#ltwrites

[skelavender]

“Still, my mom is going to imply…” “I know. It’s not serious. I mean, it’s not like we’re married or anything.” Scully chuckles and pushes up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Now that’s not going to help dissuade the rumors, Agent Scully.” He teases. “At this point, I don’t think there’s any hope.” OR After a year of platonic marriage, things start to change.

read chapter one of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

One look, dark room

Meant just for you

Time moved too fast

You play it back

Buttons on a coat

Light-hearted joke

No proof, not much

But you saw enough

***

November 1996

There are flowers on Mulder’s desk. 

A bouquet of… well, Mulder’s not great with flowers, but they’re all purple. There’s lavender, he knows that, and what he’s guessing are violets and irises. The last he can’t recognize, but it looks like a purple daisy. Maybe it is just a purple daisy? He didn’t know they made those. 

As he steps further into the office, he notices Scully behind the desk. She had been gone when he woke up, which was unusual for them, but had left a note on the coffee maker saying she had some errands to run before work and she would meet him there. It was folded and in his pocket. 

“Good morning,” she greets.

“Hey. Who sent you flowers?”

Scully raises one eyebrow and a small smirk graces her face, a challenge. “Check the card.”

He looks at her with curiosity and approaches the desk. He plucks the card out of the little fork, and when he unfolds it, he blinks dumbly a couple times.

Happy anniversary, sweetheart. 

Oh.

It wasn’t as though he’d forgotten. Of course not, not in a million years. Her gift is waiting at home, on top of the bookshelf in their home office where she could neither see nor reach. That was part of why he’d been disappointed when he woke up to a cold bed. He had wanted to give it to her before work, but she left before he got the chance. He had ordered personalized stationery for her, paper being the traditional gift for a first wedding anniversary, from a store down in Rosslyn. They have Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. letterpressed across the top in green, with a notepad to match. 

“I don’t think anybody has ever gotten me flowers before.” He notes with a dreamy tone to his voice. Scully has impressed him.

Her satisfied expression softens. “I’m glad I could be the first.”

“Thank you, Scully. I love them.”

“You’re welcome.”

“God,” he laughs and ducks his head. “I can’t believe it’s been a year. It’s flown by.”

“It has, hasn’t it.”

“It seems like just last month we were averaging a hospital visit every two weeks.”

Scully snorts, “Not that we’re that far off.” 

Mulder chuckles, and rounds the desk to peck her cheek. “I didn’t forget, by the way. Your gift is at home. I’ll give it to you this evening.”

“I didn’t think you had.” She mirrors the small kiss and Mudler retreats to the chair Scully usually sits in. If she wants the desk today, she can sure as hell have it. 

***

Scully pulls up outside her mother’s house and parks the car. She’s unbuckling her seatbelt when his hand shoots out and stops her. Her eyes shoot up to meet his, one brow raised.

He’s been thinking about it since Maggie called him to extend the invitation to the dinner. When they were first discussing getting married, Scully was concerned about her mother finding out. She had mentioned to him that she didn’t think her mother would keep the secret, but he suspected that she was afraid she wouldn’t approve of what was essentially a sham union. 

But Mulder wears his ring, and people tend to be curious.

Most of the time he can get away with vague answers that aren’t really lies, but he knows Mrs. Scully would grill him about it. He can only answer so many questions by talking about Scully without really talking about Scully before her mother notices. 

“Your mom still doesn’t know, right?”

Scully knows what he’s talking about immediately. “No. Only that we’re living together.”

He slips his ring off his finger and holds it out to her, “Will you hold onto this for me?” Her mouth forms a little O. “She’ll have questions. There are only so many ways I can skirt them.”

“Of course,” she says. Her hands trace the neckline of her cardigan. He’s about to ask what she’s doing as he’s still holding the ring out to her in a flat palm, until the gold chain pops out and she undoes the clasp.

It would be so easy to forget about it. That she also wears the ring. That their union isn’t one-sided. That she’s as intertwined with him as he is with her. She wears it openly at home, sometimes, but the necklace remains hidden when they’re out and about. Despite that, Mulder, with a possessive streak that he tries to damp down, remembers. The image of her ring laid against her chest, or the fleeting vision of it on her finger for a couple days in the hospital, is settled into its own corner of his mind. He thinks of it more often than he’d like to admit. 

Scully plucks the ring from Mulder’s hand and slides it onto the chain. It clinks into place next to hers. Two hearts, strung together. 

“Thank you for mentioning that, I hadn’t considered it,“ The thought of hiding you hadn’t crossed my mind, she doesn’t say. She tucks the necklace back into her shirt and goes to unbuckle her seatbelt again. “You ready?” 

Mulder nods, and they approach the Scully residence. 

“She does think that we’re dating, you know.” Scully says as they walk up the pathway side by side.

“Really?”

“I tried to explain we’re living together because of the convenience, but she was not convinced.”

Mulder’s hand goes to the small of Scully’s back as she does up the couple steps onto the porch. “I’m not surprised. She always seemed to think we were…”

“I know. But now she’s pretty damn sure of it.”

“You did your best.”

Scully wonders how different things would be if they were… romantically entangled. Would he have fought her mother’s Thanksgiving invitation so hard? Would his hand be in hers, or around her shoulders, instead of on her back? Would he drop a kiss onto her lips on her mother’s front porch before facing the crowd inside?

She steps back and her eyes crawl up and down Mulder’s form. One of the buttons on his shirt doesn’t match, she notices. The cleaner would have attached a closer match, so he must have done it himself. 

Who had taught him to sew a button? It’s not a skill she would expect him to have. She can’t exactly picture his mother sitting him down to teach him. Every time Scully thinks she finally knows Mulder, finally understands him, something new surfaces that makes her rethink him. 

Scully sucks in a breath and refocuses. “Still, she’s going to imply…”

“I know. It’s not serious. I mean, it’s not like we’re married or anything.”

Scully chuckles and pushes up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Now that’s not going to help dissuade the rumors, Agent Scully.” He teases.

“At this point, I don’t think there’s any hope.” She rings the bell.

“Dana! Fox! Oh, it’s so good to see you both.” Maggie swings the door open and greets them with her usual warm, excited smile. She takes each of them in for a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs Scully.”

Maggie slaps his arm playfully. “You call me Maggie, Fox, how many times do I have to tell you.”

“Alright Maggie.” Mulder smiles at his shoes. Mulder fucking loves Maggie Scully. She offers affection so freely, in a way Mulder isn’t used to experiencing, especially not in a familial manner. He wasn’t raised with this, with hugs hello and being allowed to call friends’ parents by their first names. It’s foreign to him. She’s been trying to get him to call her Maggie since she started feeding him while Scully was gone, but it had never stuck. 

“Bill and Charlie are in the living room, why don’t you two go sit with them while I check on the bird?“ Maggie offers.

“Tara and Marcel couldn’t make it?”

“No, Tara decided to go to her parents last minute, and Marcel is, well, Polish, so he didn’t want to come back over with Charlie for an American holiday.” Maggie winks at her daughter. “You’re the only one who brought a partner this year, Dana.”

“Mom, that’s not—“ Scully sighs and runs a hand over her forehead in exasperation before deciding to just drop it. “I’m surprised Charlie was able to get the time off, he usually isn’t.”

“I’m not teaching this semester,” a new voice explains, Mulder turns around to face a burly looking redhead. “I’m focusing on research and writing. Makes it a bit easier to get away for American holidays.” He turns to Mulder and offers a hand, which the agent takes. “You must be the Agent Mulder I keep hearing about in Dana’s emails. Charlie Scully.”

“That would be me. It’s good to meet you.”

“Dana says you just go by Mulder?”

“With a first name like mine, you’d go by anything else.”

Charlie laughs, “So tell me, Mulder, has Dana ever told you about what happened at her senior prom?”

“No, she has not.” Mulder replies, tone keen and interested. He turns to his partner, “Scully, am I about to unlock embarrassing childhood stories?”

“Charlie, you promised you would never tell anyone!”

Charlie taps his fingers together conspiratorially, and begins regaling Mulder with the story as they enter the living room. 

Upon introduction to Bill, Mulder understands why Scully had laughed so hard at a joke he once made about the two of them having an affair. Bill hides his contempt for Mulder poorly, with a pinched smile as they shake hands and the occasional glare. When Maggie calls them into the dining room to gather for the meal, Mulder sticks to his Scully’s side and Bill settles himself on the other end of the table, at the head. 

“Mom, that was delicious,” Scully says as she pushes her chair back. She then turns to Mulder, “Should we get on the dishes?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Dana.” Maggie protests, rising from her seat.

“You cooked us an amazing meal, Mrs. Scully, please let us clean up.” Mulder places a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to stay in her seat and converse with her sons, and he and Scully retreat to the kitchen with piles of dishes in hand.

“You wash, I dry and put away?” Scully offers, and Mulder nods. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” he says after a few moments of quiet washing. “I was afraid it would be awkward. I mean, Bill doesn’t seem to like me very much, but Charlie seems nice.”

“I can’t believe he told you about Marcus.” Scully laughs, “That story is so embarrassing.”

“I’m just glad to have finally earned your embarrassing childhood stories. It’s like I’ve reached the next level of friendship.”

Scully snorts. “Right, Mulder. Step one is they bail you out of jail, step two is they shoot you, three is get married, four is buy a home together, and five is learn about their senior prom. That’s the natural order of things.”

Maggie watches from the other room as Mulder tilts his head back to let out a full belly laugh. Dana elbows him, and he deposits a smear of suds onto her nose in response. As she observes the ensuing playful water fight, Maggie can’t help but hope they soon see what she does, what she’s sure Charlie has picked up on as well, what Bill might still be unaccepting of. There’s so much affection between the two of them. Dana looks up at Fox with a look that she’s never seen on her daughter’s face before, one filled with raw affection. Maggie can tell that whatever they have, it’s coming to a head. Something is there. Everything is there, glowing between them.

Plus, Fox has a thin strip of paler skin on his fourth finger of his left hand, right where a wedding ring would lie. 

next chapter ->

[theltghost]

CHEMICAL REACTION | König x m!reader

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Bro idk how this happened I guess I just love men a lot 🫶🏼🫡. Anyway.

Fluff but also slight spice just enjoy the ride babe

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Focus Focus Focus… focus focus!

The masked male, who’s eyes were hooded over ever so slightly as he engaged in a dumb conversation with his friends, lazily dropped his hand to his thigh- laughing with a quick head toss backwards. His words, though not even audible due to the feelings you were wrapped in, were low and gravely, making your stomach twist and turn, that heat that was in your cheeks traveling down your body, passing through shoulders, arms, and stomach, even making its way down into your fingertips. There was something so toxic about the calm and cool sniper in your barrack that was dragging you deeper and deeper into his spell.

“Evergreen… he controls me….” your headphones betrayed you, the words filling your senses- though, only in one ear. Purple and yellow blurred your vision as the feeling of warm satin wrapping around your waist and abdomen engulfed you. What was this feeling? Why was the man in front of you so enticing? Why did your whole body yearn to be closer? Who knows. With a quick tug on his sleeve, the man who’s head was tipped back, peeked over to you, a quizzical look on his face.

A soft “oh” resounded through the now dim atmosphere, his hand slipping onto your waist to pull you impossibly closer. “My little maus here needs some help finding something outside, I’ll be back” he muttered, completely uninterested in whether they approved or not. The soldiers surrounding him nodded and whistled in acknowledgement, not sparing a glance as he slipped a finger through your belt loop, dragging you out of the room and into the empty corridors. Of course you tried to shake off the burning in your throat and fingers, but couldn’t. This type of closeness felt like a burning lake of fire on your skin.

Your eyes fixed on his slim fingers, the heat that pooled your stomach moving to your face again, that familiar shade of crimson blossoming across your cheeks and nose. Once you were out of view from anyone and in a secluded area, he carefully pushed the sniper hood off of his head and tossed it over his shoulder, smiling down at you with adoration.

He pushed you against the wall in an instant and made you look up, rough fingers delicately guiding your chin to meet his lips in a gentle and chaste kiss. It was short and sweet, but sent electricity through your veins, feeling like the world went quiet; the earphone long tossed over his shoulder to dangle.

“never change schatz. I love seeing your flustered state and those pleading eyes just for a moment of privacy- just for a kiss. God it’s intoxicating… look at those eyes..”

It all came out as a murmur and you felt like you might throw up from how scrambled your stomach felt. This felt unreal. His hand pressed to the warm jumper that adorned your frame.

“Please..”

And that’s how you two were left, lips locked in a needy and loving kiss, your hands gripping harshly at his soft locks, thumbs dancing over his soft skin. It was romantic. A fairy tale. Impossible love that felt inhuman. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[autuumnlocked]

Hey, it's a DWC prompt! How about "I can tell you're lying" from the fluff prompts?

The smell of hay was always a comfort after a long day of dealing with the political side of the Inquisition. Request after request, audience after audience. Barely time enough to sneak in the small cake Sera had stolen for her from the kitchen. 

She had a bedroom, sure, and a very comfy bed, and while her room was several floors above the great hall, it wasn’t enough to silence the voices of those gathering and gossiping. 

Lynnette accepted her duty as Inquisitor and had moments she enjoyed–it brought her back to the feeling she had as a senior enchanter at the circle–but there were times where it was a bit too much. A life of simplicity was a nice dream, and she felt closest to it when she lied on a bedroll near the stables using Blackwall’s arm as a pillow.

“Any of ‘em particular bastards today?” he asked her, curling his arm around her shoulder. 

With a shake of her head, she sighed softly. Her fingers ran through the dark hair on his chest, slowing at the memorized strands that matched the silver at his temples.

“No,” she replied. “Nothing more than the usual.”

“I can tell when you’re lying,” he said, giving a small grin when she craned her neck to look at him. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Lynnette said. “A young mage came in today. She had been with the rebels but ran off before we’d made it to Redcliffe.”

Her hand traced the hard lines of his collarbones, fingertips sparking a soft purple as she released tiny bursts of her magic.

“She reminded me of one of my students,” she continued. “Just in appearance. This girl was timid, quiet. My student was certainly neither. Her name was Annaby.”

Blackwall gave Lynnette a soft squeeze, prompting her to continue. 

“Thinking of her… it reminded me of how much I miss teaching,” Lynnette explained. “I loved my apprentices. Some were a pain, of course, but I still wanted them to succeed.

“She had come from the alienage and was terrified, of course,” she continued. “ Kicking and screaming so much one of the Templars knocked her on the head with the pommel of his sword. I lit into the man and was immediately reprimanded.

“The Ostwick Circle may have been quiet compared to others, but we had our incidents. Annaby was the source of many,” Lynnette added with a sad chuckle. “She never outgrew her kicking spirit and her voice grew louder over the years. She argued and was insubordinate, but she was a gifted apprentice. She would have been a dangerous mage.”

“Would’ve?” Blackwall asked, his face falling as Lynnette glanced up at him.

“They didn’t allow her to go through the Harrowing,” she replied. “They thought she was too dangerous, too unwilling to act as the proper mage, the proper prisoner.”

Lynnette sat up suddenly and grabbed forearm, giving a slight tug to bring him up with her. Her eyes shined as tears pooled along her eyelid, but it didn’t seem to deter Blackwall from asking.

“What happened to her?”

“They made her tranquil.”

Blackwall sucked in his bottom lip and furrowed his eyebrows. Lynnette’s hand slipped into his and cradled each of his fingers.

She smiled, though it didn’t meet her eyes.

“Let’s get a drink.”

**I posted this from mobile and wasn’t able to mention @dadrunkwriting. It’s probably too late, but ah well. I’ll try anyway!

[staybendy]

Diet & Wellness – Fitness & Depression – LTWrites http://ift.tt/2oCtCbu

[digressing-paths]

Hey! I'm a new account, and your writings are astonishing haha I followed and liked some. Do you mind helping me get some people to notice my account?

Hi! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing. It means a lot :) The only advice I can really give would be write what you feel, what inspires you, and write solely for yourself. Don’t write to please others because at the end of the day, your opinion is the only one that matters! Also, tagging your posts is a pretty effective way to gain more attention. It mostly comes with time though. Soon enough your writing will be all over tumblr! Thank you so much for asking :) I hope you have a lovely rest of the day xx

[skelavender]

“Do you want to go get dressed, and I’ll make breakfast that is a little less…” he glances at her failed meal, “Runny and charcoal?” She nods. “Thank you, Mulder.” “Of course.” He presses a kiss to her head and releases her. As she retreats to the bedroom, Mulder continues, “But I want that shirt back!” “Tough luck, sweetheart!” She shoots over her shoulder with a grin.

read chapter four of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

Morning, his place

Burnt toast, Sunday

You keep his shirt

He keeps his word

And for once, you let go

Of your fears and your ghosts

One step, not much

But it said enough

***

December 1996

Scully’s alarm goes off at 7:00 on a dim Sunday morning, rousing her hours earlier than she would like. She groans and wriggles out of Mulder’s arms to silence the clock before it can wake him as well.

The goddamn lab is backed up, and the today is the only day open for her to run tests on the river dirt all through Gillyberg’s body, which needed to be removed, sampled, and analyzed meticulously.

She’s really not looking forward to it. Especially not in the dreary December morning light, in the cozy bed she desperately wants to stay in, with a sleeping Mulder still trying to hold her warm body close to his.

She brushes his hair out of his face and kisses his temple before getting out of bed. She slides glasses on her face and her feet into her slippers, foregoing pants and trodding out into the kitchen for coffee wearing just one of Mulder’s old t-shirts.

Scully is not exactly what one would call a morning person. Especially not on Sundays before 9. Especially not on Sundays before 9, expecting to be on her feet for at least five hours, and when every goddamn kitchen appliance seems to be malfunctioning.

Her coffee is weak. Her eggs are runny. The final straw is when her toast burns to a crisp. She pushes the plate across the counter and drops her head onto it in defeat.

“Scully?” A sleepy voice calls from the hallway. She lifts her head to look and oh, oh suddenly everything makes sense.

A Mulder-shaped blob shuffles toward her. She thinks he might be rubbing an eye, which would be absolutely adorable and Mulder-like, but she can barely make out the shape of him through glasses that, apparently, are not her own.

“I can’t see anything.” She says dumbly as Mulder approaches. He lifts his hand to remove the glasses, and slips the correct pair onto her face. He takes her into his arms, and she goes willingly, wrapping her arms around his back. She’s slotting right into a place that has always been hers.

“I put mine on your nightstand by mistake last night.” He explains, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I don’t want to work today.” She mumbles into his chest.

“I’d rather have you home, too. Thanks for doing our dirty work, Scully. Literally.” Scully just grunts in response. Mulder puts his hands on the sides of her neck, thumbs on her cheeks, and looks down at her. “Do you want to go get dressed, and I’ll make breakfast that is a little less…” he glances at her failed meal, “Runny and charcoal?”

She nods. “Thank you, Mulder.”

“Of course.” He presses a kiss to her head and releases her. As she retreats to the bedroom, Mulder continues, “But I want that shirt back!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart!” She shoots over her shoulder with a grin.

***

Scully ends up stuck at work all goddamn day. After finishing the autopsy, she calls the house to tell Mulder that she’s going to the lab to try to get something on the dirt samples she extracted from Gillyberg’s digestive system. Her insides had been absolutely packed, more so than would normally occur with a body drifting downriver, so there had been a number of samples. When she calls their landline, she is greeted with her own bored voice saying “You’ve reached Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, please leave a message after the tone.” She catches him on his cell, and tells him that she’ll be home for dinner.

