.

again with the hand on her belly. listen, i know it’s cliché, i know it’s cheesy, but i love it. give it to me.

i just like this shot a lot.

you know, i gave up trying to understand this guy’s motivation. what the fuck, krycek.

i’m just gonna skip whatever happens with the vaccine and skinner being tortured by a remote and doggett’s idiot macho bs and move on to...

I’M IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTIONS MULDER YOU IDIOT!! her sweet little face!! laughing and crying at the same time because she’s SO relieved!! it’s the same stupid mulder she fell in love with, making dumb jokes at inappropriate times. it’s really him. he’s all here. no alien parasite, virus or what have you could ever take over this sweet soul.

hello, this is the best line in the history of the show, fight me. i screamed. it’s so, so beautiful. “only what i see in your face” fuck me sideways i can’t deal with the beauty of this line

my favorite scully smile so far. the love in her eyes, you guys. so much love for her mulder.

as happy as i am to see these two reunited, i feel bad for doggett here. it’s such a bittersweet ending for him. what did he gain in all of this? nothing. he told her he’d bring her partner back, and he did. he threw away his career by doing so. immediately afterwards, he is rendered superfluous. the original x files team is back, and he doesn’t know where he fit in anymore. what was he going to say to scully, i wonder? and as the good nuggett that he is, he leaves them alone. doesn’t say a thing. not the right time. he leaves. she’s waited so long for this moment, he won’t spoil it.. a good guy, this doggett.

they’re so peaceful here. let them rest. let them be happy. let them have time to enjoy life and each other. i beg of you.

#txf watching #lots of incoherent screaming in this i apologize but #i'm a mess

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gaycrouton · 7 years ago

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Unbelievable

Words of Lust 21/27 [Scully runs out on a bad date and Mulder tries to salvage her evening.]

Unbelievable : (adjective) so great or extreme as to be difficult to believe; extraordinary.

They’d been working on a rough case for the past two weeks and they were finally done. Well, there were just a few things that she needed wrapped up, but when the work day was over, their hands would be free. The case involved a missing child, and he knew cases like that always hit Scully hardest. She didn’t need to say it, he could tell she was really bothered by it all. Which is why he was on his way down to the lab to ask her if she wanted to rent a movie and get some takeout, relaxing would do them some good.

Looking through the glass partition, he could see his favorite mass of red hair roaming around the lab, wrapping up the finishing touches of their case file by comparing data with the lab. He stopped in front of the glass before going in, taking a moment to watch Scully in her natural domain. The lab techs seemed to idolize her, utilizing having her in the lab by constantly asking questions about their own work, wanting her expert opinion. Even though they were distracting her from her, she responded with a patient smile and words of encouragement as she took charge of the entire room. He loved seeing her like this, so confident and revered.

“So, what’s she like in bed?” Mulder was snapped out of his admiration by an agent from the Violent Crimes Unit, Agent Martin. Mulder worked with him on a few cases in the past, and he was never a fan of the man’s overly-crude behavior. To put it lightly, he hated him.

“Excuse me?” Mulder asked in confusion.

The older agent motioned his hand and pointed to Scully, who was still talking to the techs. “The smokin’ redhead, who else? What do they call her? Ah-The Ice queen! Let me guess, you spend a lot of your time down in that basement meltin’ her until she’s a puddle, huh?” he joked, jovially nudging Mulder a little too hard with his elbow.

Every word that came out of this guy’s mouth made Mulder want to slug him, his fist subconsciously clenching at his side. He wasn’t naive, he knew Scully had to deal with overly flirtatious men, she’s even mentioned a few instances to him, but he hated hearing this perspective of it. It was as if he was expected to laugh and agree with the idea of sexually degrading his partner; the woman he adored more than anything. He’d also seen how uncomfortable the whole ‘Ice Queen’ thing made her. Her eyes would downcast, her jaw would set, and her whole demeanor would shift; as if this stupid nickname was actually a true reflection of her character. This was the first time someone had the audacity to actually say it in front of him though. He turned to glare at the man, but he was too preoccupied with trying to get a glimpse down Scully’s shirt as she leaned over a table.

“Agent Scully is my partner, and I would prefer if you didn’t speak about her like that,” he seethed, glaring at the man.

The man’s attention snapped back to Mulder, noting his irritation, and he put up his hands in mock-surrender. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean any harm. Sorry if I disrespected your woman.”

He didn’t need to look to know his knuckles were turning white at his sides. “Agent Scully is not ‘my woman’,” he responded evenly.

He immediately regretted saying that because a light went off in the man’s eyes and a slimy grin spread across his face. “Oh really? Well in that case, I’ll take a crack at her,” he beamed, patting the side of Mulder’s arm.

The thought of this man being so much as in Scully’s vicinity made him uncomfortable, so he tried to dissuade Agent Martin before he even tried. “You’re not her type.”

“I don’t know. An older, accomplished agent who understands first-hand the stresses of her job? I can be pretty convincing if I do say so myself,” he boasted. Fuck. When he put it like that, he did sound like someone Scully would be interested in and has been interested in.

It was like watching a train wreck, where it’s absolutely horrible, but you can’t look away. Agent Martin side-stepped Mulder and entered into the lab without waiting for a response. Mulder watched as the man approached Scully with a snake-like smile and words he couldn’t hear. She turned to him and gave Agent Martin that polite-Scully smile she never sent his way anymore. The thought made him smile. They were close enough that she wouldn’t even try to hide her exhaustion the way she was doing in front of Martin right now.

Not that the man would notice. He was speaking with grandeur and his arms were moving extravagantly around the air. Scully nodded along with the man’s speech and after a few moments, Mulder saw Scully avert her gaze to her work. Mulder was silently cheering, that was a sign of disinterest if he ever saw one. Even as a hand slid around her shoulder, much to his personal dismay, she still refused to look at the man. Martin whispered something in Scully’s ear and she turned to him with a deadpan expression and responded. While Mulder wished he could hear what was going on, he was happy to see she was clearly rejecting an offer. He continued watching like a kid glued to a tv until he saw the Agent leave out the other door.

As juvenile as it was, he was excited to hear all the details. He straightened his tie, acting casual as possible, and strolled in towards his partner. “Hey Scully, how’s it going.”

She turned towards him with exhausted eyes and sighed, just in the way he loved. “Hey Mulder. I’m just finishing up.”

He nodded appreciatively and pried, “I just saw Agent Martin come in. Did he need something?”

In a voice he couldn’t decipher, she responded, “Yeah, he asked me what I was doing tonight and then asked me out on a date.”

Mulder feigned ignorance and dropped his jaw, “Really? How bold.”

Scully snorted, “Yeah, he knows how to get to the point.”

“You’re too good for him. He was always a little weird,” Mulder exhaled, pleased.

Scully straightened up and started arranging the stacks of paper she was loading into the file. “Actually, I said yes.”

“Good to he-wait, what?”

“I said yes. I figured going out would be better than sitting at home along again. We’re going out to eat at seven,” she sighed, closing the folder. She motioned for Mulder to follow her as they walked up to Skinner’s office to drop off the completed report.

“B-but, why?” He was embarrassed at the almost whiney quality his voice was taking on, but he couldn’t help it.

“I just told you Mulder. Or are you asking why I wouldn’t rather sit at home by myself?” It was a rhetorical question and he didn’t know what to say next. His palms were sweating and he felt hot. He also felt a bit dizzy and it felt like his stomach had plummeted out and was being dragged along side him. He had felt this in brief waves before, but never this intensity. He was jealous. Plain and simple, there was no other explanation.

“I don’t like him,” was lamely the only thing he had to offer.

She snorted at his childish tone. “Well then it’s a good thing you’re not going on a date with him.” She stopped into Skinner’s office and left the folder with his assistant with a pleasant smile. Mulder stood in the hallway pouting, something she picked up on immediately. “Mulder, look. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your permission.”

She was right. He had no claim over he life or what she did with it. He nodded in resignation, “You’re right. I just want you to be safe. I hope you have a good time.” He attempted to give her a reassuring smile, but he knew it wasn’t reaching his eyes and that she’d notice.

She squeezed his arm and replied, “Thank you, Mulder. Have a nice night, okay?” And with that, she was walking away. Probably thinking about what outfit she’d wear tonight on her date. He tried to shake out any resentful thoughts and started leaving himself.

When he got to his apartment, he loosened his tie and threw himself on the couch. He went through all the possible ways he could kill time tonight. He contemplated calling the Gunmen, but the thought of actually going over there and having a conversation with them was exhausting enough. He thought about cleaning up his apartment, but he figured there was no use in breaking his twelve year streak. He glanced over at his tapes, which were collecting dust in the corner of the room. Recently, he hadn’t really needed the tapes because his imagination was plenty enough. The redhead that dominated his fantasies did more than enough for his libido. He reached his hand down to cup the erection that was already growing from the thought, but quickly retracted after a few strokes. It would just make him sad. There was nothing more pathetic than sobbing after an orgasm, and he figured he should spare himself the misery. He decided to just put on a movie and take it easy.

He tried relaxing, he honestly did, but for every minute of tepid peace, there were five minutes of worry. He just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact Scully was out on a date with that creep of a man. He had no reason for it and he knew that, Scully was a strong, capable woman. She could easily handle any lewd advances Martin threw her way. In truth, he was probably worried that these advances would be accepted, that she’d want the same thing. The though of Martin touching her made his skin crawl.

That man didn’t even know the slightest thing about Scully. He probably didn’t even care about the intricate detail that she comprised of, details Mulder committed to memory. What if he kissed her? When he held the back of her neck, he would have no idea what that little scar meant. That the key to Scully’s life rested under his touch. What if they did end up having sex? Unlikely, but still,

would he reach for a condom not knowing the painful memories Scully would have because of it? A stark reminder of her infertility, all that she’s lost on their journey. When she woke up screaming about her abduction like he had heard through the wall on so many nights, would the man just laugh and make a flippant remark about how nightmares were the worst?

He needed to stop thinking about it, he was completely blowing this out of proportion. He decided he may as well go for a ride, focusing on driving would be a distraction itself. He slipped out of hist jacket, lost his tie, and left, keeping the rest of his work attire on.

It worked, somewhat. He just enjoyed the nice spring breeze as he listened to music with the windows rolled down. He didn’t really have a plan, so he just wandered the streets of the city, testing himself to see if he could get lost and then get himself back to somewhere familiar. Unfortunately, that familiar place frequently landed him in front of Scully’s apartment complex. Damn his subconscious. After the second time, his stomach rumbled and he figured he should just go and grab something to eat before calling it an evening.

