#scully describes her week

[randomfoggytiger]

The Evolution of Gillian Anderson's Friendship with David Duchovny

Early friendship:

He was an experienced actor when they started The X Files, she had been receiving unemployment benefit and had been in front of cameras only once before.

And she admits: "I desperately needed someone to show me the ropes and David did. He was wonderful."

There were rumours of a secret romance, which would have got them both fired on the spot. It is a strict studio rule that there will be no intimacy between the stars - off screen as well as on.

But Gillian did find love on The X Files, in the shape of assistant art director Clyde Klotz. And she did turn to Duchovny for advice after acting spontaneously on her wedding night, taking no precautions and finding herself pregnant.

She was horrified, believing she would get herself fired and ruin her career.

[“I went into his trailer,” she recalls, “and I said, ‘David, I’m pregnant.’ It looked like his knees buckled.... And he asked me if it was a good thing. I said, ‘Yeah, it is.’]

But her co-star, who was the only person she confided in apart from her husband, put Gillian's mind at ease.

He advised her not to have an abortion - that things would work out. And they did.

He kept her secret while Gillian thought things over for a month.

1995:

David Duchovny is not happy.....

Anderson, sensing Duchovny’s mood, looks down at his hand on her left shoulder and tries to brush it away, as if it were a mosquito. Then she turns and jumps into his arms, laughing, looking like a little girl making trouble for a protective older brother. Startled to be holding her, the smile on Duchovny’s face is forced no longer.

...“We really trust each other,” Duchovny says simply.

There is, between these two, a real-life camaraderie born of necessity, a friendship strong enough to survive too many work hours, and a chemistry powerful enough to rearrange the atoms on-screen. “Whenever we’re acting together,” says Anderson, “it’s there.”

1997:

But in real life, Duchovny and Anderson have a relationship as much a conundrum to outsiders as any X-File.

“We have a relationship that is completely odd and fabricated,” Duchovny says. “We’ve been thrown together, two people who don’t know each other, and we’ve been forced to spend more time together than married people do. So you can’t describe our relationship as ‘like’ or ‘dislike.’ ”

Sounds a little frosty.

“It is frosty,” Gillian Anderson agrees when she is read Duchovny’s description of their relationship. “But it’s accurate.” She laughs. “It’s not that we don’t like each other. It’s complicated.”

2008:

Question: Can you talk about getting back into these characters after a five or six year period?

David Duchovny: The first two weeks I felt a little awkward and I didn’t really feel like I wanted to do longer scenes. I was just fine running around. Then as soon as Gillian and I started working and it was Mulder and Scully, then I kind of remembered what it was all about and that relationship kind of anchored my performance just as I think the relationship anchors this film.

Shock: What’s that like with David now that you’re not with each other 16 hours a day on a series?

Anderson: It’s great, but it was great then, too. This is like a sibling relationship and I never had siblings.

What is your favourite thing about each other?

Duchovny: Gillian just doesn't give up.... She'll hang in there 'til we get it right.

Anderson: ...The easiest answer, I guess, is his sense of humour. He's always looking at the funny side of things, especially when he's around other actors who are comedians or funny themselves - it can turn into a bit of a contest to see who does the best impressions and such. But aside from that, there's a gentleness inside him that comes out every once in a while that is quite disarming and lovely. It's rare, but very nice.

2014:

Q: Was there a sense of almost a bunker mentality where you were at least going through this process with David? You mentioned he had more experience, he had done some bigger films but still the phenomenon that emerged within the first couple years was pretty remarkable. Did it help to have him there too and kind of like “Are you getting this too? Are you going through this too? Is this weird?” 

A: No. No, not really. We talk about the fact that it’s crazy that we didn’t. And that we didn’t take advantage of the fact that we had each other but it was complicated. These were long hours that we were working. We spent more time in each other’s presence than we did with our, you know, spouses and children, etc.

But also, you know, I think we p***ed each other off, quite frankly. And I have no doubt that after they’re waiting – we’re gonna roll and somebody has to come in and redo my lips and the difference between the maintenance for guys and gals and we’re shooting in all weather – you know, we never shut down except for one day for weather in the entire show.  We were shooting up in Vancouver through rain, sleet, everything. And my hair would frizz up to here in between takes and they’d have to get the blow dryer out under the tent and we’d be waiting for Gillian’s hair to do another take. You know, that p***es you right off. It adds up. So I, you know, I’m sure there were plenty of things he did that p***ed me off too. It just wasn’t, you know, but on the other hand.. NOW, we get to talk about that and we’re probably closer than we’ve ever been. 

2015:

Not surprisingly, she and Duchovny also became the story – according to the press, they were having an affair, hated each other or both. “I mean, yes, there were definitely periods when we hated each other.” She starts again. “Hate is too strong a word. We didn’t talk for long periods of time. It was intense, and we were both pains... for the other at various times.”

How was Duchovny a pain... for her? “Erm ...” Ten seconds pass without a word. Meanwhile, her smile gets wider and wider till it’s halfway up her cheeks. “I’m not going to get into it. I’m not even going to begin to get into that. But we are closer today than we ever have been.”

2016:

Anderson on working with Duchovny “Our relationship has definitely become a proper friendship over the last few years. I think we’re more on each other’s side. We’re more aware of the other’s needs, wants, concerns, and mindful to take those into consideration— and just sharing more about our experiences in the moment, under the sudden realization that we’re both in this together, and wouldn’t it be nice if it were a collaboration?”

2018:

They've worked together for 25 years but Gillian Anderson wants to make one thing clear: David Duchovny does NOT feature in her Ex Files.

While on screen their relationship left viewers wondering whether they would ever hook up romantically, Gillian says that off camera they were never very close.

In fact, she goes so far as to admit: "I don't know much about David Duchovny. If you asked me 10 things about him I'd probably get nine of them wrong."

...But now Gillian sets the record straight, saying: "We were never close. It's true we spent more time together than we have in any other relationship but it doesn't mean we were close.

"Very often when you're working long hours you may have a chit-chat between scenes but you're not really standing around talking about personal lives.

"And very often you don't have meals either at work or outside of work together because you're in each other's company all the time.

"So I actually don't know very much about David Duchovny, but we appreciate and respect each other."

2021:

Stella made a new friend today.

2023:

A huge congratulations to my old friend @davidduchovny on the world premiere of his film Bucky F***ing Dent @tribeca which he wrote, directed and stars in! A massive accomplishment and can’t wait to see it. (ps I’d say some of your prior writer / director gigs with me went pretty well and this was all just yesterday, right? 😉) #Tribeca2023

2024:

Awww Double D I’m so sorry. He was your guy. RIP Brick Duchovny

Lastly but not least,

a comment from David, 2024:

"My former X-Files costar Gillian Anderson and I are really good friends. ...When you share a seminal kind of experience in your life-- the huge success we had with that show-- only we know what it's like to be in the center of that. It's almost like being in the same family...."

[ladykailitha]

Sun-kissed and Moon-glow

My fics have been fighting me this last week, so have some softness I've been thinking about the last couple of days. This came from that post that has been going around about x overhearing y say good things about them.

*

Eddie didn't mean to eavesdrop, his interview finished before Steve finished his. Eddie loved his model boyfriend. He was gorgeous and looked amazing on his own or on Eddie's arm.

He moved to sneak up on Steve to hug him from behind, but he stopped when he realized his interview wasn't over with.

"Are you familiar with the trope 'the grumpy one is in love with the sunshine one'?" the interviewer asked. She was a pretty thing with long bleach blonde hair, tan skin, and a slinky pink satin dress.

"Oh yeah, it's one of my favorite tropes," Steve agreed. "Morpheus and Hob, Mulder and Scully, Nico and Will, Watson and Holmes."

She smiled at him. "Would you say that it also describes you and your boyfriend Eddie Munson?"

Steve laughed. "I'm assuming you think he's the grumpy one and I'm the sunshine one?"

"Exactly!" she said with a laugh.

"The trope works," Steve agreed. "But not in the way you think. If it was purely aesthetic, I would be the sunshine one and Eddie would be grumpy one, no doubt. But based on our actual personalities? He is so the sunshine one."

"Aww..." she cooed. But it was clear even to Eddie that she was only saying that to placate Steve.

"No I mean it," Steve said, catching her tone. "I'm only glitter and glow. I take my light from other people. The clothes I wear, the way I style my hair, my modeling. I'm definitely the moon and the stars. But I look warm and my skin is tan because his love for me shines every day. I glow because he is my sun."

The interviewer's jaw dropped. "Wow."

"He is so good and so bright and so happy all the time," Steve continued. "He lights up whatever room he walks into. That's what makes him a good performer. He shines on stage. He looks like a creature of the night, because he's moon kissed. Because I love him, I'm the moon to his sun."

"Does that make you sun-kissed then?" the interviewer asked.

Steve laughed. "Yeah, I guess it does."

There was a tap on Steve's shoulder and he was being told to move on. He said goodbye to the interviewer and turned around, spotting Eddie.

"There you are, sunshine," he greeted warmly.

Eddie reached out his hand to Steve who took it with a fond smile. And as they walked down the red carpet, Eddie thought. Before tonight he would have agreed with the interviewer. He was the moon to Steve's sun. But hearing Steve's explanation, it made more sense.

It also gave him an idea for the band's next album. A double album called Sun-kissed and Moon-glow. Steve on the cover of Sun-kissed, bathed in the light of Eddie's love, his skin starting to glow yellow from the kiss Eddie is pressing to his shoulder.

Moon-glow would be the reverse. Eddie golden but bathed in Steve's moonlight, skin turning alabaster from Steve's kiss.

He looked over at Steve one more time. The boys were going to love the idea. Almost as much as he loved this man at his side.

*

Tagging this because it's long enough I think.

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[amplifyme]

Reposting because the muse said so. You can read it here, too.

Third Time's a Charm

He rolls over onto his side and finds her looking back at him in a mirrored position. They’re both still struggling to catch a deep breath. His bedroom smells of sheets a week past needing changed and just concluded sex. How does one describe that particular aroma? He thinks about it for a second and decides that mutual insanity fits pretty well right now. Folie au deux.

“Do we…” he hesitates, not sure how to put it. She is solemnly studying him with eyes that shouldn’t be as dazzling as they are, since his bedroom is illuminated only by the streetlights leaking their dim and hazy light through his open blinds. Far-off thunder rumbles quietly in the distance. “Should we… do we talk about this?”

Because Mulder thinks that falling into bed with Scully once is an anomaly. But twice is deliberate. And this third time is… what? A commitment? A habit? Maybe a declaration that this is no longer just a thing they do when under extreme stress? That perhaps now it’s something they engage in simply because they want to?

After all, it’s just a weeknight, and like many others before it. Living room well-lit as they go over files, sharing decent take-out and maybe a beer. No stress other than the low simmer of anxiety that’s always there. Everything just like it's always been before. And yet, somehow, they've found their way out of their clothes and into his bed. For the third time.

“What’s to talk about?” she lazily counters, drawing a damp palm across his collarbone and down his chest. “It is what it is.”

This is not the sort of remark Scully makes. She considers everything very carefully. Disassembles a thing and studies each separate part before she begins to reassemble the disparate segments into something she can explain in lengthy and often incomprehensible language. Her laissez faire attitude unsettles him.

“Well,” he begins, “because this isn’t.. it’s not. I mean, this is not what we do.” He takes in a deep breath. “Normally.”

“Apparently it is now,” she rejoins.

“And what do you think about that?”

“Do we need to discuss this?”

“I think so, Scully. You know how important you are to me, right? I mean, you do know. Don’t you?”

She’s still stroking him, up and down his body where she can reach, slow and precise, and it makes it hard for him to think. He’s thirty-seven years old and should require a bit of time between rounds of the horizontal mambo, but apparently his body is dialed into eighteen and perpetually horny. He’s flabbergasted by the ability of his penis to take a licking and come back ticking so quickly. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Scully.

“I know how you make me feel,” she declares.

“How’s that?” He’s honestly curious. Because the tone of her voice leads him to believe it’s something good. But nothing comes easily with Scully. She makes him work for almost everything.

It’s quiet long enough that he decides she's going to ignore his query. But if it’s reticence, she hasn’t informed her hands of that. They’re still busy speaking their own language against him. Her legs have become tangled in his, dragging the satin of her skin across his. He can’t help it: he has to reciprocate. It’s too tempting to keep touching her in all the places he hasn’t been able to before.

He pulls her closer and gets busy with her mouth for a minute. They break their wet kiss and she breathes, “Desired,” against his lips. “Necessary,” she whispers across his chin. “Alive.” The word brushes the line of his cheek. She pulls back and cups his jaw in her talented and capable hands. Her swimming pool eyes threaten to swallow him whole. “Safe,” she proclaims.

