#scully deserves all the massages

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector's Edition: Fics That Deserve More Comments (Part I)

There isn't enough recognition for these fics in my opinion-- and that's a shame and must be rectified! SO-- I'm pushing this list out ASAP, without the usual aplomb and probably half-cocked; but it's the final results that count~. (At least that's what I tell myself.)

**Note**: All of these will be in a more detailed list in future.

**Note Again**: I got too tired to thoroughly finish it all professionally; but I decided to hit publish anyway. Have fun reading~.

**Note the 3rd**: This is probably littered with typos-- will ghost edit later. >:))))

Very loose chronological order below~

@txcb1013/charvill1981's

Paths Most Dangerous

AU-- Pre-S1 Captain Scully is warned by his old mate about Scully's new job, both men realizing it has to do with the Piper Maru submarine.  

Save by the Sight of Her

Pusher Mulder observes Scully's hurt, betrayal, and quick wit with a gun to her face; but she still keeps him guessing.

The Longest Summer

Post IWTB Mulder had tried to garden himself out of depression. Scully takes some plants with her, hoping that some space will help him heal while not letting him hide out at home forever.

Role of a Lifetime - Chapter 3

AU-- Post IWTB Scully disappeared; and Mulder finds someone he believes to be her five years later. All is not sunshine and roses, with her slowly repelling the life she used to live. This chapter explores Mulder's heartbreak and her explanation-- it's not him she's rejecting, but her own fears of herself.

Rainy Day

Pre-S10 Scully returns, telling Mulder her cancer has returned. He then surprises her twice: by fainting dead away, and proposing immediately after.

Jo_B's

Anterograde

Deep Throat Mulder is deeply shocked and grateful at how capable, empathetic, and understanding Scully is after his rescue.

holocene 

Post Redux II Mulder crashes at his apartment as reality sinks in: in just 24 hours, Scully will be energetically packing her bag and going back home.

@agentmulderrp's

Unnamed

Squeeze Mulder is glad that Scully stuck around.

Unnamed

Irresistible Mulder regrets that he hadn't arrived sooner, realizing Scully's "I'm fine" is code for anything but.

Unnamed

Per Manum Mulder is so shocked at Scully's request that he gets a pencil bop to the face. (Set right after he and Scully started dating.)

That WALKERKid's

These selfish wants of mine 

Post One Breath Mulder breaks into his office and tears it apart.

No matter how it happened, I do love you

S8 Mulder massages Scully's feet aches, in awe over his baby's foot outline and "UFO’s, road trips and mummy and daddy being in love".

Of all the things this unremarkable house has seen

Pre-S10 Mulder jogs along, depressed and thinking he'll never be forgiven. Scully calls, trying to veil her concern.  

The questions we don't ask each other

S10 Mulder asks a Magic 8 ball if Scully will ever forgive him; and receives no clear answer.

pir8grl 's This Time

Mulder and Scully trade gentle touches, having escaped death this time.

AlineLovelace's Jericho

AU Scully's body has vanished; but her ghost keeps trying to get Mulder-- who haunts her 'grave'-- to move on with life.

forgottenwords's

Scar Tissue

S3 Scully contemplates her and Mulder's scars.   

Wagers

Mulder is mortified over Skinner's personal inquiry of his 'relationship.' Scully is mortified the FBI bet is in the thousands.

adamstanheight's hindsight is twenty-twenty

Monday Skinner is dry-mouthed and horrified as his two agents blow up in the bank, the guilt over his actions in S. R. 819 coming home to roost.

@i-turn-to-stare/iturntostare's An Early Morning, Late Start

Pre-Je Souhaite Mulder and Scully are late to the office that morning, but the only person who seems to mind is an increasingly panicked Kim Cook.

soulgyrl's

The Need To Know or Mulder's Dilemma

Post Three Words Mulder drops in to TLGs, trying to probe them for information; and after a mild conversations, he knows.

Mother Never Told me There'd Be Days Like This

AU-- Pre-Essence Mulder and Scully are on an undercover mission in Target, fruitlessly trying to corral a perpetrator with Doggett and Monica in a comedy of errors. Mulder ends up dragging Scully, and they both just settle for a night in with popcorn.

ophelia_interrupted's (Ao3) Consortium Downsizing (Ao3)

Crack-- The Consortium hate their accountant but still need him to balance their budget. They're completely broke, though, so they force the US to buy cookies.

@ladymegg/LadyMeg's

A Sprinkle of Stardust/Remembered Promises

Mulder and Scully are scared to death in a haunted house; but end their night with a date set.

Realised Desires (Part 2 of Remembered Promises)

Mulder finally swipes Scully's planner and schedules in their date for that evening-- for a breaking and entering... or not.

Leaving the Years Behind  

Scully has whined many a time through the years, and Mulder has quietly hustled after her, teasing and doting with lunches and nap times.

piece_of_the_stars's snow day

Mulder and Scully are up late-early, calling each other and reminiscing over Samantha and her snowman Kevin. Mulder offers to introduce Kev to Scully the next day.

missing piece

TINH Scully always thought she'd find Mulder alive or die first-- now she can no longer live in denial and must be ripped open.

liveonthesun's Now She Has No Choice

S8 ISTJ understands Mulder's goldfish while dreaming of him and processing her anger at his absence.

CaptainLyssa's

Mrs. Spooky Mulder - CaptainLyssa - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Scully is fuming-- a conference full of agents are convinced she and Mulder are dating, and his antics do not help at all. Finally, she just lets them say whatever they want; but her vomiting from a stress headache do not help matters. (I end ~Chapter 5... dunno why.)

Casper, Wyoming. - CaptainLyssa - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Post IWTB Mulder moves he and Scully to Casper, Wyoming; and she is furious when she realizes Will lives here as well. He didn't know, all is forgiven, and they end up adopting their own son at last.

Shopping - CaptainLyssa - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

AU Psychic Family-- Scully and her children are observed by a stranger, who can't quite puzzle how her whole family seem to be psychic... but that's ridiculous, isn't it?

Eating Out - CaptainLyssa - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

AU Psychic Family-- Mulder, Scully, and their precocious children are trying to retain a shred of normalcy while having a nice family outing.

simpletumbleweedfarmer's As Long As You're Right Here - simpletumbleweedfarmer - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Requiem Scully as a dream that Mulder had been taken, and cries it out in his motel room. It's, of course, realized soon after.

todaymyheartleapt's Swiss Omega - todaymyheartleapt - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Pre-Vienen Scully wore Mulder's watch while he was gone.

sisterspooky's The Artist Currently Known As Fox Mulder - sisterspooky (Livylovestabler) - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Revival Mulder is happy that he and Scully are in sync, singing a song until she catches on and strikes a deal.

@suitablyaggrieved/ScullyLovesQueequeg's

Day 17 - This Is Going To Hurt - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Mulder is shot on the job; but he convinces his superiors-- and Scully-- to let him go back and continue to talk down the suspect.

Something's Gotta Give - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Scully is swamped with Valentine's Day chocolates. Mulder descends into jealousy, stealing her candy here and there.

7. You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today.... - Post Tenebras Lux (tumblr.com) Ao3 Day 2 - You've Gone to The Bathroom 50 Times Today - Chapter 1 - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Post Never Again Mulder can't help but notice that Scully keeps running off to the bathroom, finally following her in and carefully asking her questions. Scully negates his suspicions, telling him her own.

Funeral For A Friend - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own]  

AU-- Gethsemane Mulder died. Scully attended his funeral.

The Reticulan Roadhouse - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Post Dreamland II Mulder and Scully eat at the Reticulan Roadhouse, neither of them acknowledging its date-ness even when Mulder gifts his partner a pair of beautiful earrings.

Avoidable Feast - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Mulder and Scully are dating, and the two's lack of communication almost costs them the first Thanksgiving they wanted to celebrate together.

Day 20 - There's Nothing Wrong With You - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Scully is surprised that, while melodramatic, Mulder is actually sick; and lures her boyfriend over with a clean house.

Holiday Apologies - ScullyLovesQueequeg - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own] 

Post IWTB Mulder slowly readjusts to family holidays, visibly slipping into depression. Bill observes him; and buries the hatchet.

thespookyvariation's Letters - Chapter 1 - thespookyvariation - The X-Files [Archive of Our Own]

Post S9 Mulder and Scully read the letters each other had written during their darkest days-- his loss during her abduction and her fear during her cancer.

Enjoy!

[mldrgrl]

Hello ! I love your fanfictions and i have a prompt for you: Scully discovers Mulder's secret talent. He gives the best back rubs. (ust to rst maybe ?).

Magic Fingers by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 to be safe

It was her shoulder, the first time.  She’d been hunched uncomfortably over an autopsy table for too long in too cramped conditions - the best a small town without an official medical examiner could offer - and she had paid the price that night that a handful of Tylenol couldn’t cure.

And Mulder wouldn’t stop talking.

He went on and on, arguing not even with her, but with himself, changing his theory as rapidly as he thumbed through the latest photos.  She tried to focus her attention on what he was saying, but the pain in her shoulder was too distracting and she was too weary.

As he droned, she reached up with her right hand and squeezed the top of her left shoulder.  He didn’t notice her wince or her whimper, which was just as well.  She closed her eyes, pressing as deeply into the aching muscle as she could with her fingers.  It was somehow both more painful and less painful at the same time.  Her brows drew towards one another in concentrated effort and after a few moments, she realized Mulder had finally, blessedly, stopped talking.  She opened her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she answered, lowering her hand and unconsciously rolling her shoulder back.  “My shoulder.  It’s fine.”

He looked at her with his head tilted, plucking at his bottom lip with his thumb and index fingers.  He scooted his chair over closer to hers and slid his pile of photos along with him.  He picked up where he left off and he reached up, one-handedly massaging her shoulder as he pointed to different things in the photos he wanted her to see.

She probably should have told him to stop, but she was afraid if she were to open her mouth it would be to weep with relief.  His thumb pushed into the back of her shoulder in the exact spot she needed him to and she had to bite her lip to stop from moaning.

With slightly trembling hands, she picked up one of the photos to examine the shape of some burn marks that he was insisting held a pattern that she couldn’t see.  Without missing a beat, Mulder stood and shifted his right hand to her right shoulder and his left to her left.  He leaned over her chair just a little, speaking down above her head as he continued on with a very firm and thorough massage of her shoulders.  

“I, uh…”  She blew out a breath and fought against dropping her head forward.  “It looks...it looks…Mulder, even if I saw what you did, what does it prove?”

“You’re right.”  He abruptly stopped his massage and his hands stilled on her shoulders.  He gave her one last squeeze and then gathered the photos.

“Leave them,” she said.  “I’ll look them over again in the morning, once I’ve gotten some sleep.”

He nodded and then looked at his watch and cringed.  “Sorry, Scully, it’s…”

“It’s okay.”  She got up to walk him to the door of her motel room.  “Thank you for, um…”  She gestured to her shoulder.  “It feels a lot better.”

“Anytime.”  He grinned and then wiggled his fingers at her.  “They don’t call me Magic Fingers Mulder for nothing.”

“Who’s they?”

He shrugged.  “People could.”

“Mmhm.”

“Night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

****

The second time it was a headache that had been troubling her for the better part of an evening.  They were very inconveniently on a stakeout, trapped within the confines of the front seats of their rental car.  The headlights of passing cars would occasionally whiz by, the bright light making her flinch and try to surreptitiously sink below the dashboard.  It was only when Mulder would press the binoculars to his face that she could discreetly rub her temples or pinch the bridge of her nose for some relief.  She’d washed down a few aspirin with tepid coffee over an hour ago and the dull ache remained.  She’d also made sure the glove compartment was well-stocked with napkins for any sudden nosebleeds.

“Give me your hand,” Mulder suddenly said.

“My hand?”  Without thinking about it, she started to put her hand out to him, but then pulled it back.  “Why?”

“I’m bored, thought I’d read your palm.”  He put the binoculars down in his lap and turned his head to her and inclined his chin up at her.  “I can help with that.”

“Help with what?”

“Your headache.  Let me see your hand.”

“I don’t…”  She stopped her denial short when she saw his brows go up.  Reluctantly, she moved her arm up and held her hand out to him.  He folded his arm over hers and held it steady tucked up against his side.

“This is the Hegu,” he said, pressing his thumb into the divot between the base of her thumb and index finger.  In the same spot, but on her palm, he pressed with his index finger so that it was like he had her hand in a vice.

Almost immediately, she felt a lightness in her head.  The pain hadn’t gone away entirely, but rather she was numb to it.  She could still feel the thrum of the headache without actually feeling the ache.

“Tell me if I press too hard,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she murmured.  

“Guessing they never covered acupressure in med school?”

“No, they didn’t.”

He moved his thumb in a slow circle, massaging her hand while keeping an eye on the suspect’s windows.  Within minutes, she could no longer feel the pain in her head and finally she flexed her fingers and tugged on his grip every so slightly to indicate he could let go.

“Want me to do the other side?” he asked.

She wiped a hand across her brow.  “No, I think...it’s gone, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  He picked up the binoculars from his lap and put them to his face again.  “Say something earlier next time.  You don’t have to suffer.”

“Okay,” she replied, with no intention of keeping that promise.

*****

She’d been awake since 4:30 am EST and it was currently 8:42 am PST.  That was over 31 hours by her estimation without sleep, on her feet, in the same boots she’d stepped into before heading to Dulles.

She hobbled into her motel room, barely able to muster the energy to remove her leather jacket.  She tried to drape it over the chair by the window, but it slipped off the back and she left it on the floor.  All she wanted to do was sleep.

Not bothering to turn the bed down, she crawled across the mattress and collapsed onto her back, sprawling diagonally and staring up at the popcorn ceiling.  Mulder pushed through the connecting door only moments later, already in fresh jeans and bare-chested.

“I booked the next flight out,” he said.  “We leave in twenty minutes.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

He chuckled and sat down by her feet.  “Tomorrow morning,” he said, unzipping her right boot.  She groaned as he pulled it off her foot.  He took her left boot off as well and then pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged with her feet in his lap.

“Oh my god,” she said, when he slid his thumbs up her insteps.  Her eyes slipped shut and she sighed.

“That good?”

“Don’t stop.”

“Careful, it’s talk like that that’ll lead to breaking the rules.”

“I don’t care.  Don’t stop.”

He worked both feet at the same time for a few minutes and then concentrated on the left with both hands, massaging from heel to toe.  She only let a few moans slip out.  He moved on to the right foot and she winced when he squeezed the knuckle of her pinkie toe.  She was fairly certain she’d developed a blister.

“Hurt?” he asked.

“Blister, I think,” she answered.

“Why do you wear them?”

“Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Scully, the heels, the boots, they’re sexy as hell-”

“Careful,” she interrupted.  “It’s talk like that that’ll lead to breaking the rules.”

“But, your poor little feet.”  He stopped massaging to gently caress the top of her foot.

“They’ll survive.”  She wiggled her toes at him to hint that he wasn’t finished.

“I could’ve been doing this for you years ago.”

“It matters more that you’re doing it for me now.”

He stopped and her feet slipped from his lap as he uncrossed his legs.  He hovered over her on his hands and knees and then bent down and kissed the corner of her mouth.  She opened one eye and then reached up and pinched his chin before he could actually kiss her lips.

“It’s a stupid rule,” he mumbled, turning his head and pursing his lips to kiss her thumb instead.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“No, actually, I think I recall you telling me not to stop.”  He crawled back, returned to his cross-legged position, and took her feet back into his lap.

She yawned.  “Just let me get a few hours in,” she murmured.  “You should get some sleep as well.”

“You sleep.  I think I’ll take the rental and head to Lady Footlocker and get you some sneakers.”

*****

How things have changed, she thought, as she knocked on his door.  When she’d started feeling faint, feeling nauseated, instead of hiding away she went straight to Mulder.  This thing between them was new, still in development, playful and flirtatious and fun.  She’d never had to seek comfort or reassurance from him before, but she needed it now.

He brought her in, helped her into his bed and out of her shoes, wrapped his arms around her and whispered lovely things into her ear.  The chill she felt left her and she was able to stop trembling.  The nausea abated, but she still felt strange and restless.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “I feel achy and tired.”

“The flu?”

“It doesn’t feel like the flu.  It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve experienced before.”

He slipped out of the bed and turned off all the lights except for the dim vanity light in the bathroom.  He came back with one of the sample-sized bottles of motel lotion and collected all the photos that had scattered across the bed when he laid her down.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he said.

“Agent Mulder,” she murmured.  “Are you coming on to me?”

“Only for the last seven years.  You just finally noticed a few months ago.  Can you sit up?”

She pushed herself up and tiredly brushed the hair out of her face.  He opened the buttons on her blouse and she twisted her shoulders this way and that to free her arms.  She unhooked her bra on her own and he rolled the comforter back and shoved the pillows aside as she pushed her slacks off her hips.

She laid down on her stomach with her right cheek pressed to the bed.  Mulder straddled the backs of her thighs and kept most of his weight on his knees.  The lotion he squeezed onto his palms smelled like lemons.  Not unpleasant, but not ideal either.  The next time he was inspired to give her a massage, she’d try to have something nicer on hand.

He started at the middle of her back and smoothed his slick hands up to her shoulders.  She pushed out a small puff of air as she tried to settle and relax.  He was quiet as he worked her shoulders and neck.  No jokes, no witty remarks.  She savored the silence and for once, allowed herself to just enjoy being taken care of.

“You really are good at this,” she murmured.

“I told you once before, they don’t call me Magic Fingers Mulder for nothing.”

“Yet you never told me who ‘they’ were.”

“Anyone who’s been lucky enough to have the magic fingers upon them.”

She smiled with the right side of her mouth and snorted lightly.  He braced his hands on the small of her back and then scooted down closer to the backs of her knees.  For her, it was at that point when the massage took a turn from gentle and comforting to unbearably erotic.  And it wasn’t anything that he purposefully did, it was simply that her brain suddenly seemed to register the fact that her skin and his hands had gotten intimately familiar as of late and she started to anticipate what should come next.

It was hard work to be still when every drag of his fingers down her back and the slow slide of his palms up to the backs of her shoulders made her feel like writhing.  Her pelvis ached and her stomach dropped and flipped and heat flooded her veins and made her skin prickle.  She could feel sweat forming at her temples and low back from the effort it took not to push her hips up into his hands.  Tears gathered behind her closed eyes and clung to her lashes before rolling slowly across her cheek and nose, dripping silently to the bed.

“Scully?”  Mulder paused and placed his hand lightly at the back of her neck, thumbing her hair out of the way.

“I love you,” she breathed.  “I…”

It took exactly two seconds for Mulder to respond.  “I love you too,” he said.  He bent down, touched his lips to the back of her shoulder and then continued with the massage.  His touch was a bit firmer though, more confident.  Saying those words out loud was like its own kind of release.  She felt satiated and calm.

At some point, she felt Mulder move off of her and felt the blankets being draped over her.  Half-asleep, she let her hand flop blindly across the bed, looking for Mulder.

“I’m here,” he whispered, sliding his hand into hers as he lifted the covers and slid in beside her.  He’d stripped to his boxers.  Warm flesh against warm flesh.  She put her arm over his chest and slid one leg between his.  “My little rulebreaker,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

*****

She was due in less than two weeks and she felt every bit as pregnant as she looked.  She hadn’t seen her feet in a month and she couldn’t last more than twenty minutes without needing a bathroom.  She loved it though.  She loved feeling the baby kick; finding a little hand or foot or elbow pressed against her abdomen; or the time the baby had the hiccups.  It was what she had hoped and prayed for.

What she didn’t love, was the constant ache that had developed in her hips and lower back.  She had yet to find a position she could be in, standing, sitting, or laying, that offered any relief.  She had asked about it at her last Lamaze class and the answers had been simple: take a warm bath or apply warm compresses, elevate the hips, try massage.  She’d tried the bath, tried the compresses, and elevated her hips.  None of it worked.

She was having a particularly rough day when Mulder knocked on her door.  Things had been so strange between them since his return.  She tried to understand his trauma, tried not to push, but she didn’t expect him to shut her out so completely.  He had only recently started to express a hint of interest in the baby, but had yet to ask her the questions she knew he must have.  He’d attended her last Lamaze class with her a few evenings prior and she had waited through the silence of the car ride home, willing him to say something, but he hadn’t.

“Pizza?” he asked, holding out his offering to her when she answered the door.  

“Come in.”  She pushed the door open and walked away to let him see himself in.  Waddled, is more like it.  She dug her fists into the small of her back and headed slowly to the couch.  He was lucky she’d already been up, on her way from the bathroom to the kitchen when he knocked, otherwise he’d still be waiting.

Mulder followed closely behind and set the pizza box down on the coffee table.  He shed his jacket and then pushed the sleeves of his sweater up as he headed to the kitchen for plates and napkins.  He seemed relaxed, almost jovial.  He brought the plates and napkins and then disappeared again, returning this time with two glasses of water.  She eyed him a little suspiciously as he doled out the pizza.

“What, um...brought this on?” she asked, watching him devour nearly half a slice of pizza in a single bite as she blew the heat off her own slice.

“Thought you might need some sustenance,” he replied around his mouthful.

She stretched her back and sighed.  “What I could really use are those magic fingers of yours,” she answered.

Mulder wiped his mouth with a napkin and glanced at her belly and everywhere else but her face.  When he finally looked her in the eye he cleared his throat and then looked away, setting his pizza plate onto the coffee table.

“I can do that,” he said.  “I’ve actually been...reading about it.  There was, uh...a pamphlet at the Lamaze place.  I brought it home.”

She waved her hand dismissively.  “It’s fine,” she said.  “I was joking.”  She was actually only half-kidding.  She would kill her beloved pizza delivery man for a massage from Mulder.

“You don’t want me to.”  The statement was very matter-of-fact and a little forlorn.  He turned away and stared at the coffee table.

“I just don’t want you to feel...obligated.”

“When have I ever felt obligated?”  He turned his head towards her and glanced down at her belly again.  He tapped his fingers together nervously.

“I suppose...never.”

“But, if you don’t want me to, I’ll...it’s fine.”

“I do.”  She put the pizza back onto the plate without taking a bite.  “I want you to.”

“Okay.”  He stood and then sat back down again and leaned forward off the edge of the cushion.  “Uh, it says the best way to do it is for you to lay on your side.  Should we…?”

“You’ll have to help me up.”

He took her hands and helped pull her from the couch.  She puffed her cheeks and expelled a puff of air with the exertion and then twisted the knuckles of her index fingers into her hips after letting go of him.  He put the pizza away in the kitchen while she went to the bedroom to lay down.  She took her robe off but left her cotton t-shirt and flannel pants on.  

Mulder stood in the doorway watching her arrange the pillows - one under her head, one between her knees, one clutched to her chest like a teddy bear.  He hovered there until she was in place and then he stepped out of his shoes on his way over to the bed.

“The guides said not a lot of pressure,” he said, one hand hovering over her shoulder.  “Long strokes and...if anything hurts or doesn’t feel right, you tell me.”

“I will,” she said.

He finally knelt behind her, but it was still a few more moments before he touched her.  She sighed immediately, even the soft pressure of his thumbs above her tailbone was immensely gratifying.  She groaned and his hands flew up.

“Too much?” he asked.  “Hurts?”

“No, it’s good,” she assured him.  “Feels really good.”

“Okay.”

For the first time she could remember, his touch was tentative.  He’d never hesitated over her before and she hoped it was only because the health scare she’d had with the baby made him nervous, and not because she made him nervous.  He gradually became less timid and her muscles were singing in appreciation.

“I want to confess something,” he said, suddenly, but didn’t stop massaging her.

“Okay.”

“I saw your chart when you were in the hospital.  You’re...38 weeks now.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not the best at math, but...when you felt sick, in Oregon, does that mean…?”

She swallowed hard and shifted her eyes to glance back at him.  “I found out the night you went missing.”

“Oh.”

There was an extended silence.  She counted the slide of Mulder’s hands up and down her back.  Fourteen passes and he said nothing more.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” she asked.

“I didn’t really know what was happening when I woke up.  I thought...I thought years had passed, at first.  I thought you had tried the IVF again or had moved on...with someone else.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You could’ve just told me.”

“I didn’t want to push.”

“I was afraid of what the answer might be.”

She sighed and then he stopped and rested his hand on her hip.  She took it, laced their fingers together and brought his arm up and across her waist to rest on top of her stomach.  He shifted and laid down behind her.

“I saw something else,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re having a boy.”

“We’re having a boy,” she confirmed.

He pressed his face into the back of her head and breathed deeply.  His chest swelled against her back and she pulled him closer until he fit snugly against her.

“When do you think we…?” he asked.

“After you went chasing crop circles in England,” she said.  “I think.”

“I remember.”  He pulls his fingers free from hers only to rest his whole hand fully on her swollen belly.  “Scully, I’m not much of a catch right now - unemployed, recently raised from the dead, terrible cook, and I’ve been known to be a bit of a short-sighted, selfish SOB at times, but all I know is that one day we were in Oregon and we loved each other and suddenly it’s six months later and everything is different, but I still love you and...and I’m pretty good at keeping my fish happy and I tell great jokes and I can promise to give you really good massages every day for the rest of...for as long as you’ll have me.  If you’ll have me.”

“Mulder,” she whispered, hugging his arm to her chest and pulling his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“You don’t have to answer right now or anything.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“Okay, but-”

She cut him off by turning her head and pulling him into a kiss.  It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to end any doubts for either of them.  She snuggled back down into his arms and he tightened his hold on her.

“Magic Fingers Mulder strikes again,” he whispered.

She rolled her closed eyes, but smiled.

The End

[impulsive-astrophile]

Heaven and Hell Were Words to Me

MSR | Gen | ~1.8k words

Post-“Monday”, Mulder and Scully try to heal from trauma they can’t really remember.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

Read it on ao3, or below the cut!

It starts on Tuesday.

Scully comes into the office to find Mulder already there - as had been usual until after Dreamland - looking as tired as she feels.

Despite having gotten 8 hours of sleep, Scully had woken that morning feeling exhausted. Fragments of nightmares she can’t quite remember left her stomach churning enough that she didn’t even have breakfast.

Seeing Mulder instantly calms her a little. Touching him is even better. Her hands stop shaking for the first time in hours when she finds a reason to cross the room and touch his shoulder to ask where a file is. But whenever he’s out of sight, a pit drops back into her stomach like a stone, her limbs becoming heavy with dread.

He’s gone for 5 minutes that afternoon to use that bathroom, and her hands start to shake again.

He’s gone for 30 minutes the next day to pick up lunch, and she can barely type, noting reluctantly that her resting heart rate climbs to almost double her regular resting rate and into tachycardia - hovering around 130.

It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. They’re both fully functional, independent adults who can operate without the other.

But Mulder seems reluctant to be away from her, as well; on Thursday, he proposes she go with him to get lunch (which he never does because she hates it - she gets line-rage, and he doesn’t mind picking it up for them), and she jumps at the opportunity. His hand is rooted to the small of her back the entire way there, and hers to his arm the whole way back.

When they get back, they definitely don’t clear off half of his desk and bring her chair over so they can eat right next to each other; no, they sit on opposite sides of the room at their respective desks like normal people.

But if, say, they both just so happen to regularly need to use the bathroom at the same time, coincidentally meaning they end up spending less time apart, then that’s definitely just a coincidence.

‘Intimacy through codependency’, Dana Scully’s ass.

So, when Scully asks Mulder to come with her after work on Friday, it’s for completely practical reasons.

“Mulder? Are you okay? Your neck is red because you’ve been rubbing it so much.” Scully’s voice startles Mulder out of continuing that same motion.

“What? Yeah.” He smiles sheepishly, resting the offending hand on the desk. “I guess I’m just getting old, Scully. Sleeping on the couch this week has really done a number on my neck.”

Scully nods sympathetically. “Why haven’t you bought a new mattress yet?”

“They’re still redoing some of the floor in my room,” Mulder says.

Scully frowns. “You told me they finished that on Wednesday.”

“...I just haven’t had the time?” He tries, caught. Doesn’t say, it’s not worth buying one if you’re not in it.

She lets him off the hook. “Okay. We’ll go shopping after work today.” You deserve comfort, and I’m going to see that you have it. Then, with a gleam in her eye, “after all, an old man should take better care of his body.”

Mulder shakes his head, solemn. “You’ll know how it feels when you’re my age, Scully.”

Scully scoffs, Mulder smirking to himself before feigning a return to his paperwork. She waits until it seems that he’s actually focused on it, then pulls a paper clip out of a container in front of her and takes aim.

When it hits him square in the forehead, the look on his face is worth the war it starts.

--

“24/7 MATTRESSES!” offered the kind of vibe you’d expect from stopping at a non-descript fast food joint in the middle of nowhere at 3 AM; lighting just a little too bright, music that seemed familiar yet was impossible to place, and a single employee who seemed to appear out of nowhere from otherwise deserted floorspace.

Still, they offered incredible deals on queen-size mattresses, even offering complimentary pillows and same-day delivery and installation within a mile. And, luckily, Mulder’s apartment was only a few blocks away. So, hairs on the backs of both their necks up the whole time, Scully helped Mulder choose a nice memory foam mattress, then watched his back as he paid, and was at his side as they fast-walked to the exit.

If they’d turned back, they would’ve seen that the employee vanished as soon as the door shut behind them.

--

By the time they get to Mulder’s apartment just 10 minutes later, they find the mattress neatly set in his bedframe, pillows on top, even though his front door had been locked.

“...remind me to file that place under ‘liminal spaces’, Scully,” Mulder says with an uneasy laugh.

Scully nods absently. Mulder can see the gears working in her head. Eventually, she settles on, “sheets?”

Mulder fetches them from the linen cupboard, and they get to work. Together, they wrestle the fitted sheet onto the bed. Mulder tries to help with tucking the flat sheet, but Scully gets frustrated with his sloppy corners and shoos him away to find pillowcases.

He chuckles when he returns to find the sheet tucked with military corners - he loves how much of a perfectionist she is - but shuts up when he gets a pillow to the face. Tossing Scully the other pillowcase, he makes quick work of his own, then places it on the bed and collapses.

He buries his face into the mattress with an exaggerated moan. “Oh, Scully, this thing is amazing,” he says, muffled by the foam.

Scully drops her pillow next to him with a chuckle, resting a hand on his back lightly. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Mulder heaves a deep sigh, rolling over onto his back and resting his head on a pillow. “She could never feel the same way about me,” he says, tone wistful. “No,” he puts a hand over his heart, looking downtrodden, “I’m afraid it could never be requited.”

“A shame,” Scully agrees, stifling a smile.

Mulder cranes his head up, mouth open to make a joke, but all that comes out is a pained groan. He grabs his neck as his head falls back against the pillow.

“Oh, I forgot about your neck.” Scully’s brow creases as she leans down a bit. “You okay, Mulder?”

Mulder nods, eyes shut tight.

“Well, that’s convincing.”

A few seconds later Mulder peers up at her, smiling but obviously not feeling as good as he wants her to think. Scully makes a decision.

“Mulder, let me give you a massage,” she says. When he opens his mouth to object, she continues, “my mom always used to get terrible pains in her neck from sleeping on the couch on nights where we waited for Dad to come home. I was the only one in the house she trusted to get the knots out.”

Mulder rubs his neck, considering, then nods gingerly. “Thank you,” he says gratefully.

“Any time,” Scully responds, slipping off her shoes. “If you were feeling better, I’d ask you to move. But since you’re not, I’ll come to you.”

She climbs onto the bed, kneeling behind his head.

“I’m going to support your neck with one hand, slip the pillow out from under you with the other, then rest your head flat on the mattress, okay?” She explains.

Mulder hums in agreement, wincing only minimally as she moves him around. Then, she rests her hands on either side of his neck, fingertips touching his clavicles, and begins gently applying sweeping pressure from his neck down to his shoulders.

