#scully runs cold and i will not elaborate

[thebidoctors]

scully falls asleep easily and deeply. she also loves throw blankets - because she uses them all the time. mulder has, on several occasions, had a heart attack upon entering her apartment with a key and not seeing or hearing her anywhere. she simply fell asleep under a pile of blankets while watching tv.

[slippinmickeys]

Head Canon AU Mulder and Scully as Archeologist and Scientist at a dig in ruins in the Amazon.

Anon! Thank you so much. I saw this this morning and got that rare inspiration wherein I launched myself at this, and kind of love what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it! (It is unbeta-ed)

1. The University was being cheap. That was the first thing. Piggybacking off the hard work he’d put in: years worth of toil to arrange this meticulously set-up dig. If they wanted to send a team to study advanced medical uses of the vast biome of the Amazon rainforest, they’d do far better sending this approaching medical team into the interior. His team -- his dig -- was practically on the outskirts. The forest around them had already been explored and researched, catalogued and referenced. The real biological finds -- the cures for Alzheimer’s, cancer -- would be found in the unknown, in those places even the aboriginal people hadn’t stepped. The University was being cheap, plunking in a science team on a completely separate mission with his own, just to save some cash. That was the bottom line.

If it hadn’t been so oppressively hot so early in the morning, he might not have been quite so irritated. As it was, he stood on the bank of the river and ran an already sweat-soaked handkerchief over the back of his neck, willing the putting little outboard Evinrude to chug a little more quickly upstream. It was hot and stiflingly humid, and he’d wanted to be at the dig two hours ago, before the heat of the day set in. Too late, that.

The incoming medical team -- if you could call it a team -- seemed to consist of only one person. A short-statured wisp of a woman (if the high, top-knotted messy red bun was any indication of sex) who sat low in the backseat of the approaching riverboat, surrounded by expensive-looking boxes filled with technology that probably wouldn’t operate well in the humidity. He blew an irritated raspberry and shuffled his feet in the muddy squelch of the riverbank.

The stout block of the driver hefted a rope at Mulder as they approached, which Mulder caught easily and wrapped around a nearby tree.

“Tudo vai bem?” Mulder inquired as the man cut the engine and grunted an affirmative.

The passenger stood, keeping a hand on the side of the little tin vessel, its stern fishtailing out into the current. Mulder stepped up and held out a hand, which she grasped gratefully. He pulled and she took a confident leap, landing lightly on the ground next to him.

“Dr. Mulder, I presume?” she said on a light breath, looking up at him with a small smile, having to crane her neck to do so. She had astonishingly blue eyes, a color he’d only seen once, in an ice-cave in the far north. He shook his head after a moment and realized that he was still holding her hand. He dropped it, nodding.

“I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you,” she finished, quoting the journals of Henry Morton Stanley.

Mulder outright laughed. He was smitten immediately.

2. “Be careful with that!” she’d barked, as Langly handed out her equipment to a couple of waiting locals that had been working on the project for three years.

Mulder held up a calming hand.

“You’re working with archeologists, Dr. Scully,” he said softly, “my team has the gentlest hands in the Southern Hemisphere.”

She quirked one side of a grin at him even as she threw a worried look over her shoulder at her equipment.

“Come on,” he said, giving her sleeve a gentle tug, “let me show you around.”

He showed her the latrine first, watching her face carefully for a reaction, but she just nodded nonchalantly and kept walking. Then the mess, and the tent where she’d be working when she wasn’t in the field.

“And this,” he said, taking her to an empty patch of jungle, “is where your bunk will be. My apologies that it’s not set up. There’s no female barracks and we were told you wouldn’t be here until next week. The radio communique we got this morning informing us of your arrival came as something of a surprise.”

“I’m eager to get started,” was all she said in response.

Mulder walked on and she followed him.

“I’m afraid the only empty cot is in my tent,” he said sheepishly. “Dr. Byers headed home for a funeral last month and we’re not expecting him back until March. I’ll be sure yours is set up right away, but takes some time as we have to build a platform first. Have you done jungle field work before?”

“I flew here from Borneo,” she said. “It’s not a problem.” With that, she flipped back the tent’s outer curtain and ducked inside like she owned the place.

She never did move out.

3. Scully’s father had been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer and hadn’t lived long enough to see her graduate from medical school. She would not let it happen to anyone else if she could help it, she’d said. She worked like a woman possessed.

Against all advice, she would march into the jungle alone and be gone for days at a time. When her grad students finally arrived, they couldn’t keep up with her, and she’d frequently leave them at base camp to work on the equipment (which, Mulder was not really that pleased to report, did have a tendency to malfunction in the miasmic humidity and heat of the Amazon basin. It wasn’t, he admitted, that easy always being right). Occasionally she could be talked into taking one of the local hires with her, but she felt bad taking workers that Mulder’s project funding paid for, and anyway, they weren’t trained in her science, she would tell him.

“I wish you wouldn’t go out on your own,” he murmured into the cup of her ear one night, a trickle of sweat running from her hairline and onto the tip of his nose.

She turned on the cot, a feat, considering its fairly narrow dimensions, and pressed her forehead against his, the flimsy pillow damp beneath them both.

“I’m careful,” she whispered, and threw a leg over him, her dewy mons pressing into the naked flesh of his thigh.

“It’s not safe-” he began to protest, but she’d captured his lips with her own and he fell headlong into the lush heat of her -- whatever concern that had been on the tip of his tongue lost to her rapacious mouth as it trailed a slick path down his torso and latched, vitae and greedy, around the rigid length of him. It was bliss. She was bliss. If he had ever thought he knew love, he was wrong.

4. The whole camp knew they were together. Her tent had become a kind of catchall storage area, and it’s not like nylon canvas could contain the breathy moans of their pleasure. That and she’d just plunk down and sit on his lap whenever the only camp chair available around the mess tent was the one with the tricky leg.

Anyway, what happened in the field stayed in the field, unless it was up for peer review.

“Are you guys going to get married or something?” Mulder’s newest grad student asked one night when the air had actually cooled enough to take the edge off of everybody’s temper. Beer had arrived with their latest resupply and Frohike had syphoned off some LN2 to cool it and it was frosty and rich and maybe the best thing Mulder had ever tasted aside from Scully’s skin.

