#only mulder and scully could make a spooky ghost story into one of the best and most rewatchable christmas episodes ever

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25 Days of Christmas: 17/25 | The X-Files (1993) | S06 E06: How The Ghosts Stole Christmas

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Best Horror TV Shows on Hulu

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You thought movies were the only place to get your daily dose of horror? Oh you fool! You absolute FOOL! There are plenty of bingeworthy and scary horror TV shows out there and Hulu just happens to be a great place to find them. 

Hulu is home to recent hits like The Terror and Castle Rock but there are still more scares to be found for the horror enthusiast willing to dig deep. Gathered here are some of the best and scariest horror TV shows that Hulu has to offer.

Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page and come back every month to see the additions to the best horror TV shows on Hulu.

Updated for October 2020

The Terror

Based on a 2007 book of the same name by Dan Simmons, The Terror season 1 tells a fictionalized account of Captain Sir John Franklin’s expedition to the arctic in 1845. In real life, the doomed men likely got lost and succumbed to the cold but the show asks “what if there was something more sinister than low temperatures lurking about?”

The Terror features a cast impressively full of “hey it’s that guy” guys like Jared Harris, Ciarán Hindis, and Tobias Menzes. It deftly turned itself into an anthology with the second season The Terror: Infamy that tells a ghost story within the setting of a Japanese interment camp in World War II.

American Horror Story

Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story is revolutionary in quite a few ways. Not only did it help usher in a renewed era of anthology storytelling on television, it also was arguably the first successful network television horror show since The X-Files.

Like all anthologies, American Horror Story has its better seasons (season 1 a.k.a. Murder House, season 2 a.k.a. Asylum, season 6 a.k.a. Roanoke) and its worse (season 3 a.k.a. Coven and season 8 a.k.a. Apocalypse). Still, for nine years and counting, American Horror Story has been one of the go-to options for TV horror fans.

Castle Rock

Stephen King properties have made their way to television before. There have been miniseries for classic King texts like The Stand and ‘Salem’s Lot and even full series for works like Rose Red and Under the Dome. Still, none of those series has had the audacity to adapt multiple aspects of the Stephen King universe itself…until Castle Rock.

Castle Rock takes multiple characters, storylines, and concepts from the vast works of Stephen King and puts them all in King’s own Castle Rock, Maine. The first season featured inmates from Shawshank prison, extended family of Jack Torrance, and maybe even a touch of the shine. The show opened itself up for more storytelling possibilities in season 2, adopting an anthology format and bringing Annie Wilkes into the fold.

The Twilight Zone

The Twilight Zone is an all-time television classic for good reason. Join Rod Serling each episode for a new tale of mystery, horror and woe.

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By Arlen Schumer

Whatever you do, however, do NOT drop your glasses.

The Strain

The most novel thing about FX’s vampire horror thriller The Strain is how it equates the ancient fear of vampirism with the more modern, global fear of pandemic. The Strain, produced by Guillermo del Toro Chuck Hogan and based on their novel series opens with a flight landing with all of its passengers mysteriously dead.

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Bram Stoker’s Dracula and the Seduction of Old School Movie Magic

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Lake Mungo: the Lingering Mystery Behind One of Australia’s Scariest Horror Films

By Rosie Fletcher

As CDC director Ephraim Goodweather (Corey Stoll) steps in to investigate, he discovers that there might be something more sinister…and ancient afoot than a simple virus. The Strain lasted for four mostly decent seasons on FX and if nothing else helped re-embrace the vampire as a monster and not some sort of noble antihero.

Stan Against Evil

To parody horror, one needs to love horror. And Stan Against Evil creator Dana Gould really, really, really loves horror. The longtime standup comedian and comedy writer brings his unique humor sensibilities and lifelong appreciation of horror to tell the story of a quaint New Hampshire town that just happens to be built on the cursed site of a massive witch burning.

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Dana Gould Picks His 5 Favorite Monster Movies

By Dana Gould

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By Kayti Burt

John C. McGinley stars as the titular Stan, a disgraced former sheriff who opts to pick up the battle against evil after a close call. He teams up with new sheriff Evie Barret (Janet Varney) to defend the town (and sometimes world) from supernatural threats.

The X-Files

The X-Files is quite simply the gold standard for horror on television. Chris Carter’s conspiracy-tinged supernatural masterpiece not only inspired every horror TV show that came after it, but just about every other TV show in general.

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By Alejandro Rojas

The X-Files follows FBI special agents Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) as they investigate the unusual cases that traditional law enforcement won’t touch. For 11 seasons (and a handful of movies), the show expertly balanced a massive series-long story along with what came to be called “monster of the week” self-contained tales.

Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural

When it first premiered on YouTube back in 2016, Buzzfeed Unsolved became a huge hit by appealing to one of the Internet’s favorite subjects: true crime. Still Buzzfeed saw all of that success and realzied there was still another audience to serve. Thus Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural was born.

Read more

Games

20 Scariest Horror Games Ever Made

By Matthew Byrd

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Helstrom Review (Spoiler-Free)

By Rosie Knight

In this spinoff hosts Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej examine some of the supernatural world’s biggest mysteries. With the right balance of skepticism and belief, Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural is a welcome entry into the paranormal investigation TV canon.

The Outer Limits

When The Twilight Zone premiered in 1959, it set off a brief little renaissance of anthology horror storytelling on television. The best of these contenders to the Zone‘s throne was probably the sci-fi centric The Outer Limits.

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How Arachnophobia Became the Perfect Creepy Crawly Horror Comedy

By Jack Beresford

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Disney+ Halloween Movies for Kids: The Best Family Films to Watch This Spooky Season

By Alana Joli Abbott

Outer Limits aired from 1963 to 1965 on ABC. In that span it generated 49 spooky episodes, several of which made an impact on pop culture. Alan Moore infamously borrowed the plot of the episode “The Architects of Fear” for the ending of Watchmen. The Outer Limits received a Sci-Fi Channel revival in the ’90s and is currently poised for another bite at the apple.

Freakish

Freakish stars several high profile (at the time at least) social media stars as students at Kent High School. The kids are gathered together at school on Saturday for detention, Breakfast Club-style, when a nearby chemical plant explodes, turning the local population into mutated zombies. The group must band together to survive.

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Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

By David Crow and 2 others

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Best Horror Movies on Amazon Prime Right Now

By Alec Bojalad and 3 others

Debuting in 2016, Freakish ran for two seasons on Hulu. The show embraces its teenage soapiness and isn’t necessarily the most heavyweight horror option. But it’s a quick, fun watch for any zombie horror fan nonetheless.

The Exorcist

The Exorcist is one of the greatest horror films ever made. The Fox series that bears its name and premise isn’t quite as good (few things could ever be) but it’s still an excellent horror story in its own right.

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A24 Horror Movies Ranked From Worst to Best

By David Crow and 3 others

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How Helstrom Became One of Marvel Television’s Last Shows Standing

By Alec Bojalad

The Exorcist is a two-season long anthology series that follows two different cases of demonic possession. In the first installment, two Catholic priests assist a woman with a possession in her home. In the second, two new priests help a young girl battle evil.

Ghost Adventures

Since the turn of the millennium, television has not been lacking for shows involving paranormal investigations. But even within the crowded spooky market, Travel Channel’s Ghost Adventures stands out.

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Ghost Adventures: Horror at Joe Exotic Zoo Two-Hour Special Premieres Oct. 29

By Tony Sokol

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How Ghost Adventures: Quarantine Came Together

By Aaron Sagers

First premiering in 2008, Ghost Adventures follows paranormal researchers Zak Bagans, Nick Groff, Aaron Goodwin, Billy Tolley, and Jay Wasley as they travel the world looking for ghoulish occurrences to investigate. Over its 200-some episodes (not including specials), Ghost Adventures has proven itself to be the gold standard for people who just want to watch some dudes stumble around old properties in night vision.

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Monsterland

Since Netflix acquired the rights to Black Mirror back in 2015, the streaming world has been a veritable arms race of sci-fi and horror anthology series. Hulu has already tried its hand at horror anthology with the Blumhouse-produced Into the Dark, and Monsterland represents the latest effort.

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The WNUF Halloween Special: The Making of the Most Fun Found Footage Horror Movie Ever

By Gavin Jasper

Games

How Scorn Turned the Art of H.R. Giger into a Nightmarish Horror Game World

By John Saavedra

Monsterland is based on the short story collection North American Lake Monsters: Stories by Nathan Ballingrud. It consists of eight spooky, unconnected tales and features the acting talents of Kaitlyn Dever, Bill Camp, Kelly Marie Tran, and more. The twist here is that each episode focuses on an urban legend from a different city within the United States. And given how weird this country is, the series won’t be running out of of stories anytime soon.

The post Best Horror TV Shows on Hulu appeared first on Den of Geek.

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the exorcism of mulder and scully

 A few folks asked for a continuation of the Plus One story I posted yesterday. This may not be precisely what you’re looking for, but I’m sharing a casefic I wrote that takes place directly after Plus One and before TLAOFS. It’s M/S undercover as a married couple, lots of MSR, spooky stuff, and deals specifically with what went down between them in Plus One. I’ll post the first chapter here but please click the link at the bottom to read the entire story!

                                                        Prologue

THE EXCELSIOR KEYS HOTEL

KEY WEST, FLORIDA

AUGUST 24, 1991 7:31 PM

His eyes opened slowly and there was only blackness and terror. He was afraid. He wasn’t sure exactly why, or of what, but the terror was real, and it was familiar.

He knew he must be in the hotel. He had to be; it was the only place that could create such fear within him. Ever since he began working here a couple years ago he’d felt it.

Cal Hodges had worked at many other establishments before, but none that were most definitely haunted. He’d never believed in ghosts before he and his wife moved to the Keys, but now… he’d seen things. He couldn’t deny the way he felt; the oppressive dread that coursed through his body whenever he was inside these walls. Outside it was better: he could think properly when he tended the lawn or replanted the petunias. But whenever he got a call to replace a doorknob or fix a leaking faucet, the fear returned.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness they darted around the room. He was lying on a bed, somewhere. His wrists were tied behind him and his feet were tied below and while he and his wife occasionally enjoyed an adventurous romp this wasn’t anything he recalled consenting to.

He could smell a faint odor of… something. It was hard to place, but somewhat familiar. Like herbs, musty and organic. He saw a silhouette approach him and a multitude of possibilities went through his mind, horrific possibilities but not one of them was what actually happened when the voice began speaking.

“From all evil, deliver us, o Lord. From all sin, from your wrath, from sudden and unprovided death, from the snares of the devil, we sinners, we beg you to hear us.”

Hodges felt water splash his face as the man drew nearer. He’d never been much of a churchgoer, but he recognized what was going on here. And he recognized the voice. His terror grew.

“Let me go!” Hodges cried. He tugged at the restraints.

“Just relax, I’m here to help you,” the voice said gently. “I’m the only one who can help you.”

“Help me with what?” Hodges asked, desperate. He hadn’t asked for help, had he? What was going on?

The man came up close to his ear.

“You got the demons,” he said. “You got ‘em in you.”

Demons?

His eyes widened in fear. Was any of this real? Is this what explained how he’d been feeling? The omnipresent shroud that seemed to cloak him every time he stepped foot inside this hotel?

The man put his hand on his shoulder, pressing him back, but he fought. Hodges pulled at his restraints, and either they weren’t very tight, or he was very lucky, but one of his wrists got free and he punched the man in the face. With a grunt, he went over the side of the bed, groaning pitifully.

The man didn’t get back up right away, as either age or weight precluded, and Hodges went to work on the other restraints. With a hand free, he made quick work of it, and was off the bed and out the door before the other man had even gotten up.

He hated this place, but he knew it like the back of his hand, and he tore through the hallways to the stairs, through the lobby and out the front door. There were no guests along the way, the hour the most likely reason.

He ran like his life depended upon it.

***

This fucking place again.

The young officer pulled his police cruiser up to the front curb of the old hotel. He’d only been on the job a few months but he was starting to learn this particular establishment was a running problem for the Key West police department. He'd definitely been called out here more times than he'd like.

The place wasn’t enormous but still had a definite sense of foreboding, and he was unnerved regardless of his skepticism when it came to ghosts and spirits. He’d moved to the Keys only recently but had already seen enough weirdness to last a lifetime.

The 911 dispatcher had informed him the caller had been a panicked woman, saying her husband had been killed, but she’d hung up before giving any more information.

He stepped out of the car and started to approach the front door when he began to hear music coming from outside the building. He changed direction, heading towards the source.

To the left of the hotel stood a small maintenance shed and he could hear what sounded like the plucking mandolin strings of R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” but it was somewhat distorted. As he drew closer he could see it sounded that way because the radio from which the song emanated had been smashed on the ground.

He pulled out his flashlight and peered inside the shed. As he entered he noticed a drastic change in temperature; it was August in Florida and this tiny shed had no right to be so fucking cold. A chill went through his body, from the top of his head to the ends of his toes. And just when he thought he was imagining things he saw the very thing he’d come for.

He tore across back the lawn to his car and picked up his radio, frantically dialing.

“This is Officer Myers responding to a 911 call at the Excelsior Keys. Sir…“ his eyes darted back to the shed, then to the hotel. “Sir, we’ve got another one.”

                                                    Chapter One

SOMEWHERE ALONG I-95

11:49 AM

PRESENT DAY

The landscape of I-95 flew by in a whir, and Scully shifted a bit in the passenger seat of the rented Explorer. Everything was moving so fast, too fast, not mind-numbingly slow, which was how she’d always been accustomed to things with Mulder.

They’d deposited the second rental car back in Henrico County and climbed into Mulder’s. His insistence (and her acquiescence) that they not further pollute the planet was the only thing keeping them from driving home in separate cars and avoiding their current situation entirely. Although they were doing a fine job of that anyway, sitting together now, mere inches away from one another, not uttering a word.

Road trip, business trip, X File, whatever they wanted to call it, at least it was the two of them again, doing what they did best. Our bread and butter, Mulder had called it. It felt nice and familiar.

Only it had been quite some time since they’d done it with the smell of sex lingering in the car, stolen furtive glances at every mile marker, the air thick with the kind of tension they’d much sooner ignore than address. That was most certainly the Mulder and Scully she remembered. That was their real bread and butter.

She closed her eyes and laid back against the headrest, allowing her mind to wander to last night. And, to this morning.

And, to again this morning.

It was hard not to do, impossible really, now that sex had become something she and Mulder were apparently doing again. She should have known once it happened once, the floodgates would open and she’d want to do it again and again.

He gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, his sleeves rolled up to the crooks of his elbows in that way he used to back when she first fell for him; that way that drove her absolutely crazy. His inescapable Mulder scent snaked around the car and underneath her nostrils, her body responding in all kinds of inconvenient ways. She felt like Pepé le Pew, the horniest cartoon character ever thrust upon polite society, and it was all she could do not to tell him to pull the car over right now.

The sex had been amazing; of course it was. And in the moment it felt like the right thing to do. But as they drew closer and closer to Washington D.C., towards the safe boundary of home, she felt less and less like it had been the right call.

What would happen when they stopped the car? Could they just get out and pretend everything was normal like they always did, even though they both knew it wasn’t? There were too many things between them, twenty five years of stuff, a lot of it bad stuff that they had never confronted. She didn’t blame Mulder for that, not really; she blamed herself. She hadn’t wanted to look into the darkness anymore, so she simply stopped. Even if it meant turning her back on things they needed to discuss; things like their son, things like Mulder’s depression.

Things like their fundamental inability to communicate about any of it.

Now that they’d crossed this particular line, she worried what would happen next. What if they just continued to have sex without talking? They did that the first time around, and she regretted it. So much time lost, so much unnecessary heartache, and for what? Because they couldn’t tell each other the truth; that they’d been in love with each other for years and couldn’t speak of it out of fear, or some kind of misguided obligation?

She was afraid again, but this time it wasn’t because she feared he didn’t love her. This time she was afraid because she knew he did.

“Are you hungry, Scully? Because I sure am.”

His voice came from nowhere, an assault on her senses. That voice could do things to her she never dreamed possible; could make her do things she never dreamed possible. It was a timbre he had, a specific cadence, some intonation that had the power to burrow deep inside her psyche, convincing her of almost anything. Robert Patrick Modell had nothing on Mulder.

“Yeah, I could eat,” she admitted.

He pulled off the turnpike to a roadside diner, and she felt her stomach turn in reluctant anticipation of the greasy offerings in store for her. Such an activity had been so commonplace for them over the years she felt a sensation of dejà vú come over her.

He parked the car and the silence within was deafening. She could sense his discomfort; it matched hers perfectly. He sighed loudly, then turned to her and spoke.

“Look, Scully, I know this is awkward. But you haven’t said a word to me since we checked out.”

She shifted again, unbuckling her seatbelt. Truthfully, she’d been mortified by the side-eye the motel manager had given them. They weren’t exactly quiet last night, all night, she thought with a clandestine smile. But it only further demonstrated how powerless she’d been to her urges, how uninhibited she was when she was with Mulder.

Suddenly a greasy burger sounded like the best thing in the world. Anything to get them out of this car.

“I’m sorry, I, uh-”

“It’s me, Scully.” He looked at her with raw emotion and her only thought was how much she’d missed those eyes. “Don’t let this become another thing for us that just… happened. Please.”