His eyes slip shut at that. He wishes it were so. More than anything. She says it a second time, softly upon his face, and kisses his closed eyelids.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully moments from s2

after the x-files are shut down, she gets moved to teach at the academy, and in episode 1 she does a little monologue on how a person’s body is a physical manifestation of a lifetime, which one of the students describes as “spooky”

when mulder sneaks off to puerto rico in the same episode, she goes into his place to try and figure where tf he went, and prevents his sneaking about being caught by the investigators who broke into his home with the power of feeding his fish

lecturing about the dangers of eating raw steak in episode 2, then getting lost down a rabbit hole of worm science

when no one was answering the door in episode 3, she just walks in. this made me laugh hysterically, i cannot explain. both of these guys WILL enter your home.

every single time she is a bit of a medical nerd, like when she learns about the surgery that allowed people to survive without sleep in episode 4, which she describes as “incredible”

(and the freckles + flower earrings combo were also a fave)

when she scans the piece of metal that came from duane barry in a grocery store in episode 6, and the cash register goes crazy. and she denies involvement and just walks away LMAOOO <- honestly i'd do the same!!

she wakes up from her coma in episode 8 and wants to write a thank you note to the nurse that took such good care of her, only to learn no such nurse ever existed. scully got to witness the paranormal for once!!!!

in episode 9, someone brings up a volcano scientist in conversation, and she says she had heard he was brilliant, which means that somehow she is keeping up with volcano news. she is a woman of many layers.

being deeply worried about this scared looking grad student she just met, and once again not waiting for an answer to enter her room and figure out if she is okay

(and when said grad student is being consumed by a fungus, scully thinks quickly enough to get herself locked behind a door, keeping herself safe, despite being handcuffed and otherwise looking death by fungus in the face)

in episode 11, mulder walks into his office, only to learn she has been there and has been going through his stuff since 6 in the morning. queen of getting results!

in the same episode, an old man overdoses on mushroom pills, and she shifts into Doctor Mode, yelling about “ventricular fibrillation” and “milligrams of lidocaine” and it was, like every other time she goes Doctor Mode, so deeply satisfying to watch

when she meets the two cops in episode 12, and can immediately tell they are having an affair and that the detective is pregnant, and despite the detective pleading with her not to tell a soul, the absolute MILLISECOND she is reunited with mulder, she spills the tea. and he is SHOCKED! <- arguably my favorite moment in the entire series so far

(and, to make the woman feel more comfortable, she confesses to also having had feelings for coworkers before which. elaborate on that, please)

but she really does care; when the detective ends up in the hospital, scully brings her a change of clothing <3

when she is so shaken by what she sees in episode 13 that she goes to the FBI’s onsite therapist; she’s too scared to tell mulder how she feels because “i don’t want him to feel like he has to protect me”

(as if there was ever going to be a choice; he is the protector and he Will protect, it's just his nature)

((and then later sobbing into his arms, realizing she doesn’t have to always put on a front))

toads start falling from the sky in episode 14, so she rationalizes that they likely came from a nearby tornado. this is a scully-approved theory.

they’re investigating a murder in the same episode, and a teenager starts pouring her absolutely horrific trauma out to both of them, scully holds her while she sobs into her jacket

honestly any time either of them know weird information, i love it. she says that it would take hours for a snake to eat a man and then weeks for it to digest in episode 14, and mulder makes some funny remark but it’s sooo endearing to me. she knows her snake facts.

then in episode 15, she notes poison in someone’s blood, but specifically that the poison comes from pufferfish eaten in Japan… girl i’m crying, she just knows stuff!

during that same case, they get rooms near each other like always, and she knocks on a door thinking it’s mulder’s. he doesn’t answer. she walks in and hears water running, so she just talks to him through the door to the bathroom. and i love this so much. i love that they are close enough to just walk into each other’s rooms and talk from behind the door while the other showers. it’s such married behavior.

working on the case in episode 16, we see her at home wearing a flannel, checking her computer, still serving looks but now giving casual

(and seeing the art she keeps on her walls- little postcards of beach scenes <3)

in the same episode, she knows mulder left to go get himself in trouble, so she bursts into skinner’s office to ask for help. but she feels bad for barging in on skinner, so she apologizes to him. which was very sweet.

when mulder is gone, she goes to his apartment to look for clues, and falls asleep on his couch

(and when X knocks on the door, she knows he is hiding something, and screams at him to tell her where he is)

this whole monologue from episode 17, which i loved more than life itself:

“several aspects of this case remain unexplained, suggesting the possibility of paranormal phenomena. but i am convinced that to accept such conclusions is to abandon all hope of understanding the scientific events behind them. many of the things i have seen have challenged my faith and my belief in an ordered universe, but this uncertainty has only strengthened my need to know, to understand, and to apply reason, to those things which seem to defy it”

(and that is just Her, isn't it? the need to understand, to rationalize. the worldview shaped on science- if she doesn't understand something, it's because a key piece is missing, and she'll find it. because the world Has to work that way, has to be bound by a greater logic, even if it is yet to be understood. to imagine otherwise would be impossible, to imagine otherwise would be to abandon hope in everything, and she cannot abandon hope)

((and maybe the idea that the world being something she cannot perfectly comprehend is a failing of her own understanding makes me a little emotional. but still))

she says that the whole loaves and fishes deal was a parable in episode 21; she is not a biblical literalist

(she then makes some sassy remark about things generating spontaneously, and mulder laughs in the corner. good to know he thinks she is funny)

every single time she answers the phone, she says “mulder, it’s me”, and idk i just think it’s so endearing

she thinks she might have been infected with a killer disease in episode 22, but mulder calls, so she tells him she’s okay and to take care of himself out there.... those are the last words she chooses, just in case they never talk again </3

and every time she says unsettling things, like “could be the residue of burnt human flesh” or “darkness covers a multitude of sins”, both in episode 23, i eat that up

reassuring her student who has just become a detective that she is doing just fine!!!

and then going to said student's funeral when things do not turn out fine... she loves her students that she taught for like 3 months so much :(

getting pulled aside by skinner and her bosses after mulder just acted wild in episode 25, and denying that she had seen any top secret files even though they say they will fire her if she lies lmaooo <- she is a ride or die!!!

but also going to his place, demanding assurance that she is doing the right thing by assisting him, and i love that. i love a character who will break all of the rules as long as they believe they are doing the thing that is morally Right, and that definition is so deeply her own, but she is committed to it, and she'll do anything to stick by it. and he just says something about getting the code that he wants broken, and despite how awful he's being, she goes through with it anyway because it's the Right thing to do.

later, her being the one to realize that mulder should not leave the house after his father was killed because he will be the prime suspect (he does not listen to this sound advice)

he stumbles into her place with a million degree fever, and she carefully lays him down in her own bed, despite the fact that he is soaked in his dead father's blood. and she takes care of him.

this one honestly deserves its own post because it is so incredible, but: shooting mulder with enough precision to get him to knock off his wild behavior that was going to make him look like he killed his dad, but not actually HURT him, then finding out krychek was putting LSD in his water, knocking him out, and driving 2 days to New Mexico to get him where he needed to be. AFTER he had been acting wild because he was inadvertently drugged, and had accused her of spying on him and being a traitor. that level of love is deep. very very deep. she is a Lover.

[actual-changeling]

After Modell, Scully and Mulder leave the hospital and are forced to acknowledge the reality of what happened—in their own, incredibly emotionally repressed way, of course.

Aka the post-Pusher fic I have been writing for the last week. If you haven't noticed yet, I am incapable of not using extended, flowery metaphors to describe some lovely pain, and this one is a prime example.

stay close, listen (~2.6k, T)

Mulder turns away from Modell with a sigh, and when he finally steps outside, Scully is waiting for him, watching him with an expression he cannot quite place. There is a version of this story that ends with three dead bodies on the floor, all bullets fired from the same gun, the same hand. Scully still reached out with that knowledge perforating her lungs, still took the hand capable of soul-numbing violence, and touched him like she had no reason to be afraid of him. ——— (This picks up right as the episode ends and they're leaving Modell's hospital room. A study of devotion, death, and the fact that above everything else, you need a hand to hold.)

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: Maggie/Scully Come to Jesus discussion re: Mulder

Her mother strokes her hair, and Scully curls her toes inside of her slippers until her mother’s touch feels good and soothing. Feels like love instead of control.

“I saw you and Fox,” Maggie says, checking the muffins in the oven.

Scully had not asked for muffins or observations regarding her partner or, frankly, her mother’s presence at all. She wanted her oncologist’s paperwork, a kiss on the cheek, and maybe some flowers. Peonies to brighten up the kitchen.

“Mom.”

“Dana.”

Scully stares at the painted-over drywall ceiling. “Mom if you have something to say I wish you’d ju-“

“Are you involved?” her mother asks.

Involved, good god. Would I give him my kidney, would I die for him, would I casually fuck another man because I cannot deal with my marrow-deep adoration of the searing brilliance of his pre-frontal cortex?

“No,” she tells her Catholic mother, because she has not known Mulder in the biblical sense, because that is the sense that matters to her lovely mother who gave birth to a 9-pound 30-week “preemie.”

Maggie blinks, long and slow.

“He’s my friend,” Scully says, stalling, describing Mulder in the same way one might describe Mount Everest as a slight aberration in the Earth’s crust.

Her mother cups her cheek in a cool palm. “Dana.”

“Mom.”

Maggie smiles then, smiles at her frail, beautiful, impossible daughter. “Melissa told me, years ago,” she murmurs.

Scully blushes then, her pale cheeks rosy for a moment. Hot with her thin, anemic blood.

“He’s a good man,” Maggie continues. It hurts to go on, but my god, what else is left?

Scully looks away, looks at clouds massing in the west.

“He loves you,” her mother goes on, like she doesn’t know Mulder adores her, would kill and maim for her.

“Mom,” Scully says again. Mulder’s kisses private in the sweet dark of her mind.

Maggie pulls a pan of muffins from the oven, puts another one in as though her daughter is eating three or four a day.

“I know about Daniel,” Maggie says, and Scully absolutely wants to die then. To bring up THAT when she’s been all but snatched from the grave.

“Mom,” Scully repeats, desperate now.

“We did our best, your father and I, but we aren’t saints. I know some of your history with men, Dana. I don’t like the danger Fox puts you in.”

Mulder, Scully mouths.

“But on some level,” her mother continues, “Maybe the deepest level, I think he understands you. And I’m your mother and you got a second chance. What are you going to do with it, Dana?”

Scully looks at her tidy little home, at her teabags and her prescription bottles and her drainboard. Mulder doesn’t have a drainboard. Mulder has paper plates and plastic forks and eleven different books that include leylines and one exclusively on medieval bestiaries and a mouth like a beesting.

“I’m going to live,” she says.

[numinousmysteries]

Dancing the Tandava (3/10)

[on Ao3] @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C. 1993

It’s only a few months into her assignment on the X-Files and Scully has made it a point to arrive at the office on time. Still, her perplexing partner always manages to get there first. It’s as if he sleeps in this underground lair or he’s afraid to leave her alone in his sacred space. Neither would shock her.

She doesn’t have a handle on Mulder quite yet. His intelligence fascinates and intimidates her. Trying to keep up with his mental leaps leaves her breathless. His ideas are out there, but his hunches are correct an eerie amount of the time. The unexplainable phenomena she’s seen piques her innate curiosity even though none of it fits into her framework of the coherent, reassuringly knowable universe.

He has every right to treat her with disdain. He had her number as a spy (albeit an unwilling and increasingly disobedient one) from their first meeting, and her doubting nature and innate need to play by the book only slows him down. But he seems truly interested in her thoughts and ideas even if they don’t align with his own. She was mortified when she nearly stripped in front of him on their first case to show him the marks on her back, but he never made her feel embarrassed.

Her job is to keep tabs on him but the more cases they investigate together, the more inclined she feels to protect him and his work. Her loyalty is slowly shifting from the establishments she’s long unquestionably trusted to Mulder and his singular quest.

When she shows up this crisp November morning, he’s already at his desk thumbing through a file. He’s wearing thin, wire-framed glasses and a tie with a dizzying, Escher-esque maroon and olive pattern. She thinks he’s handsome, then pushes the thought away. Getting involved with superiors and co-workers is a habit she’s actively trying to break.

“Morning, Scully,” he says, without looking up.

“Morning,” she replies, coming to sit across from him. “Anything interesting?” She gestures to the file on the desk.