On his way to a drive thru, his phone rang from his pocket, pulling him out of his internal, self-deprecatory spiral. Taking one hand off the wheel, he grabbed his phone and pressed it to his ear, “Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me.” Well speak of the devil. His whole body perked up at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, Scully. Is everything okay?” he asked. His eyes glanced down at his dashboard and saw she should have been about forty minutes into her date. The worry temporarily subsided as her voice rang through the speaker.

“Um, yeah,” there was something weird about her tone, but he couldn’t place it. “Are you busy right now?”

“No, I was just out for a drive. What’s up?” he answered a little too fast.

There was a moment of silence before she answered in defeat, “I’m sorry, but is there anyway you could you come pick me up?”

What did he say to her? Did he do something to her? He felt like he was on a roller coaster with how much his stomach kept plummeting, but he was beyond eager to get her in sight and know she was safe and fine, “Absolutely, where are you?”

“I’m hiding in the Barnes and Noble on Monroe Street,” she sighed.

“Scully, why are you hiding? Where’s your date?” he checked the street sign nearest to him and turned around. He was only about five minutes away, four since he was rushing.

“He’s probably still at the bar wondering what’s taking me so long in the restroom,” she confessed, amusement lacing her voice.

“Scully,” he exclaimed in pride, “Did you dine and dash on this man?”

“Just dashed, unfortunately.” She didn’t sound distressed, which made him feel better, but he was still anxious about what could have possibly happened to make her leave in the middle of a date. It just seemed very unlike her, and the use of the word ‘hiding’ didn’t sit well with him.

“Well, I’m about a minute away. Wanna hop in and we can go somewhere to dine?” he offered.

“That sounds amazing, Mulder. You pick the place. I’ll see you in a second.” He could practically her her smile through the phone and his worry was slowly being replaced with excitement. He rarely got to hang out with Scully on the weekend, especially not outside of a case.

He hung up the phone as he rounded the corner. He pulled up in front of the Barnes and Noble and tried to spot her. After a moment he saw her jog out of the building, looking around once, before jumping into the passenger's seat. She looked beautiful. She was wearing a thin, strappy, black dress. It was form fitting around her chest, but flowed loosely around her knees, showing off her lithe figure. Her hair was lightly curled and her makeup was impeccable. It was a casual-date Scully that he had never been able to see before. A bit of him was jealous that the piece of shit VCU agent got to see her like this and that she had dolled herself up for him, but she was with him now and he was going to enjoy it.

As soon as she shut the door, she let out a huge sigh of relief and sent him a radiant smile. “Thank you so much, Mulder. I was nervous if I tried to hail a taxi, he’d see me through the window.”

“I’m glad you called me, Scully,” he started. He figured if he was honest, she’d reciprocate. His tone got a little softer as he asked, “Did he hurt you?”

She laughed a little at his question before quickly reassuring him, “No, no, he didn’t hurt me. He was just a little too forward for my taste.” Mulder let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and Scully chuckled some more at his reaction.

“Yeah, if I had to describe Agent Martin, ‘tact’ and ‘subtlety’ wouldn’t be the first words to pop into mind,” he joked.

“I have to say, after him saying I’d be his dessert and asking if I liked being on top or bottom, I have to agree,” she snickered.

Mulder’s jaw inadvertently dropped open, he couldn’t imagine saying that to a woman, let alone Scully, on a first date. “What did you respond?”

“I told him dessert’s always better before the meal, and that I’m always on top,” she deadpanned. He knew it was a joke, but hearing those words come out of her mouth sent a bolt straight down to his groin and put a vivid image of her in his head. He accidentally pressed the break a little bit and Scully was heavily amused by his reaction. “Kidding, I said ‘That’s inappropriate,’ and then I tried to talk about work for twenty minutes.”

“‘Tried?’ as in, wasn’t successful?” he asked, sliding into a parking spot at a Chinese takeout place he got a little too frequently.

“I thought it was going okay, I knew it would never happen again after the first thirty seconds, but I snuck out before we even ordered,” she shrugged, playing with the strap of her wallet. Her tone had shifted from joking to a bit dismissive and he knew there was something she was hiding.

He didn’t want to push her too hard, he knew she’d tell him everything eventually. “Hey,” he prompted to get her attention, “If it makes you feel any better, you look really beautiful tonight.”

She laughed lightly and looked away, “Thank you, Mulder. I haven’t been on a date in, well honestly, a few years, so I figured I’d put at least some effort in.”

Mulder began thinking this man would never run out of things to make Mulder hate him. The dick had gotten Scully’s hopes up and then royally fucked up, ruining her night. Well, not necessarily. A light bulb went off in Mulder’s head and as Scully reached towards the car door to get out, he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Scully hang on. Can you close your eyes and wait here for a second?”

“Why?” she questioned with suspicion.

“Do you trust me?”

Instead of verbally responding, she leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes, an expectant but amused expression littering her face.

He opened up the car door and ran to the front of the restaurant. Desperate times called for desperate measures and he plucked seven different flowers from the pots out front, none of them were the same color or same type, but the intent was more important. He would have felt guilty if he wasn’t such a heavy patron for them. He’d probably spent enough here in the last moth for them to buy enough flowers to plant around the block. He ran back to the car and smuggled the flowers underneath his seat. “Were they closed?” she asked, eyes still shut.

“Nope,” he smiled, starting the car.

“You couldn’t have possibly gotten take-out that fast?” She pried, looking for clarification as to why the car was currently moving.

“Nope,” he laughed.

“Mulder, can I open my eyes?” He was glad she was laughing too, and decided to let her for the time being. He was a man with a plan. If Scully wanted a date, then she was getting a date. The whole nine yards. First step was taking her to a new restaurant in town. If he remembered correctly, which he knew he did, she mentioned she really wanted to try it, but she heard it was expensive.

“Sure, but you’ll have to close them later,” he teased.

As soon as her eyes opened, they were on him. “Mulder, where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Can I at least get a hint?” When he glance over at her she stuck out her bottom lip and batted her lashes jokingly and it was painfully adorable.

“Fine, I’ll give you a hint,” he relented, “Your hint is; food.”

She groaned and eased into her seat in defeat. He turned the radio to a station he knew she liked and rejoiced when he got to hear her hum softly along, a sign she was in a good, relaxed mood. He’d learned that the hard way from years of road trips; if Scully wasn’t in the mood to hum along with the likes of Tori Amos and Alanis Morissette, it was best to leave her alone.

After a while, her gentle humming had turned into them singing along, albeit poorly, to every song that came on. They didn’t always know the words, they couldn’t stop laughing half the time, and it was fantastic. When he knew they were a few blocks away, he stopped singing himself and interrupted their endearingly off-tune cover of the Red Hot Chili Peppers to tell her to close her eyes, which she did immediately. Based on her little smirk, she was enjoying herself, which was a great sign being his plans for the night hadn’t even really began.

He pulled into the restaurant with the Italian name he couldn’t pronounce and unbuckled his seat belt. He leaned over and undid Scully’s as well, resting his hand on hers to quickly whisper, “Keep them closed okay?” To which, she nodded.

He grabbed the flowers from under his seat and got out of the car, quickly jogging to the other side. He opened the door and grabbed her hand, giving her gentle instructions and support to help her get out of the car. When she was standing in front of him, he started arranging the flowers in his hands, flicking off specks of lint the car had left on the petals. Instantly, his brilliant plan became nerve wracking. He was really going out on a limb, and if she didn’t like this it would be absolutely embarrassing, not to mention crushing for him.

It was too late for that now and he cleared his throat before commanding, “Open.”

Her lids fluttered and her attention was immediately drawn to the flowers being offered to her. “Mulder, what’s this?” she asked with a chuckle, taking the flowers from him and smelling them lightly. He got a boost of confidence from the gleam in her eyes and decided this was a good idea after all.

“Well, I didn’t think it was right that you look so beautiful and date-ready, only to have it wasted on that guy. So, I was wondering if you would accept my offer,” She was looking at him intently and it was like looking into the sun. “Scully, will you go on a date with me?”

After the question left her mouth she really recognized where he brought her, her mouth dropping open in shock with a soft gasp. “Oh, Mulder. I-you, you don’t have to do all this. I don’t want you to go to all this trouble just because I had a bad date.”

He realized she was thinking this was out of pity and quickly moved to dissuade her fear, “No-no, Scully,” he took a step closer to her, looking down at her with every ounce of determination his soul had to offer and lamented, “I want to do this. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. For seven years to be exact.” He elongated the last sentence by tapping on the buds of each of the seven flowers. He thought of that last part on the spot and was happy he coincidentally got the right number of flowers.

She watched his fingers as they danced from flower to flower, realization dawning her features. Oh my god, he did it , he actually made Scully blush. In that moment, the perspective he forced himself to have, seeing Scully only as his partner and best friend, was tinted by the overwhelming display of Scully as a woman. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, trying to bit down on it and hide the smile that threatened to crack her face open. Her cheeks and her chest were turning red, as if they were in competition with her hair. To top it all off, she could barely look him in the eye, instead, playing with the flowers she was holding in an embrace to her chest. In a breathy voice, she asked in happy disbelief, “Really?”

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my entire life.”

“Okay,” she declared, turning the full watt of her beaming smile to him, “Mulder, I accept your offer. Let’s go on a date.” The last part was said with the same nervous, excited anticipation that was clouding the air around them.

She quickly leaned into the car, which was still open, and uncapped an old, half-filled water bottle of his, sliding the stems of the flowers into the neck before nestling the bottle back into the console. She shut the door behind her and accepted Mulder’s extended hand, instering her little fingers in between his own. He was holding hands with Scully. As of right now, he was currently on a date with Scully.

He remembered during her speil about the restaurant last week, she mentioned that for the first three weeks they were operation on a walk-in basis, without the reservations. When they entered, he just had to give his name and they were being seated. The entire place was beautiful and he could see why Scully had wanted to check it out, it was ornate and lush with decadence. He could tell she was thrilled and it was just one of the many reasons on his ever-growing list of why this was the best idea he’d ever had.

The waiter was with them almost immediately, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, my name is Jason and I’ll be your waiter this evening. May I get you started with any drinks?” Mulder felt a smirk creep onto his face at the waiter’s slip up. It seemed no matter where they went people were making that mistake. He waited for Scully to correct him like she usually did, but looked up to see she was wearing the same smirk he was.

