#every x-files fic i've written has been an accident

[television-overload]

beautiful (X-Files fanfic)

Rating: G

Word Count: 4,985

Summary: Weakened by her latest round of chemotherapy, Scully doesn't feel much like herself. Mulder helps her find the strength to keep fighting.

Read on AO3

“I wish you weren’t seeing me like this, Mulder,” she says out of the blue, drawing his attention away from the magazine he was idly flipping through at her bedside. Immediately, he sets it aside, dropping his feet to the ground from where they were perched up on the hospital bed.

“What do you mean?” he asks, grabbing her closest hand and running his thumb over her knuckles.

Scully sighs. “Don’t make me say it,” she responds. The answer looms over them both, and she’s right. He doesn’t like hearing it spoken aloud.

Dana Scully is wasting away, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

This latest round of chemotherapy has hit her harder than the first, and he’s starting to see the physical changes. She’s thinner, paler. There are dark circles under her eyes. The doctors have noticed it too, recommending that she stay in the hospital for a few days or even a week rather than recover at home.

Of course, she had refused on principle until Mulder told her he was being forced to take a few days’ leave anyway to use up some vacation time, which wasn’t exactly true, and she probably knew it.

But either way, she had let him accompany her to her appointment, which was more than he could say for her previous round of treatment.

“I look like the night of the living dead,” Scully mumbles, fiddling with the scratchy blankets on her lap.

Mulder tries not to show a physical reaction to her choice of wording. “Don’t say that,” he pleads, shaking his head. “Please don’t say that.”

Scully smiles wryly. He’s as predictable as ever.

“I just mean, I don’t look like myself. I don’t feel like myself.” She says this with such an unaffected voice, that anyone less familiar with her tells would think this was just some passing annoyance, but Mulder knows. He can see the way this has grated at her, and he just wishes he could take this all pain away from her. “I can’t even do my makeup,” she adds, throwing a breathy laugh in for good measure at the end of her sentence, as if to say, ‘but why should I care about that?’

Mulder tugs on her hand, and she follows his unspoken cue and meets his gaze. “I like you just fine without makeup,” he says, his eyes communicating the sincerity of his words. “Besides, who is there to impress anyway?” he asks, gesturing at the empty room over his shoulder to emphasize his point.

Scully gives a tired smile. “You’re a guy, Mulder, you wouldn’t understand.” Squeezing his hand once, she adds, “But thank you,” and he gives her a smile back. He wishes he could do something to help her.

She hasn’t had the strength for much, ever since they began the treatment two days ago. She’s having a better reaction to it than she could be, but he knows the fatigue is frustrating her. She’s told him a thousand times that he doesn’t have to stay here with her, but he does anyway, even when she’s sleeping for hours on end. When she’s awake, he reads to her, or they watch something on TV, whatever she’s feeling up to. If it weren’t for the harrowing circumstances, he might even be really enjoying this time spent together outside work.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Scully speaks, drawing his attention back to her. “But you’re not looking so great yourself.” Her teasing tone is softened by her genuine concern for him, but he can’t help but play along.

His eyes narrow at her in mock offense. “Just what every man likes to hear,” he says sarcastically. “Scully, you wound me.”

This earns a patented Scully Eye Roll.

“Go home and take a shower at least,” she amends, looking at him fondly. “You could use one.”

He simply stares at her, challenging her to more of this banter.

“Are you gonna just keep insulting me until I finally leave?” he asks.

“If that’s what it takes,” she answers. “I could touch on your poor posture next, if you want.”

Mulder laughs, waving a hand dismissively as he stands. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He looks back at her, pauses, and pointedly straightens his posture before grabbing his bag and taking a step toward the door. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” he asks, unable to help himself.

Her gaze softens, her playfulness turning back to seriousness. “Yes, Mulder, I’ll be fine. I probably won’t stay awake for much longer anyway.”

He nods, shifting to take another step, but on looking at her again, changes his mind. He turns back, crossing the floor to her bed and leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. The hand that isn’t busy holding his briefcase gives her left shoulder a squeeze before he pulls away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, tucking her blankets back up to her chin.

She smiles, her eyelids already growing heavy. “I know you will.”

-.-.-

True to his word, Mulder makes a stop at his apartment to shower and change, trading out the books they’d already finished with new ones that she will probably roll her eyes at. He has to admit, he feels like a new person as he steps out of the shower. He needed that more than he thought he did. There was something to what Scully had said earlier, about feeling like yourself. It gave him an idea.

As much as he wants to get back to her, Mulder knows she’ll be out like a light for at least a few hours. He decides to make another stop before heading back to the hospital.