“That depends,” he says, taking off his reading glasses and making eye contact with her. This boyish smile and the gleam behind his eyes are already familiar to her. They’re signs he’s found a case that’ll likely lead them into trouble. It both scares and excites her. “How interested are you in the Fouke monster, a.k.a. the Southern Sasquatch, a.k.a. the Swamp Stalker?”

“I have to admit it’s never crossed my mind,” she says.

“Oh, Scully.” His smile widens. “You’re in for a treat.” He turns the file around so she can read it. The first thing she notices is an amateur sketch of a Bigfoot-like creature with red eyes.

“A giant, hairy creature first spotted in Fouke, Arkansas, in the mid-nineteenth century, the Fouke monster has been described as being over 10-feet tall with glowing blood-red eyes. In 1971, Bobby and Elizabeth Ford of Fouke reported that the creature had broken into their home. A neighbor actually shot at it, and supposedly made contact, but it wandered off into the night. That was the last sighting, until a week ago when a group of teenagers camping out at nearby Boggy Creek say he got into their tent and stole all of their rations, including two family-size bags of Doritos.”

“Is Doritos theft a federal crime?” she asks him with a raised eyebrow. He better have more evidence than the shaky testimony of some teenagers to go off. “Or do you just want to go Sasquatch hunting?”

“By the tone of your voice I can tell you’ve never had the pleasure of goin’ squatchin,’' he says, his hazel eyes lighting up as they meet hers. It’s almost enough to make her blush.

The shrill ringing of the phone on his desk interrupts them before she can respond.

“Mulder,” he answers. She can hear the garbled sound of a male voice on the other end of the line.

“My what?” Mulder shouts into the phone, startling her. “Who is he?...Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

He hangs up the phone and turns his attention back to her. “Change of plans,” he says. “The Fouke monster will have to wait. We’re headed to Montauk. East End of Long Island.”

While she’s partly relieved she won’t have to interview a bunch of stoned teenagers about their alleged monster sighting, the rapid shift in Mulder’s attention gives her whiplash.

“What’s in Montauk?” she asks.

“A historic lighthouse, the shark hunter who inspired Jaws, and actually decent surfing for the East Coast,” he says, grinning at her.

“And yet why do I suspect you aren’t going to ask me to pack a wetsuit?” she asks.

He gives her a shoulder shrug and a pouty lower lip. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Seriously, Mulder,” she says, starting to lose her patience. “Why are we going to Montauk?”

“A disoriented young man has appeared at a decommissioned army base and specifically asked to speak with us.” He’s already up out of his chair digging through a filing cabinet.

“Did he mention what he’s so desperate to talk to us about?” she asks, trying to see what files he’s gathering.

“He says he’s from the future. The year 2023 to be exact.”

Scully laughs. “Mulder, that’s ridiculous. He’s probably some UFO fanatic who wants to meet you.”

Mulder shakes his head. He’s taking this seriously. “I think you overestimate my popularity,” he says.

“What about Max Fenig? He said he’d been following your work for years and that he’s not the only one.”

“Well, no one else has ever claimed to be my son before,” Mulder says. “Or that you’re his mother.”

She’s immediately taken back. Mulder has proposed a lot of improbable theories and ideas during their partnership, but this one might be the most ludicrous. He’s already grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair but Scully raises her hand to stop him.

“Mulder, wait,” she insists. “I don’t have to tell you how ridiculous that is. While I can’t speak for you, I know I don’t have a child, and I can say with total certainty that we’ve never had one together. Besides, you said ‘young man.’ How old is he?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder responds. “The officer said early 20s. He didn’t have any identification with him.”

“We were children ourselves 20 years ago,” she says, barely resisting an eye roll. “I can all but guarantee you this is someone pulling a prank.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Mulder says. “But I have a feeling we should check this out. It’s not just what he said, it’s where he turned up.”

“Montauk?” she asks, confused.

“Not just anywhere in Montauk. At Camp Hero.”

“Yes, a decommissioned army base as you said,” she repeats.

“A supposedly decommissioned army base,” he grins. “CIA operatives at Camp Hero have reportedly been using extraterrestrial technology for experiments on everything from mind control and weather manipulation to the creation of wormholes for time travel. The project allegedly shut down in the 1980s when the base closed, but I’ve heard rumors that the work never stopped.”

He flips a file open on the desk facing her. Inside is a black and white photo of a giant radar tower and a hand-drawn blueprint of a building with rooms labeled “hypnosis lab” and “carrier oscillator.”

She tilts her head at him and squints. This is a lot, even for Mulder.

“So your theory is that you and I have a son who’s traveled back in time to—what? Come say hi?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs. “You said it yourself in your thesis: ‘Although common sense may rule out the possibility of time travel, the laws of quantum physics certainly do not.’”

If she did believe in time travel, this would be the perfect moment to return to her undergraduate days and choose a new thesis topic for her future partner to one day quote back to her.

“I know what I wrote, Mulder,” she says. “But that was a theoretical argument not a practical one. I was discussing the possibility of time dilation, an expanding or contracting of relative time as it’s experienced. There’s no science or technology that would actually allow someone to move forward or backward in time.”

“No science or technology that we know of yet,” he counters. “Let’s see what our boy cooked up in 2023.”

There is always the option not to leave with him—to stay in the office and write up a report while he goes chasing what is almost certainly a dead end—but she knows she’ll never choose that door. Instead, she retrieves her coat from the hook on the back of the office door and follows her frustrating, beguiling partner.

[atths--twice]

Chapter Three

Sailing 101: A Study in Dynamics

It's time for a second date. And what could be better than an afternoon spent out on the water?

Monday afternoon 

Mulder stood waiting for Scully beside the sailboat he had reserved. He kept running through his checklist of what he needed to do once on the boat and also what he had brought with him to ensure everything was perfect. 

They had spoken after she came home from church and lunch on Sunday, her calling him nearly the instant she had arrived. He had smiled, listening to her discuss who she had seen and what she’d had to eat. 

“I make it a point to eat really well on Sunday, especially since my parents are paying for it,” she had said and he had laughed. “I mean they always say to get whatever I want, so I do. I used to hold back though, not wanting to seem rude, but now… well… I don’t.” 

“Makes sense,” he had said, picturing her ordering plate after plate, her napkin tucked into her dress to keep it clean. 

“I’m glad you agree,” she had said and he smiled again. 

“How do you feel about sailing?” he had blurted out as she had begun to speak but had then fallen silent. 

“In general or…?” she had asked and he had chuckled. 

“How do you feel about going sailing tomorrow?” 

“You… you own a sailboat?” she had asked incredulously. 

“No. I don’t personally. My parents have a boat, though it’s not what I had in mind as it’s far too large for an afternoon excursion.” 

“I…” 

“The yacht club has sailing classes of which I’ve taken my fair share over the years. I can borrow a smaller sailboat from there and we could sail around for a bit. Then maybe lunch at the clubhouse?” he had asked with a shrug, mentally reviewing his sailing lessons in his head. 

“The yacht club?” she had asked in a small voice. “And the country club too? Who are you, Fox Mulder?” 

He had frozen in place, suddenly worried she would think him snobby or pretentious. 

“We could do something else. It doesn’t have to be… I just thought that… Your dad being in the Navy, I thought maybe you might have a love the water too, but we don’t-”

“No. I do love it,” she had assured him softly. “I just… You usually picture someone different when you hear they belong to yacht clubs or country clubs. Someone…” 

“Older and snobby?” he had suggested and she had laughed nervously. “Well, I would tend to agree with you about that, though, that’s not how I would describe everyone.”

“I’m sorry if that sounded rude or if you took offense. That wasn’t my intention,” she had said, almost in a whisper. 

“Not one bit,” he had said quickly, shaking his head. 

“You know how to sail? You won’t sink us?” she had asked and he had heard the smile in her voice. 

“I do. And I won’t. Yachtsman’s honor,” he had said and she had laughed before agreeing to sail with him. 

She had insisted she would get a ride to the yacht club, not wanting to put him out, and now he was pacing, feeling nervous as he waited for her to arrive. 

A car pulled up and he halted in his pacing. Music was playing loudly as the door opened and Scully stepped out, looking around and shaking her head. 

“You’ll get a ride back or do you want me to pick you up later?” a man called above the music. 

“I’ll get a ride. See you next week, Charlie. Thanks for dropping me off.” 

“No problem, Dane. Have fun.” 

She grabbed her backpack and closed the door, waving at him as he drove away. 

“Hey,” Mulder called out and she jumped slightly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Didn’t scare me. I just didn’t see you there.” She smiled and walked over to him, slipping her backpack on as she did. 

“Hi,” he said, smiling at her as she stopped in front of him. 

“Hi,” she replied, her smile growing, her hands holding onto the straps of her backpack. “I missed you.” 

“Since last night when we spoke?” he teased and she shook her head. 

“Since you drove away on Saturday night,” she whispered and he hummed as he leaned forward, a hand reaching to hold her hip. 

He kissed her softly, her hands moving from her backpack to his chest and then wrapping around his neck. He pulled her closer and she moaned into his mouth. 

Breaking apart, they drew in deep breaths, their foreheads pressed together. 

“I think,” she whispered. “I think we should head to the boat. I don’t want to get in trouble at the yacht club. Find myself thrown out before I’ve even stepped a foot inside.” 

He chuckled and leaned back, looking into her eyes. She smiled and he nodded, stepping back as he reached for her hand to lead her toward the sailboat. She squeezed his hand and he grinned as he opened the door to the boat ramp. 

“It’s the perfect day for sailing,” she said and he nodded as they walked toward the boat. “I hope I’m dressed warm enough though, I know that it can get cooler on the water.” 

“I have extra clothes and blankets, if you do. No need to worry.” 

“Just thought of everything, have you?” she teased, squeezing his hand again as they stopped in front of the boat. “Oh, it’s nicer than I expected. I like it.” 

“They’re good little boats. Definitely better for the plans today than something bigger.” 

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, taking off her backpack and passing it to him as he held her hand to help her into the boat. “Is your parents' boat docked here?” 

“Mmhmm, it’s just there,” he said, pointing as he handed her backpack to her. She looked and her eyes widened. 

“That’s their boat? It’s…” She stared at it as she sat down and he untied the boat, carefully stepping in beside her. 

“No, that’s the Youngs boat,” he said, smiling at her as he pushed away from the dock and began to prepare the sail. “Ours is much bigger.” 

“Bigger than that?” she asked, pointing as they began to pass the boat. 

“No. I’m just kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “Gotcha.” 

“So funny,” she said, setting her bag down and shaking her head. 

“I know,” he agreed. “The life jackets are underneath your seat. Could you pass me one and then put yours on as well? Safety first, you know.” 

“Of course,” she said, taking out the life jackets and handing him one. He slipped it on and then turned his attention to getting them out into the open water. 

He watched her, the wind blowing her hair gently as she smiled and closed her eyes. It felt like his dream and he could not help but smile in return. A larger boat honked at them and they both turned to wave as it passed by, children running along the side and calling out hello. 

“Hello!” Scully called back and the children laughed and screamed excitedly. “Aww. Aren’t they so cute?” 

You are, he wanted to say, but he only smiled as he adjusted the sail to catch more wind. 

“Mmm,” she said, leaning back and tilting her face to the sun. “This was a perfect idea. Thank you for thinking of it.” 

“Sailing always impresses the ladies,” he said, watching to see her reaction. 

“This is where the debauchery happens, isn’t it?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. He laughed and shook his head as she shook her own, a smile tugging at her lips. “I knew it had to be somewhere.” 

“Imagine attempting anything like that as an awkward teenager. We’d both have ended up in the water. That would put a damper on things for sure,” he said with a laugh, guiding them past some larger wakes. 

“So you haven’t won the ladies over with your sailing abilities?” she asked and he shook his head as he looked at her. 

“Only woman I’ve been sailing with is my sister. And she usually takes over as she is, in fact, the better sailor.” 

“I’m liking her more and more,” Scully said, opening her backpack and taking out a floppy, wide brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. He smiled as she put them on and then leaned back, her face once more tilted toward the sun. 

They sailed around the harbor, not talking much as they absorbed the view and the weather. She had taken her hat off and braided her hair into two long braids, the wind causing it to tangle and cover her eyes too often. The hat was then replaced and he could not help but find her even more adorable. 

“Do you want a blanket or anything? It’s in that large bag there,” he offered and she shook her head. 

“Not just yet. But I’m sure I will soon.” 

Five more minutes and she was reaching for the bag, taking out one of his sweatshirts and a blanket. She put them on and smiled at him. 

“Much better,” she said and he nodded. 

“There is a spot about ten minutes from here. It’s a little cove with a dock. Do you want to stop there for a bit?” 