For some reason her memory flashed to that night in her apartment years ago when she’d given in to those same eyes, only to realize it hadn’t really been him. It was Eddie Van BlundHt who wanted her that night, not Mulder. The realization of that in the moment left her feeling betrayed and confused about her own feelings. Things settled down after that and they both knew exactly what had happened, but neither ever acknowledged it. It was just… something that happened. It was the way they always dealt with their feelings for each other. It hadn’t been enough to push them forward. It never was.

They sat in silence for a minute, and her eyes met his, earnest and inquisitive. They communicated with hers in a way that said don’t shut me out, not this time.

She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what would happen if they didn’t talk. Something that just happened was exactly what this would become. She didn’t want that either, and it surprised her that he was being so forthcoming.

“It isn’t something that just happened, Mulder,” she sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of, to be honest.”

There it was: brutal honesty. It was refreshing.

Mulder looked taken aback, but impressed. It was as if he’d been waiting for permission to reveal a little bit, too.

“Okay, then. That’s a start.”

He looked at her for a moment and she could tell he wasn’t struggling with this the same way she was. He appeared confident, sure of what he was saying. And he didn’t want her to get away with her usual brand of silence. It was so unlike him, so new. She liked it, but she wasn’t prepared for any of this. She hadn’t planned to sleep with him, but it happened all the same.

“What are you afraid of, Scully?”

She paused, then spoke. “I’m afraid… of this tidal wave I can see in the distance, coming for me fast, and taking me out. And I’m afraid I’m not ready for it, Mulder.”

It was the most honest she’d been with him in a while. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to get back together with him. She didn’t know if things would be better this time around, she honestly didn’t. And she was terrified of hurting him, of breaking his heart again. But she also knew deep down that being apart from him wasn’t right, either. She felt the connection to him still, in her bones. It had never gone away.

He nodded, looking right at her, like he could see into her soul. Like he always did, no matter which particular high or low they were riding. He reached over and took her hand, which wasn’t typically a big deal for them, and especially shouldn’t feel big after what they’d done mere hours ago.

Three times.

“Okay, I get it. A wave.” He covered her hand with his other one. “Is it too much for me to ask... that you at least don’t run this time?”

She looked at him with affection, surprised by his maturity. Who was this Fox Mulder sitting next to her, pleading with her to give them a second chance? Where was he years ago, when she needed him?

She shook her head, slowly. “No, it’s not too much to ask.”

“So… let’s just regroup, okay? Can we do that?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I think that would be good.”

“What happens in the field stays in the field?” he grinned, an eyebrow rising up high.

She smiled, accepting these terms he seemed to be laying out. Maybe some rules were a good idea. “Yeah, I think that’s probably wise.”

His lips curved into the smile that was her moon, her stars, her truth; everything they’d ever searched for together. Maybe he’d always be looking for something but she’d found it in him a long time ago. She was done looking. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was their whole problem in the first place.

She found herself falling back into that smile, the way she always had. She was powerless to his effect on her, and part of her hated herself for that. She knew it was the reason she kept her distance from him all these years. But the other part of her could only respond to the effect. She was still human, after all.

“Hey, Mulder.” She put her hand on his thigh to stop him as he went for the car door.

“Yeah?”

“We’re… technically still in the field, aren’t we?”

He pulled his hand away from the door, looking intently at her. She searched his eyes and saw the desire within them; she wouldn’t have expected otherwise. But this was new territory for them as a couple, or non-couple, or whatever the fuck they were anymore. Seeking permission, sending and reading signals. They hadn’t done this in ages.

Her eyes told him what she wanted, though, and his eyes said the same, and suddenly they were entwined again, a console between them the only wall in this moment left to break down. His lips met hers with the hunger he’d recently expressed, only instead of greasy food they devoured her, again, and despite her apprehensions she let him in, again.

Inside a rental car in broad daylight wasn’t an ideal sexual scenario but her need for him had been reawakened, and just as it was before everything went to shit, she felt the same feeling, the same magnetism that drew them together from the day they entered each other’s lives. It was a truth she couldn’t deny, and certainly wouldn’t now, her tongue gliding along his bottom lip, his hands delving underneath her shirt.

She was out of her own body, like the evil twin she’d seen mere hours ago. The twin was back, thinking and doing things she knew she shouldn’t be, and it felt so real she wondered if in fact she’d given that particular paranormal possibility enough consideration.

She decided to go with it. Blaming her evil twin sounded like a great way to fuck Mulder whenever she felt like it.

He lowered the seat until it laid flat, this particular routine perfected while they’d spent all those months on the run years and years ago. It felt like another lifetime, another Mulder, another Scully. But it made her feel alive again, remembering how intense those times had been, how much they’d relied on one another. When there was literally nothing else in her life that mattered the way he did.

There wasn’t anyone in the parking lot and the car was situated around the corner of the restaurant. No one witnessed the tryst taking place just outside an establishment with a single cash register, tattered vinyl booths and a twenty year old grill. Broken down and worn out, it had seen its share of shit, but still nowhere near what Agents Mulder and Scully had been through.

Pushing his chest backwards, she unzipped his pants, inside them seeking the relief she craved. And as she felt him fill her for the fourth time in about as many hours she wanted to cry, she missed this so much.

This is fine, this is okay, she tried to convince herself as she rocked against him, her desire for him only increasing with each time they gave in. We aren’t home yet.

We aren’t home yet.

They weren’t, not even close. But she wanted to go home, she wanted to, desperately.

She threw her head back and moaned his name, a plaintive cry of yearning she’d suppressed for years, now erupting with abandon in the hollow shell of this rented SUV. He pulled her in again, whispering her own name roughly in her ear, his hands entangling in her hair, disappearing along with their inhibitions.

After she came and he came and the moment was over, she laid spent across his chest, sweat dripping everywhere. She felt an untenable sense of guilt and shame for some reason. She wished it away but it remained. Several minutes seemed to go by and they said nothing, only their breathing audible. She was keenly aware he was waiting for her to speak, so she did.

“Mulder, I-”

“It’s okay, Scully… I get it.” He held her against him and she felt his heart beating through his chest, his hand softly stroking her hair, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to her crown.

She wondered if he really did get it, if he got how much she fucking loved him, how much she wanted this to work out. How hard she’d tried when he hadn’t seemed to try at all. She wondered if he was really ready to try again. And she wondered if this was all a terrible mistake.

His phone buzzed in the cup holder and he reached down to look at it.

“Shit. We have a new case. Meeting with Skinner at 1:30.”

“Are we even going to have time to go home first?” she asked, concerned. Then again, it was their own fault they hadn’t checked out on time. Skinner wasn’t privy to their activities. He probably assumed they were back by now.

“Probably not, no thanks to you,” he grinned, giving her backside a soft slap.

She knew he was just being playful but it occurred to her all the sex that took place over the past few hours she had been the one to initiate. She suddenly felt embarrassed of how unable she was to control her own impulses around him. Sitting up on his lap, she started buttoning her shirt, looking around the parking lot for onlookers, finding none, thankfully.

“Let’s go eat, Mulder.”

“Scully, I was kidding.”

“I know,” she interjected sharply, not wanting him to have the upper hand anymore. “Let’s go eat.”

The sooner they got out of this car the sooner she could refocus on pretending nothing happened in the first place.

Thanks for reading! This one is a ride. For their meeting with Skinner and the rest of the story, click here for Chapter Two.

[gaycrouton]

Unforgetable

Words of Love 21/27 [His love is the best thing that has ever happened to her.]

Unforgettable: (adjective) impossible to forget; very memorable.

He had told her in the most Mulder way possible, completely out of the blue, with no rhyme or reason. They were on a case in Illinois, it wasn’t the most complex or unusual case, but it was emotionally and physically exhausting. They ended up having to stay the night in the ER to get some antibiotics. Per usual, they had managed to get a shared room, the fabric curtain masquerading in place of the usual adjoining door.

She didn’t even remember what exactly she had said, she thinks she had mentioned the possibility of vampirism being an explanation for a facet of the case. She mentioned it just to appease him because she knew that’s where his mind had gone, he knew that too. Scully knew Mulder always appreciated the fact she offered up his theories without condescension, she validated it as he would have, mentioned supporting cases and relevant evidence before launching into Scully-mode. Working with Mulder, you picked up on random facts. After nine years, she had basically become an expert in the occult and the paranormal.

She remembered there had been silence, she figured he had fallen asleep. After a moment, she heard his slippers scuffling across the linoleum and she watched the thin curtain draw back, revealing a haggard, but nonetheless content Mulder. She waited a moment for him to speak whatever was on his mind. The sound of the clock ticking was as loud as thunder due to the blanket of silence that had settled in the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There were no uncomfortable silences between them anymore.

“I love you.” It wasn’t a declaration, it wasn’t a reassurance, it wasn’t said seeking validation. The words rolled off his tongue with ease and conviction.

“I know.” She did. He showed her every day. He had even said it all those years ago when he was laying drugged in that hospital bed. Hearing it again didn’t stop the gratitude and satisfaction that seeped into her heart. “I love you too."

“I know.” He smiled at her, probably relieved he finally got to hear the words back. ‘Oh brother’ probably hadn’t been the answer he had wanted back in the day.

She shifted over in her bed and patted the space next to her. Mulder didn’t need to be told twice. He slid under her comforter and pulled her body into his with elegant fluidity and their bodies molded together like two puzzle pieces. They slept better than either of them had for years, each of their dreams continuing where they left off when they opened their eyes.

Their first time came a month or two later. It didn’t come as a surprise to either of them that she was the one to initiate it. Their dates had been steady and continuous. Enjoying the intimacy they had been dreaming of for years finally manifesting itself. He dropped her off at her door and kissed her goodnight.

The door was shut for maybe thirty seconds before the loneliness of her apartment consumed her. There was no reason for her to have to be alone when there was a man with unrelenting love in his heart dying to be with her. She ran out into the hall and was thrilled to see he had only made it a few steps. She wondered how many times he had lingered outside her apartment, waiting for an invitation to come inside. Based on the relief on his face when she asked him to come to bed with her, it had been more than a few times.

It didn’t matter where she was or how long it had been. She could remember every aspect of being with Mulder. The strength of his body against her own, the love in his touch as he felt her, the gratitude in his eyes when she touched him with the same love. It feels almost impossible to describe. Can one describe what it feels like to breath? To pump blood through the body? When something is so natural, so completely meant to be, words can’t do it justice.

It felt like fate. Mulder was never one to let Scully suffer alone. He had been by her side since day one, and they had been practically inseparable ever since. The fact she found out his child was growing inside her at the same time he went missing felt like Mulder was cosmically telling her that he would still be with her. He would. She never doubted that.

No matter how confident she was in this belief, it didn’t alleviate her overwhelming sadness. There was no place safe. Everywhere she went was permeated with the memories of him, there was no escape, and trying to do so would be a fruitless effort she had no desire to pursue. So, she recreated him when she was alone. She would lay in his bed and inhale his scent on the pillow, cuddling the clothes that had been strewn carelessly on his bed as he left the door for, what he didn’t know would be, the last time in a while.

She would take her showers at his apartment as much as she could, using his hair and body washes. She smells were powerful in the humid space, and if she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was standing behind her like he had hundreds of times before. Occasionally, she would place her hands on her stomach, rubbing the only tangible part of Mulder she had, and after a few months, she felt a kick against her palm.

Some days, she wished she was like other women. She wished she craved ice cream, or spicy food, or chocolate. She wished she had a husband by her side. It would have been less cruel. Instead, as her stomach began to swell, she craved only three things; sunflower seeds, sweet tea, and Mulder. She had a bag of seeds on her person at all times, the empty shells around her felt like a representation of how empty she felt. Of all the things she craved. This was most definitely Mulder’s son.

Their relationship had always been unforgettable, she wished finding his body would be. She had ghost cramps that night. The doctors said it was from the stress, she figured the baby was mourning with her.

Having him back was all she ever wanted. Before she told him about her pregnancy, she would have said the happiest she had ever seen him was when she said I love you back. That had been nothing compared to the smile that broke out on his face when he felt his child, the eternal manifestation of their love, kick against his hand.

The birth hadn’t gone as intended, but that didn’t matter to her. What mattered to her was the memory of seeing William in Mulder’s arms. A picturesque representation of paternal love and affection, when he looked at her and kissed over their child, she knew it was the happiest moment of her entire life. She was so excited to spend the rest of her life with this man, it was like she was living in a dream.

She should have realized all dreams come to an end. Their life had never been fair, she was naive to think a child might have changed that. He was gone, again. They had been able to contact over emails for the past few months, but after the train fiasco, she didn’t even know if he was still alive.

Why was this a recurring theme of her life?

William was his father’s son. Soothed by Scully’s touched, lulled by Scully’s voice, nothing but love in his eyes when he looked up at her. He was even a little spooky. If only Mulder could know how much his son was like him.

She wasn’t completely and totally alone anymore. Going through his absence the first time was hard enough. She withdrew, she was mean, she didn’t want anyone’s help. She couldn’t go through that again, she had a child now. Doggett helped, but Monica was a heaven sent.

She hadn’t been this close to another female since Melissa. She had her mother, but she couldn’t talk about most things with her mother, it wasn’t her fault, she just wouldn’t understand. Monica was patient, she was kind, and she was odd. She would never say Monica was taking Mulder’s place, but she was glad that the other adult figure in William’s life right now was such, a believer.

When she looked at William, she couldn’t help but imagine what Mulder would do for him. What he would tell him, how he would hold him, she always imagined they would have a yin and yang parenting style, their differences coming together for perfect unity. There were things Scully couldn’t do, and she had felt like she was robbing William of the life that should have been.

One day, Monica came over so Scully could take a nap. After, she didn’t know how long, she woke up and made her way down the hallway, following a rhythmic voice. When she got to the doorway, she realized Monica was telling William a story to go to bed, filled with dramatically humorous voices and grand gestures. It took a moment, but Scully realized what the story was. She was reenacting an episode of Star Trek. Mulder’s favorite episode of Star Trek.

Monica didn’t know that, she was being herself. This whole thing was something Scully had no doubt Mulder would have done. Picturing Mulder standing there, sharing his favorite show with his son, she was overwhelmed with grief and emotion; so she crept back to her room, crawled under the covers, and cried. Scully was eternally grateful for what she was doing, what she was bringing to the table for her son, but she wished it was Mulder doing that with every fiber of her being.

William was six months old now, and she still didn’t know where Mulder was. He would start talking in a few months, he would go to school in a few years. She and William were going to start building memories soon. How much of this was Mulder going to miss? Would the word ‘dad’ be vague and meaningless for William? She was scared, Mulder was an unforgettable, extraordinary man to her, she thought about him every minute of everyday. But for William, would there be any memories of Mulder for him to even forget? She didn’t want Mulder just to be ‘that enigma that makes mom cry’ in Williams mind.

She sat in her bed, his clothes splayed out on the bed, the pillow next to hers sprayed with his cologne. She looked out the window, the moon beaming down at her, Mulder’s words about starlight resonating in her mind. She wiped a fallen tear from her cheek and whispered to the night, “Please come home.”

[barpurplewrites]

Keep an open mind - Chapter 3

Previous chapters (HERE)

-x-x-x-

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Belle nibbled her bottom lip as she set her pint down squarely on the coaster. She’d been expecting this question, so had given some thought to her answer.

“I used to, in the same way I used to believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Ghosts are just another fairy tale.”

She’d been focused on her glass as she spoke, when she’d finished she looked up and caught a sad smile on Gold’s face. Was he judging her? No, it didn’t look like judgement, or pity, it was sadder, more personal. How odd.

Jefferson waved an expressive hand; “I take the role of Mulder in our little troop, but for magic not aliens, although I believe in them to, it would be the height of vanity to assume we are alone in the universe.”

Belle hadn’t expected anything less from Jefferson. She’d known him long enough to have heard his excited babbling about various unexplained phenomena.  

Ariel nudged her shoulder; “I’m a full-on season one Scully. The only things that go bump in the night are dodgy pipes, animals and other humans.”

That surprised Belle; her first impression of Ariel had been of a flighty and fanciful woman. Her skill with sound engineering had shown a strong practical streak, but Belle still would have expected her to believe in all this ghost stuff.

Gold sighed; “Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are lies we tell children to make the world more magical. Ghosts are lies we tell ourselves to make the world less painful.”

His voice was steady, but the depth of emotion in his eyes was heart-breaking. Belle wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she resisted the instinct. She didn’t not know Gold well enough to know if her actions would be welcome, and she didn’t want to overstep on her first day on the job. There was a story behind his words, one that was clearly personal and painful.

Jefferson cleared his throat and said jovially; “Time for trampoline tennis.”

“What?”

Belle looked around the bar wondering what sort of crazy game that could possibly be. Ariel chuckled; “Don’t worry. It’s what we call bouncing ideas back and forth about the episode. Not sure when we started calling it that, but it’s stuck.”

The other three pulled out notebooks from pockets and bags. Belle felt awkward that she didn’t have anything on her, she’d not been warned about this. She was just about to say she’d run back to the motel when Gold slid a brand-new notebook and pen across the table to her. It was a handsome thing, black fake leather embossed with Bumps in the Night logo.

Gold shrugged; “Should have given you this this morning, to welcome you to the crew, but I forgot it along with my gloves.”

“Thank you.”