It’s still fairly early in the day when he knocks on the door and waits for a minute. He hears the shuffling sound of someone approaching on the other side before the door creaks open.

“Fox?”

“Hi Mrs. Scully,” he says, giving her an awkward half smile, his hands jammed deep into his front pockets.

“What are you doing here? Is it Dana?” The woman is understandably worried; it’s not like Mulder to show up out of the blue like this unless there’s some kind of terrible news to convey.

He is quick to reassure her. “No, no, nothing like that. I just had something I—I wanted to ask you, if it’s no trouble.”

Maggie’s brows pinch together in that distinctly Scully way as she pulls him into her home, shutting the door behind him.

“What is it?”

Sheepishly, Mulder rubs a hand over the back of his neck, feeling less and less certain of what he came here to ask.

“Well, it’s just—Dana mentioned something earlier about wishing she had her makeup on, and I wondered… You know, her strength isn’t what it usually is, so I thought maybe I could—”

Maggie’s hands wrap around his forearm, halting his rambling speech. He looks up to see tears glistening in her eyes, and she nods in understanding.

“That’s very sweet, Fox.”

He nods, hoping his cheeks aren’t turning pink. He doesn’t do well with motherly praise.

“So, are you wanting me to show you how?”

He lets out a breath, relieved that he doesn’t have to find the words himself. “That would be great, actually.”

Mrs. Scully smiles, jerking her head toward the stairs so that he would follow her. “Come with me, I’ve got some stuff we can use.”

He dutifully follows after her as she leads him up the stairs. This is the furthest he’s been inside Maggie Scully’s house. He wonders how much of her belongings are mementos from Scully’s childhood, whether a certain painting hanging on the wall appears in her family Christmas photos or if it was bought recently.

In his perusal of the house itself, he nearly collides with someone he knows by name only. “Mom, who was that at the door?” the man is asking, and the moment their eyes meet, the air in the room thickens. “What’s he doing here?” he demands, looking to Maggie for answers.

Maggie is quick to come to Mulder’s aid. “It’s none of your business, young man,” she says, shooing him toward the stairs they had just come up. Despite his protestations, she continues, “Why don’t you go to the drugstore and pick up some eyelash straightening cream for Dana, we can bring it to her when we go visit later this afternoon.”

“But—”

She swats him on the arm. “No buts. Dana would really appreciate it if we brought it.”

He grumbles all the way down the stairs, but does as she told him. As soon as he’s grabbed his jacket from the coat closet, he’s out the door and starting up the car.

“What was that for?” Mulder asks, breaking the silence that had settled after the front door shut.

Maggie gives a pleased little smile. “There’s no such thing as eyelash straightening cream. Bill will be there for thirty minutes at least. As I’m sure you can imagine, knowing my daughter as you do, he doesn’t like asking for assistance if he can help it.”

Mulder lets out a surprised laugh. This woman runs a tight ship, and he has to respect her for it.

“Alright, now sit right here, Fox,” Mrs. Scully orders, pulling out a small stool from the vanity in her bathroom. She quickly leaves and returns with another chair from the bedroom, placing it across from him. She hums quietly as she rummages through her drawers, extracting several mystifying objects and setting them on the counter. “Now, let’s start with the foundation. I’ll show you how, and then you can do the other side of my face, sound good?”

Mulder nods, sitting up straighter to watch as she blends the creamy substance onto her skin. She’s narrating as she goes, and Mulder commits her words to memory, hoping his ability to replicate them will be as good as his ability to remember her instructions.

“Here, now you try,” Mrs. Scully says next, handing the brush to Mulder. He pushes aside any lingering feelings of awkwardness or embarrassment and sets in on applying the makeup. Maggie’s lips curl in a smile as she watches him, tapping ever so gently on her face as if he might break her. She wonders if he’s done this before. “You’re a natural,” she praises, “Are you sure this is your first time?”

He lets out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “I’m no expert,” he answers. He’s silent for a moment, not breaking concentration, and then adds in a quiet voice, “My sister had this play makeup set, real cheap quality stuff. She’d sometimes force me to be her test subject.” His eyes grow distant as he remembers.

It wasn’t all that long before her abduction, he thinks, the last time they did this. It always went the same way. He’d sit patiently—or as patiently as an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy could—while she clumsily dabbed colorful eyeshadow onto his eyelids. He’d learned early on that it was better to just go along with it, having suffered the wrath of Samantha Mulder once before for refusing to be her dress-up doll. The makeup rarely stayed on for more than a minute after she declared him done, scrubbed off like some kind of deadly germ in the sink, but it was enough to appease her.