“If you want to, I’m game.” 

“Radical,” he said and she laughed, shaking her head and pulling the blanket further around her. 

“That sounds weird coming from you.” 

“Is bitchin’ better?” 

“No. Definitely not,” she laughed and he nodded in agreement. 

“Far out?” 

“No,” she said, laughing again and he smiled. 

“To the cove we go,” he said and she nodded. 

When they arrived, she was ready to help pull them in. She grabbed the buoys and tied them to the side as the dock came into view. Without even asking, she then took hold of the ropes and stood carefully to her feet, ready to jump out and tie the boat to the cleats. 

He was more than impressed as he watched her, doing his portion to secure the boat was properly docked. She smiled at him as he handed her her backpack and then the backpack he had brought, taking her life jacket and placing it into the boat. Taking off his own, he stepped out of the boat and stared at her. 

“We had a boat, a small one, but my dad sold it when we had to relocate. Aside from knowing about ships of all sizes, I also have basic boat knowledge,” she said, shrugging as she slipped on her backpack. 

“I figured you would. But still, that was pretty smooth-”

“Sailing?” she interrupted, her eyes shining. “Imagine that.” She slid her arm through his and he laughed as he picked up his own backpack. 

“You got me,” he said quietly and she nodded happily. 

“I certainly did,” she said as they began to walk up the small dock, her hand finding his and squeezing. 

“There isn’t really much to do here,” he said, walking into the grassy area that held two picnic tables and a community barbecue. “I just thought you might like to walk around a bit before we start heading back.” 

“You’ve been here before, obviously. What do you usually do?” 

“Well,” he said, stopping for a second and looking around. “We had a badminton set that we put up and played over there.” He pointed to the area away from the tables. “My sister and I would play and then my parents would join us after we’d eaten. Or if we were with other families, we would play with their children and the adults would drink and talk, getting louder as the drinks became stronger.” 

“Sounds familiar,” Scully said with a laugh. 

“We’d play horseshoes too sometimes, but that was when the pits for it were here. They took them out a couple years back. I think too many drunk college kids got hurt acting like idiots.” 

“Well, that’ll do it,” Scully said, laughing again. “Having seen the idiotic things our fellow classmates do, I can understand the need to remove them.” 

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand before letting it go. “I brought some snacks. Just drinks and chips. Do you want to look around the area and have something to eat?” He smiled at her and she smiled back. 

“Look around, yes,” she said, adjusting her backpack. “Eat… no. You mentioned lunch at the yacht club. I’ll wait for that.” 

“Okay then,” he said, adjusting his own backpack. “Let’s explore the wooded area here.” 

“I’ll try not to touch any unknown plants this time,” she said with a smile. 

“If you do, don’t worry. I have the Super Salve,” he said and she chuckled softly as she reached to take his hand again. 

“Always prepared,” she said and he nodded. 

“Gotta be, with you around,” he said, squeezing her fingers and pulling her closer. 

“I’d be mad at that comment,” she said, sniffing with her head turned away from him. “Buuut… I know how well that salve works, so you’re forgiven.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a chuckle and she nodded curtly before looking at him with a smile. He laughed again, guiding her to the small copse of trees. 

When they walked back to the boat twenty minutes later, she held two large pine cones in her hands and in her backpack there were numerous rocks to which she had taken a liking. 

“What will you do with them?” he asked as they pushed away from the dock and he glanced at her, adjusting the sail. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure exactly. Well, about the pine cones anyway. I think I’ll paint the rocks and then put them on my desk. I like doing that. Gives the room a bit of color and…” She shrugged and smiled at him as she situated the pine cones. “I don’t know, I just like it.” 

“What do you paint on them?” he asked and she shrugged again. 

“Different things,” she said, twisting a braid and looking out at the water. “I’ve made ones of beach scenes, campfires, city lights… just different things.” 

“So they’re detailed, not just colored rocks,” he said and she looked at him with a smile and furrowed brow. 

“No! Not just colored! Like they’re Easter eggs or something?” she asked with a laugh and he shrugged, his hands raised with the palms up. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t see any on your desk the other night.” 

“Because I don’t have any there,” she laughed, giving her backpack a nudge with her foot. “Hence the reason I collected so many.” 

“Hence,” he repeated, laughing as he steered the boat back towards the yacht club. 

“Yeah, hence,” she said again, tugging at her life jacket and then leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. He stared at her foot, watching it move up and down and he smiled. 

“Well, I’ll enjoy seeing them when you’re done.” 

“Would you like to paint them with me?” she asked and he lifted his head to look at her. “Not today, of course. But maybe this weekend?” 

“I’d like that,” he said, grinning at her. “Although I’m not much of a painter.” 

“Psh,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissive way. “It’s rocks… Fox.” She grinned and he laughed at the rhyme. “You can’t really mess up a rock.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” he agreed with a nod. 

“We could go to that park close to Toni's,” she suggested. “The park for artistic inspiration and then Toni’s for dinner? Or late lunch depending on the time?” 

“I’d like that,” he said, grinning as he nodded again. 

“Good,” she said, twisting her braid again as she looked down, almost shyly. “It’s a date.” 

“Totally,” he said and she shook her head as she raised it to look up at him with a smile. 

“Radical,” she said, echoing his word from earlier and he laughed loudly, the wind picking up and carrying his laughter across the water. 

The ride back seemed to take less time, the wind pushing them on. They were quiet, comfortable in the silence, as they watched other boats and Scully ran her fingers through the water, smiling as she watched it drip down as she raised her hand. He smiled as he stared at her in her big hat and sunglasses. 

So cute, he thought. Really wished I would have spoken to her sooner. 

“Does it ever make you stop and think?” she asked. 

“What?” he asked, feeling for a second that she was reading his mind. 

“Just how big the world is, how amazing. That this water is here, that it stays here, hundreds, if not thousands, of feet deep, and it’s just here. And that there are places in the world that we will never see, yet they are there, simply existing.” She stared at the water dripping from her fingers. “I’m touching something that someone might be wishing they could touch. In a place where someone might yearn to be. And yet I might wish to be where they are, exploring what their homeland may offer.” She looked at him, smiling slowly. “It’s wild isn’t it?” 

“Whoa… getting all profound on me,” he said and she exhaled a laugh. “But yes, I understand what you mean.” 

“This is big,” she said, waving her other hand to emphasize the area around them. “But it’s also small. It’s just… I don’t know. It just struck me and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Puts things into perspective,” he agreed with a nod. “I was just thinking, I wished I’d spoken to you sooner. Maybe this wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve gone sailing. Maybe it would have been a weekly occurrence, something we did every Monday.” 

She tilted her head, staring at him through her sunglasses, and shook her head slightly. 

“I wasn’t in a place then to spend my Monday’s sailing with anyone. I was… I was going through some things last year- my own personal things and I…” She shook her head again and leaned forward, holding her hand out to him. He took it and she squeezed gently. “I think… I think I would have broken your heart. And my own in the process.” She smiled sadly and he squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Because like I told you already, I really like you, Fox Mulder.” 

“Well,” he said, smiling softly. “Then we met exactly when we were supposed to.” She nodded, squeezing his hand again. “Because I really like you too, Dana Scully.” 

“Good,” she whispered and he nodded as they squeezed at the same time, smiling as she let go and leaned back, picking up the blanket beside her and wrapping it around her legs. 

When the docks began to come into sight, she took off his sweatshirt, packing it and the blankets back inside of his backpack. Into her own, went her floppy hat. 

Jumping out again as they reached the dock, she securely tied the rope to the cleat, smiling at him proudly. 

He took her life jacket and placed them both back in their correct space, then he furled the sail and continued securing the boat. He set their backpacks on the dock before stepping out and standing beside her. She smiled as they picked their things up and walked to his car to drop it off. 

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay for lunch here?” she asked, loosening her braids and letting her hair flow freely. “I do have a different shirt, but I don’t-”

“You look fine,” he said, taking in her attire of a black sweater and jeans. 

“You’re sure?” she asked again, quickly braiding her hair into one long braid that lay over her left shoulder. She twisted the end, biting her lip as she looked at the building nervously. 

“Hey,” he said softly, covering her hand and bringing it down to hold her fingers loosely in his own. “If it was a fancy place and there was a strict code, especially at this time of day, I would’ve told you. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable anywhere.” 

She stared at him, her sunglasses now off, allowing him to look into her beautiful blue eyes. She squeezed his hand, placing her other on his cheek as she rose up to kiss him softly. He put his hand on her hip to hold steady and kissed her back just as gently. 

“You,” she breathed as they broke apart. “You are something else. You know that, right?” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, squeezing her hip and stepping back. “I might.” 

She laughed quietly and he tugged at her hand, pulling her toward the building. She held his upper arm with her other hand and he smiled as they walked. 

“I promise that you don’t need to feel nervous,” he assured her as they neared the doors. “My parents are going to love you.” 

“Oh my God! Your parents are here?! Right now?!”! she asked, stopping in her steps and staring at him, her eyes wide. He smiled and shook his head, stepping close and squeezing her hand. 

“Gotcha,” he whispered. 

[starbuck09256]

Hot date?

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023

Mulder POV

Set in season 2 during Sleepless

Scully doesn’t shake Kryceks hand. I feel a little smug about it. Scully and I went through a lot last year. While we didn’t always have the easiest of partnerships, the large amount of respect and admiration for her has only grown in recent months. As much as I tried to step away after The X-files were closed it didn’t work. She is still here by my side helping me when she can. I know she misses the fieldwork, she loves the challenge of the unexplained almost as much as I do. I lean back after she explains how a man can think they were being burned alive yet not have a single burn on his body. Her expertise and knowledge continue to amaze me as I smile as Kryceks asks his follow-up questions. I pick up a recent article she has lying on the side of the desk. It’s one that I sent her yesterday. I grin at the notes and highlights she has already jotted down. The one at the bottom, stating “There is not nearly enough room on this page or any of the others to describe how wrong and incredibly fabricated this is”. Given all that she has done for me in recent weeks, I know I need to take her to dinner. Then I hear Krycek saying something to her about dinner as well. Confused I lift my head up in curiosity. 

“I am wondering if you would have dinner with me, sometime this week Agent Scully,” she looks up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, you mean to discuss the case?” I can see the shadow of her face and know that Krycek has made her uneasy. While I would like nothing more than to go up and wrap my arm around her and explain clearly that she is not on the market. She is on the market. I know she isn’t seeing anyone socially. There are days I wonder if I could get a refund on my Oxford education because, until this exact moment, I didn’t realize I should be dating Scully. Krycek chuckles and shakes his head reaching his hand out towards. Scully's eyes flicker to me quickly but I know she can handle this on her own, and my own interest in her makes it imperative to hear her answer. “I would want to know if you would like to go on a date with me?” Krycek asks, he pulls his hand away since Scully put some distance between them. “I don’t think so, Agent Krycek? Was it?” Ooh well played Scully, well played. Not only did you brush off his question you also illustrated quite clearly his unimportance. I can’t help but grin just slightly. Krycek seems a bit confused at being denied. “Why? Are you seeing someone? It's just dinner,” Scully takes a step towards him. My former partner will not be pushed around by anyone, ever. I can’t say that I’m not a tiny bit thrilled to have her unleash on him. Krycek is an annoying little yes man who makes me want to question any personnel who thought he was Agent material. “Actually, Agent Krycek, I’m interested in someone else, though I’m sure you would be an adequate dinner companion.” Scully's eyes now land directly on mine right at the moment she said she was interested in someone else. I have to resist the urge to point at myself. A man can dream, that this spitfire woman, whose brilliance and tenacity have certainly captured my heart, would be interested. “Well, alright Agent Scully,” Krycek leaves it alone.

 Part of me is surprised he seems like the kind of creep who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Krycek reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone dialing as he gestures that he will be right outside when I’m done. 

I walk over to Scully. She looks up at me with a small smile. I bite my lip. “I didn’t know, he wanted to ask you out,” I say because really I didn’t. While of course, I have thought about Scully in not-so-professional ways. It wasn’t until minutes ago that I realized I could ask her out. I could spend my evenings with her in that cozy apartment of hers, arguing about cryptoids and the validity of space crafts that have crashed into the sea. She shrugs. “Well, he certainly isn’t the person I was hoping to ask me out when you two walked through the door.” My brave woman. She has played her hand, and I am grinning wildly at her. “I might have come to the conclusion just a few minutes ago that now that we aren’t partners in a professional sense, we could in fact be partners in a more personal manner.” I step close to her, invading her small space, which doesn’t make sense to me as she takes up so much of my mind some days it’s hard to think of her as tiny or small. She looks up at me with those beautiful blue eyes, “You just now thought of that? I thought you went to Oxford?” she teases and I am already moving my hand up and down her arm. “Tonight dinner?” I ask. Please say yes Scully. Because it’s Friday and I want the entire weekend to make up for the fact that you and I could have been enjoying each other for months in non-platonic ways. “Pick me up at 7?” She says, her soft smile is the one she gives me when she figures out the small clues I leave for her to uncover. I reach up tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “Absolutely,” I say. She nods softly. 