When she does make it home, it's to the sound of a rock song that she knows Mulder has played before but can’t quite place, and a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen.

“Finally, I was starting to think that you’d gotten locked in one of those corpse drawers or something.” Mulder calls from the kitchen as Scully slides her badge and gun into the drawer in the front hallway and places her jacket on the coat tree by the door.

“Sorry, honey, I was waiting on the test results on the dirt from the potential dump site.”

“Find anything?”

“Yes, we ran tests on just about everything, pH, phosphate, nitrate and nitrite, organic matter, you name it… they all match, Mulder. The dirt from the woman’s home matches the dirt found in her digestive tract.”

“So they killed her in her home, and threw her in the river in a panic? Do you think it was premeditated?”

Scully puts her coat on the hook and her gun, keys, and wallet on the entryway table. “I don’t think so. I think it was definitely intentional, but not necessarily well thought out ahead of time. The sheer amount of dirt in her body wouldn't happen naturally, and there are signs that she was decomposing in open air prior to being tossed in the river. I don’t think it was done in a panic, Mulder, I think the decision to dispose of the body that way was made days after killing her. It was planned, just very poorly.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know. Nowhere, for tonight. Confirming the dump site doesn’t help us solidify a motive, or tie her to the medical group we were tipped off to.”

Mulder taps the wooden spoon on the pan thoughtfully. “Do you think the guys could get into their records and try to find something?”

“Let's leave it for tonight. I’m hungry.” Scully leans on her elbows over the kitchen peninsula. “What’s for dinner? Can I help with anything?”

“I found your stir fry recipe. You want to chop the veggies?” He nods towards a cutting board next to the stove, where he stands stirring enough to prevent the contents from sticking.

Scully washes her hands and complies, chopping routinely. When the CD finishes, Mulder nods towards the stereo, “Do you want to choose the next one?”

Scully selects a CD from the shelf below the player and slips it into the disk bay before returning Mulder’s CD – apparently, Green Day’s Dookie – to its case.

I wanna hold the hand inside you

Scully reenters the kitchen and Mulder beams at her, “Mazzy Star, good choice.”

“Thank you,” she replies before returning to her cutting board.

I wanna take the breath that’s true

Mulder’s eyes don’t leave Scully, he just takes her in. The only difference between now and when she left this morning is the lack of suit jacket and heels, and the soft, unguarded expression on her face.

I look to you and I see nothing

The slope of her nose. The angle of her chin. The slightest smear of mascara under her eye. He does his best to stamp the image into his mind, so he never forgets what she looks like when she’s cooking with him in their home, dancing around each other’s space in comfortable, practiced motions. He loves her, loves the domestic routine they’ve built so much it hurts.

I look to you to see the truth

Scully finally catches him staring, and looks back up at him. “What?”

You live your life, you go in shadows

He clicks the stove off and steps toward her, and she puts the knife down in turn. “Mulder?”

You'll come apart and you'll go blind

“Come here.”

Some kind of night into your darkness

Mulder grabs Scully’s hand and draws her in. He wraps his free arm around her back and her own presses into his bicep.

Colored your eyes with what's not there

He starts to sway, and leads her around the kitchen. Not quite the ballroom dancing from his youth, but it’s close.

Fade into you

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

The way Scully is smiling up at him makes something burst and shine inside him. He’s reevaluating his concept of happiness, unsure if it's ever burnt this bright in his chest before. He doesn’t think he could keep off his face if he tried.

She’s beautiful.

A stranger's light comes on slowly

Mulder spins Scully out, and pulls her back in, even closer than she was before. She’s pressed against him.

A stranger's heart without a home

She rests her head on Mulder’s chest and listens to his heartbeat. He wonders if she can tell how fast it’s racing, if she knows the effect her proximity has on him.

You put your hands into your head

Something seems to have shifted in her. Like a barrier has been moved, and he can see a whole new part of herself that she’s kept walled off from him for the past three years of their partnership, for the past year of their marriage. This isn’t the usual, guarded Scully; this is Dana.

And then its smiles cover your heart

Scully looks back up at him. He sees something in her eyes, in her slightly open lips, and reads it as permission. As desire.

Fade into you

Strange you never knew

Mulder lowers his head minutely, bringing his and Scully’s faces closer. Her eyes lower to his lips, and her hand snakes up to rest on the back of his neck, nails running along his hairline and making him shiver.

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

Scully’s hand applies slow, firm pressure, bringing him down, closer, and god, he’s nearer to her than he’s ever been. Closer to everything he’s ever wanted.

Fade into you

Strange you never knew

The moment shatters. It shatters along with the gorgeous, bee shaped stained glass window. It shatters along with the cupboard door, right near where Mulder’s head would be if he wasn’t leaning down to kiss Scully. It shatters with Mulder’s hope.

Fade into you

Scully reacts before he does. She drops to the ground, bringing him with her, and he lands right on top of her with a grunt.

“Where’s your weapon?” She asks, clearly shifting into fight mode a lot faster than he is.

I think it's strange you never knew

“The bedroom.”

“Dammit, mine’s in the front hallway.”

I think it's strange you never knew

“I’m going to run for yours, it’s closer and there are more walls between it and the shooter. Stay. Here.” She orders.

“Scully, don’t–”

Mulder tries to grab her, tries to keep her on the floor where they’re mostly covered and mostly safe, but she’s off and running in an awkward crouch before he can get the sentence out. Another shot rings from the window, once again just missing her and landing in the couch. She grabs the gun off the entryway table and scuttles through the living area to couch behind the couch and match the shooter’s angle. She fires three rounds and there’s a thud from the backyard, and the sound of bullets hitting the brick of the back wall cease.

“Scully?” Mudler asks, still crouched behind the counter.

“Mulder, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He peeks over the countertop at his partner, her gun and eyes still trained in the direction from which the shots were fired. She risks a glance at him to confirm he’s intact.

“I think I got him. Or at least scared him off. Grab my gun and call 911, I’m going to go check.”

“Wait a second.” He rounds the peninsula separating the kitchen from the living room and takes her in his arms. She relaxes at the contact, dropping her rigid shooting stance to embrace him back. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” Her voice is muffled in his shirt. She breaks away and focuses back on her mission. “Go.”

For once, Mulder does as he’s told.

***

Scully did, in fact, hit their assailant. He and his rifle had been perched in the tree in the backyard, and had fallen out when Scully had hit him in the shoulder. He was unconscious when Scully found him, and was cuffed to a gurney as soon as he woke.

The gunman, being the world’s worst assassin, conveniently confesses immediately to being hired by someone within the Excellium Medical Group, the very organization they were investigating in connection to Gillyberg. The one that, after poking through the woman’s computer in a less than legal manner, it turns out was involved in some very illegal organ trade. Gillyberg was preparing to report them, so they had killed her. Sloppily.

When Mulder and Scully had started poking around, they put out a hit. Luckily for Excellium, they were almost always together, so there was no need to coordinate assassinating them both. Unluckily for Excellium, they were almost always together, and therefore virtually impossible to kill.

When Mulder finally locks the door behind the last CSI tech, he leans back against it with a thud and drops his head into his hands.

Fuck. Fuck. He’d almost kissed her. And that fact had saved his life, if the trajectory from the stained glass window to the bullet hole in his cabinet door is any indication. If he hadn’t been leaning down, the bullet would have lodged itself right into his head instead of the cabinet.

Well, at least being head over fucking heels with his wife who isn’t really his wife had done something good for him. She had saved his life, again.

“Mulder?” Scully calls from the other room. She pokes her head into the entryway. He lifts his head to look towards her. She’s wrapped in a blanket that is usually kept on the couch, the one from his apartment. It doesn’t match the couch, but they keep it there anyway.

“You alright?”

She nods, and holds her arms out to him. He bundles her up into his own and tucks her head into his chest, nestled under his chin. Right where she fits, right where she belongs.

“Let’s go to bed.” She mumbles into his shirt, grabbing at the fabric at the back. He pulls away and kisses her forehead.

“Yeah. Let’s go to sleep, Scully.”

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

“Do you know what today is, Scully?” Mulder says at the click of her heels entering the office, sat at his desk the same as always. “Leap day.” She says dryly. Same as it has been. “You know, Scully, there are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture–” “I know. St. Matthias, leaplings, unhappy marriages.” She sighs, and her voice turns slightly bitter. “And Leap Day Lovers.” Mulder blinks at her, slightly resembling a fish. “How did you–” “I’ve heard you say it so many times, Mulder.” She throws her arms to the side dramatically with a sigh of resignation. “I’m in a time loop.” OR If you add a time loop plot to your desk sex, its suddenly an elevated piece of literature

read X-File #02291996 on ao3, or below the cut!

Scully

Dana Scully has a routine. 6:30, wake up. It doesn’t matter if she has an alarm clock or not; at 6:30, she is awake. Flip the coffee pot on, get dressed while it heats up. Pour a cup into one of her mismatched mugs, fix her hair while it cools to a reasonable temperature. She makes toast, maybe eggs, maybe cereal, always some sort of protein. Breakfast, although she hates sounding like a med school cliche, is the most important meal of the day.

Thursday February 29th, 1996, is no different from any other morning. She wakes up at 6:32. 

Coffee pot on. 

Her chest is killing her, a product of yesterday’s ill-fitting bra and a too-tight bulletproof vest. She forgoes the wretched garment today, instead pulling a slightly stiffer blouse and blazer that will make sure no other agents are any wiser about her wardrobe choices. She isn’t planning on leaving the office today anyway, and it’s not like Mulder hasn’t seen her without a bra before. This is not her first day with post-Kevlar chest pain.

Paper retrieved.

Coffee poured. 

Hair arranged into neat copper swoops. 

Toast with peanut butter. 

Scully has a routine.

She wouldn’t have even known it was a leap year if Mulder hadn’t mentioned it, flipping that stupid fun facts page-a-day calendar around at her as soon as she entered the basement office.

“Do you know what today is, Scully?” Mulder greets, his voice laced with enthusiasm that only ever precedes the most ridiculous of X-files.

“Thursday?” She suggests dryly.

“Thursday, February 29th.” He says, “Happy leap day, Scully.”

“Thrilling,” she rolls her eyes and settles into her desk and flips open the files from the Modell case.

“You know, Scully, there are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture. Leap year changes the feast day of St. Matthias; in Taiwan, people make their parents a specific noodle dish because it is believed that they are more likely to die on a leap day; those born on leap day – called ‘leaplings’, by the way – are chronically unlucky, people who get married on leap days are cursed with unhappy marriages.” This factoid is followed by a dramatic office-chair turn, “Which brings me to this.” He tosses a file in her direction. “The Leap Day Lovers.”

“Leap Day Lovers?” Scully echoes with a skeptical expression, one eyebrow raised.

“There are a number of couples who have reported getting caught in a time loop on leap day. They weren’t together when the loop started, but they were by the time it ended. There are a couple gaps, but not everyone is going to go public with that kind of story.”

“Mulder, this is ridiculous. Leap years are a concept invented by Julius Caesar to reconcile our imperfect calendar system with the way we understand and structure time. There is no naturally occurring scientific difference between leap days and any other day of the year.”

“But what if there is?”

“There’s not! It’s a social construct! There’s nothing to study here.”

“But Scully, listen. Their stories match. None of them were aware of the Leap Day Lovers before it happened to them.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“C’mon, you don’t think it’s a little romantic? Time warps around them until they can figure themselves out. It’s like the universe is rooting for them!”

“I don’t believe in the universe, Mulder.”

“You believe in God.”

“I also believe in science, which has not proven time capable of looping, or even being harnessed by the power of man to be able to travel through it.”

“Not time travel, either? Scully, you’re gonna start hurting my feelings.” 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a case, Mulder. Just a bunch of whack jobs who end up dating and bouncing their crazy off of one another. Now we have a heap of paperwork to do on the Modell case, so let's get on that.”

“Fine, but when one of the Leap Day Lovers of past years responds to my emails or we have a new time distortion report on March 1st, I reserve the right to gloat.” He sets the file on top of his precarious tower of cases he wants to investigate, and takes the blank paperwork from her. 

The day that passes is… boring, to say the least. One of the blandest days she’s had since she joined the X-Files department. Mulder leaves just before 10:00 to get coffee, and returns with a cup from the cafe across the street from the Hoover building. She eats her salad for lunch. Mulder does not get a response from any of his so-called Leap Day Lovers. 

She goes home at the end of standard working hours, content with the headway they’ve made on their paperwork. It’s unusual, being home in time to cook a proper dinner, but she’s happy to be able to do it today. She settles into bed with a cup of chamomile tea and a book, an honest to god book that she’s been trying to read for months and taken on many plane rides but never gotten through. At a perfectly reasonable 10:00 PM, she turns her lamp off and settles in to sleep. 

In the morning, Scully wakes at 6:32. She gets her paper and her coffee, does her hair, eats her toast. She goes to work.

Mulder stands in the exact spot he did yesterday. When he flips around the page a day calendar, it once again reads February 29th. 

“Oh, very funny, Mulder.” She says before he can launch the rant about leap day superstitions that she’s sure was about to ensue. 

“What?”

“Save me the leap day prank, it’s not going to work.”

Mulder looks at her blankly. “What?”

“What.”

“It’s February 29th.”

“No, it’s March 1st. Yesterday was February 29th.”

“No, yesterday was February 28th.”

“Mulder–”

“It was! Look at the computer!” He leads her across the room, and once it boots up, it does display the date as 02/29/96. 

“Okay, so you planned to try to prank me, and came in early to set it back. It’s not going to work, Mulder.”

He looks at her sideways before shaking his head and opening the file on his desk. “It’s fine, we all get days mixed up sometimes. Remember when I missed my own birthday because I got two pages of the calendar stuck together? Anyway, I wanted to show you this,” he turns the file toward her. “There are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture. Leap year changes the feast day of St. Matthias; in Taiwan, people make their parents a specific noodle dish because it is believed that they are more likely to die on a leap day–”

“You… Mulder, you already told me all of this.”

“When?”

“When? It– yesterday, Mulder! 24 hours ago, almost exactly.”

“I didn’t even know about most of this until this morning.”

“You’re about to tell me about the Leap Day Lovers.”

Mulder’s lip firms a mock pout. “Way to ruin the climax, Scully. Did you pull their files yesterday or something?”

Scully slides a hand across her eyes in resignation. “If I let you tell me about them, can we get to work on finishing our paperwork?”

“I don’t have high hopes of finishing the paperwork today, but yes. The Leap Day Lovers…”

Mulder’s lecture is the same as it had been yesterday. He must have been planning this for a while, in order to memorize his spiel well enough to deliver it line-by-line like this. If Scully weren’t annoyed, she would be impressed. He even sneezes at the same time, in the same cadence. 

She does finally badger him into doing paperwork, but when she opens her briefcase to retrieve the paperwork she had started yesterday, she can’t find it. And it isn’t at her workstation, either. 

“Mulder, did you take my report?”

“No?”

“Dammit, Mulder, this isn’t funny! That took all day!”

“Scully neither of us have started our reports yet.” He looks at her curiously, concerned and suspicious of her confusion. “Are you alright, Scully?”

“I just don’t want to have to redo the whole thing.”

“You seem pretty sure of this.” His eyes narrow. “Scully, are you in a time loop?”

“No.” She answers quickly and decisively. She can’t be, because such an idea is ridiculous. “I must just be getting my cases confused.”

“Uh huh.” Mulder does not seem convinced, but turns to his own report anyways, leaving Scully to rewrite the report she knows she already started. 

Something is up, that’s for sure, but it certainly isn’t something as preposterous as a time loop.

***

It’s her 15th February 29th, and Scully is getting tired of Mulder’s bullshit. She’s going to kill him.

He’s on his fifteenth rant about an X-file that isn’t an X-file. Or, at least, it wasn’t an X-file fourteen February 29ths ago.

“– those born on leap day – called ‘leaplings’, by the way, isn’t that adorable–” 

She can’t take it anymore. She needs him to shut up or she is going to spontaneously combust, which would probably just result in her name ending up in another goddamn X-file. She thinks she may be slowly losing her mind. That is what she’ll blame it on if she wakes up on Thursday again. She reaches over the table and grabs that stupid ugly goddamn paisley tie. Whatever off-the-wall theory he was about to suggest turns into an incredibly dignified “Mmmf?” before she cuts him off. 

The kiss is not quite hard enough for their teeth to click together, but it’s a near thing. Mulder freezes for a moment, though it feels like an eternity, before melting into her.

“Oh, ok,” he whispers against her lips, pulling back slightly. She’s about to respond, say something about the time loop, apologize for kissing him like that. Instead, the room starts fading. 

When she opens her eyes, the clock reads 6:32.

***

Mulder

Mulder gets to the office around 5:30 AM, unable to sleep and with his brain hooked on the idea of a leap day. He hadn’t even realized it was a leap year until he booted his home computer up to check his email, and had noticed the 02/29/96 in the corner. So instead of trying to find a case on the web or through newsletters, he digs into the history and superstitions of leap years. Once a vaguely reasonable time to go to the office rolls around, he hops on the Metro to the Hoover building and scours the filing cabinets for anything to do with leap days. This is when he finds the fascinating phenomena of the Leap Day Lovers. 

When Scully shows up, he’s a few cups of coffee deep and excited to share with her what he’s found. She’s going to try to refute it of course, but he still enjoys sharing it with her. Her “Mulder, you’re off your rocker” face is, frankly, adorable.

She, as always, looks perfectly put together as she steps into the room, accompanied by the click click click of her heels. Her hair is perfectly in place, her blazer neatly buttoned. She’s gorgeous. He flips his fact-a-day calendar around to take her attention off his face, which he’s sure shows how he’s taking her in. 

He walks her through what he’s found. The Leap Day Lovers, he saves for the grand finale. It’s by far the most interesting file related to the date, and the fact that Scully always gets a little fidgety when he brings up any sort of romance-adjacent file doesn’t hurt.

“Leap Day Lovers?” Scully echoes with a skeptical expression, one eyebrow raised.

“There are a number of couples who have reported getting caught in a time loop on leap day. They weren’t together when the loop started, but they were by the time it ended. There are a couple gaps, but not everyone is going to go public with that kind of story.”

“Mulder, this is ridiculous. Leap years are a concept invented by Julius Caesar to reconcile our imperfect calendar system with the way we understand and structure time. There is no naturally occurring scientific difference between leap days and any other day of the year.”

He would normally be irritated by someone poking holes in an X-File like this. If it were anyone else poking holes in his theories like this, it would piss Mulder off. But the way Scully approaches it, with exasperation, yes, but also with the desire for an intellectual debate on the subject, he doesn't mind. Plus, she's pretty when she's proving him wrong.

“But what if there is?”

“There’s not! It’s a social construct! There’s nothing to study here.”

“But Scully, listen. Their stories match. None of them were aware of the Leap Day Lovers before it happened to them.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

They bicker, as they always do, about the difference between God and a universal power, about the science behind temporal anomalies. It’s comforting, to Mulder, how Scully consistently rebuts his theories. How she is able to bring him back down to earth when his head is floating in space.

“Sure, fine, but when we have a new time distortion report on March 1st, I reserve the right to gloat.” He shuffles the files back into a neat (or as neat as he ever is) stack, leaving the Leap Day Lovers file on top. Scully rolls her eyes so hard he thinks she may have pulled a muscle.