When she was finished, she’d beg him to help her with her makeup, putting that pouty lip out that she knew he couldn’t say no to.

“Stop blinking, Sam,” he’d say, focusing intently on brushing on the mascara she’d stolen from her mom’s makeup bag. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

He remembers these times fondly, of rare moments where he managed to be a good big brother, instead of pretending to be annoyed by her like he often did. He’d give anything to be teased by his peers for spending time with his kid sister, if it meant having her back.

With the utmost care, Mrs. Scully walks him through the remaining steps, patting him gently on the cheek once he’s put on the finishing touches.

“You’re a good man, Fox,” she says, her fondness for him evident in her smile. “Dana is lucky to have you.”

Once again, Mulder shrugs, uncomfortable with the compliments, no matter how sincere they are. “I’m the lucky one, Mrs. Scully.” He thinks he’s never meant something more in his life. “But I appreciate you saying so. Thanks again for showing me everything.”

She pulls him into a hug. “Of course, you call me if you ever need anything. We’ll be by sometime this afternoon.”

He nods, and is thankfully out the door with time to spare before Bill can get home.

After a brief visit to Scully’s apartment to grab some of her things, he drives back to the hospital. When he arrives, Scully is awake in her bed, her upper body elevated so she can look out the window. She greets him with a warm smile, and he can’t help but grin back.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says in apology, “Had to make a quick pit stop.”

This catches Scully’s attention, and she watches as he produces a bag from behind his back, setting it on the tray table in front of her and starting to take items out. She recognizes it immediately, and looks up at him in wonder.

“Mulder,” she says, her tone jokingly admonishing. “You didn’t have to bring me this.” She’s smiling still as she starts to sit up, reaching out to grab a tube of lipstick, but he stops her.

“No, no,” he says, gently lowering her hand back down to the table and urging her to sit back and relax. “You take it easy, I’ll take care of this.”

She gives him a look with a furrowed brow, but eases back, watching him suspiciously as he selects a bottle of liquid foundation and a brush.

He sits sideways on her hospital bed so that he is facing her. With the limited space, his thigh brushes up against her blanket-covered one, but it barely even registers. This kind of closeness is nothing particularly unusual for them. If nothing else, it is an added comfort to them both.

“You ready?” he asks, makeup brush poised to start.

Scully searches his eyes for a moment and, deciding she trusts him, gives a nod. “Okay.”

With a pleased little smile, Mulder begins applying a light layer of foundation, leaning in closer to reach as he gently blends it into her skin.

Scully can only watch him, his brows drawn together in focus as he works to meticulously apply the makeup. Her eyes wander over his face, over the sharp lines of his nose and the roundness of his lips. Occasionally his tongue peeks out in concentration, and she can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

She didn’t ask him to do this. If he thought her needless grousing earlier was a request, she felt terrible. He isn’t her servant. He doesn’t exist to make sure she has all the niceties of her normal life in this cold, sterile place. The last thing she wants is to be a burden, especially to him. He’s had enough to deal with in his life without having to look after his terminally ill coworker.

But that isn’t all they are, is it? They’re friends—the closest of friends. This isn’t the first time he’s gone out of his way to do something nice for her, and she suspects it won’t be the last, no matter how little time she has left. For some reason, he’s taken it upon himself to be with her throughout this whole ordeal, even when it means holding back her hair as she heaves into a trash can or when she can’t adjust the covers over her cold feet.

The words jump into her mind unbidden: “In sickness and in health.”

It’s funny, in a distinctly unfunny way. She supposes she should be thankful that someone cares enough for her in that way, even if they are nothing more than friends and coworkers. In some ways, their partnership is more of a marriage than many people will experience in their lifetimes, and for that she is exceedingly glad. She couldn’t have asked for a better person to have in her life than Mulder.

He’s moved on now to powdering her skin with translucent powder, beginning with her forehead. As he brings the soft brush down between her eyebrows, she scrunches her nose up, hiding a smirk from him. His sloping green eyes soften from their earlier focus and he lets out a chuckle, playfully tickling her nose with the brush.

“You’re not gonna sneeze on me, are ya?” he asks, getting back to work on her cheeks and chin.

Her only answer is a quiet, affectionate smile.

After a careful application of blush on the apples of her cheeks, it’s time for her eyes. She watches him open her eyeshadow palette and rub a brush over one of the colors, and she quirks an eyebrow in concern. As he brings the small brush closer to her face, she draws back and looks at him doubtfully.