Belle was a compulsive notebook buyer. She had some lovely ones at home, far too many still unused to justify buying more, not that that ever stopped her. This one was more of a journal, or project book. The paper was a nice thickness, and lightly lined, ideal for making sketches and for taking notes. Pockets inside the covers allowed for the safekeeping of loose paper and there were dividers that could be repositioned. It was something she would have bought for herself.

Gold smiled at her obvious enjoyment of the notebook. He flipped to the back and showed her the printed pages tucked within the pocket there.

“Our most commonly used resources. We do have a few free lance researchers who help out from time to time, but we’re such a small crew that everyone needs to pitch in. I know the pay doesn’t reflect that, but we normally get a decent end of season ratings bonus.”

Belle nodded as she scanned the list. It wasn’t unusual on small productions for everyone to muck in. The experience was always helpful, and the promise of a bonus was a nice thing to look forward to. The list was a mix of normal web addresses for land registry, archives of old maps and ancestry records, then there were the odder items that she supposed she’d have to get used to in this job; Reddit and Tumblr accounts that focused on ghosts and the supernatural.

“With so much of this being on line I surprised you don’t just give us tablets.”

Ariel and Jefferson laughed. Gold rolled his eyes; “You’re not the first to suggest it. I’m old fashioned, I like writing things down.”

“That and he’s terrible for leaving chargers in motels.”

Gold laughed at Jefferson’s comment; “Aye there is that too.”

 They decided to order food before they got started on the trampoline tennis. There was some friendly bickering about pineapple and its place on pizza. Jefferson was dead against it, while Ariel and Belle were indifferent. Gold was for it, claiming that it was vaguely healthy. Food on the road frequently was deep fried, so getting fruit when you could wasn’t a bad idea. A quick look at the menu proved that salad wasn’t an option. Belle made a note to herself to pick up some apples from a grocery store tomorrow.

After everyone had had a slice or two Gold asked: “So, what do we think of our Hanging Figure?”

Jefferson flicked a piece of pineapple off his slice of pizza and shrugged; “I think this one is going to end up being something mundane.”

Gold wiped his mouth with a napkin; “I think you’re right. No deaths in the property, no missing people, nothing that would suggest a ghostly presence.”

“Not even a creepy feeling, just an empty house. Although I wish the owner had left the carpets in place, the echoes we’re getting from footsteps are annoying.”

The heels of Gold’s boots had caused Ariel some major sound problems. Viewers would never know that Gold had done most of the internal shots in his stocking feet. Belle had managed not to giggle at his ghost Pokémon socks, just.

Belle took her camera out of her bag and flicked through some of the photos she’d taken of the window. There was an outline there that looked like a head and torso hanging from a rope. It was visible from all the angles she’d been able to take a photo from, outside and inside. There was nothing on the glass that would rub off, that had been one of the first things Gold had tested. She dipped a pizza crust in the pot of sour cream and jotted down some ideas.

“What are you thinking Belle?”

As was typical of these things Gold asked his question just as Belle had taken a bite of pizza. She chewed and hurriedly swallowed almost choking herself in the process. Gold grimaced and handed her a glass of water.

“Sorry about that.”

She waved his apology away as she glugged the water down.

“No worries, it happens,” – she looked at her notebook, - “If the window hadn’t been replaced twice I’d say that there was a defect in the glass. Is it possible that this is some long running prank and the window fitter has deliberately put the outline there?”

Jefferson thumbed through his own notebook; “Possible, but the replacements were done by two different owners twenty years apart, both used different companies. Nah, I don’t see it. Besides where’s the money?”

Finding out who would profit from potential haunting was the best way to discover the truth. One of the episodes Belle had watched after she’d accepted the job had used this approach to uncover a brother attempting to scam his siblings out of their inheritance by claiming the house was haunted.

Gold tapped his own notebook and shook his head; “There’s nothing like that here. If anything, the previous owners have lost money because of that window, and the current owner is hoping that we find an ordinary explanation, so he can sell up.”

“Okay so that leaves us with damp, or maybe a structural defect in the window frame? Y’know causing the glass to warp?”

Belle felt her suggestions were weak, but everyone else nodded encouragingly.

“We can look into both of those the day after tomorrow, the owner has given us permission to replace the window.”

“I should set up a camera, maybe two, one inside and one out, to film the window over night after it’s replaced. We might see the Hanging Figure reappear.”

She said it with a smile on her face but received serious nods from the others. She was going to need to remember that this gig might feel like a joke to her but two of the people who could fire her believed in this spooky stuff. Just because the content was on the kooky side didn’t mean that she shouldn’t do a thorough job.

While she’d been mental chastising herself Ariel had said something that had made Gold pull a face. Ariel poked in his direction with a pizza crust.

“Look I know you’re not a fan of them Gold, but they’re expected on a spook show, so we will set them up and show that we used them even if we don’t get anything.”

Ah, this was about the EMF and EVP. She was about to ask why Gold didn’t like them, but he spotted the obvious question on her face.

“It’s daft, but those damn machines give me tinnitus, especially the EVP. But Ariel is right they are expected, so we’ll set them up for the overnight, okay?”

Ariel gave him a happy grin; “Good, it’s usually more of a battle than that.”

“To be fair you do normally ask me about it first thing in the morning before I’ve had a cuppa.”

Ariel turned to Belle; “Did Jefferson warn you about that? Gold is a bear with a sore head before he’s had a cup of tea in the mornings. It’s his only diva-like quality.”

Gold gave a over the top gasp and place his hand against his heart; “You wound me Ariel I’m not that bad at all.”

Jefferson and Ariel both cocked an eyebrow and him and nodded. Gold deflated and flapped a hand at them; “Okay maybe I am,” – he smothered a yawn with the back of his hand, - “and I’m going to be much worse if I don’t call it a night and get some sleep.”

It wasn’t late, but it was heading in that direction and they did have an early start the next day. Belle was surprised when Gold collected the receipts for their meal and drinks. That sort of clerical work normally got shunted off on to one of the women. When she mentioned as much to Ariel on the walk back to the motel, she just shrugged; “Gold likes balancing the books, it’s relaxing for him. I suggested he try yoga, but he laughed at me.”

Belle snorted as she tried to picture Gold in various yoga poses. It was all the funnier because her imagination had conjured suit wearing Gold doing yoga. She was still smiling at the idea when she bid everyone good night and headed into her room.

[greekowl87]

Fic: Supposed Ghost Stories

I found this image to inspire this fic and I couldn’t start my day until I finished it. I also love Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow, don’t you? Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober .  Set season six before ‘How the Ghosts Stole Christmas.’ Ever wonder why Mulder stole Scully’s keys in that episode?

Happy Halloween :)

Mulder shivered in the car of their rental as Scully passed him a fresh cup of hot coffee in a thin paper cup. He forgot how cold New England Halloween's could be, even beneath his jeans, long sleeve shirt, and heavy leather jacket.

"Turn up the heat, Mulder," she murmured. "It is freezing in here."

Mulder adjusted the temperatures on the heat as Scully sighed and leaned back in the seat. She closed her eyes, shivering trying to imagine herself physically fighting off the fall cold before she opened her eyes and took in the scene before her. Near to full moon that lit up the sky and stars everywhere. The abandoned dirt road which their car sat on was surrounded by eerie moonlight and fog. Essentially, it was the makings of a horror movie, Scully thought.

"Why did I agree to do this?" she questioned after a moment before turning to look at him.

"What?" he asked innocently. He attempted to bury himself in his coat. "Graveyard hunting?"

"Yes. I do not specifically recall you mentioning the exact terms. I do, however, recall you saying to the effect of 'Scully, want to do a historic tour on Massachuttes?' when you asked me to come up here."

"What? We aren't on a case. As far as I am concerned it is just two friends enjoying Halloween. Ghost hunting. In graveyards."

"Do I need to remind you we have a bad track record of casual outing in New England? You and your cockroaches three years ago and me with that doll thing last year in Maine?" she questioned. "I thought maybe, I don't know, something like 'Hocus Pocus.'"

"Salem. You wanted to go to Salem and see the museum?"

"Not necessarily. But is in a town with stuff to do and not on some side of the road in the middle nowhere." She huffed her cheeks. "So where are we exactly, since you know, we might as well make the best of it."

He smiled. This is one of the things he loved about her. She would always come with him, no matter where obscure place he would go. He gently took her hands and squeezed it affectionately. Scully closed her eyes at the contact of the instant warmth that came from him, wishing for him not to let her hand go. "Well, just for the record, I do appreciate you following me up here. I just wanted to let you know that."

She gave a snort and a small smile. "You know it is just to ensure I save your ass again."

"Always, Scully." He released her hand. "Spooky tonight, isn't it?"

She chuckled and narrowed her eyes in thought. "Is that the best pick up line that you have, Mulder?"

"I got more of them." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "But seriously, there used to be this old graveyard that Sam and I went to the Halloween before she was taken. It was one of those ghost tour things but I just can't seem to find it, honestly."

Scully gave a soft smile, touched. "Well, what other crazy Halloween traditions did you all have? I'll give you one of mine. When all of us were old enough to trick or treat, mom would make us do these group costumes. One year, we all were the Jetsons. Bill was George, Missy was Jane, I was June, and Charlie was Elroy." She chuckled in memory. "The wig I had to wear. Oh my god, I hated that thing. It was one of my grandmother's, I'm positive."

"Baby Scully as Judy Jetson," Mulder repeated disbelievingly.

"Mom has a picture. We can stop by at her home in Baltimore on the way back and I'll prove it."

"You have a deal," he laughed. "Sam and I never did anything like that but one time. She was three and I seven. I was Yogi Bear and she was Boo Boo. After that Halloween, I vowed to do my own costume every year. I've always loved Halloween though. That Halloween, I read her Washington's Irving "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and she wanted to go look for the headless horseman. So instead of going trick or treating, we went to a graveyard to look for it."

"But isn't it Sleepy Hollow technically in New York and not Massachuttes?"

"Very good," he smiled. "And yes but I wasn't going to ruin that for her. It actually is a Germanic myth that goes back to the middle ages. But Irving tale explains the Horseman was a Hessian mercenary from the Revolutionary War who had his head taken off by a cannonball."

"And did you find it?"

"No, but I scared her real good like a big brother is supposed to." His smile faded. "That was the last Halloween we spent together before she was taken."

A comfortable silence settled between them. Scully glanced at the clock on the dash. "What do you say we head back to the hotel, Mulder? It's one a.m. We can get some gas station grub and watch "The Blob" till sunrise."

"What? You don't want to see if any ghosts come a calling?" He was already turning the key on the car, restarting the idle engine back to life.

"I'm freezing, Mulder. My toes are ice cubes."

"I wanted to do something fun with you this year," he replied, "especially after last year."

The unspoken silence about the cancer.

"Well, unofficial ghost hunts may be fun, but what is, even more, fun is a warm hotel room and scary movies. Come on, Mulder."

Mulder switched the car into gear, gently easing off the gravel shoulder and back on the fog covered road. "It's a pity really. Tonight's weather makes a perfect atmosphere."

"I would rather watch a movie than experience it tonight. We're off the clock, remember?"

"Fine, fine," he conceded.

Mulder began to speed up slowly, wary of the fog and woods and the chance a stray deer barreling into their car. Scully leaned forward to switch on the radio on but frowned when all she could hear was static. "Hm. That's strange. We had a radio signal out here when we first arrived."

"Probably the weather."

As they drove cautiously along, with only the silence and the sound of the engine, hanging in between. But then the neigh of a horse that was loud, clear, and echoed otherworldly. Mulder glanced at Scully and slowed the car to a stop. "Do you think..."

"No. It is a ghost story, Mulder. That's all."

They heard the neigh again, closer and louder this time. She was the first to get out of the car, with her gun and flashlight in hand. "Scully!" he called as she slammed the car door and walked in front of the headlight purposefully.

Grabbing his own flashlight, he stood out in front of the headlights, shining his own flashlight out into the dark night. They heard a horse's neigh again. It was coming closer. Mulder's hairs were standing on end and, while it was highly likely it was nothing, he reached for his own gun. "It's probably a figment of my imagination."

"A figment that we're both hearing?"

Now they could hear galloping, the rhythmic noise of horseshoes cobbling the asphalt. "Mulder," she said cautiously. Her blue eyes darted to him. "This isn't funny. Stop joking around."

"Scully, this isn't me, I swear it."

As the galloping came closer, she raised her weapon. "Stop! I'm a federal officer!"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What good is that going to do?"

She flared her nostrils, smelling sulfur. What was burning? In a flash that blinded them, she saw the outline of a headless figure and a black horse. "The fuck..." Mulder began.

The headless figure swung a cavalry saber skillfully as the horse neighed loudly, standing on his hindquarters. Without thinking, Scully emptied her entire magazine into the figure which seemed unaffected by the hail of 9mm bullets from her sig.  Mulder grabbed her forearm forcefully and pushed her to the passenger side of the car. "Get in, Scully. Just get in!"

Not being needed to told twice, she rushed into the car as Mulder jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the gas. He maneuvered the car in quick j-turn as they sped the opposite way down the road. Scully kept looking behind her for the headless rider but saw nothing.

"Mulder," she breathed. "I think it's gone."

"I'm not going to stop driving until we're back at the hotel." He gritted his teeth. "I swear I had nothing to do with that. I honestly do think that was the horseman."

"Mulder that is a legend, a ghost story that is told on Halloween."

"Well, what was tonight?"

Scully arched an eyebrow. "Mulder, that is crazy. Just because it is Halloween..."

"Makes sense, Scully."

"I don't know what the hell we saw but it was not the headless horseman!"

"Suit yourself, but I'm not stopping until we get back to the hotel. Speaking of hotel, do you mind if I spend the night with you?"

"What? Ghost story scare you, Mulder," she teased. Truth be told, she was shaken up herself and thought it was a good idea. The look he gave her indicated he was completely serious. "Well, I suppose a sleepover and horror movie night might be doable."

"Well, then we better stop off and get some candy just to be safe," he said cautiously, easily navigating the heavy air still in between them.

"Yes," she agreed. After a moment, she spoke once more. "Mulder, the next time you ask me to go on a ghost hunt with you, you're going to have to steal my car keys in order to make me."

"I'll remember that, Scully," he answered, his thoughts already rolling in his head for what he could plan for her at Christmas.

[wheres-mulder]

Alien Baby Daddy: Part V

by @haywarde37; Part I + Part II + Part III + Part IV

(Author’s Note: this delightful piece was a prompt given by Miss Abbie. It features both Scully and Mulder’s points of view, Scully in the present and Mulder’s as a blast from the past. Also, lesbian aunts at your insistence.)

October 25th, 2003 The kids’ costumes arrive in the mail a day before Beggars Night and Scully goes to great lengths to hide the box from Mulder much to his chagrin. He lives for Halloween and depending on how tonight goes, she’s either going to get laid or ruin their relationship.

She banishes Mulder from the house to buy candy for trick or treaters and dresses the kids in their room. William’s outfit fits and with a few safety pins, so does Rosalind’s but it’s not until Scully knots the ugly ties does everything look perfect.

Her children are mini-Mulders of a bygone age with their tiny, custom suits and fake FBI badges. Even their faces reflect his flirty swagger from the nineties. How many times did he chew his lip like William is doing now? All her son needs is an X-File and a cup of cheap gas station coffee then he’d be Mulder, ready for another foray into the unknown.

She stands up and walks to her closet. In the very back, hidden by scrubs, jeans and all things elastic is another relic of her X-File days, the brown suit that she wore during the Tooms case. It’s the only suit the survived her many wardrobe changes over the years. She tells herself she doesn’t have the heart to throw it away but she knows it’s because Mulder likes it.

Scully slips the suit off the hanger and is struck by how early nineties it is. She wouldn’t be caught wearing it now but on Halloween where ghost, zombies and other spooky things come out to play, she just might make an exception.

When Mulder comes home, she watches him balance bags of candy as he steps out of the car. She’s leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him to notice.

“You know, you could help—” his words die on his tongue when he sees her.

She grins at the way his eyes roam over her body, how his gaze stops at her crucifix necklace on proud display. She licks her lips and juts out the hip her SIG hangs from. “You’re late, Agent Mulder.”

“Late for what, Agent Scully? I thought I didn’t have to go to meetings now that I’m retired.”

When he’s on the porch, she crooks her fingers through his belt loops and tugs him to the door.

“Move it, Mulder. The junior agents are tired of waiting.”

She guides him inside the house and to the playroom. The moment of truth. On the toy filled floor, Rosalind lies on her back, teething on her fake FBI badge. Next to her, William pulls at his tiny dress shoes. Mulder stares at them.

“Scully, what did you do to our children?”

She kisses his neck. “They’re the Bureau’s greatest cryptids.”

“Oh,” he says, getting the reference.

October 31st, 1993 Spooky Mulder is celebrated on Halloween. His fellow agents, who normally avoid him at all costs, surround him to hear stories of aliens and vampires. He’s invited to costume parties where the women dress up as slutty nurses and the men are either werewolves or Dracula but of course, Mulder is far more creative.

Every year he’s a different cryptid. For ninety-one, he was the Loveland Frog, ninety-two, a Reptilian and this year, he’s going as the Flatwoods Monster—an unidentified extraterrestrial being that haunts West Virginia.

He makes the costume with Scully’s help, more specifically, a pleated skirt of hers he stole. For some reason, she borrowed one of his suits last week so he doesn’t feel too bad about wearing it. An eye for an eye. Sort of.