Her voice takes on a soft undertone “I’ll email this over to you when I’m done. We can talk about that article you sent yesterday.” She is all of a sudden a little shy and I adore it. “Oh, I don’t know Scully I have other things I think we need to talk about tonight. Like if I should bring my go-bag and what your favorite breakfast foods that I can make you are?” She shakes her head laughing and hits me with the file folder. “Get out of here Mulder, I need to leave soon to get ready for my hot date.” I chuckle heading to the door. “You mean I need to leave and get ready for my hot date,” I say to her.  We grin at one another and as I turn to grab the handle for the door. Her shy voice is back. “Maybe pack for an extended weekend, since we have Monday off, after all.” The shit-eating grin I have when I walk out of the morgue drives Krycek a bit nuts as he sulks back to the bullpen. 

[junkshop-disco]

Just posted a new chapter so what better time for a fic meme. Tagged by @magicalrocketships but idk if I have any better screen grabs than theirs.

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

38, which makes the average word count completely ridiculous.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

1,048,397. Average word count 27,589. Brevity, I don't know her.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Downton Abbey, Fate the Winx Saga, Good Omens currently.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Honeysuckle Arch

Learning to Speak the Language of Flowers

An Equal and Opposite Reaction

Instalments

The Could in People

Whenever I look at the stats, I'm taken aback at just how skewed my sense of which fics are the most popular is. Because I would not have guessed some of these at all.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, but I am--at heart--a deeply anxious squirrel masquerading as a person and any sort of interaction with people I don't know well can sometimes be too much for me to handle. When my anxiety is bad, I imagine that every single comment will be about how shit my writing is and what an awful person I am, so I can't read them right away, let alone reply. I have to work up to them and do a couple at a time and I always intend to reply but sometimes, weeks/months/years pass without me feeling up to it and then it feels too awkward. Right now my anxiety is much better thanks to lots of medication and some pretty hefty life changes, so I'm more able to engage with them like a vaguely normal person, but sometimes if I have a bad week, opening the comment box to reply 'thanks! Glad you liked it' makes me feel like James Bond sitting nose to nose with an armed bomb. I do hold onto comments, though. I screen grab ones that really resonated and re-read them when I feel down. They mean a great deal to me, even if I can't always say so in a timely fashion.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's definitely a Merlin fic, possibly Doubt Creeps In? That whole thing is pretty angsty and there's no real resolution. I wrote a few angsty endings in Merlin fic.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Idk that I've ever written truly happy ending. I've written cute endings, give-them-a-break endings, but I don't know if I'd describe any of them as happy. I don't tend to go in for them. Nothing winds me up more than an epilogue with a pasted on happy ending. I have been known to hurl a book across the room.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't for a while but I used to when I wrote HP fic. My favourite ever was 'you should be flayed for writing this. I hope you die.' I still laugh when I think about it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. All kinds? I have written the odd fade to black in my time and also the most unremitting filth in all flavours of vanilla to kinky.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written a handful. Back on LJ I wrote a Merlin/Twilight crossover where Edward and Merlin team up to fight evil vampire unicorns who can only be killed by virgins singing at them until they explode.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. Tbh I just feel sad for the people who do it. It seems like a very hollow way to do fandom.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep. And podficced! It's always nice.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've done a few Big Bangs and other events where I collaborated with someone and it's always one of my favourite things to do. I've also co-written some... stuff on anon, which we're not going to talk about 👀

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Can anyone pick just one? Like Hotel California, I check out but I never leave. I am still here for Mulder and Scully, Mal and Inara, Tara and Willow, Giles and Jenny, Bradley and Colin, Merlin and Gwaine, Nick and Harry and Niall, Isak and Even, Remus, Lily, Sirius and Tonks, Crowley and Aziraphale, Thomas and Richard, Ed and Stede, Farah and Saul. The ships I love never leave me and picking a favourite would make me sad.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

If I'm posting it, it will get finished. I have a couple of things languishing on my hard drive that may never see the light of day, like a Thomas in LA fic post DA2, but I can't not finish things.

16. What are your writing strengths?

A commitment to the bit? An unwavering belief there's never a bad time for banter? An unfailing devotion to poking people's bruises?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

See above.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Would attempt only in a comedy situation where getting it wrong was the point.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Firefly. The first one I posted in was HP though, rip.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Saying I'm fond of all of them would be such a cop out, wouldn't it? In truth, my favourite is usually the one I'm currently writing, so let's say Sum of the In-between Things. It's morphed so far from what I intended it to be and I have literally no idea if I can stick the landing on it, but I've genuinely had a blast writing it, and that's the point, isn't it?

Tagging: @septemberrie @myalchod and @magnolia822!

[lilydalexf]

I've been searching for a week for a fic i thought i saved but didn't...i don't remember what the post/summary said except that it was "extremely nc-17" of Mulder giving Scully oral... does this ring any bells? i know this is so vague lmao. Thank you for your amazing fic rec posts!

Thank YOU!

You might be looking for Driven Away by mimic117. Its summary (referring to Mulder and Scully): He's driving her crazy.

That fic's rating is not "extremely NC-17" when you look at the fic, but the Away series it's a part of is described that way by the author: This series ushered in the SexPig!Mulder category. Insistent, persistent, and doesn't take "later" for an answer. Not non-con or rape, just an insatiable man who wants what he wants when he wants it. All stories are extremely NC-17.

[randomfoggytiger]

A Compilation of Fic!Mulder Being Described as a Puppy

Although I am not a "Mulder is a puppy" subscriber, I made this compilation to honor the days, weeks, and months of fanfic reading where-- out of curiosity-- I started copy-pasting every mention or comparison I ran across.

This is nowhere NEAR all of them... but it was almost 17 pages long, so it had to be shared.

All intended in good fun and non-judgment. ;)))

(Shoutout to all the various fics and authors I pulled these from~):

Mulder standing there with the most pitiful-looking puppy eyes 

The sad puppy eyes he gives always makes her cave. 

Mulder, like a lost puppy, offers his swollen wrist.

 Mulder looks like a puppy, except Skinner feels like kicking him.

 He leaves every night only to return again the next day. Like a stray puppy.

Mulder is the most agreeable puppy known to mankind. 

His puppy-dog eyes don’t even look like his puppy-dog eyes anymore.

Mulder’s head shoots up and he looks around, confused and lost like a puppy.

 His sad puppy eyes get me every time.

He puts on his puppy-dog eyes 

Those puppy eyes were pleading with her-

Mulder made a sound like an overjoyed puppy.

His forlorn puppy dog expression somehow made him even more adorable.

…pretending not to notice the slightly wounded, kicked puppy look on his face. 

Awkward like a half-grown puppy.

The door opens to reveal Mulder staring at the floor in puppy-who-peed-on-the-rug shame

she approaches the ashamed puppy gently

“But Scully,” he whines with those puppy eyes of his

Here’s another night without the little one with the puppy-dog eyes,

…begs her with his best pout and what he hopes are his best puppy eyes.

“He’s very eager,” Melissa snickered when Mulder excused himself to go to the bathroom. “Like a puppy.”

Mulder, like a kicked puppy, wants approval.

He’s like a puppy she needs to keep an eye on. 

“How?” He asks, interrupting her like a puppy.

She shudders and Mulder stares at her like a lost kicked-at puppy. 

Mulder follows her, excited like a puppy

She couldn’t do it when Mulder stared at her like a puppy

Waiting for her to return, like a dog.

She adds another thing to her ever-expanding list of Mulderisms: he is like a dog with a bone

He’s searching her face, worried puppy dog eyes and all. 

He looks like a dog with a bone and she stops herself from saying more.

Mulder, like a dutiful puppy, follows

He’s wearing that puppy dog face she hates to see.

He hasn’t been around people for so long that he’s like a puppy, just dancing and jumping around everyone who gives him attention, wanting to make new friends.

He reminds her of a puppy who hasn’t been entertained enough.

Mulder manages to relax; just like a puppy trying to do right by its owner. Scully fears that, just like with a puppy, it won’t last. 

“She wants Mommy.” Mulder’s giving her the puppy-dog eyes

When Mulder emerges he has the look of a drown puppy

She can see his puppy face

My Mulder is amazing, and sensitive, and sometimes it’s a bit like owning a happy-go-lucky dog

practically bounding over to her with the essence of a golden retriever.

The hurt on his face was clear, his eyes like a kicked puppy.

She feels like she’s been kicking a puppy in the same tender spots for months and months.

He looked at her with his best puppy dog eyes.

There wasn't a woman alive who could resist the Mulder Puppy Dog Pout.

He looks down and gives her his best puppy expression

with his tail tucked between his legs

Mulder says to his wife while turning on his puppy-dog eyes to full blast

“Are you saying you don’t want to have dinner with me?” He looks at her with puppy-dog eyes

He then looks at her with his pleading, puppy-dog eyes

his puppy-dog eyes to full blast

Mulder gave her an expression that mimicked a confused puppy

 Mulder gave me his silent puppy-dog expression

I follow her like an obedient puppy dog

asking if something is okay while also having the look of a guilty puppy

Mulder had been looking at Scully with those sad, hazel eyes like a little boy about to ask for a puppy (THIS COUNTS, OKAY???)

petting and combing through his hair like a beloved dog

 He feels like a Labrador retriever 

Mulder is shivering like a whipped puppy 

The saddest puppy eyes she’s ever seen can’t make contact with her own.

The sad puppy eyes he gives always makes her cave. 

She uses her best eyebrow arch to combat his puppy-dog eyes.

Mulder arrives at her desk with the tentative gait of a puppy that has done a bad thing

the familiar puppy dog expression etched in his features

Mulder’s puppy dog eyes

his puppy dog eyes were getting to her 

His puppy dog stare working at its best.

he’s looking at her like that puppy again

Mulder follows her like a puppy, telling her this and that

Mulder jumped up like an excited puppy

when Mulder stared at her like a puppy,

“He’s very eager,” Melissa snickered when Mulder excused himself to go to the bathroom. “Like a puppy.”

Mulder follows her, excited like a puppy

he’s just stared at like a dog

 His puppy eyes pin her down.

Mulder, with his puppy dog eyes, quashed beliefs,

He nods while turning up the puppy-dog eyes.

kicked-puppy look

eyes unguarded with that puppy dog smile on his lips 

He pouts at her, puppy eyes and all

He shrugged, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. 

"Aw, come on, Scully" Mulder has his best puppy dog face on

Mulder’s own puppy eyes were the hardest to ignore

Mulder shakes his head to clear it, like a dog

A kicked dog who always came back for more

Like a dog with a bone, she thought.

his lower lip pouting out with the puppy dog eyes

he teased with his puppy dog eyes

And now he was looking at her with that stupid puppyish expression 

He offered her his most mulderish puppy expression.

his wet clothes on and his kicked-puppy eyes.

He even had the same pouty puppy look

“Can I have another one?” He asks with his puppy-dog eyes.

Was he all limbs and awkward like a Labrador puppy that doesn’t know how to control his paws?

your sad puppy-like hazel eyes

“I’m not a dog, Scully,” he says 

He gives a contented sigh, not unlike a puppy

“maybe you’re like a puppy. You need a good swat every now and then “

Mulder stood 

behind with his best puppy dog face

 threw her the puppy dog eyes at the end of the workday

Mulder's like a dog with a bone when he wants something.

let me see confused-drowned-rat-puppy Mulder (not fanfic but it counts)

a German Shepherd puppy

She laughs at him and his wounded puppy-look

Mulder had followed her out of the basement office like a big lost puppy.

He was giving her the puppy dog eyes

She can see his puppy face.

Scully definitely thought his resemblance to a puppy was practically uncanny.

now as sunny as a golden retriever

Sending him into puppy dog mode

to Scully he resembles a puppy waiting for a treat

giving her puppy dog eyes and a smug grin.

“Drop the puppy face Mulder and pass me the bread.”

“Who are you calling a puppy?” 

the puppy dog eyes

he gave her that wounded, puppy look.

He gives her the puppy-dog eyes

shame to go with the puppydog eyes 

he looked like a puppy 

Mulder suddenly pulled his puppy-dog look

that stupid puppyish expression of sheepishness

 his kicked-puppy eyes.