“Don’t put too much on,” she says, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Mulder rolls his eyes. “Relax, Scully, I got you.” He starts in again, shifting a few times to find the best angle before gently brushing over her eyelids in an arc.

“I like the brown color,” Scully informs him, her eyes fluttering in an effort to stay closed.

“I know,” Mulder answers. He pulls back just long enough to show her the tip of the brush, which is covered in a tasteful brown, exactly the right shade.

Before she has time to process that he knows what color eyeshadow she likes, she’s being told to close her eyes again and she complies, soaking in the feeling of being taken care of in such an intimate way.

“How did you know what eyeshadow I wear, Mulder?” she asks during a moment’s respite, while he returns the brush to the palette to pick up more of the colorful powder.

Now it’s his turn to glance at her disbelievingly. “I look at you every day,” he answers, as if it were obvious.

She takes in a breath, willing her heart to start beating normally again. The look on his face makes it clear that he’s laughing at her, amused by her lack of self-awareness in this respect.

“And…” he adds amusedly, “this one has clearly been used more than the others.”

Of course, she laughs to herself. There’s no way he was looking at her close enough to guess what shade of eyeshadow she wears. Although his perception of the finer details is greater than that of the average man. He has his Oxford education and eidetic memory to thank for that.

“Who knew a background in profiling could come in handy as a makeup artist?” she says as he finishes blending out the color.

“It was actually one of the main selling points when the FBI recruited me,” he deadpans, enjoying the banter. He could almost forget why she wasn’t able to do her own makeup.

The mascara comes out next, and it requires Mulder to encroach on her personal space even further, to the point where she can feel his breath on her face. He smells of peppermint toothpaste and hazelnut coffee, and she even catches the scent of his shower gel, like fresh rain water. All of this she counts as a marked improvement to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. It smells like their office. It smells like home.

When he’s done all he can to her eyelashes with her eyes closed, he asks her to open them so he can give them the finishing touches. Her eyes flutter open, and she is mildly startled to find him hovering only inches away.

“Do you have to be that close to my face, Mulder?” she asks, carefully hiding her nervousness behind a laugh.

Mulder chuckles and goes back to work, gingerly running the brush over her lashes. “That depends, do you want to be poked in the eye, Scully?”

Resigned to their positioning, she fights the urge cup his elbow with her hand, steadying him as he completes arguably the most delicate part of this routine.

“There,” he says, leaning back at last. “I think that about does it. Except—”

He pauses, reaching onto the tray table to grab the lipstick she’d picked up earlier.

“I knew I was forgetting something.” Before she can prepare herself, he’s removing the lid from the tube and drawing closer again, his hand finding its way to the back of her head to hold her still. She hardly dares to breathe, feeling his fingers threading through her hair as he carefully runs the tip of the lipstick over her lips, depositing the bright color on their surface.

She looks more alive than she has in a while, even if it is a false image.

She wants to avoid eye contact, being this close, with him doing this thing for her, but she can’t. Her eyes are locked on his as they focus intently on keeping the color within the lines of her plump lips. A few times, his eyes flick up to hers, and she catches the way the corners of his mouth quirk up when they do. She wonders what he’s thinking.

In no time at all, it’s done. Every last detail has been tended to, and he pulls back to survey his work. The hand that was resting on the back of her head drags forward along her jawline, and ever so lightly, his thumb comes to rest over her newly-painted bottom lip.

“There’s my Scully,” he says quietly. Proudly.

She feels the tears pooling in her eyes, but there’s nothing she can do about it. He, thankfully, doesn’t mention it.

“Can I see?” she asks, her voice managing not to waver too badly.

He smiles and nods, reaching for a handheld mirror and holding it out to her.

She’s not sure what she was expecting—clown makeup, maybe—but that’s not what she sees at all.

“Oh, Mulder…” She’s finding it very difficult to withhold the tears that are trying to escape. “You—you did a great job.”

Aside from perhaps just a little too much blush, everything is as it should be. She looks healthier, more confident. Her makeup is a mask. It is comforting to her, makes her feel like she can face whatever it is that lies before her. Mulder has always been able to see past that mask, and if it were anyone else, it might bother her. But not him.

“You didn’t cover my mole,” she says, reaching up to touch the offending spot beneath her nose.

Mulder takes her hand and pulls it away from her face. “Cause it’s cute,” he answers simply, smiling at her almost reverently.

She’s surely blushing now.

“How do you feel?” he asks. What a loaded question that is.

She tilts her head, surveying the surface of her face from every angle in an effort to stall long enough to regain her composure. It’s a placebo, she knows, but she feels reinvigorated. Ready to fight another day.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt like myself,” she answers, her voice thick with emotion. “I… I look beautiful.”