Scully, from atop his lap, merely shrugged and took a leisurely sip of brew. Mulder pictured it sliding down her throat, the cold blooming into her belly and he dry swallowed, then leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

“God, don’t be such a newb,” drawled Langly, pressing his glasses into his face compulsively.

Mulder knew what Langly meant. They’d all seen their share of field romances that fizzled the second your boots stepped back onto University soil, though something about Scully felt different; the way their minds worked together, the way she felt in his arms.

“I’m married to the job, bro,” Scully said, but reached back and squeezed the skin just above Mulder’s hip. He kissed her shoulder again.

“D’you tell her about the helo data?” Frohike asked, looking at Mulder from his own camp chair. The little man sat low and back in it with his shoulders hunched up, and Mulder thought he looked a bit like a toad, or an ogre guarding a burial mound.

They’d gotten the funding from a billionaire alumni to fly a helicopter over the whole of the basin in this sector of the Amazon, using light detection radar. Basically, it shot out billions of lasers as it flew overhead that were able to penetrate the rainforest’s canopy and map the landscape below.

“You had a chance to analyze it?” Scully asked, craning her head to look at him squarely.

He nodded, smiling. He’d been saving this to tell her especially.

“And you were able to combine it with the satellite data?” she asked, excited.

He nodded again. “Sóis,” he said, smiling. The settlements they’d found took their name from the Portuguese word for ‘suns.’ They were round villages, all with remarkably similar layouts, with elongated mounds circling a central plaza. When seen from above, they looked like the rays of the sun. “Pre-Columbian.”

She jumped off his lap, spilling half her beer in the process. It dripped down the bare skin of her knee, unnoticed.

“Are you kidding?!” her excitement made him giddy.

“It gets better,” he said, and she cocked her head, waiting for him to elaborate. “They’re laid out like the cosmos,” he said, giving her a full-watt smile as he rose out of the chair to stand in front of her. “We’re already plotted three different villages, all laid out in the exact design of southern constellations.” Her mouth dropped open. “Canis Major, Hydra, and Crux Australis.”

She launched herself into his arms, practically squealing -- something he’d never heard her do -- and he held her, looking around at the smiling faces of the other scientists in the mess. The find would make his career, and her excitement for him touched him profoundly.

5. Martim, one of their local hires, came careening into camp, breathing so hard he had to put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His face was a mask of anxiety and fear. Mulder felt dread bloom in his gut, and he dropped what he was doing -- actually dropped the computer tablet he was holding to the wet forest floor -- and ran over to the man, grasping him firmly by the shoulder.

“Martim?” he said, “O que aconteceu?”

“Dr. Scully,” the man heaved, his accent thick. He could still scarcely breathe.

“Where is she?” Mulder didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to translate from English. “What happened?”

“Hurt,” the man wheezed, “she’s hurt.”

It took nearly thirty minutes to assemble a rescue party, and they had to let Martim rest for a bit and give him food and water before he could take them back out into the jungle where he’d left Scully. Mulder was beside himself by the time they finally started off, impatient as a recalcitrant child, sick to his stomach with worry.

It took three hours to hack into the area where she’d been doing her search, and a further twenty minutes of calling her name before they heard her weak call back.

Mulder raced ahead without thought to obstacle or danger, and skidded to a halt when he was practically on top of her. She was leaning back against the base of a large tree, holding onto her right ankle, which she had elevated on her left knee. There was a length of rope beside her and a climbing harness around her butt and waist.

“Scully,” he panted, falling to his knees beside her.

She smiled at him weakly, her face pale and sweaty.

“I think it’s broken,” she hissed, pointing at her ankle.

“What happened?” Mulder asked, as the rest of the rescue party trundled in behind him, pulling off backpacks and other equipment. Someone handed Scully a bottle of water.

“I saw a fungus I’d never seen before growing on the bark midway up this tree,” she said after guzzling half a bottle of Arrowhead. “The carabiner failed on my descent.”

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder said, reaching out to tuck a damp lock of titian hair behind her ear.

“I got the sample, though,” she said with a tired, but victorious glint in her eye.

They weren’t back into camp until well after nightfall.

Mulder picked her up from the field stretcher and carried her into their tent, depositing her gently onto her cot. Langly came in behind him and handed him two fresh cold packs before ducking back out without a word. Mulder popped them to activate the chemicals and pressed them gingerly on either side of Scully’s ankle.

“I’m going to call for a medical evac,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, grabbing at his hand and squeezing it. “Mulder, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Scully, we’ve got to follow protocol here,” he said, trying not to sound put out.

“Do not take me out of the field, Mulder. Promise me.”

“Scully-”

“Promise me!”

“How will you even work?” he said a little desperately.

“It doesn’t need setting or surgery,” she said, gesturing to her injured limb.

“How do you know that without an X-ray?”

“I’m a medical doctor,” she said, by way of explanation, “I can secure it with supplies we have on hand. I can work from my cot for a few days and make crutches out of tree limbs. Please, Mulder,” she said, and he could feel himself relenting, even if it would get him in trouble. “Please.”

He sighed, and she smiled up at him weakly, though he didn’t say a thing.

“Thank you,” and closed her eyes, relaxing into her pillow, “thank you.”

Six weeks later the canvas of their tent ripped back and the greenish glow of leaf-filtered sunlight shone into the murky, damp depths. Mulder rose from where he was resting on his cot and looked to the entrance. Scully stood there, armpit resting on her improvised crutch, her hair a rich autumn frizz around her head. Her eyes were wide and shining, and there was something incandescent about her in that moment -- an energy pulsing from her that lit his soul from within.

“Scully-” he started, but she held up a hand to silence him. Her hands were shaking.

“I found it,” she said, her voice breathy with the triumph of discovery, “Mulder, I found it.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Here and Now

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Rating: Mature

Words: 2198

Read it here on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

May 25, 2021

Farrs Corner, VA

8:45pm

She stood at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater as she cleaned up the remnants of dinner. Music poured softly from the smart home device on the counter, a mix of Kasey Musgraves, Blake Shelton and Jason Aldean in what Mulder called “evening music.” She’d never been a fan of country, but this sultry, soulful version was a far cry from the twangy pickup truck tunes that she had previously been exposed to and she was surprised to find that she liked it. A new song started, “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton, and she smiled; it was one of her favorites. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, allowing her hips to sway slightly as the words began.