“I’d normally use massage lotion,” Scully says, teasing, “but I doubt you keep any around the house.”

“Mm-mm,” comes Mulder’s quiet confirmation, mouth quirking with half a smile.

When she’s finished, she notices that Mulder is completely limp in her hands, apparently asleep. She smiles softly, reaching to comb the hair away from his forehead. Letting her fingers brush through his hair, she takes stock of herself.

For the first time this week, she feels steady. And it doesn’t escape her notice that it’s while she’s holding Mulder, either.

She knows she should go now that he’s asleep. But those nightmares... even just the flashes she does remember after a week of having them - cradling him in her arms, desperately trying to keep his life from leaking out from between her fingers, pleading for him - have her reluctant to leave him. To sleep, even for just one night, with him in her arms, where she could know he was safe--

Mulder fidgets in her hands, and she looks down to find him blinking up at her. “Whatever it is, you’re thinking too hard,” he teases sleepily.

“Sorry,” she says, “I was trying not to wake you.”

Scully extricates her hand from his hair delicately, moving to get up, but he grasps her wrist. “Wait. Please stay.” His voice is soft. “That was the first time all week I haven’t had any nightmares.”

Scully frowns. “Nightmares, Mulder? I’m sorry. Old ones or new ones?”

They’re both intimately familiar with each other’s nightmares, and with how to soothe one another after them. Sometimes, part of the soothing process was to talk about them - especially if they were new.

“New, I think. I remember being in pain and hearing you sound worried and scared, but being unable to help when I tried... and then nothing.”

Scully frowns once more, starting to stroke his hair again. “How can I help?”

“Stay?” He requests softly.

“Of course,” Scully says. They’d both held each other after nightmares before.

Scully scoots down the bed, settling herself on a pillow and pulling Mulder to her. Absently, she thinks that she’s glad that they’d stopped by her place before the mattress store so she could change into casual clothes.

Mulder wraps his arms around her back, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck.

They breathe each other in for a while before he speaks again. “You’ve been having nightmares too,” he deduces, sounding like he’s come to a realization, “and that’s why you’ve been tired and just as clingy as me this week.”

Scully sucks in a breath, nodding.

“Old ones or new ones?”

“New,” she confesses. “But this is supposed to be me comforting you, not the other way around.”

“We can do mutual comforting,” Mulder assures her. “How can I help?”

She holds him tighter, feeling the rise and fall of his torso between her arms and the soft huff of his breath across her neck. It’s enough to know he’s safe, alive, and well. She squeezes him briefly. “This is enough.”

[thespookyintrovert]

When beauty calls

1,294 words ● Canonical, post S11 ● Just a short little scene ● Notes at the end ● tagging @today-in-fic

I hope this makes you smile and sigh as you read, just as it made me smile and sigh as I was writing it. I don’t pronounce it to be good, but I’m happy I wrote it. 

____

There is an exalted kind of beauty. It’s the beauty of starry nights, whether painted by divine hands or composed of swirling strokes on canvas. It’s the beauty of woodnotes, a natural symphony which exists only for the attentive ear; and the beauty found in a concert hall, made up of haunting notes rolling into a crescendo.

Then there is understated Beauty. It seldom reveals itself, choosing instead to remain enshrouded in banality, brushing only against those who dare call it by name. That diaphanous Beauty belongs only to the commonplace, weaving itself with ease into the everyday movements that make up the course of a lifetime. It is there, if only one knows where to look.

“Mulder, this is ridiculous.”

Ah, if couches were ever rewarded for being the silent witnesses to so many of these domestic disputes. If only the reliability of worn leather was ever a consideration to couples such as this, mindlessly counting on its strength to hold up their bodies and their words. But alas, an ode to furniture was the farthest thing from Dana Scully’s mind this chilly night.

She was focused on one thing with steady intensity, and that was ending a stalemate that had been going on for months. Ever since they had discovered the tiny human currently dancing around her womb was a girl, she hadn’t known a moment’s peace. It should have been simple enough to choose a mutually satisfactory name, but it turned out to be a matter in which they both had strong opinions. Opposing ones. With a sigh, she contemplated how the world kept turning and turning and some things never changed.

“Nag on me all you want, Scully, I’m not backing down.” Mulder’s smile was impish, his tug on her toe fond. She remained, however, unmoved. The bulging stomach between them, currently obscuring her own feet from view, was but one reminder that they had four weeks left to come to an agreement. Aching back, swollen ankles and perpetual indigestion added to the effect of a generally less than sunny disposition. She was no longer in her thirties, and every year of her 54 was felt this pregnancy.

Still, her fingertips traced adoring circles around her belly button, every kick to the ribs met with a grunt and a smile. Yet she kept it to herself, leveling on Mulder the stern gaze he had claimed from her as his own over twenty years ago. She did not want to let him do away with the argument this time. 

“Do you know why it was so easy last time?” He gave her a mock skeptical glance before turning back to his Sasquatch documentary, but it didn’t deter her in the slightest. “Because I picked the name, and you couldn’t argue with me about it.”

He actually laughed a little. “Scully, I’ll go out on a limb here and say that given our family histories, the chances of William having a different name were slim to none.”

She held back a longing sigh and proceeded to ignore him. “My point stands.”

A quiet snort, followed by the gentle clasp of his fingers on her swollen foot. “No, it doesn’t.”

She felt less inclined to argue as she savored the feeling of his fingers massaging the aches away, but still refused to surrender the attempt. “Don’t think you’ll distract me from this. Mulder, I’ve already proposed a perfectly reasonable solution: I get the first name, you get the second name; everybody’s happy.”

His look was wry. “Or I get the first name and you get the second name. Admit it, Scully, the second name only exists on paper, no one will even know it’s there.”

Her head fell back against the couch, for a moment fancying herself a long-suffering saint singing her frustration to the heavens. If only age had softened Mulder’s stubborn edge as it had softened the angles on his face; it was unfair, wrestling with the spitting image of his thirty-year-old self when she wasn’t even sure she’d recognize herself from twenty years ago. “Sure. Fine,” she said, head still stretched back, “you can tell your daughter whose fault it is that she doesn’t get a name until her 18th birthday. Assuming we both live to see it.” The last part was a dry murmur, meant only for God.

“Mhmm.” She felt his lips on her stomach, then, curving around its roundness with the stretch of a smile. Her gaze didn’t acknowledge him, but one of her hands landed amidst the softness of his hair, sweeping off any residual harshness with gentle strokes. This was their rhythm — the never-ending cycle of verbal spars that was as comfortable as it was challenging. No matter which one came out on top, in the end they knew their places to be side by side; with every smile and every touch the slate was once again wiped clean, no scorecards kept. Beneath the frustration, her whole being still hummed to this tune that was all their own.

And thus came Beauty, summoned by the unwitting siren call of a heart that chose love.

Finally lowering her eyes, the scene before Scully seemed to stretch until it wrapped around her entire world. She saw Mulder, face on her belly, alternating between nuzzling with his nose and sending whispers to the baby in a hushed baritone; they were not meant for her, but she basked in the vibrations of his voice, watching every crinkle on that beloved face as it shifted and pressed words into her skin. She saw her hand in his hair, noticed how it felt the same between her fingers as it did twenty years before. She saw past and future entwined around her finger in gold, glittering as it ran between strands tinged with grey. 

She drank in every detail as if at any moment she might be called upon to paint it from memory. Never before had that corner of the world seen such loving gaze; never before had the night breeze found fingers gentler than its own, or the cackling fire eyes that could match it in warmth. They were all silent witnesses to the most mundane of miracles; they, who had beheld for roughly two thousand years these rippling echoes of another miracle, one even more singular in its lowliness.

She knew they’d be arguing about this again tomorrow. She also knew they’d be lying like this again tomorrow, after all had been said and done, chasing away small everyday annoyances on the leather couch. Mulder raised his head to look at her, hooded eyes smiling, and her own lips melted into a soft curve. At the end of the day, their life together was all the more dear for being made of all these little contradictions, the seams an ever-present reminder that they were two individuals bound together by choice as much as fate.  

Perhaps it had taken them over twenty years to find their place in the world, to craft a life dictated by will instead of circumstance. And perhaps many, upon looking in through any window of the little house, would have concluded that the life they chose didn’t amount to much. But as blue met grey over the belly that protected this second chance they never thought they’d get, they both knew it amounted to everything.

Beauty left a little piece of itself in that unremarkable little house, nestling inside two hearts determined to see it in the little things, to call it by name, to touch it with the hands of love. It swept into the creaky floors and through the drafty rooms, kissed each smiling face on the mantle — each of them precious, so many gone. It blessed the little white crib and the old rag doll lying expectantly upon it.

______

Notes: 

1. I chose not to address the whole William mess because a. CC doesn’t deserve my efforts and b. this was really not supposed to be complicated. 

2. Let me know if you caught the little easter eggs sprinkled in there!

[slippinmickeys]

I got a prompt not long ago from @monikafilefan here on Tumblr. It was: "how about Mulder and Scully accidentally end up as roommates when their old ones back out? An instant friendship blooms into something so much more. I can just feel the palpable sexual tension already" From there, it... got legs.

I’ll be posting one chapter a day for six days. Don your blue sunglasses and enjoy some trope.

Dana Scully was running late. Flustered and out of breath from running the few blocks from the Metro stop, she pushed through the doors of the coffee shop, startling a young mom who was pushing a stroller out the door.

“Sorry,” she said, apologizing, and then held the door open while the woman slowly navigated the stroller through the narrow doorway. When she was out, Dana finally stepped in and scanned the store, looking for familiar auburn curls.

Her sister Melissa held up a hand and stood as Dana approached.

“Missy!” Dana said, relieved to see her.

Melissa gave her a long, tight hug before reclaiming her seat. Melissa’s hugs were the kind you always wanted to get. Like she’d cultivated them in a field, each one grown in a tidy row, just for you.

“Everything all right?” Melissa said, as Dana, huffing and out of breath, shrugged off her jacket and swung her purse over the back of a chair.  

“No,” she said, laughing at herself and Melissa’s eyebrows came together in  sympathy, “but tell me about you first. How was your flight? God, it’s been so long!” She reached across and squeezed her older sister’s hand.

Melissa had flown back to the States only the day before, having spent the last two years living in England.

“I’m great!” Missy said, “living abroad has been incredible. I almost hated to come back.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Dana said.

In truth, she was glad. She’d missed her sister terribly, but Missy had needed a big change. She’d dropped out of college several years before, much to their parent’s horror, and Melissa had been too spirited to live long under their father’s roof. Her sister looked wonderful. Clearly the time abroad had been good to her.

“But, what’s happening with you? What’s going on?” Melissa said.

Dana blew a raspberry.

“I’m in a tight spot,” she finally said, “We just found out this morning that Ellen got the internship in Seattle for the summer. It’s the one she wanted, and I’m really excited for her, but it’s not paid, so she won’t be able to cover her half of the rent -- she leaves in two days and rent for next month is due in five. We’ve got three more months on the lease. I’ve got to find someone to sublease her room, like yesterday.” She felt panic bubbling up in her gut. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in staying in DC for the summer?” she asked Melissa hopefully.

“Oh, I wish I could,” Missy said, “but I’m registered for massage therapy classes at the National Holistic Institute in Baltimore for the summer. Mom and Dad have calmed down and I’m going to stay with them while I get certified.”

“Missy, that’s wonderful!” She tried to smile at her, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.  Dana was excited for her sister, but had been holding out a hope that maybe Missy coming back Stateside would be an answer to her prayers.

“What about Ethan?” Melissa asked, lowering her voice unconsciously, “Couldn’t he move in with you for the summer? It’s only three months, Mom and Dad don’t need to know.”

Dana bit her lip.

“We broke up,” she said. Melissa’s eyes widened.

“June and Ward Cleaver broke up?” Melissa said, in shock. “When? I thought….”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Dana knew what Melissa thought. What everyone had thought. She and Ethan, together since their sophomore year of high school and enrolled in the same post-grad program at Georgetown, were the all-American couple. They, and everyone else, had assumed they would be engaged after they got their PhDs, and married not long after.

“Last month,” Dana said, looking down at her hands.

Melissa reached across the table and put her hand on Dana’s arm.

“What happened?”

“We grew up,” Dana said simply, “we’re different people, now. At least, I am. I’ve been thinking about making some changes at school and Ethan… was not supportive.”

Melissa squeezed her arm.

“What kind of changes?” she asked.

Dana looked up at her sister, “I’ve been seriously considering med school for some time.”

“But you’re so close to your degree!” Missy said.

“That’s what Ethan said,” said Dana, “but he was just so… dismissive. Like he had this plan for me. Like what I wanted didn’t matter. It was bad, Missy.”

“God,” Missy said.

“Yeah,” Dana went on, “he found out I took the MCAT and lost it. I broke up with him then and there. I haven’t seen him since. Not even on campus.”

Melissa gave her a shrewd look.

“Can I say something that you may not want to hear?”

Dana nodded morosely.

“I’m so glad,” Dana shot her sister a look, surprised. Melissa went on, “I never liked him, Dana. I know Mom and Dad loved him, but he’s had a stick up his ass since high school and he always thought he was better than everyone else. I used to sneak out and sprinkle catnip under his bedroom window in the summers.”

Dana’s jaw dropped.

“He used to complain all the time about-”

“-Tom cats in the neighborhood gathering outside his house and howling all night? Yeah, that was me.”

“Missy!”

“He deserved it,” Melissa said, sitting up with an air of moral superiority, “I’m glad you broke it off with him.”

“To be honest, I am too,” Dana said, “but I’m in a real lurch with this roommate situation. I don’t want to take out another student loan and I don’t think I can ask Dad for more money. Especially when he finds out I’m abandoning the program.”

“So you’re quitting for sure?” Melissa asked.

Dana nodded. “I just got the MCAT results and I did really well,” she couldn’t hold in a smile, “I told my advisor last week. I’m finishing out the summer. I’m going to start applying to med schools.”

“Well,” Missy said, “I’m glad you’re following your heart. And I wouldn’t worry much about Dad. He’ll be thrilled to have a doctor in the family. But maybe not so thrilled about bankrolling a degree you don’t intend to finish.”

Dana squirmed in her chair.

Melissa leaned back, thinking.

“What about…” she stopped, assessing Dana for a moment. “I have this friend. Someone I met in England last year. Moving to DC to be closer to family.”

Dana sat up straight.

“Do you know if she needs housing? Oh my God, Missy, you’d be saving my life.”

“The thing is,” Missy said, “it’s not a she.”

Dana made a face.

“He’s a great guy, Dane,” Melissa went on, “PhD in Psychology from Oxford. I met him when he was dating my friend Emma. His parents passed away recently and he’s putting his sister through school. She was a freshman at American this year. I can call him if you want.”

“I don’t know…” Dana said.

“Dana Scully, you are a 25 year old woman and it’s almost 1990 for God’s sake. Surely you’re not so old fashioned that you wouldn’t consider a male roommate. Particularly one that I can personally vouch for.”

“I don’t suppose he’s… gay?”

“You heard me mention my friend Emma, right?” Missy said, “No, he’s most certainly not gay, and no one is going to care that he isn’t. This isn’t Three’s Company, Chrissy. You need a roommate, and he--last I heard--needs a place to live. It’s perfect.”

It was only three months. Surely in this day and age having a male roommate wouldn’t give her some kind of reputation. And she was desperate--she would at least meet the guy. She leaned back in her seat.

“He isn’t cute, is he?” Dana asked.

Melissa narrowed her eyes.

“Cute?”

“Attractive. Hot. Someone with pleasing facial symmetry who other people like to look at.”

“Like you?” Melissa said. Dana gave her an exaggerated eye roll, and her sister asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s the last thing I need right now,” Dana said.

Melissa took a demure sip of coffee.

“No,” she said, not making eye contact, “he’s not cute.”

Dana considered her sister a long minute.

“Okay,” she finally said, “call him.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

At precisely 3:00pm, there was a knock on her door. Shave and a haircut.  

He was punctual -- more than she could say for herself that day -- and that usually boded well.

Instead of sticking around to introduce them, Missy had said she had other friends she was supposed to see while she was in town and had taken off after setting up this meeting, though she promised Dana she would still come over for dinner.

Dana opened the door. He was tall. At least a foot taller than she was, and he stood in the doorway with a smile on his face. He was wearing a black leather biker jacket, jeans and black boots and was carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm. Dana was momentarily taken aback by his good looks. She would kill Melissa.

“Dana?” he said, expectantly, reaching out for a handshake, “I’m Melissa’s friend. Fox Mulder.”

“I thought you’d be British,” she said,  the words fumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He smiled.

Dana shook herself, embarrassed, and extended a hand.

“Dana Scully,” she said, “sorry. Come in?”

“I met your brother when he came out to visit Melissa,” he said as he shook her hand, “one more Scully and I win a set of steak knives.”

“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling, “we Scullys come in sets of four.”

He laughed and wiped his feet on the welcome mat before stepping past her and into the apartment. He stood a few feet in and looked around.

“Wow,” he said, “this is a really nice place.”

Dana nodded and closed the door. It was a nice place. Much nicer than two broke grad students had any business living in. It had cathedral ceilings, hardwood floors and a large, spacious living room framed on one side with immense sliding glass doors that opened to a long balcony that ran the length of the room. On the other end of the living room sat a modern kitchen with a large island countertop that sat three people on the living room side, and had a 4 burner cooktop on the other. The appliances were pretty new. There was a hallway leading from the other end of the living room that led to one bathroom and a bedroom (Ellen’s), with a small in-unit washer/dryer at the end of the hall. Stairs led up from the left of the doorway to the master bedroom (Dana’s) and en-suite bathroom that had a separate tub and shower. The place was filled with hand-me-down furniture from various parents and siblings, but was decorated well and was quite comfortable.

“Rent controlled,” she said, by way of explanation, “my roommate’s brother had lived here for years. We got really lucky.” He nodded, still taking in the space. “You want a tour?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, smiling.

She showed him the living room and the trick to opening the sliding glass door, then ran him through the kitchen and on down the hallway to Ellen’s room, which was a disaster area filled with half-packed boxes.

“This would be your room,” she said, “I promise to clean it before you move in.”

“Nah,” he said, peeking his head in the closet, “I’d be happy to do it. When would move-in be?”

“You could be in in two days,” she answered, “Ellen flies to Seattle tomorrow night, though you wouldn’t know it to look at her room.”

He smiled.

“I don’t know if Melissa told you about my situation,” he said, “everything has been happening kind of quickly. You’d really be saving my bacon, here.”

“She told me a little,” Dana said, “I’m really sorry about your parents, Fox.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “Though, I uh, prefer to go by Mulder.”

“Fair enough,” Dana said. “Though there’s no way you ever got Melissa to call you anything other than Fox. I bet she was delighted.”

He laughed, a melodious, warm sound. Upon hearing it, she decided she liked him.

“And then some,” he said. “So what do I need to know?”

“Well, it would be a sublease for three months, until Ellen gets back. I may or may not be moving out in the fall, and our lease goes month-to-month after that.” He nodded. “Otherwise,” she said, “I mainly do a lot of studying. I have office hours and classes three days a week. I’m not big on house parties, and I like things quiet.” She looked at him, and he didn’t seem thrown by anything she’d said so far. “Do you…” she was sure how to put it, “have a girlfriend or anyone who would be coming over a lot?”

He smiled.

“No girlfriend at present,” he said, “though my sister is at AU and she may come over every now and then if she’ll deign to visit her stuffy older brother.”

His eyes crinkled with affection when he talked about his sister, and Dana found herself involuntarily charmed.

“And what do you do for a living?” she asked.

He winced.

“I’m currently looking for work,” he held his hand up when she raised her eyebrows, “I have enough in savings to more than cover three months of rent,” he said, “so you don’t have to worry about that. But I only got into town a few days ago. I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

“Melissa vouches for you,” she said, “that’s good enough for me.”

He fiddled with the helmet, which he was still carrying, and took a long, slow turn, looking around the apartment, as if making a decision. He finally turned back to her.

“Well, Scully Number Three?” he said, holding out his hand once again. “You’ve got a new roommate if you’ll have me.”

“No need to remind me of my place in the pecking order,” she said, “if you’re Mulder, I think just Scully will suffice.” Scully. She let it roll down her spine and liked the way it felt. She reached out and gripped his hand firmly. It was warm, dry, and completely enveloped hers. “Welcome home, Mulder,” she said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Melissa breezed past her in the doorway without a word, arms laden with plastic bags.

“I brought take-out!” she said over her shoulder, kicking off her shoes and making her way to the kitchen to unburden herself of the bags. “Is Fox still here?” she asked, looking around, a little out of breath.

“He left about an hour ago,” Dana said, coming to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. “Melissa,” she went on, and Missy wouldn’t look at her. “You said he wasn’t cute.”

Melissa opened the fridge and helped herself to a beer.

“He’s not cute,” Missy said, finally turning to her, “he’s gorgeous. You’re welcome.” She twisted off the top and then shoved herself up to sit on the counter, taking a long pull.

“Make yourself at home,” Dana said sarcastically.

“Thanks,” Missy said, brushing her off. “How’d it go?”

“You’re right, he was really nice. He’s going to take it,” Dana said, and then decided she could go for a beer as well. She opened up the fridge as Missy punched the air in a yes! gesture.

“What did I tell you?” Melissa said, “kismet.”

“Yeah,” Dana said, tamping down her own enthusiasm, “I hope it works out.”

“It’s going to be great!” Missy said, “He really is the best guy.”

“Did you guys ever…?” Dana asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

“Me and Fox? No,” she answered, “not that I wouldn’t have liked to,” she went on, “but I think the whole ‘thou shalt not date your best friend’s ex’ rule is pretty universal. Even across the pond.”

Dana was surprised to find herself relieved.

“I am privy to some information, though,” Missy said, arching an eyebrow.

“Do I even want to know?” Dana asked.

Missy ran her tongue along the corner of her mouth.

“He’s very well endowed,” she finally said with a grin.

Dana felt herself blushing and took a deep swig of beer to cover for it.

“Unless it’ll help him pay the rent,” she said, swallowing, “I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

Melissa shrugged, looking coy. “I’ve also heard he loves to eat out,” she said.

“What does that have to do with-“ Dana finally looked at her sister, caught her eyebrows in the air, suggestively. “... Jesus, Missy.”

Melissa smiled, took a sip of beer.

“I’m just saying,” Melissa said, “a generous lover is a generous man.” Dana looked to the sky as if for help. Her sister was clearly enjoying Dana’s discomfort. She finally jumped down off the counter and turned her attention to the bags of food. “You could do a lot worse than Fox Mulder.”

“I’m not going to do Fox Mulder, Missy,” she said, and Missy let out a bark of laughter. “I need a roommate, not a boyfriend. And anyway, I’m going to be in med school soon. I won’t have that kind of time.”

“Make time,” Melissa winked, and then dug around in the bags, pulling out carton after carton of Chinese food. “You hungry?”

Dana set down her beer and hugged her from behind.

“I’m famished, you snot,” she said into her sister’s hair.

[cultureisdarkbeer]

Road to All Things

Post "First Person Shooter" and getting ready for the last of the IVF. Mulder is running late with his donation to the cause.

“What’s this Mulder?” Scully asked, pilfering a folded 8x11 photograph off of the bedspread while he packed.

Mulder reached over and plucked it from her hands tucking it into his breast pocket.  “That’s for later. A little visual aid.”

“Miss Afterglow,” Scully stated, folding her arms and squinting her eyes at him disapprovingly.

“I don’t see you lending any help to the cause,” he said, stuffing his t-shirts and boxer briefs into this suitcase, folding them carefully to fit them all in.

“Cutting it rather close to the deposit deadline?” Scully asked, helping him by packing up his toiletries.

“The case ran over what I thought it would.”

“Playing a video game ran longer than you thought it would,” Scully corrected.

Mulder made a face and picked up his cell to contact the lab. Scully listened to a very worrisome conversation that ended with him jabbing his finger against his cell with all the force of a threatened Rhino.  

“By the time we land, I’m not going to have enough time to get there and do what I need to do before the office closes. But, if I can collect it on the way and get it there before seven, the lab will still be available to do the fertilization.”

Scully frowned. “How? You don’t have a sterilized container?”

“I can stop at one of the labs over here and pick one up. It can’t be older than one hour so I’ll have to do it once we land. Do not worry, I’ll get it done.”

They raced to the lab in Los Angeles, then back to the airport with the sterilized container tucked in the carryon. Through security and on the plane, Scully was calculating how much time he had from the time the plane landed to the D.C. lab.

The flight attendant came by and thrust the open garbage bag Scully’s way. She tossed her cup into it and rolled her eyes. It was obvious to Scully their earlier exchange had caused a riff in the flight attendant/passenger relationship. She just thought asking Mulder the location of his home base was mildly inappropriate and she let her know. To take it out on her snack choice, claiming there were no bags of pretzels left when she could clearly see them, proved to Scully, she was correct and didn’t deserve the knowing grin plastered to Mulder’s face.

“Everything all right?” Scully asked him as they prepared for landing.

“Yeah. It would be quicker if I filled it in the car on the way. You could drive..”

“On the way? Mulder, your penis has to be thoroughly cleaned and they need the entire contents of the ejaculate, so if it spills..”

“Yeah, too risky. I’ll just do it in the airport while you get the car. That is unless you are interested in helping me join the mile high club?”

“Those bathrooms are disgusting. Sanitary nightmares.”

“Well, when we land,  you get the rental car and I’ll find a bathroom.” He must have read her expression because then he added, “Not the ideal way you might want to look back on it, but I’m quickly running out of options.”

Scully followed the plan, racing to the rental place, checking in and then hurrying to their meeting location. Her heart fell into her throat when she saw the disappointment on his face. Did he drop it? Did her last chance get flushed down the drain? “Mulder, what’s wrong?”

Mulder shook his head. “It’s not working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?”

“ It . Is not. Working.”

“Oh. It’s not working.”

“I think I might need some help.”

On a normal day, Scully wouldn’t cave for Mulder’s antics, but the look on his face was telling her he was desperate. “Okay, how can we do this without getting arrested?”

They started walking, passing newsstands and souvenir shops, restaurants. Mulder stopped and looked at Scully. “Aren’t McDonald’s restrooms famous for being clean? I think they have an actual door where people can’t walk by and see me.”

“Go. I’ll be outside.”

Scully stood waiting outside the men’s room with arms crossed wondering how he got himself into these things realizing he was a victim of his own device. Minutes later, Mulder resurfaced.  “Still not working. I need you to help.”

“Mulder, I don’t know what…. In there?” He nodded enthusiastically and she sighed. “Fine.”

She waited until he gave her the sign for the coast being clear and snuck into the men’s room. “You’re right, McDonald’s restrooms are surprisingly clean,” she said, looking around at the tile covered floor, wall, and ceiling.

“Scully, we don’t have much time.”

“Fine.” She closed the door and they squeezed together in the stall. A tight fit for the two of them. Mulder towering over her, she got easily lost in his sports jacket. The scent of his body was delicious, but overpowered by the smell of disinfectant and ass. It threatened to release the coke Scully drank on the plane. Maybe not having pretzels on the flight was a blessing.

Mulder fumbled around undoing his belt and whipping out the goods. This did seem a little pathetic. Scully wrapped her hand around it and finally understood what was meant by the term wet noodle. She squeezed and massaged, trying to stare into his eyes and calm him. It wasn’t working.

“Maybe if you didn’t squeeze so hard,” Mulder said, squirming. “And don’t dig your fingernails. It’s not play doh.”

“You never had complaints before,” Scully said and raised her right eyebrow. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Mulder sighed. “I know.” He looked down at himself and two deep lines formed between his brow. “Maybe we could try kissing?”

She reached up on her toes and met his lips, feeling the immediate high from his testosterone. As he cupped and squeezed her breasts over her shirt, he thickened and in her hand felt like the beginnings of an overripe cucumber. It was nice, but not enough to achieve an orgasm. “You’re thinking about this too much,” she mumbled against his mouth.

A door creaked open and clicked closed. The shuffling of feet. “This is a lot of pressure,” he replied, pulling away.

“We could get the sample if you allow me to massage your prostate.”

“Is that what we’re going to tell the kid when they ask how they came to be? Your mother stuck her finger up my ass in a public restroom and you came flying out?”

“That is not how babies are made, Mulder.”

They heard the guy in the next stall giggle. Mulder gritted his teeth. “You know what I mean. I-I can’t do this like this.” Mulder, fumbling to zip up and buckle his belt, opened the stall door and walked out. A man washing his hands passed Scully a strange look in the reflection of the mirror.

She followed Mulder out. “Mulder where are you going?” she called out trying her best to catch up to him.

“I’m going to the Admirals club to get a drink,” he replied. She could hear the disgust in his voice.

Scully looked at the time. It was at least a 40 minute ride to the lab with traffic. Mulder had a little less than an hour left before they had to leave to get it there in time. She had already made up her mind that one way or another, she was getting that sperm from him.

She followed him into the admiral’s club and sat next to him at the bar. She ordered a seltzer with lime and Mulder ordered a beer and a shot. “I haven’t been drinking and I’ve been taking my vitamins and antibiotics if you’re wondering.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“What if it works, Scully? What if today, a child is created. And my part in this is to jerk off in a gas station bathroom. It didn’t register the first time, but when I was in that bathroom, staring into the plastic jar..”

Scully took Mulder’s hand. “Mulder, your part in this is so much more than filling a plastic container. I want your DNA for the other half of my child. Everything you’re doing and everything you’ve done, I will never not be grateful and appreciative for. I can’t express how important and essential your part is to all of this and not just because I need the sperm. I need you Mulder. I need you and me.”

Mulder ran a thumb over the webbing of her hand and looked into her eyes. His hand came to claim her cheek and she kissed the palm. His eyes fell, absorbing the electric current. He pulled back into her gaze. She leaned into him and into his arms, her lips dropping to lean against his clavicle. This time she closed her eyes. She breathed in his cologne. He was the most intoxicating thing she had ever smelled.

There was something unique in all the world the way their hearts beat, how they loved each other unapologetically right down to their souls, a sacred bridge between their minds, pure and genuine, complete, and in that moment she felt the draw of her body towards his. Her hand slid from his neck down his chest and it lingered. Softly, they slowly pulled away, her lips cascading over the smoothness of his neck, their cheek brushing the other's, his stubble coarse against her smooth skin. Her lips slightly parted in awe of her feelings, strong and raw and paralyzing. The side of her nose grazed his and she paused. She was less than an inch from his lips. Their breaths mingled. She felt their magnetic pull. Her heart stopped. She held her breath and her eyes closed. The universe’s ever expanding fire and light, from inside atoms to galaxies, the power all captured in one press of the lips.

Mulder pulled back, but she could see in his eyes what she felt was shared. He took a drink of his beer and her hand dropped to his thigh, delicately dancing where no one else could see. He was ready. “There’s a really nice restroom in the back, isn’t there?” Scully asked, taking a sip of her seltzer and leaving a tip. “If I remember correctly, I believe it has a couch, soft music, chandelier, even candles. Maybe you can escort me?”

Mulder coughed, choking on his beer and smiling. “Yeah-yes. I, uh, suddenly have the urge too. This drink went right through me.”

Continue Reading Here

@ms31x129 @today-in-fic @season4mulder

[greekowl87]

How about #8 on the dialogue prompts?

A/N: You never specified which #8 from that prompt list you wanted so I picked all of them :) Hope you enjoy it. P.S. No beta. Tagging @monikafilefan @suitablyaggrieved @baronessblixen @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm

“#8.” No specification: “What are you talking about? You’re the only face with a view around here.” / We can’t do this.. anymore...you deserve someone better than me.” / “Stop biting your lip, you know that drives me crazy.” / “What are you wearing? you look like a llama ohh wait or is it an alpaca?”