He nods, an unnamable look in his eye, and she swears she hears a mumbled, “You’re always…” before he trails off, dropping his gaze to his lap. He subconsciously squeezes her hand once before letting it go, instead occupying his hands with putting everything away.

“You really did do a good job, Mulder,” Scully speaks after the somewhat awkward silence had persisted long enough. “Have you done this before?”

With a zip of her makeup bag, Mulder looks up at her with squinted, suspicious eyes and jokes back, “What me and the Lone Gunmen do on our boy’s nights is none of your business.”

Scully laughs, amused by the imagery that conjures. Never one to be thrown off, however, she persists. “Well, someone must have taught you,” she declares, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Who was it?”

She gets a devious look in return. “I’ll never tell.”

-.-.-

As Bill pulls into the driveway after his wild-goose-chase trip to the drugstore (“You made me look like a fool, Mom!”), Margaret Scully greets him, sliding into the passenger seat with a bag full of goodies for her daughter.

He seems to finally be getting over his mother’s betrayal by the time they arrive at the hospital. They walk in, accepting visitor’s badges which they stick on their shirts before taking the elevator up to the oncology ward.

Bill’s admonishing tirade, which had persisted throughout most of the car ride, lingers on between intervening silences as they make their way down the hall. Once they approach Dana’s room, however, Maggie shushes him, holding out an arm to stop him.

Through the window, she sees Mulder setting a tube of mascara aside and exchanging it for lipstick. Bill’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he leans over his mother’s head to see for himself what it was that made his mother pause.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” she says, putting a guiding hand on her oldest son’s arm.

Inside the room, Mulder pulls back, and Bill can see even from this angle how his cheeks widen in a smile. His sister looks like herself again, and he doesn’t miss the shine of tears in her eyes, or the wobbling smile on her lips. Since they were children, he has kept a careful eye on her, monitoring her emotions, the protective big brother that he is.

And that’s why now, he understands. He hadn’t realized before, his own fault for not wanting to believe it.

His sister isn’t being dragged through hell by a sadistic partner, bent on destroying her life and everything she holds dear in one fell swoop. No. The truth is that she does it willingly, walks by his side through even the darkest shadows.

Because Dana is in love with her partner.

And he is undeniably in love with her.

The pieces slowly come together in his mind, everything he knows about Fox Mulder. His mother must have seen it long ago, hence her willingness to help him this morning. And he would have stood in the way.

The thought fills him with shame.

Mulder’s love for Dana goes so far beyond what Bill himself knows about love, that he had almost missed it entirely. What a blessing it is for his sister to experience it, for however brief a time.

With one final glance into the hospital room, Bill allows himself to be pulled away and toward the cafeteria.

“You see now, don’t you, Bill?” his mother asks as they walk, her eyes looking to him hopefully.

He nods, feeling his throat close up with unexpected emotion.

“Yes,” he answers. “I do.”

-.-.-

An hour into Mulder’s in-depth explanation (and diagramming) of the anatomy of dinanthropoides magnipus, otherwise known as “sasquatch” or Bigfoot, someone gently taps on the door.

“Come in!” Scully calls out, thankful for the reprieve.

“I hope we’re not interrupting…” Margaret Scully says as she enters, followed closely behind by Scully’s brother.

Mulder scoots back in his chair, shuffling the papers he’d strewn about and trying his best to fade into the background to provide them some privacy.

“Not at all,” Scully says, and she’s sounding better already than she has since they’d gotten here. “I’m glad you came by. Bill, I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill clears his throat and steps forward, looking a little uncomfortable but otherwise happy to see his sister.

“I had a few days’ leave. Tara and I decided to make a weekend of it.”

Scully nods and looks between her brother and Mulder, realizing they’d never actually been properly introduced. She hopes they’ll both behave. Lord knows she’s told Mulder enough about Bill over the years, and she’s very familiar with her brother’s opinions about her partner.

She coughs. “Oh, uh, Mulder, this is my brother, Bill. Bill, this is Mulder.”

The two exchange an odd look before Mulder stands, and Bill meets him in the middle with a firm yet friendly handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Mulder,” Bill says with a pointed look, not at all unfriendly.

Mulder nods with a funny half smile. “Likewise.”

There’s another look exchanged briefly before they let go, returning to their respective awkward stances.

“We wanted to bring you some new magazines,” Maggie speaks, carrying a tote bag over to Scully’s bedside. “And Tara sent us with some crayons and coloring pages, in case either of you gets bored.”