“I’ll take a water,” she responded, deciding to wear the name for the evening.

“I’ll take a water too, and could we also get a bottle of Merlot?” he asked, enjoying the look of surprise on Scully’s face.

The waiter left with their order and Scully immediately teased him, “Wow, our first date and we’re already married. You move fast.”

“Are you implying you don’t remember our wedding night? I’m hurt, Mrs. Mulder,” he joked back, earning an eye roll. They opened up their menus and tried to process what they were seeing. “Mulder, you don’t happen to speak italian, do you?”

“Afraid not, they don’t even have any pictures,” he offered lamely. Not just the dishes, the entire menu was in Italian. They burst out into laughter at their own plight.

“Wait-wait,” she tried to speak through her giggles, she leaned across the table and pointed at a word on his menu, “I see the word ‘spaghetti’!”

“Well my decision’s been made. I’m going to go with that instead of embarrassing myself,” he smirked, closing the menu. She nodded her head in agreement and they ordered together when the wine came.

“Mulder, please tell me you’re not going to be a bull-headed man and refuse to let me pay for half. This is an expensive meal,” she lamented.

“I thought my stubbornness was one of my most endearing qualities, Scully,” she snorted at him but he continued, “But, I do refuse. Let me spoil you please, you deserve it,” he pleaded.

She took a slow sip of her wine, contemplating before relenting, “Fine, but I get to pay next time.”

Mulder’s heart leapt at her words, “Next time? Wow, this is is by far the most successful impromptu date I’ve ever had.”

“Do you make a habit out of spontaneously asking women out?” she teased.

“Only the redheaded ones I’ve had a crush on for years,” he retorted. It was weird, being able to openly flirt with her without the guise of joking, but he couldn’t stop.

Her beaming smile from before make a comeback and she exclaimed, “You have a crush on me?”

He smiled back at her as he said, “Scully, I just revealed my longstanding feelings for you and we’re currently on a date, of course I have a crush on you.”

“I know, but still. That’s so sweet,” she boasted, taking another sip of her wine. “I want to thank you by the way.”

“I told you, I want to treat you for the ni-”

“No, no, not that. Well, yes thank you for that too,” she rambled shyly, “Thank you for finally asking me out.”

“Finally?” he prompted.

She rolled her eyes in response, “Mulder, I think it’s safe to say this was a long time coming. I don’t know if I would have ever gotten up the nerve to ask you out, so I’m glad you took initiative.” He was glad they were on the same page. The whole ambiance was an odd juxtaposition of shy nerves at the new development, and the familiar comfort they got from each other.

“Can I ask you something Scully?” he asked, not wanting to break the mood, but wanting to subside his curiosity.

“Hmm?”

“What was the final straw? He said those lewd comments to you, but you stayed. What happened to make you sneak away?”

She was silent for a while and his worry slowly started to return. He was about to ask if she was alright when she sighed. “Um, well. He shoved his hand up my dress and groped up my inner thigh. When I pushed him away he said, ‘This is why your partner doesn’t want to fuck you.’ Under normal circumstances, I would have slapped him and left, but I was embarrassed and wanted to turn the tables on him. I figured waiting for a date that would never return would suffice,” she shrugged, filling up her depleted glass with more wine.

There were so many things about what she just admitted that infuriated him. First, he is disrespectful to her, then he fucking gropes her, then he makes a rude and incorrect comment about one of the most important relationships in her life. He was without a doubt going to punch him in the face next time he saw Agent Martin, repercussions be damned. Looking at Scully, he could tell she was still residually embarrassed, he knew they were on the same page about how disgusting that was and that it would do no good for him to get mad right now. “Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he murmured softly.

“I know,” she shrugged again. Her words and her tone of voice didn’t really match up.

A thought dawned on him and he had to ask, “Scully, how did you escape? Did you climb out the window?”

He was glad this amused her, even though he had been partly serious, and after a moment of laughter she replied, “No, no, on my way to find a back exit, I guess I looked upset and a busboy asked if I was okay. I told him the gist of what happened and he showed me out the back and promised they’d spit in his food. Then I ran and spent sometime at the Barnes and Noble.”

“How come you didn’t call me right away? You know I would have come immediately,” His response was another shrug, yet again, she wasn’t looking at him. “Wait, did his comment about us actually bother you? Because I never said anything akin to that sentiment. He misinterpreted my refusal to sexually objectify you as disinterest.”

Now she was looking at him again, her classic eyebrow cocked, expectant of an explanation. He realized she didn’t know about his little conversation with Martin earlier and he had been pretending to be oblivious, “Oh, um. Before he asked you out, he caught me watching you through the window and he was making gross comments at your expense. I got mad and he thought we were together because of that. When I said we weren’t he decided to ask you out.”

“That’s why you were acting that way earlier,” she stated, realization dawning on her face.

“That and I was jealous,” he admitted.

Their food came and brought their conversation to a halt. The food was well worth the hype, and they devoured thier dishes enthusiastically. By the end of the meal, Scully’s face was slightly flush from the wine she drank, Mulder stopped after one glass because he had to drive and she finished the rest, but Scully had two, corking the rest so they could ‘save it for later.’

This night was filled with spontaneous ideas, because as Scully leaned down to grab a napkin that fell off the table, he saw couples dancing on a dance floor a few feet behind them. He stood up and watched Scully stare at him in confusion. He offered her his hand and motioned for her to look behind her. “Dance with me,” he murmured as she turned back around.

He was half expecting that she’d say no, but he was pleasantly surprised when her hand draped his own as she stood up. He guided her by the small of her back, like he had done time and time again, as they made their way to the dancefloor. As soon as he placed his hands on her waist, she nervously confessed, “Mulder, I don’t actually know how to dance.”

“Good, neither do I,” he laughed. She exhaled in relief and locked her hands on his shoulders. For a second they stood their rocking like that, and the saying from his middle school dances, ‘save room for Jesus’, rang in his mind. Scully must’ve been thinking the same thing because she closed the space, resting her head on his chest as her hands interlocked on the back of his neck. He slid his hands so they were more on her back as they gentley swayed around.

It was nice. He could feel the gentle warmth of her body and the relaxed rhythm of her breathing. He just enjoyed being able to hold her this close to him with no other reason than that he wanted to. Many couples came and went, multiple different songs played, but Mulder and Scully remained in each others’ embrace on the dance floor. Eventually, a fast song played and Scully’s head shifted so that her chin was on his chest, looking up at him. “I think that’s our signal to leave,” she sighed with disappointment.

“Sounds like it,” he agreed. “But first I want to try something.” He let go of her and turned her around, grabbing an arm. She laughed and immediately recognized what he was trying to do. She spun out once extravagantly before curling back in. He put one hand on the small of her back and the other on the back of her head before dipping her low. She squealed jovially in surprise and clung to his back.

He returned her rightly to her feet, enjoying this unique moment. He hadn’t noticed her unwavering stare until he saw it inching closer to his face. As soon as he recognized what she was doing, she was on her tip-toes pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He snaked his arms around her back and hugged her tightly, relishing in the feel of her soft lips against his own. She tasted like pasta, wine, and Scully. A beautiful combination. When they parted, she looked away in coy modesty. He couldn’t help himself and he leaned down and placed light kisses on her cheek, temple, and hairline, nuzzling his face in her tresses to smell her shampoo. “Thank you,” he mumbled into her scalp, the sensation making her laugh.

“For what?” she asked.

“For saying yes.”

She reclined her head back to look at him and gave him the same sweet smile she gave him when they kissed at New Years. “Always.”

They left the restaurant shortly after that and he drove her back to her place, holding her hand the whole time. He didn’t know how he was able to go so long without being able to touch her so freely. Her skin was like an addiction and he couldn’t let go. He turned off the car and walked her up to her apartment door, the flowers he gave her held with reverence in her hand. They stood outside her door like a couple of teenagers, he was the first to speak up, “I had a great time tonight, Scully.”

“Me too,” she smirked. She stood up on her toes again and pressed her lips to his, this kiss a bit more fervent and passionate than what was allowed in the restaurant. Her tongue slid over his lip asking for silent permission she was immediately granted. Their tongues roamed all over each others mouths. He felt the little ridges at the top of her mouth as she ran her tongue over the edges of his teeth. Their bottom lips would part as their jaws opened and closed, letting them breathe without breaking the kiss. He didn’t know when it happened, but eventually her back was flush against her door as he was ravishing her mouth, their free hands roaming over the other’s body. Intermittently when their mouths were open, her breath would be audible in little pants.

He had just inched his hand from her waist to below her hip when a voice interrupted them, “Danielle! First you trudge home at all hours of the night and now you’re having intercourse in the middle of the hallway!” Mulder broke off the kiss and turned his head to see an elderly woman glaring at them from the apartment adjacent to Scully’s.

“Ms. Vanover, my name’s Dana and I’m not engaging in intercourse,” she admonished in a breathy voice. Mulder laughed at the absurdity of her sentence and saw her trying not to break her mask of innocent denial.

“Well, we don’t want to see it,” the woman exclaimed, slamming her door.

Mulder turned to look back at Scully who was currently rolling her eyes. “What a joy.”

“Yeah, I guess when her TV’s out she must look through the peephole for entertainment,” she sighed.

Mulder took a step back and admired Scully’s swollen lips and messy hair. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. “Thank you for a beautiful evening, Scully.”

“Let’s do it again sometime,” she replied, opening her door and stepping inside, “Call me.”

“Absolutely,” he smiled as she shut the door. He couldn’t believe how tonight turned out, what started as a night of self-put and sulking had turned into a date with the woman of his dreams. He made it a few self-congratulatory steps down the hallway when he heard Scully’s voice call out.

“Wait, Mulder!” he turned around and saw her head peaking out of her door. “I don’t mean to be forward, but-” she paused for a second as if mustering up courage, “-do you wanna come in?” Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

His response was an excited smile and a dance down the hallway until he was in her apartment. She closed the door and latched herself onto him, continuing where they left off in the hallway. She pressed her body flush to his and planted her lips to his, one hand on his back and the other in his hair.

Mulder smiles against her and deepened the kiss. He’d felt it a few times tonight, but the pressure of her tongue against his was titillating and he couldn’t get enough. He placed one hand on the small of her back and the other on her bare shoulder blades, pressing her closer to him. Her leg snuck between his and her hip pressed against his groin, making him inadvertently arch into her. He gasped lightly and she took advantage of his distraction, she trapped his tongue in between her lips and sucked on it lightly before sucking on his pouty lip.