Mulder’s back was turned to her as she sat on his bed. Somewhere off in the distance, Scully heard a rumble of thunder. Then there was a bolt of lightning. The rain started...first like one pebble against the window, then another, then a whole slew of them. Mulder grunted in his sleep. Scully licked her lips and adjusted the blanket around him. 

He still smelled like fire, ash, and lost hopes. Scully sighed and went to his bedroom window and watched the storm intensify like the one in her heart. She shivered; her gray sweater failing to keep the chilliness of his old Alexandria apartment at bay. Assuming he would not mind, she took a hooded Knick’s sweatshirt that hung on the back of his door. She glanced over her shoulder and wandered out into the living room.

Scully watched the storm continue from his desk in the light of the fish tank. Her watch read 1:00 am but felt like she had been awake for days. Her hazy mind swirled with the recent events...their work up in flames, clutching a numb Mulder to her, trying to coax him to get some sleep, staying with him. Then there was the matter of Diana Fowley. She tried not to let her mind go there.

Fowley helped Mulder find the x-files; Scully helped destroy them.

Gently, she probed the back of her neck, feeling the slightly raised scar that she implanted months ago. The miraculous cure that saved her from her cancer and that Mulder had saved her, almost losing himself in the process. Where did that leave them now? She began the year sick and dying of cancer, caused by her abduction, found a daughter that died that she never knew she had, all to lose it.

She hugged the worn sweatshirt around her. It smelled like him and made her remember the nights he would stay with her during the course of her cancer. She closed her eyes at the memory. She felt so confused, but after her cancer had been cured, she had some idea of where it could be headed...what they could be. But the maelstrom appeared in the siren Diana Fowley and had run their ship off course. Again.

The storm raged and Scully sighed.

She could just as easily leave...go home, leave him to his misery. He probably saw her as the destroyer of worlds and all that he believed. Scully winced, recalling seeing how Mulder so cozily held Fowley’s hand. There was history; of that she was certain. She had her evidence: Frohike’s chickadee reference, that fucking holding of hands, the way she caught Fowley looking at Mulder, and Gibson’s own warnings to her. You don’t care what others think about you but you care what she thinks.

“Scully?” 

Mulder’s muffled voice came from the closed bedroom.

“Scully?”

He was becoming more panicked.

“In here, Mulder.”

She buried her face into the oversized sweatshirt, inhaling deeply. She tried to draw some strength and some better memories. She heard him getting up, shuffling around. The bedroom door creaked open and he ruffled his hair. “What time is it?”

“A little after one,” she whispered. She didn’t break her gaze from the storm raging outside. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I can’t...I don’t know how I even how to sleep for those few hours.”

“Exhaustion,” she said.

The lightning lit up the night sky. “What are you wearing? You look like a llama, ohh wait, or is it an alpaca?” He joked.

She didn’t look at him. “It is a sweatshirt of yours. I hope you don’t mind. I was cold.”

“It’s fine. Are you hungry? I can make something.”

“I’m fine, Mulder.”

She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, lost in her own thoughts. He was still tired, exhausted. “Stop biting your lip, you know it drives me crazy,” he tried to jest again.

“I’m sure,” she whispered dryly. “Mulder, I’m not really in the mood right now.”

“You’re still here. That says something.” 

“I guess.” She shrugged. “I can go if you want me to.”

“No,” he said immediately. He put his hand on her shoulder and she jumped slightly. The move did not go unnoticed. “Stay, Scully? You can take the bed if you want.”

“I’m fine, Mulder.”

“What is it? What’s bothering you?”

“Aside from the fact we’ve lost the x-files, all of our work is up in flames, and I never discover what actually happened to me and we may not ever find your sister? I’m peachy.” Scully could feel his eyes glaring at her at the base of her skull, somehow able to look at the chip even in the dark. “I can still go, Mulder. Perhaps there is someone else...you’d prefer.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Scully?” She felt tears in her eyes. Dear God, what was wrong with her? She shook her head silently. “Scully, talk to me. Is the loss of the x-files? Our work? I won’t know unless you tell me.”

Again, she shook her head.

“I saw you. In the hallway with her.”

“Who?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve said too much. I should go. You probably want to be alone with your thoughts.” She moved to take off the offending shirt to give it back, but he stopped her. “Mulder, let me go.”

“No. Not until you tell me. We’re partners.”

“For how long?” Scully snapped. “They’re taking away the x-files from us. They’re going to separate us up! Again. She may have been with you to find the x-files but I’m certainly the one to destroy them.”

Mulder arched an eyebrow. “You mean Diana?”

“I really should be going.”

“Scully, stop.” She’s already lost in her thoughts and Mulder realized the weight of loss affecting her too. “Scully!”

“I’m a jinx, right? I should’ve done more.”

He abruptly ignores her and pulls her into a tight hug. She fights him, trying to push away. “Scully, stop.” He was taller and stronger than her. “Scully, stop! Listen to me!” The pieces were coming together. “You saw her holding my hand.”

She stopped dejectedly and nodded. 

“And you think I’d prefer to have her than you?”

Again, another weak nod. 

Mulder had never known her to be so insecure, so emotionally raw than at this moment. He massaged her shoulders gently as she kept her head down. “We’re both hurting, Scully.”

She couldn’t handle it anymore. “Who is she to you, Mulder?”

“She ain’t no Scully if that is what you’re asking.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“What do you think?” He tipped her head up so she looked at him. “What are you talking about? You’re the only face with a view around here.” She smiled slightly and he gently thumbed away the stray tear. “You’re my partner. No one is splitting us up again.”

She nodded.

“Stay, Scully. Do you want to know who she is? I’ll tell you.”

Mulder guided her to the couch. “Let me grab us something to drink. It’s a rather painful story for me to tell.”

She didn’t resist him. Scully leaned back in the darkness on the well worn green leather couch. The storm continued to rage outside. She heard him shuffling around in the kitchen when he came back with two shot glasses and a half bottle of tequila. He poured them each a shot and gave her one.

“What are we drinking to?”

“You and me.” He told her simply. “We’re still here and we’ll find a way back again. And like I told you after Puerto Rico; I still have you.”

“Mulder: the eternal optimist. That doesn’t sound like you.”

They both took the shot. Scully grimaced as the fiery liquid burned down her throat. Mulder set his glass on his coffee table. He sighed, trying to figure out where to begin. “It is true, Diana helped me find the x-files back in ‘91. But there was more to it. It was a brief and torrid affair as the Victorians would call it. I got drunk...proposed. Three months later, she was gone and a divorce.” It came out in a long breath and Scully was silent. “It was the first time, in years...decades someone had actually cared about me or so I thought.”

Scully leaned forward to pour herself another drink. She pulled it back and could feel bile rising up in her throat. “She was your wife?”

“Briefly,” he murmured in thought. “I was naive. I wanted things to change. So I proposed. Worst mistake of my life. She gave me divorce papers and left for Europe. I haven’t seen or heard from her in years until last week.”

“Ex-wife, huh?”

He nodded. “She grabbed my hand, not the other way around. I...I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Mulder was quiet and watched her reaction. “Do you still love her?”

“Is there some fondness of what once was, could have been? A bit. But do I love her? Not anymore.” He gazed Scully fondly. “She did not come into my office five years ago and stubbornly defend me and our work. She did not cover my ass more times than I can count. She did not shot me to save me from myself. She’s not the one that I’m in love with.”

Scully had been staring fixedly at the dim bottle of tequila before his last words hit her. “What?” Her eyes met his. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“I think I did but I am uncertain.”

“I’m not in love with Diana Fowley. Maybe at one time, long ago, but not anymore.” He leaned forward to cup her cheek “You know exactly what I meant, Scully.”

“We can’t…”

“We can.” The thunder crackled again and lightning lit the room. She briefly saw his eyes and she froze. Something overtook her and she leaned forward. “We’re okay, Scully.”

“Will we be?”

He nodded. Mulder caressed her cheek and gently teased her with his own lips. She responded instantly. He lunged backward with her. Scully did not know what new spirit possessed her. She carefully straddled his hips, trying not to lose her balance on the couch.  She bit his lip teasingly, her own tongue delving deeper. Mulder’s arms snaked up under her shirt, grazing her bareback. “I’m not going to lose you again,” he vowed between breaths. “I’m not going to lose you ever again. I can’t.”

Scully took off his shirt in one sweeping motion. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he promised. Her nails scratched lightly against his chest giving him goosebumps. Mulder stopped her suddenly in a sudden moment of clarity. “Scully, what are we doing?”

She stopped, becoming self-conscious. “What do you mean? Mulder, don’t do this to me.” His blank stare was all she needed. She got off him and dropped his sweatshirt. “I’m going to go home. I’ll um, see you later okay?”

Before he could utter another word, she had disappeared into the night. The storm still raged outside. He lowered his eyes and collapsed against his leather couch. He lost his work, their office, and now, he could feel himself losing her again...just like he lost Diana. Maybe he really was meant to be alone.

Scully rode the elevator down to the ground floor and she could feel tears in her eyes. At the door separating her from the lobby of the apartment and the storm outside, she felt something building in her. Anger, frustration, sadness, and longing. She shook her head. She remembered how her mother told her how Mulder never stopped looking for her during her abduction. The quick, loving gazes he would give her that he thought she wouldn’t see. And she made a decision.

On her heel, Scully turned to go back to the elevator and go back up the stairs. As soon as she stepped off the elevator and the door closed behind her, a large rumble thunder crashed overhead and then there was darkness. 

“Great,” Scully murmured, staring at the one emergency light down at the end of the hall. Had that happened earlier, she would have been stuck on that elevator. “Just great.”

She walked quickly to Mulder’s door and twisted the knob and shut it behind her. Darkness eschewed his apartment. With practiced ease, she locked his door. “Mulder,” she called.

“In here, Scully.” He was in the living room. A single candle was lit on the coffee table and his eyes were red. “I, um, what are you doing here?”

“First things first, Mulder. Do you have any other candles?”

“Kitchen,” he answered, “beneath the sink.”

Scully grabbed the candle he had lit and procured three others. Mulder made no effort to move. She placed them strategically throughout his living room so there was enough light so that neither one of them could hide.

“Carefully, Scully, we’ve already had one office go up in flames tonight.”

“Ill place humor, Mulder.” She sat next to him on the couch. “I came back.”

“Why did you?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Scully?”

“Because my place is here. With you,” she answered evenly. She gazed outside his window as lightning lit up the sky. “Do you remember our first case? In Oregon?” 

He chuckled. “The bug bites, no power, and I decided to take the biggest risk in my life. I decided to trust you.”

“Funny how things come full circle, huh?”

He grunted in amusement. “You still have my sweatshirt on, Scully.”

“And you’re not getting back.”

“But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m not.”

“Then why did you run?”

“But I came back.”

“You came back,” he whispered. In the dim light, he took her hand and held it tightly. “Where do we go from here, Scully?”

“I don’t know. Maybe now tonight...wasn’t the right time for that. We’re both hurting, Mulder.”

“Are you saying no altogether?”

“No,” she whispered. She looked down at their hands. “I’ve wanted it for a very long time. But tonight, Mulder, we’re mourning. Maybe tomorrow? Maybe next week? Right now, I just don’t want to be alone, and I think, neither do you.”

“You have? Wanted it that is?”

Scully chuckled. “Yes, very much so.”

“I have to.”

She smiled. “Do you mind if I spend the night here? I don’t think either one of us wants to be alone tonight.”

Mulder met her eyes in the candlelight. “Will holding you suffice for tonight? Cuddling?” The word sounded foreign on his tongue. “Scully?”

“I would like that. And Mulder, I’m not like her...Fowley. I understand you both have history, but I’m not like her. I won’t abandon you or our work.”

Mulder shuffled on the green leather couch, bring Scully with him. Like perfect puzzle pieces, the lay together. Scully was protected between the back of the couch and Mulder. He sighed in relief as if he finally found what he had been searching for all his life. She pulled the Aztec blanket from the back of the couch around them. “Scully, I know this sounds bad, but I am glad you are here with me right now.”

His hand lazily pushed back her red locks as she nuzzled his shoulder, taking in his scent, and trying to memorize every aspect of this moment. She hugged him. “There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

Mulder smiled and watched the candlelit dance with their shadows. “Tomorrow?”

“We get back up and maybe lay down in Georgetown?” The suggestiveness was heavy in her voice. “Change of scenery?”

Mulder smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I’d like that.”

The storm continued to rage outside but in the darkness of the Alexandria apartment, Mulder and Scully, holding tight to each other, knew they were going to be okay.

[atths--twice]

Okay, moving right along. This is one of my favorites despite the bittersweet sadness of it. This is a story that had been on my mind ever since I began down this journey of continuing past the shows finale. I see them playing like a movie in my head and I love it. I love them moving on, being happy, and being with their girl. They deserve all the happiness in the world, and I enjoy giving them just that.

However, sometimes that happiness comes with a bit of sadness. A sadness that needs some extra care and understanding.

A Heavy Heart     3/5

Having been back to work at the hospital, Scully arrives home in need of some extra care after a very emotional day.

April 2022

Scully closed the front door gently and leaned against it with a deep sigh. The room was dark aside from the lone light left on for her late arrival from her shift at the hospital. Dropping her bag and shoes by the door, she locked it and walked wearily and with purpose up the stairs.

Glancing at their bedroom door and hearing Mulder’s soft snores, she bypassed it, and instead quietly turned the knob on Faith’s door and stepped inside.

The room had changed in the past two and a half years. The two dark blue walls had been repainted a soft teal, the other two remaining the color of sand. The crib, changing table, rocking chair and footstool had been replaced with a full sized bed, a nightstand, a child’s size table and chairs, and a house shaped bookcase.

Two old fashioned steam trunks sat open under the bookcase, full of dress up clothes, toys, a tea set, and little items Faith found special. Long floor length cream colored curtains with vibrant colored butterflies hung by the window. The table and chairs had little heart cut outs which Faith had loved. One look from Mulder, and Scully had known they would be buying the set.

The gray rug with the white stars was still in the room, Faith not wanting to part with “my stars” and get a new one. The nightstand matched the table and chairs with the heart cut out, on top of which sat a rainbow light that was kept on at night.

Her new “big girl” bed had been a bit of a discussion. Scully had thought a twin bed would be a better choice, the room not being overly large, but Mulder had insisted on a full size bed.

“What if we want to lie down with her? We are taking out the rocking chair and we will need a place to read stories at night,” he had said and she had agreed. Smiling with happiness on that first night, they had all snuggled in the new bed to read a few bedtime stories.

Scully looked around the room, taking in the stuffed animals sitting in the chairs with a large pile of plastic food in the middle of the table, the new drawings pinned to the wall, and the bowl of pine cones on the nightstand. She took a deep breath before covering her mouth as she tried to hold back her tears.

Stepping closer to the bed, she looked down at Faith as she slept; her long dark hair across the pillow, her favorite stuffed animal, a grey alien with a pink belly, held in her arms. Scully pulled back her grandmother’s quilt which Faith had fallen in love with, loving all the different colors and swatches, especially the ones with white bunnies, and laid down beside her.

Scooting closer, the second she had an arm around Faith, the tears began to fall. She buried her nose in her hair, smelling the strawberry shampoo Faith had picked because it was pink, and the unmistakable scent of Mulder.

Closing her eyes, she cried silently into Faith’s hair. She ran her hand across her small body, feeling the perfectness of her limbs and the rise and fall of her chest. Opening her eyes, she stared at her small hands, running her larger fingers over Faith’s tiny ones.  

“God,” she sobbed, holding her close, closing her eyes again and drawing comfort from the warmth of her little girl.

“Scully.”

She jerked awake, opening her eyes, confused by where she was.

“Honey, what are you doing in here?” She turned her head and saw Mulder behind her, his hair rumpled from sleep. She looked back at Faith, still sleeping soundly beside her. “Come on, Scully.”

Moving her arm carefully, she kissed the top of her head, slid from the bed, and stood in front of him.

“You’re still wearing your coat. What are you doing in here, hon?” he asked softly, and her eyes filled with tears. “Hey, hey.” He pulled her in for a hug and she clung to him, her tears wetting his shirt.

He led her from the room and shut the door, bringing her to their room and closing the door halfway. He held her as she cried, humming softly as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered and she shook her head, crying harder. “Okay. Okay.” He rocked her slowly as she tried to stop her tears. “How about a bath?” She nodded as she swallowed a sob, and he guided her into the bathroom. She sat on the toilet to wait as he turned on the water and began to fill the tub.

The jingle of metal tags announced the arrival of Bella, her whole body wiggling with happiness as she came closer to Scully. Her excitement mellowed however, when she stood in front of her and laid her head on her lap, whining as she raised sad dark eyes up at her. Scully rubbed her long soft ears, tears falling faster as she rested her forehead against Bella’s head.

“I’m going to make you some tea while the tub fills up. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Mulder said, stroking the top of her head and she nodded, hearing him leave the room as she continued holding Bella’s face in her hands.

Taking a deep breath, she kissed Bella and lifted her head. “You’re a good dog, my sweet Bella. A good girl.” Rubbing her ears once more, she stood up and wiped her eyes.

Taking off her coat, she dropped it to the floor, the rest of her clothes following, before she stepped into the tub and sank down into the warm water. Dunking under, the sound of the running water covered the screaming sadness in her heart.

Rising up, she laid back, breathing hard, her tears mixing with the bath water. Bella whined and Scully looked at her as she laid her head on the side of the tub.

“A really good girl,” she whispered, running her fingers up and down her muzzle. Bella whined again and sat down beside the tub.

Leaning forward, Scully turned off the water and leaned back, closing her eyes as she pet Bella once again. The door creaked open and Mulder touched the top of her head. Opening her eyes, she looked at him and he smiled softly.

“I have your tea, the sleepy time one. I think you need it, but it’s a little hot. I’ve set it behind you and you get it when you’re ready.” He rubbed Bella’s head and made to leave.

“Wai… don’t…” she sobbed out and reached for his hand.

“You want me to stay?”

She nodded, tears running down her face and he took her hand and squeezed. He sat beside Bella, who turned to look at him with a low whine.

“I know, girl,” he said, petting her head again. “We got this.” He smiled at Scully and she cried softly, covering her eyes. He squeezed her hand again and she exhaled a large breath.

Water stirring, Bella’s low whines, and Mulder’s breathing became the sounds she focused on to keep her from breaking completely. She moved her hand from her eyes and looked at him, his eyes soft as he watched her.

“Would you like your tea now?” he asked, squeezing her hand. She nodded and he smiled as he stood up to get it. Handing it to her, she smiled slightly at the mug he had chosen; bright yellow with a rainbow smiley face.

“Thought you could do with a little happiness,” he said softly and she nodded, taking a sip and then a bigger drink when she found it was not too hot. He took it back when she had drunk about half, setting it back on the shelf.

She stared at him and he reached for the shampoo. She leaned forward and he sat on the edge of the tub, squeezing the shampoo into his hands and then began to wash her hair. She cried as she drew her knees to her chest and his fingers massaged her scalp.

He used the yellow duck rinser they had bought for Faith, removing all the shampoo before he added the conditioner, clipping her hair up and reaching for a washcloth.

Softly, he ran it up and down her back, across her neck and down her arms. He knelt beside the tub and she leaned back, letting him wash her legs and her feet. He dipped the washcloth in the water and squeezed it out before gently wiping her face, her tears flowing freely.

He laid the washcloth on the side of the tub, reached for the rinser, and unclipped her hair. Rinsing it clean, he set the rinser down and handed her the mug of tea.

“You finish up and get out when you’re ready. I’ll have some pajamas waiting for you.” He kissed her forehead and looked from her to Bella, silently asking if she wanted him to take her out with him. She shook her head and he nodded, leaving them alone.

As soon as he left, Bella sat close, her head resting once more on the side of the tub. Scully rubbed her head and took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Bella,” she whispered and Bella let out a low whine.

When her mug was empty, she sighed, holding it in her hands. Letting out a breath, she sat forward and stood up, setting the mug down and reaching for a towel. Stepping out, she dried herself and her hair, as Bella lay on the rug in front of the tub.

Brushing her still damp hair, she shook it out, running her fingers through it before walking out of the bathroom, her towel wrapped around her body.

True to his word, there was a pair of pajamas waiting for her on the bed, but no Mulder. Dressing in the pants and long sleeved top, she went into the bathroom and laid her towel on the tub.

As she walked back into the bedroom, Mulder came through the door with a small smile on his face. He searched her eyes and she nodded as he sighed in relief. Gesturing to the bed, she nodded again and he pulled the blankets back, waiting for her to lie down. When she had, he covered her and stroked her hair.

Telling Bella to go to her bed, he turned out the lights, came around to his side and lay down. He stared at her and she bit her lip, feeling tears at the surface again. He stroked her cheek and waited.

“We are so lucky, Mulder,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her tears began to fall. “So many… there were so many things that could have gone wrong with the pregnancy. Because of the past, the struggle to even become pregnant, my age…” She shook her head and he wiped her tears away. “So many… so many chances for there to be an obstacle to overcome, but she’s… she’s perfect, Mulder.” She cried harder and he pulled her to him and said nothing.

“The children at the hospital,” she whispered into his neck. “The deformities, the health problems… Mulder…” Shaking her head, she thought of Faith’s beautiful smile and her determination to do things on her own. “I see such horrors that have happened to the sweetest children and I… it was hard before, but now… I see her in them and I… I’m so thankful and then I feel so guilty.”

She clung to him and sobbed, thinking of how often she had thanked God that Faith was whole and not lacking, even as the guilt crept in. He rubbed her back, his hands warm, strong, and familiar; her safe place to break, knowing he would always catch her.

“We lost a little girl today,” she choked out, seeing little Aria in her mind. “She was… she was so small. I thought she was about Faith’s age when I met her, but she was six. So small.” She shook her head and cried, still not believing she was gone. “She had osteogenesis imperfecta, brittle bones… and she had been in many times before I came back to work. We all loved her.”

He hummed and she pulled back, remaining close as she shook her head. “She had a severe form of the disease and her rib cage… it was hard for her to breathe. She was on oxygen, but it wasn’t enough and…” She began to sob again, his arms pulling her close to him.

She cried until she was sure she was out of tears, her body beyond exhausted. Drawing in a deep breath, she licked her lips, and let it out.

“I had to see her when I got home,” she whispered with a sob. “I had to see that she was okay, to know for certain. I needed to feel her perfectly formed body and hear her breathing. Oh, Mulder.” She cried again and he sighed heavily, his arms tight around her.

They were quiet for a while, her tears slowly subsiding. She pulled back again and looked at him, his eyes full of emotion. He nodded and let out a breath as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry sounds so hollow, but I am so very sorry. For you, for her, her family. I understand your need to see Faith, I really do.” He stroked her cheek and sighed. “I worry about you, honey. This isn’t the first time you’ve come home upset like this. Well, maybe not to this extreme, but similar.” She nodded, knowing it was true, and she closed her eyes.

“I would never be so presumptuous as to tell you what to do, but Scully…” She opened her eyes and stared at him, his eyes so full of love. “Is it too hard for you?”  

She nodded and then shook her head. “The whole way home, I told myself that it was too much, and maybe I wasn’t cut out for this anymore,” she whispered. “I screamed and yelled, not understanding God for the millionth time in my life, and I thought about giving up.” He nodded and waited, his thumb stroking her cheek. “But, Mulder, those bad days, the ones when I might cry or need to hug her a little tighter… those days are outweighed by the good ones.” He smiled, nodding again, as she took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile.

“I battled with going back to work, but I know it’s what I need to do. It’s only been six months, and it’s only three days a week. I have slowly eased into it and it’s been wonderful,” she said, scrunching her chin and sniffling. “Tonight, when I thought of not going back, I thought of Patrick, this little boy I play checkers with when he is there for his therapy. He always finds me after he’s finished and we play a game. His eyes are so green and he has the cutest smile.” She started to cry again, but they were happy tears. “And Molly. She’s nine and wants to be a doctor when she grows up. She has so many questions for me when she sees me. She has note cards and takes notes at my answers. How can I walk away from them?” She sniffled again and he grinned.

“You can’t, nor would I expect you to. That’s not my Scully,” he whispered, and she nodded. “I know that it’s hard, how could it not be when your heart is all in, wanting to help those children?” He smiled slightly and she nodded. “The good outweighs the bad, Scully. It always has and it always will. Tonight… tonight the bad won and heavily tipped the scales, but it can’t stay that way. If it did… we would all give up, and then where would we be?” She tried to laugh but it came out as a sob. He smiled and sighed. “I’m so sorry about tonight.”

She nodded and burrowed into his arms, letting out another sob as she found comfort in his words and his embrace.

As she fell asleep, her thoughts were of Aria, praying her sweet soul had found peace. Imagining her laughing as she ran and jumped, blowing hundreds of bubbles and laughing and laughing, her body now unbreakable.

______________

“Mommy. Mommy.”

Scully opened her eyes and saw Faith’s face a couple of inches from hers; her blue eyes intense and her dark hair its usual nesty morning mess. Scully smiled and pulled back the blankets.

“Come in, my love,” she whispered and Faith smiled, climbing onto the bed, her grey alien clutched in her hand. Covering them both up, Faith pushed her feet between Scully’s knees, something she had done after hearing how Scully used to do it to Melissa.

“I put my feet in your oven,” Faith said with a giggle and Scully smiled, wrapping her arms around her as Faith pushed her toes in further. “Like you did to Auntie.”

“That you did.” She breathed her in, smiling as she closed her eyes.

“Is your heart sad?” Faith asked suddenly and Scully froze, her eyes flying open.

“What? Why would you ask me that, sweetheart?”

“Hearts can be sad. And happy,” she said nonchalantly, holding her alien close.

“How do you know that, honey?”

“Daddy told me. He said hearts have love, lots of love, but it can be happy and sad.”

Mulder’s arm wrapped around her as he moved closer, and she smiled into Faith’s hair.

“Daddy told you, huh? Well, he’s a smart daddy.”  

“Yup. He knows lots of things.”

Scully smiled again as Mulder hummed a short quiet laugh in her ear. “Yes. He does know lots of things. I suppose we’re lucky to have him to tell us all those things he knows.”

“Uh huh.”

“Daddy is right, my love, hearts can be sad. My heart was sad last night, but today it’s feeling better. It’s very happy that I have you and daddy to be with me when my heart does feel sad.”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

Mulder’s arm tightened around her and she breathed deeply as Faith turned over and snuggled in closer, her little body fitting in like a puzzle piece.

“It’s good, Scully,” he whispered in her ear and she nodded, closing her eyes again.

Last night the scale was heavy, the good hidden in the very bad. In the light of day, literally surrounded by love, the scales began to lift and push away the bad. The sadness still lingered, of course it did, but it was no longer an all consuming feeling.

Lying between the two people she loved most, the three of them warm and cozy, the darkness did not stand a chance.

The good outweighed the bad. It always had and it always would.

[edierone]

26 and 77 for the mash up list

Five Miles Is a Long Way to Walk In Florsheims

She really did it. 

She — she just pulled over, told me to get out, and — kept on driving. 

I know I was pissing her off this entire case (but especially today), I know I probably (definitely) pushed it too far when I did the vehicular version of Dutch-ovening her just now, a little juvenile humor to lighten the mood … ok, honestly, with the heat on, it was really kind of nauseating, even for me. 

She’s threatened to dump me out before, like a dad yelling at the kids to pipe down or he’ll make ‘em walk home. 

But — this time, she really did it. And here I am, by the side of a two-lane road in the far yonder of cow country, in a cold drizzling rain, in my suit (minus the jacket, which is … still in the car) and cheap dumb dress shoes from JC Penney — thank god I left my Nunn Bush oxfords at home, I guess? — watching the rented Ford’s taillights recede in the far distance.  

I’ll wait a few minutes. She’ll come back. 

Nope. It’s been fifteen already. New plan: Walk till I’m just over that next rise — probably she’s sitting there, waiting for me to catch up, parked on the narrow shoulder with the radio on one of her channels (theory: might’ve been the fourth airing of “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid” that pushed her over the edge; note to self, that’s enough classic rock for today). I’ll show up, she’ll forgive me, and we’ll get back to finding the Phantom Murderin’ Cowboy of BFE. 

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

Nope. Fox and his tired old dogs are walkin back to Cowburg. 

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

Five miles is a long way to walk in Florsheims, especially when the seams start to give and your socks are soaked and your hair is in your face and even your belt is ruined. It’s enough time to get titanically self-righteously angry, then run out of steam on that and rethink your position, then feel like utter dogshit for the way you’ve treated the most important person in your life, then script and rehearse your most abject apology speech dozens of times, refining it to remove all traces of self-pity and accusation and adding a few jokey lines so she knows it’s you and not some shapeshifting asshole wearing you as a skin suit or something. 

I’m — I’m properly chastened, is what I’m saying, and all I want is to get back in her good graces. And maybe get some dry clothes on; my balls are rubbed pretty raw at this point. 

Room 27, adjoining room 28, the last two on the end farthest from the road. I start to feel just how bad off I am as I cross the parking lot: I’m freezing, my left knee hurts like a bastard, my ankles feel swollen to the point of sloshiness, my back is killing me, and my feet — oh god, my feet … I limp to good old 27, then realize with a wave of despair that my key is in the pocket of my suit jacket, which I can see crumpled on the floor of the Taurus’s backseat. 

Shit. 

Rather than add “broken rental car window” to my list of crimes and expense items, I gather what’s left of my dignity — there ain’t much — and shuffle over to 28. 

“Knock knock, it’s the bog monster of Black Rock Creek, I’m here to —”

The door swings open so fast I almost fall through it. 

There she is, keys in hand and coat on — that determined/worried little furrow between her eyes quickly smoothing out and hiking skyward as she takes in my bedraggled state. I don’t get a chance to give my apology speech, because she’s already launched into hers: “Jesus, Mulder, you look like a drowned rat! I’m so sorry — I thought it was only a mile or so, but it took you so long, I got worried — you — I was so angry, I guess I just didn’t realize how far it was — oh, look at your shoes! I was coming to get you — god you must be so cold —”

The whole time, she’s dragging me inside, running to the bathroom to grab towels which she tosses at me, bending to help me shuck the worthless bits of leather that used to be size 11 Fed footwear, checking through my sopping-wet hair for head trauma — at least I think that’s what she’s doing, but I don’t really care cause it feels pretty good. 

But I can’t let her do all the apologizing, so all the while, I’m trying to interject with my own mea culpa — about how it’s OK, I’m OK, I was being a dumbass and I deserved it and I’m sorry for questioning her take on the third vic’s cause of death (she was right, I was reaching, and being a dick about it besides), if she wants to Dutch-oven me as revenge, I’ll take it like a man … 

That one finally makes her stop fussing and laugh, her big surprising Scully-laugh that makes me feel like a god for bringing it forth. 

“Mulder …” she finally says, looking me up and down with a mixture of pity and amusement that kinda makes me tingle. “I’ll save that idea for another time. Why don’t you go get a hot shower and I’ll — try to find something to eat. I’m already dressed to go out anyway.” 

I agree to this plan, and in less than an hour, we’re side by side in comfy warm sweatpants on the surprisingly decent couch, eating some of the best tortilla soup I’ve ever tasted. She brought icy cold glass bottles of Coke, too — “Hecho in Mexico, oh man, Scully, that’s the stuff!”

She puts hers down and hops up, going to dig something out of her trench pocket. “I almost forgot! I found something else to warm you up.” She holds it out to me — a pint bottle of Jameson’s. 

“Heyyyyyy!” I reach for it, cracking it open and smelling it. “Where’d you get this? I thought this was a dry county.” 