Used to spend my nights out in a barroom

Liquor was the only love I’d known

But you rescued me from reachin’ for the bottom

And brought me back from being too far gone

Maybe she liked this song because it reminded her a bit of her relationship with Mulder. Not that either of them ever had an inclination for drinking in their sorrow (thankfully) but because they’d saved each other time after time. As if on cue, she felt his hands at her waist as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back flush against his front. He swayed softly with her, not speaking, his chin resting on her head.

You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time

“She asleep?” Scully asked, her hands scrubbing the perimeter of a pot.

“Mmhmm” Mulder hummed, his thumb brushing against the underside of her breast.

At 2.5 years old, Missy, or Samantha Margaret Mulder as she was legally named, was a bedtime resistance champion if there ever was one. Her requests for a drink of water, a trip to the bathroom, socks for her cold feet, or help with a blanket that had fallen off were endless. One or the other of them would sit outside her bedroom for upwards of an hour each night until she succumbed to exhaustion and passed out just inside the door, or on the floor of her closet, or once wedged up on the windowsill. A precocious child with strawberry blonde hair and hooded hazel eyes, she never wanted to miss out on anything and thus could not be bothered with unproductive things such as sleeping. Mulder had more patience for her antics than Scully did, tenderly marching her back to her tiny toddler bed over and over, kissing her plump cheeks and singing one more song. Her most popular request was “Fools Rush In” by Elvis and she would beam as her Daddy sang “I can’t help falling in love with you,” punctuating the ‘you’ with a gentle touch of his fingertip on her nose. The exhaustion of parenting a toddler in their 50’s was overshadowed only by the sheer joy she brought to their days with her inextinguishable curiosity and clear intelligence. Of course, every parent thinks their child is the smartest one in preschool, but in Missy’s case it was true.

Scully rinsed the pot and set it on the drying rack before she pulled the plug and let the water run out of the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel and turning within the confines of Mulder’s arms to face him. She reached for his shoulders as they moved their dance to the middle of the kitchen, his hands traveling down until they found her hips, pulling her close as his lips brushed her ear and sung the next verse in his gravely baritone.

I’ve looked for love in all the same old places

Found the bottom of a bottle’s always dry

But when you poured out your heart I didn’t waste it

‘Cause there’s nothin’ like your love to get me high.

He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes soft and dreamy, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. She pushed up onto her toes and met his lips in a kiss. At first it was chaste, but when she slid her tongue against his bottom lip he sighed and slipped his hands lower to cup her backside, deepening the kiss and rocking his pelvis against her gently.

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the bottom of the stairs. Still embracing, they turned to see Missy’s rumpled form in her Frozen pajamas, a stuffed Bigfoot in one hand, her hair wild.

“Hey Magpie, what’s wrong?” He asked her. Having named her for both their sisters and Scully’s mom, his options for nicknames was endless and he did not let the opportunity go untapped. On any given day he might call her Missy, Miss thang, Sam, Sammy, Samwich, Maggie, Peggy or his personal favorite, Magpie.

“I heard somefing in my room” she whined, rubbing a fist over one sleepy eye.

“Come here, sweetie” Scully called to her, and she shuffled over to them where Mulder scooped her up on his hip and returned his other arm to Scully’s waist. Scully put her hand on Missy’s back and the three of them resumed the dance, swaying softly with Scully’s head resting on Mulder’s chest, where she could gaze at the sleep-dazed face of their daughter as she leaned against his shoulder.

And you’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey I stay stoned, on your love all the time

As the last chords of the song faded out, Mulder placed a kiss on the top of Scully’s head and pulled away from her.

“I’ll go get this one back to sleep” he murmured, and she could see that it wouldn’t be a difficult task as Missy was already dozing in his arms. She listened to the creak of his feet on the stairs and sighed contentedly before turning off all the lights, locking the doors and heading up to get ready for bed herself.

When Mulder returned, she was lying on top of the covers reading a book, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. He stripped off his jeans and tossed them into the laundry basket before nestling in beside her, his head on her shoulder.

“What cha got there?” He asked, but she knew that it wasn’t an actual question, just a signal that he wanted her attention. Closing the book, she set it on the nightstand and folded her glasses neatly on top.

“Do you think she’s down for the night?” Scully asked as Mulder rotated so that he was perpendicular to her, his head on her belly so he could see her face. She reached a hand up to stroke through his hair.

“I think so, yeah. She was pretty much asleep when I put her back in bed.”

“That child” she remarked, shaking her head.

Mulder smiled. “I know, she’s impossible, just like her mother.”

Scully’s eyebrows lifted in mock offense. “Excuse me? I love sleeping, she gets that from YOU, sir.”

Mulder scrunched up his mouth “hm, you may have a point there.”

They held eye contact, smiling fondly at each other for a beat.

“I don’t know how you do it, Scully.”

“What, parent? You do the same thing, Mulder.”

He shook his head slightly against the fabric of her T shirt. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“You just get more and more beautiful. You’re even more beautiful now than you were when I met you.”

She chuckled and gave him a doubtful look. “Mulder, I was 28 when you met me. I don’t know about you, but I remember what my ass looked like at 28, and it was definitely better than it looks now. Let’s not even mention my breasts.”

“I would actually very much like to mention your breasts, which are, as they always have been, exquisite.” As he spoke, he pushed her T shirt up to reveal her chest, drawing a pink nipple between his lips and eliciting a moan from her throat.

“So you’re saying” she continued, her breath growing ragged around her arousal “that if 28 year old Scully walked in this room right now, you wouldn’t go for her instead of 57 year old Scully?”

He let her nipple slip out of his mouth with a little smack. “Well, I doubt that 28 year old Scully would be down to get freaky with 59 year old Mulder, but no, I wouldn’t.” He moved to hover over her, his knees on either side of her thighs. “I might try to talk you two into a threesome, though.”

She laughed and he dipped his head to kiss the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

“No shade to 28 year old Scully, I was a huge fan of hers, but she hardly ever laughed. 57 year old Scully laughs a lot, and I like that.”