His hand snaked a little lower so that it was resting on her ass, he didn’t grope, no matter how much he wanted to. He just wanted to test the waters. His other hand ran into her hair, raking his nails against her scalp. She responded by placing kisses along his jawline and suckling the erogenous zone under his ear. He groaned and she let go, looking up at him as she panted, “Is this okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

No Scully, you’re making me unbearably aroused. “No, not at all. I just don’t want you to feel like I’m rushing you into anything,” he was panting equally as hard as she was and it was hard for his hands to stay still.

“Do you want this?” she asked, voice demanding he answers honestly.

“God, more than anything,” he whined.

“Good, because I’ve been wanting it for the past seven years, but let’s continue somewhere a little more comfortable,” she declared with a smile. She’s been wanting me the whole time I’ve been wanting her.

She took his hand, and led him further into her apartment than he was usually allowed. The deeper they got, the stronger her scent became. She pushed open her bedroom door and let go of his hand. She waked over to the bed and quickly tossed an array of clothes into the floor of her closet. “Sorry, I didn’t anticipate I’d be seducing you when I left my room a mess,” she joked.

While his groin was responding to her phrasing, he realized the clothes that were scattered were an arrangement of pretty, casual dresses. By the looks of it, she had gone through a few outfits before settling on this dress. It was so sweet and it broke his heart how she had been treated after going through all that effort.

She had just thrown the last item into the closet and she turned around with a smile. He took a few steps towards her and grabbed her into his arms. He looked into her eyes, trying to convey every ounce of passion and love his body had to offer. He raised one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek in his palm afterwards. “Scully, you are so unbelievably beautiful. I feel so honored get to be a part of your life.”

He was positive that sweet and embarrassed Scully-smile was his absolute favorite, and he almost didn’t want to cover it with his lips. Almost. His lips descended onto hers and the smile felt just as good as it looked. Scully lifted her hands to his chest and started undoing the buttons of his shirt. After every button was undone, she pressed a kiss to his skin. His collarbone, his chest, his abdomen, his bellybutton, his fuck. Scully was on her knees as the last button came off and he could feel her breath against the start of his pubic bone. She started working on his belt and he quickly discarded his shirt.

She slipped the belt out of the loop and undid the button. Every movement of her hands created friction against his bulge. One hard motion made him moan and she snickered while lowering his zipper. He couldn’t remember a single thing in his entire life that filled him with more anticipation than this moment. When the zipper was lowered, she pressed a kiss to his hard on through his underwear and he was practically writhing while standing up. He felt her dainty fingers slip under the waistband of his pants and boxers and she pulled down until his cock bobbed in the air in front of her.

He raised his hand to cover his mouth to suppress himself from crying out. She hadn’t even touched him yet and he was swimming in pleasure. She looked up at him with sensual eyes as she grabbed him fully. He moaned loudly into his hand and bucked into her touch. She ran her thumb over his head, playing with his precum and started stroking him in eager anticipation. God, he’d always appreciated the dexterity and talent of Scully’s hands, but this was a whole new level. Her hand came to a rest at his base and she purred, “Mulder, you’re beautiful.”

He’d never been particularly self-conscious of his manhood, but hearing the reassurance from Scully made him blush. He looked down in time to see her place gentle kisses all along his shaft before pressing one to his throbbing head. He was just about to smile at the sweetness of her gesture when she unexpectedly winked at him before taking him into her wet mouth. “Oh fuck,” he cried so loudly it reverberated off the walls.

She hollowed her cheeks and bobbed her head up and down his length, anything she couldn’t take was wrapped firmly in her hand. She moved her head back and ran her tongue up and down his length followed by her swirling her tongue around his tip, playing with the sensitive skin. She took him back in and started sucking him off again, occasionally looking back up at him through thick lashes. He was in nirvana right now; the lips he had spent years yearning for and fantasizing about were currently wrapped around his cock right now. He lost his train of thought as she removed her hand, placing them both with her palms against his hip bones as she deep throated him, until her lips touched his base. She shook her head against him and he felt the tip of his dick rub against the back of her throat.

He felt that familiar hot coiling sensation in his abdomen and he knew he needed to take a break so this didn’t end too fast. When she retracted her mouth, he touched his hands to her shoulders to get her attention, “Come ‘ere.”

She stood up and she was breathing hard and he could see her eyes were watering from resisting her gag reflex. He cupped her face and wiped away the stray tears with the pads of him thumbs before pressing a deep kiss to her lips, tasting himself in her mouth. Without breaking the kiss, he kicked off his pants, socks, and shoes while Scully’s hands grabbed at every piece of flesh she could.

He moved onto kissing her neck as he searched her back for a zipper. “N-no zipper,” she moaned in pleasure, barely registering anything that wasn’t his lips on her neck. He appreciated the heads up and he grabbed the hem of her dress, removing his lips only to discard the dress over her head and throwing it into the closet with the rest. He was beyond happy to see she hadn’t been wearing a bra underneath her dress, her milky white breasts pert and rose-budded. He bent down, burying his face in her chest as he wrapped his arms under her ass, picking her up.

She squealed as he tossed her on the bed, draping her body with his own as he placed his mouth hungrily on her left nipple. The sounds of Scully’s pleasure were like music to his ears. He ran the tip of his tongue teasingly over her aching mounds. One of his hands snaked down during his ministrations and he slid it under her underwear, being met with her soaking wet center. She keened in pleasure as his hand started exploring, slipping one finger inside her tight heat. He curved his finger, finding her g-spot while he paid attention to her right boob. After a few moments, Scully started writhing against his hand, and it was hard to keep latched to her breast. He stood up and hooked his fingers under the band of her underwear, dragging the silky fabric down her legs.

He tossed the garment aside and placed his hands under her knees. He pulled on her until her body slid down the bed. He got on his knees as her ass was flush to the edge of the bed and he draped each leg over his shoulders. Mimicking what sweet torture she had done to him eariler, he placed a kiss on each inner thigh, the lips of her vulva, her mons, before placing his thumbs on either side of her opening and parting her lips, revealing her beautiful pink center. He looked up and, through the valleys of her breasts, saw her biting her lip and looking at him, her chest heaving with her breath. He placed a sweet kiss to her clit before opening his mouth and lavishing her with attention.

Scully tasted salty and like her own personal musk, it was intoxicating. He ran his tongue up and down her slit before creating a direct suction on her clit. Scully was thrusting against his face, and he had to place a firm hand on her abdomen to keep her in place. He rubbed his lips together as they were clamped on her clit and she started whimpering. It was an experiment finding what she liked best, but from the way her legs were clamping around his head, he was finding it.

He was flicking his tongue back and forth quickly against her when she started grabbing the sheets in anticipation for what was to come. His tongue begged for a break, and a new lungful of air would have done good for him, but he’d be damned before he stopped. After a few more flicks, she violently arched off the bed and cried out, “Oh god, Mulder! Fuck me!” She was convulsing with her orgasm and he could feel her legs quivering against his head. He rode her orgasm with her until she was left panting, running a hand through his hair appreciatively.

He stood up to change his position and she made a move to stand up too, but as soon as her feet planted on the floor, her legs gave out and she started to collapse. Before she fell completely, he grabbed her and hoisted her into his arms bridal style. “A little wobbly there, Scully?” he teased.

“My legs feel like jelly,” she laughed. He was filled with pride at the effect he just had on her and he laid her down in the bed, climbing on top of her. She snaked a hand around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss, this time tasting herself on him.

When she felt his erection pressing against her thigh, she spread her legs wide and broke the kiss, smiling at him with a coy gleam in her eyes. His heart was pounding as he grabbed himself, stroking himself a few times to re-lubricate himself before guiding his tip to her entrance. He eased himself in, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust. She was completely aroused and ready from her orgasm, but he knew it’d been a long time for the both of them and it was a tight fit anyway.

When he was buried to the hilt, they took a moment to just breath and cherish the sensation. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” he asked, sweat beading at his hairline.

She nodded, lips parted in pleasure, “You feel amazing, you can move.” He took her permission and started thrusting into her. She felt like a vice grip around him and he couldn’t stop the groans coming out with each movement, it was unbelievable. Scully raised her hips and was rocking herself against him, helping him go deeper than imaginable. Their bodies were melding into one and their pleasure was engulfing them both.

Scully wrapped her hands around his neck and he pivoted his hips so he would hit her g-spot he had located earlier, a gesture she was extremely happy with based on the cries coming out of her mouth that matched his perfectly. “Harder,” she growled through clenched teeth, and he was more than willing to oblige. Summoning all the endurance he had, he placed his hands on either side of her head and trust into her without holding back, making the bed hit the wall with loud bangs, not that you’d be able to hear it over the sound of Scully’s second orgasm washing over her. He didn’t relent up until she placed a hand on his chest, signalling she was getting overstimulated. He slowed his place to softer thrusts as he kissed her neck.

He had been on edge since the hallway and he knew he couldn’t last much longer. She had come down from her orgasm and was thrusting against him again. He felt his balls start to tighten and he panted out, “Scully, I’m going to cum soon, where do you-”

“Just let me know when you’re ready and you can come in my mouth,” she moaned against his skin.

He groaned at her words and bucked into her a few more times before pulling out, grabbing his cock and squeezing at the base to hold off until she was laying in front of him, taking him in her mouth once more. She bobbed her head a few times and he spurted hotly into the back of her throat. “S-cully,” he cried, stroking her hair as she sucked everything he had to offer. When he was done, she let him fall out of her mouth, licking him clean as she swallowed. It was unbearably hot.

They collapsed onto the bed in a heap of sweaty limbs, holding each other tightly. “That was well worth the wait,” she gasped, breathless.

“It was everything I dreamed an more,” he confessed. Never would he have anticipated Scully was so uninhibited in bed. He knew she was a sensual being, but he supposed the catholic upbringing threw him off.

They were kissing softly when a knock on the door interrupted them. “What time is it?” he asked as she slipped off the bed, grabbing a robe.

“Nearing midnight,” she shrugged, tightening the sash. He stood up and slipped on his boxers, wanting to come with her to see who it could be at this time.

Neither of them were prepared to see the police standing on the other side of the door.

“May I help you?” she asked with trepidation.