At Mulder’s insistence, they’re going to the party together. Her abduction changed their dynamic. They’re more than partners now, they’re friends and it’s not weird to take a friend to a party. It’s perfectly normal. They might even share a few drinks like friends do and laugh at their coworker’s crappy, unimaginative costumes.

He knocks on her apartment door, smelling like the shot of whiskey he took to calm his nerves before driving here. He hears footsteps, high heeled footsteps and sighs. Clearly, they’re not close enough for her to let loose and dress up for a stupid party.

Mulder sends a quiet prayer to her God to take mercy on him when she opens the door and sees him wearing her skirt with a pair of leggings that might also be be hers too.

“Mulder?”

He starts to explain but stops when he sees what she’s wearing.

His suit.

“What do you think?” She asks shyly. “I’m the greatest cryptid the Bureau has ever known. You.”

October 25th, 2003 “I swear I’m only hard because of that suit and the memory of our first fuck.”

Scully nips his ear and pushes him against the wall. “That’s what I was hoping for, Mulder.”

“Is that why your sister and her wife are here? To watch the kids while we have a quickie in the bathroom?”

“You know Melissa doesn’t think we have enough sex. She was glad to do it.”

Mulder hums and cups her ass. He’s a tactile man, his hands have to be doing something and Scully thanks God that her body is usually that “something.”

She nudges a knee between his legs. “I may be horny but I will not miss Rosalind’s first Trick-or-Treat so get to fucking work, Mulder.”

He kisses her roughly then spins them around so she’s the one pinned to the wall. She growls when he slips his fingers down her pants.

“You don’t even like Halloween, Scully.”

“I promised my mother I’d take pictures.” Fingers brush through her pubic hair and part her lips. “I’ll be quick then.”

“That’s what you said ten years ago and we missed the party.”

October 31st, 1993 Mulder doesn’t mean to kiss her but she’s wearing his clothes and it incites a primal response. His suit is swallowing her whole, so naturally, he should too.

He pulls away with an audible smack and looks down at her flushed face. She stares back at him, her lips red and parted. He’s sure she’s going to punch him once she regains her wits.

But she does something worse, she pulls him in for another kiss and all of the anger and uncertainty from her abduction floods him and he kisses back. Hard.

For Scully, this is not romantic. This a fuck with a man she respects but expects nothing from. For Mulder, this an act of love he’s only recently realized he harbors for his partner. He wants to hold and kiss her tenderly but he doesn’t out of fear he’ll scare her off. He bites back his words of affection as she shoves her hand down his—her?—skirt. He kisses her again. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

October 25th, 2003 “Fuck!” Scully hisses when Mulder enters her. Her pants are caught around her knees so his thrusts are quick and shallow but Scully’s fine with their situation. The nerve endings at the entrance of her vagina don’t get enough attention. She’s all for cervical orgasms but it’s nice to change things on occasion.

She kneads his ass through the fabric of his jeans, making him buck harder. He hates this position because he can’t feel her the way he wants to and Scully knows that he’ll take her on the floor after she has her orgasm. It’s endearing that he insists on her coming before him if not a little aggravating at times but that’s just Mulder. Endearing and aggravating, a living, breathing contradiction.

One hand palms her breast while the other entertains her clitoris with slow, torturous circles of his thumb. She whines low and deep at the sensation.

“Fuck! Mulder!”

He chuckles and pinches her nipple through her shirt and bra. “You’re lucky I can multitask.”

“You are such an—” she squeezes his ass instead of saying the word and he laughs harder.

“I love your ingenuity, Scully. So creative.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it.” He raises a foot to nudge down her pants, the rubber of his shoe burning against her calf. “In order for me to do that, these have to go.”

“Then yours go too. I don’t need a zipper poking me.”

He complies with a grunt, shoving his jeans down to his ankles then guiding her to lie on the cool linoleum floor. He pulls off her pants completely but leaves her pumps on. She grins.

“What?”

Scully raises a foot and touches his shoulder. “You have a heel fetish.” Eager eyes focus on her slick and swollen sex. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You never take my heels off.”

“That’s because they’re too damn complicated and trying to figure them out makes my boner flag.”

Mulder stops the laughter bubbling in her throat with a quick snap of his hips. He gives her no time to adjust, burying himself to the hilt, blurring pain and pleasure in a delightfully torturous mix. Sometimes she wants him to make love to her, slow and sweet but right now, she wants a good, hard fuck, one that leaves her sore in the best way.

“Fuck me, Mulder,” she groans and he does. His thrusts go deep to her cervix, eliciting raw, guttural noises. God, she hopes Missy can’t hear them. She knows she’ll have a post-fucked glow when they leave the bathroom, she doesn’t need her sister to comment on her vocals too.

“Jesus, Scully!” He draws out her name. It’s the closest thing to a prayer he’ll ever mutter. He may believe in aliens, ghosts and monsters but he’s a secular man. Once, he told her God left him when his sister was taken away but Scully thinks that just maybe, God sent her in his stead to look after his precious, erratic soul.

She kisses his neck because she can’t reach his mouth. “I love you, Mulder. You mean the world to me. You and our children.”

“I wish you said that ten years ago. I would have saved us so much trouble by asking you to marry me.”

“You’re not the marrying type, Mulder.” But that’s okay. Marriage is too straitlaced for them—and expensive. Instead of a cupcake dress and matching gold rings, Scully would rather spend their money on diapers and possibly a new vibrator (her old standby broke a month ago). She doesn’t need Father McCue or anyone else to validate what she has with Mulder. Their kids are proof enough they love each other.

She digs her heels into his sacral spine. “We don’t need to get married. Doing this until we’re too old to means more than marriage vows.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good.” She touches his cheek. “Now let yourself go. I want to watch you come.”

His face is beautiful when he reaches orgasm. He bites his lip and closes his eyes, every muscle straining, wound so tightly then suddenly snapping. Warmth spreads inside her as he ejaculates. The sperm won’t have much of a journey to her womb but there will be no egg to fertilize as Rosalind is still nursing. It’ll be at least a year until they can conceive again, but right now, she’s full of life even if she can’t get pregnant.

“Do you need a minute?” She asks when Mulder sags against her.

He rests his chin in her shoulder. “More like five or ten.”

“You get two. We need to clean up and get ready for Trick-or-Treat.”

“You don’t like Halloween,” he reminds her and she slaps his ass in response.

“Get off of me.”

When they leave the bathroom, Melissa is waiting for them in the den, dressed as a witch. Behind her, on the couch, Monica holds both William and Rosalind on her lap. Monica is nonplussed, bored even while Melissa grins.

She brushes flyaway hairs from Scully’s face. “Did you make me another niece or nephew?”

Before Scully can answer, the doorbell rings, heralding the first of the trick-or-treaters. She glares at her then stalks to the door, trying to hide her smile.

[frangipanidownunder]

Revealing

Written for @lokisgame in response to an ask about how Scully managed to read fanfic on stake-outs as revealed in a previous story of mine. This is also my final entry to the dialogue only challenge for @txf-fic-chicks. You can read the companion pieces here: Tried and  Tested “Scully, do you want coffee?”

“Real coffee or the granules of dirt that someone puts into the old Nescafe jar at the refreshment station?”

“I was just going to the photocopier, so dirt I guess…”

“Fine. Double dirt please. And Mulder, can you collect my expenses reports? They should all be printed by now.”

“One double dirt with no cream or sugar. One doubly dirty great pile of expenses reports. What are you claiming for here, Scully? Every single pair of hose you’ve ripped in the line of duty, receipts for every lettuce leaf and carrot strip that comprise what you allegedly call lunch, Steristrips for all my boo-boos?”

“Mulder, printing out the report for all your boo-boos would take all year and the paper stock required would decimate the world’s remaining rain forests. This, on the other hand, is a month’s worth of standard X-Files expenses, and if you bothered to do any of your paperwork, Mulder, you would know that.”

“Scully, you know how much I love it when you dot all the Is and cross all those Ts for the team. Your manual dexterity is far superior to mine and I know how much you thrive on logic, rationalism and scientific fact. Expenses reports are nothing if not factual.”

“Really, Mulder? When was the last time you actually read one of these things? This one contains so much of your particular brand of ‘I Want to Believe’ dreaming that I’m pretty certain I could put your name to it and Skinner wouldn’t bat an eyelid.”

“Except that he knows I don’t write them and that would raise suspicions.”

“Well, thanks for the dirt and thanks for the non-input into this magical report where the unicorn accountants will stamp their approval with their rainbow hoofs and get you off the hook from your ridiculous claims by sprinkling fairy dust over the facts. Again. I’ll catch you later, Mulder.”

“Stake-out tonight, Scully. Don’t forget. Wrap up warm, bring your own thermos of real coffee and some quality reading.”

“By quality, I presume you mean something without pictures, Mulder.”

“Ouch, Scully. There’s another boo-boo to add to my collection.”

“So, what are you reading, Mulder?”

“Oh, just some stuff I printed out earlier. You know.”

“No, I don’t know. What stuff?”

“Nothing that would interest you.”

“No? Try me. We’ve got all night.”

“You first. You’ve been engrossed in your medical journal for ages now. Just how much fun can the ‘American Journal of Pathology’ really be? Or is December the Christmas special? Do you get extras like ‘World’s Most Bizarre Autopsies’ or Cause of Death word searches or…”

“Mulder, I’m reading about cutting edge research and technology. That’s pretty absorbing.”

“But you’ve been shifting around in your seat like whatever you’re reading is making you…”

“Making me what, Mulder?”

“Nothing.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re reading. There doesn’t seem to be any naked skin on the cover, so that’s an improvement.”

“Sometimes, covered skin can be just as sexy, Scully. Don’t you think?”

“I haven’t really given it much thought, Mulder.”

“Because you’re totally engrossed in the latest article on cell injury and repair?”

“Have you been reading this journal too, Mulder?”

“I might subscribe…”

“You subscribe to the AJP?”

“You sound sceptical, Scully.”

“Would you believe me if I said I subscribed to Aliens Today?”

“There is no such journal, Scully. But there is an Aliens Tomorrow. I’ll sign you up if you’re serious. If it means one less quirked brow or roll of the eyes before we go on our next case, it might be worth the $29.95.”

“Last of the big spenders, Mulder. I’m touched. Anyway, there’s no sign of our suspect, yet. Trail mix?”

“Will nobody think of the guinea pigs? Our suspect is probably headed to the Bahamas as we speak. How did we land this gig, Scully?”

“I’d like to think that sometimes Skinner advocates for our mental wellbeing by provisioning cases that are actually restful, in a bizarre kind of way. Just sitting in a car, the two of us, talking, reading a little. Not getting abducted.”

“So it’s like one of those team-building exercises where we’re supposed to communicate, discuss the minutiae of our days, really find out stuff about each other. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Maybe. What do you want to know about me, Mulder? Some secret you think I’ve been holding back?

“Have you been holding back, Scully?”

“Have you?”

“I asked first. I was just wondering if being totally honest with each other would actually be beneficial to our partnership. Workwise, that is.”

“Workwise…I see. And by total honesty, you mean like some kind of truth or dare.”

“If you choose to see it that way. I guess.”

“Mulder, I am always honest with you.”

“Really?”

“Now who’s being sceptical? Yes, I am honest with you.”

“But you see, I’m not sure you’re being totally honest, Scully.”

“Truth or dare, Mulder. Just ask the damned question.”

“Are you really reading an article on cell injury?”

“Dare.”

“Ooh, Scully. I dare you to strip naked and run up and down the street three times.”

“Mulder, aside from the fact that if I do that three times I’m not going to get back to car, I don’t think that we should jeopardise our stake out on a dare like that.”

“So you’ve already reneged on your first dare. Truth, Scully?”

“Ask another question.”

“No. I want you to answer my first question truthfully. Are you reading about cell injury?”

“No, Mulder. I’m not.”

“And…”

“And, it’s my turn to ask you a question. Truth or dare?”

“Scully.”

“Mulder, are you reading Celebrity Skin?” “No.”

“Are you reading something pornographic?”

“Define pornography.”

“I think you know the answer to that better than I do, Mulder.”

“Scully, pornography is usually a selfish perspective – a male perspective. There is an element of distance, where the female, usually, is seen as an object rather than a person, as opposed to...”

“What?”

“Erotica, where the parties involved are willing, consensual and equally fulfilled by the activities.”

“Erotica.”

“Erotica is often seen as a more female oriented genre. It has a softer image than pornography. It seems more acceptable, almost more intellectual, cerebral.”

“Is that right?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Scully.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I found your stories.”

“My what?”

“In amongst your expenses reports. Your erotic stories…”

“They’re not mine.”

“Scully, if there is an agent at the FBI who read ‘Alien’ fan-fiction I think I would have sat with him in the cafeteria on my first day here. Come on. I know it’s you. As I said, there’s no shame. Ripley is a great female character. Why wouldn’t you want to read about her, her adventures, her love life?”

“That’s not what it’s like…I…Mulder, I’m so…I don’t know what to say…I’m embarrassed.”

“Scully, you should know by now that there should be no secrets between us. None.”

“This is hardly a secret. This is just a…”

“A peccadillo?”

“You make it sound sordid, when you put it that way.”

“Scully, there is nothing sordid about sex.”

“Says the man with an obscene Triple X bill. I can’t believe I left that story in the copier. Supposing someone else had got hold of it. How humiliating.”

“Scully, please don’t feel embarrassed. I copied the story. I read it. It was well written, the narrative was strong, the characterisation was spot on.”

“Mulder, it was smut.”

“Yet it was still literary. That’s a skill.”

“It is one of the better ones I’ve read.”

“And how long have you been addicted?”

“It’s not an addiction! It’s a way to…relax. It sort of turns my brain off. Allows me to chill out, forget about the day, the case, the office politics, whatever.”

“I understand, Scully. More than you could ever know.”

“I guess some people drink, some people eat Doritos, some people inject heroin. I read fan fiction. I confess. Do I need the 12 step program?” “I get it, Scully. I really do.”

“But this is me, Mulder. This is the Ice Queen. Mrs Spooky. The professional sceptic. The spy in your ointment. I write the reports, I do the paperwork, I dot the Is, cross the Ts. I am not supposed to have feelings, or emotions, or to do the wrong thing. That’s you. I’m the one who follows the rules. I don’t print out erotic fiction in the office. I don’t read it on stake-outs. What? What’s this?”

“My confession.”

“Your what? I don’t understand. What is this, Mulder?”

“This is what I’ve been reading.”

“Mulder, this is fan fiction. I’ve read this one. It’s widely held…”

“To be the best of its kind in the fandom. I know. It’s great. I’ve read it multiple times. It kills me every single time.” “Are you teasing me?”

“No! I love this shit. It’s the perfect way to escape our work. I mean, I know you think I go home and watch porn or I go swing a baseball bat or shoot some hoops, but you’ll find that I’m more likely to be eye-deep in fan fiction – Alien, Star Trek, Star Wars – have you read the Leia/Han stories? You’d love them.” “Mulder…”

“I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? Me and you. Sharing the same guilty pleasure. Are you crying, Scully?”

“No. Yes.”

“Scully, do you have any other kinks?”

“Mulder.”

“I’m serious. You keep me guessing. I love that about you.”

“Well, I do know how to tie more than one hundred different types of knot. Courtesy of my dad. Does that thrill you?”

“Depends where you’re tying ‘em.”

“And I know how to say fuck you in about twenty different languages. Courtesy of my sister.”

“That might come in useful one day. Any more?”

“I seem to be doing all the revealing here, Mulder. You’re not playing fair.”

“I don’t have any special skills. I’m completely boring. You now know everything about me. Fan fiction and all.”

“Mulder, do you ever wonder where we’ll end up? I mean we can’t spend the rest of our lives reading fan fic on stake outs or hunting ghosts and ghoulies. What do you want? Where do you see yourself in five, ten, twenty years? Do you want the house with the picket fence and the 2.5 kids, do you want to retire and do the UFO talk circuit? Do you ever think about the future?”

“I do.”

“And?”

“Scully…I think that’s our suspect.”

[allyinthekeyofx]

Impossible Choices

Impossible Choices

AllyinthekeyofX

Summary:

Mulder is returned and Scully is offered a choice. But when does a choice become an impossibility? An alternative ending to the show. Seasons 8 + 9 are just a bad dream!  The story is set a few months after Requiem.  

Notes:

I wrote this in anger at how everything turned out and because of a lingering sense that the characters I came to know and love were sold down the river. But the passing of time gave me perspective and a greater appreciation of what came after. So, after sitting on it for 16 years I decided to polish it up and to unleash it finally on an unsuspecting fandom. I still wish that CC had given them an ending they deserved, but they weren’t. I can live with that now. 

One

“Georgetown Memorial. Go there now Agent Scully.”

I blink my eyes in response to the cold, hard voice that rings menacingly in my ear through the telephone handset I have fumbled for in the dark just seconds earlier.

“Who is this?” I demand.

I don’t expect an explanation. I’m just asking out of habit more than anything else. Falling back on my years of investigative training, unconsciously slipping in to the mode of an Agent of the FBI.

“Georgetown Memorial Agent Scully. He’s waiting for you.”

A click as the connection is severed, leaving me half leaning out of the bed as if bringing myself closer to the phone will make the mystery caller miraculously reappear. He doesn’t though, and after a few seconds, the sound of the dialling tone is replaced with a high pitched whine that urges me to replace the handset.