“Well, 57 year old Scully is pretty damn happy” she replied, her hands running up and down the broad expanse of his back.

He lifted his head to look at her, a dopey smile on his face. The adoration in his eyes moved her and she felt a lump form in her throat.

“I love you so much” she whispered hoarsely, moisture welling and blurring her vision.

He didn’t respond, just kissed her with all the feeling of the thousands of kisses they’d already shared, and the thousands that never made their way to their lips due to distance, or fear, or stubborn refusal to admit that they wanted to. He pulled her to sit up so he could free her of her shirt, removing his own swiftly, their bare chests pressing together as he kissed her again, their tongues dancing between their mouths in a practiced synchrony. There was no longer urgency in their movements, the desperation of their coupling now ebbed into the languid cadence of a love that you know will never fade, not again, not ever again. Not with Missy asleep down the hall tying them to each other inextricably, not with William out there somewhere as a testament to all they’d been through. Not with the knowledge that there was nothing in this planet or universe that could come between them, not really.

She lifted her hips and he slid her leggings and panties down before pushing off his boxers, settling between her legs as his erection grazed her belly. He moved his hand down to touch her, moaning at her slickness.

“You still get so wet” he growled against her shoulder.

“28 year old Scully got this wet thinking about you too, she just didn’t have the luxury of you in her bed” she replied, grasping his ass and pulling him into her.

“All she would have had to do was ask” he teased, removing his hand and thrusting against her, his length sliding through her wetness.

She put her hands on his face and pulled him away to look at her.

“I wouldn’t change it, Mulder. Not if it meant missing this.”

“That makes two of us” he said as he found her entrance and slid into her, no need for hands to guide him to the place he knew better than his own body.

She hummed and they began a slow rhythm, kissing for a while until he lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder to deepen his angle and she gasped.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be this flexible, Mulder, you’d better enjoy it” she panted.

“Oh I plan to” he replied, increasing his pace until they were lost in a sea of sighs and hushed moans, staying quiet a newfound skill after years of no one being close enough to hear them. She came first, stifling her cries against his shoulder as she pulsed around him, and he followed her shortly thereafter, gently releasing her leg and then rolling to curl up behind her as they enjoyed the afterglow.

She was starting to drift off to sleep when she heard the distinct snick of Missy’s door opening.

“Your turn” Mulder mumbled into her ear and she groaned, throwing his arm from its resting place on her hip before she grabbed her robe and rushed out to the room to get to her daughter before she made it into their bedroom.

After a trip to the bathroom and a drink of water, she was tucking a sleep-laden Missy back into bed, finding her Bigfoot stuffie and slipping it under her arm.

“Mama, sing a song” she requested, rolling on to her belly.

Scully rubbed her back softly and began, woefully off-tune though that never seemed to bother Missy.

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was an old friend of mine. Never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine. Joy to the world, all the boys and girls. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me.”

[admiralty-xfd]

the whole truth

The epic Diana Fowley saga is here! 

I’ve posted the first chapter here, but you can read the entire thing on AO3. PLEASE read my author’s notes if you’re skeptical about this story. I promise, it’s all about the MSR.

“I have lived with a fragile faith built on the ether of vague memories from an experience that I can neither prove nor explain. 

When I was twelve, my sister was taken from me, taken from our home by a force that I came to believe was extraterrestrial. This belief sustained me, fueling a quest for truths that were as elusive as the memory itself. 

To believe as passionately as I did was not without sacrifice, but I always accepted the risks… to my career, my reputation, my relationships… to life itself.”

-Fox Mulder, “The Blessing Way”

prologue

She should have known from the moment she first saw them together that she never stood a chance.

She’d suspected it for a while. Call it women’s intuition. She hadn’t let many men into her life over the years but she knew Fox Mulder well, and from the moment she met that other woman she felt a cold chill wrap around her heart; a sense of inevitability, a sense of doom.

A sense of loss.

Knowing that loss intuitively was very different than witnessing it with her own eyes. She’d once again been losing the man she already lost years ago, piece by piece, ever since he came back into her life. Seeing him with the woman she now knew he truly loved only dug the knife in deeper.

On every other occasion she’d seen them together they tried to hide it; from each other, from themselves. But here and now, alone in this corridor where they thought no one was watching, she watched. And she saw.

She saw Agent Scully’s hand on the back of his neck, her other on his stomach, and she saw Fox’s arm around her waist. She saw her struggling to support his weight; a woman so petite she had to use every ounce of her strength to keep him upright. They were grasping onto one another like actual, physical lifelines. She saw love. She saw devotion.

And she saw trust.

It might not have been simple from the inside, as these things rarely are. But from the outside looking in, she’d never in her life seen two people so wholly immersed in one another.

Her own relationship with Fox had never been clean or simple. But she now realized it had never mattered. She now knew the one thing he’d needed from her above anything else was the one thing he never had: trust. And she could never truly give him that, because no matter what either of them wanted, no matter how much she loved him, everything between them began as a lie and now he could be absolutely certain of that; he’d read her thoughts. He knew the truth. Neither of them had much choice in the matter.

The grainy surveillance photographs in her hands were visual confirmation that her chickens had indeed come home to roost, that everything she’d struggled for over the past decade had been worth nothing in the end, nothing at all. Her own moral compass had been out of whack for so long it was hard for her to know which way was up anymore, what she was doing for herself, for Fox, for the project, for the world. She’d fought for a way out of this existence, but failed. In doing so she had chosen Fox’s fate, all the while believing he’d have chosen the same.

Would Fox have chosen this? She’d hoped it was true; she’d hoped that the truth they’d both sought for so long was worth all of this, worth everything. 

But she’d been wrong. He was worth more to Agent Scully than proof, than truth, than answers... than any of it in the end, and that made all the difference. 

Diana Fowley felt the tight grip of strong fingers curl around her shoulders, forcing her to look at the photographs of Agents Mulder and Scully escaping the facility with the keycard she had provided. Forcing her to feel her heart breaking all over again. 

What she’d done in the end for Fox was right, she knew that much. But it was too late for her now. And she would pay dearly this time.

Chapter 1: The Lie

THE MAJESTIC

ALEXANDRIA, VA

DECEMBER 1987

She spied him across the bar, two, maybe three drinks deep already. Twirling a long strand of dark brown hair around her finger, she sipped her Manhattan and formulated a plan of attack.