“Sorry ma’am, we’re here to follow up on a noise complaint,” one of the officers said, blush tinting his cheeks at their state of undress and the obvious cause of the complaint.

Simultaneously, Mulder and Scully peaked their head out the door and looked towards the adjacent apartment, seeing the crotchety old woman standing proudly with an irritated look on her face, “No one wants to hear it either!”

#msr #msr romance #msr smut #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder and scully #gaycrouton #onlytheinevitable #my fanfiction

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poeticsandaliens · 7 years ago

Text

Miracle

Rating: M because Will curses like a truck driver.

Timeline: Post-MS IV (I know, I know. If you look closely, you can see my middle finger pointing directly at Chris Carter.)

Summary: Six times Dana Scully called Will a miracle and what that word really means.

Tagging @today-in-fic. This fic has been my pet project for the last two weeks and was interrupted repeatedly by the porn I’ve been writing. If you squint it can be read as the same universe as my other post-finale fics, namely Morning Hour, but that’s not really relevant.

‘Miracle’ is a dirty word, dirtier than ‘fuck’ used to be and much less versatile. When you work miracles, you set a precedent. You promise you can save people the next time.

Reading his own files in a government database, long-dead typists call Jackson Van de Kamp a miracle or a monster, savior of the world or bringer of the apocalypse. It’s a tired Superman story, and he’s read every possible ending in his childhood comic books.

He’s not the government’s mail-order Jesus, here to die for their fucked-up sins.

He can prove it, too. He didn’t forgive his murderers; he popped off their heads. And he didn’t die to absolve anyone of blame; he died for the very thing God didn’t want anyone to get ahold of—Knowledge. The Truth with capital T. He died because he taunted some chain-smoking bastard on a bridge. He didn’t mean to get shot, and he didn’t mean to come back to life.

* * * * * * *

The first time Dana calls him a miracle, Will leaves. He’s used to the word—which makes it worse but easier to hide. Still, he packs up his duffel and promises he’ll be back. He pretends it has nothing to do with them, everything to do with the itch of the road. It’s not her fault miracles make him sick.

He leaves them the adirondack chair. It’s a derelict piece of shit he picked up from some guy’s garage sale, but it’s his piece of shit. He hammered it back together, painted it the color of the Wyoming sky, and planted it in their yard. He hopes they take it as a sign that he’s making them his home, so he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

He drives South and lets the humidity suck him in. He picks a bucket of figs outside Inman, South Carolina with an ancient African American woman who embroidered the entire solar system into her jean jacket. She is an elm tree of a woman, engraved with all the wrinkles of ninety-two years. Then, he buys a bag of boiled peanuts and three honey-sticks from the ramshackle fuel station next to a railroad overgrown with kudzu. The attendant calls it a miracle that a customer has come ‘round. Then he tells Will that honeysuckle is free.

Southerners, he has noticed, toss around ‘miracles’ like they’re cheaper than cigarettes. He likes it.

Will crawls back to Virginia after a couple weeks spent on the road, where he wasted monsoon nights smoking his head away in the Everglades and keeping an eye on the unborn kid. He’s not an idiot; he knows it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If something goes wrong, he’ll know before Mulder and Dana do. He even knew it was a girl before they did, but he’s good at keeping his mouth shut.

He’ll be around for his sister, and they all know it. He’s attached to the kid, even if he tries to hide it. The baby is something untainted by his death count, his back-from-death count, his bloody miracles.

* * * * * * *

The second time Dana calls him a miracle, he lets it slide. Slip of the tongue, mumbled in between bites of croissant. He’s laughing for the first time in God knows how long, laughing his way through autumn.

Dana sits cross-legged in the grass, sipping tea. She sits in the grass a lot, he notices. Maybe it’s a side effect of being an ex-city-dweller, the way grass relaxes her and she shushes him to hear the cicadas. Will was always a trail-and-cliff kind of boy, raised in the shadow of Wyoming Rockies, but he can appreciate the rickety solitude of this home.

He pads barefoot through the dying lawn and sits down next to her. He’s been home for a week now, longer than last time. Tomorrow, he will shove two hoodies into a backpack and drive to the Appalachians. He will leave behind a companion to his adirondack and a bucket of pine-green paint. This time when he says ‘itch of the road,’ he means it. But for now, he holds up a paper bag from the bakery. “I brought croissants.”

Dana’s eyebrows shoot up; her face splits into a grin. “Thank you Will,” she says as he passes her the bag. The scent of melted chocolate wafts from its wrapping. She bites into the croissant with a contented sigh as he reaches into the bag for his own, butter and chocolate sticking to his fingers.

“You’re a miracle,” she says through a mouthful of buttery goodness.

Time stops.

Will doesn’t register it until he has swallowed. When he looks at her, she’s bright red, her eyes wide and all of a sudden younger than her face. He smiles as reassuringly as he can and lies back on the lawn. She didn’t mean it like that, and even if she did. It’s not her fault.

* * * * * * *

The third time doesn’t really count. Spring goes out with drums of thunder, and June bleeds into their lives. One morning, Dana cups a naked, watermelon-pink creature in the palm of her hand and stalks urgently across the patio.

“It’s a baby robin,” she informs him. It lies panting on a paper towel. Before he can protest, she slides it into his hands.

He must have startled at the sight of it, the intersection of hideous and adorable, because Dana apologizes for the lack of warning. Turns out it dropped from its nest, and she’s too short to reach the branch. He is pleasantly surprised by this side of her, the tender side that rescues birds and folds bandannas around her neck on sunny days.

Dana leads him to the birds’ nest, sitting seven feet up a tree and already brimming with hatchlings. An alarmed screech from a nearby tree alerts him to the mother robin. He cradles the baby bird in his hand, admiring it for a moment. But just before he lifts it to the nest, he hears—

thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, the newborn’s rapid heart rate strumming his eardrums. This again.

“Are you okay?” Dana watches him, her brows furrowed.

“Uh-huh,” he assures her. “Just got the bird’s heartbeat stuck in my head for a second.” He smacks his ear as if he’s caught water in it, and the sound fades.

“You can do that?” Amazement sparkles in her eyes. Also, he discerns, maternal pride.

“Yup.” He tries for nonchalant, ends up sheepish, scratching the back of his head and avoiding her eyes. Should he tell her? He studies her—tiny and wound up like a sharp violin, bearing an impressive collection of pantsuits and an even more impressive collection of scars. All taut muscle except where a small-for-now baby bump blossoms beneath her t-shirt.

“You know, I can hear the kid’s heartbeat too,” he says, gesturing to her stomach. He tries to ignore her quick intake of breath.

She stands up straighter, gaging how much he wants to tell her. “What does it sound like?”

“Like a metronome.” His short-term memory lobs Miami at him. He’s unsure why he tells her any of this, but he does. “When I was in Florida,” he muses, “I bought this shitty electric keyboard. The kind they have elementary school music classrooms, that takes like ten double A batteries and plays a bunch of out of tune instruments. I wanted a guitar but I didn’t know how to play one; plus, I thought it would be cute for the baby. Make a good first impression, y’know?”

He doesn’t give Dana a chance to respond. “Anyway, I was camping out in the everglades. Just… stretching out and sleeping in the trunk of the car. At night if it wasn’t raining, I would open the sun roof and look at the sky. And I tried to check up on you guys, in here.” He taps his forehead. “Came up with the heartbeat instead. Sometimes I tried to play the keyboard in time to it. I could play some tunes from Pirates of the Caribbean but not much else.”

A smile graces her lips. “You said you used to love those movies.”

“I did. That’s what the Everglades reminded me of,” he adds. Pirates, tropical marshes, the monsters that lurk in the deep. He remembers sitting on the roof, going through three different flavors of vape, scared to dangle his feet over the car because a gator had taken up residence beside it. He remembers watching the gator breathe, watching its slick, scaly back dry out in the heat, and its jaw hang wide open. He remembers finally climbing down the car and reaching out to touch it. His rational side was terrified it would snap, but he realized, somehow, that it wouldn’t. Not at him, at any rate. Maybe his alien blood is reptilian. Who knows. He’ll never forget what an alligator’s back feels like.

“What happened to the keyboard?”

“It broke. I tossed it before I came home.” He reaches into the bird’s nest and drops the little creature in. It mewls hungrily.

“Miracle of life from non-life,” says Dana. She gingerly touches his shoulder. He listens for the rhythmic creature unfolding in her womb. Life from non-life, skin from stones, cells from silence.

* * * * * * *

The fourth time Dana calls him a miracle, it is not Dana at all. Dana is inside, flipping three grilled cheese sandwiches while Mulder hoes a disheveled garden. A heat wave barreled violently into Virginia last week, and Dana won’t show her face outside at midday, especially since the baby made its presence clear.

Will pulls into the driveway with three bags of fertilizer and a greenhouse worth of seeds. He tucks his ice coffee in his elbow and unloads the dirt from his trunk. Already decorated in roots and silver dandelions, Mulder empties them messily into the turned dirt.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says with a grin. A month ago, he might have rejected the nickname, but he’s trying to befriend Mulder. Bridge the gaps he already has with Dana by virtue of telepathy. It’s hard to hide from a woman who can read your mind.

“No problem.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders over to the garden. “Anything I can do?”

“Can you blot out the sun?” Mulder chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Or, you know, work some human Miracle-Grow on these flowers?”

“Unfortunately,” Will says distractedly, “My talents don’t really extend to peaceable flower-growing. I don’t think that’s what the government had in mind when they cooked up my DNA.” He means it casually. He really does. The same way Mulder means ‘human Miracle-Grow,’ and he was going to let that one go.

Mulder stares at him with those regretful labrador eyes. Shit. One wrong step and he’s swimming in parental guilt. Dana knows why he took the first time. He wonders if she ever told Mulder, or if she let him believe it was wanderlust. Genetic, of course.

“It’s okay,” he assures Mulder. Will doesn’t want his parents’ teary remorse, but he accepts it. They’ve seen Hell, and that’s coming from the kid who’s blown up human heads. So he curbs his annoyance every time they hug him like he’s fine china and doubt him when he says he’ll stay.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says, “that was insensitive.”

“Naw, it’s fine.” Casually, callously, that’s the only way Will knows how to talk about what he’s been through.

Silence thick with pollen. Mulder shakes sunflower seeds over a haphazard row.

“You were a miracle, you know. Scully wanted you more than anything.”