He was eyeing her with his puppy expression 

His puppy-dog eyes don’t even look like his puppy-dog eyes anymore. 

shot her a pathetic puppy dog face

e was the puppy that didn’t learn not to chew her shoes.

He fixes her with those --- puppy eyes

sometimes hazel, sometimes green, puppy dog eyes

Mulder stares at him with those regretful labrador eyes.

Mulder crunched on another sunflower seed, then shot her a pathetic puppy dog face.

she can never say no to his puppy eyes 

his big puppy dog eyes are enough to get her to concede

 then he shakes like a dog

“I can feel your stupid puppy dog eyes from over here, Mulder.”

He’s next to her, shaking out his soaked hair like the world’s largest puppy. 

“You’re doing that thing with your face…that kicked puppy thing.”

“Kicked puppy thing?  Scully you’re delusional.”

A kicked dog who always came back for more, expecting a different outcome.

So far, he employs the puppy-dog eyes and the pouty lips, but not the boyish smile.

He was now tailing her like a lost puppy 

tapping against the small of her back like a puppy wanting attention.

Scully felt liked she’d kicked a puppy

maintain an air of indifference in the face of Mulder’s puppy-like enthusiasm.

he opened his other eye and gave her his best puppy-dog expression. 

“The puppy eyes aren’t doing it for me….”

Mulder gave her his signature puppy dog look of despair,

she wasn't even getting the usual puppydog whine of "do I have to?"

"Is that what the hang dog expression is supposed to convey?"

was to make the kicked puppy-dog face

Scully shook her hear at his puppy dog pout

he gave her the wounded puppy dog look

He gave her the most exaggerated puppy dog

The puppy dog look wasn't going to work this time.

looking at her with identical puppy-dog eyes.

she couldn't resist his puppy-dog look. 

He looked at her with his sad, hound-dog eyes,

Considering I looked like a drowned puppy,

Mulder appeared lately like a dog chasing its own tail

Mulder returned, looking like a whipped dog.

He tilted his head like a dog trying to make sense of its owner's language.

Mulder cocked his head like a dog listening for squirrels.

Scully tried to imagine young Mulder, with long limbs and big paws like a puppy,

puppy dog eyes, Mulder.

He could be like a yappy terrier dog with a favorite toy sometimes.

Mulder *loved* playing "sick puppy" around Scully

Hangdog expression in full effect and everything.

Mulder stood, his suit rumpled and limp, wearing a hangdog expression

his patented puppy-dog face.

He looks wounded, a puppy kicked and left on the side of the road. 

Like a sad little lost puppy, he nods

He followed her like a puppy 

bashful puppy expression crossing his face.

like a excited puppy getting his footing all mixed up on the slippery kitchen floor

she throws popcorn at him and he tries to catch it like a dog.

By looking at his sad puppy eyes

he seemed like a sad dog in the rain

 rubbing his head against her, like a dog. 

But his puppy dog eyes were getting to her 

he pouted with his best kicked-puppy look

You're a sick puppy, Mulde

With Mulder nipping at my heels like a less tan well-behaved puppy

Howling at the moon like a discontented wolf up.

 his puppy dog eyes turned up to eleven

You were watching me, with those hazel puppy-eyes of yours.

The hung dog look on his face

looking at her like a puppy looks at it's owner,

his eyes, as they put on their best `puppy dog' look 

made her feel like she was kicking a puppy

Mulder gave me the puppy dog look

He wore his hangdog expression, his eyes glancing away

like some stray dog.

lost puppy like quality about him

He was like a lost puppy following her.

he got this lost puppy dog look

I tried the puppy dog look.

he looked like a whipped puppy.

eyes crumpled in their standard puppy-dog-pleading expression 

Looks like a starved puppy

'I sound like a lap dog' he thought

his irresistible puppy dog eyes 

She surveys his drowned puppy appearance.

Like a sad little lost puppy, he nods

he unleashed the puppy-dog eyes on her.

that mock-up of his usual whipped puppy look.

puppy-dog eyes of his

And no puppy dog looks, either

The puppy dog look.

with those big puppy eyes she could hardly resist. 

his puppy eyes directed at her 

Like a dog with a bone, 

that strange, puppy dog expression

He pulls out a puppy dog look

puppy-dog eyes and acting like

rabid wolves and injured puppies

He had those big puppy eyes 

meek puppy expression 

waiting like an obedient puppy to be allowed back inside the house.

resisting those puppy-dog eyes. 

like a lovesick puppy

like she’s trying to calm a wounded dog.

all puppy dog eyes and extra wrinkles 

 It makes me think of a puppy

I had patted his inner puppy

morph Mulder into my neighbor's beagle puppy 

as an inquisitive puppy.

 Mulder trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

 for his puppy dog face 

 lip pouting out with the puppy dog eyes

he teased with his puppy dog eyes

his saddest puppy dog eyes 

Mulder *loved* playing "sick puppy" around Scully 

 downcast in apologetic puppy dog fashion 

 in boyish puppy love 

my big green puppy-dog eyes

puppy eyes always 

 with those puppy eyes 

puppy eyes and 

 the puppy not wanting to be left behind 

Mulder's head tilts like the puzzled puppy 

Mulder made a sad puppy dog face at me.

Mulder gave me puppy dog eyes 

I can work the injured puppy dog angle 

giving her the puppy dog eyes 

making puppy eyes at the local law 

an image of them, his puppy eyes 

The puppy eyes. 

telling her very errant dog to "heel," 

His lost puppy gaze tore at Scully’s heart. 

Mulder has his best puppy dog face on 

Mulder who follows her like a lost puppy 

somewhat like a lost puppy 

He was like a puppy sometimes, her partner.

his wounded puppy expression 

building like a stray dog 

gave her my puppy face 

Mulder following after Phoebe like a lost puppy 

Mulder gave her puppy dog eyes

he looks at her with those puppy eyes 

he flashed his puppy dog eyes in return 

His forlorn puppy dog expression 

giving her that puppy look

the slightly wounded, kicked puppy look on his face 

puppy-who-peed-on-the-rug shame,

she approaches the ashamed puppy gently

you act like a kicked puppy dog 

gifts her his best puppy dog look. 

A patented puppy-dog look that melts

 puppy-dog face so well with grays at his temple.

out of the car like a puppy with a new toy.

when coupled with the puppy dog look. 

He turned his best puppy dog look

Big droopy puppy dog eyes.

scruffy hair and puppy dog eyes

he followed her like a lost puppy 

His puppy-dog eyes and disheveled appearance 

she wouldn’t be persuaded by his pouty lip or puppy-dog eyes. 

 Deep down, he would always be the helpless puppy begging for love and…

The man replies giving his best puppy dog face.

When he gives her his puppy dog eyes

Giving her his best puppy dog stare

he gave her his puppy eye look in return 

Mulder deadpans and tries to give his best puppy dog look.

with a disgustingly cute puppy dog look 

tangling himself like a puppy not quite grown into his paws 

your adorable puppy—partner—lowers his gaze 

Not unlike a large dog, he continues to shuffle 

"And no Mulder, your innocent puppy look will not get you 

Mulder asked with his puppy look directed at her.

"You'd give me that puppy-dog face and pretend 

 I'm-a-lost-puppy-won't-you-give-me-a-home voice.

his wide, puppy dog eyes and was horrified to see

 his best puppy dog eyes, a signal of peace  

 puppy eyes and all, tragically licking 

With Mulder nipping at my heels like a less than well-behaved puppy 

With those big puppy eyes, that pouty mouth and mussed hair 

Just like a beaten spaniel.

displaying the hurt puppy-dog look he did so well.

gave her his best wounded puppy look. 

face took on that puppy-dog look 

Mulder suddenly remembered his greatest weapon, and he unleashed it, favoring Scully with his Puppy-dog face. 

ever the actor, immediately slipped into his puppy-dog look 

Mulder turned out the bathroom light and smiled at her again, looking lost and puppy like.

She'd seen that puppy dog look a thousand times 

He looks like a sad puppy.

…he looks like a sad puppy she just kicked.

"Oh, don't give me the wounded puppy routine. 

Mulder felt like he'd just pistol-whipped a puppy. "I thought I was."

today he had been so puppy-like 

Mulder’s eyes and his puppy dog’s face

Snagged, just like a pup snatched up by the dog catcher

Cornered.  Like a dog, 

I ask with my best puppy dog look.

my best sad-doggy expression

He gives her his own puppy expression

his best puppy dogs eyes 

his standard puppy dog eyes.

sad puppy eyes and pouty lips. 

Engaging the puppy-eyes, Mulder resorts

That lost-puppy look you always use

sitting in a corner, shivering like a little puppy?

mournful, whipped puppy look on his face.

His best puppy face was ruined

like a bad, bad puppy caught tearing up the flower bed

 the pouty lips and puppy dog eyes 

Puppy-dog look.

puppy-dog expression on her

"puppy dog eyes" on his partner

an obedient puppy dog 

 frowned, puppydog eyes staring

petulant puppy face firmly in place

equivalent of puppy dog eyes. 

looked at her with puppy eyes.

that lopsided puppy dog grin

Again, his face wore the puppy dog expression.

Mulder nods solemnly, giving her his best puppy eyes. 

 when he was smiling with his puppy eyes. 

his best puppy dog eyes

giving her the most puppy dog eyes

Like a disciplined puppy 

her partner's puppyish exuberance.

rings with a touch of kicked puppy. 

She wants to resist his puppy-dog eyes 

 he moaned, pulling his hurt puppy dog expression. 

He gave her his best wounded puppy dog look.

Not gazing as Holman said, because he knew he did not do that like some lovesick puppy 

He turned his head like a lost puppy and observed her.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[asifyoudidntknow]

Differences

I randomly get these stories that just pop in my head and beg to be written down. Sorry if this doesn't sound half as good as the ramblings did in my mind. When it strikes, I just go with it.

@today-in-fic

Half the time with Phoebe he was drunk. For being a brilliant psychologist, Mulder spent quite a bit of time in the dark, dingy basement pubs surrounding campus in his early years at Oxford. Mulder took after his father when first moving to England by drowning his sorrows in whatever alcoholic beverage was of choice that week. He let Phoebe into his life during this low time and freely let her manipulate him. The sex was fun and spontaneous. She used it as a way to further fuck with his mind. The body games were just as much of a way she could twist his mind as it was about bringing herself pleasure. It wasn’t until the summer between his sophomore and junior year when he had a professor that gave extra credit by participating in counseling sessions so that senior degree candidates could hone their techniques that he truly saw how detrimental his relationship was with Phoebe. He went to see if any of these upperclassmen were any good and stayed when he realized just how beneficial the sessions were for his “love is blind”, fucked up relationship…a bonus being extra credit. That summer was a turning point for him. He started focusing more on his studies. He distanced himself from the pubs, as well as Phoebe. She didn’t seem to notice too much. After trying to drag him out a couple of times, she gave up pretty quickly and moved on to the next. Phoebe wasn’t in things for the long haul…easily bored is one way he would describe her. Easily bored and looking to climb the ladder at the Scotland Yard by any means possible.

Comfortable is how he would describe his relationship with Diana. Good. Nice. The usual. He and Diana got along. They agreed most of the time. She looked at his brilliant mind in awe. She almost envied how he came to learn and see angles no one else might. His ego was stroked every time she commented on how amazing he was at his job. The sex was comfortable. Good. Nice. The usual. He could be himself and she accepted him. She didn’t try to push or argue. She easily gained his trust. He readily accepted hers. They were both FBI agents so there wasn’t anything to hide. They could discuss cases, knew about what was going on in the building, could talk about supervisors and employees without having to explain much. She was giddy about all of the old cases he was discovering in the basement and supported his decision to pursue the X-files. So when he returned home late to his apartment one night to a note and Diana gone he felt lost.

Lightning is how he would describe his relationship with Scully. Fiery. Challenging. Passionate. Though, always with an undertone of respect. This wasn’t comfortable. It was bettering. There was growth because her mind was as brilliant as his. A match. A volleying. A constant rendering and honing of his ideas and theories. She’d pull him down while building him up. She let him become vulnerable on his own, but with his profiling skills it didn’t take long for him to know that her character was true and full of integrity. The bantering was arousing. He’d find himself picking up the phone at all hours after the workday and on weekends just to bounce ideas around with her. It was intoxicating. When the sex finally did happen it was very different than anything he’d ever experienced before. Out in the field they were able to anticipate each other, had a keen sense of proximity, knew when to lead versus follow and that seamlessly translated in the bedroom. Dazing. Merging. Pushing. Pulling. Completeness. Mulder could say now with absolute certainty that he’d never experienced being in love before. Nothing was as crushing, aching, or primal as this. He was sure of it. And he wasn’t going to lose it.