She got up and moved until she was two seats down from him, not glancing in his direction, and asked the bartender for another drink. She didn’t budge until she was certain the young man’s eyes were on her, and that task didn’t take long.

Her head swiveled and she smiled, her eyelids at half-mast. He grinned back. Works every time. Men were so insanely easy to work, it was a fucking marvel women weren’t running the world by now. 

It was the first time she was seeing this one’s face clearly. He looked slightly drunk; his hair was mussed, and his tie was undone. His sleeves were rolled up to the crooks of his elbows and she pegged him as a lonely man who didn’t spend much quality time in the company of women, at least, not much of the kind of quality time she was seeking this evening.

It had been a few weeks since she’d gone out looking for this kind of company, but he seemed to fit the bill nicely. He was a few years younger than her, and she could tell by his eyes that he was intelligent. It was a talent of hers; looking into another person’s eyes told her pretty much everything she wanted to know. 

Most importantly for her purposes, she noticed, he was drop dead gorgeous.

“Hi,” he said. She smiled. 

It was her favorite opening line.

“Rough day?” she asked. It felt apropos. 

He turned back to his drink, which was clear, whatever it was, and picked up the glass, shaking it. The ice jangled like an alarm bell.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied. 

The bartender set a fresh drink in front of her and she lifted it to her lips. “You’re right, I wouldn’t know. I’m only here for the scenery,” she smirked.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t a ‘thing’ for me, typically. I’m not much of a drinker.” He smiled warmly at her. 

She felt comfortable, she felt safe. She figured he was being honest; he didn’t seem like your typical drunk in a bar.

“Me neither, it’s just… been a day.”

“Oh yeah, you too?” he grinned. “What’s a woman like you doing in…” he trailed off, gesturing around.

“... The nicest bar in the city?” she finished, smirking again.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckled, a bit abashed. It was a nice establishment, nicer than most. Alexandria wasn’t the worst place to go to a bar alone.

“Um… you know. Work… stuff.” She rarely elaborated on her work with men at bars. Quite frankly, most of them were too stupid to understand any of it. The more attractive they were, the less interested they seemed. She was here tonight for only one reason.

“What is it you do?” He looked genuinely interested and she liked him instantly.

“Mostly research,” she lied, smoothly. She wasn’t about to tell a stranger she actually worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. “I study criminology, and other social sciences.”

“Criminology?” He looked surprised. “Are you a detective?”

“No,” she answered quickly. It wasn’t technically a lie, but she still felt guilty for misleading him. “Just research. Studying human behaviors and such.”

“That sounds… very interesting.” He narrowed his eyes at her. She believed he meant it.

“Can I buy you another drink?” she asked him.

“A modern woman,” he said. “I like it.”

She grinned and scooted over until she was next to him. She gestured to the bartender, who obliged, setting another glass of whatever it was he was drinking in front of him.

“How about you? What’s made your day rough?” she inquired.

“I’d actually rather not say, if it’s all the same to you,” he said, making a face and holding his glass up. She didn’t mind at all. The less personal stuff she knew about him, the better.

“Fine by me,” she replied and clinked his glass.

“Maybe we can talk some more about you,” he said with a smile that made her melt a little bit. Just a little bit. Everything was going exactly the way she’d planned. The only hiccup was that, for some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she kind of liked him. Maybe too much.

She grinned, taking a sip of her drink. “If you say so.”

She hooked her toe behind his calf and eyed him, not wanting her intentions to be misunderstood. It was brazen, but so was she. He was attractive and he liked her; she had no reason to look any further tonight. And his own eyes locked onto hers as he wordlessly agreed.

***

The door flew open in a flurry of activity; her mouth pressed against his and his keys falling to the floor. Pieces of their clothing were discarded one by one and through her mind ran the mantra this is not smart, this is not smart. It had only taken an hour for her to realize how much she had already developed a fondness for him. Even though she was here to do exactly what she came to do, she was worried. 

“I don’t usually bring strangers home with me from bars, I think you should know,” he murmured against her neck. 

She looked past him into his apartment, taking note of what she saw. It appeared to be a typical ‘single guy’ apartment, the difference being the clutter. Most men she let take her back to their places had very few possessions, either a remnant of some bad breakup or a product of limited imagination. This guy’s living room was absolutely full of books, papers, and a plethora of materials that surely crowded every corner of his mind as much as they did the room. It didn’t look unclean, just untidy. She smiled at the knowledge she’d pegged him right: he was smart. And lonely.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he suddenly said, pulling back and looking around, his hand going to the back of his neck. He glanced behind him. “I wasn’t expecting company. To be honest, I rarely have… company.”

She took his face in her hands, regarding him. She already knew he was attractive, but there was something in his eyes that drew her in deeper. She was entranced by his intellect; she had been all evening. He’d listened to her and responded with genuine curiosity. He wasn’t like the other men she typically met in bars. It was strange and captivating and she knew she should resist but she could not.

It was for this reason she reminded herself tonight had to be about sex. Just about sex.

“I don’t know your name,” he said. “I’m Fox-”

“Don’t,” she shook her head. Names would make it harder. But then she had to ask. “Fox? Really?” For some reason this strange name only made him more attractive to her. “How’d you end up with that one?”

“Wish I knew,” he laughed. 

“I like it,” she admitted. She did. “Fox.”

And with that, he led her into the bedroom. There were no more words. It felt as if they had an unspoken agreement this would be about tonight, about right now. It was the way she wanted it, the way she always preferred it. 

Usually she would leave right afterwards. But this time, after it was over, he pulled her into him close and she let him. She felt oddly compelled to stay next to him all night. It was probably a mistake, as nearly every part of her was telling her, but she didn’t listen.

When she awoke he was lying on the other side of the bed, sprawled comfortably, and she watched him sleep. She wondered if perhaps she’d sold this one short. Their bodies had agreed, and he fascinated her, he aroused her own intellect. She softly ran her hand across his brow and his eyelids twitched. 

This could be something, really something.

But then her thoughts turned back to her work. It was where she defaulted when things got too difficult, too personal. She had her reasons for keeping things simple.