“It is,” she smiles, with an arch aren’t-I-clever look. “I bought it off the front desk clerk — smelled something on her breath and took the big investigative leap. She charged me a pretty big markup, but I thought it was worth it, under the circumstances.” 

I agree, and ask if we have glasses — but this isn’t the kind of place that furnishes barware, so I guess we’ll have to swig it like a couple of winos under a bridge. 

“I don’t mind swapping spit with you, Scully, if you’re ok with mine,” I say, landing a pretty ill-timed glance at her lips that I hope she doesn’t notice. 

She does. It makes her blush a little, which she brazens through with a big manly belt of the Jameson’s. She hands the bottle to me and dares me with her eyes to do better. 

I can’t, of course, but I try, and as the first gulp slides down my throat, warming me from the inside, I have one of those hot pulses of the deepest kind of affection for her — the kind that just shouts in my head, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, so loud that I almost give it voice for real. 

But, of course, I don’t; we finish our dinner, taking occasional nips of whiskey, calling out increasingly sloppy answers at Jeopardy! and then Wheel of Fortune on the crummy motel TV. 

The news is next and neither of us is in the mood, so I click through the five working channels and get lucky: North By Northwest is just starting. I scooch around to get comfortable, but I must’ve stiffened up — both of my hip joints and something up high in my back crack audibly, and the girly scream whistling out of me at the way my calf just seized would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

Well, I guess it’s funny to Scully — she laughs, but apologizes. Then laughs again. She’s ruthless, not to mention mean. I tell her so. She laughs harder. I pout dramatically, and eventually she relents.

“All right, all right — you’ll be useless in the morning if I don’t get you fixed up, and I don’t plan on carrying your bag through DFW airport. Get up on that bed, I’ll massage the kinks out.” 

I swear I do not even have time to open my mouth before she warns, deadly serious: “And if you say one word about this is how some of your favorite movies start —”

Ahh, she knows me, doesn’t she? 

I make like a totally innocent man — pure of heart, mind, and deed — and lie down on my stomach with my feet toward the headboard, propping my chin up on a pillow so I can keep watching the movie. Scully gets to work. 

And she’s good. Got those doctor hands. Whoever’s in 26 must think we’re making the world’s weirdest sex tape in here, or else that we’ve kidnapped a moose that sometimes converses with Cary Grant. 

By the time she gets to my feet, I feel like a melted marshmallow.  

Scully says dreamily, “I remember watching this once somewhere when I was about twelve, and thinking Eve Kendall was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.” I make an inquiring noise. “You know — this scene —”

They’re on the train. Eva Marie Saint’s lookin ol’ Archibald in the eye, telling him she’s twenty-six and unmarried and likes his face, how it’s gonna be a long night, and

“And I don't particularly like the book I've started,” Scully murmurs along. I crane my neck to look back at her; her lips curve upward in the most delicious-looking arc, her eyes twinkling with that sort of mischievous/impressed look she gets toward me sometimes. 

I love it, but it makes me a little jealous, so I tell her so. She just giggles and says, “Oh, don’t be jealous of old crushes!” I want to ask her who’s the crush, Eva Marie or Cary, but she grabs the other pillow and flops down on her stomach beside me and suddenly I can’t talk — I just lie there, grinning like a fool. 

She passes me the one-third-full Jameson’s — one more sip each before she caps it for the night. We watch for awhile longer. During the next commercial break, she turns to me, studying me with a gentle smile.  

“You look a little dopey,” she says fondly, and I laugh. 

“I’m also happy, sleepy, and tipsy — wonder where the other three dwarfs are?”

Her eyes are on the TV again. “Doc … Bashful … Horny …” 

Suddenly my heart is thumping way too hard. When I talk, it comes out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t think ‘Horny’ is one of the original septet, Doc …”

She shifts a little. She’s smiling but she won’t look at me. “Neither is ‘Tipsy,’ but I spotted you that one — fair’s fair, Mulder.”

“Oh, we’re being honest?” Where did this voice come from, the one that makes her shiver? There — just then — she did, she did shiver. I saw it. “Well, maybe there was a Horny. And a Woody, and a — Smitten, and a —”

“I think you better stop there, Prince Charming,” she interrupts, finally half-turning her face toward me. She still won’t make eye contact; maybe she knows, like I do, that if she does that, we don’t stand a chance of keeping this from happening. 

The thing is, I want it to. I have for a long, long time, and I think — so does she, so has she. 

That’s the source of so much of the tension between us; that’s really why we fought earlier, why there’ve been so many of these little flareups lately, embers dropped into dry grass and then stomped out with such vigor. We’ve been careful not to get into situations like this one, where the space separating us is so small that we can feel the other’s exhales on our own skin. 

I drop down from my elbows to lie flat, facing her. I can see her eyelashes silhouetted against the washed-out lights of 1959 onscreen. “Scully,” I say, barely above a whisper. 

It’s a long moment before she finally whispers back, “Not here.”

I know what she means, of course I do. Not on a case, not in a janky motel, not even a little bit under the influence. 

“Then where?” 

She shakes her head, a tiny movement that makes her hair fall forward, obscuring any part of her I could read. 

She doesn’t know? Or she doesn’t want to say? I can’t tell, so I try another question.

“Soon, do you think?”

She tenses, and for a second I think she’s going to get up, or order me out of here. But then she drops her head to the pillow, facing me. Her eyes are huge, serious, full of something unnameable that I nonetheless understand. 

“Soon,” she agrees. 

I nod, nearly overwhelmed by my love for her, the tremendous weight of this moment, the desire that’s been there for so long I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t. 

She reaches to touch my face, skimming lightly along one side, barely barely barely there on my eyelid, so softly; I close my eyes as she traces where she likes. 

Her hand falls eventually, coming to rest in the little valley between us. I take hold of it, gently, risking a glimpse at her. Her eyes are shut now, but I’m not sure she’s asleep. 

“I love you,” I say, but silently, the coward’s way. “So much.” 

If she hears me, it’s only subliminally; that’s all the daring I have tonight. Sweet dreams, Scully, I think as I drift off. Sweet dreams. 

--------------------------

[Thanks for the long-ago prompt, anon -- from the Fic Trope Mashup list, Massage Fic and In Vino Veritas]

[frangipanidownunder]

Patient S: Fic

For @stellablue42 who asked: Mini fic prompt inspired by your current state: Scully starts to get sick after Detour and Mulder wants to take care of her to reciprocate what she did for him during their night in the woods.

Yes, guys. This is a Sick!Fic...

She sneezes three times and slumps back in her chair. He looks up from the report and sees the dark smudges under her eyes, the pink tip of her nose. She’s sick. And it’s probably his fault. He jumped out of the car at the roadblock, he insisted they investigate, he didn’t listen to her sensible, rational statements. He turned down wine and cheese. He got hurt. She fell down a hole. Leon County, Florida was a humid, hair-frizzing, viral-cold-inducing nightmare.

              “You should go home, Scully.”

              She shakes her head and sneezes again. “I’m fine.”

              “You’re going to infect the entire basement,” he says, handing her a box of tissues he has in the middle drawer.

              “If by entire, you mean, you, Mulder, I’m sure you’ll survive a bout of man flu.”

              Well, at least her cutting sense of humour hasn’t been sneezed out of her nostrils. “Man flu is a real thing, Doctor Scully. There are plenty of studies that suggest men are not really just horrible patients who expect to be waited on hand and foot, but rather they experience the symptoms of colds and flus differently to women.”

              She swipes a tissue from the pack and blows her nose. Pink turns to affronted red and she sighs. “I believe those papers were all written by men, or rather they were probably dictated by men and typed up by women who were probably making soup for their sick loved ones as they printed the pages to send off.”

              The file snaps shut with finality and he lifts his jacket from the back of the chair, deposits his half-drunk coffee in the trash can and scoops her up by the elbow. They’re at the elevator before she can protest.

              “I’m driving you home.” He holds a palm to her face. She sinks against the metal wall and crosses her arms around her. By the time the reach the car she’s shivering. By the time he has her on the couch under a fleece she’s white-faced, wretched.

              It takes her a while to come up from the steaming tea and whisper ‘thank you’.

              “You’re welcome, horrible patient.”

              She tries to laugh but it comes out as a long hacking cough and he feels instantly guilty. He sits at the end of the couch and lifts her feet onto his lap. They’re cold, despite the blanket. He cups one in his hands and massages it warm. Then the other. She’s chin-to-chest, snuffling out of her nose, eyes drooping.

              “Do you want me to sing?” he asks and she doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she’s asleep. He tucks her feet under his thighs and she wriggles her toes.

              “K,” she says.

              He clears his throat. “Take heed, 'cause I'm a lyrical poet, Miami's on the scene just in case you didn't know it”

           She sits up, pulls the blanket down from her chin. Her eyes are wide, her mouth half-open. He tips his head back and lets the laugh reverberate in his chest. “Sorry, Scully. Couldn’t help it. Vanilla Ice is misunderstood. Like me.” He pulls a sad face and she kicks him.

           “Mulder, bad white boy rap deserves to be left in the basement. Sing me something else.” She nests herself under the blanket and closes her eyes again.

           “Look around, everywhere you turn is heartache; It's everywhere that you go.”

She kicks him again and giggles.

“You try everything you can to escape, The pain of life that you know…Want me to strike a pose, Scully?”

“No,” she huffs good-naturedly, “Just sing me something beautiful.”

“With the lights out, it's less dangerous; Here we are now, entertain us, I feel stupid and contagious, Here we are now, entertain us.”

“Mulder!”

“All right, all right. I get it. You’re so demanding, Dr Scully, Patient S. You want heart strings and wild declarations of love. You want lyrical beauty that warms your chest. You want me to lull you into a false sense of security in a world of uncertainty and diffidence. You…”

“I’m sick, Mulder. You’re supposed to be taking care of me. I don’t wanna argue. And don’t call me Patient S.” She flops an arm over her face and squishes her nose into it, sniffing. Breaking into a new fit of coughing, she sits up.

He edges closer, pulling her against him. “And I don’t wanna sing. I think you should be in bed, Patient S. Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” she says, pushing the blanket off her. Her body trembles.

He slips one arm behind her back, the other under her thighs and he lifts her. She’s too shocked to protest but there’s a thin whine that issues from her throat. She sounds like an indignant cat and he kind of loves it. Her hands clasp behind his neck and she tugs. “I don’t wanna wrestle either, Scully.” Her bedroom is too light and he settles her under the duvet before closing the drapes. “Doesn’t look like there’s any rain coming.”

She’s on her side, facing the window, shivering. “What?”

“It’s not going to rain sleeping bags, Scully.”

“Guess you’re not getting lucky, then.”

He smiles. He’s already lucky. He has the best partner. He feels useful, tending to his horrible patient. “I’ll get you some more blankets.”

“No,” she says. “Just get in with me.”

“Slip inside my sleeping bag,” he sings and she tuts but sidles forward. She’s soft against him and he’s aware of how much she has let down her guard here. He tries not to rest his arm too heavily over her side but she’s just so small, curved into his chest.

“Sing,” she croaks.

“I thought love was only true in fairy tales, Meant for someone else but not for me…”

[poeticsandaliens]

Mulder’s Ring - OctoberFicFest Day 10

Because I have a hard time trusting Chris Carter, I’ve head-canoned how season 11 ought to end. It ends with Mulder, Scully, William, and fluff with a tinge of melancholy. 

Yesterday’s ficlet was so grim; I needed to create a happier alternative.

Tagging @fictober​ and @today-in-fic​ .

Today I apologize to Tolkien (arguably less foreboding than T.S. Eliot) for stealing some of Bilbo’s famous lines. It felt fitting, and I’ll always sneak in a tribute to the great J.R.R. if I can.

I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.

–Bilbo Baggins, Fellowship of the Ring

They’re old. They feel it when dust collects on their files; they feel it getting out of bed on cold mornings; they feel it after a stressful workday, when they fuck like teenagers on Mulder’s dying box springs and their backs ache from being pressed against the headboard.

Scully is relieved to see the crow’s feet around her eyes—she’d never forgotten the final promise of Clyde Bruckman, the countless moments she nearly died but looked away at the last moment. What a tragedy it would have been to stand over the graves of her husband, her children and grandchildren, to live for so long you saw the aging of rock and shift of the continents beneath your feet and to know nothing that is true will remain so. 

Mulder takes it a little less gracefully, but that he’s old means he didn’t die young. He can appreciate that, if nothing else. He still protests the wrinkles in his forehead and the thinning of his hair. 

They feel old when they move Scully’s things back into the Unremarkable House, grunting and clutching their backs with each piece of furniture they haul up the front steps. They feel old when Scully bakes cookies but rations Mulder’s to keep his cholesterol down.

They feel old when they grumble about Daggoo digging up the garden again, and they have to fill in the little paw-scrapes and massage each other’s joints afterward.

They feel old when they find their son, and he stands a foot taller than Scully and grows a stubble on his chin. And it’s hell at first—they’ve all suffered casualties; William’s adopted family is dead at Spender’s hand and it shatters Scully to know she couldn’t protect him. It shatters Mulder to hug William and then ask him to save the world. It’s unfair. 

They feel even older when it’s over. When they fill Spender with bullets and then help William move into his new bedroom like the whole world hadn’t almost gone up in flames. They want him to be a kid for once. He obliges, and they feel old when William asks “what the fuck happened out there?” over pizza dinner. 

They tell him everything. They feel old thinking about the Flukeman, Clyde Bruckman (this one gives Scully a pause) and the time they posed as a married couple because back then, they didn’t think they’d live long enough to marry in real life and they certainly didn’t think they would be eating Domino’s with their lanky, eye-rolling teenage son.

Mulder never feels older than he does locking the basement office for the final time. He knows it’s satisfying for Scully to see that door—the door she deserved her name on but never got—closing at last. It means Spender is dead; it means nothing in that room can hurt them anymore. It means they no longer carry the world on their shoulders. 

They hand their resignations to Skinner one evening in May, only to find him penning his own letter of resignation and retiring to a beach somewhere. They each carry a stack of case files they couldn’t let go—some of them solved, some of them to be explored if only for the hell of it. They can do that now. 

Scully always said the X-files were his ring of power, keeping them both young but imprisoned. Sitting beneath his tattered poster in the basement office, he was forever the embittered thirty-year-old who trusted no one and lived for the search. (He hesitates for a moment, closing that door. He’s fond of that cracked young seeker of truth. But he’s fonder of the middle-aged husband and father and hobbyist cryptid hunter he’s become.) They watch Fellowship of the Ring that night and he decides he would much rather be Bilbo than Frodo. 

Scully feels old when she slices a dead body in front of twenty horrified medical students. Mulder feels old when his students call him ‘Professor,’ but at least it’s better than ‘Fox.’

They crack open a case file on William’s summer vacation—it’s a maybe-bigfoot type of case, deep in the middle of nowhere. They book three plane tickets and break out their flashlights for old times’ sake. William teases them mercilessly and breaks out his phone instead. Huffing and puffing, outpaced by their son chasing shadows through the woods, they feel young again. 

And he lived happily ever after, ‘til the end of his days.

–Bilbo Baggins, Fellowship of the Ring

[mldrgrl]

Mulder realizing how much he loooooves kissing scully

Honestly, he realized that before he even kissed her.

A Lot A Lot A Lot

By: mldrgrl Rating: R

(1 - 19)

Sunday is his favorite day now.  It’s the day they’ve agreed upon is theirs to waste and do whatever they want with.  Together.

He always wakes earlier than she does and lets her sleep in.  They’re at his place this weekend and when he rolls over, she’s sprawled adorably across the left side of the bed like a frog, limbs akimbo.  Her hair is mussed, frizzing at her temples and back of the neck from the humidity of last night’s lovemaking.  He can still smell and taste the salty tang of sweat and passion on her skin as he presses his lips to the back of her shoulder.

As gently as he can, he brushes the hair off the back of her neck and puts his lips there as well, branding her cool skin with his warm mouth.  He kisses her between the shoulder blades and then stretches his neck to kiss her cheek before he rolls away and slips out of bed.

He grabs his running clothes and gets ready in the bathroom with the door partially shut only to block the light from waking her.  Before he leaves, he crouches by the side of the bed and nuzzles her neck.  She grunts softly, lifts her fingers and catches his chin.  He kisses her all over the exposed side of her face, whispering to her at the same time that he’s going for a run, to go back to sleep, he’ll be back soon.  She grunts again and he moves back to take her hand and kiss each one of her fingertips.

(20 - 33)

She’s still sleeping when he gets home and he doesn’t feel so bad about waking her now.  She’s curled on her side, hugging his pillow like a teddy bear.  He lays down diagonally across the bed and kisses her bottom lip, repeatedly, until she scrunches her face.

“Mulderrrrrrr,” she groans.

“Hm?” he answers, peppering her face with soft kisses.

“What time is it?”

“After nine.”  He tries to capture her mouth again, but she turns her head.

“Morning breath,” she protests.

“Don’t care.”  He holds the back of her head and manages to snag the upper curve of her mouth.  She scrunches her face again and he kisses the wrinkles at the side of her nose.  “I stopped at the deli on my way home.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Egg and cheese.  With bacon.”

“Mmm…”  Her hand moves into his hair to pull him closer, but he backs off.

“I need a shower.”

“Don’t care,” she whispers, bringing back to her mouth.

He manages a few deep kisses before her stomach growls.  She groans in embarrassment and he chuckles against her mouth.

“Guess you don’t want to keep the egg and cheese waiting,” he says, crawling backwards off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I was serious about the shower.”

“Have breakfast with me and I’ll join you later.”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

(34 - 67)

She makes good on her promise and stands naked at his sink, clipping her hair up and off her neck as he adjusts the temperature of the taps of his shower.  He’s first in and she’s just behind him.  She makes soapy circles on his back as he washes his hair.  When he’s finished, she presses herself against him and he presses one hand to the tiles as she slides her hand around his hip and starts to stroke him.  He pulls her other hand up from where it rests on his chest and holds it to his mouth, occasionally sinking his teeth into her palm as he moans in pleasure.

They switch places and then it’s her turn.  He kneels down behind her, apologizing to his knees and at the same time assuring them it’ll be worth it.  He kisses her ouroboros tattoo, licks it from head to tail with the tip of his tongue and she puts both hands on the wall and spreads her legs like she’s about to be frisked.  He kisses her hip, moves lower and sinks his teeth into the plump swell of her right buttcheek.  She jerks in surprise and he sucks the sting of his bite away.  He has her writhing before he even turns around and buries his face between her legs.  

The great care she took to try prevent her hair from getting wet is all for naught.

(68 - 72) She blow dries her hair in her bra and panties as he sits on the closed toilet in his boxers and clips his toenails.  He throws on a pair of jeans and stands behind her, rubbing her hips and telling her about a flea market he thinks they should check out as she applies a thin layer of eyeliner and mascara to her lashes.

“Yeah sure,” she says, shrugging him off her shoulder as he lifts her bra strap and kisses her.  “Stop jostling, I’ll ruin my make-up.”

“You don’t need it anyway,” he mumbles and drags his bottom lip across her shoulder to her neck.

“Just a little.”  She shrugs again and he places a hard kiss in protest to her neck before he lets her go.

(73)

They keep wandering away from each other at the flea market.  Not on purpose, just by nature of browsing.  They always end up in the same place eventually though.  Mulder finds her admiring a glass vase that’s such a dark color of blue that every time she shifts it in her hands it looks purple.

“How much?” Mulder asks the man at the stall.

“Twenty,” he answers.

“I was just looking,” Scully says, setting it back on the shelf.

Mulder already has his wallet out and is passing a twenty dollar bill over to the little stallkeeper that reminds him of Frohike.  The vase is wrapped in newspaper and put in a plastic bag, which he gives to Scully.

“Mulderrrrr,” she says.

“I think vases are the traditional one month anniversary gift.”

She blushes and chuckles at the same time, dipping her chin to hide her face from him, but only for a moment.  “Thank you,” she says, and puts her hand on his abdomen, thumb dipping into the waistband of his jeans as she lifts up onto her toes and gives him a kiss.  He grins at her and slings his arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him as they continue to browse.

“I should find something for you,” she says.

“You’re more than enough,” he answers.

(74 - 77)

He pulls over suddenly on the way home and stops abruptly.  

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.  Be right back.”  

She’s unbuckling her seatbelt, ready to act as backup for whatever situation he’s about to run into, but she quickly realizes he’s stopped in front of a sidewalk florist.  His back is to her, but she can see him pointing and nodding and gesticulating.  He’s back in the car only a few minutes later with a bouquet of white and yellow daisies.

“Can’t let the vase go empty,” he says, as he hands them to her.

She places the flowers on her lap and rests her hand on his cheek as he leans across the seat to kiss her.  Three kisses later, he finally starts the car to keep heading home.

(78 - 100+)

There’s a creature feature marathon on TV, but they’re both drunk on pad Thai and each other and hardly pay attention.  Scully is flat on the couch, her feet in Mulder’s lap, accepting a well-deserved massage as he slouches with his head back and eyes closed.  The vase full of flowers and water and a tab of aspirin that Scully said will help them last longer is sitting on his desk.

“I should go.”  She sighs.

“You can’t.”  He wiggles one foot back and forth.  “I haven’t gotten to a hundred yet.”

“A hundred what?”

“Kisses.”

She raises one eyebrow.  “You’ve been counting?”

“I figure, we’ve known each other for seven years.  I definitely owe you at least one kiss a day for lost time.  That’s 365 times seven.  And plus leap years.  Which is...you know, a lot.  A lot, a lot, a lot.  If I can make it to a hundred every Sunday, maybe, just maybe, I can make up for it.”

“Mulderrrrr…”  She smiles and flexes her toes.  “That’s absurd.”

“It helps that you’re so damn kissable.”

“Oh, am I?”

He stops rubbing her foot and pulls on her calf, sliding her down the couch closer to him and then pulling her up so she’s in his lap.  She wraps her arms loosely around his neck and cocks her head at him.

“How many more do we need?” she asks.

He squints one eye and wrinkles his brow.  “22,” he answers.

“Good thing you’re also so damn kissable,” she replies, taking his face in her hands.  “I intend to surpass that goal.”

“Then, I very much intend to let you.”

He loses count after a hundred and twelve.

The End

[baronessblixen]

One Of These Days

The sequel to the period fic. What period fic, you ask? THIS ONE. You don’t even have to read it, I think. This one here is set in season 7 and rated NC-17 (or maybe just an R).

Seven years in and Fox Mulder considers himself an expert on Dana Scully's menstrual cycle. He could write a book on it, he figures, yet doubts that Scully would appreciate it. In greatest Mulder and Scully tradition, they don't talk about it, and never have. Seven whole years of not talking about it. After that first time he bought her a heating pad, just to let her know he was there and cared. He was sure she had one already, but she thanked him with a soft, shy smile. A memory he still cherishes. He bit his lip that day in order not to remind her that if only she said the word he would gladly take over heating pad duties. Day and night, if necessary. Years later, right before they took the next step in their relationship, he finally told her exactly that. She laughed, still a rare sound, and kissed him. That's another memory he holds dear.

These days, Mulder is sure of it, he has seen it all. The angry bits, the messy bits. After her abduction, she was as irregular as their whole relationship. He never knew what to expect or when to expect it. In these days he always had as many Oreos on him as sunflower seeds. Just in case it was one of those days. Over time, it became easier, more predictable. Until it stopped altogether. With Scully's cancer, her periods ceased; everything seemed to just end. The Oreos in his coat pockets crumbled into stale nothingness and yet Mulder bough new ones each and every week. Never giving up.

Now here they are. They might be a new couple, but Scully on her period is no longer a new phenomenon at all. There are times when she kisses him, promises him that she's fine, really fine, and he's become an expert on that, too. Tonight though, she doesn't say it, and even if she did, he sees it in her eyes; she is not fine, but exhausted, in pain.

"Do you want to take a bath?" Mulder asks her while she is taking off her shoes. She doesn't look at him, concentrates on her task. Her hair is sticking to her neck, to the side of her face. Hot flashes, he notes mentally, watching her throw her shoes against the wall. Mulder ticks of irrational flashes of anger off the list in his head. She would never do this at home, of course, but here in this second rate hotel room, she can throw her shoes and not care. He prefers it as sometimes, he is on the other end of that mood. Like that time when he told her to just wear flats instead. She tugs at her pants, grunts when they don't come off right away, and hauls them across the room when she's finally free.

"No, I don't want to take a bath. I just want to..." But she trails off, unsure what she wants or needs. She looks tiny standing there in the middle of the room, barefoot and half-dressed. Cute, too, but that's not what she needs to hear right now. His choices here in No man's land Iowa were limited when it came to junk food. He did manage to get Oreos, which have proven to be the most essential period food anyway, but not much else. Mulder reaches behind him and the bag of cookies crinkles, usually a sure fire way to get Scully's attention. Not tonight, though. So this is serious, he realizes. He watches her make a decision, though he is not sure she even realizes it herself. She starts pacing, her fists pressed against her lower back.

"What do you need, Scully?" He asks gently, not yet daring to get up and simply take her into his arms. Sometimes she doesn't want to be touched, her whole skin too sensitive. He learned that the hard way.

"I don't know." Her voice is full of frustration.

"Come over here." He's going to take his chances.

"No, Mulder. I just… I need… oh, I don't know. Where are the Oreos?" Quickly, he unpacks two cookies and she walks over to him. She takes them and immediately stuffs them into her mouth, chewing quickly and angrily. An idea begins to build in his mind. Candy isn't going to cut it, he knows, and she doesn't want to take a bath. There is something they yet have to try. Mulder has to remind himself not to be smug, not to grin. Scully is in pain after all and none of this is fun. But oh, he can't wait.

"Scully?" She turns to him, holding out her hand for more Oreos. He gladly provides the cookies. "Do you trust me?" She stares at him with full cheeks, chewing slowly. He is reminded of a squirrel, or even a hamster. Don't say it, he thinks, whatever you do, don't tell her she looks like a rodent. He waits for her answer and gets it when she nods.

"Come here, sit on the bed."

"Mulder, no."

"You don't even know what-"

"Oh, I know exactly what you want to do. You know how I feel about sex when I'm on my period."

"Who said anything about sex?"

"I can see it in your eyes, Mulder."

"There's sex in my eyes?" She rolls her eyes at him, grabbing for the Oreos, but Mulder is quicker and takes them away before she gets to them.

"Hey!"

"Hear me out first please, Scully." She glances at him, clearly not amused so he decides to better be quick about this. "You as a medical doctor know that an orgasm is an ideal way to reduce menstrual pain. So why not, Scully? I'm not talking about sex, not like you're thinking. Just let me… make you feel better. Please." Maybe it's his pleading voice. Or a sparkle in his eyes. His pouty lips. Mulder has yet to figure out just what it is about him that, just sometimes, causes Scully's expression to be this placid, to give in to him so easily and completely.

"Come here." He whispers and this time she does. She crawls over to him, crushing an Oreo on her way and once she realizes what she's done, she pouts. "Don't worry," he kisses the top of her nose, "I've got more than enough." She settles between his spread legs and leans against his chest.

"You're warm." She sighs.

"Sorry."

"No, feels good." Scully puts her hands on his thighs, gently strokes them through the denim. His cock reacts immediately, twitches excitedly, but this is not about him. Mulder puts his head on Scully's shoulder, lets his eyes drift close. She smells so good, he thinks, as his hands refuse to be still. They wander over her arms, his fingers encountering and causing goose bumps, as he massages her gently. Mulder lets his hands slide up and down her arms to help her relax; her whole body is rigid after working all day. All he wants to do right now is kiss it better, take the pain away, even if only for a few short moments. He's got to make them count.

One hand on her stomach, he pulls her even closer against him. They moan in unison when her ass connects with his growing erection. That one will have to wait. Mulder's hand starts trailing downwards. He lifts her shirt up and his fingers dance across the skin on her stomach making her giggle. She's always been ticklish. Mulder lets one hand rest there, providing warmth. The other one, quite daringly, keeps moving until it slips inside her panties. His fingers explore her folds for a moment, knowing exactly what they have to do. He knows what she likes; he knows how to draw this out, play her perfectly. Just another art form he's mastered. But she starts writhing against him; the pain in her lower back, the twinge in her stomach robbing her of the enjoyment. Mulder decides not to tease, not today, and let his finger circles her clit. Her breath ragged, she moans, and he follows her intuitively, playing her by ear. Mulder presses harder and allows two fingers to push inside her. He gently thrusts in and out while his thumb presses hard on her clit. Scully starts grinding against his hand, groaning and urging him on. Her hands grasp his thighs, her nails clawing at him through the denim. He grunts, never missing a beat in his relentless fingering, and starts kissing her neck. Scully groans loudly, her hips working with him, against him. Her breath catches and he knows she's close, so close, her body tense in anticipation. Just one more touch, he knows, just one brush against her clit and he feels it. She bucks up as she comes apart in his arms, a soft moan on her lips. He keeps his fingers on her, inside of her, for a moment longer just until the aftershocks subside. His own breath is ragged, too, now as she slowly comes down from her high, relaxes against him again.

"Thank you." With a sigh she puts her hand on top of his on her stomach and leans heavily against him.

"Feel better?" He whispers in her ear making her shiver. His own arousal is making itself known again, straining against the confines of his jeans. Down boy, he thinks, slowly withdrawing his hand from Scully's panties. She whimpers and he presses a soft kiss against the side of her neck.

"Hm, I think I needed that," her fingers lace through his on her belly, "And I think I might be able to help you, too." She finishes with a little butt wiggle against him.

"Nah, I'm fine." He croaks out causing her to giggle. "You sure you don't want a bath? More Oreos? Maybe I can find some of those fancy chocolate truffles I got you a few months back."

"Ah those were great." She practically purrs. "A bath does sound nice, too, after all. Hm, Mulder, what did I do to deserve you?" Mulder doesn't answer. She, of course, deserves the world. The hand of fate she's been dealt, partly just because of him, is not fair. If he can ease any pain, any ache she has, or might have, in the future, he will do it. Do it gladly and without hope of reward. Just a smile, maybe a kiss sometimes, and being allowed to love her is all he wants or needs.

"Mulder?" Scully must have sensed his thought. She turns around in his arms, grants him one of those beautiful smiles.

"I'll draw you a bath," he tells her in part to distract himself from the rush of emotions, "and then I'll go out and look for chocolate. Does that sound good?"

"Hm, yeah. But I think today I'd rather have you than chocolate."

[slippinmickeys]

Seeing as how the world is basically ending, I figured I may as well post the whole thing now. If Tumblr lets me. Tagging @storybycorey​

You can also read the whole thing on AO3 here. 

Dana Scully was running late. Flustered and out of breath from running the few blocks from the Metro stop, she pushed through the doors of the coffee shop, startling a young mom who was pushing a stroller out the door.

“Sorry,” she said, apologizing, and then held the door open while the woman slowly navigated the stroller through the narrow doorway. When she was out, Dana finally stepped in and scanned the store, looking for familiar auburn curls.

Her sister Melissa held up a hand and stood as Dana approached.

“Missy!” Dana said, relieved to see her.

Melissa gave her a long, tight hug before reclaiming her seat. Melissa’s hugs were the kind you always wanted to get. Like she’d cultivated them in a field, each one grown in a tidy row, just for you.

“Everything all right?” Melissa said, as Dana, huffing and out of breath, shrugged off her jacket and swung her purse over the back of a chair.  

“No,” she said, laughing at herself and Melissa’s eyebrows came together in

sympathy, “but tell me about you first. How was your flight? God, it’s been so long!” She reached across and squeezed her older sister’s hand.

Melissa had flown back to the States only the day before, having spent the last two years living in England.

“I’m great!” Missy said, “living abroad has been incredible. I almost hated to come back.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Dana said.