He knows this. He reads it like newsprint off her brain. And yet—

“I was a weapon,” Will says bluntly. Another comic book cliché to tack onto the list. Not like he’s counting or anything.

“No.” Mulder shakes his head, shoves the hoe into a fresh groove. “They tried to weaponize you, but you wouldn’t have it. Will, you’ve got a choice that Scully and I don’t have—you don’t have to be their experiment. It’s too late in the game for us; we’re old, and we served twenty-five years in the X-files, prodding and being prodded. But those men are dead now, and while the scars may never heal, you don’t have to let them open another wound. You are human, and you’re allowed to have a life. You’re only their weapon if you believe it.”

He says it so forcefully Will almost believes him. Maybe one day he will. Not yet. “I did kill people,” he reminds his father solemnly. He has inherited Mulder’s ability to suck out his own soul.

“It’ll haunt you, and it’s never okay, but sometimes that’s what it comes to.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I killed people. So did Scully.” He was dead when Mulder shot the smoking bastard. He wishes he had seen it for more reasons than one. “Just…” Mulder trails off. “Give yourself a chance. Give Scully a chance. You won’t regret it.”

He wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as Mulder loves Dana. He wonders if he wants to love someone that much, to bear the everyday risk of losing them. He empties two bags of poppy seeds into the garden.

Mulder has returned to the open car. He lifts a shopping bag out of the trunk and peeks inside. “What’s this?”

“I found it with the sunflower seeds. They were on clearance.” Will shrugs, acts like he didn’t buy it thoughtfully.

The wooden windchimes clink when Mulder examines them—sleeves of birch wood dangling like spiders on a thread. At the top, a cardinal opens its beak to the sky. “It’s beautiful. Your moth—Scully will love this.”

Wisely, neither of them discuss the Freudian slip.

* * * * * * *

The fifth time Dana says it, they are sitting in the Adirondack chairs, watching the overdue baby struggle against her confines. He comes to rest somewhere between amazed and utterly creeped out at the sight of it, and it probably shows on his face. Things have begun to show on his face recently. Since he pulled his hair into a ponytail and let himself relax, he no longer resembles the drunken guitarist of an out-of-line undergrad rock band. That was how Mulder described the scraggly shape of him when he was on the run. Mulder recognized it in himself, maybe—trying to scare off his enemies, winds up scaring off everybody else.

Scully cocks an eyebrow at him. “You look slightly perturbed.”

“It’s a little freaky looking,” Will concedes, eyeing the bow and flex of her abdomen. Kid’ll be here any day now—tomorrow, he predicts, maybe the day after. His sixth sense will go fucking haywire the second Dana goes into labor.

“It feels even stranger than it looks,” she replies.

He settles into the chair, leaning his head on his hands and stretching his gangly legs in front of him. He listens. Songbirds, wind chimes, the desperate buzz of insects having sex before they die… his sister’s heartbeat thumping frantically against the side of his head. He half smiles.

“It’s miraculous, you know,” she murmurs. “Even if it looks and feels discomfiting, it’s still a miracle.” A weighty pause. “You’re a miracle too.”

This time, the weight of the word ‘miracle’ doesn’t make him ill. His whole life, a catalogue of unexplained events and Sunday mornings in the Presbyterian church, people called him a miracle. On the playground, he healed scraped knees, and kids called him a wizard.

Dana and Mulder, though—they don’t see him as a miracle of Biblical proportion, or a miracle of science, immaculately crafted for a destiny. To them, he’s a miracle of love. His birth is a transcription of amor omnia vincit, and his return is a testament to it. He is a miracle because he was born and because he is a person Dana Scully created with Fox Mulder in a tatty DC apartment. Not because he’s a gritty reboot of a Christ allegory.

He is okay with being this kind of miracle.

He hears a quiet, “oh…” and opens his eyes. Dana scrunches her eyebrows together and squeezes the arm of her chair. “Braxton-Hicks,” she explains. He takes her at her word the way Mulder doesn’t. (Mulder, who suspects the baby is coming every time she so much as grunts; Mulder, who couldn’t be there the three times his son came to life.)

“If she sticks around much longer,” mutters Dana as she shifts in the chair, “she’ll say her first words in the womb.”

“Tomorrow,” he promises. Immediately he regrets telling her, but she looked so uncomfortable just there. She reminded him of his neighbors in Wyoming, a dusty-haired lesbian couple who wore nothing but khakis and hiking boots. Their son must be three or four by now, but he remembers how Lilian taught him to repair his mountain bike in her last month of pregnancy, woeing incessantly about how she couldn’t ride her own. ‘If the baby doesn’t come tomorrow I’m going to lose my goddamn mind,’ she’d told him every day for a week.

Now, Dana gazes at him with ocean-wide eyes. “You know?”

He shrugs self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“How?”

“I dunno. Same way I do all the other shit, I guess.” He wiggles his fingers. “Galaxy magic.”

This time she laughs, and a little bubble of pride wells in him. He can make her laugh through her discomfort, a clear, beautiful sound. He loves her, his mother. She doesn’t feel quite like his mother, but he catches love for her like he caught it for his unborn sister. Or maybe she is something like his mother—not his mom, the titles ‘Mom and Dad’ will forever be reserved for the parents he grieves, and he’s still shaking the nagging guilt that he is somehow replacing them by loving Dana and Mulder.

Maybe this is the kind of love you feel for your parents when you’re thirty, or maybe it’s the kind of love you feel for a step parent who isn’t your mom but who does her best, asks how your day is going and offers what advice she can. Whatever it is, it is keen and familiar, and he clings to it like a lifeline on days the earth swallows him.

Mulder finds them laughing their asses off at the most beautiful sunset in months. Dana glances up at him with an ear-to-ear grin, one hand on her belly and one hand on Will’s shoulder. Weeping tears of laughter, they forget what cracked them up in the first place.

* * * * * * *

In his eighteen years on this bitch of an Earth, Will has worked two legitimate miracles:

Jerry Abernathy from his eighth grade Algebra class had an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie. Somehow, he survived without a single shot of the epi pen he’d left at home that morning.

Alice Mulder-Scully enters the world screaming. The volume of blood on nurses’ uniforms belies the healthy baby. Relieved, haggard doctors struggle to explain the mother’s strong heartbeat. Nothing to see here, tells the look on Will’s face as strangers pass him in the waiting room. He wipes a trickle of blood from his nose and downs an energy drink to stay awake.

* * * * * * *

The sixth time Dana calls him a miracle, he is sitting on the porch steps of the Virginia home. Alice’s baby feet kick his knees, and he grins as she struggles from his lap to crawl across the grass. Fireflies light up the gravel drive, flashing and dying, glowing with no particular pattern. They move like stars in space-time, as if he’s witnessing the lifespan of a galaxy in time lapse. Alice giggles as one blinks in front of her nose.

“Bug!” she screams happily.

“Yeah, kiddo, a lot of bugs.” A fox skittered across the property that morning, and Alice pointed at it and called it ‘Dada.’ Mulder was fake-insulted for hours.

Grinning down at her, he begins to rearrange the fireflies. To his behest, insects in mating season are shockingly tenacious, and it takes all his mental effort to control them. It’s worth it as they lazily swirl toward Alice, who bats at them and giggles uncontrollably.

“Bug! Bug!” she pops the word over and over again, snickering as one lands in her tufts of russet hair.

“I assume this is your doing?” Dana appears behind him, and he grins at her over his shoulder. The screen door smacks shut.

“She loves them.”

“More than her actual toys,” Dana snorts. She cocks her eyebrow at him, then lifts her phone and takes a picture. “I never liked fireflies.”

“Not even as a kid?”

“Well,” she chuckles, “maybe. But one of my first cases on the X files ruined them for me.”

“Seems like those files fucked you both over,” he replies.

“Someone had to do our job.” She sits down next to him and wraps her sweater tighter round her frame. “It took a lot from Mulder and I, but it brought us together. And when the ash settled, we gained two miracles.”

Watching Alice clumsily reach for glow worms, Dana wraps her arm around his shoulders. He lets her. Alice’s fireflies scatter and spiral into the stars.

#the x-files #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr fanfic #post ms iv #jackson van de kamp #william-centric #stupid midlife miracle baby #todayinfic

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edierone · 8 years ago

Text

Sirens, Coelacanths, and Other Sensitive Topics

It’s a very, very long, cold, wind-whipped five minutes, trying to keep up with her as she stalks down the block, furiously puffing on her Lucky Strike. He’s accepted that they’re not going to do it tonight, and is only wondering whether she’ll let him walk her to her dorm or just peel off at the campus gates, leaving him standing there like the idiot he is, when she finally speaks.

“Spooky—”

Oh thank god — she may be mad, but not mad enough to give up the nickname she’s reclaimed and redeemed from his most hated teenage memories.

“Yeah?” he says pathetically, hopefully.

“Did you have to go on and on about submarines ‘Still on Patrol,’ at dinner with a Navy wife?”

He’d been unable to help himself — he was so fascinated with the Navy concept of how ships lost at sea were said to be “still on patrol,” never lost or gone or whatever, and how creepy yet cool that was. He’d noticed her mom was kind of quiet while he plied her dad with questions about that, and also mermaids and sirens and coelacanths, but didn’t think about why … oops.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! My mouth kind of runs away with me sometimes —”

“No kidding,” she says wryly, slowing her pace at last, looking up at him with an amused “you dork” expression.

“Was that what that fight was about, with your dad?”

He and Mrs. Scully had shared an extremely awkward few minutes of the smallest of talk while Dana and her dad had argued ten feet away once they’d left the restaurant, both of them trying to hear what the argument was about and both trying not to show it.

She laughs mirthlessly, stopping to douse her cigarette in a wilted snowbank and toss it in a garbage can. “No, that was just a tip, to you, from me, about making a good impression on my mom. My DAD decided he had some kind of right to tell me who I should date, thus: argument.”

He winces. “Not me, I take it?”

“Not just not you, but specifically this absolute twerp son of some guy he served with fifteen years ago, and why didn’t I even call him back, which was because: Fuck no, even if I weren’t with you, I’m not interested, and besides it’s none of my dad’s business.”

Her smile is a flash of defiant anger that changes to salty-sweet when she meets his eyes. “A year ago, I would’ve gone out with the guy — once — to keep the peace with Dad. But now — I don’t feel like doing that anymore. It isn’t honest.”