She slid out of the bed and gathered her clothes, putting them on piece by piece, completely unashamed of this particular walk of shame. But before she could reach the front door he appeared in his bedroom doorway.

“Leaving already?”

She sighed. “I have to get home.” He approached her, pulling on some sweatpants.

“Did I… do something to offend you?”

Poor thing, she thought. He hasn’t done this before.

“No, I had a great time,” she replied. “I just… have to go now, okay?”

“Can I at least have your name?” He looked so disappointed, standing there. Hair tousled, his naïveté dangling on the sleeve he wasn’t wearing. She’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t so goddamn attractive. Surely he’d bounce back.

It was harder to leave than she wanted it to be. And for that reason, she opened the door, looked back over her shoulder, and before closing it again she smiled at him, offering just two parting words. 

“Goodbye, Fox.” 

WASHINGTON, D.C. FIELD OFFICE (WFO)

601 4TH ST NW

FEBRUARY 1988

Weeks passed, and Diana poured herself into her work. Losing herself in the world of the fantastic was the best escape possible and she felt fortunate she had the freedom to do so. 

She had a degree in psychology and had completed her FBI training, trying her hand in both instructing at Quantico and working in the field. But she soon realized her talents and expertise could be better utilized in other ways; so she became an Intelligence Analyst. 

Luckily, this was the perfect job for her to explore the things that interested her most, namely the human brain and its many mysteries. Generous donors had supplied her the means to do so where many others at the Bureau could not. She was a self-admitted workaholic, and although she enjoyed her work immensely, it was quite stressful and filled her life to the brim.

Time passed and she filled her days with the work and her nights with thoughts of the work. Most of the time these thoughts were undisturbed. But snippets of a one night stand that had ended too abruptly would occasionally resurface. 

After she left that apartment he’d been reduced to two words: the fox. And at the back of her mind there existed a burrow, a small space that was dark and deep and dangerous. It was where the fox lived and held on. 

She thought about that night with him a lot. Too much. She hadn’t been affected this way by a man in a long time and it bothered her that she couldn’t let this one go. 

She told herself it was ridiculous; that even if she had space in her life for a relationship, the timing couldn’t be worse. And it wasn’t as if she could find him again anyway, even if she wanted to. She felt a bit guilty for leaving him alone that morning and she certainly didn’t enjoy thinking of that sad puppy dog face he wore as she walked out the door.

His name rolled over and over again through her mind, however, and she clung to that. Fox. She wondered about him, and wondered if he ever wondered about her. 

One afternoon in her office, as if her thoughts were somehow being projected out into the universe, as if some cosmic force were thrusting destiny into her path, she heard a somewhat familiar voice.

“Well, well, well. I guess this must be fate.” 

She was sitting at her desk reading an article and looked up to find the very last person she expected to see. Fox looked more put together in a suit and tie, and his hair was tidy. He cleaned up nicely. A Bureau badge was attached to his lapel and he wore glasses this time, which she found oddly arousing.

Of course. What were the odds of her finding another FBI agent to sleep with near downtown DC? Higher than she realized, obviously. 

“The fox returns,” she said, trying not to smile. “So you work for the Bureau, too?”

“Afraid so.” He didn’t sound upset she hadn’t told him, just a bit confused.

“Are you stalking me?” she asked him playfully, at least as playful as she got. 

“It’s a lot less romantic than that,” he explained, holding up a case file. Her name was written on a post-it note attached to the front. He gestured to her own badge. “I guess you’re my consult.”

“It really is fate, then,” she said, pleased to see him in spite of herself. 

“How long have you worked at the field office? Shame we’ve never bumped into one another.” 

She shrugged. “I’m a private person,” she said by way of explanation. “And besides, who says we haven’t?”

“I think I’d have remembered you,” he grinned. “You really know how to hurt a man’s self esteem, by the way.” 

She could tell he was joking, that she hadn’t really insulted him when she’d left him that morning. Judging by his behavior, he hadn’t been pining away or anything. It made him even more attractive to her; which was extremely inconvenient.

“I’m sorry about that, it wasn’t anything personal,” she explained quickly. “I just… I don’t do relationships.”

“I get it,” he said. “I’m the same way. Married to the Bureau?”

“You could say that.” 

“It’s okay,” he said coolly. “Anyway, I got what I wanted.”

His comment took her aback. She glared at him, but his eyes softened. “I meant your name,” he clarified, pointing to the post-it note, flashing his thousand watt smile. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Would it be all right if we introduced ourselves properly?”

She sighed, remembering how quickly he’d made her feel at ease in their prior encounter. She felt powerless against his rampant charm. “I’m Diana. Fowley. And you’re Fox.” She enunciated the name slowly, deliberately. She liked the way it felt on her tongue.

“Fox Mulder,” he told her. He extended his hand and she shook it. 

God, he was handsome. It struck her that it was the first time she’d shaken a man’s hand after that same hand had been so intimate with her body. 

“So, that really is your name?” she asked, glancing down at his badge.

“It’s not something I’d lie about.” He wandered slowly around the desk towards her. “Chopin?” he asked, noting the calming piano concerto spouting forth from her cassette deck.

“It helps me concentrate.”

He grinned. “I’ve always been partial to Bach.”

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to have the date they didn’t really have last time. She wanted to put a stop to it but she didn’t. She couldn’t help herself.

“How is it you came to know so much about classical music, Fox?” 

“You can call me Mulder,” he said. “I actually prefer it.”

She didn’t.

“I went to school at Oxford,” he explained. “I used to go… well, my ex used to take me to concerts at the Sheldonian. It grew on me.”

“Handsome and Oxford educated? You’ve got quite the list of credentials.”

He shrugged. “I don't usually put out all my credentials on the first date. But I think you and I are past that.” He grinned at her and his eyes sparkled; the same eyes that had drawn her in last time and she knew she was treading in dangerous waters.

“We aren’t on a date.”

“You’re right, we’re not,” he conceded. “But we could be.”

“So what did you come for a consult on, Fox?” she asked, pushing past his proposition and finally facing him, arms crossed in front of her.

“I’m a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We have a convict being re-evaluated for mental competency, due to some claims he’s made that defy explanation.”