Though he resigns to paperwork, his eyes are hurting by 10AM and he needs a break. He announces to Scully that he’s doing a coffee run, but she declines his offer to pick something up for her. 

On his way back, as he approaches the intersection next to the entrance of the Hoover building. This intersection is the home to Mulder’s favorite part of DC, something he loves more than the Air and Space Museum, more than any monument. At this intersection stands a defaced street sign. It’s supposed to instruct turning bicycles to use crosswalks, but a single “u” has been removed by an unknown yet brilliant vandal, resulting in a sign that says “se x-walks.” There is a sign that says “sex walks” right outside the national headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Mulder laughs every time he passes it. 

Apparently, he’s not the only one. A man walking a three-legged dog crosses the street towards him, and when the owner glances up at the sign, he bursts out laughing. The hilarity of the sign tickles him so much that he’s still laughing when he reaches the curb of the sidewalk, and he trips. The dog, displeased with his owner’s clumsiness, seems to glare at the giggling man. 

Mulder snorts at the ordeal, and continues inside to allow the sludge of paperwork to consume him once again. 

Scully leaves at 5:00 on the dot, but Mulder chooses to stay a little longer. She might not want to investigate the Leap Day Lovers, but he’s fascinated by the phenomenon, and decided to read a couple more accounts that he had emailed himself in the morning. He falls asleep facedown on the desk.

Mulder wakes up on his couch at 4AM  with a vague feeling of anticipation. He blinks his eyes open to see his living room, lit only by his fish tank. This is unusual, considering that he doesn’t remember coming home. He could have sworn he fell asleep at the office. His watch matches the time displayed by his clock, so he hasn’t lost time, so no aliens. And this would not be the first time he had no memory of his commute home.

He shuffles, still half asleep, to his desk and drops into the chair before fumbling to flip his computer on. Might as well get a start on the day, especially if he wants to find any reports of Leap Day Lovers, or any leap day related phenomena before they can be covered up. As the screen finishes its start-up paces, he freezes. There, in tiny, digital numerals, “02/29/96” stares back at him. Surely, this is just a cruel ironic trick of the universe. It always loves to play those on him. His computer must have had some error, a glitch, power outage. Something. But no, his email has the same 4 unread messages from various co-workers he doesn’t want to respond to. But that could still be chalked up to a computer error. He’s trying to be rational. He’s trying to think like Scully.

He gets dressed in a hurry, pulling his left shoe on as he locks his door. If this was just a computer error, he could check the office computers. The newspapers. The train schedule. He can’t rush into this blind. The train, as it was the last morning, is two minutes late. He makes a mental note. He nearly runs through security at the Hoover Building and  narrowly avoids breaking his neck on the stairs to the basement office. 

He’s nearly bouncing on the stool as he watches the computer boot up. When it comes to life, the corner reads 02/29/29. Fuck. 

Could be a coincidence. A suspiciously Scully-like voice echoes through his head. 

Mulder needs more to confirm his suspicions. He thinks back to what he had done yesterday, searching for anything odd enough it would be unlikely to repeat. Around 10, he had gone out for coffee at the cafe a couple blocks over, and had laughed at a three-legged dog glaring at their clumsy owner. Even if the guy walks his dog at the exact same time every day along the exact same route, he won’t trip at the exact same spot as he had yesterday. At least not if he’s not in a time loop. A glance at the clock tells him that he still has hours until then, so he hunkers down and gathers as much information as possible on temporal anomalies. 

He hardly even notices when Scully arrives, absorbed in his research. She tries to get him to work on the mountain of paperwork and reports they should be working on, the stuff they had completed yesterday but had magically been undone, but he brushes her off. He can feel her gaze, equally concerned and pissed off at his apparent distraction, but ignores it. If he’s right, she won't even remember it tomorrow.

Mulder stands suddenly a few minutes before 10AM. “I’m going to go get coffee,” He explains. Scully waves him out without a word, and Mulder whisks down the basement hallway, coat billowing behind him. 

Mulder makes it to the corner of 10th and Pennsylvania at 9:58 by his watch, and leans against a large planter adorning the sidewalk. Sure enough, at exactly 10:14, a balding man crosses 10th Street, then Pennsylvania Avenue. Sure enough, when he passes the sign that reads se x-walks, the man guffaws loudly. When he makes it to the curb, he’s still laughing at the hilarity that is that sign, which is fair considering that Mulder himself often laughs when passing it, and trips up onto the sidewalk. The pug glares up at his owner from the end of the leash, as if exhausted by the regular occurrence of the man getting so distracted by immature vandalism that he makes them both look like fools. 

And that  is what really seals it all in for Mulder. He’s in a time loop. An honest to god fucking time loop. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or horrified. 

***

On his 3rd time living through leap day, Mulder is a goddamn disaster. He almost dies on the stairs down to the basement again, and when he makes it safely into the office, he immediately stubs his toe on the desk. He gets a papercut, he spills his coffee, then gets another papercut. And that’s all before Scully arrives. 

“Jesus, Mulder, what happened to you?” Is what she chooses to greet him with. It’s fair, he knows he looks a mess with a coffee stain on his shirt and two bandaged fingers. 

“I’m having a bad day. A series of bad days, as a matter of fact.”

He doesn’t see her stepping closer as he rises from his desk chair. When he does look up, she’s right in front of him. Caught off-guard, he stumbles. With the help of the universe and the worst timing known to mankind, he commits his most dangerous clumsy move yet. 

His lips land on hers. 

Mulder wakes up on the couch. 

***

Scully

Scully wakes up at 6:32. 

Coffee pot on. 

Her chest is killing her. Her lips are tingling. She has the bone-deep sensation that a significant amount of time has passed. 

Scully diverges from her routine and grabs the newspaper before getting dressed. Closing her robe tight around her, she takes a shaky breath and hopes, hopes, hopes that the paper will read March 1st, 1996, with something other than “JUDICIAL RACES TURN LIVELY” splashed across the front page. 

It does not. The paper reads February 29th, 1996. The front article is dry as ever. Scully grunts and thunks her head into the doorframe in frustration. 

She goes to work. Mulder rambles. She goes to bed. 

***

She wakes up at 6:32. Coffee on. Get dressed. Retrieve newspaper. Pour coffee. Do hair. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Mulder rambles. Go to bed. 

***

6:32. Coffee. Dressed. Newspaper. Coffee. Hair. Breakfast. Mulder. Bed. 

***

6:32. Work. Mulder. Bed.

***

6:32. Bed. Bed. Mulder, concerned. Bed. 

***

6:32. 

***

6:32.

***

6:32. 

She gives up. This is not an elaborate prank. This is a stupid goddamn X-file. 

Scully plays with the idea of calling Mulder over to her apartment but decides instead to meet him in the office. Maybe there is some substance in the file he’s presented to her fifteen times now.

“Do you know what today is, Scully?” Mulder says at the click of her heels entering the office, sat at his desk the same as always. 

“Leap day.” She says dryly. Same as it has been. 

“You know, Scully, there are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture–”

“I know. St. Matthias, leaplings, unhappy marriages.” She sighs, and her voice turns slightly bitter. “And Leap Day Lovers.”

Mulder blinks at her, slightly resembling a fish. “How did you–”

“I’ve heard you say it so many times, Mulder.” She throws her arms to the side dramatically with a sigh of resignation. “I’m in a time loop.”

Mulder blinks at her. “What.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You’re– really? You aren’t making fun of me?”

“Nope.”

“How... Jesus, how many times?”

“Thirty-four.”

“How many times have you told me?”

Scully’s quiet for a second, fiddling with the cuff of her blazer.

“Scully?”

“I haven’t, okay!” She bursts.

“You’ve lived today thirty-four times without even telling me?”

“Well, at first I thought it was some elaborate prank, and I then didn’t want you to be right about today being… whatever.”

Mulder runs his hands through his hair. “Well, most time loops have something you have to stop to kick it out of place, right? Have you figured out what that is yet?”

“Nope. And don’t try me with that Leap Day Lover crap, Mulder.”

“No? Are you sure?”

Her mouth forms a thin line. “If that were the case it would… already be resolved.”

Mulder gives her a sideways glance, but thankfully, doesn’t follow that line of inquiry any further. “Have there been any days that were notably different?”

Scully’s mind latches immediately to the sensation of Mulder’s lips disappearing from hers, and waking suddenly at home. “There was one that was… odd.”

Mulder gestures expectantly, “Well?”

“Normally, the day doesn’t restart until I go to sleep or midnight comes around. But there was one day where it reset in the middle of the day.”

“Any idea what caused it?”

“I have… some.”

“...Well? C’mon, Scully, don’t make me waterboard it outta you.”

“I… kissed someone.”

“Really?” Mulder’s tone is now teasing, prepared to elicit information on Scully’s dating life she would normally not provide. “Is this why you’re so sure it’s not the Lovers? Who was it?”

“Yes, and that’s… not relevant.”

“Scullyyyy,” he whines, “You’re living an X-file and you won’t even give me the details?”

“Only the relevant ones.”

“Fine.”

“So then do you think the day will restart whenever you kiss anyone?”

“I– I don’t know. It’s possible. It’s only happened the once, so I have no proof otherwise.”

“Alright,” he stands and strides towards her, “Then test it. Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, and if you restart immediately, you’ll know for sure that’s what made it happen. Then when you wake up ‘tomorrow,’” he wiggles his fingers in air quotes, “You can tell me all of this again and we can work from there.”

Scully knows that there is no point to this. She knows that it will not prove what Mulder thinks it will, because Mulder is under the impression that she had kissed someone else previously. But he put it out there, and she’s not one to say no to affection from him.

“Okay.” She holds her chin up, dignified, and takes the last step toward him. When she’s in his proximity, he rests his hands on her hips. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and guides his face down towards her own. 

The kiss is softer than the previous one, but no less wonderful. She drags her fingernails up Mulder’s neck and into his hair, making his breath hitch and his grip tighten on her hips, pulling her closer, closer, closer and she’s so completely caught up in him. The kiss is a dream.

But it’s gone, and she wakes up at 6:32 in her bed.

***

Mulder

Something has been different about the past few February 29ths. When he woke up 13 days ago – if you could call them days, considering it’s the same day over and over – it felt like time had passed. And the last day had cut off as soon as he had accidentally kissed Scully. In every other iteration, he had gone to sleep and woken up with it being the same day. Never had the day rebooted while he was still at the office, or while he was awake at all. 

Clearly, it must be aliens. 

He’s missing time. He goes into the office on the 17th February 29th and instead of pulling X-files about leap day, he goes for the abduction reports. He can’t even count the number that reference missing time, but there are only a couple that reference repeating days. None of them for as long as Mulder has experienced, but they might still hold clues to what’s happening.

He’s settling into his chair with a meager five relevant files when Scully comes through the door.

“Morning, Mulder.” She greets.

“Hey.” he replies absently, flipping through the pages.

Her brows scrunch, “What’s going on? You’re lacking your usual morning X-file enthusiasm.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He sounds resigned, but can anyone blame him? It’s not like Scully would jump on the idea.

“Try me.” She leans forward and places her hands on the desk, challenging him.

He finally glances up at her, considering his course of action. After a moment of contemplation, he puts the file on the top of the stack in front of him and stands. “Come with me.” She follows closely behind him as he walks up the stairs and out the front doors of the Hoover building. They cross Pennsylvania Avenue diagonally, past Mulder’s favorite sign in all of DC. 

He guides her, with a hand on her back, to a spot in the shade behind the large flower pots. 

“Wait here a minute, he’ll be here soon.” Mulder says, checking his watch. He’s only seen what he’s about to point out a couple times, when getting to work later or leaving to grab breakfast for Scully before she arrives, but he’s pretty sure what he’s waiting to happen will occur shortly. 

“Who will, Mudler? An informant?”

“No.” He leans down to talk lowly, right into her ear, “A man with a three legged dog is about to pass us. He’ll walk past the Hoover building, cross 10th, cross Pennsylvania, and laugh at the sex sign very loudly. He’s going to trip on the sidewalk, and the three legged dog is going to glare at him.”

She leans back to look at him with her ‘Mulder, you’re nuts’ look. He expected this. He receives it often. She doesn’t say anything yet, but turns back to the road to observe. Sure enough, a man with a three-legged pug crosses 10th St NW, then Pennsylvania Ave, laughs so hard at the sex walks sign that he trips on the curb and the dog looks at him disapprovingly.

“How did you know that would happen?” Scully asks.

Mulder takes a deep breath and places his hands on her shoulders. He leans down a little to lessen their high difference ever so slightly. “Scully, I’m in a time loop.”

Scully blinks at him for a moment. Her brow furrows. She lifts a hand to his face, and rests the back against it. “Well you don’t have a fever.”

“I’m not sick, Scully. I’m stuck.”

She hums, unconvinced, and continues checking him out. She examines his pupils, his pulse, everything she can think to do without her med bag.

“I have a hypothesis.” He offers hesitantly.

“Which is?”

“Well there’s only been one loop that’s been different.”

“Uh huh.” She’s still hesitant; still doesn’t believe him.

“One time that the day restarted in the middle of it, instead of while I was asleep. I think I know what triggered it, but I can’t be sure, I could be completely off-base–”

“Mulder.” She interrupts, making him look back at her. “What is it?”

“We kissed. On accident, I mean. I miscalculated our proximity. Totally unintentional. But as soon as we, uh, stopped, I woke up in my bed and it was the morning again, instead of resetting when I went to sleep.”

“So you’re asking to kiss me to… test this theory?”

“Yes?”

“If I say yes, and it doesn’t work, will you let me take you to a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Mulder. Lay one on me.”

He sucks in a breath and takes a step toward her. One hand goes to her hip, drawing her body in, and the other slides around the contour of her cheek. 

This is his first time intentionally kissing her on the mouth, their first real kiss, and she won’t even remember it. She won't remember the small gasp she let out as their lips touched, won’t remember tangling her fingers in his hair to keep him right where he is, won’t remember the press or the pull or the small bites or anything else. 

But Mulder will. 

Mulder will carry this with him forever. From the second his lips press intentionally against hers, he knows he’s irreparably changed. There’s no going back.

Except there is. Mulder does go back. Back to that morning, stretched across his couch, bathed in the glow of his fish tank. He’s there before the kiss even breaks. 

***

Scully

On Scully’s 38th iteration of February 29th, she wears her pajamas into the office. She takes the elevator down to the basement, receiving more than a few weird looks. She enters the office without a word, and before Mulder can inquire about her attire or launch into his rant about leap year traditions and superstitions, she grabs him by the arm and drags him right out the door, up the elevator, and out the Hoover building. He says her name multiple times, asks what’s going on, but she doesn’t respond until they’re seated in their usual spots at the diner down the road. 

“Scully, what’s going on?” Mulder’s voice is laced with concern. 

“A waffle and two scrambled eggs, please.” Scully says to the approaching waiter. Mulder is still staring at her like she’s grown a second head. That might be an easier X-file to solve. “Order.” She instructs. 

He does so without taking his eyes off of her, requesting his usual omelet. Scully smiles at the waiter and finally turns to her partner.

“I’m in a time loop.”

“Scully, I know we’ve been doing the boring 9-5 paperwork and office stuff recently, but there are people with more boring jobs than us who would call it a routine, not a time loop. And most of them don’t show up to work in pajamas. 

“No, Mulder, I’m really, truly, in a time loop. It’s been Thursday for the past 37 days.”

“Oh.” He blinks at her stupidly. “And you’re at the ‘giving up’ stage of time loop grief?”

“More or less. We’re playing hooky today, Mulder. We’re going to the museums I’ve been meaning to go to since I moved here but haven’t gotten around to. Did you know I’ve never even seen the Declaration of Independence? I’ve lived in DC for five years, and the DMV for four more in undergrad, and I’ve never seen the Declaration of Independence.”

“Neither have I,” Mulder says absently, still taken aback by the Un-Scullylikeness of this whole day. The waiter places their food in front of them, and Scully thanks him. 

“Eat.” She orders through a bite of waffle, seeing that Mulder hasn’t even picked up his fork yet. 

He doesn’t move.“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m losing my mind a little bit, and I want to have a day that doesn’t feel like the one I’ve been living over and over. You’re going to eat your omelet, I’m going to go see our nation’s founding document in my pajamas, and who knows, maybe we’ll stop by the tidal basin and take out one of those–” she motions vaguely with her hands, “What’re they called, the swans?”

“A pedal boat?”

“Yes. We’re going to take out a pedal boat.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold for that?”

“Maybe. But we're going to do it anyway.”

Mulder looks at her, shoveling syrup-soaked waffle into her face with a lack of grace she doesn’t usually exhibit unless she’s at home or eating barbecue. 

Mulder knows Scully pretty well, three years into their partnership. Though her eyes don’t show it, her tone of voice tells him just how wrung dry she is. “Okay.” he picks up his fork.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

***

Mulder might’ve had the right idea about February being too cold for pedal boating. She’s trying not to shiver through her thin pajamas, but she thinks Mulder is starting to notice. They’re in the middle of the tidal basin, facing the Jefferson Memorial when a gust of wind makes Scully’s teeth chatter.

Silently, without an I told you so, Mulder divests himself of his own long coat and wraps it around Scully’s shoulders. In an instant, she’s warm and surrounded by the feeling of Mulder. It’s not quite a scent, barely even a physical sensation, but a specific air of safety and home that his proximity provides.

She stops pedaling and turns toward him. 

“What? Are we turning?” He asks.

Scully just shakes her head, and leans in to kiss him. Because what else is she supposed to do? Mulder has believed her, trusted her, and given her the day she said she needed. He has kept her warm, he has kept her safe. Not just today, but always. 

As she leans towards him the boat shifts. For a moment, she’s concerned they’re about to capsize into the tidal basin, but all of her concerns go out the window when he starts to kiss her back. And he’s eager, not just giving her what she wants when she’s feeling bad. He wants this, wants it like she does. His hands are in her hair and he’s pulling her in towards him. Her brain comes back on when he pulls her into his lap, distributing their weight even more unevenly and they’re tipping, tipping, and she’s so sure they’re about to be shocked apart by winter-chilled water. 

Instead, she opens her eyes to see her 39th 6:32.

***

Mulder

Mulder is facedown on the desk on his 47th February 29th, and doesn’t even realize Scully has entered the office until her briefcase lands on the chair across the desk with some force. She’s a couple minutes earlier than usual.

“You’re early.” He remarks with surprise.

“Barely. I just got lucky and hit the lights right.” She shrugs her coat off. “When I passed the women’s room down the hall, I think I heard someone moaning.”

“Hm. Sex moaning or ghost moaning.”

“Sex moaning,” Scully answers simply, like it’s a perfectly normal question. Which, for the X-files division, it is. 

“Wheeew,” Mulder leans back in his chair. “That’s bold.”

“What,” Scully says with a smirk and a sideways glance from where she’s settled by her computer and microscope, “You’ve never had sex in a semi-public space?”

This makes his eyebrows shoot to his hairline, “And you have?” Scully’s face immediately goes a bright red. “Oh my god, you have.”

“No!” She answers too quickly.

“Scully, you dog!” Mulder teases. “C’mon, where was it? Lover’s lane? Between the stacks? Don’t tell me it was in a morgue.”

“Not… quite.”

“Not quite?”

“It might’ve been in a lab setting.”

“Oh my god. You blew someone in a lab?” Her face gets redder. “You got fucked in a lab?”

Scully presses a hand across her mouth and mumbles something only half distinguishable into it.