“So, what — I’m your rebellion?” he jokes, hoping with all his might that he’s more than that.

“No, you’re my …” she trails off, tilting her head contemplatively, slipping her hands into his coat pockets and pulling him closer.

“What?” he asks, softer than he intended; his heartbeat went kind of erratic there for a second.

“My Mulder,” she says simply, with a one-shouldered shrug, as if that were a complete answer, and he guesses it is. He slides his arms around her waist under her unbuttoned coat. She shivers at the cold of his hands through her thin black sweater, but they both warm up as they’re pressed together. He tucks her head under his chin, buries his nose in her coppery hair and breathes in — her shampoo, the remnants of the Lucky Strike, the chocolatey cinnamon scent of the dessert they’d shared. He doesn’t care if her parents think he’s a weirdo. Oh, god, his bookish little strike-anywhere match of a girlfriend — he wants to live with her, wants to marry her, wants to stand like this forever, on a campus side-street, wrapped up in each other, the two of them against the world — none of which he can imagine saying to her out loud, as long as he lives.

“Take me back to your apartment?” she asks, muffled against his turtleneck. “I don’t have lab till ten tomorrow.”

He hasn’t ruined it? She likes him, actually still really likes him, even after this semi-disaster of a meeting with the two people she’s closest to and admires most in the world? She is — she’s a goddamn miracle, is what she is. She’s —

“I love you,” he says suddenly, the tight ache in his chest apparently forcing the words out, past all his rational and irrational impediments.

She stills, and he wonders with sharp horror whether he’s ruined it, after all.

She removes her hands from his pockets — oh no, please, don’t do that, he begs her silently — and then to his immense relief, leans back from him just enough to be able to look him in the eye. This is not the look of a girl with whom he has ruined things, no. She cups his face, so gently he wants to cry, and strokes his cheekbones softly with her thumbs.

She nods, that adorable thoughtful furrow appearing between her eyebrows, and solemnly tells him, “I love you too. I have since the beginning.”

And suddenly, he’s not cold at all anymore. He’s filled with a bubbling, effervescent joy — a feeling he’s never known before but instantly can’t imagine being without. He struggles to find words; “I’m a giant Zotz candy inside!” probably won’t have the effect he’s going for.

But then she bounces onto her toes and kisses him, just getting the corner of his mouth, and he catches and holds her there, almost laughing as he slants his head to get a better angle. The wind blows her long hair against his neck like a scarf as he kisses her like it’s the best idea he’s ever had.

A yammering group of students edges past them on the sidewalk, jostling them a little, and they both remember where they are — and where they were headed.

He takes both of her hands in his and backs away, pulling her with him. She catches up, burrows under his coat and tucks herself against him with one arm slung low around his hips as they cross the street, heading north. It’s the longest and shortest, coldest and warmest three-block walk of his life.

---------------- link to the original post, now fucked up by tumblr so the “read more” doesn’t work; it was from one of the Things You Said prompts: #40, things you said when you met my parents, sent to me by @contrivedcoincidences6

#my fic #msr #msr au #msr college au #prompt: things you said #why does tumblr randomly fuck shit up #this is a repost because tumblr killed the old one

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scenes-in-between · 8 years ago

Text

Per Manum Flashback #2

She goes to the transfer appointment alone, telling him she appreciates his support but that this is something she needs to do by herself. He’s waiting at her apartment afterward though, with dinner on the stove and a cheesy sci-fi movie on the counter. They eat spaghetti in front of the TV, and when she falls asleep on the couch, he gently wakes her and gets her tucked in bed. In the morning, she sees that he cleaned up the kitchen before he left.

They both have months of unused leave saved up, so she takes the next week off work. He calls her periodically from the office, somehow intuiting when she needs distraction, and he makes her laugh with his claims that he’s getting so much done without her there.

She’s back at work the next week, and he does an admirable job of pretending nothing is different. He shows his panic face only once, when a case comes across his desk that will undoubtedly require a lengthy trek into the woods. Asking her to sit this one out will disrupt the carefully constructed facade of normalcy they are both trying to maintain, but even she has to agree it's not a great idea for her to be out in the field if she's trying to give the IVF every possible chance for success. She rescues him by saying she's already booked reservations to take her mom out of town for the weekend, and could he maybe handle this one on his own.

The relief on his face only slightly counteracts her guilt over the fact that now this means he's going out alone without backup. What good is she to him as a partner if she can't physically have his back? She reminds herself that if the pregnancy does take, she should be able to get back to a regular workload soon after.

(It's just as well she didn't come along, he tells her after they're both back on Monday; the supposed cryptid sighting just turned out to be a bear with a really bad case of mange.)

***

She leaves for her appointment after work on Monday. He doesn't ask if she wants him to come along, and she doesn't ask if he'll wait at her apartment instead.

He changes his clothes and runs to her place from the office, trying to exorcise his nervous energy with the long uphill slog on Wisconsin Ave. He'll come back for his car and suit later.

He showers quickly, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt and sweater he left here for just such an occasion, and sits down on her couch to wait. He spends the next hour thinking she should be back any minute, but as the light starts to fade outside, so too do his hopes that she will be coming through that door with a smile on her face.

Maybe she just went to Maggie's first, to tell her the good news. He doesn't really believe that, though.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep.

***

“Never give up on a miracle.”

He shoves his disappointment down deep; whatever he’s feeling, his only job right now is support. He won’t add to her devastation by admitting how much he’d started to want this, too.

She sniffles against his chest, and he strokes her back in what he hopes are reassuring circles. He kisses the top of her head and holds her as the sniffles turn to sobs. Nearly two months of cautious hope was dashed in an instant this afternoon, and it pours out of her. No matter how hard she tried to prepare herself -- no matter how hard they both did -- of course it still hurts, and his heart breaks a little for her as she cries herself out.

When she finally pulls back from him, puffy-eyed and red-faced, she excuses herself to go use the restroom, and he goes to the kitchen to put her kettle on for tea. The front of his sweater is damp; he pulls it over his head and hangs it over a chair, letting his hands linger for just a moment to grip the chair back. He’s helpless to take away her pain, though if there were anything he could do, he would of course do it in a heartbeat.

He’s just pouring hot water into a mug by the time she comes back, dressed in flannel pajamas with her face scrubbed clean. He sets the kettle down and picks up two boxes of tea from the counter.

“So, are you feeling camomile or peppermint?”

The smile in her eyes doesn’t make it all the way down to her mouth, but it’s a start. “Peppermint, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She pulls a chair out and sits at the table, tucking her feet up on the seat. He sets the steaming mug in front of her and sits down. She’s still all sort of pulled in on herself, and he watches her for a minute, then sets his hand palm-up on the table, offering. She brings her hand to rest on it, curling her fingers lightly around his.

“Is it okay if I don’t really want to talk about it?” Her voice sounds so small, and his heart breaks for her all over again.

“Of course it’s okay.” He strokes her palm with one fingertip, unsure if silence is any better. He knows all too well that not being ready to talk about something doesn’t mean your brain will shut up and play along.

Still, he’ll follow her lead for the time being. If she wants to sit quietly and doesn’t seem to be suffering for it, he is absolutely fine with that. Whatever she needs.

She releases his hand to pick up her mug, blowing gently across the top before taking a careful sip. She closes her eyes, breathing in the steam and letting her breath out in a long sigh.

“We should follow up on that missing persons case in Charlotte tomorrow.”

Her comment seems completely out of left field, until he recognizes what she’s doing. This morning she’d scoffed and told him it was obvious the pair of 19 year-olds had run off together, that there was absolutely nothing suggesting alien involvement. He’d even more or less agreed with her, this time; both kids’ parents had been pretty vocal in their disapproval of the relationship, and it didn’t take a genius to see the “abduction” was almost certainly staged. However, unless they find something new to investigate tomorrow, it’s the only thing currently pending.

And Dana Scully doesn’t do idleness in the face of tragedy very well.

“We, uh, we can do that, sure.” Realizing that doesn’t sound especially convincing, he fumbles a bit for something to add, resorting (as ever) to deadpan humor. “It’s been a few weeks since we had a road trip. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to play you my new ‘Musicians Who Might Secretly Be Aliens’ mix CD. Moby features heavily. As does Bowie.”

Her crinkly-eyed smile might have been a laugh under other circumstances, but he’ll take it.

***

He's been lingering, not wanting to leave her, but it's nearing midnight, and he can see she's fighting to stay awake.

“It’s getting late. I should let you get some rest.”

He moves to stand, but she reaches out quickly to touch his arm. “Mulder, could you… would you stay with me tonight? Please?” When she looks up at him, there’s a fear in her eyes he hasn’t seen since the encounter with Donnie Pfaster. “I’m not ready to be alone.”

He nods, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat. That Scully loves him deeply, he has no doubt, but she is so fiercely independent that it’s not often he feels like she needs him. At least, not like he needs her. He takes both her hands in his and stands, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, and she nods against his chest.

We’re going to be okay, he wants to tell her. Maybe they’ll find another way to become parents someday, and maybe they won’t. But no matter what, they will have each other. That much hasn’t changed.

***

He’s wrapped around her in the darkness, his protective warmth against her back as she tries desperately to quiet her mind enough to fall asleep. Every time she feels herself start to spin out of control again, his arm tightens around her, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She doesn’t know if he’s responding to a change in her breathing or tension in her body or what, but he seems to know exactly when she needs pulling back from the edge, each and every time.

After the fifth time, though, she rolls over to face him, needing more. Her brain apparently has no intention of settling down on its own. She presses forward to kiss him, and the aching tenderness with which he kisses her back nearly brings tears to her eyes. He’s been so careful all night not to suffocate her with pity, to simply be there, for and with her, which she recognized and appreciated. And there’s no pity in this moment either, but there is such a sense of love, unconditional and boundless, and it seems to be spilling out of him as if he’s been trying to keep it in check as well, to keep it from overwhelming her. Maybe himself, too.

She lets herself get lost in the slide of his mouth against hers, in the way his thumb strokes her cheek and traces her earlobe. She lets her day, and her disappointment, fade into the background, eclipsed by this moment, this mutual declaration of adoration. She kisses him knowing that if they did this for an hour, he wouldn’t ask more of her, that his only aim is to give whatever comfort she needs, without expecting any escalation.

Eventually, she is the one who wants more. She is the one who brings his hand to her chest and hers between his legs. When she asks for more, he gives without taking, showing without words exactly what he feels for her, exactly what she is worth to him. He brings her to the heights of pleasure again and again, with his fingers, with his mouth, and finally gasping out his own release against her shoulder, her legs wrapped tight around his hips.