Scully smiles, her fingers dragging the corner of Mulder’s silly sasquatch diagram out from its hiding place under a stack of other papers.

“I’m sure Mulder will appreciate being able to enlighten me on the specific coloring of Bigfoot’s spleen,” she says teasingly, and Mulder briefly wishes he could disappear, fearing the look on Bill’s face.

When he looks up though, both son and mother are smiling in amusement, not a hint of malice on Bill’s face.

Maggie leans in to place a kiss on Scully’s cheek, holding her daughter’s hand in hers.

“You’re looking like you feel a bit better,” she says as she pulls away, brushing her fingers over her brow and pushing back a lock of hair. “Lovely makeup, too.”

 With these last words, she looks to Mulder and—discretely—winks.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Fox?” Maggie asks, goading him knowingly.

He rises to the challenge, his eyes finding Scully’s and holding.

“Beautiful as always.”

-.-.-

The TikTok video that inspired this made me sob uncontrollably, so I hope I captured some of those same emotions here. I beg you to go watch the video too, but have tissues at the ready. It seriously hasn't left my mind since I saw it the other day. I hope we all have the chance to find a love like that in this lifetime.

Tagging some people: @today-in-fic @teenie-xf @cutemothman @queenlovett @tygertygerfoggybright @baronessblixen

If you ever don't want to be tagged by me, just let me know! You won't hurt my feelings. Alternatively, if you want to be tagged if/when I write more X-Files fics, let me know and I'll make a list!

[my-spookybunnies]

With the X Files 30th Anniversary coming up I thought I'd just share this very long rambling thank you.

I only joined the fandom two years ago, when I was flicking through Prime and saw a show called 'The X Files' in the category labeled 'TV CLASSICS. Good ol' Mulder and Scully where on the thumbnail and while I had no idea who they were, by a stroke of fate I had seen a gif set earlier that day on tumblr of the two of them that had caught my eye. Maybe this is what made me click on that thumbnail or maybe the stars had simply aligned BUT whatever it was I was hooked. From the moment Scully drops her robe in that motel room with Mulder standing there like a confused lemon, I knew I was in deep.

As any sensible person does I then immediately binged the series while simultaneously routing through tumblr, looking for more X Files content. And boy did I find it.

I was so happy to find not only people where still making new content about the show, but there are amazing stories out there nearly 30 years old that can still be enjoyed and shared due to the efforts of The X File librarian's out there who have made sure that no ones hard work has been lost. It still baffles me sometimes that people had written 50+ thouasnd word fics (that are better than some books I've read) for free! Just because they love The X Files so much.

I've met some amazing online friends due to TXF and even started writing fanfic, something that I used to be ashamed of, but now I tell people with pride.

It's amazing to be part of a fandom that has such longevity, passion and genuine warmth. I want to say thank you to every single person who writes fanfic that makes me laugh and cry till my heart hurts, everyone who creates amazing fanart for our dynamic duo, every gif maker, gif reblogger, prompt maker and episode analysis sharer.

The fact that we are all here now 30 years on from when Mulder and Scully first graced our screens- whether you are an OG fan or a newbie like me, proves that there is something infinite about The X Files, it represents something bigger that the TV screens it was shown on. What was supposed to be an edgy sci-fi cop show, accidently turned into one of the best love stories of all time. Mulder and Scully took us along on their hair-brained adventures and even though their story is no longer televised, they now live on through us.

So once again a big thank you to everyone past and present in The X Files fandom for making me feel right at home and not alone when I worry I'm a little too obsessed with a red headed medical doctor and her spooky partner.

Here's to another 30 spooky years 👽🥳

[anthrogothic]

Body/Prision

so, here we go to the second part of the fic. ours has been exciting to write this. I hope you like it <3 (originally written in Brazilian Portuguese. sorry for any error).

Third part here

Pairing: Echo x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, anxiety, panic, a little violence but nothing much and ~some physical mentions~ (and echo being a baby who needs care)

Heading towards the lab, you went through documents and reports on your datapad connected to the data network, finding the files of your newly known atypical clones, seeing that there were still three to meet in person.

One of them, with a rather traumatic past in your opinion. Another look like someone who is difficult to deal with. And lastly, one similar to your fellow nerds from college. Already imagining your scientific conversations.

You find your sweet auxiliary Omega standing at the door of the lab. She is also a clone, young and adorable. With short hair, the same color as the sun (if you remember the last time you saw one).

But with Jango Fett's pure DNA in her cells. Only you and Nala know this. Your conscience always brings you that painful twinge whenever the memory occurs to you.