[amplifyme]

Third Time’s a Charm

The X-Files. MSR. Rated: Teen & up. WC: 664. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

​He rolls over onto his side and finds her looking back at him in a mirrored position. They’re both still struggling to catch a deep breath. His bedroom smells of sheets a week past needing changed and just concluded sex. How does one describe that particular aroma? He thinks about it for a second and decides that mutual insanity fits pretty well right now. Folie au deux.

“Do we…” he hesitates, not sure how to put it. She is solemnly studying him with eyes that shouldn’t be as dazzling as they are, since his bedroom is illuminated only by the streetlights leaking their dim and hazy light through his open blinds. Far-off thunder rumbles quietly in the distance. “Should we… do we talk about this?”

Because Mulder thinks that falling into bed with Scully once is an anomaly. But twice is deliberate. And this third time is… what? A commitment? A habit? Maybe a declaration that this is no longer just a thing they do when under extreme stress? That perhaps now it’s something they engage in simply because they want to?

After all, it’s just a weeknight, and like many others before it. Living room well-lit as they go over files, sharing decent take-out and maybe a beer. No stress other than the low simmer of anxiety that’s always there. Everything just like it's always been before. And yet, somehow, they've found their way out of their clothes and into his bed. For the third time.

“What’s to talk about?” she lazily counters, drawing a damp palm across his collarbone and down his chest. “It is what it is.”

This is not the sort of remark Scully makes. She considers everything very carefully. Disassembles a thing and studies each separate part before she begins to reassemble the disparate segments into something she can explain in lengthy and often incomprehensible language. Her laissez faire attitude unsettles him.

“Well,” he begins, “because this isn’t.. it’s not. I mean, this is not what we do.” He takes in a deep breath. “Normally.”

“Apparently it is now,” she rejoins.

“And what do you think about that?”

“Do we need to discuss this?”

“I think so, Scully. You know how important you are to me, right? I mean, you do know. Don’t you?”

She’s still stroking him, up and down his body where she can reach, slow and precise, and it makes it hard for him to think. He’s thirty-seven years old and should require a bit of time between rounds of the horizontal mambo, but apparently his body is dialed into eighteen and perpetually horny. He’s flabbergasted by the ability of his penis to take a licking and come back ticking so quickly. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Scully.

“I know how you make me feel,” she declares.

“How’s that?” He’s honestly curious. Because the tone of her voice leads him to believe it’s something good. But nothing comes easily with Scully. She makes him work for almost everything.

It’s quiet long enough that he decides she’s going to ignore his query. But if it’s reticence, she hasn’t informed her hands of that. They’re still busy speaking their own language against him. Her legs have become tangled in his, dragging the satin of her skin across his. He can’t help it: he has to reciprocate. It’s too tempting to keep touching her in all the places he hasn’t been able to before.

He pulls her closer and gets busy with her mouth for a minute. They break their wet kiss and she breathes, “Desired,” against his lips. “Necessary,” she whispers across his chin. “Alive.” The word brushes the line of his cheek. She pulls back and cups his jaw in her talented and capable hands. Her swimming pool eyes threaten to swallow him whole. “Safe,” she proclaims.

His eyes slip shut at that. He wishes it were so. More than anything. She says it a second time, softly upon his face, and kisses his closed eyelids.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Notes:

Random brain dump so the muse can concentrate on a longer piece in progress. Mostly freeform.

Until next time…

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 4 thoughts

here we are!!! i actually turned off auto caps on my phone for this; that’s how serious this blog is getting. don't worry, i'll probably remember to turn it back on before i send an important email.

i haven’t seen an ep in a few days and i feel like it has been 80 years. the last episode wasn’t the greatest, so our time apart feels even longer.

this episode is about a guy named clyde. clyde bruckman is a hell of a name. i’m expecting a real cowboy. a guy who knows his way around a horse. he probably spits chew in a certain fashion. we shall see if i’m correct.

(editor's note: op found that clyde was not a cowboy, but something just as special... a friend <3)

we open with a man reading a magazine article on predictions, written by a celebrity psychic. we later learn that this fellow doing the reading is, in fact, clyde bruckman. and elvis being dead but buddy holly being alive has got to be one of the greatest theories i’ve ever heard. i WILL incorporate this into my belief system.

allegedly, buddy holly is going to open at a big music festival. and this is how i learn that lollapalooza was a thing even before chappell roan visited... but we all know that when she steps on that stage in a few short weeks it will blow anything secretly alive buddy holly could have cooked up in his wildest dreams. "the night the music died" <- crazy thing to say about a time before miss roan was even born. anyway...

bruckman ran into someone in the street. feels like a chekov’s gun moment but who knows.

hint: it was!

now the clumsy man is at the psychic. and he says he saw his own future and he seem himself doing things that are “out of character”. now that's suspicious~

OH??? clumsy man just killed the fortune teller and says she should have seen this coming. HUH???? clumsy murder man needs to be punished …our psychics deserve federal protection. 

we are at the scene of a murder. a different murder, because this one did NOT take place in the psychic's room. “they say the eyes capture the last thing a murder victim sees” “so what do they say about the entrails?” “yuck” LMAO i giggled a little….

they’re talking about some guy in vague terms, that he’s “unorthodox” and “a kook”, and then mulder walks in and it looks like they’re talking about him but the investigator says “who the hell are you” HAHAHA that got me as well

so the murderer left behind the eyeballs and scully says that they made a profile for the killer and i’m thinking yaaaaay they worked together <3 i love that spooky mulder, the well-established profiling expert, is willing to collaborate. but with her only.

and also the house is filled with porcelain dolls 

mulder knowing the professional name for the people who read tea leaves… unfortunately i love him so bad.

THEN the real star of the show rolls up. it’s the psychic from the cover of the magazine we saw clyde reading earlier. CROWDED w paparazzi. he's got a vague european accent going on here. hold up is that jon favreau in the background. i received no clarification on if that was him or not.

psychic is describing a guy who could be literally anyone “white man with facial hair… or not” “tattoo somewhere on his body” wow king of specifics. it's like he's in the room with us. /s

the agents are watching him do this and share a glance and i want it on a poster it’s sooo cute <3

celebrity psychic says he lost the vision from negative energy and then gets right up in the agent’s faces. they handle it pretty well, all things considered. because i would be telling him to back tf up. 

he asks mulder to LEAVE!!!! he has been diagnosed with negative energy. she leans in and says “i can’t take you anywhere” LMAOOOO so he stands outside and then the psychic says that skeptics like mulder make him sick. yeah i laughed!!! so what!

description of our guy: “white male, 17-34, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo, who is impotent” <- wow.

back to the clyde cam. he's selling insurance. telling some guy that he is going to die in a car crash. well this is an effective life insurance sales policy. or not, because he doesn’t close the deal!! sure would have worked on me.

back home, he takes out some moldy cabbage that looks like a guy’s head into the trash. takes out his neighbor’s trash as well, and sees a vision of the dog eating her remains. (sabrina brier voice) oh!!!

(wait i just realized i reference that video all the time and have never cited my sources. if you are unfamiliar with the legendary "oh!" moment please click here)

back to the plot at hand.

clyde asks if his neighbor has enough dog food. thoughtful man. BUT he sees a body in the trash!

this episode is making me giggle <- don't remember what prompted that note but it was true.

clyde, who reported the murder, says that he knew the eyes were cut out, but she was found face down... so. how do you know that. site your sources. “well it just figures”, he says, and it absolutely, and i cannot emphasize this enough, does not

they bring him to… a murder scene. dun dun dun!

he thinks they're pranking him and asks to see their identification again (sees mulder’s badge) “i’m supposed to believe that’s a real name?” yeah get him again for me.

he sees blood at the crime scene and throws up which... yeah. that’s pretty messed up. he emerges from throwing up and starts saying and doing the same things as the earlier psychic. but then he starts getting... a bit more specific. allegedly, the woman was having sex with the killer before she met her end.

“well then, what’s wrong?” “sometimes, it just seems that everyone’s having sex except for me” LMAOOOOOOOOO clyde you are too real

scully looks soooo confused and i love it

all of a sudden, he sees one of the many dolls as a bloated corpse head, and announces where they’ll find the body then… hands the doll to mulder. which is not the first time we have seen him holding a doll. it is an interesting visual. what are they trying to tell us??

scully isn’t buying it. why does clyde know all this stuff? “i don’t believe he’s the killer”, says mulder, and she responds with, “i don’t believe he’s psychic” yeah that’s the dynamic i love. and she is sooooo pretty. 

mulder goes to the dude’s house and he knows exactly what is going on. but then clyde seems shocked it's him so we are getting mixed messages here.

he asks mulder if he wants to know how he’s going to die, and mulder says yes after stuttering a little and i’m like WOAH where is this going… but clyde responds with “no you don’t”, which, okay yeah, i don’t think i could handle that either

(he goes on to try and sell mulder insurance)

clyde says the future is inevitable. or if he does get involved… what if there is the whole butterfly effect thing? and then he immediately agrees to going along with the investigation. king of not having an answer. the indecisive representation we deserve.

mulder you’re so pretttttyy... look at him watching clyde touch some brass frogs and base conclusions off of them.

scully arrived at the door as mulder has his head FLAT ON THE TABLE lmaoooo 

so, it appears that clyde can ONLY tell how people are going to die. nothing else. now is that useful to this investigation? it's arguable. maybe they can find an angle.

clyde says that the scrap of fabric he’s holding comes from mulder’s new york knick’s t shirt (which was a thing that happened in 1x13 when he was testing that other psychic!!!! ohhhh i remember! do not think i forgot!! and i was confused as to why he would have a knick’s shirt if he was from new england... perhaps he knows no loyalty to geography when it comes to sport)

but mulder denies that it is his shirt anyway, so.

they found keychains on the bodies, and clyde is going on about all the personal information of whoever owned said keychains. it turns out he just sold the guy an insurance policy a few months ago lmaooo... but he knows he was murdered! the death power strikes again.

scully is driving. clyde is in the passenger seat. mulder is sticking his head in between them, asking how he receives his psychic transmissions. it's funny. he wants to know how being a psychic works! so is it like, visions, or dreams or something?

he then implies that mulder will die by autoerotic asphyxiation <- HELLO????? he looks at scully after receiving this news. as if she can possibly defend him against such an accusation.

they’re in the forest looking for a body and clyde explains he knew “the big bopper” was going to die.

scully says she doesn’t believe in that stuff, and even if she did, she wouldn’t believe that story. damn, just really going for his throat, huh. he seems to believe her indignation is over the fact that he liked the big bopper better than buddy holly and he defends himself.

they try to get the car out and mulder’s suit gets all dirty (this is sad to me, a mulder suit enjoyer) but gasp!!! the car is RIGHT OVER THE BODY. that has to be bad for finding evidence. so he did know exactly where it was!!!!

they have a thread from the scene, and have presented it to clyde. “but don’t you have crime labs that analyze these things for you?” he asks scully “yes. yes we do” (pointed glare at mulder) LMAOOOO but he says it takes time!!! and they still haven't analyzed the other thread. so please please please just give your powers a go.

he doesn’t want to help out, but mulder says he wants some insurance. on the fiber, not actual life insurance :( clyde was so excited to tell him the benefits of general mutual!!!

clyde is describing mulder being stalked by the killer sometime in the future, and all of a sudden scully’s up and asking him for more details like she believes it. awww. it’s sweet in a way. does she believe in psychics? no. is she still gonna take detailed notes when one says mulder is in any slight danger? yeah. and don't worry about that seeming to contradict her belief system. she is complicated beyond simple characterizations of skeptic or believer.

he seems to think that the killer will slit mulder’s throat at the investigation, but he doesn’t want to tell him. he DOES tell him that he will step on a pie before whatever happens to him, happens to him.

thank you to the subtitles for clarifying that clyde was imitating johnny carson because they reference would have been lost on me. i know, i’m uncultured, i’m sorry. i’ll google it though. okay, as i thought, he was a late night host. see? we get an exchange of knowledge on this blog, i learn about johnny carson's way of pronouncing the word "killer" and you can use sabrina brier's "oh" in conversation now.

it seems the killer sent clyde a letter saying he’ll kill him. and he’ll be dead before they can get him help :( noooo i like mr bruckman!!! :(

back to the killer. he’s getting a tarot reading and says he’s looking for a guy he’s gonna kill. the man doing the tarot reading smiles nervously, because what do you say in such a situation.

they seem to have bought clyde a pie after his earlier ramblings on the subject, and he kindly asks scully if she wants some, but she denies because she must study background checks instead of relying upon visions. he asks if she is jealous. a good banter between them.

back at the tarot place, the reader mentions a woman. MAYBE A REDHEAD...? stay away from her…

clyde is going on about seeing himself in bed with scully. HELLO??? “it’s just a very special moment neither of us will ever forget” huh. laughs nervously. what the fuck. is she gonna find him dead or do we need to call HR.