“I’m sorry, it almost sounded like you just said you fucked him in the lab.”

“Yes.” She says. “I bent him over the lab bench. I had the key because I was working with the professor that semester, and we went in after hours.”

“Scully!”

“Oh, please, Mulder. I’m sure you have some equally ridiculous sex story from college.”

A specific memory washes over him. He tries his best not to let it show, but Scully can read him too well. She gets a look of victory on her face. “You do!”

“Um.”

“What is it?”

“It was an… award I received in my third year at Oxford.”

“An award, Mulder? Really?” She scoffs, “For what?”

“Most orgasms.”

“Most orgasms?” She echoes in her signature disbelieving tone, the same one she dons when he suggests ghosts or zombies or bigfoot. “Right. Giving or receiving.”

“Giving. The girl ended up telling some of her friends about it, and one of those girls told her boyfriend, who was a part of this party house which was about as close to a frat as you get in England. They were… impressed.”

“How impressed?”

“They offered me a room. To live with them. It was a rare offer.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Huh.” She’s quiet for a moment, considering. “How–” She stops herself, unwilling to ask what she really wants to know.

“How many?” He finishes the question for her. She nods, curious. “Twenty-seven. But she was particularly sensitive.”

Scully gawks, then lets out a disbelieving laugh. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!”

“How?”

“With my mouth, mostly.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Mulder. No one is that good with their tongue. No man, anyway.”

“You think I’m not good at oral? You have no frame of reference!”

Scully stands from her seat at her little science station across the room. She approaches where he sits at their desk. 

Now, Scully leaning against or sitting on the desk isn’t particularly unusual. It’s the most convenient place for her to be when they’re debating something, or looking at a file together. But sitting directly in the middle, right on top of the file he’s referencing, with one heeled foot dangling on either side and thighs spread as far as her pencil skirt will allow, with the tops of her thigh-highs peeking out, is not, in fact, standard fare. 

She looks down at him with a shine in her eyes, glistening with a dare. “Prove it.”

There’s no way this is happening. Monkeys on typewriters, laws of large numbers, divine intervention, there’s no way. For once in his life, the universe is working in his favor.

But he won’t get to keep it. He better make use of the opportunity in front of him.

Without breaking eye contact, Mulder pushes his chair back and kneels in front of his partner. His thumbs work her pencil skirt up as he breathes in the scent of her. 

When her skirt is pushed up far enough to see her red underwear, he rubs a thumb up her center, and oh god. Oh GOD. She’s soaked through them. He’s hardly even touched her. She’s wet enough just from talking to soak through her underwear. Fuck.

Mulder hooks two fingers into her underwear and pushes them to the side, skimming across her bare cunt. She’s so close to him that he’s shaking. So is she.

Finally, Mulder leans in and his tongue makes contact with her clit. She shudders, and her hands fall to his hair. His eyes don’t leave her face, hers bore into the ceiling as her head falls back in pleasure with a groan.

When she looks back down at him her ever flawless hair has fallen over her face. Her cheeks are flushed and pupils blown out. God how he wishes this wouldn’t be gone tomorrow, living on only in his memory.

He licks at her again, then removes his tongue to kiss her clit with just his lips, light and teasing. Her hands tighten on him, all but shoving his face further into her. Mulder whimpers.

How many times has he sat at this desk fantasizing about this? About her thighs around his head and her hands in his hair, about her, her, always her. How many times has he felt guilty for thinking about her like this, his partner moaning his name like it’s gospel? Her hand at the back of his head, both gentle and commanding, holding him against her. It’s not like he would want to be anywhere else.

She takes one hand away to work at her tits. Mulder tries to take over, batting her hand away to touch her there instead. She grabs his wrist sharply and makes direct eye contact. 

“Not so fast, you already have a job to do.” She pushes his hand back to its position pressing her knees apart. She unbuttons her top herself, revealing nothing but skin. He’s going to have to live this day over and over, knowing that she’s not wearing a bra. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive it. 

Scully’s foot flexes and her heel tumbles to the ground. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s close, Mulder can tell. Her thighs are twitching. Suddenly, she swings her shoeless foot up to the chair behind him for leverage and grinds her clit onto his tongue. 

Mulder whines.

Mulder fucking comes. 

He hadn’t even been aware of his own body, of how hard or how close he was. He certainly hadn’t touched himself, far too focused on Scully’s taste, the minute twitching and pulsing of her vulva beneath his lips and tongue. His own pleasure hadn’t even been relevant, but Scully chasing orgasm, Scully using him, pushes him over the edge. Only for her. Always her, her, her. He sees stars, not the ones he’s spent so many hours staring at in frustration but what he imagines heaven might look like. Through the endorphin fog, he is vaguely glad for the time loop. He and his pants are ruined. He has never wanted to be anything else. 

His name rolls off her lips over and over like a mantra. A prayer, a plea. Like she needs him. She tastes like salvation on his lips, his tongue, his chin. Scully’s still grinding her clit on his tongue like he’s her own personal sex toy when she lets out a high-pitched grunt, wraps her raised leg around his neck, and her body stiffens as she comes. Hard. 

She catches her breath, riding out her orgasm on his face. Through the aftershocks, he keeps his mouth on her, just to keep her warm, really. She settles back on the desk and looks back down again with a demand on her tongue and in her eyes, “Again. Fingers this time.”

And who is he to deny her?

He releases her cunt from his lips and, for a moment, just looks her in the eye. He gazes at her like she hung the moon, placed the stars, all the things in between them. Like she is his reason for being, the only worthwhile thing on the face of the planet. Like she’s GOD. He presses a sticky-wet kiss to the first sliver of skin above her skirt, needing to take in every bit of her, to catalog the taste and texture of her entire body. 

Scully is not as patient, “Now, Mulder,” she all but growls. 

He complies, placing two fingers to her entrance, barely letting his fingertips slip in. She bucks her hips towards him, forcing his fingers in a bit further, but meeting no resistance. He presses them in further and bends them towards the front wall of her vagina. He must hit the exact right spot, because Scully just about screams and drops forward above him, held up by a hand on his shoulder. He rubs that spot, and shifts his thumb to hit her clitoris as well.

When his lips reach her chest, her breathing hitches. He’s struck gold. She arches into him, presenting an expanse of skin and tangling her fingers in his hair. His name, again and again and again. His name on her tongue and her taste on his. 

His lips dance across the outer curve of her breast, tracing the shape of her name against her skin. Scully. Scully. Scully. Over and over. Only her. 

It doesn’t take long, with two fingers inside her, his thumb sliding across her clit in slow swipes and his mouth on her tits, for her to come once again. This time, she holds his head to her chest while he pants her name into her skin like it’s the only word he knows. He thinks there might be tears in his eyes, borne from the overwhelming pleasure.

She pulls him off her chest by his hair and he looks up at her as her eyes dip to his lips. 

“Are you hard?”

Well, now he is. Mulder nods, eyes wide. 

Scully, breathless, orders, “Then fuck me.”

He’s too floored by the idea, overcome by his want for her, to process as she pulls him in to kiss her. 

It’s then, he knows he’s doomed. It’s over. Any second now, he’ll wake up on his couch with a crick in his neck and missing time and Scully never, ever remembering that this even happened. So he kisses her back, tries to absorb every bit of the contact before he’s dragged away from it.

He makes it out the other end, when she starts fiddling with his belt buckle and pulls away to look at what she’s doing. For a fleeting moment, he thinks he’s broken it. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, sex is what he needed to break the loop, that he will get to keep this, to keep her. 

Then he blinks, and his living room blooms in front of his eyes. It’s Thursday again. His fingers are still wet.

***

Scully

Scully wakes up sore. She can’t for the life of her figure out why. She also wakes up with a rather flustering mental image of Mulder looking up at her, puppy eyes from between her thighs. It isn’t like she hasn’t had…dreams about him before, this just feels so vivid. So real. She reminds herself that dreams mean nothing. They are the subconscious brain’s way of making sense of a life’s worth of memories and there is no hidden meaning in them. But those pleading eyes, the slightly parted and glistening lips, the tousled hair sticking out in odd directions, the ghost of a dream memory burned into her brain. How many times has she imagined him like that? Looking at her like there is nothing else in the universe that deserves his attention, on the verge of tears and begging for more. Begging for her, only her. She’s used to feeling guilty about it, years of catholic school have drilled that shame into her. But this time is different. The guilt isn’t there, just a vague yearning. Vague, but deep.

Scully glances at the clock. 6:32, like it has been for the past 38 February 29ths. She knows she doesn’t have the time to do anything about the pulsing between her thighs that has come as a product of the mental image of Mulder beneath her, not if she wants to be on time for work. But, on the other hand, so what if she’s late? It’s not like tomorrow will hold any consequences. And she certainly needs the tension in her body to… release.

Scully peels the covers back to give herself space to work. She rounds the bed to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed and retrieves her vibrator. After giving it a quick wash, not one to risk an infection, lays it on the bed and kneels over it, hovering naked. Her head falls back and she summons the image of Mulder. Not the one she’s dreamt up, but the one she’s… used… before, where she lays flat on his couch with his lips on her pussy.

It’s not hard to. Instinctually, she starts grinding down on the still vibrator, just trying to get friction. To warm up. To find the right angle. But it’s the returning image she had woken up with, of Mulder between her thighs, his eyes wide and glazed over and the entire lower half of his face covered in her wetness, that makes her actually turn it on.

She lets out a broken groan as the device powers to life. She falls forward a little when she does it, catching herself on her hands and looking down where her pussy is grinding on the vibrator. Her body has a mind of its own, she’s barely in control of it. She lifts one hand up to her chest and slides it across her sensitive skin. 

She lifts her eyes and is met with her reflection in the vanity. She isn’t used to masturbating in the morning light or in this position, so she’s surprised by her own image. Her bed-mussed hair reminds her of the absolute fucking wreck that Mulder’s hair had been in her dream, which she can only imagine was from her pulling at it and guiding him.

Then she’s shaking harder and tensing with her orgasm. Overstimulated by the vibrations, she raises up off the sex toy, replaced by her hand as she rides it out. The sensation blooms throughout her body, blissful, but still not quite enough.

She needs more. Again.

Scully does not end up making it into the office on time. When she does step through the door, Mulder turns around to greet her with his bright, excited eyes and she can’t help but walk right up and kiss him square on the mouth. And again. And again. Until she wakes up and it's 6:32 again, and she cries. 

***

Mulder

Mulder is getting tired of this. There just isn’t enough time in the one day to convince Scully that he’s in a time loop. Despite his exhaustion, he drags her out to the corner of 10th NW and Pennsylvania to watch the three legged dog again. 

He parks her by the flower pots and places his hands on her shoulders to explain, yet again, the series of events that is about to transpire. 

“There’s going to be a guy with a three legged dog, he’s going to laugh at the sex walks sign, trip on the sidewalk–”

“And the dog is going to glare.” Scully finishes the sentence for him, her voice distant and vaguely distracted. 

Mulder pauses. “How did you know that?”

“I don’t know, it just seemed familiar.”

“You remember.” A laugh bubbles out of him, pure relief. Oh god. She’s remembering. He’s not going to be alone. 

“Remember what?” She asks as Mulder doubles over in relieved laughter. “Mulder?”

He stands back up straight. “I’m in a time loop, Scully. I’ve lived February 29th, 1996 somewhere around 60 times.”

Instead of twisting into concern or disbelief, this time Scully’s face is just shocked. “O-kay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Mulder pauses. “This hasn’t happened before. I’ve never been able to convince you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mulder. There’s something about it that just… makes sense.”

“Makes sense?”

“Yes, but I can’t put my finger on why.”

He considers his next move, unsure if it will turn out how he wants it to. “Let's test something.”

“Do you have a theory?”

“Yeah, Scully, I do. Listen, I’ve lived this day so many times. Some things change without me doing anything, but they’re all little things. Like sometimes the dog guy comes a few minutes later. But only one thing has changed how I experience the day.”

“And what is that?”

“When we kiss.” He says, like it’s so simple. Oh, of course we’ve kissed before. Obviously. 

“We’ve… kissed? In the time loop?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Three times, now. Twice accidentally and once to test the theory properly.”

“What did it change?” 

“The day restarted then,” he explains, “Instead of rebooting when I went to sleep in the evening or when it hit midnight. And it felt like there was… a gap. Like I was missing time.”

“Oh god, Mulder, don’t go telling me you think this is an alien time loop, that’s just a step too far.”

“No,” Mulder laughs, “No alien time loops, don’t worry. I don’t know what they would want with us repeating today over and over anyway.”

“And why do you think it works that way, then? Who, or what, do you think is controlling us?”

“I don’t know. The universe? God? That’s a big question.”

“Then how do we stop it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you figured out anything, or have you just spent your time kissing me?”

“Hey, that’s a pattern I found!”

“Mulder.” Scully ‘s head falls back in exasperation. “What good is kissing me now going to do? You’ll just wake up in the morning again. You need to investigate and figure out what is happening. This is an X-file.”

“Well what do you suggest we do? Do you have some secret physicist friend who specializes in temporal anomalies?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, Mulder, I don’t. But we can look through the files to see if something like this has happened before.”

Oh. Mulder might be a bit stupid. He must’ve lost his mind a couple of February 29ths ago. He slaps his hand to his forehead. “Oh my god, it’s so obvious!” He turns on his heel and stalks back towards the Hoover building, almost getting pancaked by a Kia in the process. Scully is about two steps behind him, asking questions. He answers none of them, until he waltzes into their office and takes the Leap Day Lovers X-files out of the third cabinet. He hadn’t come in early to review them like he had on his first February 29th, so it feels to him as though the last time he laid eyes on them was months ago.

He hands the file to Scully without even opening it and collapses in his desk chair. Scully settles on the edge of the desk as she skims the contents of the folder. Mulder’s mind provides him with extensive images of Scully’s legs spread for him while she sits just a couple inches from where she is currently, and he doesn’t even have the energy to try to stop it. 

“I don’t know how I didn’t put it together sooner.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We’re the Leap Day Lovers, Scully.”

She drops the file on the desk next to her. “Mulder, you don’t actually believe this, do you?”

“It’s the closest any of this has come to making sense.”

“It’s not though. If that were the case, wouldn’t it have already stopped when we kissed?”

“No, not if the intent wasn’t overly romantic. I only kissed you by accident, and to test the theory that that was what made it reset. And once was basically a dare.”

“I dared you to kiss me?”

“More or less.” He would really rather not provide the details of that particular February 29th right now, for fear of repeating it instead of figuring anything out. 

“And why am I not remembering the loops? It’s just Thursday for me.”

Mulder does not point out that she’s incredibly stubborn about believing in the paranormal, but he wants to. “I don’t know, the accounts I’ve read aren’t super detailed about what each party goes through or who remembers what, just how they solved it.”

“By entering a… romantic relationship?”

“Yes.”

She looks him up and down, assessing. “And you’re… open to the idea?”

“Leap Day Lovers don’t tend to be people who are unattached, Scully. They're people who have… pent-up…desires.”

“That’s… alright.” Scully hangs her head for a moment, eyes closed, then lifts to look at him again. “Alright, Mulder, what do we need to do to get you out?”

“Have sex?” He suggests. He doesn’t mention that they have already tried that, but maybe if they’ve discussed the significance first it’ll have a more desired effect. And maybe he’ll be able to finish what he started this time. 

“Oh.” She says. Not out of denial, just surprised at his brazenness. “...Okay, but we need to discuss something else first.”

“What?”

“In case it doesn’t work, I think we should have a word to try to make me remember. A codeword.”

“Something that says ‘hey, remember the last time loop?’”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what do you want it to be?”

Scully bites her lip, thinking. “Philtrum.”

“What is that?”

“It’s the word for the groove between your nose and lip.” Her hand rises to his face, and she drags a finger down his own philtrum, demonstrating. “Right here.”

“Alright. If I wake up at home, I’ll tell you ‘philtrum’ and hopefully it’ll bring you closer to remembering.” Mulder stands and moves between Scully’s legs, towering over her. He places his hands on either side of her face. “Can I kiss you?”

Scully nods, and he leans down towards her. Her mind catches up with her and she opens her mouth to say no, wait, if you kiss me on the mouth you’ll just wake up at home again, but Mulder’ lips are already on hers and she’s lost, lost, lost in him and the feeling and she’s blinking at her alarm clock, reading 6:32, with the phantom sensation of lips against her own.

***

Converge

At 6:32AM on February 29th, 1996, Scully wakes up confused. Something is different. Something has changed. 

Coffee. Paper. Hair. Toast. Work. Mulder. 

She can’t place what is different until she sees him. His presence pulls as a loose thread in her mind, trying to unravel the mystery in front of her. 

His rant about leap day is the same as it usually is. Scully has all but memorized it by now. Just when he’s about to introduce the concept of Leap Day Lovers, he stops in the middle of his sentence. 

“Have I told you about this before?”

This surprises her. Not once in any of her 39 February 29ths has Mulder indicated remembering a previous iteration. 

“What?”

“Have we discussed leap day superstitions before? Or the leap day lovers? I’m getting the strongest deja vu of my life right now.”

Scully blinks at him for a moment. “Yes.”

“When?”

Scully sighs, “Mulder, I need to tell you something. I’ve lived this day 39 times before. Each time I come in here and you tell me about leap day, so yes, we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Huh.” Like that adds anything to the conversation.

“Huh? I, Dana Scully, notorious nonbeliever in anything mystical or supernatural, tell you that I’m in a time loop and all you have to say is huh?”

“Well, that makes sense. It seems… I don’t know, it just makes sense to me.” He ponders for a moment, eyebrows scrunching to indicate he’s thinking hard about something. “Scully, does the word philtrum mean anything to you?”

It’s Scully’s turn to consider this intently. “Yes, it’s the groove between the nose and upper lip.” She hesitates. “And you said it to me… here, in the office. You were showing me a file, we had just come in from the corner outside the Hoover building? With the…” She snaps her fingers, trying to summon the memory. “The dog, and the laughing guy.”

Mulder nods. “And the sex walks sign.”

“I’m not calling it that. But why don’t I remember it fully? It seems like it happened recently, but more recently than things that I know have happened in the time loop. And I can’t remember it all the way. It’s like a dream I can only partially recall.”

“Do you think you’ve just lived today so many times that they’ve started to blend together? To feel like dreams?”

“No, I can remember the rest of them, this is the only one that feels… fuzzy.”

“But I can remember it more clearly. I remember you wearing that outfit, I remember how the flowers smelled. I remember seeing an empty coke bottle in one of the flower beds.” His face lights up, like a cartoon light bulb has been switched on above his head. “Scully, what if we’re both in time loops, and they’re starting to feed into each other?”

“That only works if you subscribe to the multiverse theory, which I don’t, and even if it were true, there is no evidence for the ability to cross between these realities.”

“You didn’t think time loops were possible until now, either, and your own experience proves you were wrong about that.”

Scully sighs in exasperation. “Mulder–”

He cuts off whatever rebuttal she was about to provide. “What if we’re in the same reality, but switching who is able to remember each time we kiss.”

“Somehow a switching time loop is more believable, and I hate you for it.”

“So what do we… do about it?” He asks.

“What does the Leap Day Lovers lore say?”

“You think we’re the Leap Day Lovers?” 

“You suggested it!” She defends.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you–” She pauses. “Maybe it was…”

“Last time.” Mulder finishes for her.

Scully rubs a hand across her forehead. “Damnit, this is getting confusing.”

“They aren’t specific about how they broke it, just that solving their relationship issues got them out of it.”