I can’t seem to move though. It’s as though those four words have turned me to stone. I understand their hidden meaning immediately. I’ve been waiting to hear them, every second of every minute of every day for over seven months now. I’ve heard them in my dreams so many times. Been forced from the arms of sleep by the sound of Mulders voice in my head, only to be confronted by an empty room that is darkened by the shadows of night. Darkened by the fact that he isn’t here. I have found myself living my day to day existence hidden behind a wall of steel. Allowing no one to see or understand my innermost feelings. It’s been hard enough just coping with the whispers that follow me along the halls of the Hoover building. Head held high, I have retreated within myself. But it has hurt so much. 

Special Agent Dana Scully MD. Pregnant with Spooky Mulders baby. The fact that he is missing has made little impact on my peers. If anything it has become a great source of amusing speculation for them. With Mulder gone I have finally slipped effortlessly in to the role of Mrs Spooky. A name Tom Colton christened me with so long ago, but one which hadn’t really stuck. Until now that is.

His nameplate still graces the thick hardwood door. His handwriting still categorises the filing cabinets. I have changed very little in the layout of the office. It’s an office I have, these past months, shared with a ghost. The ghost of the man I refused to mourn. So sure was I that he would return. I never stopped believing.

And now, as I stare dumbly at the phone, I realise with a start, that it is finally over.

It’s enough to galvanise me in to action. The extra weight of the baby inside me makes moving quickly difficult at best, but for the first time in weeks, I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet in one fluid movement. My back protests just for a second but the pain is quickly forgotten as I grab my robe from the hook at the back of the door and exit the bedroom.

Heedless of the lateness of the hour, I hurry over to the sofa where my Mother sleeps, wrapped in a heavy quilt to protect her against the chill winter air. I don’t notice the cold though. Because he’s waiting for me.

“Mom?”

She awakens before I have even closed my mouth. Instantly alert as she struggles in to a sitting position.

“What is it honey? Is it the baby?”

I realise my mistake as her eyes widen in anticipation. She has been here in the apartment with me for almost a week now. Insisting that, as I grew nearer to my due date, that I shouldn’t be alone. Not once did she suggest that I should be the one to move in with her. I didn’t need to explain my motives for remaining here for as long as possible. She just knew. She immediately understood that I needed to be here for when Mulder returned and I loved her for it.

Seeking to reassure her that I am indeed okay I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently.

“No, Mom, I’m fine. But I need you to drive me to the hospital. I……..I got a call……and….”

I feel the tears rush to my eyes as I stumble over words that stick in my throat like glue. I’ve waited for this for so long, and now the moment’s here, I can’t bear to acknowledge it. I can’t bear to tempt fate by speaking his name aloud. Because I’m afraid that if I do, I will wake up and realise that this is all a cruel trick of my mind.

But she understands immediately, grasping my hand even as she rises to her feet before me, enveloping me in an awkward hug that calms me immediately.

“It’s Fox isn’t it?”

I can only nod shakily against her shoulder as the tears begin to flow. So much sorrow, so much hope, so much disappointment. I’m not sure I can bear anymore. Not sure I can bear it if this turns out to be a hoax of some kind. But her touch calms me marginally.

“It’s okay sweetie. I’ll get dressed.”

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

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 3:41a.m.

I head through the automatic doors in to the foyer of this vast building. It’s a building I know all too well. Too many visits over the last few years have made it as familiar to me as my own apartment and I skirt around the edges of the humanity which are milling around within its confines in an attempt to get to the admissions desk with as much haste as possible. It’s Sunday morning and the aftermath of Saturday night is still pressing down heavily on the hospital’s resources but despite this, the desk, when I finally reach it, is clear of people.

The nurse behind it raises his eye brows questioningly as I stand before him, his gaze flickering over my burgeoning belly. The fact though that I am seemingly alone, fully dressed and exhibiting all the calm I can muster reassures him immediately that I am not in labour. That my business here is unconnected with the tiny new life I am growing within me.

“Can I help you Ma'am?”

I feel a hand rest gently on the small of my back as my Mother finally caches up with me. With typical practicality, she has been parking the car in the designated long-stay parking area. Like me, she is already sure that one way or the other, this will be a long night. Her presence gives me the courage to open my mouth. Flipping my little used FBI identification out of the pocket of the long, black jacket I wear I hold it in front of him.

“My name is Dana Scully. I have reason to believe that my partner may have been brought in here at sometime during the night.”

The nurse is obviously more in awe of female government Agents than my own work colleagues are because he immediately snaps in to action, tapping a few words in to the computer terminal beside him.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have admissions up now. Can I take the name of your partner please?”

I close my eyes, praying silently to myself even as I feel my baby kick impatiently inside me, almost as though he is urging me to make haste. To take him finally to his father.

“His name is Fox Mulder……….but he may not have been in a condition to give his name. He……….he has been missing for a long time……”

The nurse shakes his head, cutting me off abruptly.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. No one of that name has been admitted tonight…….it’s been a crazy night though…..I could check descriptions of any John Does though if you wanted….”

I manage to flash him a grateful smile despite the worry that is gnawing away at me.

“Yes, please if you would.”

His fingers fly across the keys once again and out of the peripherals of my vision I see a list of figures flash up on the screen in answer to his query. He doesn’t look up at me as he quickly asks me for basic descriptions. Age, height, approximate weight, hair colour possible nature of injury.

I answer quickly, stumbling over his final question and I have to admit to him that I have no idea. Injury could be as insignificant as a cut finger, as mind numbing as a fatality with every possible scenario in between.

Finally, he looks up at me, smiling reassuringly, no doubt in response to both my condition and the fact that I am now gripping the edge of the admissions desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles. No doubt my face is similarly devoid of color.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have four males who have been admitted to the ER in the past twenty-four hours. Two suffering from gunshot wounds…….I’m sorry, but they were pronounced dead shortly after arrival. The other two - both IC one males in their late thirties/early forties, approximately six feet tall are still in the hospital. One suffering from minor concussion and apparent memory loss is unable to furnish us with his personal details at this time. The other……….”

He frowns suddenly as he skims his eyes over the details on the screen.

“The other was admitted three hours ago. But there must be a glitch in the system somewhere. It says here that he was discovered on a gurney. Unconscious and apparently physically unharmed. No admitting information aside from that……….I’m sorry, if you hold here for a minute I’ll try….”

I raise my hand slightly to cut him off.

“That’s him.” I insist ignoring the way his eyes widen in response to my tone and I realise how it must sound. Of course he has no way of knowing that I have more insight in to this than they can ever imagine in their worst nightmares.

“Could you please tell me where he is?”

He shakes his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. It’s standard procedure in cases like these to first ascertain some kind of connection between the John Doe and the relative…….I’m sorry, but you don’t fall in to the criteria of relative……now if you could perhaps furnish us with the details of his next of kin so that a proper identif……”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of heart wrenching uncertainty only to be now held up by bureaucratic red tape. But I have a final card hidden deep within my sleeve, one which this eager young man couldn’t possibly have imagined. FBI Agents or not, we have a connection that will slice effortlessly through the bureaucracy.

“If you would care to check Agent Mulders past medical records you will see that as from January 1997 *I* am listed as his next of kin.”

His expression hovers somewhere between a new kind of respect and out and out disbelief. I’m sure he’s heard the same proclamation a hundred times in the past from desperate individuals searching for their loved ones.

“That might take a couple of minutes to check up on Agent Scully. If you’d like to take a seat for a few minutes, I’ll have someone come down and speak to you.”

I follow the direction in which he waves, seeing row upon row of hard, uncomfortable leather backed chairs. No doubt I would be more comfortable standing, especially now that the baby weighs so heavily on my frame, but I don’t want to make waves so I acquiesce and allow my Mother to lead me away from the admissions area.

We sit, not speaking. I’m not sure that I could at this point. Anticipation has stolen my voice from me. My mouth is dry, my head beginning to throb with the suppressed tension that has been threatening to burst free ever since my telephone rang, tearing me from sleep. It was less than an hour ago. It feels like centuries. But I’m okay. I can get through this. I have to. For Mulder I will remain calm. To start shouting now would only delay what needs to be done in order to see him. Out of a desperate need to do something with my hands, I begin to gently trace circles over my belly with my palms, feeling the solid, reassuring presence of my baby’s tiny rump through my taut skin. Like magic, my breathing slowly returns to normal.

I have waited for so long. I can wait another few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my Mother’s hand reaching across for mine, but instead of grasping it, she simply covers it with hers, smiling gently at me as she too feels the tiny boy who lays, protected within. Not once in the last seven months has she allowed herself to voice the fears she must surly hold. Fears for what might happen if my stubborn assurances that Mulder would indeed return should prove fruitless. Not once has she berated me for not admitting to the intimate relationship Mulder and I shared in those last weeks before he was taken. Not once has she questioned my choices. Not once. She is of course, in the minority.

My eyes are still locked on to the vision of our two hands caressing my baby when the voice cuts in to my thoughts.

“Agent Scully?”

I get to my feet immediately finding myself face to face with a man that I recognise from so long ago.

“Doctor Daley?” my voice must be bordering on incredulous, because he smiles reassuringly at me. Extending his hand which I grasp briefly.

“It’s good to see you Dana,,,,,I was about to ask how you were…..but I see you are indeed blooming. Literally.”

“Thank you. Doctor Daley……..Can you tell me? Is my partner here?”

He releases my hand. Becoming all business once again. But his expression is troubled. I see it clearly in his eyes.

“I’m not sure Dana. When I received the call a few minutes ago telling me you were here, asking after him, it immediately fell in to place. There had been something bothering me about the way we found him, no admission paperwork, no notes on how he came to be there. Just like you were found….but I confess, I never really thought to make the connection. Five years is a long time in a busy hospital Dana…….it’s been a crazy night and…..”

I shake my head. Waving away his apologies.

“It’s okay. I understand, really I do. But I need to see him. Please. Can you take me to him?”

I am holding on to my composure by just a thread now and I know that if he refuses, I will simply push past him and search this damn hospital until I find what I am looking for. The potential consequences of those actions mean nothing to me. Maybe he sees that, because he nods carefully. But there is caution in his tone as he grasps my arm.

“I’ll take you there Dana. But understand that it might *not* be your partner.”

I swallow heavily. Chasing away the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corners of my eyes.

“It’s him.” I whisper. “It has to be.”

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

Two

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 4:01a.m.

I’m a little surprised when I realise that Daley isn’t actually heading in the direction of the ICU. I guess I had been expecting Mulder to be in pretty bad shape. Certainly needing a level of care that could only be found in that most specialised part of the hospital, but I find myself following him along one of the many standard corridors that house the many patients in need of basic nursing.

“I’m sorry Doctor Daley….”

He stops dead at the sound of my voice. The uncertainty is evident even to me as I hear myself questioning him.

“I thought…..I mean, I was told that my partner was unconscious when he was brought in…..I just assumed he would be in the ICU….”

I can clearly see that it’s on the tip of his tongue to remind me that this man *might* not be Mulder, but he swallows the words and instead tells me what I need to hear.

“Yes that’s right. He was indeed unconscious when discovered. But pulse, respiration and temperature were all normal. The ECG came back clear although it’s too early to ascertain if there are any anomalies in his blood work. His condition hasn’t changed since then. We saw no reason to subject him to the rigours of the ICU unless his condition should worsen. We’re monitoring him carefully and so far it hasn’t.”

His explanation should soothe my fears, but inexplicably just hearing it causes my heart to begin hammering painfully in my chest. I have a terrible feeling about all this. It’s a feeling that has been building from the minute I replaced the receiver in my apartment. Maybe it’s a combination of the numbing fatigue I have been feeling lately and the fact that I so badly need all this to work out *right*. Whatever it is, I am scared. So scared right now that I am tempted to spin around and head right back to where I have left my mother. I had wanted, had *needed* to do this alone and she had remained, ensconced in a small, comfortable room specially put aside to house worried relatives. Now though, I wish more than ever that she was here by my side.

But I don’t. I simply nod slightly and drop my eyes from Daley’s. My action prompts him to continue walking and I try to keep pace as best I can. He is a fairly tall man. Not as tall as Mulder, but even so, his strides are worth two of mine.

Finally, he comes to a halt outside a plain, hardwood door. No different from any other door we have passed during this journey. But of course it *is* different. Because behind this door lays an answer that has the ability to lift me skywards with joy or to plunge me back in to the depths of despair. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment and now it’s finally here, I am almost afraid to discover which one it will be.

There have been so many disappointments. So many journeys like this one. A roller coaster ride of anticipation and disappointment. But this time is different. Something deep within me senses it. If pressed, I couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain how I just *know*.

Daley reaches for the door knob, but before he can close his fingers around it I reach out and tug at his arm slightly. He freezes at my touch, but his eyes when they turn to me are clouded with concern.

“Agent Scully?” “I’m sorry. But I need to do this alone.”

He hesitates for just a beat before dropping his hand back to his side. He understands I think. Maybe it’s because of our previous connection. Or maybe he sees the yearning that I am sure is shining in my eyes right now. By allowing me to enter the room of what might be a stranger to me he is breaking Hospital protocol. It’s a fact that hasn’t escaped me. But equally he seems to understand in some small way what I have been through and it prompts him to nod his head slowly, stepping back to allow me access.

I grasp the door knob, the metal cold in my palm but before I turn it I briefly close my eyes. The final step. The final few seconds of waiting. It’s both exquisite and excruciating. But the moment passes quickly and I open the door, stepping over the threshold as I simultaneously open my eyes.

The room itself is shrouded in half light. Dark enough to allow the patient within to remain undisturbed. Bright enough to allow the medical personnel to go about their business. Certainly bright enough for me to see him. The figure on the bed is tall. Eyes closed he appears for all the world as though he is simply sleeping. His breathing is evenly spaced, serene even, his lips slightly parted. Relaxed. But the man on the bed is thin. So painfully thin that I have to look twice to be sure. But then I see it. A glint of gold in the darkness that catches my eye.

The waiting is over. One way or another my desperate search is over. Because it really is him. No more disappointment. He’s been returned to me. In what condition remains to be seen. But he is back and right now I can’t think beyond that.

The image before me blurs and for the first time I am aware of the tears that are streaming down my face. Whether they are of joy or sadness I can’t be sure. Because as I get closer to him I can see what all this has cost him. His dark hair, the same hair I had enjoyed running my fingers through after we made love is now tinged with a smattering of grey. There is evidence of bruising on his face, bruises that, even in the half light, lend an unhealthy tinge to his skin. And he is *thin*. So damn thin. I can see the deep hollows in his cheeks, the way his skin seems to be stretched too tightly across his face. But it doesn’t matter. Because he is there before me. And to me he will always be beautiful.

“Mulder.”

I don’t know why I speak his name. I don’t expect him to respond. But something deep inside me needs to hear it. If only to reassure myself that he is really here. I reach him finally, standing above him, watching my tears fall on to his pale skin until I kneel awkwardly, curling my hand around his as I lower my head to his chest. I hear his heartbeat in my head. Strong and regular it blocks out the sound of my gasping sobs. Until finally, something within me is set free. Something that has held my heart in it’s iron grip for so many long months and I am able to finally cry the tears I have suppressed for so long.

Because he is *here*. Finally I have found him. Finally it’s over.

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

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:18a.m.

“Agent Scully?”

The familiar voice pulls me from the arms of sleep and I am immediately aware of a piercing pain that slices across my back when I try to straighten up.

Skinner hovers above me, his face twisted with anxiety as he recognises my discomfort. It’s an expression I have come to both recognise and appreciate in the months since Mulder was taken. Blaming himself needlessly for Mulders abduction, he has remained by my side, supporting me throughout this time. He has become far more than simply my superior agent. Much more than that he has become a trusted friend. I remember vividly the night he came to my apartment. A little over a week after Mulder disappeared, he had returned from making his report to the OPR revue committee that had been hastily assembled in response to happenings in Oregon. Questions had been asked of Skinner. Demands made that he should explain his actions that night. Veiled threats that he would be held solely responsible.

In response to their questioning, Skinner had calmly recounted the details as he saw them. With no regard for his future position within the Bureau he had placed an official stamp on the work of the X-Files department. He had spoken of things that, only weeks ago he would have dismissed as being fantastic, events that would hold him up for ridicule for the remainder of his career. He had laughed bitterly when he had told me that part. I think we both knew that, whatever the outcome of the revue, his career was now effectively over. They hadn’t believed him of course. This assembled group of respected senior agents had dismissed all but the very basic details of his report. Accused him, as they had accused me in the past, of becoming enchanted with Mulders passionate beliefs, of becoming drawn in to a web of misplaced loyalty and an almost comical paranoia that *they* were indeed out there.

Mulder was officially listed as missing, presumed dead by unknown method. No more to add. No more to say. Skinner had come to me that night a broken man after being forced to retract his statement in order to keep his position within the bureau. Weighed down by an all consuming guilt that he had failed us once again. For the second time in the space of a week, I had seen him weep and the bond between us had strengthened never to be broken as I had held him in my arms, whispering assurances that he hadn’t failed. That I understood his reasons. That, more importantly, Mulder would understand his reasons.