(cries editing this, now that i know how the episode ends)

it seems the tarot card guy is about to get murdered. but back at the hotel room with clyde and scully, they’re playing cards and she’s talking about moby dick and macbeth misinterpreting prophecies...

but despite the denial, SHE ASKS HIM HOW SHE DIES??? he says “you don’t” and that is exactly what i like to hear <3

she seemed really serious about it too, like she didn’t want to admit that she was curious, initially deflecting. oh best believe i WILL psychoanalyze that.

LMAOOO okay so this is the episode where mulder says the “chantilly lace” line and she makes that face. he's referring to another thread found at a murder scene, but i saw it in a gif and i have been thinking about it since then.

she slaps his chest with the file and says good luck as he goes to babysit the old man psychic. it was very affectionate. do it again.

mulder is in bed. it’s sleepover time with the old man. “you’re not one of those people that turns everything into a sexual symbol, are you?”, clyde asks, seemingly self-conscious about revealing his recurring dream. mulder says no, but i’m unconvinced.

anyway, he talks about seeing himself dead, and how his body fades away. we see a cgi decomposing body and it’s quite gnarly. maybe it's clay? and all his skin faded away and he becomes bones. kinda gross tbh. but he says he feels at peace.

there’s been another murder, so another guy is gonna babysit our clyde, and i’m thinking noooo don’t trust this other guy!!

scully says she feels bad, that clyde has convinced himself he is a psychic and it’s taken all the joy out of his life :(

okay, the guy babysitting him seems to be telling him jokes. clyde says he won’t die of lung cancer so he lights up. and i'm thinking, buddy, he did not rule out emphysema.

hang on. that is a lighter we have seen before. in the hands of old lady who shall be eaten by dogs. now is this a mass produced object or are we about to witness the end of clyde!!!!

“don’t open that door for anybody”, says the babysitter, and clyde then immediately proceeds to do so. and who is it knocking but the psychic killer delivering their room service!!!

killer is asking clyde why he does these things and it’s “because you’re a homicidal maniac” well that would explain it! and then he stabs the babysitter. but clyde has delayed his fate by telling the murder he doesn’t kill him now. seems he believes him. clever thinking.

scully realizes that the killer is the bellhop at the hotel after seeing some more lace. which mulder describes as “woman’s intuition” yea <3

back at the hotel. mulder is in the kitchen. he sees the killer with the knife. it is all going down as clyde described it. now if there really is a pie do NOT BE DISTRACTED. OH there is a pie. and he knows he has to turn around, so he turns THE OTHER WAY. noooo!!!!!

they get in a struggle!!! mulder’s bleeding, and scully gets off the elevator just in time. she shoots the murderer. no hesitation on taking a life, she will kill a motherfucker for mulder. i love that about her. 

and scully only got there because she took the wrong elevator!!! more pondering on the meaning of fate!!!!!

i love when one of these bitches is on the floor in pain and the other comes over and comforts them. i think i need that in my life just once. it would heal me.

but the question is: where is bruckman?

they go to find him and they only find a dog tied to the door?? and a letter to scully. it’s the dog from before, the neighbor's pet. the letter from clyde says to take care of his neighbor's remains. and he asks if she wants a dog, and that you can’t blame him for the dog’s actions. so they go into the room.

BUT IT IS BRUCKMAN THAT IS DEAD IN THERE. it looks he took pills and suffocated himself. scully looks so so so so so sad.

AND OMG!!! SHE IS HOLDING HIS HAND WHILE HE IS IN BED AND CRYING. JUST LIKE HE SAID WOULD HAPPEN. WAIT THIS IS SO SAD. 

so that must be why he say a head in a bag at the start of the episode, it was his own death... and the killer was right, he did get to clyde before he was caught, he just didn't attack him. huh. funny how prophecies play out.

cutscene to her on the couch WITH THE DOG IN HER LAP. and an ad from the earlier eastern european psychic is on the tv. she throws the phone at him.

A DOG!!! a dog. okay, a lot to think about, but first and foremost we have scully with a dog <3 and it sits in her lap while she watches TV. and it MAY have tasted human flesh, which i feel is a hard thing to get past, but clearly she has done it. she has done the emotional labor of knowing that fuzzball knows what human meat feels like. and she has faith that this dog will not do the same to her. that is an awful lot of trust for a new dog. but we do know she loves animals. so perhaps she trusts the puppy.

i always pictured her with a big ol mutt from the pound. but a little dog can be just as good of a friend. and it WAS a rescue. that is important!

okay. back to the episode at hand, dog aside. even though it is a BIG deal to me and i'm honestly being so brave by not going on a monologue about what scully having a dog means to me. this episode was definitely comedic, and like the earlier comedic episode, i liked it a lot! but the ending made me so sad :( it was a pretty abrupt tone shift. 

still. the episode was SO good. i kept pausing every few seconds to write things down because they made me laugh or otherwise intrigued me (thinking of scully playing cards and explaining macbeth. or chantilly lace line. or "i can't take you anywhere". i will try not to think of mulder's potential death by choking himself for my own sanity)

and i liked clyde a lot. we get a lot of one time characters who we will never see again and so it’s good when those characters make an impact in the short amount of time we share with them. 

and i’m always gonna take a light-hearted episode, as light-hearted as a show where serial killing is a daily occurrence can be. it does go to show though that there wasn’t always a consistent tone throughout the story. and i do find that interesting. i am part of a generation where we typically get 6 hour long episodes of a tv show per season, and they’re so condensed there is very little time for exploration with genre or tone. in general, i have loathed this about modern television; the death of the filler episode has been lamented by people far more eloquent than myself.

the only thing i dislike about this format- doing a silly episode- is that if the next episode ends up being really dark it’s like, woah man, the whimsy, where did it go? last season we got humbug, which was SO fresh and funny, and then within the first 3 minutes of the next episode, a baby was killed by a train. so i lowkey got whiplash. but then again, i watched those episodes back to back, so maybe having a week between them seeing them air as they hit TV would have softened the blow. feel free to chime in with your theories on the nature of genre and how pacing of episode viewing effects that experience.

overall, a very good episode. i rank it up with humbug as one of my favorites, which is again funny, because i love the extreme angst and the silly. i paused to take so many notes because i liked so many things that i think i should someday rewatch it again and get a smoother experience haha

[soft-thrills]

Intrusive Thoughts

For the @xfpornbattle prompt: “Scully holding/squeezing Mulder’s hand during orgasm”

Summary: Mulder has an intrusive thought about Scully as she’s hypnotized during The Red and the Black -- and imagines her making those noises in another context. He returns to the thought more than once. 

Fic behind the cut! Unbeta’d.

The thought first comes to him as just a flash, for just a second, as they sit on the doctor’s couch in Silver Springs. 

Next to him, his partner is breathing heavily. He’s never heard her voice like this, raspy and breathy. He’s never seen her neck arched back, never studied the contracting of her throat as she gasps.

“Oh!” she breathes. “Oh!”

She reaches out for him, fingernails scraping against the hunter green leather of the couch, her pretty, capable fingers curling as if she --

Stop it.

But for just a moment, he can’t help to think of her making these sounds — of her throwing her head back — in response to pleasure, instead of pain.

He takes her hand and holds it, hoping to reassure her. By the time she’s describing the fire, the thought is gone, buried as it should be. She’s describing trauma. It’s wrong. 

When it’s over, she looks at him and asks: “You were here the whole time?”

He nods, ashamed.

*

He keeps it buried for weeks. He tries so hard not to think about it ever again. It’s just an intrusive thought, after all, to use the term he learned back in school. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything about him. It just happens.

And so on a Friday night, on his own leather couch, his cock in his hand, he tries to focus on the woman on his television screen. The woman doesn’t look anything like his partner -- that’s become a self-imposed requirement of his when it comes to choosing a tape from his collection. It’s wrong to think about her. And it’s really wrong to think about the sounds she made on that doctor’s couch, the way her head was thrown back, the way her --

Stop it. 

But he can’t. He’s weak. She’s there now, in his mind, in his fantasy, and who is he to turn her away? Who is he to kick her out of bed, or off his couch, even if only in his mind?

I’m sorry, he thinks, with the last grasp of his rational brain, I tried. I’m sure she’d appreciate the effort -- Sorry, Scully, I tried really hard not to reappropriate your traumatic recollections as masturbation material, but I just couldn’t do it. 

In his fantasy, she’s in his lap, her legs spread. They’re on his couch, the blue screen at the end of a forgotten and finished movie giving off the only light in the room. Her blouse is unbuttoned. Her skirt hiked all the way up around her waist. Her underwear long ago discarded on his floor. 

In his fantasy, he’s the reason she’s making those sounds. He’s slipping a finger, then two, then three inside of her, reveling in the wet heat, anticipating how it will feel when he replaces his fingers with his cock. But the fantasy isn’t really about his pleasure -- it’s about hers. 

She makes the sounds he’s committed to memory from the tapes of her hypnosis. The little moans. His fingers slow inside her, and then he takes them away. 

“Oh my God,” she whimpers. “I can’t --” 

Just the way she said it -- no, stop it, he thinks.

He adds in some new dialogue. 

“You can’t what, Scully?” he murmurs into her ear, her hot back resting against his chest. He palms her breasts over her bra as she wriggles against his erection. 

“I can’t take anymore teasing, Mulder. Please,” she whimpers. 

The tenor of her voice, the little gasps, the desperation, they’re familiar. But here, in his fantasy, she’s writhing with pleasure. 

“You want to come?” he asks her, moving a finger to her clit. 

She jolts, throws her head back against his chest. He imagines the movement of her neck as she gasps for air, as she swallows, as she says: “Yes, God, Mulder, make me come.”

He slips a finger inside as he works her clit.

“I’m going to make you come, Scully, and then, I’m going to fuck you until you think you can’t take anymore, and make you come again,” he promises her.

“Oh,” she whimpers as his fingers move faster. 

Her eyes are closed, and she gropes blindly to find his free hand. 

She clutches his hand in hers, and she comes, shaking and moaning his name. 

As fantasy Scully — perfect, pure — comes in his mind, real life Mulder — guilty, ashamed — comes in his hand, alone, thinking of her. 

*

He stuffs it away, in a corner of a closet in his mind. It’s something he mostly forgets, and then stumbles into, unexpectedly, now and then. When he’s imagining her bent over his desk, or in his mysteriously delivered water bed with the mirrored canopy, or in a dirty motel after a draining case, he’ll realize the sounds his Imaginary Scully is making in his mind aren’t imaginary -- they’re real, lifted from an ugly memory. He always feels bad about it, but it never stops him from coming, which makes him feel worse about it. It doesn’t happen a lot. But it happens.

Eventually, Scully isn’t strictly imaginary. Eventually, she winds up in his bed, on his couch, in her bed, on her floor, all sorts of places -- for real. 

He doesn’t need to imagine how she’ll sound in a moment of pleasure, or to reappropriate a moment of horror to hear it in his mind -- because he’s heard it, for real. Those are the memories he comes to revisit in his mind on the nights he is alone, when she’s beyond the connecting door, or across town at her apartment. The box is stuffed further into that closet in his mind, at the back of a high shelf, cobwebbed. 

Until.

Until one day, they’re on his couch, and he realizes, with a start, that they’re in the same position as his fantasy. She’s in his lap, he’s teasing her, she’s moaning, she’s panting, calling out to her God in frustration and desperation when he pulls back.

As he draws back in, she grips his hand, tight. And he remembers.

This, he thinks, this is the real deal. He thought he knew back then -- he thought what was on that tape of her hypnosis session was how she’d sound. 

But the real thing was different. Yes, there was desperation in her moans and cries. But there was also joy, and a sense of comfort and safety that had been totally absent during her hypnosis session, and as such, absent in the fantasy he’d drawn from it.

“Yes,” she pants. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

His big hand squeezes her smaller one. He feels an overwhelming desire to keep her safe -- even from his own dirty mind.

“I’ve got you, Scully,” he murmurs into her ear. “I’ve got you.”

“Oh, Mulder,” is all she says in reply before she comes, clutching his free hand for dear life. 

He never thinks of the hypnosis session again. 

*

author’s note: I mean come on, I’m not the only pervert whose mind goes there during that scene, right?