"Y/N! I was looking for you!"

The girl came running towards you, with a scared face, taking your right hand and pulling you with her.

"Hey Omega, Stars, what's up?"

You almost shuffled your legs trying not to fall.

"I've been sent to help with clone ratings today! But Echo is very upset and I can't get him to calm down!"

Before you could ask for further explanation, you were already being dragged to the door of the room.

Stopping at the door, Omega pushed you inside when you spotted the trembling clone sitting with his back to the door, on top of the gurney, aiming his blaster at the three doctors ahead.

"Echo! I found her!"

The girl's voice was a mixture of relief and determination. The other three doctors in the room are clearly pissed off, hands up in front of the clone.

"Y/N isn't even a doctor, Omega!"

He yelled one of them, straightening and clasping his hands at his sides.

"You should have brought security!" yelled the other.

"She'll do it! She is better than you all!"

Screamed the little girl, pointing a finger at the three. You put a hand on her shoulder, signaling her to calm down. Gently you addressed the clone, froze as he stared into your eyes.

It was him… that clone whose record you were horrified to read. He was pale. With metallic accesses on his shaved head, a cybernetic prosthesis that covered his ears, his right forearm also cybernetic and thinner than most strong clones you know. Only the legs, also robotic, were covered by his blacks. His eyes were frightened and his limbs locked together at his sides, his good hand, shaking, still holding the blaster.

"A-Are you Doctor Y/N?"

His voice was deep, shaky and fraught with anxiety.

You, already with your heart sinking at his state, approached slowly, removing your white jumpsuit and leaving it on a small metal table nearby, catching the clone's attention with your tight black outfit.

"Yes… Echo, right? I assume you have a panic attack due to your accident… you shouldn't be brought into environments like this."

Your voice was calm and sweet. Looking at doctors with dislike in your last words. Echo looked away, clearly uncomfortable. The hand that was armed, wavering, and your hand slowly landing on top of the blaster, lowering it slowly, the clone giving way.

Suddenly one of the already impatient doctors approached abruptly and grabbed your shoulder from behind you.

"Let's go! We don't have time for theaters! Sedation didn't work this time, but nothing a dose would not do well on rebel clones!"

Spotting the syringe the doctor was pulling out of his lab coat, Omega jumped on his arm as she screamed. You turned, startled, seeing the fist that the doctor was already closing to hit the girl. In a rush of adrenaline, you punched him in the nose, he staggered backward, and Omega took the syringe from his hand. The other two came to help the doctor, who pushed them away claiming he was fine, looking at you with hate.

"You're in big trouble, girl! And you too, stuck-up scientist!"

His voice really was scary. But suddenly, Echo's voice came from behind you like thunder.

"Do something with them, and you'll have to come to terms with me and my squad."

His voice, full of hate and gravelly. His arm trembled as he aimed the blaster at the doctor, finger on the trigger.

"Not to mention the possible murder he was going to cause with so much sedative in a clone with a body not yet fully mapped to know the consequences."

Snorted Omega right beside you, all proud with the syringe in her hand.

"Uh, Nala Se will love to hear that."

You said, crossing your arms and looking at the doctor in defiance.

The attacking doctor flinched, growling as he left the room. The other two fearful:

"Please, it's our first week here. Don't hand us over to Nala Se. We just obey orders."

Begged one of the doctors, this one was much younger than the aggressor, probably doing residency with another colleague.

"Withdraw then. And let the rest of the team know the behavior of that bantha in the lab coat! He doesn't deserve to be your supervisor. He is the one who has to be supervised!"

Your voice was authoritative and even. All that remained was for the men to nod and leave the room.

Echo threw himself onto the gurney, breathing wildly and running a hand across his forehead. You stopped in front of the clone and slowly sat down beside him on the stretcher. Instructing him to take a few deep breaths, then slowly exhale for a few more, repeatedly. Echo tried to follow your directions, faltering a few times but picking up his pace eventually.

"There is! We make an amazing team! I told you, Echo!"

Omega's voice trying to bring relief to the tense environment. She continued.

"Y/N is the best! She will be nice to you!"

You, realizing the responsibility that Omega gave you, nodded with the girl's words.

"Well… I'm not exactly a doctor, as we've heard… but I know enough. You can trust me, Echo."

The clone looked at you with less awe, bearing in mind what you did.

"I- I feared that I would go through the physical evaluations again. I know they are mandatory, but... they remind me of the Citadel..."

His gaze roamed the metalized room, filled with stretchers, huge equipment, and light panels.