He retained his position as Assistant Director if not his reputation, and in doing so, ensured that I kept my own place within the X-Files. He had handpicked me a new partner who I tolerated out of a sense of loyalty towards this man who had risked everything for Mulder and I. He had allowed me to retain my position even when, officially, I should have been on mandatory maternity leave. Perhaps more importantly, he remained the one person who truly understood what I have been through these past long months since Mulder was taken.

So, to look at him as he stands here now seeing the concern for me radiating from him does not surprise me.

In answer to his unspoken question I attempt a smile which I am pretty sure doesn’t quite come off and finally straighten the kinks out of my back sufficiently to sit up. I notice that my hand still covers Mulder’s. That even in sleep I was unwilling to let him go.

“I’m fine.” I assure him. “I don’t think final trimester pregnancy and bedside vigils really complement each other. I’ve been getting a lot of back pain recently that’s all. It’s normal at this stage of pregnancy.”

I feel Skinner’s hand rest gently against the back of my neck, beneath my hair that has grown longer, softer, over the last few months. It’s now almost the same length it was when I first met Mulder. Longer than I have worn it in years. Like a child who relies on silly superstition, I made a decision not to get it cut until Mulder was returned. Stupid really. Even I don’t understand it. I close my eyes against the pressure of his palm on my skin. This simple gesture of concern and protection that causes my breath to catch in my throat. He has slipped effortlessly in to the role of Father figure. Determined not to fail me as he perceives he failed Mulder, he has hovered on the fringes of my life to ensure my constant well being.

“You shouldn’t be here Scully.”

I nod. I know he’s right. I am in no shape to be doing this. Maybe six months ago I could have handled the physical and mental strain of watching over my partner as he lays before me on the bed, but now, with less than two weeks to go until my due date I should be resting. I should be concentrating all my energies on preparing for the birth of my baby. Of Mulders son. Of bringing him safely in to this world. But the advice that the pragmatic, sensible medical doctor part of my brain gives me is currently far outweighed by a much greater need inside of me. It’s a need that comes straight from my heart and one that I refuse to ignore.

“I know” I answer simply, flicking my gaze back to Mulder for a second before I continue. “But I can’t leave him. Not now.”

The pressure against the back of my neck increases slightly and without even looking around, I sense he understands. My belief is only compounded when he immediately switches his attention to Mulder, choosing not to get in to a discussion he knows he won’t win.

“How is he?”

Now there’s a question if ever there was one. I’ve been asking myself that very same question all night and in the cold light of day I am none the wiser. I have endlessly questioned the medical personnel who have drifted in and out of the room during the hours I have been here. Read the charts that hang from the end of the bed so many times I almost know them by heart.

Temperature normal. Pulse normal. Respiration normal. Blood work normal. Brain patterns normal.

Everything about him is so *normal* I could scream with frustration. If there were a reason for this I could accept it. But there is nothing to go on, nowhere to turn. He is slightly dehydrated. Malnourished. But those things are slowly being rectified with the insertion of canulars in his arm that are feeding him a steady dose of high dosage glucose. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, whether desperate hope is clouding my medical judgement, but it seems to me that just the tiniest hint of color has returned to his skin. But still he sleeps. On and on. Unmoving. His pupils react to light stimulant. His reflexes are alert and active. He flinches slightly when subjected to localised pain. But that is where it ends. I have talked constantly to him throughout the night. I believe he can hear me, can recognise the sound of my voice, and I have told him of our son, my voice breaking as I implore him not to give up. That he has so much to live for now. Maybe he hears me. Maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. Because I have to believe that he does. But still he continues to sleep.

So I find myself unable to answer Skinner’s question. How can I explain this to him when I can’t explain it to myself. So I just shake my head numbly.

“I don’t know. There is no medical explanation for why he should be like this. All we can do is wait.”

A cloud passes across Skinner’s face and my eyes narrow slightly at the sight. It’s a look I have come to recognise well over the years. It’s the same look he used to unsuccessfully try to hide when confronted with a dilemma in the way he managed Mulder and I. A look that suggested he was wrestling with his conscience over giving us information that might spell disaster for all of us and the sight of it causes a cold shudder to work its way down my spine. I feel like someone has dumped ice water in to my bones.

“What is it?”

He works his mouth slightly, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth as he regards me in front of him. The silence stretches between us, the atmosphere in the room becoming charged, crackling almost as if laden with electricity. I feel the tiny hairs on my arms prickling as gooseflesh chases away my warmth. And I am suddenly scared. So scared of what he is about to say to me. Even more so as his eyes involuntarily drop to settle on my belly. Almost unconsciously my free hand goes there. Fingers spreading as though in an attempt to protect the child within.

“Sir?”

Until finally, he speaks.

“I received a call. About Mulder. About *you*. They…..they want to make a deal.”

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

Three

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:06a.m.

My eyes widen as the true meaning of Skinner’s words settle over me like a death sentence. It’s so quiet in here. Only the sound of Mulder’s breathing suggests that there are people in here at all. I don’t think I’m breathing right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever breathe again. Time is standing still. Before me, Skinner remains, his impenetrable gaze is locked with mine as he allows me a moment to process. But how can I possibly process this? I had thought it was over. Have I really allowed myself to become so naive as to think that they were finished with us? That they would allow us to live out the simple pleasures that others take for granted? So stupid. I’ve been so stupid for so long.

“Who?”

My voice is barely above a whisper now and I am sure that under normal circumstances, Skinner would have a hard time catching the single word. But the room is quiet and it cuts through the silence to hang between us like a swirling leaf caught in an autumn breeze. I don’t know why I’m even asking him. I already know the answer.

Admittedly I don’t know their names. These shadowy men who have ruled Mulder and I for so long. The men who have taken away those that we love as though they were simply pawns in a game. The most precious parts of our lives as expendable and insignificant as a fly caught in a trap.

“You know who Dana.”

Skinner drops on to his haunches beside me. His face only bare inches from mine I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. His voice is so gentle I could weep. Or scream. Or both.

I close my eyes against the sight of Mulder. And for the first time since I entered this room, I pray that he can’t hear me. Because the thought of him hearing my words that before had comforted me in some small way, now fills me with horror. So I struggle against the fatigue, as I attempt to get to my feet, shrugging off Skinner’s hand as he offers unspoken assistance.

“I can do it myself!”

For a second I feel guilt as hurt briefly flares in his eyes. But I don’t want his help. I hate feeling this weak, this vulnerable. I want to be back to the way I was before all this. I want to be back to laying in Mulders arms as we made whispered plans for the future. Watching him sleep, his face tinged golden by the coming of dawn as he lay in my arms. Comfortable. Safe. *Protected* And for the first time in so many years we had allowed ourselves to believe that somehow, together, we might make everything right again. Like children we had *believed*. And like children, we had come to realise once again that life can never be what we want it to be. That there is always danger lurking around corners. Oh yeah, we had become vulnerable. We had made ourselves vulnerable. Our new found happiness had opened doors for them once again. We should have known. *I* should have known.

I reach across and trace my hand along Mulders jaw line, down his neck until I reach the thin strand of gold that encircles it, fingering the delicate cross that has remained with him through all this. I had been surprised to find it there. If only because the hospital had allowed it to remain. But when I questioned one of the nurses regarding its presence she had simply smiled and shrugged. He had appeared at the hospital with nothing. Naked beneath the blanket that had covered him as he lay on the gurney, they had thought it only appropriate that he should not be severed from the only item that might be a comfort to him. And so they had allowed it to remain. Bright and vibrant against his pale skin.

I lay the cross back down slowly. Arranging it so that it touches the hollow of his throat and slowly, with difficulty, I bend down to press my lips against his own. His lips are dry, chapped, but to me it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. I remain there for as long as I dare. Conscious of both the pain in my back and of Skinners eyes boring in to me. Finally, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes, I straighten up once more. Turning to face my superior I know that my face is set. Determined. Unfeeling. I effortlessly rebuilt my walls. Walls that Mulder had begun to chip away and I wonder now if I will ever let them crumble again.

“Let’s go.”

I pick up my discarded jacket, pulling it on even as I sweep past Skinner. I exit the room without looking back because I know that to look back now would spell disaster.

***********

Arlington Virginia 11:08a.m.

“Why have you brought me here?”

I turn my horrified eyes towards Skinner as he coasts the car to a gentle halt in front of the red brick building I know so well. Following Mulders disappearance I found myself drifting here at odd times of the day and night, drifting through the rooms within his apartment. Inhaling his scent. Consumed with memories as I just sat on his couch, staring in to space. I guess if someone were to push me, I would have to admit that back then, I was suffering from a low grade depression. But no one ever did. I hid it well I think. I doubt even Skinner could have imagined the depths of my despair. He would no doubt be horrified to learn that I had spent many hours here with helpless tears streaming down my face as I was forced to admit to myself that no amount of investigation, no amount of searching was going to bring Mulder back. I played a waiting game. It was all I could do. All they had left me.

But I haven’t been here for weeks. Not really out of choice. There have been nights were I have yearned to make the trip over here, but as my pregnancy progressed I found the simple act of driving more and more difficult. Misplaced pride prevented me from asking my Mother to drive me over here. Not that I thought she wouldn’t understand. I think maybe she would understand better than anyone else, but I didn’t want to admit the need to her that I just wanted to be near to him. In whatever way I could.

So, I have stayed away. Relying on my memories of him to see me through. Until now that is. And despite my need to walk those empty rooms again I don’t want to be here. Not like this. *Never* like this.

Skinner kills the engine and sits for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel lightly. The sound cuts through the silence like a knife.

“I was directed to bring you here.”

I wait for him to elaborate, to explain further. But the silence stretches between us, engulfing the cramped interior of the car and when I can take it no longer I twist angrily in my seat to face him.

“Why here? Why now?”

My voice is harsh, the words ragged and I realise angrily that I am once again dangerously close to tears. Skinner’s expression crumples slightly at my tone and I know that I am wrong to be taking this out on him. He’s become a pawn, just like me. Following orders to stay alive. Allowing himself to used as they have used us all along.

“Don’t you know?” He questions softly.

And I blink, because of course I know. They’ve summoned me here because it is where I will be at my most vulnerable. Surrounded with memories of Mulder I will be more easily manipulated, more willing to agree to their demands. It scares me to realise how well they know me. How well they know us both.

“What do they want?”

Skinner shrugs, dropping his eyes from mine for the barest of seconds. It’s enough to tell me that his next words are a lie.

“I don’t know”

A lie to protect me maybe. To prevent me from directing him to turn the car around and head back to Mulder. My touchstone. The one who I have always relied on to make everything right. Whatever his reasons, I am astute enough to realise that there will be no more information forthcoming. We’ve reached a dead end. Nothing more to say. Nowhere else to go. Everything that has occurred in our lives over the last seven years has been heading to this point. More than ever I am sure of it. All along they have known they would win. That one way or another they would get what they wanted. My baby kicks inside me, the movement causing me to catch my breath as a wave of nausea passes over me and a voice inside my head screams out at me to stop this while I still can. To refuse to follow this thing through. To go far away from this place. To keep my baby safe. The vision of Mulder though is pushing at my heart, crowding the space that has been empty for so long and I pray that I am strong enough to do this thing right. Because deep down I know what they want. I think I have always feared that there will be no happy ending for us. No fairy tale vision of a cosy family inside a warm, safe home.

Oh no. A scenario like that belongs to other people. To *normal* people. But not to us.

So, instead, I square my shoulders as best I can. Preparing myself to confront the unimaginable that I am sure is waiting for me inside that warm brick building. To face my demons this one final time. To confront my fate.

I nod my head, the movement almost imperceptible and lock my eyes with Skinner’s. My voice, when it reaches my ears, seems to belong to someone else.

“I’m ready.”

**********

I use my key to let us in to Mulders apartment. I ignore Skinner’s raised eyebrows as I fit it in to the lock. I think maybe he was expecting me to knock. To request permission before entering. It’s something I absolutely refuse to do. Maybe it’s out of defiance towards the men who have controlled my life for so long. It’s childish I know, but just for a second I feel a sense of satisfaction that they haven’t cowed me completely.

The satisfaction though, is short lived. Replaced quickly by a sense of repulsion so strong it overwhelms me. The vestibule of Mulders apartment is fogged with a hazy layer of acrid blue smoke. It catches the sun’s rays which stream through the window at the opposite end of the room. A swirling haze that assaults my senses and brings tears to my eyes.

And then I see him, rising to his feet in the fog. A shambling figure dressed in a sharply pressed grey suit he smiles benignly at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that reminds me absurdly of the kindly rat in the wind in the willows books from my long ago childhood. But beneath those wrinkled folds of skin his eyes glitter dangerously. Grey, cold, unfeeling they pierce me to my core. He exhales, sending a stream of cigarette smoke in to the already clogged atmosphere.

I’m aware that my mouth has dropped open as I stand there stupidly. Because whatever I was expecting it wasn’t this. Not even in my deepest nightmares could I have imagined I would ever have to face this man again. I was told he was dead. Naively I had believed. Had rejoiced in the passing off this man who has stolen so much from me.

He takes a step forward, then another, coming closer as it becomes obvious to him that I have no intention of moving. And he’s still smiling. Smiling as his gaze rests on my belly. It’s an absurdly paternal expression, and just seeing him causes bile to burn in the back of my throat. He comes to a halt just inches away from me, bringing the cigarette once again to his weathered lips, drawing deeply before exhaling. I want so much to hold his gaze, return his gentle smile with all the hate I can muster. But almost involuntarily, I turn my head away from the deadly poison that streams from his slightly parted mouth. Protecting my baby. The notion seems ironic now.

“Dana. It’s good to see you again. You look well……….or should I say blooming?”

His words snap me sharply back to reality and before I can stop to think of the potential consequences I bring up my right hand and deliver a stinging blow to the side of his face. He barely flinches although anger briefly flares in his eyes. A faint, red blush spreads across his cheek where my hand made contact but he doesn’t falter. He remains there. Standing before me until finally he chuckles. The sound cuts through me like a knife and it scares me to know that if I were carrying my gun I would have no compunction in pulling it out and blowing a hole straight through the bastard’s eyes.

“Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for.” He offers, his tone tinged with a trace of the anger I had recognised briefly.

It’s mingled though with such condescension that I find myself clenching my fists by my side in an effort not to strike him again. Only the feel of Skinner’s hands that settle on my shoulders prevent me.

“It’s okay Scully. It’s okay.”

I shake my head numbly.

*Okay?* How is anything ever going to be *okay* ever again? It’s unthinkable that this is heading anywhere other than towards heartbreak. Surly he knows enough to realise that.

The smoking man chuckles once again.

“Well, well, it would appear that the two of you have become rather closer than we envisaged. I’m surprised at you Dana. What would Agent Mulder think?”

This time, it is Skinner who stiffens. I feel his fingers dig in to the skin of my shoulders. Pain flares briefly as he attempts to hold on to his composure. Later on I will undress and see the evidence of his anger in the form of perfectly formed bruises. But right now I barely acknowledge it.

“What do you want?”

I am more than a little surprised when I hear my voice. It comes out strong. Steady. determined. I have no idea where I am drawing this facade of calm from. Because I am as tense as a tightly coiled spring. Ready to shatter in to a million pieces right in front of him.

He gestures his hand towards the living room he so recently vacated.

“Let’s sit shall we?”

I hold my head up high. Attempting to grow in stature. To bring myself more on a level with him, folding my arms across my chest as I sweep past him with all the grace I can muster. Grace doesn’t come easily now. Not now I am so weighed down by the final stages of pregnancy, but for once I am able to retain my posture. Ramrod straight I swing around to face him once more.

“I’d rather stand.”

He shrugs.

“As you wish Dana. I hope though that you’ll forgive me if I take my own advice. Agent Mulders couch is…..comfortable. But then you already know that don’t you?”

And then it hits me. Like a bolt from the blue I understand. He knows *everything*. He is privy to the most personal aspects of my life. He has known from the very beginning when Mulder and I finally answered the need inside of us to turn to each other. Did they watch us through impassive eyes on grainy, low resolution surveillance tapes? Listen to the murmured words we had shared during lovemaking? Reducing our love in to something sordid. Rejoicing at the fact that they had found something else to use against us. The thought sickens me. It sickens me to think that they have known all along.

He watches me shrewdly as the emotions course through me even as I try my hardest to cloak them from him. Refusing even now to let him take anything more from me.

“What do you want?”

I finally throw the demand at him. Anticipation at his answer already prompting a light tremor to run through my body. But instead of answering, his eyes take on a far away look. When finally I think I can bear it no longer, he begins to speak softly.

“It was never meant to happen this way Dana. Like so many things in life it didn’t turn out the way we planned. Another one of life’s ironies. So many ironies don’t you think? We planned so carefully but once again Mulder prevailed, thwarting our efforts unknowingly.”

I shake my head. He isn’t making sense to me.

“I don’t understand.”

“No. But then you wouldn’t. I barely understand it myself. The power we wield has long been a mystery to me. I am a small part in a much larger plan Dana. Smaller than you can ever imagine…”

I cut him off then. Throwing cheap insults that provide nothing other than a brief feeling of satisfaction.

“I’ve never imagined you to be anything other than *small.* Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smiles at my embittered words.

“You still have fire Dana. I admire you for that. I always have…..it’s why we partnered you with Mulder. Even back then we knew that we had made the right choice. Of course it took a little longer than we anticipated for you both to come to recognise the need between you we had always hoped for. But we were content to wait. Ultimately, you didn’t disappoint us.”

“What? What are you talking about?!”