“So how do we… do that? I mean, clearly we’ve discussed it, so that’s not going to help.” Scully tilts her head, considering. “Maybe we just need to have sex.”

Mulder goes red. “Uhh.”

“What?”

“I feel like that might’ve… already happened. A little bit.”

Scully’s eyebrows shoot to her forehead, indignant. “You fucked me in the time loop?”

“Technically, you started it, so I would say you fucked me in the time loop. Not that I was going to complain.”

“And how is that, if I can’t even remember it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember the details now either! I just know you started it.”

Scully rolls her eyes. 

“But I don’t think we, uh, got all the way there, if you know what I mean. Hit the home run. So maybe if we do, that will resolve it.”

“Alright Mulder.” Scully looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Let’s fuck. Yours or mine?”

***

They end up at Mulder’s apartment. As soon as they enter, Scully presses him against the door and kisses his jaw, carefully avoiding his lips. She wants to follow through with this, and not be reset halfway through because one of them got too caught up in the moment and kissed the other directly on the mouth. 

Mulder’s head tilts up, bearing his neck to Scully as she kisses her way down towards his collar. Her hands work at the buttons of his dress shirt, freeing up more space to kiss. If she can’t have his lips, she's going to claim as much of his skin as she can. He holds her body as close as possible to his own while still allowing her enough space to remove his clothes. 

She sinks her teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Mulder gasps. When he says her name, he’s breathless. 

He’s down to his undershirt when Scully grabs him by the belt buckle and pulls him off the door. He’s not entirely sure his legs will carry him, but they do, all the way to the couch, where Scully suavely whips the belt out of its loops and tosses it away. 

She kneels between his legs and places her hand on his cock where it tents his pants. When she squeezes, he lets out a punched-out sound and just barely manages not to come on the spot.

She kisses him atop his pants, hands working the button out of its hole, and he gently pushes her back by her shoulder. “Scully, wait.” Her eyes drift back up to meet his. “That might not be the most… strategic move. For right now.”

A single brow lifts and Scully smirks, cocky. “Oh?”

“Well the end goal is for me to fuck you, right?”

“Yes.”

“If your mouth gets any closer to my dick, we aren’t going to make it there.”

She hums. “What a shame. Another time.” She places a hand on his shoulder and guides him to lay across the couch.

“Uh-huh.” Mulder agrees, brain mush at the thought of a repeat act. 

Scully divests herself of her clothes and straddles him, rubbing the tip of his dick along her pussy. Mulder grunts, sounding punched-out. 

“Scully, please. Please.”

She lets out a satisfied hum and lowers slightly, letting the tip of him just inside her. 

“Scully. Scully.” Mulder reveres, begs, needs. She lowers more, dragging it out to tease him.

When he’s sat fully inside her, Scully lets out a groan of her own, and falls forward slightly . She catches herself with a hand on Mulder’s chest. When she finally, finally lifts her eyes back to his, she lifts and falls again.

When she’s close, Scully’s abdominal muscles flex and she doubles over, leaning down towards Mulder, leaving her lips just barely a hair’s breadth from his. She needs a little more stimulation, just a touch. 

As if he could sense her thoughts, Mulder groans and bucks up into her, hitting her clit just right. Scully seizes and grids down onto him, desperate for the friction to carry through her orgasm. 

Mulder is looking at her lips, and he’s leaning up to kiss her as she’s coming undone on his cock. There’s so much admiration in his eyes, so much love, so much desire, she can’t deny him kissing her while she comes. She can barely kiss him back, lost in the sensation, but her lips are on his, and it’s perfect. 

Until she wakes up. In her own bed, not Mulder’s apartment. 

The first thing she processes is the alarm clock, no longer mocking her with a bright red 6:32. Instead, 4:17 blinks into 4:18 before her. Oh, thank God. 

The second thing she processes is the sound of the front door clicking open. 

***

He kissed her. He’s still on his back on the couch, but the daylight is no longer streaming through the window and lighting up Scully’s bare skin, because Scully is no longer here. It’s dark. Without checking his watch, he knows it’s around 4am. 

He puts on the crumpled jeans from February 28th that have been sitting on his floor as long as he’s been in this damn time loop. He’s put on a suit for work every February 29th that he’s lived through, but he’s not going to work now. He’s going to Scully’s. 

She steps out of her bedroom as he steps into her kitchen. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to wake up and see the clock say it’s four in the morning, Mulder,” she greets, rubbing her eye.

“You remember?” He asks. 

She nods. “Leap day. Philtrum. You fucked me in the time loop.”

“I did not– okay, well I did last time. But before that, you fucked me.”

“Sure, Mulder, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Thinking about it does not, in fact, help him sleep. It has the opposite effect.

“It didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t.” She sighs and switches the coffee pot on. Instead of turning back around to face her partner, she braces her arms on the counter, leaning over the coffee pot as if breathing in the fumes will get the caffeine into her bloodstream faster. 

“So what do we do?”

“More research.” She does turn around now, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Have you reached out to any of the previous Lovers to try and get their stories? See what specifically they did to make the time loop stop?”

“I emailed some, but never heard back.”

“Then we reach out to the Gunmen to get more info on them, and track them down, and go to Skinner and explain what we can without risking getting separated by the Bureau, and investigate it officially. We may restart, but if we are both remembering our respective loops now, hopefully that means we’ve stopped switching for good and will retain our memories, and keep working on it. The only issue is if we need to travel, because we’ll get sent back to our own apartments when it restarts.”

Mulder knows he's looking at her with starry eyes, but he can’t help it. She’s so damn smart, she’s planned the whole thing out half asleep and in the three minutes he’s been in her apartment. So really, when he leans in to kiss her, he can’t be held responsible. He can’t help it. 

***

This time, when Scully wakes earlier she has grown accustomed to, it’s to Mulder climbing into bed beside her. She shifts over to make room for him, throws an arm over his side, and settles her head on his chest. 

“You kissed me again.” She says, voice rough and tired.

“I did. I couldn’t help myself.” He gives a huff of a laugh and smiles guiltily. “I’m glad we can both remember now, though.”

“Do you think we’ll get the memories of our separate experiences? That they’ll all come back to us?”

“I don’t know, Scully. The accounts from the Leap Day Lovers make it sound like they’re on the same page, so I hope so.”

She nods, and presses closer to him. “We should get up. Start researching.”

“I already called the Gunmen, they’re on it. I think we’ve earned some rest.” He kisses her forehead, a safe spot. “Go back to sleep, Scully.”

She hums, and does just that.

***

A couple hours later, the Gunmen are still digging into information on the previous Leap Day Lovers with no clear leads yet. When 9am hits, Mulder and Scully stand outside Skinner’s door.

“How do we even start to explain this, Mulder.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I proved it to you by making you watch that guy laugh at the sex walks sign and his dog glare at him, we could bring him out there and make him watch that?”

“I think that only worked for me because I had been looking already. Skinner might think we’re pulling his leg and told the guy to do that.” 

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

Scully sighs, “No, I don’t. So I guess we’ll go with that.”

“Alright.” Mulder pauses, bracing himself. “Let’s do this, Scully.” He grabs the doorknob and boldly turns it.

What the door reveals, no one could expect. Not in a million years. 

Because Alex fucking Krycek is sat in Skinner’s chair, slumped face down over the desk. The back of his skull has been transformed into something akin to a bloody pudding bowl. 

“Mulder?”

“Yes, Scully?”

“Maybe this isn’t… our time loop.”

“I think you might be right.”

[skelavender]

He doesn’t know how to do this. He’s been scared for her life before, he’s seen her pale and unmoving in a hospital bed with a machine breathing for her, but he’s never had to see her covered in a sheet on the cold, unfeeling metal of a morgue slab. OR Wetwired: marriage of convenience style.

read closed doors on ao3, or below the cut!

Mulder’s shaking. He struggles to hit the correct button to hang up the phone. 

Dead. Scully’s dead. 

“What happened?” Frohike asks from behind him.

“Maryland State Police.” He tries to keep the shake, the fear, out of his voice. “They think they've found Scully.”

“Is she okay?”

“No, um... they think maybe I should come down and I.D. the body.” He chokes on the last word, and closes the door behind him before his friends can react. 

Mulder doesn’t remember the drive to the county morgue. When he parks, he’s still trying to hold back his tears, his grief. This isn’t right. 

What is he supposed to do? She can’t leave him a widower, once again partnerless within the FBI, chasing her ghost through the X Files. It’s not right.

He’s hazy through a confrontation with his source, letting the anger at the injustice fuel him. He yells, and it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. If Scully’s gone, then what’s the damn point. They’ve already gotten away with it. 

He kicks the door of the man’s car, and goes inside to identify his wife’s body.

He doesn’t know how to do this. He’s been scared for her life before, he’s seen her pale and unmoving in a hospital bed with a machine breathing for her, but he’s never had to see her covered in a sheet on the cold, unfeeling metal slab of a morgue tray.

But it’s not her. It’s not Scully. There are no words for the relief he feels at seeing another woman through the slats of the blinds. He almost collapses right there, the tension of mourning fleeing his body. Scully is still Schrodinger’s cat, both alive and dead as long as she remains unseen. Though the dead woman is still somebody’s loved one, she is not his wife. 

“It’s not her. Somebody has to call her mother.”

“We already tried.” The coroner says, “We weren't able to reach her.”

“She's not answering her phone?” 

Just like that, Mulder knows where Scully is. 

***

Mulder knows that he has a pretty good relationship with the woman who is technically his mother-in-law. It helps that Maggie is one of the most kindhearted and likable women he’s met, and that she doesn’t know he’s married to her daughter. 

As a result, Maggie has never, ever, told Mulder to go away. Not on the days when Scully was missing that she couldn't stop crying, not when Mulder showed up shaking and swaying on her doorstep. Never. She had always offered that motherly, soft smile and opened the door with a “Come on in, Fox,” and scolded him when he tried to address her formally. 

This time, when he casts his shadow across her doorstep, frantically knocking and peeking in the windows, she tries to close it in his face. She makes no comment on her name. 

He pushes past her with a half-hearted apology. He needs to see Scully, to wipe away the mental image of another redheaded woman on a metal slab, laid out and labeled potentially with his wife’s name. 

Mulder sees Scully’s gun before he sees her. Her weapon leads her from around the corner, and it is immediately trained on Mulder’s figure. Instead of tensing up at the threat, Mulder relaxes. She’s alive, she’s upright, she’s breathing.

He knows she won’t hesitate to shoot, hell, she’s already shot him once, but he’s not scared. Not for himself, at least. For Scully, out of her mind from too much TV, yes. For Maggie, who Mulder is trying his best to keep behind him in case Scully does fire her weapon, yes. But he’s not scared for himself. Even if Scully shot him now, straight to the heart and he bled out in seconds, the pain wouldn’t compare to the half an hour this evening when he thought she was dead. Nothing can hold a candle to the horror that had sunk into his bones. 

“You’re in on it. You’re one of them.You’re one of the people who abducted me. You put that thing in my neck! You killed my sister!”

The accusation stings. There’s always been a part of Mulder, buried deep in a chasm of guilt over Samantha and everything else, that has felt responsible for Melissa’s death. If he had never dragged Scully into the conspiracy shrouded corners of the world, her sister might still be alive. So maybe Scully’s right, in a twisted way; maybe he did kill her sister. 

“That’s not true, Dana.” Maggie steps out in front of Mulder’s human shield. 

“It is! He’s been manipulating me since day one. He even m–” she removes a hand from her gun and presses it to her mouth to keep in a sob. Mulder can fill in the rest of the sentence. He even married me to manipulate me. His heart breaks.

“I want you to listen to me.”

“Mom, just get out of the way!” Scully sobs. Her gun shakes in her single hand. 

“You trust me, don’t you? You know that I would never hurt you? That I would never let anybody hurt you. That’s why you came here, isn't it? You’re safe here. Put the gun down, Dana.” Maggie steps closer as Scully’s gun retreats to the ceiling, her arms folding to her chest. “Put it down.”

Finally, Scully lets herself crumble in her mother’s arms, dropping like a puppet with her strings cut and sobbing, sobbing, sobbing like he’s never seen her do before. She doesn’t let go of the gun. 

Mulder steps closer on light feet, approaching to release the weapon from Scully’s chokehold. Unfortunately, he hits a creak in the floorboards. 

“No!” She screams and lifts the gun to him again.

“Scully, please.” Mulder begs, his voice cracking. “Please let me help you.”

“It’s okay, Dana. Fox loves you, he’s not here to hurt you. It’s okay.”

Mulder stays across the room. “Do you two want to get into your car to go to the hospital, and I can follow?” he asks Maggie. She nods. “Okay. Scully, would you hand the gun to your mom, please?”

Maggie puts enough space between their bodies for her to receive it, then holds it out to Mulder, who finally approaches to retrieve the weapon. He clicks the safety back on, removes the magazine, and places them in separate places around the living room. He does the same with his own, and helps Maggie lift a still-limp Scully upright. 

“I’ll go grab my keys, Dana, you’re safe with Fox, okay?”

Scully, leaning most of her body weight on Mulder and completely out of it, makes a vague sound of agreement. While Maggie is out of the room, Scully shifts to lean her head on Mulder’s chest. He rests his right hand on the back of her neck, running a finger along the two chains that lay there: her cross necklace from her mother, and her wedding ring necklace from him.

The wedding ring that Maggie doesn’t know exists. Shit.

“Scully, I’m going to take your necklace, okay?” He whispers, “So your mom doesn’t see.”

Scully lets out a little whine from the back of her throat and nods slightly. Mulder’s fingers fumble at the clasp, and he manages to slide it into his pocket half a second before Maggie reenters the room. 

***

Mulder puts his hands up as he enters Scully’s hospital room tentatively, trying and failing to make a joke of the situation. Maggie, thankfully understanding their need to talk in private, exists as Mulder enters. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, taking a seat beside Scully’s hospital bed. He scoots the chair closer in before grabbing her hand in his, and lifting the other to brush her hair from her face. 

“Ashamed,” she confesses. “I was so sure, Mulder. I saw things, and I heard things… it was just like the world was turned upside down. Everybody was out to get me.”

“Now you know how I feel most of the time.” Mulder tries to lighten the mood, to make her feel less… guilty, if Mulder is reading her right. It doesn’t seem to work.

“I thought you were going to kill me.” It comes out as a whisper, as another confession. 

“I'm not surprised.” He leans toward her, and explains the common link between the victims and their hallucinations, turning their worst-case-scenario anxieties into a reality in their eyes. 

“Like me thinking that you'd betray me.” Scully offers in understanding, “I was so far gone, Mulder, I thought that you had gone to the other side.”

She tells him what she had seen, him conferring with the Smoking Man in the parking lot, selling their secrets. She doesn’t tell him about seeing a smudge of lipstick on his collar, or the scent of an unfamiliar perfume in their motel room. For the sake of her own sanity, those shall remain unmentioned and she will just accept that they, too, were hallucinations induced by the recorded television programs. 

Mulder considers the Smoking Man for a moment, formulating a theory as to who was behind the induced mania. 

“Why don't you try to get some rest?” He says, and rises to leave the room. Before he crosses the threshold, he remembers half his reason for coming by. “Oh!” He turns towards her, and fumbles with the pockets of his coat “I almost forgot.” He pulls out a familiar chair, with an even more familiar ring dangling at the bottom. 

Scully smiles softly and holds her hand out for Mulder to drop her wedding ring into. “Thank you, Mulder.”

“I… let your mom take the lead, with the hospital. She still doesn’t know.” He says quietly.

Scully nods and slips the chain over her head. She motions for him to come closer, and he leans down to her. She presses a soft, grateful kiss to his cheekbone. 

“I’ll just uh, go take care of the Cancer Man and stuff.” He bends down to place a final kiss to her forehead, and steps out the door.

He’ll deal with the rest of it. He’ll clear the path of obstacles, of things they need to investigate, so she can focus on getting better. 

***

When Scully is discharged to Mulder’s care and he takes her home, she beelines for the loveseat that backs the kitchen. What Mulder considers her solitude chair. She sits sideways, crossing her ankles and pulling her knees to her chest, and sets her book on the arm of the chair.

Knowing she’s unlikely to relocate to the couch, he stretches out across the length of it so his feet are closest to her and grabs the book he left facedown on the coffee table last week, which Scully had placed a bookmark in and closed to save the spine. They sit quietly, absorbed in their respective books, each enjoying the quiet, steady company of the other.

“I’m going to go to bed.” Scully says, breaking the silence and rising from her seat.

Mulder smiles up at her, “Goodnight, Scully.”

She gives him a watery smile and disappears down the hallway. 

When Mulder gives up on his book an hour later, he retreats down the hallway after her. When he reaches Scully’s bedroom door, accustomed to sliding into bed with her as has for the past few weeks, he pauses with his hand on the knob. 

It’s closed. It’s never closed. 

This is… new. Scully closes the door when they retreat to bed together, and had done so in her own apartment as well when he had stayed there. It hadn’t surprised him in the slightest, Scully’s a practical person, and a closed door is safer in the event of a fire. Usually, on the nights he joins her late, he closes it behind him. So far, she’s always left it open those nights. 

But it’s closed now. The invitation he’s been eating up so greedily is closed, at least for now. Mulder turns to the other side of the hallway, swinging open the door to his own bedroom. The hinges creak. 

Without even stepping in, Mulder knows he can’t sleep there. The room is cold, stale, hollow in a way an extra blanket and Scully’s fancy scented candles can’t fix. It’s not Scully’s room, with her soft pink walls and soft mattress and, well, Scully. His own bedroom serves a walk-in closet with a mattress.

There’s no love here. 

He clicks the door closed and retreats to his leather couch, pressed against the staircase in the basement room that they use as a home office. At least on the couch, there is no empty side where someone else should lay. 

***

When Mulder wakes a few hours later to shift positions, he feels the pressure of something resting against his knee. He opens his eyes to see Scully leaning against the couch, legs folded under her, dozing with her head rested on his knee. It’s not dissimilar from when she had snuck into his old apartment months ago, an instance they had never outright addressed. 

He tries to shift his cramping leg slowly, gently, as not to wake his partner. She rouses anyway, turning around to blink up at him sleepily. 

“You alright, Scully?” he asks, voice rough. 

She nods. “I’m sorry I locked you out.”

“‘S alright.” He stretches to relieve the ache in his leg, and once it’s gone, lays flat and reaches his arms out to her in invitation. She rises, only to lay back down on top of him, legs intertwined and arms wrapped securely. Her head rests on his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of it.

“I do trust you.” Scully’s voice is quiet beyond a whisper, and Mulder’s not entirely sure he actually heard her say it.

“I know.”

“I’m just…” She sighs. “Unsteady. Like I’m not sure what’s real.”

“This is real, Scully.” He says into her hair. “We’re home, we’re safe.”

“But are we?” She lifts her head to look at him properly. “Mulder, we’ve been manipulated and abducted, there have been attempts on both of our lives. I’m not certain we’ll ever be safe, much less feel it.”

“You’re right that it’s possible that this will go on forever.” He replies. “But it’s also possible that that’s not the case. It’s possible the Smoking Man will be dead on our doorstep tomorrow morning, and we won’t have to worry about him anymore. It’s possible that we’ll get a tip about Samantha’s tomorrow. If we worry about every horrible possibility, we also have to let ourselves dream about the wonderful ones.”

If only you knew, Scully thinks. She does daydream about peaceful and happy futures, and every single one of them involves him. 