“Such as?” She was intrigued. Things that defied explanation were her weakness. Handsome men talking to her about the subject were even better.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” she smirked.

He shrugged. “Psychic abilities. How does that grab ya?”

She removed her glasses and folded them, placing them in her coat pocket. She leaned back in her chair. “I’ve seen some patients display remarkable aptitude for clairvoyance, precognitive behaviors, even psychokinesis. There have been extensive studies on the phenomenon. While it’s still considered pseudoscience, it seems to be within the realm of possibility.”

Fox gaped at her, a small grin curving up either side of his mouth.

“You… believe in that kind of thing?” he asked.

“I’ve seen too much not to believe it.”

He looked at her in wonder, his eyes bright and engaged, seemingly speechless at her revelation. “I guess they sent me to the right person, then. How do you know about all this stuff?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly retracted. “I don’t mean- I just mean, they sent me to see an Intelligence Analyst that specializes in psych. I’m just surprised you’re even interested in the paranormal.”

“I have a background in parascience,” she explained. “It’s not something the Bureau utilizes much, but it comes in handy from time to time, I suppose… Whenever all your other avenues have been exhausted.” 

Again, he seemed at a loss for words. “I find the subject fascinating, actually,” he said, that same tone he’d used in the bar creeping back into his voice.

“Do you?” She’d never had a man claim an interest in the paranormal to get into her pants. It was oddly refreshing.

“I do,” he replied. “It isn’t often I run into someone who would entertain such possibilities. It’s… refreshing.”

She interpreted his wording as yet another sign this man was somehow meant to be in her life. She believed in lots of things, including fate, and she was starting to believe in him as well.

“I know what you mean,” she agreed. “It’s frustrating when all the people around you refuse to have an open mind.”

“I was actually just reading about a theory that claims prehistoric evidence of alien astronauts that landed here on earth.” He looked at her expectantly and she wasn’t sure if he was putting her on or not. 

Her eyes widened. “Wow. Do you open with that at parties?”

“Not ones I’m invited back to,” he chuckled. “I was just curious about your thoughts.”

“I’ve read about that, too. I’m honestly not sure how I feel about it. It’s a long held theory, but…” she trailed off.

“...Wildly unpopular?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” he grinned. 

“Mine too, actually,” she admitted.

She smiled back and they looked at each other for a moment. The attraction she’d felt for him before was only growing exponentially, and it unnerved her. Before the feeling could continue for too long she interrupted it by holding her hand out for his file. “Well. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He handed her the file and she flipped through it. “Did you do MRIs? Ah,” she removed them and stood, inserting them into the light box on the wall. She scanned them carefully and then pointed to a small section of the scan.

“This is what we look for in these types of cases, here in the temporal lobe,” she explained. “It’s rare, but it seems to be the common denominator. If you look closely, you can actually see faint activity here.”

Fox leaned in next to her so they were shoulder to shoulder. She wanted to feel uncomfortable, a feeling that was comfortable to her, but instead felt overwhelming contentment. Not to mention he smelled incredible.

“And this is… unusual?”

She nodded. “It’s called the God Module. We rarely see any activity at all here. But sometimes there’s a faint hint of something in patients who demonstrate precognition, or advanced intelligence. It sometimes even shows up during extreme religious experiences.”

“Sounds like science fiction to me,” he winked, but she could tell he was being playful. “You’ve actually seen this demonstrated?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she explained. “Many in my field believe great leaps in science and other achievements were accomplished by individuals with access to this part of the brain. Galileo, Newton, Einstein. All corollaries to this theory.” She indicated the scans on the wall. “Looks like your guy could be one of them.” She leaned closer to the scans. “Luther Lee Boggs,” she read. “If you’d like, I could run a psych eval on him for you.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d offered. She told herself it was because this kind of brain activity was rare and she was lucky to have this case dropped into her lap. But the truth was she really just wanted to see the fox again.

His eyes went dark as he looked at her, predatory. It was then she knew for sure she hadn’t had the upper hand this entire time; that she was indeed his prey, and she was completely helpless. She wanted his case and he knew it. He liked her, and she knew it. 

“Have dinner with me,” he said.

She crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed. “This sounds a lot like extortion.”

“It’s dinner.”

“I told you, I don’t do relationships.”

“You mentioned that,” he said. “But you do eat, right?”

She sighed and shook her head, smiling. “You sure are stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Only when it’s important,” he said. “One dinner. Then I’ll take you to see Boggs.”

Fate, he’d said. Maybe it was fate. As a man, he hit every one of the boxes on her checklist. Physically, she had zero complaints. He was interested in her work, not put off by it. And he was definitely interested in her. 

She looked into his eyes, saw them actively changing color as he watched and waited for her answer, and she knew she was done for. Maybe this could be fun. Maybe he was exactly what she needed. Maybe he could help relieve some of the stress she’d been under.

Maybe just for a while.

“Dinner. Okay,” she agreed.

CAPITOL HILL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

JUNE 1988

Dinner turned into sex, which turned into more dinners, until several months had passed and Diana Fowley found herself in a relationship with Fox Mulder. 

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a partner, whenever she’d allowed herself to imagine one. And although she’d resigned herself to a life alone, she was walking back her preconceived notions. She wanted to be with him, she enjoyed it. They were so alike in so many ways. Maybe they could actually make this work. 

Snapping herself out of thoughts of the fox, she turned her attention to the task at hand. Today was an important day. She was standing in the hallway of the Capitol building, a stack of all her latest research carefully organized inside her briefcase. 

It had been several months since she’d attended a meeting like this one and she was a bit nervous. She wasn’t certain to whom exactly she’d be presenting today, but her grant was due for review and she hadn’t been this anxious since those first few weeks back at the academy years ago, when she knew she was being observed closely.

The freedom to pursue her interests in parascience hadn’t come easily. It wasn’t the kind of subject discussed much among her peers at work. Fortunately, her research had been noticed by people outside the Bureau who mattered. 

She took the stairwell down to the lower levels of the Capitol, to a hideaway office. It wasn’t the Senator’s typical meeting spot, and she was certain it was for the benefit of whomever they were meeting with today. She’d barely been sitting outside the unmarked office door for one minute when it opened and a woman poked her head out.

“Miss Fowley? The Senator will see you now.”