To the side of me I see Skinner shift his position slightly. Obviously uncomfortable as to where this is leading and *then* I understand. He knows. He’s always known. The betrayal I feel is so acute that I am having difficulty remaining in a standing position. But I won’t crumble. Not now. I will see this through to the bitter end.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you *understand* yet? Pairing you with Mulder was carefully orchestrated. We needed someone with whom he would feel he had found a kindred spirit. Someone he would learn to trust….learn to love. Someone he would gladly give his life for. As I said, it took a little longer than we envisaged. But eventually our patience was rewarded.”

His eyes drop once more to my belly.

“In more ways than one, we were rewarded.”

Pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, he pauses as he fits one between his lips. Watching as he thumbs his lighter in to life I find that I am suddenly fixated on the bright orange blaze of light as it ignites. Like a moth I find myself drawn to the flame. He settles back on the couch and draws deeply before continuing.

“Do you have any idea how precious the offspring of Fox Mulder is to the project Dana? Do you have any idea? The *potential* for mankind such a child would broker is beyond the rational thought of most men. We’ve known for a long time that Mulder might hold the key to unlock the secrets of a conundrum that has puzzled us for years. His father knew it of course. That’s why he refused to surrender his son to the project. Why he chose Samantha instead.”

I hear his words, but I can’t make sense of them. I don’t understand. I hear the blood pounding in my ears, making it difficult to concentrate. What he’s suggesting is impossible. To suggest that I was partnered with Mulder in the hope that one day we might come together to provide them with a child who might provide all the answers is ridiculous. I am staring across at the man who, along with others, conspired to take me from Mulder more than once. Giving me a disease that almost took my life. Leaving me barren in their pursuit for the greater truth as they took what was most precious to me. I am almost afraid to answer him. That by doing so I may be throwing myself open to even greater hurt.

“That’s impossible. What you’re implying is ridiculous. I was led to believe I was barren. *You* did that to me. During my abduction. We have documentation to prove that….medical records. Reports……”

“Then explain your pregnancy to me Dana. You’re a medical doctor after all. Explain it to me so I can understand how an infertile woman can be standing in front of me nurturing a new life as you are doing……..”

“I can’t!”

My head is throbbing now. Perfectly synchronised with the rapid beating of my heart I feel it like a hammer with every pulse. I feel sick and I just want to flee back to Mulder. I want him to wrap his arms around me, to whisper assurances that it’s going to be all right. I want to block all of this out. To pretend it’s not happening. But my prayers go unanswered as he continues. On and on I hear his voice.

“I *gave* you that baby Dana. We came to understand that our hopes would come to fruition only by turning back to natural means. So much science at our finger tips, and yet we suffered failure after failure. Children that lived a few hours, a few months…even, on a few occasions, *years* before they withered and died. *Your* children Dana. Yours and Mulder’s. Until we came to understand that what was required would never be found in a laboratory. That the missing link was *you*…….but make no mistake - that baby belongs to *us*…….”

The room begins to spin as the full meaning of his words slam in to me with the force of a runaway roller coaster. This is a nightmare. Please God let this be a nightmare. I feel the tears streaming down my face, the sight of him before me blurring, melding his features together like running tallow.

This can’t be happening.

A *plan*? A game from the beginning? The outcome assured?

“You’re lying” I finally manage through the hitching sobs that threaten to wrench me apart. I want so much to shout at him, but the words come out as little more than a strangled whimper.

There is sympathy in his voice now and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it out.

“Why would I lie Dana? What could I hope to gain? I already have what I want.”

I take a stumbling step backwards in a futile attempt to get away from him. But there is nowhere to run and through the fog that has invaded my vision I see him rise before me. He is still smiling, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

“I come to you today Dana to offer you a choice. To give us willingly what we would otherwise have simply taken. A final act of patriotism towards a country you have already given so much to. In return, we will allow you and Mulder to simply walk away. To continue your lives. To rebuild all that has been torn away from you. A final price to pay before gaining release…….”

I slam my palms to cover my ears. A gesture so desperate, so violent, that I almost lose my footing. In the peripherals of my vision I see Skinner heading towards me as though in slow motion.

“NO! I will never let you take my baby…….”

Another step towards me, his lips stretched across yellowing teeth. For the first time I notice the ragged, puckered circle of flesh at the hollow of his throat.

“I don’t expect you to make your choice now of course. Before you decide I think it only prudent to let you know what you’ve been missing these past months. What you *will* miss should you make the wrong choice… I’m sure after speaking with Agent Mulder you will make a balanced decision………”

It is growing darker now. A dizzying sense of vertigo taking me over. Sickeningly, the room begins to spin as I feel the ground slipping beneath me. My last conscious thought is of Skinners arms around me as I begin falling towards nothingness.

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

FOUR

12:13p.m.

I fight against the darkness that consumes me. I am aware of gentle hands against my face, stroking softly as my eyes flutter open. For just a second I allow myself to imagine that the touch is Mulders. That the voice I hear, drawing me once again into consciousness belongs to him.

“Mulder?”

I blink rapidly, struggling against the hands that are now restraining me firmly, refusing to let me rise up in to sitting position.

“Ssssshhhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Don’t try to move.”

Not Mulders that voice.

I am disorientated for a few seconds, unable or unwilling to understand why I am laying here on the hard, cold wooden floor. More confused still by the sight of my superior’s hovering face me as he kneels beside me. And then I inhale deeply, feeling my throat close up as the lingering scent of acrid smoke invades my senses. *Him*.

Despite Skinner’s restraining hand I struggle in to a sitting position, glancing wildly around the room. A room that now appears empty.

“Where is he?” I demand. I’m not surprised by Skinner’s response.

“He’s gone. He left a little over five minutes ago. He said he would contact you this evening……to further discuss…….to discuss……”

He falters then and I can clearly recognise the strain in his voice. The tears that linger dangerously close to the surface pushing their way through his normally strong facade.

“I’m sorry Scully. I’m so sorry……”

I allow him to help me to my feet. Not because I want his help but because I know that I would never make it up there by myself. Finally, I face him accusingly.

“You knew? All this time you knew?”

His eyes widen with horror as my accusation sinks in and he involuntarily backs up a couple of steps. Widening the gap between us until it seems as wide as a ravine. I watch as he gropes for the right words. Does he really believe that mere *words* can make this right?

“In the beginning. I admit I knew in the beginning that they wanted a distraction for Mulder……" 

He gesticulates helplessly, his hands waving in the air as he implores me to believe him.

”….but I never knew the reasons *why*. I swear to you Scully. I swear I never knew about *this.*……..“

I am in no mood to listen to him though. My head is still pounding and that, coupled with a spreading feeling of nausea has left me feeling used up and vulnerable. I don’t want to hear his pathetic excuses. I only need one thing from him now.

“Give me your keys.”

“What?”

I take a step towards him, extending my hand in front of me, palm up.

“I said give me your fucking keys.”

“Scully *please*. You’re in no condition to drive. Let me help you…….”

There is such hopeless yearning in his voice that I almost falter. I *believe* him you see. I believe that just like me, he has been played in all this. And maybe one day, I will draw from deep inside myself and forgive him. But that day isn’t here yet. Right now I can barely even bring myself to look at him.

“You want to *help* me?” I laugh then, the sound ringing hollowly in my ears. “I think *sir* that you’ve helped me enough. Now give me your keys.”

His eyes take on a peculiar sheen as they become moistened with unshed tears. But in his defence he is big enough not to allow them to spill over. And for that I silently thank him, because I know that I couldn’t bear to see him weep again. He’s shed enough tears to last him a lifetime. We all have. He doesn’t speak again. He simply reaches in to his jacket pocket and removes the keys, dropping them in to my outstretched hand without ever meeting my eyes. I, in turn, close my hand around them, feeling the jagged edges of metal digging in to my palm. I welcome the pain. It reminds me I am still alive.

“*Thank you*”

Without another word I spin around and head for the door, trying in vain to ignore the sound of Skinner’s harsh breathing as he tries in vain to hold on to his composure. He doesn’t follow me though. He wouldn’t dare.

My cel phone begins to trill even before I have completely exited the apartment. I hardly need to even answer it. I already know what the news will be. But, I go through the motions, depressing the send button as I continue along the corridor towards the elevator.

“Scully.”

“Dana honey…..it’s Mom. Where are you sweetie? I tried you at home but there was no answer….”

“It’s okay mom. I’m on my way back to the hospital now. Is there something wrong?”

I ask this redundant question out of a need to play by the rules. But as my mother’s joyful voice crackles across the airwaves I am filled with despair. It has invaded every corner of my being. All consuming in it’s ferocity as I close my eyes against her words. Knowing that the news she sends me is a cruel deception.

“Dana? Dana honey? Did you hear what I said?”

I snap back in to the here and now.

“Sorry mom, you broke up back then. Say again?”

She is laughing now.

“Oh Dana! It’s Fox…he’s awake….and he’s asking for you.”

“I’ll be right there mom.”

I look at the phone held in my hand, clenched tightly enough to whiten my knuckles as though it alone is to blame for all this, and suddenly, the fury builds in me. Boils up to the surface, refusing to be suppressed any longer.

There is a splintering crash as I hurl the phone against the door of one of Mulders neighbours. Small pieces of black plastic fly through the air as the phone disintegrates with the force of my anger. But it feels good. So damn good to destroy as we have been destroyed. I half expect someone to appear in the hallway in response to the sudden noise. But it remains empty. It’s the middle of the day after all. There is no reason for anyone to hear the effects of my fury. Nonetheless, I am conscious that to be confronted now would mean more delay. I can’t afford delays now.

Not now that Mulder is waiting for me. Not when I have no idea as to how long.

**********

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 12:56p.m.

I don’t know really how I managed to get here in one piece. I have no recollection whatsoever of the drive over here. Thankfully, some inane sense of preservation must have taken over, because I made the trip without mishap.

I am almost afraid to be here. To see Mulder, to share precious time with him, only to have him taken away from me again is almost impossible to bear. But I *am* here. I hear the sound of my footsteps reverberating around the corridor as I make my way to his room and they comfort me in some small way.

I have decided, subconsciously on the way over here, that I can’t tell him of what I have learned. To burden him with this is both unfair and essentially futile. Of course, there is a small voice inside of me that reminds me constantly that the real reason I refuse to share this with him is that I am afraid of what he will say. Deep down I know that he will choose the life of his child over his own. The choice, that for me seems an impossible one, will become starkly simplistic to him. To him there will be no choice to make. And I am afraid that he will persuade me. As he has persuaded me of so many things in the past.

I pause outside his door. Breathing deeply as I attempt to arrange my features in to an expression of calm serenity. Preparing myself to face him. To lie to him as we have been lied to so many times before. I hate myself for it. For what I am to keep from him.

But finally, I am able to push open the final barrier that separates us, stepping over the threshold until I am standing in the brightness of the room. Sunlight streams through the open blinds, glaringly bright. But I have no trouble seeing him. It takes the tinniest fraction of a second for our eyes to find each other, locking together with such intensity it takes my breath away. He looks so pale, so thin, so frail as he watches me from across the room. He is slightly raised on the bed. Not sitting up exactly, but not laid flat like he was earlier. It allows me to see his face. To evaluate what I see there and my eyes fill with tears as I see the wonder in his face.

My mother, who is currently keeping a vigil by his bedside, rises suddenly, bending slightly toward the man beside her as she touches his arm gently. She murmurs something to him that, from my position across the room I can’t make out. But Mulder tears his eyes from mine for just a fraction of a second to acknowledge her words before turning them back to me.

I feel my Mother’s hand on my shoulder as she squeezes gently on her way out. Leaving us alone to make this most precious of reunions with no distraction. No onlookers.

And then finally he speaks. His voice reaching me like a sweet summer breeze.

“Scully.”

Just hearing it, that same voice that has tortured me through long, lonely, desperate nights, allows me to finally move across to him. I am unaware of the journey. Unaware of anything until I feel his arms around me. Embracing me fiercely as he holds me against him as I half stand, half kneel beside the bed. We don’t speak. Not for the longest time. It’s enough for me to listen to the sound of his heartbeat against mine. To inhale the familiar scent of him that, despite his time here, the hospital has not managed to completely eradicate. Nothing exists for me now except him. I never fully realised how incomplete I was without him until he was taken from me. Never realised that without him by my side I am only half a person. A pathetic excuse for a Human being. And I shudder as the full weight of my choice hits me once again. It pierces my heart, invades my very core, because how can I choose? How can I live without him?

The thought is chased away for a minute as Mulder pushes me away from him, cupping my face tenderly in his two hands until our faces are level, inches apart. He slowly brings me back towards him and presses his lips to mine, hesitantly almost, then more urgent and I gasp as snakes out his tongue to trace a line across them. Opening my mouth to allow him access I relish the feel of him inside my mouth as we finally become one again.

It is so excruciatingly painful I could scream. To be allowed this one glimpse of what I have - of what could be between us, stops my very heart beating. I actually feel it cease in its steady rhythm, and I know Mulder feels it too, because he pulls his mouth from mine, kissing his way up my face before drawing me on to the bed beside him. I am turned slightly away from him, at an angle that now makes it impossible for him to see my face and for that I am thankful, because I feel his palm press against my belly as he feels his child within.

“I didn’t believe them Scully. I’m sorry. I should have believed.”

His voice is so full of childlike wonderment that I can’t hold on to the tears any longer, and I lace my fingers over his as he holds me against him. I feel his other hand reach up to cup my head, resting it against his shoulder as I curl myself in to him. he buries his face in my hair and I feel his breathe against me, warm and soft as he whispers soft words. Comforting words.

“Ssssshhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

His words though, instead of comforting me, only cause to intensify my pain. Because I know that nothing will ever be okay again. To hear his voice, to feel his touch against my skin is like torture. Because I know that whatever happens, we will never be the same again. How could we be?

So I don’t answer him. I simply bury my head further in to him, shaking it slightly as I do so.

“It’s all right Scully. It’s okay. There are other ways.”

My eyes fly open at his whispered assurance. Did I speak the words aloud? Did I allow myself to voice my fears despite my promises to myself? I already know the answer though. It goes against everything I believe in, but I realise suddenly that the words did indeed remain unspoken. I twist around to face him, drinking in the image of him before me, frowning as a tiny smile graces the edges of his beautiful mouth.

“There are other ways Scully.” He repeats as he brings my hand, still entwined with his, slowly upwards until it rests at the back of his neck. 

My fingers come to rest on the tiny, ridge of puckered tissue. Just the tiniest bump beneath. I know what lurks beneath it. A chip. No doubt identical to my own. Controlling him. Controlling and cataloguing his every thought and feeling. His every action. Just as it controls mine.

A ticking time bomb that can never be diffused.

But what he is suggesting is unthinkable. To remove it would bring about a death sentence on him. A slow, lingering, painful death. I know. Oh yeah. I *know*.

I shake my head.

“Mulder no. We’ll find another way……”

He continues to smile even as he runs a finger down my cheek.

“Do you trust me Scully?”

I don’t answer him. I don’t need to. He already knows.

“Then you have to trust me on this. I’ve seen things. I understand now where I didn’t before….and whatever they say to you, whatever they try to do, you have to *trust* me……”

His eyes are beginning to droop slightly and my heart twists painfully as I realise that our time together is short. He realises it too I think, because his words become faster, laced with an urgency I recognise so well.

“You have to remove them Scully. You have to remove *both* of them………”

“But……”

“No. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. You can save us Scully….you can save all three of us.”

He presses his hand once more to my belly, and I feel my baby kick, as though he is responding to the feel of his father. An invisible connection already established. Flesh and blood. Mulders son.

He is becoming heavy in my arms, slipping towards sleep again, slipping away from me and I have to lean in close to catch his final words.

“Go to Skinner. He knows what to do……..trust him Scully. trust him as you trust me…….”

Tears slip down my cheeks as once more, he closes his eyes. They roll unchecked down my face, crossing to Mulders pale skin where they glisten softly in the light. He is heavy. So heavy and I am not sure for how much longer I can remain here, holding him in my arms. But before I lay him down I press my lips to his, feeling the cool softness of him as I murmur my assurance to him.

“I trust you Mulder. I’ll always trust you.”

Finally, I lay him against the pillow again. Allowing myself the luxury of watching him before I get shakily to my feet. I know what to do now. The choice has been made. Mulder has made my choice.

I only pray it is the *right* one.

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

FIVE

It’s all happened so quickly. Even I have been amazed by the speed in which Skinner has allowed things to happen.

I left Mulder at the hospital and sought him out. He was surprised to see me. I could see the relief shining in his eyes as I stepped over the threshold of his apartment, my shoulders set with a new kind of determination. Don’t get me wrong - I found it hard to trust him. The hardest thing I have ever had to do. But the choice was made for me. Mulder had, with just a few words, allied my fears and brought everything in to focus.

We didn’t speak of anything more than inconsequential things in his apartment. Skinner isn’t stupid. He knows all too well the lengths these men will go to gather their information and is all too aware that what we all once took for granted is now an impossible luxury. He has his apartment regularly swept for bugging devices. It has become as normal for him as taking out the trash and I know the last time he ordered the sweep, his apartment came up clear.

But how long does it take to plant a surveillance device? A minute? An hour? It’s a risk we weren’t prepared to take.

So we left. In the great tradition of a million bad cop shows we ‘took a walk’. I watched our breath combine in the freezing air as we planned. Or rather, I should say, Skinner furnished me with the details of *Mulders* plans.