[skelavender]

“You’re getting red, Scully, people are going to think I’m making you blush.” “Wouldn’t be the first time I did something like that in public.” “Oh?” He asks, “Do tell.” Scully lifts an eyebrow, “You sure you want to know?”

reach chapter 5 of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

You kiss on sidewalks

You fight and you talk

One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says

You're my best friend

And you knew what it was

He is in love

***

December 1996

Scully is, to Mulder’s delight, a little tipsy. Which, also to Mulder’s delight, means that she is giddy, giggling and beaming at him from across the small bar table like she hasn’t a care in the world. He just has to reach out and touch her, brushing fingertips across her flushed cheeks.

“You’re getting red, Scully, people are going to think I’m making you blush.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I did something like that in public.”

“Oh?” He asks, “Do tell.”

Scully lifts an eyebrow, “You sure you want to know?”

“Sure, why not.”

Scully moves her chair to the side of the table so they’re sitting next to each other instead of across. She takes his chin in her hand, and guides him closer to her to whisper in his ear.

“I was involved with someone, in med school. We… worked together, and it was hard to find time outside of the hospital. So we made use of our limited free time there.” Her lips graze his ear, and oh, shit, this was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. This is not a conversation Mulder should be having in a public space.

“Uh huh.” He says weakly.

“We’d make out in storage closets if we could wedge the door. Sometimes, if we got lucky we would find an empty on-call room, which was always useful. More space to move. More… options.” She grins wickedly into Mulder’s ear, biting her tongue between her teeth. The side of her mouth brushes against his cheek, just in front of his temporomandibular joint.

“Scully,” His voice is rough now. This is un-fucking-fair, but he did it to himself. 

Scully pulls back. “Now people are really going to think we’re having a… heated discussion.” Her eyes fall to his cheek, and she lifts her hand to touch where her lips had just been brushing the space just in front of his ear. She frames his ear between her thumb and pointer finger, and brushes along a smear of red that isn’t from his blush. “Oops,” she says, “Left a little lipstick.” 

He watches her brush away the evidence of contact. He doesn’t want to think about Scully with another man, having rushed sex in places they shouldn’t like he’s dreamed of having with her in their office, but the image won’t leave. 

Scully reaches for Mulder’s hand where it lays on the table. She clasps it between her own, fingers dancing across the ridges of his wedding ring. When she tears her eyes from it and lifts them to meet his own, she raises his hand to her mouth and presses a kiss onto the ring. Mulder just about melts. 

Sometimes, it seems like Scully is unaware of the hold she has on him. How latched onto her he is. She owns him with the ring on his finger, with the smudge of lipstick still smeared across the side of his face, with the dedication written across his face. He’s hers, and he’ll never be anyone else’s. This, he knows. 

“You ready to go home, sweetheart?” She asks. He knows it’s not a come-on, she’s just tipsy and done with being in public, but god he wishes it were one.

“Yeah, Scully, let’s get going.”

Mulder closes their tab and they don their coats to head outside. Scully stumbles a little as they exit the bar, and Mulder wraps his arm securely around hers to keep her steady, clasping their hands. He keeps the arm stiff to support her. 

“You good there, Scully?”

“Mhmm.” She hums, carefree. “Let’s walk home. It’s nice.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, you’re a little…”

“I’m fine. It’s only three blocks.” She punctuates her insistence with a peck on the cheek. “You won’t let me fall.”

Well, she’s got a point there. They walk home without too much ordeal, hands clasped the whole way. 

Mulder savors it. Physical contact from Scully isn’t exactly rare — especially not these days, where they fall asleep in the same bed and cuddle on the couch and occasionally press closed, chaste lips to each other’s skin — but he still soaks it up like a sponge every time. Scully is special. Her touch is special. She doesn’t welcome touch from many people, and Mulder is honored to be one of the rare few she permits in her proximity. It makes him feel fulfilled. Valued. Trusted.

Scully heads to the bedroom, leaving Mulder to lock up. Or her room. Though his sits empty, collecting dust, he’s hesitant to lay any kind of claim on the room with the pink walls in which they sleep.

She’s laying facedown on top of the covers when he enters, starfished across the bed sideways. She lifts her head when he steps in, but barely past the doorway.

“Oh do you want me to…” He gestures towards the hallway, towards the other room with the unmade bed that hasn’t been touched in months.

“Mm-mm,” she negates and slides back onto her feet. “I’m just going to change and we can go to sleep.” Scully gets off the bed and presses yet another kiss to his cheek on her way to the dresser. Then, he starts to peel her shirt over her head.

Mulder turns very, very red and turns around immediately. It’s not the first time he’s seen her less than fully dressed �� hell, she’d walked into his motel room mostly naked the week they’d met – but he’s not going to risk gawking at her when she’s drunk and showing more of her body than she would sober. 

When he hears the dresser drawer close and risks turning around, she’s wearing a shirt (his) and sleep pants (miraculously, her own), and a crumpled wipe on the counter is smeared with her lipstick. She crawls under the covers on her side of the bed and pats the empty space next to her. “You coming, honey?”

Mulder steps forward and loosens his belt and removes his jeans to sleep in his t-shirt and boxers. He wraps his wife in his arms, presses a kiss to her forehead with a silent wish that someday, soon, it will all be real, and drifts off.

***

He doesn’t get much sleep. He wakes up a couple hours later with too much anxious energy to stay in bed, for fear of fidgeting too much and waking Scully up. So he rises around 4AM, and goes into the office early. 

Scully wakes to a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on her nightstand, just in case, and a note on the half full coffee maker saying that Mulder will see her at work. This one has a smiley face on it. Others have had hearts. Scully keeps those ones.

She misses a call from him while driving in because her cell phone is out of reach. When she does finally make it to their office, it, too, is empty. There, she is greeted only by yet another note, this one saying that Skinner called asking them to come up to discuss a potential case at their earliest convenience. She drops her bag and coat and heads upstairs to meet them. 

When she walks in, Mulder and Skinner are standing at the conference table with files scattered across it, clearly Mulder’s doing instead of Skinner's. They both stare at her like she’s grown a second head as she approaches the table. Idly, she wonders if there are any relevant X-files on the topic. 

“What?” she asks, and looks down at her outfit, where both men are staring, suddenly afraid that she’s in one of those nightmares where she’s forgotten to put a shirt on and is just wearing her blazer with the way they’re staring at her. She doesn’t understand their looks until her eyes lift back up at Mulder. 

And she sees him wearing the exact. Same. Damn. Outfit. A navy suit, she’s even decided to wear trousers instead of a skirt today, with a cornflower shirt underneath. She’s never even seen him wear a cornflower blue shirt. She doesn’t think he had one. When the hell did he have time to go shopping. The only differences between their outfits are Mulder’s horribly clashing red and brown patterned tie, and Scully’s heels. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Scully says.

Mulder bursts out laughing. Even Skinner has half of an amused smile on his face. 

“I am going home and I am changing.” Scully lifts her hands defensively and turns around to do just that.

“No Scully, Scully wait. We have a case.” Mulder manages through his laughter. He waves his hand to beckon her over to the mess of file folders on the conference table. “Look.”

“You want to go into the field like this?” She asks indignantly. “Mulder, how are we supposed to get anyone to take us as serious investigators if we look like we stepped out of the his-and-hers section of a Macy’s catalog?”

“With your strict professionalism, I think we’ll be fine.”

Scully rolls her eyes, but takes her seat to hear about the case. Skinner gets ushered out about 10 minutes later due to an emergency meeting with another AD, leaving Mulder and Scully to collect the files and bring them back downstairs. 

Scully rises first, and catches a whiff of something familiar as she does. Jasmine and vanilla. Her shampoo. She hadn’t washed her hair this morning, so it wasn’t from her. Her brows knit together, and she leans down to sniff at Mulder’s head, confirming her suspicions. 

“Did you use my shampoo?”

Mulder’s eyes widen when he looks up at her, guilty. “Maybe.”

“Mulder.”

“It makes my hair so soft!” He defends. Which is fair, that’s exactly why Scully uses it. “Is it a problem?”

Scully considers it for a moment. “No. But it’s expensive, so you’re buying the next bottle.”

“Deal.” Mulder beams up at her. 

Scully just shakes her head fondly, and runs a hand through his hair. He’s right, it’s softer than usual. So how could she complain?

***

That night, Scully stares into her sleeping husband's face. It's rare that he will be asleep while she lays awake, but for tonight, she gets to look into his relaxed, drooling visage without guilt.

Her love for him sometimes gets tangled up in a ball inside her chest that takes a couple days to unwind. There’s too much of it, and not enough room inside of her, and it takes time to knit it back into something manageable. Looking at him, here, it’s tangible. Large, but not overwhelming as it can sometimes be. 

They’ve changed each other. Scully knows this. But today, seeing how they’ve… melded together, almost, since living together, has showcased those changes spectacularly. 

They’ve always been a unit. Always been separated from the rest of the FBI. They’re their own tiny department, they’re Mr. and Mrs. Spooky, they’re MulderandScully. A single entity. One can not be discussed without the other. 

But today, with their matching suits and scents, it was so much. Not a bad thing, not too much, but intense nonetheless. 

Scully gives into the urge to run the back of her fingers along the skin of his cheek. When he shifts, snaps her hand back into her own space, not wanting to wake him. His eyes drift open anyway, before she can wipe the vulnerable expression off her face. 

“What’s that look for?” He asks, voice rough with sleep.

She shakes her head. “Nothing, go back to sleep.”

“Scully?”

She bites at her lip, unsure how to express the depth of her emotions without revealing too much. “You’re my best friend.”

The smile that blooms across his face isn’t the Christmas tree smile, but something softer. More affectionate, instead of simply joyful. It makes something stir in her chest all the same. 

“You’re my best friend, too. But how does that lead to you staring at me while I sleep?”

“Don’t worry about it, Mulder.” She leans into him, and places her head on his chest. His arms wrap around her reflexively, and hold her body tight to his. 

He knows what she’s saying. He can read between the lines, the secret second message woven into her words.

I love you. 

<- previous chapter

[skelavender]

prompt from @pookie-mulder. i got carried away and this is technically a ficlet instead of a drabble, so it's below the cut!

There’s a gang that is supposedly using a slime monster to terrorize a rival gang, Scully might have had a conversation with a vulture, and she had woken up wearing lipstick a couple shades darker than any she owns with no memory of how it had gotten there. 

Scully does not think today can get any weirder. 

(She’s wrong.)

She and Mulder are currently sitting on a park bench, bodies close as usual, observing a suspect who might have the object used to control the goopy entity. It is likely that he will use it tonight, given the pattern, and Scully is hoping for at least a sample of the slime to analyze. He’s glancing sideways at them from across the clearing. 

They probably should have thought to make this an undercover operation earlier, but instead Mulder has made himself known to pertinent parties who are now making their lives much harder. They were only in the city because of the slime monster, they didn’t give a shit about the gangs, but had stumbled upon them. Hence the badge-waving.

The suspect turns his head towards them again, squinting this time, as if trying to figure out why they look familiar. Mulder’s jacket is off and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, thankfully giving him a slightly less fed-y look. Thankfully, he hasn’t yet met Scully, or else her hair would be a dead giveaway. The man steps towards them.

“Mulder.” Scully nods to the guy, then looks back up at her partner.

“Do you think he’s recognized me?”

Scully ponders, and her eyes land on his lips. “If he hasn’t, there’s one way to make sure he doesn’t.” She scootches into his side and lifts his arm to curl around her shoulders. He gets the message, and pulls her further into his side. They share a coupley smile. 

“Is he dissuaded yet, Scully?” Mulder asks, still with an adoring twinkle in his eye. 

Scully glaces. “Nope.”

“Any more bright ideas?”

Scully’s eyes drift down to his lips again. She reaches for the side of his face. “One.” She pulls him down to her, and they’re kissing. 

She tries not to gasp when Mulder’s lips brush across hers, but it’s difficult. She can;t tell if she succeeds or not, because she’s lost in him. 

When they finally break apart, Scully has found her legs draped across Mulder’s lap, and her arms around his neck like she’s holding him there, like she never wants to let him go. Maybe she doesn’t. 

“Did it work?” She asks, lips still lightly brushing his.

“I think so. Good thinking.”

“Uh huh.” Scully’s brain is mush. “Public displays of affection tend to… divert unwanted attention.”

“Good thinking.”

Scully removes her legs from Mulder’s lap, but his arm stays around her shoulders. She lifts an eyebrow, questioning. “Well, it would be much weirder for onlookers if we were to go from 100 to 0 that fast.”

“Sure, Mulder.” She redirects her attention to where the man had previously been standing. “Is that goop?”

“Slime.” Mulder corrects.

“Sure, Mulder. Whatever it is, I want a sample.”

[skelavender]

Idk if this is a drabble level prompt, but what if Scully went with Mulder to England instead of putting her foot down in All Things 👀 I just get the feeling he had more going on in his head than "go look at crop circles all the way across the ocean"

ooohhh i love this !!! soooo many ways to go and none easy to keep within 100 words lol but here you go:

“So this is what passes for crop circles on this side of the pond?” Scully asks as she sways with Mulder, her arms curled around his neck as they slow dance. They’re surrounded by other couples, Mulder’s friends from university, who had organized a last-minute unofficial reunion. 

“I might have… inflated the strength of the evidence in order to get a Bureau-funded plane ticket.”

Scully snorts, “So you just wanted to hang out with your college friends on the taxpayer’s dime?”

Mulder offers a guilty smile, “Maybe I wanted to show off my brilliant, beautiful partner a little bit too.”

[skelavender]

happy leap day!! does anyone want to watch mulder and scully live it over and over, then fuck about it? if so, @7crowsinadress and i just uploaded X-File #02291996, go check it out!

[skelavender]

Dana Katherine Scully knows she is a very rational person. She’s a doctor, a woman of science, she has to be. It was the whole reason she was assigned to the X Files in the first place. The whole reason she even met Mulder. The whole reason she met her best friend. It’s also the reason she proposes to him. OR After a few too many instances of being separated at hospitals, Scully and Mulder decide to get married. Simply for practical reasons.

read chapter one of kind of perfect on ao3, or below the cut!

Dana Katherine Scully knows she is a very rational person. She’s a doctor, a woman of science, she has to be. It was the whole reason she was assigned to the X Files in the first place. The whole reason she even met Mulder. The whole reason she met her best friend. 

It’s also the reason she proposes to him. 

***

Mulder is hurt, again. Because he is a stupid, reckless, adorable, clumsy motherfucker with no regard for how his actions affect Scully’s blood pressure. 

They’re fighting some irrelevant bad guy in an abandoned warehouse. She cuffs the guy who shot Mulder to the closest storage rack and rushes to her partner’s side. As she maneuvers around the crates towards where Mulder yelped from, she calls for an ambulance.

It’s a bit of a blur sometimes, when Dr. Scully takes over, pushing aside both Agent Scully (concerned about making sure the perp doesn’t turn into goo or go invisible or go missing in some other inexplicable way) and Dana (worried, needs for Mulder to be okay) so she can focus on the very rational need to fix the gunshot wound gushing blood from Mulder’s arm. 

She lets the paramedics take over when they arrive and directs the local PD to arrest whats-his-name-the-bad-guy. When she’s sure they have it handled, she goes toward the ambulance they’re packing an unconscious Mulder into. 

When she goes to step up into the ambulance, a young paramedic puts her hand up.

“Are you his wife?”

Scully almost laughs. “No, I’m his partner at the FBI.”

“Family only, ma’am. Sorry.” She closes the door in Scully’s face and the ambulance drives away, literally leaving Scully in the dust. 

***

For years to come, Scully will maintain that what she does next was perfectly rational. It made sense. It was not borne from not sleeping for two days, or her desperation to see her partner. It just made sense. 

When she makes it to the hospital, she has a shitty ring from a nearby 24-hour CVS wrapped around a finger on her left hand like it belongs there. When she approaches the nurse’s station, she asks for Mulder with her best worried doe eyes.

Followed by “He’s my fiancé.”

The woman behind the desk gives her the room number immediately, requesting no other information. 

When she makes it to Mulder’s room, he’s asleep. She grabs the chart from the end of his bed and leafs through the stack of papers like it’s routine. At this point, it is. Everything is about how she would expect. He’ll be fine, just stuck home and calling her at all hours with increasingly insane theories for the next couple weeks. More frequently than usual. 

Scully sits down in the uncomfy chair to the right of his bed and brushes some hair out of his eyes. Places a kiss on his forehead. Despite her knowledge that he was minorly injured, she had been worried. She always is. Mulder is reckless with himself at the best of times, and she fears that someday it’s going to get him killed. 

But for now, he’s alright. He’s safe. Her hands can stop shaking. 

She takes the tv remote and switches to a Price is Right late night rerun. She glances back at Mulder, who hasn't moved other than the slow, thankfully steady, rise and fall of his chest. She grabs onto Mulder’s hand before she can think too hard about it, and focuses her attention very intently on Bob Barker. 

About half an hour later, Scully feels a squeeze on her left hand. She turns to Mulder, blinking sleepily at her. 

“Hey, Scully.”

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. You feeling okay?”

“Mhmm,” He says, “‘Dja get ‘im?”

“Of course.” She gives him a reassuring smile, “Everything’s taken care of. He’s in custody.”

“Good. Why’re you here, you need to sleep.”

“Too much adrenaline, and I wanted to see you.” She brushes his hair out of his face again. 

Mulder hums, “Thank you for being here Scully.”

“Of course,” She says. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

He drifts back off, and she doesn’t mean to follow him. But the next thing she knows, she’s blinking awake to a nurse bringing in new meds for Mulder.

He’s still holding her hand. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He echoes her greeting from earlier, “Too much adrenaline to sleep, huh?”

She shifts back up in her chair, stiff. “Must’ve been the sedative effect of The Price is Right.”

He and the nurse both laugh, and she leaves, telling them that the doctor would be in to talk to them soon. 

“So,” Mulder says and runs his thumb over the ring on her left finger, “What’s this? Something you wanna tell me?”

Scully huffs a laugh, “Yeah, you owe me $5.99, Mulder. That’s our engagement ring.” 

“I think I’d recall proposing to you, Scully. And I’d certainly pay more than $5.99 for your ring”

“I appreciate that. No, I, uh,” she pauses, “They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance because I wasn’t family, so I said I was your fiancée when I got to the hospital so make sure they’d let me in after hours.”

A smile forms across his face, “Why, Scully, you little liar.”

“I do what I have to.”

He doesn’t let go of her hand until he has to.

***

Scully keeps the ring in the inside pocket of her suit jacket from then on out. When she leaves the house in the morning, she checks for her cell phone, wallet, badge, and ring. It's ingrained in her routine, like brushing her teeth. 

It’s come in handy a couple times, too. When Mulder got stabbed in the gut a month ago, when he got a nasty case of bronchitis two months before that. He would call her from the hospital, or request for a nurse to place the call to his “fiancee,” and she would drop everything and slip on the ring. It worked. 

Until it didn’t.

Her landline rings when she's unloading groceries.

“Scully,” she greets, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“Hi, my name is Maria, I’m an EMT. The owner of this phone was involved in an accident and doesn’t have identification on him. The first number on the speed dial didn’t pick up and this number is second, what is your relation to him?”

“I’m– What happened?”

“It appears he was on a jog and ran out from between cars, and is currently unconscious. Please, ma’am are you an immediate relative?”