In truth, she was glad. She’d missed her sister terribly, but Missy had needed a big change. She’d dropped out of college several years before, much to their parent’s horror, and Melissa had been too spirited to live long under their father’s roof. Her sister looked wonderful. Clearly the time abroad had been good to her.

“But, what’s happening with you? What’s going on?” Melissa said.

Dana blew a raspberry.

“I’m in a tight spot,” she finally said, “We just found out this morning that Ellen got the internship in Seattle for the summer. It’s the one she wanted, and I’m really excited for her, but it’s not paid, so she won’t be able to cover her half of the rent -- she leaves in two days and rent for next month is due in five. We’ve got three more months on the lease. I’ve got to find someone to sublease her room, like yesterday.” She felt panic bubbling up in her gut. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in staying in DC for the summer?” she asked Melissa hopefully.

“Oh, I wish I could,” Missy said, “but I’m registered for massage therapy classes at the National Holistic Institute in Baltimore for the summer. Mom and Dad have calmed down and I’m going to stay with them while I get certified.”

“Missy, that’s wonderful!” She tried to smile at her, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.  Dana was excited for her sister, but had been holding out a hope that maybe Missy coming back Stateside would be an answer to her prayers.

“What about Ethan?” Melissa asked, lowering her voice unconsciously, “Couldn’t he move in with you for the summer? It’s only three months, Mom and Dad don’t need to know.”

Dana bit her lip.

“We broke up,” she said. Melissa’s eyes widened.

“June and Ward Cleaver broke up?” Melissa said, in shock. “When? I thought….”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Dana knew what Melissa thought. What everyone had thought. She and Ethan, together since their sophomore year of high school and enrolled in the same post-grad program at Georgetown, were the all-American couple. They, and everyone else, had assumed they would be engaged after they got their PhDs, and married not long after.

“Last month,” Dana said, looking down at her hands.

Melissa reached across the table and put her hand on Dana’s arm.

“What happened?”

“We grew up,” Dana said simply, “we’re different people, now. At least, I am. I’ve been thinking about making some changes at school and Ethan… was not supportive.”

Melissa squeezed her arm.

“What kind of changes?” she asked.

Dana looked up at her sister, “I’ve been seriously considering med school for some time.”

“But you’re so close to your degree!” Missy said.

“That’s what Ethan said,” said Dana, “but he was just so… dismissive. Like he had this plan for me. Like what I wanted didn’t matter. It was bad, Missy.”

“God,” Missy said.

“Yeah,” Dana went on, “he found out I took the MCAT and lost it. I broke up with him then and there. I haven’t seen him since. Not even on campus.”

Melissa gave her a shrewd look.

“Can I say something that you may not want to hear?”

Dana nodded morosely.

“I’m so glad,” Dana shot her sister a look, surprised. Melissa went on, “I never liked him, Dana. I know Mom and Dad loved him, but he’s had a stick up his ass since high school and he always thought he was better than everyone else. I used to sneak out and sprinkle catnip under his bedroom window in the summers.”

Dana’s jaw dropped.

“He used to complain all the time about-”

“-Tom cats in the neighborhood gathering outside his house and howling all night? Yeah, that was me.”

“Missy!”

“He deserved it,” Melissa said, sitting up with an air of moral superiority, “I’m glad you broke it off with him.”

“To be honest, I am too,” Dana said, “but I’m in a real lurch with this roommate situation. I don’t want to take out another student loan and I don’t think I can ask Dad for more money. Especially when he finds out I’m abandoning the program.”

“So you’re quitting for sure?” Melissa asked.

Dana nodded. “I just got the MCAT results and I did really well,” she couldn’t hold in a smile, “I told my advisor last week. I’m finishing out the summer. I’m going to start applying to med schools.”

“Well,” Missy said, “I’m glad you’re following your heart. And I wouldn’t worry much about Dad. He’ll be thrilled to have a doctor in the family. But maybe not so thrilled about bankrolling a degree you don’t intend to finish.”

Dana squirmed in her chair.

Melissa leaned back, thinking.

“What about…” she stopped, assessing Dana for a moment. “I have this friend. Someone I met in England last year. Moving to DC to be closer to family.”

Dana sat up straight.

“Do you know if she needs housing? Oh my God, Missy, you’d be saving my life.”

“The thing is,” Missy said, “it’s not a she.”

Dana made a face.

“He’s a great guy, Dane,” Melissa went on, “PhD in Psychology from Oxford. I met him when he was dating my friend Emma. His parents passed away recently and he’s putting his sister through school. She was a freshman at American this year. I can call him if you want.”

“I don’t know…” Dana said.

“Dana Scully, you are a 25 year old woman and it’s almost 1990 for God’s sake. Surely you’re not so old fashioned that you wouldn’t consider a male roommate. Particularly one that I can personally vouch for.”

“I don’t suppose he’s… gay?”

“You heard me mention my friend Emma, right?” Missy said, “No, he’s most certainly not gay, and no one is going to care that he isn’t. This isn’t Three’s Company, Chrissy. You need a roommate, and he--last I heard--needs a place to live. It’s perfect.”

It was only three months. Surely in this day and age having a male roommate wouldn’t give her some kind of reputation. And she was desperate--she would at least meet the guy. She leaned back in her seat.

“He isn’t cute, is he?” Dana asked.

Melissa narrowed her eyes.

“Cute?”

“Attractive. Hot. Someone with pleasing facial symmetry who other people like to look at.”

“Like you?” Melissa said. Dana gave her an exaggerated eye roll, and her sister asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s the last thing I need right now,” Dana said.

Melissa took a demure sip of coffee.

“No,” she said, not making eye contact, “he’s not cute.”

Dana considered her sister a long minute.

“Okay,” she finally said, “call him.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

At precisely 3:00pm, there was a knock on her door. Shave and a haircut.

He was punctual -- more than she could say for herself that day -- and that usually boded well.

Instead of sticking around to introduce them, Missy had said she had other friends she was supposed to see while she was in town and had taken off after setting up this meeting, though she promised Dana she would still come over for dinner.

Dana opened the door. He was tall. At least a foot taller than she was, and he stood in the doorway with a smile on his face. He was wearing a black leather biker jacket, jeans and black boots and was carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm. Dana was momentarily taken aback by his good looks. She would kill Melissa.

“Dana?” he said, expectantly, reaching out for a handshake, “I’m Melissa’s friend. Fox Mulder.”

“I thought you’d be British,” she said,  the words fumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He smiled.

Dana shook herself, embarrassed, and extended a hand.

“Dana Scully,” she said, “sorry. Come in?”

“I met your brother when he came out to visit Melissa,” he said as he shook her hand, “one more Scully and I win a set of steak knives.”

“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling, “we Scullys come in sets of four.”

He laughed and wiped his feet on the welcome mat before stepping past her and into the apartment. He stood a few feet in and looked around.

“Wow,” he said, “this is a really nice place.”

Dana nodded and closed the door. It was a nice place. Much nicer than two broke grad students had any business living in. It had cathedral ceilings, hardwood floors and a large, spacious living room framed on one side with immense sliding glass doors that opened to a long balcony that ran the length of the room. On the other end of the living room sat a modern kitchen with a large island countertop that sat three people on the living room side, and had a 4 burner cooktop on the other. The appliances were pretty new. There was a hallway leading from the other end of the living room that led to one bathroom and a bedroom (Ellen’s), with a small in-unit washer/dryer at the end of the hall. Stairs led up from the left of the doorway to the master bedroom (Dana’s) and en-suite bathroom that had a separate tub and shower. The place was filled with hand-me-down furniture from various parents and siblings, but was decorated well and was quite comfortable.

“Rent controlled,” she said, by way of explanation, “my roommate’s brother had lived here for years. We got really lucky.” He nodded, still taking in the space. “You want a tour?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, smiling.

She showed him the living room and the trick to opening the sliding glass door, then ran him through the kitchen and on down the hallway to Ellen’s room, which was a disaster area filled with half-packed boxes.

“This would be your room,” she said, “I promise to clean it before you move in.”

“Nah,” he said, peeking his head in the closet, “I’d be happy to do it. When would move-in be?”

“You could be in in two days,” she answered, “Ellen flies to Seattle tomorrow night, though you wouldn’t know it to look at her room.”

He smiled.

“I don’t know if Melissa told you about my situation,” he said, “everything has been happening kind of quickly. You’d really be saving my bacon, here.”

“She told me a little,” Dana said, “I’m really sorry about your parents, Fox.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “Though, I uh, prefer to go by Mulder.”

“Fair enough,” Dana said. “Though there’s no way you ever got Melissa to call you anything other than Fox. I bet she was delighted.”

He laughed, a melodious, warm sound. Upon hearing it, she decided she liked him.

“And then some,” he said. “So what do I need to know?”

“Well, it would be a sublease for three months, until Ellen gets back. I may or may not be moving out in the fall, and our lease goes month-to-month after that.” He nodded. “Otherwise,” she said, “I mainly do a lot of studying. I have office hours and classes three days a week. I’m not big on house parties, and I like things quiet.” She looked at him, and he didn’t seem thrown by anything she’d said so far. “Do you…” she was sure how to put it, “have a girlfriend or anyone who would be coming over a lot?”

He smiled.

“No girlfriend at present,” he said, “though my sister is at AU and she may come over every now and then if she’ll deign to visit her stuffy older brother.”

His eyes crinkled with affection when he talked about his sister, and Dana found herself involuntarily charmed.

“And what do you do for a living?” she asked.

He winced.

“I’m currently looking for work,” he held his hand up when she raised her eyebrows, “I have enough in savings to more than cover three months of rent,” he said, “so you don’t have to worry about that. But I only got into town a few days ago. I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

“Melissa vouches for you,” she said, “that’s good enough for me.”

He fiddled with the helmet, which he was still carrying, and took a long, slow turn, looking around the apartment, as if making a decision. He finally turned back to her.

“Well, Scully Number Three?” he said, holding out his hand once again. “You’ve got a new roommate if you’ll have me.”

“No need to remind me of my place in the pecking order,” she said, “if you’re Mulder, I think just Scully will suffice.” Scully. She let it roll down her spine and liked the way it felt. She reached out and gripped his hand firmly. It was warm, dry, and completely enveloped hers. “Welcome home, Mulder,” she said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Melissa breezed past her in the doorway without a word, arms laden with plastic bags.

“I brought take-out!” she said over her shoulder, kicking off her shoes and making her way to the kitchen to unburden herself of the bags. “Is Fox still here?” she asked, looking around, a little out of breath.

“He left about an hour ago,” Dana said, coming to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. “Melissa,” she went on, and Missy wouldn’t look at her. “You said he wasn’t cute.”

Melissa opened the fridge and helped herself to a beer.

“He’s not cute,” Missy said, finally turning to her, “he’s gorgeous. You’re welcome.” She twisted off the top and then shoved herself up to sit on the counter, taking a long pull.

“Make yourself at home,” Dana said sarcastically.

“Thanks,” Missy said, brushing her off. “How’d it go?”

“You’re right, he was really nice. He’s going to take it,” Dana said, and then decided she could go for a beer as well. She opened up the fridge as Missy punched the air in a yes! gesture.

“What did I tell you?” Melissa said, “kismet.”

“Yeah,” Dana said, tamping down her own enthusiasm, “I hope it works out.”

“It’s going to be great!” Missy said, “He really is the best guy.”

“Did you guys ever…?” Dana asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

“Me and Fox? No,” she answered, “not that I wouldn’t have liked to,” she went on, “but I think the whole ‘thou shalt not date your best friend’s ex’ rule is pretty universal. Even across the pond.”

Dana was surprised to find herself relieved.

“I am privy to some information, though,” Missy said, arching an eyebrow.

“Do I even want to know?” Dana asked.

Missy ran her tongue along the corner of her mouth.

“He’s very well endowed,” she finally said with a grin.

Dana felt herself blushing and took a deep swig of beer to cover for it.

“Unless it’ll help him pay the rent,” she said, swallowing, “I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

Melissa shrugged, looking coy. “I’ve also heard he loves to eat out,” she said.

“What does that have to do with-“ Dana finally looked at her sister, caught her eyebrows in the air, suggestively. “...Jesus, Missy.”

Melissa smiled, took a sip of beer.

“I’m just saying,” Melissa said, “a generous lover is a generous man.” Dana looked to the sky as if for help. Her sister was clearly enjoying Dana’s discomfort. She finally jumped down off the counter and turned her attention to the bags of food. “You could do a lot worse than Fox Mulder.”

“I’m not going to do Fox Mulder, Missy,” she said, and Missy let out a bark of laughter. “I need a roommate, not a boyfriend. And anyway, I’m going to be in med school soon. I won’t have that kind of time.”

“Make time,” Melissa winked, and then dug around in the bags, pulling out carton after carton of Chinese food. “You hungry?”

Dana set down her beer and hugged her from behind.

“I’m famished, you snot,” she said into her sister’s hair.

XxXxXxXxXxX

On move-in day, Mulder showed up at her (their) door at 9:00am sharp, wearing a ratty Oxford University sweatshirt and an anxious expression.

“Hey,” he said, when she opened the door, “I got a buddy downstairs with a truck. Where should he park it?”

“Follow me,” Scully said, and grabbed her keys off the hook by the door. She led him down the stairs and around to the back of the building.

“We’ve got two parking spots,” she said, “though I don’t have a car. You can have him pull in here. The one next to it is yours. You ride a motorcycle, right?”

He nodded and then jogged to the corner and called out to the friend he had waiting, who pulled into the alley and then leaned out of the open window.

“Frohike, Scully, Dana Scully, my buddy Melvin Frohike,” Mulder introduced them.

“Last name basis with everyone, huh?” Scully said to Mulder in a low voice. He smiled.

“She’s hot,” was all Frohike said, and Mulder flipped him off and then directed him into the narrow space.

Scully looked down at her jean cut-offs and baggy, laundry-day tee shirt. She wasn’t exactly dressed for Prime Time.

Frohike cut the engine,  jumped out and they all gathered around the back of the truck. There were about a dozen medium sized boxes and no furniture.

“Is this it?” Scully asked.

“I am but a humble nomad,” Mulder said, “taking only what I can carry.”

“What he means is that he sold almost all his shit when he left England,” Frohike said, “I hope you have pots and pans.”

Scully laughed.

“I do, and you’re welcome to use them,” she said,  “Five bucks a pop for utensils, though.”

“I like her,” said Frohike, hooking a thumb at Scully as he pulled down the tailgate.

They had everything up and into Mulder’s bedroom in less than ten minutes.

“I’m off,” said Frohike, the second he set the last box down on Mulder’s floor. “It was nice meeting you, Scully.”

“Likewise,” said Scully, who was leaning against the frame of Mulder’s door.

On his way out, Frohike paused by Scully and leaned into her confidentially.

“If he tries to seduce you, let him down easy. The man’s got no game,” he said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Scully said and then cut a look to Mulder who looked more than a little glad to see the back of Frohike.

“Where’d you pick him up?” Scully said, once the front door had closed behind him.

“I collect strays,” Mulder said simply, peeling the tape off of one of the boxes.

Scully took a step back into the hallway.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said. Then, “Oh! Here’s your key,” she stepped back into his room, and handed over the single key. “It works on the building doors and the apartment deadbolt. Sometimes you have to wiggle it a bit on the lock by the garage.”

Mulder nodded his thanks and she backed out.

“Let me know if you need help or anything,” she called out over her shoulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few hours later, she knocked on his door.

“I come bearing gifts,” she said, holding up a pizza box and a six pack of Shiner Bock.

“Marry me,” he said, and she smiled, looking around the room. He’d hung clothes in the closet, and had all his other meager possessions in various small stacks around the room. He’d broken down the boxes and had them sitting neatly by the door. He looked exhausted.

“There’s Spartan furnishings, and then there’s this,” she said, and he shrugged, chagrined.

“I’ll need to do some shopping in the immediate future, I’ll grant you,” he said.

“The good news is, I have a real table with real chairs not eight yards from your bedroom door.” She held up the pizza and six pack once again, “Come on,” she said, “your piles aren’t going anywhere.”

He followed her to the kitchen and she gave him a quick rundown of what cabinets held what, pulling down plates and glasses. She pulled out two beers and slid the rest of the six pack back in the fridge.

She opened them both and handed him one. He clinked the bottles together.

“Happy housewarming,” she said.

“Slainte,” he said, and they both took a slug.

A semi-comfortable silence descended on them, and Scully filled it by sliding a couple slices of pizza on her plate. Mulder sat back and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up his forearms. They looked tanned even in the washed out light of the kitchen and were roped with muscle and sprinkled with dark hair.

“Ever wonder why they call it a housewarming?” Mulder asked.

“I never really thought about it,” she said, and then leaned forward. “But now I want to know.”

She looked at him and he smiled back.

“Fire is a classic symbol of strength and purity, which is why many European traditions involve lighting a candle or a fire on your first night in a new home. Doing so is said to ward off evil spirits by casting away darkness. It’s fallen out of practice with modern conveniences like electricity, but the name stuck.”

“Well,” said Scully, “aren’t you a wellspring of random and arcane facts.”

Mulder held up his beer.

“You have no idea,” he said, and she laughed.

She peeled off a piece of pepperoni from one of her slices of pizza, and popped it into her mouth.

“Be right back,” she said, and came back a moment later with a large white pillar candle and a box of matches. She struck a match and lit the candle, then held out her beer. He clinked the neck of his to the neck of hers.

“To warding off evil spirits,” she said.

“And casting out darkness,” he replied.

They smiled at each other, the silence turning easy.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few days had passed. Enough for them each to get to know the other’s routines and for the excessive politeness of two strangers sharing a space to fade a bit.

Scully was sitting on the couch going over classwork when Mulder emerged from his room in running shorts and a ratty tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. The skin on his upper arms was paler than that of his lower arms, but had a delineated curve where deltoid met bicep. It took a minute to look away.

“Going for a run?” she asked a little too brightly.

“I was hoping to,” he said, sitting down in front of the front door to put on his running shoes. “Are there any good places around here?”

She set down the paper she was holding, thinking.

“There’s a park a few blocks away, over by the… you know what, it’ll be easier if I show you. Mind some company?”

“I’d love some,” he said, smiling.

“Be right back,” she said, and ran upstairs to change.

When she got back to the living room, he was stretching, one leg held up in a quad stretch, standing with the graceful ease of perfect balance.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling an old baseball cap over her messy ponytail.

He lowered his leg to the floor and swept his eyes over her once.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

They walked the first few blocks, with Scully taking the opportunity to point out various neighborhood hot spots -- the local gas station, the corner market.

When they got to the park nearby, she ducked under a low hanging tree to find the running path that ran near the outskirts.

“This way,” she said, and they started to jog.

After a few minutes, she threw him a look.

“I’m slowing you down,” she said, guiltily.

He was taking short strides next to her, keeping pace with her.

“Nonsense,” he said, staring straight ahead.

“Muder, your legs are about a foot longer than mine, you could run circles around me,” she said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said with a glimmer in his eye, and then pulled the hat off her head and started running in literal circles around her, hooting at her while she grabbed at the hat -- every time she got close, he’d pull it away, holding it behind his back or far above his head where she could never reach it. After a minute of keep away, they were both laughing and she pulled up, out of breath but with a smile on her face.

“I knew I was slowing you down,” she laughed, and bent to put her hands on her knees.

“Aw,” he said, putting the cap back on her head and pulling it low, “you’d have caught up eventually.”

He gave one last tug on the brim of the cap and they stood looking at each other, a moment passing between them. Scully felt something low in her belly, and there was a sharp look in Mulder’s eye.

“Why don’t you go ahead and get your miles in,” Scully said, taking a step back and breaking the moment. “You know how to get back?”

Mulder nodded at her.

“Sure you don’t want to come along?” he asked.

“Pass,” she said, “I’ll see you at home.”

He took a few steps backward, holding her eye and then turned and loped off back down the path, eating up the distance in long, even strides.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The days turned into a week and then two. Their schedules were pretty compatible, and they usually woke up and ate breakfast at about the same time, and then Scully would leave to head onto campus.

She came back on a Thursday afternoon, holding a folder full of medical school applications, her gut churning in nervous anticipation. Her MCAT scores were good. Hopefully good enough to secure at least one full ride scholarship. She closed the door to the apartment with her head in the clouds, and it took her a moment to notice Mulder, who was standing in the middle of the living room, holding the telephone. He was just lowering it from his ear and he had a queer look on his face.

“Mulder?” Scully said, “Everything okay?”

“I just accepted a job,” he said, looking a little surprised.

“What? That’s fantastic!” Scully said, swinging her backpack down to the floor and plopping the folder of applications on top of it.

“Yeah,” he said, and then moved to the wall to hang up the phone.

“You seem surprised,” Scully said, walking toward him.

“I am,” he said, turning toward her from the wall. “It’s the one I was hoping for. I did not expect to get it.”

“What’s the position?” Scully asked, moving to stand in front of him.

“I’ll be starting at one of the best Psychology practices in the Metro area. Low on the totem pole, but they’ve offered to train me until I get licensed.”

The surprise on his face melted slowly into happiness as the news started to sink in.

On a whim, Scully wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He returned it, warmly.

“Congratulations,” she said into his shirt, then looked up into his face. “This calls for a celebration.”

“Yeah?” he said, looking down at her with a smile. She felt color spreading up her cheeks. After a second they let their hands fall away from each other. “What’d you have in mind?” he asked, taking a step back.

“Drinks,” she said, taking a step back, herself. “There’s a great dive bar right down the street.”

“When can we leave?” he asked.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They were at least four drinks in, not counting the two tequila shots she’d insisted on when they first arrived. They’d both agreed their third drink should be water, and Scully had lost count after that. She had ordered a glass of the house Chardonnay (“It’s terrible, but also four dollars,”), and Mulder appeared to be pacing himself through a large gin and tonic, while Scully told a story.

“And then we said ‘follow that car!’” Scully said.

“You didn’t,” Mulder said.

“We did,” said Scully on a laugh, “but to our surprise the cabbie didn’t share in our excitement and instead slammed on the breaks half a block down the street and told us to get out.”

Mulder threw his head back and laughed.

They had started at the bar, but moved to a dark booth in the back when the place started filling up with the after-work crowd. Rush was playing too loud on the jukebox nearby. The drinks were cheap, the tables were sticky and the lighting was bad.

“I love this place,” Mulder said, looking around.

“Me too,” said Scully, watching the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed his drink. “It’s the perfect dive bar.”

Mulder leaned back in the booth and leveled a look at her.

“Tell me about Dana Scully,” he said.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said, humbly.

“Nonsense,” he said, “a smart, beautiful woman like you? I bet you’ve got a lot going on.”

She ducked her head at the compliment. She’d noticed that he peered rather than looked. There was a ribald quality to his gaze, though she found herself more intrigued than intimidated. Mulder looked at her as if she were a question to be answered and she found herself hoping to be worthy of his inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” he prodded, taking a big drink. She rolled her eyes just thinking about Ethan. “Ha!” he went on, “there’s a story there. Tell it.”

He crunched ice from his glass, the dull sound brushing across her skin like a memory. He held the dewy tumbler in long, elegant fingers and for a moment she felt like a real, live grown-up.

She told him about Ethan. She probably shared more than she should have. How they’d started dating in high school when her father retired from the Navy and they moved to Maryland. She told him about her dreams of becoming a doctor and how she’d broken up with Ethan over it. When she finished, he held up his glass.

“Fuck that guy,” Mulder said, and clinked her glass with his.

“I did,” Scully said, and Mulder choked on his drink, laughing. While he recovered, Scully handed him a napkin and leaned back. “I tell you,” she went on, “I’m thrilled to be single right now.”

Mulder cut his eyes to her.

“Tell me about Fox Mulder,” she said, diverting the conversation, “smart, handsome guy like you? I bet you’ve got a lot going on.”

He smirked at her as he brushed the front of his shirt with the napkin.

“You said no girlfriend, right?” she asked, feeling brave.

“I’m thrilled to be single right now,” he said, giving her a look she couldn’t read. The silence stretched for a moment.

“Missy said you moved back for your sister?”

“That, and it was time to come back,” he said, sighing. He started shredding bits of the napkin onto the tabletop.  “Sam is doing well in school, but that’s about it. She’s at the age where you leave home and strike out on your own but always have that parental support, that thing to fall back on, that place to go home to. Mom and Dad died just after she left for college, and… I think she feels like she was just expelled into the world before she was ready. She’s sad and angry, and I don’t quite know what to do for her. PhD in Psychology and here I am flapping in the breeze, not even able to help my own sister.”

Scully reached across the table and squeezed his arm.

He smiled self-consciously and stood. He looked brooding and slapdash in the half-light of the bar, stippled with 5 o’clock shadow and flecked with chips of light from a distant, dusty disco ball. She found herself wanting to run her hands through his sable hair and brush her lips over his cheek. She threw back the rest of her wine instead.

“We need another round,” he said.

“We really don’t,” Scully said, reaching up and feeling the end of her nose. When she had too much to drink, it went numb. She couldn’t feel it.

“Are we out celebrating me or not?” he said.

“We are.”

“Then I say we need another round,” and with that he walked to the bar, though when he came back, he was carrying two waters.

“Bartender insisted,” he said.

“He’s a good guy,” Scully said, waving in the direction of the bar. A nod from the bartender.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking water and watching the bar fill up. Then Spirit of the Radio came on the jukebox and Mulder leaned back his head as if in ecstasy.

“I love this song,” he said.

“I had you pegged as an INXS guy,” Scully said.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he replied. He looked at her steadily. “Let’s dance.”

Scully looked skeptically towards what passed for a dance floor.

“Mulder, no one has danced here in at least a decade,” she said, thinking of a fifty-something barfly swaying by herself to Jolene.

“All the more reason,” he said, sliding out of the booth and holding out his hand. There was a rakish glint in his eye and his renegade jaw clenched once.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she said, though she put her hand in his and let him pull her up.

“Yes, you are,” he laughed and led her to the middle of the floor.

She was definitely drunk enough because it took nothing at all for her to start dancing. The bartender, who knew her from more than a few nights out with Ellen, smiled at her and bent down under the bar. A second or two later the volume of the music went up and he stood, giving her a thumbs up. She laughed and let herself go.

When the guitar solo started in the middle of the song, Mulder leaned back and started playing an air guitar, throwing his head into it with enthusiasm.

“You’re such a dork!” Scully yelled to him over the music.

“You love it!” he yelled back.

She had to admit, she kind of did. She liked that he seemed to live his life not caring what other people thought of him. It was a lesson she should probably learn herself.

When the song ended and Tom Sawyer came on, she took a step back, and looked up at him. She was sweaty and suddenly self-conscious, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl.

“We should go home,” she said, feeling a lot drunker than she thought she’d been, “get some food.”

He stood up straight, as if gauging how he felt and swayed just a bit.

“You’re right,” he said, “we should.”

They strolled to the bar to settle their tab, and he wouldn’t hear of letting her pay.

They walked out of the bar and were surprised to find that night had fallen. The sudden silence settled over them like a heavy blanket. The air was so fresh it almost hurt to breathe it.

“You should have let me pay,” Scully said, speaking too loudly, her ears ringing with a brief tinnitus from the music. She lowered her voice, “we’re celebrating your accomplishment.”

“Well, my accomplishment is going to pay a lot better than your post-grad stipend, I guarantee you.”

“Still…” she said, and then tripped over the curb.

Mulder reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her from a face plant.

“All hands on deck!” he said, and she smiled and looked up at him gratefully. He slid his hand down her arm and took her hand. “Two blocks to go,” he said, “we got this.”

His hand was warm in hers, dry. She squeezed it. Inhibitions lowered, she could feel herself falling for him a little, against her will.

When they got to their building, there was a young woman sitting on the steps out front with her arms crossed, looking like she was on the verge of tears. When the woman heard them, she turned to look and her face registered surprise and, when her gaze dropped to their linked hands, unhappy confusion.

Scully suddenly wondered if Mulder actually did have a girlfriend and she felt her stomach reel.

“Sam!” Mulder said, dropping her hand. He lurched forward and grabbed the woman in a bear hug.

“Get off, Fox,” she said, pushing him back, “you smell like a frat party.”

Mulder’s face fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong?” the woman’s voice went up an entire octave, “you told me to come here at 7:30. I’ve been sitting out here for an hour and a half!”

“Shit,” Mulder swore. “I’m so sorry.” His apology did nothing to improve her demeanor.

Mulder then seemed to remember Scully’s presence.

“Oh,” he said, “Sam, this is my new roommate Dana Scully. Scully, this is Samantha, my sister.”

“Scully?” Samantha said, and made no move to shake hands. “You’re still doing that last name thing?” Her eye roll was implied.

“Let’s go inside,” Scully said, for something to do, and pulled out her keys to unlock the building’s door. When she got the key close to the lock, she dropped the whole ring. She could hear Samantha sighing in annoyance behind her.

“So, you went out partying instead of meeting me,” Samantha said, her voice flat. “Awesome.”

Scully recovered, got the door open and they all trooped up the stairs to the apartment in silence.

Once inside, Scully knelt to pick up the backpack and envelope of applications she’d dropped by the door earlier and made her way to the stairs.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” she said, excusing herself.

Mulder threw her an apologetic look. She flopped on the bed when she got to her room, applications forgotten until tomorrow.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning, Mulder met Scully in the kitchen and wordlessly handed over two Tylenol and a glass of water. She threw back the dusty pills, and assessed him over the rim of the glass.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded. “Did your sister forgive you?”

“I’ve been granted a temporary reprieve,” he said, and Scully walked around him to pour herself a bowl of cereal. “She’s interning with the local police department this summer, she asked me to come down to the station in a few days so she can show me around. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be scared straight or if she’s letting me off the hook, but either way I promised to be on my best behavior.”

“What kind of internship?” Scully asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.  

“I’m not exactly sure. Some kind of Women in Law Enforcement thing. She’ll mostly be getting coffee for dispatch, I think, but occasionally she’ll get to shadow a female detective, so she’s pretty stoked.”

“Sounds cool,” Scully said. Then, “...I don’t think she likes me.”

“She was just upset last night. Totally my fault. She’ll come around.”

Mulder plopped down next to her and poured a bowl of cereal for himself.

“What’s on the docket for today?” he asked her. He poured milk into his bowl slowly until it submerged the flakes like a rising tide.

“Med school applications,” she said, her mouth half full.

“And who are the lucky schools?” he asked.

“Stanford, UCLA, Michigan State and Columbia,” she said, “they’re amongst the few still accepting applications for this fall.”

“Not Georgetown?” he said, casually.

“Georgetown, too,” she said, “I love it here. I would love to stay. I do plan to apply, but…”

“But?”

“But when I inquired, they said their spots were filled and that they rarely make exceptions.”

“Too bad,” he said.

“Too bad,” she agreed.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It had taken days to fill them out, but Scully had left the post office after mailing her applications and felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was finally going after what she herself wanted and felt jubilant at the prospect. For too long she’d let other people’s expectations for her guide her life. She walked down the sidewalk feeling lighter than air.

The dull roar of an engine on the street pulled her attention and she turned to see Mulder sitting on his motorcycle next to her, pulling off his helmet.

“I thought that was you,” he said with a smile, which she returned. “You get all your applications out?”

She nodded, grinning.

“You make it out of the local police station without having to post bail?” she asked with a smirk.

“Just barely,” he said, then reached back and unsecured a second helmet, holding it up to her. “Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

She looked at the bike skeptically. Motorcycles had always freaked her out a bit.

“Come on, Scully, it’s a Saturday, live a little.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why not?” she said.

“Atta girl,” he said, grinning. He helped her fit the helmet over her head, securing it under her chin. He lifted her visor before putting his own helmet on, and said “Hold on tight, okay?”

He mounted the bike and she climbed up after him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. The leather jacket he wore was warm from being in the sun.