He hardly paused as he told me of the measures he had taken to keep us safe, to keep *me* safe should anything ever happen to him. I was both touched and a little afraid by the amount of trust my partner had placed in this man, but as Skinner spelled it out to me I slowly began to draw closer to him once again. Past digression forgotten as he drew me down beside him on a bench when I began to tire of our constant motion.

Two years ago, Mulder had come to him. Had furnished him with the details of an elaborate plan that would thwart even the most determined efforts of the men who sought to destroy us. Did he know even back then their true purpose? Had he seen things I couldn’t imagine even in my worst nightmares? So many questions that pounded at my skull. Questions I couldn’t possibly hope to answer.

And I learned so much that day. Learned things about Mulder I had never suspected. Not even for a second could I imagine the secrets he stored away in his heart. Secrets designed to protect me. Sitting on the bench with Skinner I learned that Mulder is a wealthy man. Not simply comfortable enough to furnish his life with the material possessions of the rich. No. That day I learned that my partner of seven years - the man who lives his life in a shabby apartment, the man who occasionally aims a well placed kick in the general direction of a video recorder that is less than reliable - is wealthy enough to have put the wheels in motion that, should this day ever come, we could be taken care of.

A house in Canada. Set in acres of it’s own grounds. Far enough away from the scrutiny of nosey neighbours but close enough to major amenities to make our lives easier.

A bank account with enough resources to ensure that, should we choose, we will not have to work for a living for the rest of our lives.

To hear Skinner quietly spelling it out to me was overwhelming in itself. To know that Mulder has been secretly putting the wheels in motion to ensure our survival was enough to bring a lump to my throat. And overwhelming as it was, his next words had shaken me to the core.

New identities. New lives.

A *safe* life.

But the cost is enormous.

To leave all that which is most precious to us. To walk away never to return. Because I know we can never return. To do that would spell disaster. A year, five years, *decades* from now they would still be waiting for us. Waiting to claim our baby for their own.

But we would have each other. Together we could weather the heartache such action would bring. I know it. Mulder knew it. Even before we admitted our true feelings to each other he was astute enough to realise that our hearts and minds entwined a long time ago. Enough to know that we could do this.

So, just three short days ago, I allowed Skinner to bring Mulders plan to fruition. He refused to allow me to return to the hospital. Instead, he immediately rented a car and drove me to a small cabin in the Virginia countryside. He left me there, in front of a fire he insisted on lighting to keep me warm before turning on his heel and exiting this small, safe oasis in the middle of a forest. I sat, unmoving, watching the flames dance in the gloom of the winter evening, casting orange shadows on the rough log walls of the cabin. Occasionally I would lean forwards, just enough to add more fuel to the fire, to keep the fire bright. To warm my partner when Skinner finally brought him to me.

But I was scared. So scared. Because before he left he handed me a thick file of papers. The deeds to the house. The paperwork necessary for me to follow Mulders plans through. Everything I would need to simply take my baby and disappear. I knew his reasons even if he didn’t voice them to me. Simply, he gave me a salvation, somewhere to run to should he and Mulder not make it here. And despite the warmth of the fire I felt chilled at the prospect.

But my fears, this time at least had proved groundless. Because as the darkness had cloaked the tiny cabin my prayers had been answered.

Three dao which now seem like a lifetime.

Lost in thought, I stand, looking out in to the forest, watching the sunlight rays filtering through the trees. The sunshine though is an illusion, because last night the temperature dipped, the air cold enough to cause a thin sheet of ice to form across the cabin’s windows. I woke up this morning to a view of the surrounding area that was cloaked in a thick frost. So beautiful it took my breathe away and I was heartened that I could still appreciate the beauty around me in the face of so much heartbreak. I still am.

I tense suddenly as I feel a presence behind me. I wait for his touch. To feel his palm at the small of my back. I am not disappointed. I know him. I know his every action, his every thought. Not in a literal sense maybe, but more in the way we have come together again. And I know his next words before he even has time to utter them.

“It’s time to go Scully.”

I turn then to face him. Scrutinising him for signs of fatigue. For signs that his recovery is not as complete as I hope it is. But I see nothing there. My fears, so far are groundless. He has slept a lot these last few days. I have held him awkwardly in my arms and watched him sleep. The nightmares I have been afraid will invade his slumber have so far remained dormant. I pray that they always will.

He refuses to speak of his incarceration. Shaking his head slightly every time I attempt to question him. Maybe one day, far in to the future he will open up to me. But for now it doesn’t matter. Because he is here with me. Still too thin. Still a shadow of his former self. But everyday I see signs that he is becoming stronger. That he is recovering.

Twice a day I remove the small square of gauze that covers the fresh wound at the back of his neck. Scrupulously cleaning it to ward off the threat of infection. He is still so weak and infection would spell disaster for him. And when I am done, he returns the favour. Tentatively at first until I assured him that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he needed to cleanse a wound that is healing slowly.

I had managed to persuade Skinner to perform the removal of the chip from the back of my neck. But he had balked visibly at the prospect of stitching the edges together. But the wound isn’t deep. It will heal well I think.

He stands before me. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a thick chocolate coloured sweater. It’s a colour that brings out the richness of his deep hazel eyes. The sweater bulks him up and I can almost imagine him the way he was before all this. But he will heal. We both will. Already, some colour has returned to his pale skin. In just three short days Mulder has begun to come back to me.

He reaches out a hand and gently brushes a strand of my hair away from where it lays against my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. He doesn’t remove his hand though. He leaves it resting against my cheek and almost unconsciously I press my face against it. Revelling in the warmth. Revelling in the feel of him.

“Scully?”

“I know. I’m ready. I was just thinking.”

He nods then. He understands. He’s always understood. So he remains silent, drawing me to his side where he wraps an arm around my back and it comforts me in some small way. Gives me the strength to do what I am about to do.

Together we walk across the room, leaving the bedroom and crossing over in to the living room. She is waiting for us there and her face lights suddenly with a gentle smile at the sight of us. But beneath it I can see the tears, glittering in her fine blue eyes. Dangerously close to the surface as she prepares herself to say goodbye. To let go of her daughter this one final time.

But there is no accusation in those eyes. Just a deep abiding love that pierces my heart as she holds out her arms to me. And like a child I allow her to wrap me in her warm embrace, holding me tightly against her as she transfers a lifetime of love in to me. It’s not enough time. There’s not enough time to say to her all I need to say. I feel tears, hot on my cheeks as I remain there but as my shoulders begin to shake, she draws away slightly, bringing up her palms to rest at each side of my head.

“No Honey. No more tears.”

Even as she utters the words I hear her voice crack as she struggles to hold on to her composure. She swallows heavily as she smoothes her hands over and over against me, finally speaking once again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Your Father would be so proud of you. *I’m* so proud of you Dana. Never forget that. *Ever*. Do you hear me?”

I nod shakily.

“I hear you Mom………”

My words are lost as once again I begin to sob. Huge wracking sobs that make me ache inside and just for a second she pulls me once again to rest in her arms.

“I love you so much my baby girl.”

The words are only for me. Murmured softly in my ear before she steps away finally, turning her attention to the man who stands behind me.

“Take care of her for me Fox.”

He doesn’t answer her. Instead, he steps towards her and embraces her briefly. I am surprised to see that his eyes are moist with unshed tears. But perhaps I shouldn’t be. He is saying his goodbyes to a woman who has been more of a mother to him than his own ever was.

His words are soft, but they reach me without difficulty.

“You know I will. Always.”

He releases his hold on her and she laughs. That peculiar sound that comes from people who are battling with both happiness and despair. The laughter simply a way to hold back the tears.

“Now go. The both of you before I change my mind………..”

But I can’t move. No matter how hard I try I just can’t make my feet co-operate.

“Mom………..”

Until I feel Mulders hand grasp my own. Lacing his fingers through mine he breaks the spell. So I simply nod as I allow him to turn us away from her. We don’t say goodbye. We agreed. No goodbyes. At least not spoken ones. To say goodbye would be to admit that this is forever. And through Mulder I’ve learned never to say forever.

And together we walk away. To where Skinner is waiting for us. Towards the future.

**********

Epilogue

As I stand on the balcony of this graceful house, watching Mulder as he plays with our son, I can barely believe how much time has passed.

Two years almost since we made our last desperate bid for freedom. For normality. It seems like only yesterday and it reminds me once again how rapidly time slips through our fingers.

Time has passed so quickly and together, we have watched our son grow from a tiny baby in to the sturdy toddler who squeals delightedly as he tries in vain to catch hold of the ball Mulder tosses gently to him in the golden light of late summer.

I remember the look on Mulders face as I finally pushed our son in to the world. The look of wonderment as he held him, a tiny, squalling bundle of fury in his arms that night so many months ago. There were no hospitals that night. We couldn’t take the risk, small as it was, that news of his birth would somehow reach across the miles and alert them to our presence here.

So instead, I gave birth here in this house, just five days after our arrival, aided by a kindly, shrewd looking doctor. A friend of the Gunmen, he asked no questions of us as he hovered in the background, giving me the encouragement I needed. Mulder had been assured of his silence and we had to believe that he was friend not foe. So difficult to trust anyone. It still is I suppose. 

But our faith has been rewarded. So far, we have been able to live our lives here enjoying nothing more obtrusive than the occasional raccoon that snuffles its way through the garbage much to the amusement of our son who claps his hands with delight when confronted with one of these creatures.

We named him William after Mulders father. It took us almost a week to reach the decision. Around the same amount of time it took the Gunmen to put together a false record of his birth. Nothing about our lives now is true. Different names. Different birth dates. Our true identities have been erased so completely it is as though we never existed at all.

But here, we are still the people we once were. Here, in the safety of our own little fortress we can be ourselves.

The gunmen have been, and remain, our salvation. Our one connection with the past. Mulder insisted on it. He believed that to cut ourselves off completely would be as dangerous as remaining in plain sight. So, twice a week he sits down at the computer and sends correspondence across the miles. He has to trust that the precautions taken by the Gunmen are enough to keep us safe. A high tech, state of the art scrambler device is fitted to the terminal. It makes tracing the e-mail impossible. Because even the Gunmen are unaware of our exact location. It’s the only way to keep them safe.

I think we realised that fully for the first time only when, six months after our arrival here, we received word from Frohike that Skinner was dead. The victim of a random shooting as he shopped for groceries in a small store just a hundred yards or so from his apartment. A robbery that went tragically wrong. But we know better. We know that there was nothing random about it. Just as we know the reasons for his death. Mulder brought me the news as I was laying Will down for the night.

 White faced and shaking, he had handed me the crumpled piece of paper that he held in his hand. I read the printed words and for the first time appreciated what this man had been prepared to sacrifice for us; His two renegade agents who he had held in a high enough regard to die for.

We cried that night. Bitter tears as we mourned the passing of a man who had saved us in so many ways. Comforting each other as we lay together, watching the first rays of dawn streak the night sky until finally, the hurt had lessened and we were able to carry on. For the sake of our son we carried on.

It hadn’t taken us long to realise just how enormous the stakes had become. Mere weeks passed until we realised the true extent of what our son is. Of what he can be.

It started slowly at first. And for a long time I refused to believe that this tiny baby, who could gaze up at me with his china blue eyes that seemed to delve in to my very soul, might one day be the salvation of all mankind. There is no doubt though that he is special. This rough and tumble little boy who can chase away my tears with a smile can also reach out a pudgy hand to an injured bird and then watch with wonder as it rises once more in to the blue sky. The little boy whose brow creased with concentration only days ago as Mulder came in to the house, his face pinched with pain as he held a broken wrist against his chest, the result of an altercation with the barn door that had slammed shut when a sudden gust of wind caught it.

I didn’t need an x-ray to tell me that the bones were out of alignment. The ugly swelling that marred its smooth shape was evidence enough. Will had been playing quietly on the floor when his father walked in. But immediately, he had pushed himself to his feet and toddled over to where Mulder stood, reaching out his arms to him until Mulder locked eyes with me and hunkered down on his haunches until he was level with his son. And I watched in wonder as Will placed his baby hands over the ugly mottled flesh, heard the click as Mulders bones knitted back together. It was perhaps the first time that we fully realised what our son can do.

He was absurdly pleased with himself and waited expectantly for Mulder to acknowledge him. In response, Mulder had picked him up and covered him with kisses until his son squirmed in delight.

But later, when Will was sleeping I had felt a dread creep up on me that blotted out everything else. A dread born out of a love for my son that is so intense it is blinding. Because I know now why they want him. Why he is so precious to them. Mulder felt it too. Because despite the fact that I tried hard to hide my fear he immediately recognised it, wrapping me in his strong arms. Whispering assurances to me as together, we watched our son sleep. He kissed away my nightmares in much the same way I have occasionally kissed away his.

He still hasn’t ever spoken of what they did to him during the months he was missing. I think the memory is just too painful for him to share it with me. Wanting to protect me even now from my own demons. Part of me yearns for him to open up to me while at the same time a part of me is grateful he doesn’t.

I love him so much now you see and I’m not sure I could ever really recover if I learned how they had hurt him. It would crack a piece of my heart to hear him speak of the suffering I am sure he must have endured at their hands. But the only evidence is the occasional bad dream that surfaces in the dead of the night. When he awakens, shaking and sobbing until I reach out for him and soothe him back to sleep. He remembers nothing of the nightmares when he awakens the next day. Or at least, if he does he chooses not to mention them again.

The nightmares though are lessening. For both of us. My dreams, that were once haunted by the sight of Mulder, laying in a hospital bed. Pale, thin, hollow eyed as I was forced to watch him die a slow, painful death, are now blissfully trouble free.

I understand now why he was so insistent about the removal of the chips. Knowing in some unfathomable way that the consequences I feared would result from such an action would never come to anything more than a handful of frightening nightmares.

Because not since William was born have Mulder or I suffered from so much as a cold.

I don’t pretend to understand it. But I accept without question that our son holds a power within him to keep us safe.

I don’t know what the future holds for any of us. I have learned to take things one step at a time. Tiny steps forward to what we both hope will one day be a normal life. But it has been hard. So hard to leave those we loved behind. But I recognise that to keep them safe, sacrifices had to be made by all of us.

The gunmen have somehow managed to find a way to keep my mother in touch with our lives. I receive regular messages from her, that in the beginning would bring tears of yearning to my eyes. Mulder would watch me from across the room as I tried unsuccessfully to keep my anguish from him.

 But he knew.

He always knows.

And then came a day, not so long ago, when Mulder insisted we took a drive. He refused to give me any information as we wended our way along roads lined with pine trees. Laughing at me as I became more and more frustrated by his apparent secrecy. Until, finally, he came to a halt in front of a small rustic cabin. Much like the one we had fled on that frosty day almost two years before. He had smiled softly at me as I had silently questioned him, taking Will from my arms before guiding me into the cabin where my mother was waiting for me.

The risks such a reunion might have brokered melted away as I threw myself in to her waiting arms and cried tears of pure joy. We stayed together for just three short days. But it was enough. Enough time for me to say all the things to her I wanted to say. Enough time for her to get to know her grandson. But much more than that, she finally got to know Mulder in the way I had always hoped. No government conspiracies, no tragedies. Just the three of us sharing time and space as we finally put our demons to rest.

The sun is warm on my back as I stand here thinking. Watching the man I love with his son. Marvelling at the bond they share. And not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for bringing them both together. To have to live without either one of them is an impossibility now and I will never forget the choice I was almost forced to make. Nor the choices I *did* make.

But I have learned now that no choice is an impossible one. That our lives are made up of different roads. Some easy, some hard, but none are impossible. We travel the road until the day we die. Making choices every second, every minute that we live on this earth, always in the hope that we will somehow make it through and out the other side.

I smile as William runs ahead of Mulder, climbing up the stone steps that lead to the balcony until he is able to straighten up and toddle across to me expecting to be picked up. Right behind him Mulder follows. Shaking his head in amusement as he scoops up his son in strong, tanned arms. I’ve never seen him happier or healthier than he is right now. He glows with a vibrancy that takes my breath away. The lines have all but disappeared from his face. He has filled out again. Well muscled from hours spent in the small, purpose built gym attached to the side of this rambling house he makes my heart contract painfully every time I look at him. His hair is still tinged with grey. But it has slowly been replaced with his original deep brown colour. Until, now, all that remains is a faint sprinkling. As though he has dipped the strands in white paint. The next time he gets a haircut, they will disappear forever.

Oh yes. Here in this idyllic piece of paradise we have healed. We have healed in ways I couldn’t even have begun to imagine during those frightening years when our very existence was, in itself difficult to hold on to. He drops a kiss on to the crown of my head and pulls me towards him. Still cradling Will against him as he lets his free hand come to rest on the gentle swell of my stomach, feeling the new life within flutter against his palm.

A baby girl this time. I am sure of it. Although I couldn’t explain how I know if I was questioned on the fact. A baby girl with deep blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair that will slowly turn darker with the passing of each year. I know this already. I know it because I met her once. For the just the blink of an eye I was allowed to hold her in my arms as she slowly slipped away from me.

But this time will be different. The final healing act that will allow me to finally move on. To allow us all to move on.

The future is still uncertain. There will be more choices to make. Some hard. Some easy. But no *impossible* ones. Not anymore. Because we have, in some unfathomable way, fought the future and won.

End