“I’m on a landline, I can’t see what number you’re calling from. What does he look like? Where are you?”

“Brown hair, about six foot, we’re on Hegal in Alexandria.”

Scully drops the eggs that are halfway into the fridge. They shatter. 

“Ma’am?”

Scully takes in a shaky breath and rubs her now-empty hand on her brow bone, “Mulder. It’s – his name is Fox Mulder. He lives on that street.”

“Are you a relative?”

“I’m his fiancée.” It comes so naturally by now. Almost like it’s true. “What hospital are you taking him to?”

“Alexandria Hospital.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

She’s out the door without even grabbing her jacket. The jacket which contains her fake engagement ring.

When Scully makes it into the emergency room, she slaps her hands on the nurse’s station in a large, dramatic motion. “My name is Dana Scully, I just received a call that my fiancé was in a vehicle accident. His name is Fox Mulder.” 

The nurse behind the desk looks at her hands and then at her face with an astonishing lack of concern. “If you’re his fiancée, why aren't you wearing a ring?”

“I –” she looks down. She is not, in fact, wearing the ring. “I was just –”

“If you aren’t immediate family, I can’t let you through.”

“You don’t understand, I need to–”

“I’m sorry ma’am. You can sit until he wakes up and confirms we can share information with you, if you like.”

“But he’s–”

“You can sit, or you can leave.”

Scully sits. For hours, in fact. With no clue what the extent of Mulder’s injuries are, if he's even awake. She asks the nurse for an update every twenty minutes, and every time she tells her that she can’t say anything. Finally, after three hours, another nurse whispers something in the woman’s ear and she meets Scully’s eyes. She stands immediately.

“Miss Scully?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You can come back and see Mr. Mulder now. He’s confirmed you as his emergency contact.”

“What happened?”

“He was hit as a pedestrian, as I understand.”

“Yes, but how badly is he hurt?”

“A couple broken ribs, one of which put some pressure on a lung and caused some breathing issues. He’s stable now, but we’ll keep him for a day or two. He asked for you, though.” She stops and gestures to the door. “Here you go. Visiting hours are until 11. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Scully says and opens the door.

“Hey, Mulder.”

He looks over and gives a soft smile. “Scully. “

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car.” She lets out a huff of a laugh in reply

“From what I hear, you did.”

He laughs. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course I did, I came as soon as they called me. You didn't have any form of identification on you, just your phone. Apparently, I'm only second on your speed dial. I’m almost offended.”

“You’re first and second. Cell first, because I'm more likely to use my cell to call your cell.”

“Sounds redundant.”

“It usually is, but considering the fact that you didn’t pick up your cell when I was in mortal danger, I think it worked out.”

“I didn’t–” She pats her pockets, “Oh. It must still be in the car, I guess I didn't grab my purse when I brought my groceries in.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I overdid it on my speed dial Scully quota.”

“I guess it is.” She points to his chart. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

She flips through the file, “Damn, Mulder, how’d you manage to break your second and third ribs? Car accidents are usually much lower, especially on someone of your stature.”

“Raw talent.”

She huffs, and places the chart back where she found it. She takes a deep breath. “You’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.” She avoids looking at him, but sits in the chair next to his bed like she has so many times before. “I sat in that waiting room for three hours, not knowing if you were even alive. They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Not even when you told them we were engaged?”

“I forgot the ring. The nurse didn’t believe me. It’s usually in my jacket but I– I left so fast, I didn’t even think to grab it. God, I’m a wreck today, forgetting things everywhere.”

“You really dropped everything to make sure I was okay, huh.”

“Yeah, literally. I have a carton of cracked eggs sitting on my kitchen floor.”

She finally looks at him. She can’t read his expression, it’s one she’s not used to catching on him. 

“Thank you, Scully.”

“Of course,” she says, “That’s what we do.”

They fall into comfortable silence. Scully thinks back to the pain of waiting, of not knowing. Something she knows he’s felt on a much worse scale, and for a much longer time. 

“Maybe we should get married.” She doesn’t really mean to say it out loud. 

“Are you serious?”

Scully pauses, and when she speaks, her voice is small. “I don't like being... kept away from you. Not knowing if you're okay it – it kills me, Mulder.”

“I know the feeling.” She meets his eyes, and he’s already looking at her. “When you were in the coma after you were abducted, when your mom and sister took you off life support and I couldn't – I know those were your wishes, but I felt so distant and powerless, Scully, and I couldn’t stand it.”

“I don't want that. You get a say, Mulder. You’re my closest friend, and the most important person in my life right now.”

“You deserve a say too. You're the only one I trust with my life.”

For a moment, they only hold each other’s eyes. Scully thinks, very hard, for any reason she shouldn’t do this. She can’t think of one. 

Mulder cuts through the thick silence, “Plus, just think of the tax benefits.”

She laughs, “That’s true.”

“Spousal immunity too.”

“The only concern is the Bureau. We aren’t even allowed to share a hotel room, I can't imagine HR would be particularly happy about a married couple working cases together, even if those cases are the X Files.”

“Everyone already thinks we’re together. Plus, if we explain it to Skinner, he’ll work it out.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Ask me properly, Scully.”

A moment passes where Scully examines Mulder’s expression. She runs it against a mental database of the faces he makes, and can’t detect one ounce of jest or doubt. She takes out the thin hair tie holding the top half of her hair up and shakes it out. Then she loops the hair tie to make it smaller, the size of a ring. She holds it out to him.

“Marry me, Mulder?”

He smiles, and offers his left hand. “Any day of the week, Scully.”

next chapter ->

[skelavender]

mulder and scully’s wedding rings and scully in her wedding dress to celebrate their super platonic, just bros wedding in kind of perfect! read chapter 3 here, or below the cut!

Mulder is more excited then he’s let himself be since Scully proposed. He’s buzzing out of his skin, and hoping that it doesn’t show. He doesn’t want Scully to think he’s nervous.

“Are you nervous?” she asks from her seat in their office. They’re both still in their suits, acting as if it’s a normal workday, and not the fifth Wednesday since they got engaged. As if it’s not their wedding day. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you nervous?” She repeats, “You’re all jittery. It’s not too late to call it off if you don't want to do it.”

“I do,” he says quickly, “I’m just finding it hard to focus. I mean, we’re getting married in less than an hour, Scully, don’t tell me your attention is entirely on that autopsy report.”

She smiles, “It’s not.” She closes the folder and puts it to the side. “Do you want to get going early?”

He rises, “Absolutely.” At the door, he offers her his elbow and she places her hand in the bend, familiar. “You ready for this, Mrs. Spooky?”

She gives a full laugh, “Yes, I am.”

They both grab garment bags from their cars and walk the three blocks to the courthouse. Mulder hadn’t mentioned anything about the tux, but Scully isn’t entirely surprised. He’s treated this with the same weight she is. It’s no small thing. 

They change quickly in the public restrooms and meet back in the lobby. When they tell the clerk they are there for their civil ceremony appointment, she asked about their witness.

“Do we… need one?”

“I mean, technically someone here could do it? But people tend to prefer a friend or family member to sign their marriage licenses.”

Mulder and Scully share a look. 

“Should we…” She starts.

“Probably.”

“I mean, he’s the only other one who is supposed to know.”

“I’ll call him.” He nods.

“It’s really no trouble for someone here–” the girl says, but Mulder cuts her off.

“It’s fine, as long as it’s okay for us to wait ten minutes?”

“Of course.” She says. 

He and Scully step outside as he dials Skinner’s office.

“Skinner,” the man says when Mulder goes through.

“Sir, I need you to meet me and Agent Scully at the courthouse and to not ask questions.”

“Agent Mulder, I can not bail you out of jail.” Skinner replies immediately.

“Is that really your first thought?”

“With you? Yes.”

“Well neither off us have been arrested, we just… need a favor. It’ll only take half an hour.”

“And what’s the nature of this favor?”

“It’s… personal. Just a signature. Nothing big.”

Against his better judgment, Skinner agrees. 

***

Walter Skinner is not an idiot. He knows they're in love. He also knows that both of them are too damn stupid and too damn professional to do anything about it. He hears the whispers, knows that everyone else in violent crimes is so sure that they spend their days in the basement office in a haze of sex. But Skinner knows better. He sees the hesitance in Mulder's touches, as if he's afraid that the contact could be rejected at any moment. He sees how Scully soaks his touch in like she doesn’t know if or when she’ll get the next drop. He sees how they gaze at each other when the other is looking away. Or, sometimes, when they’re looking directly at them. 

So, when he arrives at the courthouse to see Scully in a white dress and Mulder in a tux, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“What is this, Agents?” He asks, despite knowing exactly what it is.

“We’re getting married.” Scully says, “As a contingency. We need a witness, if you would be willing, sir.”

“A contingency? For what? Is there a threat you haven’t told me about?”

“A lot of things,” Scully says, “It started because of hospital visitations, medical decisions. The more we thought about it, the more sense it made.”

“You realize that if you’re in a relationship, you can’t be partners anymore?”

“We aren’t in a relationship, sir,” Mulder interjects, “It’s just paperwork. Less than changing wills, and next of kin, and power of attorney, and everything else.”

The look on Skinner’s face can only be described as long-suffering resignation. “You know what, sure.”

Scully looks mildly surprised and looks up at Mulder, “I thought that would take more convincing.”

“I don’t have the time or energy to ask all the questions I have, Agent Scully.”

***

Bartlett, as an officiant at the Moultrie Courthouse, has overseen many marriages. He loves his job. He loves seeing the looks people share when they bind themselves to their love. Loves seeing the happiness spread across their faces. 

This couple is no different. 

They walk in side by side, not touching, with their witness following close behind. Bartlett introduces himself by first name, and begins the ceremony when they confirm that they are ready. He says the same words he always does. They forego vows, saying that it would take too long.

He believes them. He’s seen couples take upwards of half an hour each. He saw them a couple months later for a divorce. Long vows do not a happy relationship make. 

But these two aren’t like that. They’re the type he would imagine said everything they needed to in private, not wanting to spend anyone else’s time on it, or to let them see that intimacy. Where they hold hands, the woman’s pointer finger reaches out to play with the hair tie on the man’s wrist. 

By the time they get to the important part, they haven't broken eye contact once. 

Bartlett focuses on the woman, “Do you, Dana Scully, take Fox Mulder to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” She says, with a peaceful smile. She slips the ring onto Fox’s finger. 

Bartlett turns to the man, “And do you, Fox Mulder, take Dana Scully to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” He replies, "All that and more." His voice is rough with withheld emotion. He places the ring on her finger in turn.

Bartlett smiles, and says his favorite line. “By the power vested in me by the city of DC, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The man takes his now-wife in his arms and lays a kiss on her forehead. In comparison to other ceremonies Bartlett has performed, this is odd, but when he sees the smile on her face and the tears brimming her eyes when she looks up at him and kisses his cheek, any spot of concern is wiped from his mind.

These two really, really love each other. 

***

After signing the final paperwork, the trio heads back to the Hoover building. Mulder and Scully have changed back into their work clothes, the sound of their half enthusiastic, half exasperated back-and-forth just as it usually is. Mulder’s looking into some possible sex demon in Nevada. Scully emphasizes that it’s in Vegas.

Skinner wouldn’t be able to tell it had ever happened, if it weren’t for the glow. 

As they part ways in the lobby, Skinner turns to them. “Have a good day, Agents. And a word of advice? If you don’t want anyone to know, perhaps take the rings off in the building?”

As the elevator closes, the last thing Skinner sees of them is mutual surprise, and Scully quickly working the ring off her finger and opening her jacket to place it in the inside pocket, a spot he’s seen her pat absently the past couple months. He huffs a laugh once the doors close. 

Mulder, slightly delayed, only starts to remove his ring when Skinner leaves his sights. Scully’s hand on his stops him just after it passes his first knuckle. 

“If just one of us wears it for now, it’ll probably be safe. We could stagger it, no one will notice. If… you want to.”

Mulder meets her eyes. She just looks… vulnerable. As if giving him permission to publicly wear his promise to her would be a favor to her, and not one of his deepest desires.

He slips the ring back onto his finger. “I do.”

She smirks, “I’m getting the strangest sense of deja vu. Have you said that to me recently, Mulder?”

“You know, I think I might have.”

With poorly restrained smiles, they make their way back down to the basement. 

***

A week passes, and every day Scully shows up to work with the ring burning a hole in her pocket. Mulder wears his proudly. When it catches the light, she looks at it with jealousy. 

She’s terrified of it. Not being married to Mulder, there’s no part of her that could ever regret or fear that, but of being found out. Wearing rings is an unnecessary risk, one that could lead to an end of their formal partnership, but it’s one that would feel disingenuous not to take. She wants to wear his ring. She just wants to remain partners with him more. 

Her fear comes true about a week into their marriage. She’s in the bathroom when Agent Driscoll approaches her as she’s washing her hands. 

“So Agent Scully,” She says, “Your partner has been the talk of the office recently. He has a wedding ring now.”

Scully’s heart skips a beat. She schools her expression the same way she does when talking to a particularly skeevy suspect. Nothing can bother her. 

“Yes he does, Agent Driscoll.”

“No one in the office seems to know anything. None of us were at the wedding. No one even knew he was seeing somebody.”

“Are you close enough to Agent Mulder to expect to be invited to his wedding?”

“Well, no.” She admits, “But you are. Were you there?”

Inside, Scully is screaming. Outside, she is fixing the swoop of her hair with a damp finger. She decides to tell the vaguest possible truth, “I was.”

“Well?”

She looks at Driscoll now, “Well what?”

“Who did he marry? Do you know her?”

“Yes, quite well.” Scully says. Better than anyone, as a matter of fact.

“Oh, come on, Scully. Spill. Everyone’s wondering.”

“My partner’s private life isn’t mine to discuss.” Scully clears a final nonexistent smudge of makeup from under eye. She sweeps out of the bathroom, managing to avoid any more of Agent Driscoll’s questions, and does her best not to sprint back to the basement office. 

When she makes it back, she leans against the closed door and tilts her head to the ceiling, eyes closed, waiting for her heart to stop thumping in her ears. 

“Scully, you alright?”

She opens her eyes and stares at the dimpled drop ceiling. “I just got cornered by Agent Driscoll in the bathroom.”

“About what?”

“You.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, “Me?”

Scully pushes off the door and moves to lean against the edge of Mulder’s desk. “You and your wife. People have noticed your ring.”

“My… oh. Shit.”

“Mhmm.” Scully agrees.

“Do you think I should stop wearing it?” His voice is small, soft.

“No. It’d be more suspicious to stop wearing it now. I’m just not sure when it’ll be safe for me to start wearing mine.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” She grabs his hand, runs her thumb along it. “I would if I could. It feels… unbalanced this way.”

“It’s alright, Scully.”

She disagrees.

***

When Mulder gets home that evening, he finds a large envelope with “Do Not Bend” crammed into his mailbox. In his apartment, he inspects the contents, and immediately calls Scully. 

“Hello?” 

“Scully, I need you to get over here.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“I need you to make sure I’m not hallucinating.”

“I’m on my way.” The call clicks to a close. 

She opens his door without knocking a mere 15 minutes later. When she steps in, she does so like she’s approaching a wild animal. 

“Mulder?”

“Scully look at this,” he says from his spot at the table, “tell me this doesn’t say what I think it does.” He holds the paper out to her. 

“Our marriage certificate? Mulder, we planned this in advance, you can’t act as if we did it while drunk in Vegas.”

“No, here.” He points to the line with the officiant’s signature. “Scully, tell me we weren’t married by a man named Bartlett Tiddlywinks.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yeah.”

Their eyes meet, and they simultaneously burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

***

The following Monday, Mulder jumps up from his desk as soon as Scully opens the door. “I have something for you.” He trips in his haste to round the desk and approach her.

“Good morning to you too, Mulder. I had a wonderful weekend, thank you for asking, quite relaxing.” She stops her ribbing when she sees his closed fist, fingers down, held out  to drop something into her own hand. She places an open palm beneath his, and he drops a gold chain into it. When she picks it up, it’s long. Much longer than her usual necklace, or any others she owns. 

“It’s for your ring.”

Scully’s eyes snap to Mulder’s. Her mouth forms a surprised O.

“I was thinking about it over the weekend, and it makes sense, doesn’t it? You can still wear it, but this way you don’t have to worry about taking it off for autopsies. It’s long enough that it’ll lay under your shirt, no one will notice.”

“Thank you, Mulder.” She says absently. He’s right, it does make absolute sense. She doesn’t know why she didn’t think of it earlier. “That’s… very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Of course, Scully.” He rests his hand on her arm, and she places her own on top. She reaches into the inside pocket of her jacket and withdraws the ring from its usual home to place it on the chain.

It’s Mulder’s turn to be surprised, “I didn’t realize you had been carrying it around.”

“I kept the old one in me too, in case I… needed to use it. Unexpectedly.” She slips the ring into its new home and holds it out to him. “Help me put it on?” She requests, even though the chain is long enough for her to clasp before slipping it over her head. She wants him to place the ring where it’s going to stay, so sue her. 

He takes the necklace and she turns around. He brushes her hair off her neck uselessly, and Scully does her best not to shiver at his light touch. He lifts the chain around her head and clasps it. When it’s on, the length of the chain places her wedding ring squarely between her breasts, in the perfect spot to hide from prying eyes. She turns back around to look up to Mulder, and leans into him for an embrace. He holds her tight, and presses a kiss into the top of her head. 

The stress and fear of potentially being separated melts away from her in his arms. It’s her favorite form of peace. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

“You okay, Scully?” Mulder asks, concerned. She just grunts in response. “Do you want to get ready for bed first?” She sighs into the ugly bedspread. “Yes, thank you.” She grabs her duffle, and mere moments after closing the door, lets out a loud “FUCK.” “Scully?” Mulder knocks on the bathroom door, immediately concerned. “I’m fine.” She insists through the closed door. “My damn period started.”

read chapter three of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

***

December 1996

Fox Mulder is not a goddamn idiot. He knows when his wife’s period is. Even if he wasn’t astute enough to notice the slight changes in her behavior, or what she packs when they travel, or when the bathroom trash gets changed, she puts little black circles in her datebook which eventually get filled with little red dots when the day comes. Since they moved in together, it’s become their datebook. He would have to be pretty damn stupid to ignore that. 

So when they’re gearing up to head out of town two days before the little black circles would normally appear in the datebook and Mulder notices the heating pad hasn’t moved from its spot in the bathroom cupboard, he shoves it into his duffle at the last minute. 

Scully’s a bit snippy in the car, which he could attribute to hunger, since they haven’t eaten yet. But when she orders a mocha instead of her usual black coffee with one cream, it’s locked in for him. That is a bona fide Dana Scully PMS drink. 

When they make it to the motel, Scully flops facedown onto the queen bed as Mulder sets their bags down on the dresser.

“You okay, Scully?” Mulder asks, concerned. She just grunts in response. “Do you want to get ready for bed first?”

She sighs into the ugly bedspread. “Yes, thank you.” She grabs her duffle, and mere moments after closing the door, lets out a loud “FUCK.”

“Scully?” Mulder knocks on the bathroom door, immediately concerned.

“I’m fine.” She insists through the closed door. “My damn period started.”

Okay. Mulder had known this was coming, but apparently Scully hadn’t.

“Do you need me to run out for anything?”

“Tampons and Midol?” She requests, exasperated. “Thank you, Mulder.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He lays the heating pad on the bed before slipping out the door. When he returns, Scully is in his sweatpants, which he honestly can’t remember if he packed himself or if she had stolen when getting her own bag together, and has the heating pad clutched to her abdomen.