He kick-started the bike and it roared to life beneath her. She felt a thrill as he pulled away from the curb and picked up speed, the wind teasing the hairs on her bare arms. She wondered if Mulder could feel her heartbeat as it pounded against her chest and into his back.

They crossed the river and he merged onto the parkway, the bike surging forward like a tracer round. She rested her helmeted head onto his back and watched the city give way to forest, neither knowing nor caring about their destination. After about ten minutes, he pulled off into a the small parking lot of a scenic overlook, the brown water of the Potomac rushing past them at the base of the hill they were perched on. He cut the engine and she slid off the side of the bike, reaching up to take her helmet off.

Mulder followed, his gaze piercing as she shook out her hair. She set the helmet on the seat, and he did the same. She turned to look around.

“This is pretty,” she said, “I’ve never been out here.”

“Me neither,” he laughed, and shook the jacket off his shoulders.

The June day was approaching full heat and the breeze that came up off the river was muggy and rich. They walked a little way past the lot and into the shade of several large maple trees. There was a neat rock retaining wall that ran the length of the lookout, and they each hopped over and sat down on it. Far below them the river purled off toward the Chesapeake, dotted occasionally with a kayak or sailboat. The air held the decadent smell of petrichor from rain the day before.

She looked over at Mulder, at his strong profile, the chiseled set of his jaw. He turned to her and caught her looking. Smiled.

The heather grey tee shirt he wore looked overwashed and soft. She had to stop herself from reaching out and rubbing it between her fingers.

“How’s Samantha doing today?” she asked.

“Better,” he said, relieved. “She’s thrilled with this internship. It sounds like she’s really taken to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Scully said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes

“Hey, when do you start your new job?” she asked.

“Monday,” he said, his eyes wide. “They already have patients on the schedule.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re about to be a real live grown-up, Mulder,” she said, “you ready?”

“Do I look ready?” he asked, pushing his shoulders back. If he’d been wearing a tie, he would have straightened it.

She turned to face him. Took the opportunity to look her fill.

“Mm… yes,” she finally said.

“There was a hesitation there, Scully,” he said playfully.

“There was no hesitation,” she played back.

“There was a decidedly skeptical hesitation.”

She pursed her lips.

“Listen, far be it from me to undermine your confidence…” she started.

“But?” he led.

“But don’t most grown men own furniture?” she teased, bumping her shoulder into his companionably.

He tilted his head back, busted.

“If that’s how you feel about it, how about you come shopping with me tomorrow?” he said.

“For furniture?” she laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like a good time?” he deadpanned.

“Let’s just go now,” she laughed again, “we’ll stack it on the handlebars and taunt the traffic cops.”

“You joke, but I’m serious. Come furniture shopping with me tomorrow.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I guess it depends,” she finally said, “will we need Frohike’s truck?”

He laughed.

“How about if I borrow the truck, but not the Frohike?”

“Deal,” she said, “And all joking aside, is there any reason in particular we can’t go this evening? I mean, I’m free, and I’d hate for a newly minted grown-up like you to develop back problems from another night on the floor.”

She bumped into him again, enjoying their repartee. His face got an odd look to it.

“Actually, I have plans tonight,” he said.

“Oh?” she said, “hot date?”

“I don’t know about hot,” he said, “but I do have a date.”

She felt her stomach drop, then remembered telling him I’m thrilled to be single right now. She felt a small moment of grief.

“Oh, do tell,” she said, sounding entirely too cheerful.

“The uh, detective that Sam is shadowing, asked me out today. I felt kind of cornered, couldn’t say no.”

Mild relief.

“Aggressive, huh?” she said.

“Something like that,” he answered. “Anyway, are we on for tomorrow? I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she said.

The warm breeze sloughed through the trees and settled between them.

XxXxXxXxXxX

True to his word, after breakfast, Mulder went out and rolled back an hour later with Frohike’s truck, but not Frohike.

“He wanted me to pass along his love,” Mulder said when Scully hopped into the cab.

“Is that all?” she asked, pulling the seatbelt across her lap.

“Definitely not,” Mulder said, “but I value my life.”

The truck was a late ’70s Chevy Silverado in metallic brown. It had a manual transmission and only got AM radio. A corner of the floor was rusted out and she could see the road flying beneath them.

“What’s our first stop?” she asked, fiddling with the radio to try to get a signal.

“I’m thinking bed,” he said, “in deference to my old man body.”

She smiled and the truck rumbled on, the transmission tacky. He had to kick the clutch at every stop light.

“Know where you’re going?”

He tapped the side of his head.

“Got it all mapped out.”

The only radio station that would come in was transmitting a baseball game, so they listened to it in silence for a few minutes. Finally her curiosity got the better of her.

“So,” she said, “how was the date?”

“Not bad, actually,” he replied, stealing a look at her as if to gauge her reaction.

She made sure to keep her expression neutral, pressed the vee of her toes hard into her flip-flops.

“Oh?”

“She’s intense, but funny,” he said. “Not sure if I see it going anywhere, but she asked if I wanted to go out again.”

She could feel his eyes on her and kept staring straight ahead.

“You should go,” she said. Stop talking, Dana.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” No.  

“Oh, we’re coming up on the mattress store,” he said, “see if you can see a parking lot.”

They walked into the mattress store, eyes practically bugging out of their heads. It looked like close to an acre of nothing but bare white mattresses as far as the eye could see. There were SALE! Posters hanging above almost every section and cardboard cutouts of showcase models leaning against every third mattress.

Mulder took a step back.

“I’ll keep sleeping on the floor,” he said, “nothing is worth this.”

Scully grabbed his arm.

“Mulder,” she said, “you need, what? A bed, dresser and desk?”

He nodded.

“Then we’re practically a third of the way there. Come on.”

She pulled him along like a recalcitrant toddler.

It took about 10.2 seconds before they were met with a smiling salesman. By that point, Mulder seemed to have recovered.

The man was short, balding and entirely too chipper for his own good.

“You and the missus looking for a new mattress?” the man asked, “You know mattresses expire after eight years.”

She opened her mouth to correct him, but Mulder grabbed her arm.

“Yes,” he said, “the missus and I are looking for a new mattress. You have any newlywed discounts?”

The salesman waggled his eyebrows.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He marched off ahead of them and Scully hissed “what are you doing?”

“Trying to save a little money,” he whispered back, “go with it.”

The salesman stopped in front of a row.

“Now, this here line is your best bet for what we like to call active sleepers,” at that he gave an exaggerated wink, “you folks looking for soft or firm?”

“Oh, my wife likes it firm,” Mulder said. Scully rolled her eyes.

The salesman moved to the end of the row.

“These are going to be the firmest on this end, getting softer as you move to the left. Why don’t you two lay down on a few and see if any of these speak to you.”

A new customer walked into the store then, and the salesman excused himself and ambled over to greet them.

“I’m not going to speak to you if you keep that up, Mulder,” she said.

“Keep what up?”

“My wife likes it firm,” she repeated in a low voice.

“What?” he said, all innocence,

“I’m leaving,” she said and he grabbed her wrist as she turned.

“Wait,” he said, laughing, “I’m sorry. He’s just lobbing these softballs out there, and I gotta take a swing. I’ll stop.”

She gave him a look.

“I will,” he said, putting on a straight face, still holding onto her arm, “just help me pick out a bed and we can get out of here. Scout’s honor.”

She relented and they cautiously sat on a few mattresses before getting comfortable. Eventually they were sprawled out next to each other, debating the merits of quilt-top vs foam.

The salesman finally came back over.

“Y’all have any questions?” he asked.

“Just one,” Mulder said, propping himself up onto his elbows. The salesman looked at him expectantly, “is that newlywed discount still on the table?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

They pulled into the parking space behind the building a few hours later hauling several large boxes containing the unassembled pieces of a matching set of a dresser, desk and nightstand. The bed would be delivered later that afternoon.

They were able to haul them up the two flights of stairs with a minimal amount of arguing which both pleased and surprised Scully.

They dumped them on the floor of the living room before plopping wearily onto the sofa.

“Oh God,” Mulder said, eyeing the mess of cardboard before them, “We have to assemble them.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’”

Mulder looked at her, his lips almost pouting and she laughed.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you have to build them from scratch, they give you directions,” she said, “If you’re lucky, they’re even in English.”

“You’re making this worse.”

“And enjoying myself immensely,” she said, “Do you have any tools?”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Of course, I do,” she said.

“Please grant a moment of silence for the death of my masculinity,” he said, dropping his head.

She swatted his shoulder.

“Stop being patriarchal,” she said, “I’ll help. Let me grab my tools.”

Three hours later they were drinking iced tea on the small loveseat on their balcony while the sun sunk slowly below the horizon, the cotton candy clouds a riot of color above them.

“I’m never moving again,” Mulder said, “tell Ellen she can sleep on the couch when she gets back. Or she can sleep with you. I’m done.”

Scully chuckled and wiggled down lower into the cushions. The temperature had dropped with the sun and she was still wearing a tank top and shorts, her feet bare.

“You cold?” Mulder asked her.

She shrugged.

“A little,” she said.

“Here,” he said, and pulled off the sweatshirt he was wearing, handing it over to her.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling it over her head. It was still warm from his body and smelled like sandalwood and a little like sweat. She wanted to pull it up to her nose and give it a big whiff, but she resisted. When he put his arms back down, he rested one on the back of the loveseat behind her. He wasn’t touching her, but she could maybe tell he wanted to.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” she asked.

“A little,” he said, smiling.

He had a tee shirt on under his sweatshirt, and it was riding up a tiny bit, the skin of his hip showing. He took a sip of tea, and she wondered for a moment what he might taste like.

“You’re going to do great,” she said.

He turned to look at her, serious.

“Thanks, Scully.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said dismissively.

“I mean, for everything.”

The moment felt weighty. She could practically feel the heat from the skin on his arm above her, and knew if she touched it it would be warm and exquisitely soft.

“Tell me another random and arcane fact,” she said, settling further into the loveseat, the collar from his sweatshirt brushing her jaw.

“In New York City,” he said, turning his face to hers, “on Broadway medians between 63rd and 76th streets, biologists discovered a new species of ant.”

She raised her eyebrows at that.

“They call it the ManhattAnt,” he smiled.

“Naturally,” she smiled back.

If she let herself, she could fall in love with him; absolutely, irreversibly. It’d be as easy as taking a breath.

He drained the rest of his tea and stood. She sat up.

“You want your sweatshirt back?” she said, her hand on the hem.

He waved her back down.

“Keep it,” he said, “I know where you live.” He then jerked a thumb in the direction of his bedroom. “Gonna try out that new bed,” he said, and opened his mouth like he was about to say something else. He shook the ice left over in the glass and looked down at it. “I… I had a good day today, Scully. Thank you.”

She gave him a close lipped smile.

“Night,” he said, drifting slowly off toward his bedroom.

“Night,” she said back.

She waited until his bedroom door closed before going inside. She slept in his sweatshirt.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder had been on four more dates with Detective What’s-Her-Name (she didn’t ask) in the last five weeks (not that she was counting). He was always home by 11:00 pm, alone (not that she was paying close attention).

She’d usually be sitting on the couch studying when he walked in the door.

“How was your date?” she’d ask.

“Good,” he’d say, and wouldn’t elaborate.

Twice he sat on the couch with her after he took off his shoes, and they’d talked until they were both yawning and wondering aloud where the time went. Once, he just went to bed. Once she’d been asleep and woke up hours later to find an Aztec print blanket draped over her on the couch.

Tonight was date number five. Earlier in the day she’d gotten her second response from med schools (Michigan State had accepted her, but had been unable to offer any financial support) -- this one from Columbia, which regretted to inform her that they had already filled up all their remaining spots, but asked her to please apply again next year. That disheartening rejection on her mind, she had a nervous, anxious feeling in her gut about Mulder’s date, and was planning to go to bed early--if he came home and he wasn’t alone--or didn’t come home at all--she didn’t want to know.

At 9:03 pm, she was getting a glass of water from the kitchen in just a thin worn-out tee shirt and an old pair of running shorts from high school when she heard the key in the lock.

Mulder slid in through the door and closed it behind him. He was alone.

“Hey,” she said, surprised. “How… was your date?”

“Meh,” he said, bending over to get at his shoes. “She got a call about a case halfway through dinner and had to leave. To be honest, I was relieved.”

A lightness bubbled up from inside her, and she had trouble containing a smile.

“Oh yeah?” she said lightly.

He moved to plop heavily onto the couch, giving his lone remaining shoe a perplexed look.

“Damn lace is knotted,” he mumbled, “I can’t get it.”

She sat on the couch next to him.

“You probably need a decent fingernail,” she said, flicking hers together with the satisfying click of keratin. “Gimme your foot.”

He turned and swung his foot into her lap. She started picking at the knot, which he’d managed to pull even tighter with his efforts.

“Relieved, you said?” she tried not to sound too interested. She kept her eyes on his laces.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “She’s nice enough--pretty--but I think it’s run its course.”

“Aw,” she said, and patted his leg, “your somebody is out there, Mulder. I just know it.”

“Yeah,” he said, softly, “I’m sure of it.”

She had just gotten her thumbnail into the knot and started to get it loose when there was a knock on the door. They looked at each other, expectantly. Neither were expecting anyone.

She set his foot on the floor.

“I think I loosened it enough,” she said, “you get it from here, I’ll get the door.”

“Success!” he said, when she was a few feet from the door. He pulled off the shoe triumphantly just as she threw back the lock. She turned to smile at him, and pulled the door wide, turning toward it with a big grin still on her face.

Her face fell as soon as she registered who was standing in front of her.

“Ethan,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“Dana,” he said, and held out a small posy of flowers toward her. She didn’t reach out to take them. “I came to apologize.”

She stood there, debating.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She looked at him, sighed.  “I don’t need an apology, and it’s late, and… Ethan, I don’t want to do this.”

He brushed past her and came in anyway. When she turned toward him, Mulder stood from the couch, his eyes narrowed. Ethan stopped in his tracks.

“What is this?” Ethan asked.

Scully sighed, annoyed.

“You tell me, Ethan. What is this?” she asked, pointing to the flowers, “What do you want?”

“I was coming to…” he looked back and forth between her and Mulder. He looked her up and down and she suddenly felt vulnerable and small. She wasn’t even wearing a bra. She crossed her arms in front of her.

“This wasn’t about school, was it,” Ethan said, his tone turning quarrelsome. “You were cheating on me.”

“Ethan, Jesus Christ,” she said, taking a step toward him.

“Fucking ‘med school,’” he said, his face melting into a sneer, “right. It was a fucking excuse. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me-” at that, she went from annoyed to irate.

“Are you kidding?” she said, “I wrote half your papers in undergrad-”

“You barely proofread them,” he interrupted snidely, and turned to Mulder. “What’s she got you doing for her?”

“Hey, man,” Mulder said, taking a step forward, “Don’t.

“Oh,” Ethan said, slapping the posy of flowers against the side of his leg. A few petals fell to the floor, “maybe I should ask you what she’s got you doing to her.”

Mulder took another step forward.

“Scully,” he said, connecting eyes with her.

“Ethan, you need to leave,” she said.

He ignored her.

“Scully?” Ethan said, then reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. “What the fuck? You fucking slut-”

Before he could finish whatever he was about to say, Mulder’s fist came flying over Scully’s shoulder and connected solidly with Ethan’s nose. The force of the punch sent him spinning a few paces away from Scully almost into the open doorway, and when he turned and straightened blood was running down his face.

“Whad da fuck?” he said, his words garbled and nasally. He brought a hand to his face and looked to Mulder. “Good luck wid her. Frigid bitch.”

Scully was so furious she was shaking.

“First I’m a slut, now I’m frigid? Make up your fucking mind, Ethan. And get. Out.”

With that she gave him a shove and slammed the door in his face.

She leaned against it and took one bracing breath. Then she looked to Mulder, who was holding his right hand awkwardly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you?” he volleyed back, concerned.

She shook her hands out, trying to release some nervous energy. Anger and horror and embarrassment all fought to get out, coming together in a clod in her throat that choked her. Tears sprung out instead.

“I mean your hand,” she finally said, moving to his side. She wiped the tears away hastily,  gingerly lifting up his hand. He winced, sucked in a breath.The skin over two knuckles was split, blood dripping lazily down three fingers. It was starting to swell.

“I think I hit a couple teeth,” he said.

“I hope you knocked them out,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” she went on gently, glad she had something to do, and pulled him lightly toward her bathroom up the stairs.

He stood at the threshold while she rummaged around for her first aid kit and looked around.

“I’ve never been in here,” he said quietly. “You have a nicer shower than me.”

She finally felt her mouth tug up into a small smile. She gingerly grabbed his injured hand and pulled him to the sink.

He let her wash and rinse his hand without words. She could feel his eyes on her, he never looked away. Finally, she sat on the edge of her tub with the first aid kit, and pulled him down next to her. She rested his hand gently in her lap as she worked butterfly bandages over his knuckles. She then wrapped it gently with gauze, securing it with a quick tuck.

“You’re going to make a great doctor,” he said earnestly, and she tucked her chin to her chest.

“This needs ice,” she said, finally raising her eyes to his. Tending to him had given her mind something to do, and now looking at him made her feel vulnerable all over again—he’d heard every accusation made in her fight with Ethan—the words were coming back to her. She looked back down, willing back the tears that threatened to spill.

Finally, she felt the fingers of Mulder's other hand lightly on her chin and she looked up. The second their eyes connected, her tears started to fall.

“You’re not frigid, Dana,” he said, his voice rumbling and soft, “you might be the warmest-hearted person I’ve ever met.”

His eyes were mossy in the bright light of her bathroom, and she felt herself tipping forward until her forehead was resting against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

They were still for a moment, breathing each other in. She felt a pull to him like the tide chasing the moon.

His fingers were still resting tenderly under her chin, and all it took was the slightest, smallest pressure from them and they crashed into each other, their lips tangling in a sudden, passionate kiss.

They were still sitting side by side on the edge of her bathtub, and Mulder brought his arm around her and pulled her up until they were standing, bodies pressed together in a line, their mouths all tongue and teeth.

She reached up and weaved her fingers into his hair, pulling him down to her like he was a source of water and she’d been thirsty for days.

She felt him harden against her belly, and she reached down and grabbed him over his jeans, rubbing. He moaned into her mouth and thrust against her once, twice. His injured hand was wrapped around her backside, pulling her closer, while his good hand crept up under her tee shirt and cupped roughly over her bare breast, squeezing her nipple between his thumb and the vee of his hand.

He dragged his mouth away from hers and started biting and licking at her neck.

“I want you, Scully,” he said into her skin, “God, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

She was so het up in a fervor of desire and sheer wanting that she could barely form words.

“Ye-” she said, struggling to get the whole word out, “yesss.”

He leaned back for a moment and used his good hand to grab his shirt behind his head and whipped it up and off. She took the opportunity to do the same, and when they came back together, the heat from his bare chest on her nipples sent a frisson of energy down the length of her spine. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“You’re cold,” he said into her mouth, and she was too interested in kissing him to answer.

Their tongues tangled together and he reached down and started pushing off his jeans and boxers, kicking them away without breaking contact with her. She was short enough that when she reached down to do the same, she had to bend down away from him, and when she stood back up, he was standing in her open shower door, turning the water on.

He turned back toward her, his cock pointing at her like a divining rod.

“I’m going to warm you up,” he said, looking at her like a cat stalking prey.

She rove her eyes over him once before he got to her, and her mouth went dry at the sight of him. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin; he looked like he’d been cut from marble.

He got to her and pulled her tightly to him, his skin like fever along the length of her. He pulled her with him slowly backwards, and when they got to the shower, it was steaming. He maneuvered her inside the stall and positioned her under the hot spray; she felt her nipples pucker in the air.

He leaned down and licked water off her shoulder and then lowered himself slowly to the floor, pausing at her breasts to suck one nipple into his mouth, and then the other, water sluicing down his face like rain. When his knees finally reached the floor, he ran his hand gently down her thigh until his hand was around the back of her knee, which he lifted slowly, his eyes going to hers for permission.

She could only look back and lick her lips as he pulled her leg up and over his shoulder. His mouth was an inch from the throbbing, aching skin at her center, water running down over her breasts and into his hair.

Ethan had gone down on her only a few times in all their years together, regarding the act distastefully as something of a chore. But here was Mulder, kneeling before her, who looked at her reverently, as though he were about to unwrap a gift.

Scully reached behind herself to brace a hand against the shower wall, feeling dizzy. When his tongue darted out to part the folds of her labia, she gasped. Her other hand went to his head, threading her fingers through his dark coiffure, which was as thick and smooth as a martin’s.

He reached his hands up and under her, pulling her by the ass tightly to his face, a long train of gauze unraveling from his injured hand and hanging limply in the wet spray.

In high school, Melissa had loaned her a romance novel where a pirate referred to his conquest’s genitals as a “cunny,” and that word was all she could think of as Mulder lapped at her, making her feel as flushed and ripe as a rum wench.

Mulder licked and licked, making small, satisfied noises, the shower pushing needles of heat into her hair and back. Cunny, she thought.

He removed his hands from her ass only long enough to yank the rest of the gauze off his hand, and before she could utter a protest, he had stuck one long finger slowly up inside of her and began rubbing at her G spot in time with his tongue. She let out an involuntary moan, and could feel Mulder’s answering smile on her tender flesh.

“Let go,” he said gently into her, and then proceeded to suck her clit against his tongue. She came so suddenly and unexpectedly that she felt her knees go limp under her, and Mulder grabbed her and held her steady while she rode out the waves of pleasure, his name a prayer on her lips.

When she came back to herself, he was standing, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other in the wet tangle of her hair, looking at her with satisfied affection.

She reached down and grabbed him boldly, his cock hot and thick in her hand. His eyes fluttered closed and he rocked into her.

“Bed,” she said, and reached around him to shut off the water. That seemed to rouse him and he reached down and grabbed her under the ass, lifting her easily up so she could wrap her legs around him. His mouth descended on hers as he walked her out of the shower, the air hitting the water on their skin. She suddenly felt cool everywhere but where their bodies were touching: their mouths, her legs around his waist, his cock bobbing up into the cleft between her legs.

He lowered her gently onto her bed, perched in between her legs, her hair fanned about her head in thick, wet ropes. He leaned back.

“Condoms?” he asked.

“Drawer,” she said, and nodded her chin toward her bedside table. She propped herself up on her elbow and pulled a hair off of her tongue.

He rolled away from her and pulled a condom from the drawer, tearing it open as he settled himself back between her legs. He had started to roll it down over himself when he paused.

“This, uh,” he said, somewhat sheepishly, “might not fit.”

She looked down at him in alarm.

“Do you have any?” she asked him, and he nodded at her, a smile coming back to his face.

“Be right back,” he said, and leaned down to give her a quick kiss before he tumbled out of her bedroom door.

Scully looked around her room and expected to see it changed. Everything looked exactly the way it had, she realized, and found that the only thing that had changed was her. Her breathing started to even out and she flitted her eyes to her bedroom door, doubt suddenly creeping into her subconscious. Should she be doing this?

Before she could plumb the depths of that feeling too closely, Mulder filled the doorway suddenly, an adonis in all his naked glory, and he smiled at her triumphantly. She smiled tremulously back and had a thought to say something when he grabbed her foot in his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His touch calmed her nerves and she felt suddenly re-centered.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows while he rolled the new condom down and then he was back on the bed, crawling up her body like a panther, and his mouth found hers once again.

As soon as his body pressed itself toward hers, she lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist, her psyche entirely back in the moment.

“You ready?” he asked her, his honey-over-sandpaper voice rolling over her skin like a cat’s tongue.

She nodded and he reached down and guided himself into her slowly. As wet as she was, she still felt tight, too tight, and when she winced, he stilled instantly.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked in concern.

“No,” she said quickly, “it’s--just go slow.”

She willed her muscles to relax, one set at a time, starting at her toes and working her way up her body and after a moment she felt him slide in more and they both hissed with pleasure.

The more he moved, the better it felt, and after a while she wondered how she’d ever managed to live without this. Without him.

She bit her lip and suppressed a moan, and his pace increased, just a fraction, the look on his face one of either pleasure or pain. He hooked his thumb into her mouth and she sucked it, licked it clean. It tasted of salt, a little bit like her, the dry tang of latex. He pulled it out of her mouth and reached it between them, sweeping it urgently over her clit.

“Come with me,” he whispered into her ear, then pulled back to look into her eyes.

She concentrated on the sensations, trying not to lose herself in his gaze, and soon enough she felt another orgasm coming on, bit her lip and nodded at him. He surged up into her hard and they were both gone, eyes clamped closed, blood roaring in their ears.

He slumped down next to her, shifting his weight to his side, his penis still inside of her.

“Jesus,” he said, his tone reverential, “Jesus.”

She remained silent, feeling the bed under her, her duvet cover damp from shower water. She felt tears prick her eyes, overcome with emotion and release. She was afraid of what had happened, of what would happen, of the feelings he evoked inside of her.

He kissed her temple and then stood to dispose of the condom in the bathroom, coming back to the bed with water in her cup from the sink. He handed it to her.

“Here,” he said, and she smiled gratefully at him and drank the whole thing.

He reached for the empty cup and set it down on her bedside table, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“So,” he said, smiling at her, half amused, half anxious.

“So,” she said, and had trouble meeting his eyes.

“I think your ex-boyfriend is a bit of a douche,” he said.

At that she laughed and looked at him.

“Yeah,” she said.

He held her gaze a moment.

“You okay?” he asked, “I get that tonight,” he waved his hand around as if encompassing everything, “was a lot.”

“Yeah,” she lied, “how’s your hand?”

He looked down.

“Bleeding again,” he said.

She winced.

“Worth it,” he said.

“Ethan was lying,” she said suddenly, turning her face away, “I’m the one who carried him through school. God, that-”

“-Hey” he stopped her. Put a hand on her knee over the covers. She pulled the sheet up over her breasts, sniffling, feeling exposed. “It’s okay,” he said, “don’t give him another thought. He doesn’t deserve it.”

She took a deep breath, nodded.

“Did the band-aids at least stay on?” she asked him nodding toward his hand.

He looked down and held up his hand.

“Yes,” he said, smugly.

“Let me rewrap it,” she said, and grabbed the nearest thing to the bed to throw on. It was his Oxford sweatshirt. She put it on, realized what it was and looked to him guiltily.

“It looks better on you,” he said, “I meant it when I said ‘keep it.’”

It fell halfway to her knees, so she didn’t bother with anything else and padded softly to the bathroom. She peed quickly, washed her hands and brought fresh gauze to the bed. She found Mulder under the covers, sitting against the headboard, smiling at her shyly.

“This okay?” he said.

She paused a moment and then nodded to him. It only took a minute to rewrap his hand.

“This really needs some ice, Mulder,” she said, getting into the other side of the bed. The second she was settled, he reached for her.

“But that would mean leaving this bed,” he said, “and that is the last-” he paused to kiss her behind her ear, which sent a shiver down her spine, “thing I want to do.”

She turned in his arms so that she was the little spoon, and settled in, feeling his large hands on her stomach and his breath in her hair.

“Good night, Mulder,” she said.

He squeezed her.

“‘Night.”

He was asleep long before she was, her thoughts swirling and echoing in her mind. Eventually, his long, even breaths calmed and centered her, and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When she woke the next morning, it was to a soft kiss on her neck. It was the Saturday morning of the long Labor Day weekend, she remembered. She inhaled and rolled over. Mulder was kneeling onto the bed over her, wearing his boxers and holding onto the clothes he’d shed the night before.

“Morning,” he said, smiling. “I gotta go take a shower. Sam’s coming over this morning.”

“Okay,” she said, and he leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

He pulled back and gave her a long, fond look.

“Maybe we can all eat breakfast together,” he said, then shot her a toothy grin, “I’m starving.”

She hadn’t seen Samantha since that first night when they’d initially met, when she and Mulder were tipsy and Samantha was irritated with them and upset. She felt a low throb of embarrassment and anxiety in her gut. She got up to take a shower as well.

When she got downstairs, she was hit with the smell of coffee and toast and found Mulder already banging around in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, “I just buzzed Samantha up. She said she has a surprise. I hope it’s donuts… You want some eggs?”

She shook her head and went for the pot of coffee, fresh anxiety coursing through her. Mulder came up behind her and put his hands on her hips, kissing her neck, and she shied away sideways like a nervous filly.

“Scully?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

The doorbell rang. He backed away from her, looking confused, and Scully couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. She busied herself by pouring a cup of coffee.

She heard the door open and excited female chatter, then Samantha’s voice said “Surprise!”

“Debbie,” Mulder said, his voice filled with dismay.

Scully moved to the doorway of the kitchen and watched Samantha and another woman come into the apartment. Sam had a small stack of paper in her hand and the other woman was holding a bottle of champagne. The women were laughing and she watched as the older woman leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mulder’s surprised lips.

“Hi!” she said, sweetly, “Sam told me she was coming over here this morning, and I thought I’d tag along and apologize for last night.” She held up the bottle, “Mimosas, anyone?” She looked over at Scully expectantly.

Scully finally got a good look at her and her jaw almost dropped. Mulder had said she was pretty, but the woman was downright stunning. She was at least 5’9”, with long, thin legs that reached up into verdant hips. She had an almost pinched waist, a full, high bust, and a long elegant neck. High cheekbones, lush lips, gorgeous, big, brown eyes and a cascade of wavy brown hair completed her look. It occurred to Scully that she herself was wearing an oversized tee shirt and a ratty pair of sweatpants, her hair hanging wet and limp over her shoulders.

Mulder seemed to snap out of his surprise.

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head, “welcome. Um. Deb, this is my roommate, Dana Scully, Scully, this is Detective Debbie Winther, Sam’s mentor at the police department.”

And your girlfriend, Scully couldn’t help but finish for him in her head.

“Nice to meet you,” she said instead, feeling rooted in place.

“Oh my gosh, you too!” Debbie said enthusiastically, moving over to give Scully a buss on the cheek and a tight hug.

She even smelled like heaven, Scully thought, an expensive perfume like Chanel or Hermés.

“Can I throw this in the fridge?” Debbie went on, holding up the bottle of champagne, and then moved past Scully without waiting for an answer.

Mulder caught Scully’s eye and threw her an apologetic, horrified look. When Scully cut her eyes to Samantha, the young woman was watching them closely, a shrewd look on her face.

“Here,” Samantha said to Mulder, her tone a little frosty, and pushed the stack of papers into his hands, “your mail was falling out of your box. I grabbed it.”

Sam shot a look at Scully and then moved to the couch. Mulder shuffled absently through the stack, moving slowly into the room.

Scully felt like she’d been caught cheating and could feel her cheeks burn red.

“Oh!” Mulder said suddenly, his eyes still on the mail in his hands. “Scully.” He looked at her, held up an envelope. “Stanford,” he said.

He walked over and handed the envelope to Scully, then said in a low voice, “Do you want some privacy to open it?”

She looked at him in thankful relief when Debbie walked back in from the kitchen.

“What’s this?” she said brightly.

“A letter from Stanford, apparently,” Samantha said, her eyes boring into both Scully and her brother.

“Something exciting?” Debbie asked.

“Uh, Scully applied to med school there, she’s been waiting to hear back,” Mulder said.

“Oh my gosh, you have to open it!” Debbie said. Mulder looked pained. “What?” Debbie went on, “bad news, we drink; good news, we toast!”

Scully held the envelope in front of her.

“Yeah,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of it.

She took a breath and tore it open. She held the letter, reading it, the paper in her hands shaking. She suddenly felt weak, and sat down heavily in the chair next to her.

“Scully?” Mulder said softly.

“I got in,” she finally said shakily, “full ride scholarship.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder bent down to get a better look at her face, his eyes shining.

“You did it…” he said.

She felt a tremulous smile rise up her cheeks.