When she falls asleep a short while later, her head pillowed on his chest and the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear, her mind is calm and quiet.

#x-files fanfic #txf: per manum #mulderfic #scullyfic #msr #infertility cw #ivf #rated t for sexytimes #///#unrelated to the story #but this is my 200th post on this blog!#:D

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neato-kiddo · 8 years ago

Note

Do all of them !!! (For the lesbian ask ones) also give me some I'm reblogging it

first off i sincerely apologize to all my followers. dammit alex, i’ve worked so hard, and now these people are gonna wanna fight me! but anyways…

1. Name one way you break the wlw stereotype. (Fat, trans, poc, autistic, etc)Idk if i’m answering this right, but i’m Asian?

2. Who was the first girl you remember having feelings for? She was in my health class in 6th grade and it was very eye opening to 12 y/o me. I liked her for two (2) years, but uhh things ended p terribly w her (turns out she’s very homophobic) and now i lowkey hate her lmao

3. What’s your opinion on the butch/femme labels? Do you think they’re harmfuly?Already answered!

4. Do you have a girlfriend?Nope! Would love to have one someday!

5. Define love in 5 words or lessAlready answered!

6. What characteristics do you look for in a girl?Already answered!

7. Do you participate in LGBTQ clubs and events?I do! I’m a member of my school’s GSA, which i absolutely adore

8. Are you out to anyone outside of tumblr?Yes, i’m out to many people! i’m like Out but not Out™, though

9. Say some things you love about your crush/girlfriend.Golly… there’s so many hdnsfgjk i’m gay. idk she is very nice and kind hearted and i rlly admire her drive to do things. she has a v cute Look & her laugh is BEAUTIFUL!!

10. Do you want to get married?Quite so, yes

11. Do you want to have kids?I’m not sure at the moment, but i don’t wanna do the birth thing At All

12. How would you describe the difference between sun lesbians and moon lesbians?Sun lesbians emit this sort of natural brightness that warms you up and makes you safe, whereas moon lesbians have this mysterious and desirable vibe to them that make you want to learn everything about them

13. What’s your favorite song about lesbians?All of Hayley Kiyoko’s songs… specifically sleepover or glg

14. What’s your favorite book about lesbians?I’ve never read a book about lesbians, but This is Where It Ends has 2 character lesbians that are dating (school shooting tw, no BYG trope)

15. Who’s your favorite lesbian character?Cosima Niehaus or Alex Danvers

16. If you live in a country where gay marriage is legal, where were you when it was legalized? Did you do anything to celebrate?!I was in Lancaster, PA! I was sitting in my room and I saw an ig post and I couldn’t stop smiling. i told my mom, who i wasn’t out to yet, and she seemed rlly confused as to why i was so happy. i posted something on my ig ab it and it was so surreal ahhh a good day !

17. If you could meet one famous wlw (dead or alive) who would you pick?Already answered!

18. Have you ever kissed a girl?No, but god…. Would LOVE to do that, pl…ease

19. Do you have any favorite wlw positivity blogs?@sunnysapphic is pure and wholesome!

20. Who was your first real life crush? (as in not Dana Scully or Jessica Rabbit)Isn’t this a lot like #2? But i consider my first ‘real’ crush to be the same girl as before so uhhh

21. What is one thing you think your school/ place of work could do to create a safe environment for LGBTQ peopleMaybe provide more resources for non-LGBT people to understand LGBT topics? my school is p lgbt friendly tho & the environment is p safe

22. Have you ever been to a gay bar?I’m a smol, 15 y/o girl, what do you think?

23. Do you know a lot of LGBTQ people outside of the InternetI do! Most of my friends are LGBTQ+ :)

24. Describe your ideal gaycation (a vacation that you, a gay, go on)Already answered!

25. Not a question, I just want you to know that you’re amazing and beautiful and I love you. Keep up the good work.

<333

#thank you #alex #ILY #asks #answered #long post

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Inside La Colombe d’Or, modern art’s home on the French Riviera

Cannes, France (CNN)Walking around La Colombe d’Or, a casual eye places it among the many inns dotting the French Riviera. This Provencal auberge wears its rustic charm like a badge of honor, or perhaps armor, warding off the dull trappings of the 21st century.

Whitewashed plasterwork, scratched and scuffed, evokes simpler times. The inn’s many nooks and crannies speak of a building that has lived, breathed and grown over the years, before settling into reassuring, unrefined normality.

Discovering the Riviera’s hidden masterpieces

Except there’s nothing normal about La Colombe d’Or. Look closer and artworks start to emerge: a Picasso nestled in one corner, a Matisse in another. In the courtyard outside, an Alexander Calder mobile rotates in the breeze while a Fernand Lger mosaic remains unmoved.

Some of the greatest names in modern art, nonchalantly arranged to look not only as if they belong, but as if they were created here. The thing is, some of them were.

“[The artworks are] completely part of the house, so we don’t think of it anymore,” says the inn’s third-generation owner Daniele Roux. “But you can’t touch them, because the alarm system is so strong.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, she won’t be drawn on La Colombe d’Or’s insurance value.

Tea with Matisse

The story of La Colombe d’Or (which translates as “The Golden Dove”) is of a family that played the long game. In 1931, farmer’s son Paul Roux and his wife Baptistine opened their restaurant in a secluded corner of Saint-Paul-de-Vence, a medieval hilltop village west of Nice.

Its raison d’etre was bon vivance; good food and good times, a place to while away lazy summer days, eat heartily and drink well.

With a handful of rooms above a bustling eatery, there was nothing remarkable about the inn’s setup. What no one could have anticipated was the clientele drawn to this crumbling bolthole and its unlikely role as a meeting place for the creative elite of the 20th century.

“Portrait of a woman,” by Henri Matisse.

World War I drove many French artists south, where they took up residence along the Cote d’Azur. When peacetime came, some stayed. Among them were Fernand Lger and Georges Braque, who Paul — a versed, if not schooled art admirer — befriended. Alongside them, an aging Henri Matisse.

“He didn’t really come in because at the time he had problems with his legs,” says Paul’s granddaughter-in-law, Daniele. “Paul Roux would spend time with him in [Matisse’s] limousine,” on occasion taking tea.

The artist became a regular at La Colombe d’Or, and others soon followed, either as diners or lodgers.

Actor Yves Montand at the Colombe d’Or in front of a mosaic by Leger, commissioned in the 1950s.

Paul Roux was the fulcrum around which these artistic figures pivoted, “an autodidact and a man of lovely enthusiasm who, having begun to buy paintings, did not hesitate to provide accommodation for certain painters in exchange for their work,” writes Martine Prosper (nee Buchet) in the 1995 book “La Colombe d’Or.”

Paul Roux was admired and respected — a working class Peggy Guggenheim, thoroughly ingratiated with a community of modern artists without being a creative name in his own right. (Under the advice of Matisse, Roux did pick up a paintbrush in later life. His artworks now hang alongside those of his famous friends — one is to the left of the Miro in the main dining room.)

The guests’ wildly different styles, modes and philosophies all found a home under Roux’s roof. Within La Colombe there was commonality and community. Indeed, a sign hung above the inn’s entrance read “Ici on lodge a cheval, a pied ou en peinture” — “Lodgings for man, horse and painters.”

The friendship of Picasso

With the arrival of World War II, life in La Colombe d’Or held a reassuringly even keel, even as both German and American officers both found their way into its guest book.

In the post-war years its reputation was further enhanced. Joan Miro, Marc Chagall and Cesar Baldaccini all added to the inn’s growing art collection.

Pablo Picasso was a regular visitor and became firm friends with Paul. But the Spanish master left no impression on La Colombe’s walls until shortly before Paul’s death in 1953.

Spanish painter Pablo Picasso at the bar of La Colombe d’Or during the 1950s.

“Paul was not well physically, and Tichin [his wife’s nickname] was a strong woman,” recalls Daniele. “She went round to see Picasso and said: ‘You promised you would give him a painting one day.'”

He offered three paintings and Paul chose one. “Flower Vase” still has pride of place. On the day of Paul’s funeral, Picasso was the first to pay his respects.

Post-modernists

Paul’s son Francis took the reigns, but one night in 1959 — disaster. All the paintings were stolen; all except one, a Chagall. The artist came down the next day, most irked, Daniele says. Clearly the thieves had poor taste. (Word spread of the theft and all the paintings were soon returned.)

By the ’60s a new set was frequenting the inn. Intellectuals Jean-Paul Satre and Simone de Beauvoir would stay, while James Baldwin’s fiery rhetoric could often be heard at the dining table. The American iconoclast even relocated to the region after staying at La Colombe in 1970, remaining in the area until his death in 1987.

“The Thumb” by Cesar (1965).

As with so many things on the Cote d’Azur, the inn was not untouched by the Cannes Film Festival. Stars of the “Nouvelle Vague”, Brigitte Bardot and director Francois Truffaut, spent days in the dappled shade of La Colombe’s courtyard, along with Orson Welles, Charlie Chaplin and David Niven, while Roger Moore owned a house nearby. Its glamorous credentials were never in doubt — the kings of Sweden and Belgium, and Edward VIII (then Prince of Wales) all visited in the 1950s.

Successive generations continue to pay pilgrimage.

French literary titan Bernard-Henri Levy has written several of his books at La Colombe. Prosper and Martine Assouline, founders of their eponymous publishing company, based their first title on the inn, such was their adoration.

Episode 14: The allure of French Riviera style

Artworks continue to be added, most recently a giant ceramic apple by Irishman Sean Scully in 2007. New young names are scouted out by Daniele and Francois, though most works lie in storage. By and large, the painters have gone, and the region that inspired them has become a playground for people who buy masterpieces rather than those who paint them.

But three generations in, there’s little sign this Provencal institution will cash out. A precedent was set by Paul Roux many years ago when a wealthy American tried to buy the business. He sent back a bouquet and a note: “These flowers are for you, La Colombe is for my son.”

Daniele laughs at the mention of a fourth generation, batting away the question. “We have a son, we have a daughter, but we’re still here and we’re going to see what happens,” she says. There’s no pressure on them, she insists.

If they one day accept the role, their charge will be to uphold an idiosyncratic space of art and life well lived — to find room, amid the modernist bricolage, for the next chapter of its story.