“How did you know?” She asks.

Mulder shrugs, “Usually happens around the middle of the month, doesn’t it? I saw it in the bathroom when I was packing and figured it was better to be safe than sorry.”

“I think I forgot to mark ahead in my calendar when it ended last month.”

He shrugs, “Blame it on the holidays. It happens.”

He hands her the box of tampons and she retreats to the bathroom to, er, take care of that bit. When she returns, she contemplates the heating pad. 

Scully sighs. “I can’t decide if my back or my front needs it more.”

“Here,” Mulder sits against the headboard, legs spread and arms open wide, “I run warm. I’ll be your heating pad for your back.”

She smiles and crawls into place between her partner’s legs. She settles the heating pad into place, and he wraps his arms around her abdomen to press it into her aching body for good measure. Mulder clicks the TV on for background noise and Scully snuggles into his body, her head falling back on his shoulder with her nose nestled into his neck. 

They’re asleep within minutes. 

*** 

Though he won’t admit it, Mulder can not see for shit. He had mistakenly grabbed Scully’s glasses this morning, and hadn’t noticed until he got to the office that his blurry vision was due to that instead of the general morning bleariness he had blamed it on. He had made it through most of the day dodging Scully’s notice, but somehow, the porch stairs of his own home are what do him in.

He steps too far back, and his toes send him slipping forward, nearly face planting into the brick. Luckily, he catches himself on the railing. Unluckily, the railing had only been put in when they moved in, and has yet to be stained or sealed. He’s been meaning to call someone to do it, but hasn’t gotten around to it. So instead of smashing his nose in on the hard step, the palm of his hand stings, and when he lifts it to inspect the damage he sees a small red welt with something stuck under his skin.

“Mulder!” Scully steps forward to catch him, and places a hand on his arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Ouch,” he says belatedly, punching at the wound, “Ouch.”

“What is it?” Scully, now in doctor mode, takes his hand in hers to evaluate his injury. She runs a thumb over the welt, and Mulder flinches. “Oh, God, Mulder, I thought you were actually hurt!”

“I am!” he protests, pointing to the tiny red welt, “I got a splinter.”

“All that over a splinter? Really?”

“Don’t make fun!” He pouts, “It hurts!”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “C’mon, let's get inside and I’ll tweeze it out.”

Scully sets her things down in the entryway before washing her hands and retrieving the first aid kit. The small, standard one, not the one specifically stockpiled for their frequent injuries from work.

She sits next to him at the kitchen table and lays out an alcohol wipe, antibiotic ointment, tweezers, and a bandaid on a tissue in the same organized manner she would a surgical tray. She holds her hand out between them, and he lays his own on it for her examination.

She dabs at Mulder’s hand with an alcohol wipe, then brushes a finger along the lesion to determine the direction. Mulder flinches. “Scully, has anyone told you recently that your bedside manner could use some work?”

“My patients don’t tend to complain, being dead and all.” She points out.

“If you don’t ease up, I might become one of them.”

“Mulder, it’s a splinter.”

“It’s ouchie.” Mulder gives an exaggerated pout, and Scully takes the chance to go for the splinter again, this time successfully catching it with the tweezers and getting it out.

“Aha!” Mulder exclaims as if the victory were his own. Scully shakes her head with fond exasperation and places the sliver of wood on the tissue. She dabs some ointment on the bandaid and adheres it to Mulder’s palm. It’s overkill, but if Mulder’s going to demand medical care for such a small injury, then he’s going to get it.

Mulder inspects the bandage on his palm. It’s adorned with stars, planets, and a little UFO. “Aw, alien bandaid? You shouldn’t have.”

“They were on sale,” she explains, standing and putting away the contents of the first aid kit. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Thanks for kissing it better, Scully.”

She takes his hand in her own again and bends her head to press her lips to the cartoon UFO in the center of the bandage. “Of course.” She moves her hand to run through his hair and pulls him close to press a kiss to his hairline. She turns away to put the kit away quickly, and misses the expression of wonder on Mulder’s face. 

***

Scully is, quite literally, elbows deep in the corpse of Laura Gillyberg. Mulder is across the room, far enough away to avoid the worst of the stench. He had meant to be productive and had brought a stack of potentially relevant X-files to review, but instead he’s bouncing a ball against the wall and contemplating the tip they had gotten connecting the victim to an organization called the Excelium Medical Group. Scully has long since learned to tune the routine thwap, thwap, thwap out. He does this all the time at home.

Then suddenly, there’s a different thwap sound and Scully’s hair falls around her face. Shit, her hair tie must have snapped. 

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?” The bouncing of the ball stops.

“Can you give me a hand? My hair tie broke, there should be a spare in the office.” She tilts her head to motion towards the door behind her.

Instead of going where Scully instructs, Mulder approaches her directly, sticking two fingers under his, miraculously still cuffed, sleeve. He slides it under the hair tie that rests there, and pulls it out. Gently, he brushes Scully’s hair into the middle of her occipital bone, where her ponytail usually lays. He gathers it into his fist, and wraps the hair tie around it, careful not to get any tangled up. Scully gets grumpy when her hair gets tangled. 

When the band is securely in place, Scully lifts her head to look at him. “Where’d that come from?”

“That’s the one you gave me in the hospital.” He says simply, like that explains everything.

“The hospital? I don’t remember giving you a hair tie last time–” Then it hits her. “Oh. You mean–”

“Yeah,” his voice is quiet, shy. “When I got hit by that car.”

“I didn’t realize you kept that.”

“Of course I did. You proposed to me with it.” Mulder steps back, the moment a little too full, a little too revealing. “And look at that, it came in handy.” He forces half a laugh, and retreats to his seat across the room. This time, he opens the file on top of his stack, and pretends to read it. Scully’s eyes don't leave him. 

He kept it. 

***

Scully doesn’t even realize what she’s doing when she plucks the tissue from the dispenser behind the couch and holds it out towards Mulder. She isn’t even conscious of it until he reaches for it a moment later, and sneezes. 

He grunts into it after he blows. “How did you know I had to sneeze?” He asks, voice stuffy.

“I don’t know,” She replies, surprised herself, “I just did.” 

“Careful, Scully, if you keep up like that I’m going to have no choice but to put you in another X-file, this one on your psychic abilities, woooooo.” He teases. 

She closes the book she’s reading around her finger and hits his shoulder with it playfully. He laughs, and removes her feet from his lap to stand up and toss the tissue in the trash. When he returns, he sits a couple inches closer, and Scully’s knees end up bent over his lap.

This contact is growing increasingly common. At home, mostly, but it’s leaked into the office more than a few times. Not where anyone can see them, just in the basement. In their own space. 

He’s always been more likely to initiate physical contact than she is, but she’s growing more comfortable with being the one to touch him. She knows he can read her tolerance for touch well, and he lets her decide their level of contact without even talking about it. She’s usually the one to settle onto the couch first, and he will find a place around her, exactly where she wants him. He can always just… tell. It astounds her. The odd time that he ends up in the middle of the couch before she can find a spot, she either curls into her armchair, or directly into his side. There’s variety. 

Except at night. They always hold each other at night, even if it’s just his hand in hers.

Therefore, when Mulder is tossing and turning and coughing and sneezing while Scully is trying to sleep, it keeps her up as well. 

Just past midnight, she finally sits up on her elbow and looks down at him. “You’re sick.”

“No I’m not.” He insists through a very, very stuffy nose. 

Scully places a hand on his head. “Yes, you are. You’re burning up.” She peels the covers back and slides out of bed. “I’m going to get you some medicine.”

“I don’t need medicine,” Mulder tries to say, but it comes out as “I done neet medithine.”

“Shut up, Mulder.” 

When she returns with a bottle of Nyquil a minute later, Mulder accepts defeat and swallows it down. She places it on his nightstand and settles her head on his chest.

In the morning, Scully rouses as usual. Mulder is still sleeping soundly thanks to the medication, and snores as Scully bustles around the bedroom getting dressed and ready for the day.

When she has everything together, she returns to the bedroom to write a note instructing him when to take more meds and not to try and come into work, but when she sees him curled onto her side of the bed, shivering and seeking her warmth… she just can’t do it. She can’t leave him alone here, sniffling and miserable. Even if she did, it seems unlikely that he would stay home when he rose, and even less likely that Scully would be able to get anything done at the office anyways.

Scully drops her briefcase back in its place and changes into casual clothes. She calls Skinner, informing him that neither of them will be in the office today, and promptly crawls back in bed.

This time, her movement does rouse Mulder. “Wha’ timzit?” He asks. He blinks blearily at the alarm clock and when he realizes it’s past 7:30, he scrambles, which makes him cough. “Thcully, we’re gonna be late!”

She puts a hand on his arm to stop him. “You’re not going in. Neither am I. Get back in bed, Mulder.”

“I’m fine. I’m not sick.” He protests. Scully reaches for the tissue box on her nightstand instinctually, and Mulder sneezes a moment later. “How do you do that?”

“That’s the X-file we’ll investigate today, Mulder. How do I know when you’re about to sneeze? I guess we’ll have to study it to find out.” Scully rolls her eyes, and tries not to think about just how attuned to Mulder’s presence she’s gotten, or what it might mean. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[skelavender]

“So,” Mulder says, breaking the silence, “West Virginia. You know what’s in West Virginia, Scully?” She sighs, “Please don’t say you want to detour to a nearby UFO crash site or something, Mulder.” He chuckles, “No. But we are in the same state as the Mothman legend originates.”

read chapter two of you are in love on ao3, or below the cut!

Small talk, he drives

Coffee at midnight

The light reflects

The chain on your neck

He says, "Look up"

And your shoulders brush

No proof, one touch

But you felt enough

***

December 1996

The car hits a rumble strip, shaking Scully out of a sleepy stupor. She had been awake, but not listening closely to whatever Mulder had been going on about.

It was probably a poor idea to investigate out-of-state late in the day with a meeting planned first thing the following morning. On the bright side, the trip had been fruitful. The victim, a woman named Laura Gillyberg, washed up in the Potomac River, outside of DC. When they had visited her residence in West Virginia, they had found that the yard backed the river, giving them a likely dump site, potentially even a murder site. They had also discovered marks in the mud that appear to be from something being dragged to the riverfront. Scully collected dirt samples to test against what she would soon remove from the victim’s digestive tract, and ordered a forensic team to take casts of the drag marks and footprints in the morning. Unfortunately, they end up waiting until a specific coworker of the victim comes on shift at 10, and don’t start their three hour drive back home until nearing 11.

When Scully tunes back in, she finds that Mulder is still going on about Gillyberg’s coworker, whom they had interviewed two hours earlier. “Scully, I’m telling ya, she could have been Mariah Carey’s twin.”

“She looked nothing like her! She just had curly brown hair. You don’t say I look like Daphne from Scooby Doo just because I’m a redhead.”

Mulder drags his eyes down her purple suit and gives her a knowing look. “Red hair, purple suit, incredible investigative skills… I don’t know, Scully, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a du– uhh–“ he breaks off into a wide yawn. 

“Tired, Mulder?”

“A little.”

“Do you want to switch off? We can stop for food and coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” 

Luckily, a 24-hour diner appears in short order and Mulder pulls into the near-empty parking lot. Shockingly, a diner in the middle of West Virginia isn’t the most popular place at midnight on a Tuesday. 

They put in their orders for their meals with the waitress, who presents them immediately with lukewarm coffee. It’s not the best stuff they’ve drank on the road, but it’s not the worst either. And more importantly, it’s caffeinated. 

When the waitress flirts with Mulder, he makes a show of his wedding ring. Scully pretends not to find anything odd about the interaction, like it doesn’t turn her stomach and her territorial guard dog instincts kick in, like she has some kind of ownership over him, like he is something to be possessed. She tames the burning jealousy and ensuing satisfaction, shoving the sensations back down deep in her chest. He’s not hers, be he simultaneously is in every way that matters. 

They’re quiet as they wait for their food, in the comfortable way Scully only ever feels with Mulder. They don’t need to fill the silence. Even though there are things both of them want to say, exhausted on the way back from a case isn’t the time to say them. Their ankles lay against each other, and they sip their coffee. 

“There ya go, sugar!” The waitress winks as she sets Mulder’s burger down in front of him. She gives Scully a half-assed smile when she gives her the club sandwich she had ordered. Scully refrains from rolling her eyes, but just barely.

“So,” Mulder says, breaking the silence, “West Virginia. You know what’s in West Virginia, Scully?”

She sighs, “Please don’t say you want to detour to a nearby UFO crash site or something, Mulder.”

He chuckles, “No. But we are in the same state as the Mothman legend originates.”

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Mothman?” She echoes incredulously.

“Yep. It’s a humanoid bird first spotted in 1966. He’s on the other side of the state, though.”

“Well, at least I’m saved from having to hunt for Mothman in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe we’ll investigate that after we figure out what happened to Laura Gillyberg.” He says. “We’re much closer to the Mystery Hole right now, though.”

Scully stares at her partner silently for a moment. “Alright, Mulder, I’ll bite. What, pray tell, is a mystery hole?”

“It’s a gravitational anomaly. It’s a tourist trap, but that doesn’t make it any more explainable. Some theorists say the roadside attraction was put there by the government to cover up a real gravitational anomaly or something. I can only imagine the inquisition you would give them, Scully.”

“Don’t tempt me,” She says flatly, pushes her now empty plate away from her, and downs the last swig of her coffee. “Let's head out.”

Mulder retrieves some bills to lay on the table and holds the diner door for her as they head out to the car. “There’s also an archive of haunted items farther north. We should come to West Virginia more often, Scully, they’ve got their share of X-Files.” He’s reaching into his pocket for the key, ready to hand it to Scully,  when he stops in the middle of the parking lot and looks at the sky.

It’s not a surprise to anyone to say that Mulder’s been interested in space since he was a kid. Even before Samantha’s disappearance, he had watched Star Trek and found himself observing the heavens as often as possible, learning about the life of stars, of constellations, of the atmospheres of other planets. He had taken in as much information as possible. It wasn’t until after Samantha was taken that his interest had shifted from imagining the possibilities to proving what was reality.

He looks back down to Scully with equal adoration as he had the stars. The light from the diner sign glints off the chain on her neck, the one that holds her wedding ring. Yours, a voice within him says. Your wedding ring. Your love.

“Scully.”

“Yes?”

“Look up.” 

She does. Half of her face is bathed in the neon red of the diner’s sign, and she’s glowing. The diner, the expanse of space, and the whole damn world fade into the background as Mulder watches Scully observe the heavens. 

“I don’t see any UFOs up there, Mulder.”

“Nope.” His eyes don’t leave her face, taking the image of her in and hoping to etch it into his memory so that she exists like this forever. “Just us.”

She tilts her head, just slightly, to look up at him with the same look she had given the sky, with the exact same reverence. Like looking into his eyes was just as glorious as the infinity of space. 

The moment oozes, arriving and departing in slow motion. It seems to last forever. She’ll exist like this for an eternity, in his mind, soaked in red light and gazing at him with the same admiration she had for the night sky. He just watches her blinking up at the sky, eyes dancing between stars like they’re whispering their secrets directly to her, sharing what they’ve seen in their millions of years of life. Like they can tell her stories. 

Then, he realizes that they can.

“How much do you know about the stars?” He asks. 

“I read an article a couple weeks ago about HD140283, the oldest star in the universe. It provides evidence that the universe has repeatedly crunched and expanded, but it’s surprisingly close–”

“Constellations, Scully.” He cuts her off unceremoniously, “Myths and legends.”

The smile that blooms across her face does so slowly, creeping along the lower half of her face like she understands what he’s getting at. “Probably not as much as you could tell me.”

He grins back and opens the passenger door for her. “Agent Scully.” He almost fucking bows. She gives him an inquisitive look, but slides into the seat nevertheless.

He drives a couple of miles out to a field with short enough grass for his purposes and retrieves a blanket from the trunk. He tucks it under an arm, and offers the opposite elbow to Scully, who tucks her hand right into place like it belongs there. Mulder would like to argue that it does.

When they lay the blanket out and settle in onto it, Mulder ends up close enough to her that his shoulder is pressed against hers. The touch is electric, warming her skin against the cool night. 

“Wow,” Scully breathes, in awe. 

“What do you see?”

“There are just… so many of them. I can’t remember the last time I bothered to look up with the intent of looking for the stars, especially not outside the city. There are so many more of them.”

“Do you see any constellations you know?”

She points. “The Big Dipper.”

“The Little Dipper, actually, but yes.”

“That’s the only one I can identify off the top of my head.”

“Well, Pisces is right there.” Mulder points up to the sky, and Scully’s eyes follow. “That’s your star sign.”

Scully scoffs. “I can’t be surprised that you believe in astrology, of all things.” 

Mulder laughs. “I actually don’t, not entirely. I know Pisces because of the Greek myth about Aphrodite and Eros.”

“I don’t think I know that one.”

Mulder turns his head and effectively whispers in her ear. “Aphrodite, Goddess of love and beauty, and Eros, God of sex, were trying to escape Typhon, so they jumped into the Euphrates River, and depending on which version of the myth you follow, they either turned into or rode on the back of two fish. Hence the symbol for Pisces.”

“Interesting.” She turns her head to look at him, misjudging how close he is. Their noses brush. “What others do know?”

He tells her. He spills out the tale of Posiedon’s advent of the Pegasus, of Cassiopeia’s vanity leading to her demise at his hands, and Draco’s at the hands of Athena. For almost an hour, he is but a conduit for the stories painted across the sky.

When he finally turns his head to look at her again, he can’t identify the expression on her face. But there certainly is something there, something unexpressed. “What?” He asks with a laugh. 

“We look at the sky and see very similar things, Mulder, just in different ways. I see dying stars, the past. A quantifiable means of knowledge. You see potential, possibilities. You see the light from dead stars hurtling towards us like the future, and the meaning we have ascribed to them.” When she shifts her head to look at him, his eyes are already on her. “You see the beauty in it. You see the poetry in the stars that I can’t. That’s beautiful.”

There’s a depth to Mulder’s gaze that she can’t read, and a beat passes where he is unsure how to respond. He leans face closer to her and her eyes flutter closed, she’s so sure he’s finally going to kiss her–

And his lips land on her nose.

Somehow, it’s more tender, more intimate, than a kiss on her lips would have been. It fills her to the brim, with a threat to overflow. She just about shatters, letting out a breath that trips in her chest and comes out in two bits. 

She loves him. In this moment as much as any other, she loves him. 

And she has no clue what to do with that. 

It shouldn’t be so destabilizing, but it is. She’s loved him for years, since she’s known him. But every time he makes something she’s always considered mundane into artwork, or every time he makes her feel safe when the world is falling down around them, or every time he remembers the smallest habit or fact about her — that love increases tenfold, and she stumbles over it. 

“We should get going.” Scully manages through the knot of adoration in her throat. Mulder nods, and they stand to gather the blanket. Mulder bunches it up to toss in the trunk again, but Scully snatches it off of him and rolls it precisely before tucking it under her arm.

As they walk side by side to the car, Scully lets her left hand, the one closer to Mulder and not holding the blanket, drift towards her husband’s. Gently, casually, she hooks her pinkie finger around his. They walk like that all the way back through the field, only their two fingers touching. Separate and independent, but still undeniably intertwined. 

They don’t let go until they reach the car, ready to continue on their way home together.

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