“Amazing!” Debbie said enthusiastically, then ducked back into the kitchen. She emerged a moment later with the bottle of champagne and ripped the foil off, then expertly twisted off the cork. A little bit of bubbly ran out the top of the bottle and foamed down her fingers. “To Doctor Dana Scully!” she said, and then handed Scully the bottle.

Scully took one look at Mulder and then brought the bottle to her lips, knocking back a slug. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and handed him the bottle.

“I’ll get glasses,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Scully looked back down at the letter, and continued reading.

“Congratulations, Dana,” Samantha said flatly, “will you be moving to Stanford soon?”

“Uh,” Scully said, her eyes rising to Mulder’s sister, “yes. In just a couple of weeks, it looks like.”

Samantha nodded at her and then cut her eyes to her brother, who was emerging from the kitchen with three juice glasses.

“I couldn’t find champagne flutes,” he said apologetically.

He poured Scully a glass, and then one for Debbie. He then looked at Samantha. “You’re not 21,” he said.

Samantha rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Debbie said, “we’re celebrating. Anyway, you could legally drink when you were younger than she is now. She should be grandfathered in. Pour her one. It’s not like I’m going to arrest you.”

“You can have mine,” Scully said, and held it out to her.

“No thanks,” Samantha said.

The tension in the room got thick quickly. Debbie was having none of it.

“She’s having mine,” she said, and walked her glass over to Samantha. She then took the glass that Mulder was holding and leaned into him. “We need to toast the accomplishments of your incredible roommate, Fox, I’d hop to and get yourself a glass.”

Scully couldn’t help it, she liked the woman.

When Mulder came back in, he raised his glass and gave Scully a significant look.

“To Dr. Scully,” he said.

“To Dr. Scully,” the others repeated after him.

Scully brought the champagne to her lips. It felt like fire all the way down.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When Mulder closed the door on Samantha and Debbie, he immediately turned to Scully.

“God, I am so sorry. I had no idea she was coming and-”

“It’s fine, Mulder,” she said, though it was not fine. She was not fine.

“I’ll call her later, break it off with her,” Mulder said, moving over to her, and Scully cut him off again.

“Don’t,” she said. Mulder peered at her.

The whole morning would have been incredibly awkward had Debbie Winther not been engaging, enthusiastic, and an altogether fun person to be around. Whenever she stood next to Mulder, Scully couldn’t help but think what a handsome couple they made. Samantha eventually warmed up a little under Debbie’s gentle prodding.

The only really awful moment was when Debbie excitedly told Mulder that she had managed to get a cabin out on the Chesapeake for the long weekend and hoped she could take him out there this afternoon for a romantic getaway for a couple of days.

Mulder politely told her he would probably have to move a few things around and would call her.

“Scully?” Mulder said, breaking into her thoughts.

“She’s really nice, Mulder,” Scully said, “in fact, she’s great.”

Mulder looked at her in confusion.

“Mulder, I’m going to be leaving in a few weeks and-”

“I don’t care,” said, interrupting her, “Scully last night was… I don’t care if you’re leaving, I want to be with you.”

Scully’s heart felt like it was going to beat itself out of her chest.

“It was a mistake,” she whispered. It hurt just thinking it. Saying it made her sick. “Last night was a mistake.”

He stumbled back, as if stung by a jasper.

“What?” he said.

“It was a mistake. I’m leaving for Stanford. How could this even work?”

He saw an opening. Moved back toward her and grabbed her hand.

“We’ll make it work,” he said, “we’ll figure it out. Maybe I move out there.”

“Mulder, your life is here, your job,  your sister-” Scully thought of the way Samantha had looked at her that first night. How easy she’d been with Detective Winther this morning. It was almost as if he was reading her thoughts.

“Don’t worry about my sister. She’ll come around. She’s incredibly loyal— she thought I was still dating Debbie, knew something had happened between you and me-”

“How?” she cut in.

“She can read me like a book, Scully. Listen, don’t worry about her, I’ll talk to her-“ he said.

She pulled away from him.

“Your sister aside, medical school is going to be all engrossing, I won’t have time. I -- It’s the first thing I’ve ever done for myself.”

“And I would never get in the way of that, Scully. Med school can come first. Should come first. I’ll take whatever you have left, even if it’s just scraps.”

She didn’t want that for him. He deserved so much more.

“No,” she said.

“But I thought-” he said.

“No,” she whispered and took a step back.

His jaw clenched and rippled under the surface of his skin, like the groundswell before a volcano blew its top.

He put his hand on his chest. “I know you feel this, too,” he said, his voice somewhere between anger and a caress.

She said nothing, but turned and walked up the stairs, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was doing this for him. Wasn’t she?

She looked over the railing and he was still standing there watching her.

‘

“I don’t,” she said, and ran the rest of the way to her room

XxXxXxXxXxX

A few minutes later, she heard the front door slam and then the sound of his motorcycle tearing up the street. Her world felt foggy and unreal. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up the phone.

When Melissa answered her call, Scully could barely talk through her tears.

“Dana?” Melissa said, her voice tinny through the earpiece, “Dana, slow down. What’s going on?”

She told her sister everything. Melissa listened patiently, asked pointed questions.

“Missy, I feel like I made the right choice and the wrong one, all at the same time,” she said when she was done.

“Sometimes there’s no one right answer, Dana. I haven’t learned much in my short time on this earth, but I have learned that.”

Scully sighed into the phone.

“Tell me, then,” Missy said, “What have you made the right choice about?”

“Med school,” Scully answered definitively. “Everything inside myself tells me that’s the right choice.”

“Then what’s the wrong one?”

“Mulder,” she said, with equal determination. “What I just said to him. Driving him away. Everything about it feels wrong, but I can’t consolidate the two. His life is here. And mine is about to be eaten up on the other side of the country.”

“Relationships have survived worse,” Missy said.

“Are you saying I made a mistake?”

“I think you said it, Dana,” her sister said gently. “I think you owe it to yourselves to at least give it a chance.”

“I need to talk to him,” Scully said, almost to herself. “I hope it’s not too late.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She waited hours for him to come home. She mostly sat on the couch chewing her nails to the quick, imagining every scenario under the sun. Dark clouds moved in just before sunset, and the sky took on an ominous color and mood.

She was standing to switch on a lamp when she heard a soft knocking at their door. She rushed to it, swung it open, hoping it was him.

It was a different Mulder. Samantha stood there, her hand still raised from knocking.

“Dana!” she said in surprise, and then got a good look at what Scully assumed were her red-rimmed eyes and pallorous skin. “Are you okay?”

Scully sniffed and wiped her nose, didn’t answer. Sam stood there a beat and pushed on.

“I came to apologize,” she said, her words in a rush, “I was being a shit, and what you and my brother do with your lives isn’t any of my business. I know you’re leaving town soon, and I wanted to just… clear the air.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Scully said, looking down and away, embarrassed.

“I do. So… I’m sorry.”

Scully gave her a weak smile.

“Do you... know where your brother is?” she asked.

Samantha looked chagrined.

“I haven’t talked to him, but… Debbie said he had called and said he’d go up to the Bay with her this weekend. She left a couple of hours ago, I… I think Fox went with her.”

Scully nodded dumbly. She felt like the floor had opened under her.

“My shift at the station starts in a few minutes,” Sam went on, “I’ve got to get going.”  She reached out and squeezed Scully’s arm briefly, then turned away and left.

When Scully closed the door and turned back into the apartment, she felt like the air had gone out of the room. Everywhere she looked, she saw a memory of the two of them. She needed out, she needed air.

She grabbed her running shoes and slid them on, not even tying them very well. She took her keys from the hook and fled out onto the street.

The sky was still lit, but barely, a yellowish ozone tinge to the air. She walked with her head down, not really having a destination in mind. She found herself at the mouth of the local park.

Moths were barnstorming the streetlamps that were scattered throughout it, and there was a steady crowd of people streaming toward the street; a soccer league had just finished for the night.

There were kids sucking on orange wedges, cleats with laces tied together draped over shoulders and around necks. A boy chased his sister, trying to get her to smell his shin guards. Somewhere off in the distance a coach or referee blew one sharp bleat on a whistle.

Scully shouldered her way past them all, feeling numb. There was a low rumble in the distance--either a truck or thunder, Scully could not tell which, and did not care. Once she was away from the thinning crowd, she walked deeper into the park and eventually sat on a bench under a large maple tree, the bottom of the leaves lighter than the tops, like the belly of a fish.

Time passed as did people, and both seemed to get fewer and farther between, the minutes slowing like dull drawn out heartbeats. A teenager gave her a disinterested glance and pulled his hood up over his head and walked on. A woman walking a pomeranian passed the other way, the dog pausing to sniff at Scully’s shoes.

One more low rumble, and Scully finally came back to herself; thunder. The wind had picked up and cooled off, the sounds of the trees above her gradually turning from a salubrious psithurism to an ominous rattle. She wasn’t wearing a coat and was starting to get cold.

She stood and looked around, trying to get her bearings. It wasn’t a large park, but it was long, and she was fairly far from the exit to the street. After a minute of walking, she thought she heard the shuffle of footsteps behind her and turned to look--there was no one there. When she turned back there was a person standing directly in front of her, appearing as if out of thin air. It was the teenager who had walked by her before--he looked older than she originally thought and his hood, which she realized now was more of a cloak, was pulled low over his face. He was holding a knife, and his gaze was intense. She felt the dump of adrenaline in her bloodstream.

He didn’t say anything, just stood in front of her, staring at her darkly.

“What do you want?” she finally asked him, sounding braver than she felt.

He mumbled something she couldn’t make out, shifting on his feet.

She had taken a self-defense course her sophomore year of undergrad, and her mind reeled trying to remember all that she had learned.

She felt the cold bite of her keys in her hand and tried to shift them as subtly as she could to get them between her fingers. He noticed and raised the knife.

“Don’t,” he said in a heavy accent, and she froze.

Scream, scream, scream the voice of her instructor came back to her, and she took a deep breath, just as the man in front of her started to twitch. She got the first “H-” of a blood curdling HELP! out before he made a move, and everything after that seemed to happen in both slow-motion and fast-forward.

He swung out with a fist which glanced off her stomach, rendering her scream mute and then slashed at her with the knife. She managed to get her arm up and out of the way and took a swing back at him with the fist holding her keys. Her punch glanced off his elbow and he moved forward towards her. Instinct took over and she brought her knee up for a groin shot. Her aim was off and she kneed him in the thigh instead, grazing it off the inside of his leg as he moved to defend himself.

Momentum carried her forward and him back, and she felt a dull blow to her left arm that didn’t hurt much. His free hand reached out with the speed of a snake and grabbed her wrist, yanking it back. Her keys went flying.

“Bitch!” he shouted at her and twisted her hand back until it was behind her and he was holding her from behind, his chest to her back. Adrenaline thrummed through her and her ears roared. She could feel the point of the knife just pressing into her side.

In one last ditch push of effort, she lifted her right foot up and slammed it down into the arch of his foot, connecting with a sickening crunch, just as her left elbow smashed into the arm holding the knife, which he dropped. It tinked onto the pavement of the path below them just as he gave a hollow grunt, his grip on her loosening.

She twisted away and ran, another dump of adrenaline boosting her forward. After a quick burst of speed, she risked a look behind her.

Nothing. Her attacker seemed to have dissolved as quickly as he had appeared, and she tripped in surprise, landing hard on her knees and hands.

It was then she noticed the blood on her arm. It was bright red and running thickly from a gash just below her elbow. The realization brought her back to herself, and the cramp that had been forming in her side from what she had assumed was running turned into a burn. She reached around herself with her uninjured hand and it came away dark with blood.

She felt another wave of panic and bile rose in her throat. She looked around. Her attacker was still gone, but so was everyone else. The park was empty and she was nowhere near the exit.

She rose to her feet and stumbled a few paces before catching sight of a small outbuilding, backlit by a dim light. The building was most likely used to store lawn mowers and the other horticultural implements needed to maintain a park. She made her way toward it, feeling a little weaker with each step.

Another low rumble of thunder cut through the air and she felt the first few stinging drops of rain start to fall. She finally got to the building and lurched around the corner toward the light.

The first good fortune of the day: a phone booth stood sentry beside the building, the blue plastic binder that should have housed a phone book hung down empty, limp as a dead bird. She threw up a silent prayer that the phone itself worked.

She floundered forward and picked the receiver up off of the hook. Dial tone. A relieved sob fell from her lips.

She dialed the operator and asked for emergency services just as the rain came down in a deluge. She slumped to the ground under the booth, giving halting, hissed information to a dispatcher, blood seeping into the ground beneath her knees.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She was separated from the rest of the patients in the ER by only a thin curtain that was occasionally thrown back with a curt shhtt! by any number of hospital personnel, quickly and at random. She flinched every time.

She was wearing an ill-fitting grey sweatsuit provided to her by the police officers who came to take her statement and her clothes, as evidence. She was allowed to keep her shoes, for which she was grateful. They were almost dry, though marked by a Pollack-like splatter of blood, mud and rain water. She had eight stitches in her arm, nineteen in her side, and a prescription for an antibiotic which she clutched tightly in her hand.

Shhtt! The curtain pulled back once again, this time admitting a nurse named Carmen--the woman was in her 50s and overweight, her hair pulled back in a dark bun with wiry strands of silver running throughout. She smiled at Scully, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth. She’d had a tendency to call Scully “honey,” which Scully wanted to attribute to her sweet, maternal-like nature, but probably had to do with the fact that she couldn’t remember her name.  

“You’re almost out of here, darlin’,” she said, mixing it up a bit as she dipped her head to look Scully in the eye. “The doctor is filling out your discharge papers, now. These,” she handed Scully a few pieces of paper that were printed in faded dot-matrix ink, “are your after-care instructions. Ibuprofen for the pain. You can take up to 600 ml safely, every six hours.”

Scully nodded mutely and folded the papers around the smaller prescription. Nurse Carmen patted her leg gently.

“Do you have someone you can call to come get you? It’s late.”

Scully glanced up at the clock on the wall -- it was nearly 3:30 am. She flipped through her mental rolodex and came up empty.

“I… I don’t have my keys,” she told the woman in a halting voice, “he knocked away my keys.”

“Do you have a Super or a roommate that can let you in?”

At the word “roommate” Scully felt tears burn in her eyes unbidden, but nodded at the nurse. Gary, their building manager, would be cranky as hell about it, but would let her in. She tried not to think about Mulder, and of course could only picture him on the porch of some oceanside cottage, sitting in a bench swing with Debbie while they fed each other crabcakes and drank red wine.

Shhtt! This time the curtain produced her doctor, who had been kind enough, but always seemed too busy or distracted to meet her eye. His head was always buried in a chart or steeped in concentration six inches from her skin, sewing her back together.

“All right Miss Scully, you’re free to go,” he said, snapping a folder closed. “Have you been assigned a detective yet for your case?”

“No, they said they’d call me,” she answered, and thought but with my luck…

He nodded and walked away, and Carmen touched her elbow and told her which way to go to get to the hospital exit. She passed by a pay phone near the door to the outside, but realized she didn’t have any change and gave the nurse at the nearest station her sob story before the woman, looking bored, handed her the station phone’s receiver and let her call a cab.

She headed outside to wait.

There was an ambulance idling just outside the emergency bay, the EMTs leaning against the side of the rig, drinking coffee and joking with each other. She couldn’t remember if they were the ones who had helped bring her to the hospital, so turned the other way and walked forty feet down the sidewalk, embarrassed.

She hadn’t asked how long it would be until the cab showed up and wondered how many were even on duty this time of night.

The pavement was damp, as if it had only just stopped raining, and it was still cold. She rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet to keep warm, the movement jarring the wound in her side. She felt close to tears.

She heard the roar of a motor coming up the empty road, but a quick glance proved that it wasn’t her cab, just a motorcycle tearing up the drive, going too fast for conditions. She wondered if maybe the driver was hurt when he skidded to a stop under the overhang directly in front of the ER doors.

The rider swung off his bike just as the two EMTs pushed off the ambulance, chiding him and telling him he couldn’t park there. The rider ignored them and whipped off his helmet, about to trot into the doors of the hospital when Scully recognized him and shouted his name.

“Mulder?!”

His head whipped toward her voice and then he came running, his face a mask of worry.

“Scully!” he shouted as he approached. He slowed only when he was nearly on top of her and reached out two hands, only to whip them back, as if afraid he might hurt her. “Scully,” he said again, “God! Are you okay?”

“How-” she said, not quite believing it was him, “what are you doing here?”

“I just found out,” he said, stopping short then stumbling into speech again. “That you were attacked. Jesus, I thought the worst.” He reached a hand out again, but didn’t touch her. “Are you okay?”

He must have driven in the rain. His jeans were soaked through and his hands looked red and chapped.

“Scully,” he said, again, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, slowly. She wanted to be dismissive, but she was in too much pain. “I’m -- I’m cut,” she said, raising up her arm to show him the stitches. “And here,” she said, pointing to her side.

“Jesus,” he said, “Will you be able to ride the bike? I need to get you home. Shit.” He looked around, “you can’t ride like this, we need to get you in a car.”

“No!” she said, and his head whipped back to her. “I can ride. Just… Please just take me home.”

He looked at her a long moment and then nodded, shrugging off his leather jacket to put around her shoulders. He helped her gingerly get it on, and then reached down to zip it for her. The inside of the jacket felt like silk, and was dry and warm. He put his arm around her and led her to the bike, the EMTs looking on silently, sipping their coffee and staring unabashedly.

He got her on the bike first, unzipped her jacket a bit to put her care instructions and prescription in the inside pocket, and then delicately lowered the helmet over her head, securing it before putting on his own. He got on, careful not to jostle her.

She was able to wrap her arms around him--luckily even the injured one--without much pain, and his body felt wonderfully warm and solid in front of her. He kicked the bike on, and he drove as carefully back to their apartment as he had driven pell-mell to get to her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When they got back to the apartment, she was stiff, bone tired, and she wanted to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake, but she couldn’t find the words.

He escorted her to her bedroom door and hovered there, an energy radiating off of him that fairly trembled. She turned to him, one hand on the doorknob, and looked at him expectantly.

“Did he… hurt you?” Mulder asked. “Other than…” he gestured vaguely to her arm.

“Hurt me?” she asked, confused, and the look on his face broke her heart. Oh. Oh. “No,” she rushed out, and put a hand on his arm. “This is the extent of it. I got mugged, Mulder. That’s it.”

He must have rushed to the hospital without any information. She could only imagine all the dark scenarios running through his head.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said, “Okay…”

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she said, and he nodded.

“Call out if you need anything. At all.”

She took her hand off the door handle.

“I’ll leave the door open, just in case,” she said.

He nodded and backed away slowly, throwing her several concerned looks as he descended the stairs.

She fell into bed and slept for 12 hours.

XxXxXxXxXxX

At 4:00pm, she hovered at the top of the stairs, her tongue thick with sleep in her mouth, her side and arm hurting. Her hair was a mess and she was afraid of what lay at the bottom of the stairs. Of facing the day, facing Mulder, facing her future. She thought of the dolly zoom in Hitchcock’s Vertigo, and placed her foot on the first step.

Mulder was waiting on the couch and leapt to his feet when he saw her.

“I was getting worried,” he said.

“Post-shock sleep,” Scully shrugged.

“How are you feeling?”

In truth, she was feeling so many things they seemed to bottleneck in her throat and render her speechless.

Finally, she just said, “Fine.”

He nodded at her, letting the silence settle around them, and it occurred to her that he was using a psychologist’s trick--waiting for her to fill the silence. She smiled to herself and let him have the round.

“How did you know?” she asked, wanting to know since he’d shown up at the hospital on his motorcycle like Steve McQueen. “That I’d been attacked? Where to find me?”

He sat down on the couch and she gingerly lowered herself next to him.

“Sam called,” he said, “ she was working at dispatch when your call came in. When I walked in the door, the phone had been ringing off the hook. She called and called. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“You drove all the way down from the Chesapeake? In the rain?”

He looked at her, confused.

“I never went to the Bay,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“You- what?” Scully said, sure she hadn’t heard right.

“I never went to the Bay with Debbie,” he said, “I went over to talk to her and break things off, like I said I would.”

Scully felt like the top of her head had lifted off and floated away.

“But Samantha said-” Scully started.

“Sam only knew what Debbie had told her the last time she saw her. We never went to the Chesapeake. I told Deb I wanted to see her before the trip, but only so I could break it all off. I ended up telling her everything. We sat and talked for hours…  She helped me figure out what to do.”

“What to do?” Scully said, feeling like pages had been torn out of an instruction book she’d been trying to follow.

Mulder looked down at the floor and then raised his eyes to her.

“I’m not the kind of guy who can date a woman… when I’m in love with someone else.”

Scully felt a surge of hope and happiness so overwhelming she wasn’t sure what the look on her face was. Mulder read it as something else all together.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same way. And I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, and I swear going forward I will keep it to myself, but for weeks I’ve felt like this and I thought there might be a chance you felt it, too. But you don’t, and I respect that. I just… I needed to say it. I needed to say it out loud. Once.”

She felt light and heavy all at once, elemental. Lit from the inside, like she’d swallowed a mouthful of ginger.

He stood suddenly and ran his hands through his hair until it stood on end.

“This is all my fault,” he said, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Scully was taken aback.

“Your fault? Mulder-” she said.

“I shouldn’t have pushed myself on you,” he said, “after Ethan was here. You were hurt and vulnerable and- you said it was a mistake. It was. The mistake was mine.”

He looked to the ceiling, shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You didn’t push yourself on me, Mulder,” Scully said, refusing to let him take on responsibility for anything that had happened in the last 24 hours. She took a bracing breath. “And the only mistake was mine. When I told you that that night didn’t mean to me what it did. When I let you think for one second that I don’t feel the same way you do.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

She stood and walked to him, his mossy eyes searching and perspicuous.  He was miles deep and a fathom tall. She realised in that moment--and she would be able to look back and remember it clearly--that to love him had an inevitable feeling. Inevitable as gravity. As death and taxes. She grabbed his hand.

“My life right now is as tumultuous and up in the air as it has ever been and might ever be. I’ve been figuring out who I am on my own. I’m giving up what I thought I wanted out of my career and life for what I know I want. I’m about to move 3,000 miles away. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I fell in love with my roommate.”

As he looked at her, a smile blossomed on his face and reached his eyes. He squeezed the hand she was holding.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away. Frankly, this,” she put her other hand on his chest, “scares me. But I also know I would regret not at least trying to be with you. I’d regret it until the day I died. I didn’t realize that until I thought I was about to.”

He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, took a deep breath. She felt everything inside her click into place.

He leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss to her lips.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They slept together that night--only slept. Mulder had gone out and picked up her prescription earlier in the day while she slept and the pills made her queasy.

Mulder tucked her into his own bed downstairs, brought her Saltines and ginger ale. When she awoke the next morning, he was curled around her. He helped her change her bandages and tie her shoes--she still couldn’t quite bend over.

At noon that day -- Labor Day -- the phone rang, it was Ellen calling from Seattle.

“Dana?” she said. “God, how are you?”

Scully didn’t have the first idea how to respond to that particular question, so she deflected.

“Ellen!” she said, “how are you? How goes the internship? You ready to come home yet?”

“It’s fabulous! And that’s actually why I’m calling. Dana, they offered to hire me on full-time. They want me to work out here while I finish my degree.”

“Oh Ellen, congratulations!” she said, feeling genuine joy for her friend.

“Thanks,” Ellen said, “I know you were counting on me to take the lease back over, and I can still probably help out for a few months now that I’m getting paid, but I thought I’d see how the new roommate is working out? Any chance he might want to stay for a bit longer?”

The roommate in question was currently tidying up in the kitchen, and came to the room’s doorway to eavesdrop on her conversation.

“The new roommate?” she repeated for his benefit, and then gave him a tart look, “He’s working out okay, I guess.”

At that, Mulder feigned insult and promptly whipped off his shirt and started doing push-ups.

“I take that back,” Scully said, maintaining eye contact with him while he exercised, by which she couldn’t help but get a little turned on. “He’s definitely working out.” Mulder stopped doing push-ups, sat up, and kissed his bare bicep. Scully let out a guffaw. “I’ll ask him.”

Ellen laughed too, without knowing why, and said “I’m so glad. And thank you. Oh, I’m going to miss you! Listen, I’ve got to get going, but we’ve got so much to catch up on. Talk soon?”

She watched Mulder as he disappeared back into the kitchen, still shirtless. “Sometime next week?”

“Done. I’ll call you. Bye Dane!”

“Bye!”

Scully rose to hang the phone back up on the wall and drifted into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch Mulder as he put dishes away.

“You do that a lot?” she asked him.

“Do what?” he asked, without looking away from his task, “Housework like a helpful roommate, or exercise hard to maintain my girlish figure?”

She came up behind him and kissed his bare back.

“Your figure is decidedly non-girlish, Mulder,” she said, ignoring his question, “for which I am increasingly thankful.”

He turned suddenly in her arms and she found herself staring at his bare chest. He rubbed his hands up down the tops of her arms, careful not to get too close to her cut.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, leaning his face down into hers.

She nodded into his kiss, “Yeah,” she said, right before his lips met hers. She deepened the kiss immediately, remembering the way the big muscles on his upper back had moved beneath his skin as he did push-ups, the way he’d looked at her with intent the entire time he was doing them.

He let her lead, doing nothing more than returning her enthusiastic kisses and dropping his hands to rest lightly on her hips.

She reached down and tipped her forefingers into the tops of his jeans, pulling him closer and then running her fingers to his fly. He pulled back, just as she popped the button.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her face with his nose, brushing his lips lightly against hers. “What are you up for, here?”

She looked down at him with intent, at where his erection was pressing against the fly of his jeans. “Whatever you’re up for, flyboy,” she said, and nipped at him.

“I just,” he leaned back a little bit more, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She unzipped his fly slowly.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said.

“You pop a few of those stitches, your doctor might say otherwise,” he said, putting his hands on hers to still her movements.

“But I want you,” she said, licking her lips, reveling in the concupiscent lustiness he brought about in her.

He smiled at her slowly.

“We can figure this out,” he said, “we just need to be creative.”

“I have, so far, been both pleased and impressed with your creativity,” she said.

“Then allow me,” he said, and turned their positions so that she was standing with her back to the counter, then bent down to shimmy her sweatpants and underwear off, while she stood, patiently, wondering what his plan was.

When he straightened back up, he leaned forward, bracing his arms on the counter on either side of her.

“What,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, “can you do that doesn’t hurt?”

She grabbed his head and brought his mouth back to hers for a deep, thorough kiss, then she released him.

“That,” she said, “didn’t hurt.”

He smiled at her.

“Noted.”

She reached forward and grabbed his fly again, and then started to lower his jeans down around his hips when she suddenly hissed in pain. Mulder grabbed her and straightened her.

“So no bending over,” he said. She nodded, a little disappointed. “Can you sit?”

“As evidenced by sitting on my ass nearly all of yesterday evening and again this morning, all information points to sitting being a medically approved position for Patient Scully,” she said in her best med student voice.

Mulder chuckled.

“Okay,” he said, and then surprised her by reaching down and easily lifting her up and onto the surface of the counter, which was cold against her aforementioned ass. She let out a startled yelp.

“Mulder!” she said.

“Was that pain, or the temperature of the counter?” he asked.

“The temperature of the counter,” she said through gritted teeth.

He smiled wickedly.

“The longer you sit on it, the more it’ll warm up,” he said.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, counters are for glasses, not for a-”

“Shh,” Mulder cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I promise I’ll clean up,” he said.

She tilted an eyebrow at him, but complained no more.

He put his hands on her thighs, spreading her legs apart so he could step in between them, their faces now perfectly level for kissing. He ran his hands lightly up her legs until his thumbs were just brushing at the crease where her legs met her pubis, sending a shiver down her spine.

He had pulled his jeans back up, but hadn’t zipped them, so she reached down and slipped her hand inside, grasping the silken steel of him, and he hissed into her mouth.

“You first,” he whispered, and then lowered himself to the floor, now at the perfect level to lean forward and press his face into her sex, giving her an open-mouthed kiss and inhaling deeply through his nose. “I love the way you smell,” he said, and then darted his tongue out to press into her labia. “I love the way you taste.”

She reached out and ran her hands through his hair, digging her nails into his scalp when he gently parted her labia with his fingers and started running his tongue softly over her clit, gradually with more speed and pressure.

She concentrated on keeping her torso immobile, which was difficult when all she wanted to do was gyrate her hips into his sumptuous mouth, chasing the orgasm she could feel building even now.

Just as he’d done before, he pressed one long finger and then another up and into her, and moments after he started rubbing the rough pad of her G spot, an orgasm surged up within her. She let go of his head and braced her hands on the countertop, holding herself as steady as she could as the waves crashed within her, and he gently lapped at her, slowing as she came down.

He stood when she exhaled, and she rolled her head from one shoulder to the other, letting the ringing in her ears lessen with each breath.

“How are you so good at that?” she asked, her tongue all lassitude in her mouth.

“I was a double major,” he said smugly, his cocksure grin charming as a flop-eared terrier.

She shoved him in the shoulder and he fell back a step, then moved forward to carefully help her down from the counter. She stood in front of him, still in a shirt with no pants, and he pressed a finger under her chin and tilted her head back until she was looking up at him.

“I like this look,” he said, “it’s very Donald Duck.”

She laughed and shoved his shoulder again.

“You know, I was going to push for reciprocity, but I think I just changed my mind,” she said.

“Nah,” he said, and leaned down to nip at her nose, “plenty of time for that.” He then leaned over sideways to look at her aftercare instructions, which had been stuck to the fridge. “When do you get your stitches out?”

“Friday,” she said.

“Gonna be a good weekend,” he mumbled into her lips.

She felt herself deflate.

“I leave for California the Friday after that.”

She hadn’t even begun starting to pack.

He leaned his head forward until it once again rested on hers.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

That night, they sat on the loveseat on their balcony, watching the stars wink on in the sky, Venus emerging brightly from the ecliptic. They drank iced tea (Mulder may have had a beer or two) and talked about how they’d handle being long distance, Scully tucked into Mulder’s side.

They had yet to come up with a plan that excited them both. The pull of sunny California started to wane.

“Have you ever found a place you felt like you belonged? Somewhere you just felt at home? Where you knew it was where you were supposed to be?” she asked him after a few minutes of silence.

He squinted his eyes, thinking. Then,

“It’s not down on any map,” he recited to the stars. “True places never are.”

Melville. She gave him a look, thought of her father.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been searching for it my whole life. And I think… that place might be you.”

“You gotta go, Scully,” he said, looking down at her, knowing what she was getting at. “Med school is your dream, so it’s my dream, too. I won’t let you not go.”

She took a breath, knowing he was right.

“Besides,” he said, “I don’t want to be the only doctor in this house,” he said, then shrunk away from her, knowing what was coming. She swatted at him, then let him settle back against her.

They sat in silence for long minutes, until Mulder finally shifted.

“Be right back,” he said, and stood, her side going cold from where he’d been.

He came back a minute later, carrying the large white pillar candle that Scully had lit for him his first night in the apartment. He produced a lighter from his pocket, flicked it on and touched it to the wick, then set the candle on the small table in front of them.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, settling back onto the loveseat and gently tucking her back into his side. “Take this with you to California. I’m going to get one just like it. And when either one of us is doubting, or when things get too lonely or dark, we’ll each light the candle.”

She glanced up to look at his profile, her heart constricting in her chest with love for this man.

“To cast out the darkness?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He nodded, then rolled his head to look at her.

“I mean, we should have a go at the evil spirits, too,” he said, chuckling.

She smiled at him, and leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the flame dance in the light breeze of the DC night.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When Mulder got home from work the next day, Scully was on the couch trying to study, her stitches itching madly.