The doctors just didn't care and sedated him whenever it became impossible to assess him. Putting gadgets into his body, pushing him into big gadgets and treating his cybernetics like pieces of scrap metal.

"I don't want to be a problem again... I know I have obligations as a soldier, but I can't be okay here!"

He squeezed the biceps of his other arm with his hand, trying to stay in control as he felt a new wave of anxiety.

You gently placed your hand on his back, feeling him recoil involuntarily.

"Unfortunately it's standard procedure… but if you promise me secrecy, we can only do the basic assessment, and it could be in your room, a theoretically cozy place for you. I can do that from now on if you want."

Echo sighed, relieved at the option before looking at you again. His expression is lighter. Omega already excited to see her clone brother a little more relaxed. You smiled and calmly guided him to the dorm.

All the way the three of you were shot with stares and comments. You scolding each one with your furious glare, Omega stuck out his tongue at the attackers, while Echo lowered his head every time. His tall stature, allowing you to see his depressed expression from below.

Omega opened the door as you arrived soon after, still next to Echo. Omega pointed to the bunk and you asked permission to sit, Echo, growing more and more stunned by your sweet attitude toward him, nodded.

Placing the small silver suitcase you brought along on the floor, you took Echo by the hand, inviting him to sit beside you.

You asked permission with each movement and touch the soldier's body, trying to be gentle, as if his body were the most sensitive of porcelain. You were curious about his cybernetics, but you chose not to bring it up.

Omega was sitting by your suitcase, legs crossed on the floor, handing out all the little devices you needed to gauge the clone's basic physical parameters, but never looking away from him.

You explained what you were doing and why, warned of any movement or approach of the small devices and their purpose. Echo just nodded, getting a lot more confident in you.

You can't help but notice the tight, visible muscles. The heat radiating from the clone's body. The sharp, attractive shape of his body in that tight black outfit. Feeling the slight reactions whenever your fingertips touched him. The shy look he gave you.

Omega looked uncomfortable, pacing back and forth when you were wearing the last device on Echo's body, checking his heart function.

"Omega, what is it?"

Echo said low but firm, surprising you by the contrast to the voice that trembled earlier.

"I lied to Nala Se, saying that I went to get more supplies with Y/N, that it would take her time to get to the lab, so I could take her to you. If the confusion gets to her ears, she'll find out."

Omega ran her hand constantly over the back of her neck and through hair, the little eyes fearful.

You widened your eyes at the girl, remembering that you was requested earlier and for her boldness with the doctor (as if you didn't know her). Already trying to devise a plan to cover up the improvised procedure with Echo.

"Hm... I can talk to some clone friends to claim that we left Kamino for a few hours… I don't want Nala Se mad at us. And about the fight, well, we just defended ourselves."

You said with a smug smile on your full lips, forgetting your hand resting on Echo's covered chest, your hand already warming the spot. He watched your hand standing there, your skin seemingly smooth, the fingers small and delicate, rising and falling with his breath and causing a strange sensation deep in his racing heart.

The way you welcomed him and tried to keep him safe. You defended him. Just like your brothers before it all happened. He hadn't experienced this in a long time. But like a knife, he slashed his thoughts and threw them aside. He no longer allowed himself to wander through such things, after all, what kind of relationship could he have, being like that.

He came back to consciousness with your movement, withdrawing you hand and standing up, Omega already picking up the small suitcase from the floor.

"A-Are we done yet?"

A slight disappointment was clear in the clone's voice. You crouched down between his spread thighs, looking him in the eye, giving the clone's eyes access to your light cleavage and your silvery cord that went between your breasts.

"We've finished the basics, Echo. You are strong and healthy. I'll be back to do the rest tomorrow, after my shift, if you're comfortable."

Your eyes were like adorable little twinkling stars. So comforting and sincere, just like you, all the time with him. He nodded, a slight smile breaking his pale lips, bringing a slight, sweet swell to his heart.

You stood up, carefully taking the clone's hand, pulling a pen out of your pinned hair, and jotting down your personal communicator code in the palm of his hand.

"Let me know anything, Echo. Drink water and do the breathing exercises before going to bed."

Smiling, you turned around, heading for the door, being caught up by Omega just after she gave your brother a hug. The door closed as you remembered to scold the brave little girl for her attitude earlier.

Echo was left alone. Only with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears in the dim light in the room. The raindrops hitting the glass.

He put his hand where yours was moments ago, reading your code by pulling his palm away from his chest. He was calm. Something impossible after days of evaluations.

But beyond that, he felt real, alive, and eager to see you the next day, as much as his guts and gears wanted to say otherwise.