“Hey,” he said, swinging the door closed. He hung his keys absently on the hook by the door, and kicked off his shoes. He had something in his hand. He was radiating a nervous energy.  “Something came for you in the mail.” He looked at her significantly. “From Georgetown.”

“Probably paperwork for the end of term,” she said, barely looking up. “I’ve got a lot of crap I’ve got to fill out. You can put it in the kitchen.”

He sat down next to her.

“I don’t think that’s what it is,” he said, and held out a standard white envelope.

She looked at the return address. Georgetown Medical School.

She felt her eyes go wide and looked at him.

“Go on,” he said, and she wasted no time tearing into it.

She read the letter twice before leaning back into the couch and finally looking at him.

“Don’t make me guess,” he said quietly.

“Accepted,” she said, the smile blooming on her face mirrored back at her. “Full ride scholarship.”

“You get to stay,” he said, mirabile dictu.

“I get to stay.”

The sunlight coming through the sliding glass door behind him glinted off his hair, turning it into a filmy halo of gold. He reached out and hooked her thumb through his pinkie, pulling her hand up until it was against his chest, pressing against his beating heart.

She felt the thump and swish of it, its heat and birr, and she knew what it felt like to be home.

THE END

[snickerl]

Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: Finally…..

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV / Chapter V / Chapter VI / Chapter VII / Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Another movie night is in the making.

Two bowls of popcorn - a bigger one buttered and salted, a smaller one plain - sit on the coffee table, a copy of one of the Indiana Jones movies - I can’t remember which one - is popped into the DVD player, the logs are crackling in the fireplace, and I’m sitting on the sofa with a blanket on my lap waiting for Scully to join me.

I hear her hopping down the stairs and she greets me fondling my neck.

Oh yeah, keep doing that, Scully!

“Sorry for letting you wait,” she apologizes and makes herself comfortable on the other side of the sofa. Without asking or hesitating she puts her feet on my lap and I can’t keep myself from rejoicing over the fact that this has become the most natural thing for her. I pull the blanket over her feet and tuck them in.

“Ready to start?” I ask, handing her her bowl of popcorn.

“Sure,” she answers. “I love that movie.”

I’m startled by the remark. How does she know she loves it? Tonight is meant to be a relaxing fun evening for us, no therapy session, so I don’t inquire but grab the remote and start the movie.

It’s the third part, ‘Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade’, and she surprises me again when she says even before the opening credits appear on the screen, “you know, I love Sean Connery in this one.”

She remembers Connery in that movie, but not me in her life.

It hurts.

As we watch and nibble our popcorn, I forget our situation for a while and enjoy the leisure. She’s laughing every once in a while, and after about half of the movie she pulls her feet out of my lap and puts her head on instead. My hand instinctively goes to her waist, and when I realize it, I leave it there when she’s not protesting.

When the closing credits roll down the screen, an overwhelming desire to stroke her hair floods me. I do what I’ve already done a million times, I tuck a strand behind her ear. The feel of my fingertips on the velvety skin behind her ear, the fine, tiny hair there that reminds me of a ripe peach’s bloom, makes me want to touch her even more. I venture to stroke her cheek and her neck ever so gently in the strong belief that she’s fast asleep. She always falls asleep watching a movie, I can’t remember one single movie night she hasn’t, so I’m thunderstruck when I hear her moan into my lap, “mmm, that’s nice.”

I pull my hand away from her skin so quickly as if I’d touched a hot baking dish.

“Don’t stop doing that, Fox, I like it,” she encourages me.

She’s awake. Well, that’s definitely something new. And she wants me to caress her. How can I not fulfill her wish? So I stroke her hair all the way from her scalp to where it lays on her shoulder. I tickle the spot behind her ear, and she’s as sensitive there as she’s ever been, fidgeting under my paws. I let my fingertips travel down to where her neck meets her shoulder and draw little circles there.

She enjoys what I’m doing, I can tell. Her body relaxes more and more, she shifts slightly to give me a better angle to her neck. She’s totally at ease, maybe for the first time since she was found in that parking lot. It fills me with joy that I’m able to make her feel this way. A few days ago she made me relax with giving me a wonderful massage, I’m more than willing to return the favor.

She rolls over on her back, her head still on my lap.

“You do know what I like, don’t you?” she asks, her eyes so full of trust I almost choke.

I nod.

She shows me a smile I cannot really interpret. Is it content? Discernment? Resolve?

My question is being answered when she reaches up, puts a hand behind my neck and pulls me down until our noses almost touch. Without another word, she lifts her head a little to let her lips meet mine. Does her statement, that I know what she likes, mean she wants me to kiss her the way I know she likes?

Go for it, Mulder!

I part her lips with the tip of my tongue, cautiously at first, more vigorously when she willingly lets me in. I let my tongue dance with hers, not in a passionate tango, in a slow waltz. I suck in her lower lip gently and scrape it with my teeth. She used to like it when we started low-key, kissing each other softly, allowing us to take our time until passion would take over eventually and turn the timid nibbling and grazing into a make-out session deserving the term.

The implication that she’d make me want her that much, that she’d fuel my desire in a way that left me all passionate, used to turn her on, so I’m taking it up a notch, kissing her more fiercely, asking the band in my head to play a quickstep instead of a slow waltz. We fall into the faster rhythm easily. I’m the one leading but she follows me willingly, lets me twirl her around and bend her down.

Oh my, this is wonderful! She tastes like popcorn and beer, and even though I usually detest unsalted popcorn I want more, more, more of it!

I hope I’m not overdoing it again like the last time we kissed, in her room at the clinic, when she pushed me away and hasn’t asked for another kiss ever since.

My misgivings are crumbled into dust when, in an acrobatic maneuver, she pushes herself up and into a kneeling position next to me, her lips never leaving mine. Next moment, I feel her straddle me. She cups my cheeks, then her tongue darts into my mouth and grazes the teeth of my upper jaw. I’m totally overcome with my emotions and act by pure instinct when I reciprocate the kiss hard, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer.

She groans into my mouth and all I can do is groan back. She might’ve forgotten the essentials of her life, but she hasn’t forgotten how to turn me on, that’s for sure. She rolls her hips on my lap and my groin responds adequately. This is getting far too fast for me. If I don’t stop it now, I might not be able to contain myself anymore shortly.

“Oumpf, Scully. Too…much…stimulus,” I manage to hiss through my teeth.

“I noticed,” she replies laconically, rolling her hips once again in a manner the response from my best friend down there isn’t long in coming. When she starts fumbling at the buttons of my shirt, my mushy brain is only able to form one coherent thought: she wants this.

She’s seducing you, Mulder! She’s turning you on, making you totally submissive with her eager ministrations!

I’m in hormonal mode now, completely controlled by my primal desires. I pull the hem of her shirt up and my hands slip under it, making contact with her silky skin. This time, I’m not pulling back.

She gasps, and it feels me with glee that I’m obviously not the only one losing control here.

“Touch me,” she whispers into my ear while nibbling at my earlobe.

“Where?”

“I hoped you were going to show me what I liked,” she murmurs now into my mouth again.

Your wish is my command, woman!

I cup her breasts and squeeze them gently through her bra. The way she whimpers sends a shiver through my spine all the way down to my groin.

Is this really happening? Is this leading to where I think it’s leading? The signals she’s sending out definitely point in that direction.

I stop for a moment, wanting to offer her a way out if she feels she’s taken us too far. “Are you sure you want this, Scully?”

She looks at me, and what I see in her eyes reminds me of our very first time, when she looked at me the exact same way. Her expression is full of calm serenity mixed with curiosity, determination, and…yes, want.

“Show me how we used to make love, Fox,” she breathes, her voice low and raspy.

I bet my grin is as goofy as it can be.

My prayers have been answered, I’m finally allowed to show her how much I adore her. But not here, not on the living room couch. I want to do this right, not rush through it like a horny teenager which had long been kept at arm’s length. I want to take my time, savor her. I want her to feel loved and desired, to fully understand the essence of our relationship, what we had before she was taken.

I make her slide off of me, take her hand and lead her upstairs. I know she doesn’t like to be carried.

When, after we’d gotten married, I was about to lift her up to carry her over the threshold of the motel room, she laughed at me. “Seriously, Mulder?” she said when I bent down, “you’re really considering to carry me over the threshold to a low-budget motel room right in this one-horse town in the middle of nowhere?” I have to concede it wasn’t a very romantic retreat, not in the least worthy of the occasion, but I had a freshly signed wedding certificate in the inside pocket of my suit jacket and I had just spoken my vows to the woman I had called my touchstone once, I was in a maudlin mood and I wanted to be a traditional groom and carry my beautiful bride over that goddamn threshold. No way she would let me. And she wouldn’t let me carry her over the threshold to our house when we first move in either.

Now we are facing a threshold again, and I don’t mean just the one to our bedroom. I hesitate, the question of whether to lift her up or not being the last of my problems.

Am I taking advantage of her in a currently weak moment? Have I started it all in the first place with stroking her hair at the end of the movie? What if it’s too early and she’ll regret it tomorrow morning? Will crossing the piece of timber under our bedroom door right now be a step too huge?

I’m still racking my brain when she squeezes herself past me, holding my hand and pulling me inside with her. She takes my other hand and leads me to the bed, taking slow steps backward. When her calves hit the wooden frame, she sits down and makes me step between her legs. I get down on my knees to be at eye level with her, I don’t want her to stare at the bulge in my pants.

My misgivings aren’t gone completely just because we’re past the door, but I’m beginning to believe she really wants this to happen and a wave of anticipation and arousal washes over me. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” I ask her.

“From how you’ve been caring for me these past months, yes, I think I do.”

I bury my nose in the hair behind her ear and take in the mixture of her natural scent and that of her shampoo and perfume.

“God, Scully, I missed you so much.”

“Thank you for letting me set the pace, for letting me decide when I wanted to do this.”

“You are really sure?” I doublecheck, images of thresholds popping up in front of my mind’s eye again.

“Fox?”

“Hmm?”

“Stop talking and show me how much you missed me!”

Bang! All my misgivings are atomized!

If you ask this nicely.

I slip my hands under the hem of her shirt again and place them at her waist, squeezing it gently. She’s so tiny, I can almost span her midriff completely. She sucks in her breath, then licks her lower lip. Our eyes are locked and the intensity of her gaze would’ve forced me down on my knees hadn’t I already been on them. I let my hands travel higher, slowly, sweeping every single of her ribs like a piano player practicing scales until I reach the silky underside of her breasts.

“You used to like when I was doing this,” I say while my thumbs are caressing her there. “Still do?”

“Uh huh.”

Next, I cup both breasts and knead them tenderly, simultaneously trailing feathery kisses from her collarbone up to her jawline, first on the right side, then on the left.

“What about this?” I ask.

“Mmhmm,” is all I get as an answer.

When my lips reach the spot behind her left ear, I hear her voice again which sounds surprisingly calm and controlled now.

“This is nice, but tell me, Fox, did I really like being dressed when you were doing this to me?”

I’m startled for a moment by her straightforwardness, then I silently shake my head.

“That’s what I thought.” She comments my inability to speak with a self-satisfied grin. “So this,” she undoes the last buttons of my shirt, “needs to come off now.”

She pulls my shirt off of me. It dangles for a few seconds from her outstretched hand, then she lets it fall carelessly to the ground.

She scrutinizes my torso and I’m thrilled to see delight in her eyes. She puts her hands on my chest and slides her fingers up and down and through the sparse hair. The way she bites her bottom lip while she takes in my body makes me crazy. When she whispers “so beautiful” while her paws encircle my breast muscles, I almost come but manage to pull myself out of my precarious condition by pointing out something obvious.

“Now you’re a bit overdressed.”

“Any idea how to get even?”

Her voice has inherited a playful ring I haven’t heard for the longest time but isn’t a stranger to me.

“Definitely,” I moan and fumble at the hem of her shirt. I pull her out of it in a quick swoosh and the garment joins mine on the floor.

I sit back on my heels to be able to look at her as a whole, to remind me that this is really happening.

Scully’s sitting right in front of me, on our bed, really and truly sitting there. Her upper body is only covered in a simple white cotton bra, nothing one would call a sexy piece of lingerie, which makes me realize that this is totally unplanned. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips are swollen and slightly parted, and her eyes have this glint I’ve seen in them often at the onset of foreplay.

Pure temptation.

When she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, my heart threatens to stop beating. When she brushes one strap off her shoulder, then the second, letting the garment slide down her arms and onto the ground, I watch her every move as if she was a hypnotist dangling a locket in front of my face.

How is it possible that this woman, who’s been so unsure about herself for the past eight weeks in our mundane everyday routine together in this house, is now so straightforward in the bedroom? Not that I’m complaining.

My eyes must betray me because she asks, “you like them?”

“Oh, yessss,” I rejoice.

She looks down at her chest and shrugs apologetically.

“Aren’t they a bit small?”

“Absolutely not! They’re perfect!”

To prove my words, I scoot over and cup each breast with one hand, enclosing them completely with my long fingers, skin on skin this time. When I begin kneading them, she whimpers.

“Does this feel good, Scully?” I ask.

“Feels okay.”

I beg your pardon? Okay?

I don’t want her to feel 'okay’, although I’m not completely sure whether she’s teasing me or not. I want her to feel amazing, ecstatic, weightless, mind-blowingly good. So I open my book of One Hundred Ways to Seduce Scully.

Chapter One: Start Low-key Roll her nipples between your thumb and index finger. You’ll get a reaction right away.

And there it is! Her back straightens and I see her bite the inside of her cheek in an effort to control herself. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she feels 'okay’…ha!

“Better?” I ask innocently.

“Slightly.”

Yes, this is how I love my Scully! Joining in the game, yet unwilling to yield too quickly. Alright, next move!

Chapter Two: Make Your Intentions Clear Leave your fingers where they are and continue your ministrations to her nipples. Place a soft kiss at her sternum. She’ll tilt her head back to give you a better access.

She’s not disappointing me.

You’re so easy, Scully!

Chapter Three: Add Another Sensation Kiss your way down to her cleavage. Give both breasts the full attention of your tongue. Leave wet trails around her nipples.

The sweet buds instantly harden in response. I can almost hear her curse her body for its natural reaction.

Every stimulus causes a response, Dr. Scully! Gotcha!

“What about now?” I venture.

“P-pretty good,” she admits, her breath a bit more ragged than before.

“Are you interested in finding out what else you liked?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, I’m gonna show you,” I say, gently pushing her back. “Lie down.”

She leans backward until her full body is stretched out on the mattress. Her eyes are two deep pools of blue I want to drown myself in. And I will. Later. For now, I want us out of the remaining clothes.

“Would you mind if we got rid of these terribly annoying and totally superfluous pieces of clothing, Scully?”

“I was afraid you’d never ask.”

I’m not willing to lose any time.

I undo the button of her pants, pull the zipper down, grab the waistband, and slide the pesky garment down. When I’m at her ankles, I take with it the thick woolen socks she wears every evening to keep her feet from freezing. When I fumble at her undies, her hand flies down to stop me.

“Nuh-uh, this is a step-by-step transaction, Mr. Mulder. Your turn!”

No prob!

I’m quick at stripping out of my pants and have no problems at all heading for an advance payment, so my boxers go right with them. I smirk when I hear her take a sharp intake of breath.

I keep myself from saying something, I just challenge her with my eyes. Sure enough, she purses her lips, hooks her fingers into the waistband of her underpants, a simple, unfussy piece matching her bra, and pulls them down. Slowly, inch by inch, just to counter my frenzy performance.

We’re both stark naked now and I can’t but admire her beauty.

Her body hasn’t changed a bit. I’m glad the killer hasn’t left his marks on her, it would’ve been difficult to deal with them. Her milky skin and her soft curves are the same alluring perfection like when I last saw her like this.

I position myself alongside her, propping me up on my elbow, drinking her in from head to toe and back. When my eyes find hers again, I see it has cost her a lot to let herself get ogled like that.

I place my index finger at her throat and let it travel down her chest, between her breasts, past her belly button, before I come to a rest on her belly. My hand is big and almost covers her entire abdomen. “I’ve seen you like this many times, Scully. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed, just a bit…nervous.”

Not good. I don’t want her to be nervous, or maybe even anxious. We were always relaxed in bed, playful, open for fun and also for experiments. At times, we were even what others might call kinky, but we’d never been uneasy.

After a short moment of confusion, I realize where her nervousness comes from. She doesn’t know what to expect, she can’t remember our interplay, how we do foreplay or our favorite positions. Hell, she can’t even remember what she preferred, what she’d asked me a thousand times to do to pleasure her. I have got the drop on her, knowing the do’s and don’t’s of our lovemaking by heart, and I haven’t really given a thought to how intimidating this must be for her. For her, it’s like being with me for the first time, and I remember how nervous I was on our first night.

I bring my mouth to her ear, tickle the fine hair behind it with my breath before I whisper, “Tell me what you want, Scully. You know what you like, you don’t need me to tell you. We can stop here, if this what you want, or we can go on. Whatever you ask for will happen.”

She licks her lower lip, then chews it. Oh boy, she definitely is nervous.

“Scully, we were never shy to voice our fantasies in bed, we don’t have to start now. Just tell me how you want this to be done. I’ll be fine with whatever it is. I feared I’d never be able to make love to you again, so this is already so much more than I allowed myself to hope for. Don’t think I can be disappointed, I can’t.”

“I,” she starts, but her guts instantly abandon her.

“What?” I ask, hoping I sound calm and patient.

“I want…connection, Fox. I don’t need passion tonight, or ecstasy. I don’t need to come. All I want is to be as close to you as I can. I want to feel you…in me. I want to feel us. Us together. That’s all I want. Does that sound stupid?”

What else can I do but smile at her? This woman is so lovely and so sweet, so incredibly touching in her honest confession. I place a kiss on her forehead and assure her, “not at all. It makes a lot of sense.”

I see the tension flow out of her body like air out of a balloon, and I curse myself for having overseen it in the first place. This is going to be a night of endearment, of kissing and cuddling, of comfort and secureness, and of nothing else.

I don’t know how long we explored each others’ bodies, how long I drew circles around the little dimples at the tip of her spine, how long she stroked up and down my chest with her fingertips. I don’t know how often I kissed her or how much time I spent fondling her breasts. All I do know is that from a certain point onward, things got a little out of hand. Our kisses became fiercer, our touches more passionate. Scully entangled her legs with mine and pressed her body so close, I could feel every muscle of hers flex. With her hungry tongue in my mouth, I pulled her on top of me. The weight of her body on mine, her breasts poking into my chest, I reached for her sweet little tush and squeezed the firm flesh. It made her hips buck, which in turn made my best member respond. She noticed, of course, but she didn’t pull back. She intensified the kiss, devouring me, moving her body over mine to increase the friction between her skin and mine.

I’m at a point now where I can’t control my instincts anymore. In one quick maneuver, I flip us over putting me on top, completely overshadowing her small frame with my body. My face is hovering above hers. She looks at me with bright, unclouded eyes, rendering me motionless, and I’m losing myself in the infinite depth of her pupils. I don’t see any doubt in them, no hesitation or insecurity, and still, I ask, “Are you sure?”

We both know what I’m talking about. She whispers a soft yes accompanied by a short nod, I settle down between her legs, and then, not exactly planned when I started the preparations for this movie night with placing the popcorn in the microwave, but wonderfully so, we are one, the connection she said she wanted finally established. It doesn’t get any closer than this, she, taking me in, and I, filling her up. This is us, and it feels so good.

“Mmmulllderrr,” I hear her hum, every syllable of my name rolling off her tongue like honey off a spoon. The sensation in my lumbar region mixed with what my acoustic nerve passes on to the synapses in my brain leaves me in a state of absolute bliss.

What? What did she just call me?

Any effort of further cognitive evaluation of her words is thwarted by what she’s doing with her hips. I don’t have enough blood left in my brain to be able to put two and two together as it travels down South at lightspeed. They way she clutches me, inside and outside, won’t let me last very much longer.

Too. Much. Stimulus.

“Scully, take it down a notch, will ya?” I beg.

“HmmmmmulderMulderMulderMulderrrrr,” she purrs her response.

I try to control my arousal with a few deep breaths through my nose. In vain. She just pushes too fiercely to allow me to calm down, clutching my waist as if her thighs were a vice, obviously not willing to slow down, not even a tiny bit.

“What are you doing to me, G-Woman?”

“I’m feeling you,” she murmurs full of elation.

As by a miracle, I’m able to gather my thoughts for a split-second to reply, “nothing has changed, Scully. You mean the world to me. You are my world.”

And as we gaze at each other, our bodies go for what they long for, the final release. It doesn’t need much more than one or two hip rolls from Scully to send us both over the edge. I close my eyes and stars are bursting behind my eyelids, the sensation so strong and overwhelming, it lets my limbs shake uncontrollably in the wake of my orgasm. She said she didn’t need to come tonight, but she is indeed coming right now. I feel her fingernails sink into my back, her thigh muscles flex, and her inner walls contract. A deep moan escapes her throat and I hear her heave a satisfied sigh riding out her high.

It takes me several minutes to regain consciousness, so it seems. I inhale and exhale a few times to steady my heartbeat. Sex with Scully has always been terrific, but this experience tonight is unparalleled. It was so much more than just satisfying a physical lust, not that I ever complained when it was. Tonight has been a spiritual experience almost, and I’m still a bit dazed.

“That was…surprising,” she states, still a bit out of breath.

“I didn’t overpower you, did I?”

“No. I wanted it.”

“It was very intense, that’s all I can say.”

“Very.”

“You called me Mulder.”

“I know. Not on purpose, it just came out of my mouth. It felt right.”

“Right?”

“Uh huh.”

Silence, then she starts speaking again.

“Mulder,” she croons with her eyes closed, “this whole thing between us feels so right.”

She opens her eyes and hypnotizes me with her gaze. I’m still hovering above her, trying to keep my weight off her resting it on my elbows which are propped up beside her sweaty ribcage.

She’s about to say something big, I can see it. My heart is pounding in my chest and I think I’m holding my breath. I look at her face and try to read in her eyes what she’s going to say to me, asking myself simultaneously whether I’m prepared for what I’m going to hear.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

I’m not!

Breathe, Mulder! Breathe!

“I don’t know whether it’s the old feeling coming back or a new one developing, all I can say is that I’m falling in love with you.”

“That is…that’s…it’s just…God, Scully,” I stammer and kiss her, “you’re making me a very happy man!”

She smiles, but something is bothering her. Her eyes flutter nervously and she licks her lips.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her.

“What if my memories never come back? What if I never again become the person I used to be?”

The apprehension contorting her face cuts my heart in two.

“You still are the same person, Scully. You’re my Scully. You just have to give her time to set herself free.”

“What if I can’t? Ever?”

“Then I won’t love you any less.”

“Are you sure you want to live with a woman who forgot who you were?” Her tone is provocative and challenging as if she wants my answer to be no.

Her tone is provocative and challenging as if she wants my answer to be no.

“If I’m being honest, I have to say that it wouldn’t be easy for me to deal with your amnesia being permanent. Our past is so abundant with an almost infinite variety of events, wonderful as well as dreadful ones. We’ve been through so much together, and it’s made our relationship what it is: extraordinary and one of a kind. I’ve never had a friend I felt so close to, a partner I trusted that much, a soulmate I shared more secrets with, a lover I found more alluring, and a wife I…well, I was never married before. Jesus, Scully, you knew me better than my mother, better than I knew myself.”

“You realize you’re speaking in the past tense,” she points out flatly. “That’s how it’s used to be, Mulder. Not anymore. Nowadays, I don’t know your favorite dish or whether you like to be on top during sex.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not very helpful. There’s absolutely no use in being so hard on yourself.”

“You said it yourself. It wouldn’t be easy for you to deal with me being this person who doesn’t remember what our relationship was like.”

“There are many things in my life that are not easy for me. Ironing dress shirts, baking apple pie, staying away from the X-Files, just to name a few, and yet I manage to get along nicely.”

“But I don’t want to be something you get along nicely with.”

“Scully, listen, I love you. My life is worth nothing if you’re not in it. Just the idea of our paths being separated…I mean, it’s not a valid concept for me, not at all. I don’t want…I can’t…live without you. And I certainly won’t because you’re suffering from a bodily condition that has been inflicted on you against your will.”

“I don’t need your pity,” she shoots back.

I groan, a sudden anger flushing my body.

“You know what, Scully? Actually, you haven’t changed that much. You’re still the same stubborn, pigheaded pain in the neck, who’d rather plow ahead on her own for fear to appear weak or, which God may forbid, vulnerable than ask your best, most intimate friend for help.”

She looks at me with wide eyes, obviously taken aback by my unexpected outburst. But I’ve had it with her feeling of guilt. She’s got nothing to feel guilty about. She’s the victim here. She was abducted, held hostage, harmed, hit on the head, drugged, or whatever, abandoned…why on earth does she think it’s her fault we have to deal with the amnesia?

“Have I really been a stubborn, pigheaded pain in the neck?” she whispers.

“At times, yes, but adorable as such,” I say in a much softer tone than before. Of course, I regret what I said, but this goddamn severity she treats herself with simply drives me up the wall sometimes.

My eyes find hers and for a moment we stare at each other, neither of us daring to blink. It’s me who has to look away first.

“Anyway, who said I pitied you?”

She looks at her hands which she’s kneading so hard I’m afraid she might break a finger. “Nobody,” she eventually admits timidly.

I stifle a heavy sigh. “Right, nobody.”

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she says eventually, “I guess I was being unfair. I just don’t want you to feel obliged to stick around.”

I simply look at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, that’s not really better, is it?”

I shake my head. “Try again.”

She chews her lips, is carefully weighing the words before she lets the cat out of the bag. “It’s not easy for me to be so dependent on you.” She swallows hard, the lump in her throat must be gigantic. I want to take her in my arms and rock her, but I know she needs to finish her line. She inhales deeply before she continues. “But I trust you enough to let myself fall as long as you’re standing behind me.”

“I am and always will be.”

Silence.

We both need a bit to let the weight sink in of what has been said between us. To me, it feels like another marriage vow, and maybe it is. Yes, we’ve actually renewed our vows, promising to be always there for each other, to always sail the storms together.

“Scully, you are familiar with the principle of 'for better, for worse’, aren’t you? Our love for each other is no blue-sky concept, we’ve been together through thick and thin. Actually, times were bad more often than they were good for you since you started hanging out with me, and you’ve stuck around. Did you really believe I’d be wasting a single thought about leaving you? The idea is so odd and so absurd, it makes me want to scream.”

“Really?” she whispers.

“Really,” I answer in the most assertive tone I can manage.

The usual post-coital sleepiness has been swept away by our talk and I don’t feel like lying back down at all. This night is too special, the step we’ve just taken too huge to allow sleep to put an end to it.

“It’s a beautiful night, Scully, not a cloud in the sky. What do you think, shall we sit outside for a while? I make some tea, wrap us in a blanket, and we look at the stars,” I suggest, hoping the idea doesn’t sound too crazy to her.

Her furrowed brows tell me she’s indecisive.

Well, maybe it is a crazy idea. It’s way past midnight and Scully easily gets cold.

“Do I have some flannel pajamas?”

“You sure do. You put them on the top shelf of your closet for the warm season.”

“I put them there?”

“Okay, you made me put them there for you,” I smirk. “I’m always happy to be at service to my adorably tiny wife,” I sweet-talk.

“Wipe that grin off your face, ooze charmer!”

I throw my hand up in the air and remind her, “you started it.”

She smiles. “You’re right. Stupid me.”

As she doesn’t move, nor say something, I have no idea whether or not she’s up for some stargazing or not. “So? Care to join me on the porch swing?” I therefore ask.

She contemplates another moment, maybe only to punish me for having teased her, before self-contained Scully gets the better of her.

“You go downstairs and put the kettle onto the stove, and I get a stool!”

to be continued

[pjstafford]

An Imagined Scene from season 11 X-files

It is familiar sensations for the two agents. They had worked long hours in stressful conditions to save, if not the world, at least a community from an unexplainable phenomena that only Mulder could explain. They had debated each other, joked, communicated silently with adrenaline high, acted in tandem as a team. Now it is over except for the paperwork which will keep until tomorrow. They are in the basement office experiencing fatigue and euphoria; a little slap happy as they relive the moments, discuss the implications, and finally fall into companionable silence. The moments at the end are different than they used to be; awkward still, but with a different awkwardness. For years, the cases would end with each of them dreading the end of the day and going home alone; each of them wishing they were going home together. Mulder used to be so desperate as Scully gathered her things and he begged her with his eyes to let tonight be the night she invited him over. He spent years denying himself carnal pleasure because the only woman he wanted was his professional partner and she wasn't quite ready. He would call her at 11 or midnight just to reassure himself she was safe and to remind himself she actually existed. He thought of her as his long before he had the right to do so. A lot has changed since those days. They, of course, have had sex. In fact they had a child together. They had lived together. They had been passionate, sweet, bored, angry and routine in their love making over the years. They have been neglectful of each other. They were now each other exes. If awkwardness had existed years before, this end of the day awkwardness since they had returned to the X-Files had reached a different level. Scully would take her shoes off and rub her feet. Then she would look up guiltily thinking of all the times Mulder had massaged her feet after a hospital shift without the thanks he deserved. Or Mulder's stomach would growl and she would find herself wondering when the last time was he had been to the grocery store. Saying goodbye and returning to the house he had shared with her was a new type of torture. He didn't even have fish anymore because he didn't know if she would feed them should something happen to him. They sit now in the basement office. They are each glad the case is over, but the excited laughter has given way to the dread of the good-bye. "I guess it's time to go home now, Mulder." Scully keeps her tone neutral and begins to gather her belongings. "Oh, it is time, Scully." Mulder has two different voices. This first sentence he says in his announcer voice which is smooth with consonant sounds crisp and clean. It is the melodious voice which used to make Scully say, during the in between X-files days, he should work recording books on tape. The next sentence he says in his other voice. It isn't a voice filled with emotion but, if you knew Mulder, you know it is the voice he uses when he is emotional and trying to hide it. It is a growl like, deep voice which seems to vibrate in his chest before forcing itself out of his mouth reluctantly. It is a bourbon voice: a voice which betrays his soul. "It is time," he growls now " not to go home but to come home. It's time for you to come back to our home, Scully.". He looks at her with all his emotions plain on his face. She can count the number of times he has made grand declarations of loyalty and love and not use all ten of her fingers. She remembers the last time he did so and how it did not keep her from walking out the door. There will be no grand declarations asking her to return. Instead he wills her to look into his eyes. She has always found it hard not to sink into his gaze. As he has so many times before he communicates all he needs to say through his eyes. She tries to tell herself that she doesn't remember why she left, but, of course it isn't true. She wanted no more of aliens or the search for the truth. She meant it at the time, but it seems ridiculous now that she has joined him again, as a part of her knew she always would, back at the FBI. She has not dealt with her pain at his abduction, of his absence after William was born, of her anger at herself and Mulder for her giving up her son for adoption, of her terror of someday finding Mulder dead again in the woods. She had left him in order not to deal with it. She had tried to run away from it, but it had followed her. In returning to the X-files, she had rushed back head first into the only world where, fight it as might, she truly belongs. In her heart she knows it is not the life she would have chosen, but it was the world of the only man she could ever love and so it is where she fits because he has carved out a piece of his world for her. She sees his hunger for her and feels her own hunger for him. All of those emotions in his eyes and in her heart, but she says only simply. "You are right, Mulder. It is time I came back home." She finishes gathering her belongings. He rises and gestures for her to walk out first. He follows with his hand at the familiar spot on her lower back. At the door they stop. He looks down at her with a smile. She looks up at him and raises her eyebrow. He turns off the light and shuts the door to the basement office. Tomorrow they will return to the world of the paranormal, but tonight there is only one truth that matters.