She stood and entered, a bit apprehensive. The office was much bigger than it had a right to be, considering where it was situated. The ceilings were vaulted and the adornments were breathtaking. 

The Senator got up from his chair and leaned over the desk, extending his hand. “Diana, so nice to see you again.”

“Senator Matheson.” She shook his hand, settling down in the chair across from his desk. Behind him was a man she’d never seen before, leaning against the wall with an inscrutable expression on his face and a cigarette in his hand. 

The senator was tall and his hair was graying. When she’d met him a year ago, there’d been an immediate attraction between them and she thought there might have been some expectation of a quid pro quo. It wasn’t anything she considered beneath her; Diana wasn’t one to dismiss using every attribute available to her to get where she needed to go. But the expectation never became reality. Matheson was genuinely interested in her work, always had been, and the funding she received from him had been gratefully accepted. Without his patronage she’d never have had the ability to pursue her work in parascience through official FBI channels.

“I’ve brought some progress reports for you to see,” she said, fumbling inside her briefcase. “I think you’ll be very pleased. I have some new research focused on not only what we know of the brain, but the parts of the brain we know practically nothing about.”

Ever since she began seeing Fox, the God Module theory had been at the top of her research priority list. They’d begun to see psych patients together that exhibited precognitive behaviors, and while Fox found them interesting on a more visceral level, what she often found most exciting was the potential; not only for her own discoveries but for the great leaps in knowledge they presented. 

Senator Matheson raised his hand to stop her presentation. “No need, I’m sure your work has been exemplary.” He smiled, and she was confused.

“Sir? I’m sorry, I was under the impression that this was an evaluation.”

“No, I’ve asked you here because there’s been… a development.”

Diana looked behind him at the stranger, who was eyeing her carefully as he puffed on his cigarette. Something about him put her off balance. She glanced at Matheson, expecting an introduction that wasn’t forthcoming. 

“What kind of development?”

Matheson sat back into his chair. “There’s a group I’m involved with, scientists and researchers in the private sector who are working on projects… experiments, really, that are pushing the boundaries of modern science, psychology… amazing things, Diana. I’ve told them about you, and they’ve taken an interest in your work.”

Diana was surprised, but intrigued. “Oh?”

Matheson leaned forward in his chair. “They’re willing to double the yearly amount of the grant I’ve offered you.”

Double? Diana was floored. Rarely was her field of expertise taken seriously by anyone. Her work was barely tolerated, much less encouraged. “That’s… that’s wonderful, sir. I’m thrilled to hear that.”

“If you accept, you’ll be under a private exclusivity contract with them for the next five years. It means you’ll get to continue your work while at the Bureau just as you have been, only they will direct your research, fund it, and retain the rights to your findings.”

This concerned Diana, as she worked hard for the discoveries she made. Passing off the credit wasn’t something she was eager to do. But it seemed a small price to pay for her to have the resources to push ahead. “I think that...sounds acceptable.”

“Things will be a bit different, however, Diana,” Matheson continued. “You’ll no longer be reporting to me.”

The man behind Matheson stood and moved behind the senator, placing a hand on his shoulder. He reached around to put his cigarette out in the ashtray, took a long look at Diana, and exited the room. She watched the door close behind him. 

“Who was that?”

Matheson ignored her question. “You’ll be contacted by someone soon. But Diana-” she looked back at her benefactor. “I cannot stress to you enough the importance of the secrecy of this work. It’s highly classified.”

She nodded, even more intrigued. 

“You’ll be able to tell no one, not family, friends. No one.”

She hesitated, knowing keeping this from Fox would be difficult. But their relationship was still relatively new, and this opportunity seemed once in a lifetime. Her curiosity won out. 

“That won’t be a problem, sir,” she promised.  “Can I ask… about the nature of these experiments?” 

“The Company will explain what they can. There are limits to your access, at least for the time being.” He pinned her with a look, that look he got whenever he was speaking wistfully of space exploration or American history. She liked Matheson, they shared a certain simpatico. “But I think doors will be opened for you, Diana. Doors you’ve probably been knocking at for years.”

In spite of the strange nature of this meeting, of this entire situation, she felt a flutter in her stomach that could only be the galvanizing excitement of discovery. It was even better than sex. And few things were.

Matheson stood and extended his hand. “It’s a shame to see you go, Diana, but I’ll rest easy in the knowledge you’re in good hands. I only hope someday I find another protogé as worthwhile as yourself.”

She reached for his hand and shook it. “Thank you, sir, for the opportunity you’ve given me in the first place. I’ll always be grateful.” She turned and walked out of the room, determined her life was about to change, that she could be making a real difference someday.

That night when she saw Fox, he asked her how her day was. She said it was good. 

It didn’t feel like a lie.

[gaycrouton]

oh my goodddd i loved your underwear fic and would be so happy if you ever decided to continue it

Thank you so much!! For those that didn’t see it, a while back ago I posted this fic called Lingerie. Here are a few more random bonus takes!

Lingerie Bonus:

I

“Scully?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you wearing your coat?” he asked, finally broaching the question that’d been on his mind for the last two hours. He’d initially not taken much notice, but then he started picking up on the way she kept trying to roll up her sleeves and failing miserably because of the bulk. He’d thought she’d just forgotten until it became overwhelmingly obvious this was a purposeful suffering she was putting herself through. he knew his new partner had some quirks, hell so did he, but this just seemed uncomfortable.

“Um, I’m just a little cold,” she shrugged. That might have passed if it weren’t for the extreme binaries working in the basement in winter came with. In this realm of the building, the heat was always either broken, leaving them to freeze, or it was overcompensating, leading them to boil. This was a boiling day and he was uncomfortable even looking at her.

“Scully,” he repeated accusatorily, not letting the lie slide.

“I’m dressed innapropriately for work,” she replied, letting her eyes fall back down to the paperwork on her desk as if to signal her indifference on the subject.

Every fibre in his body wanted to make a suggestive joke, but he was too worried about her overheating in the name of modesty. “It’s just a paperwork day,” he offered. She didn’t say anything and he followed with a sympathetic, “It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m not wearing an undershirt,” she blurted as if it was a big reveal. 

It wasn’t.

“So?” he prompted, uncertain of what was causing the issue.

“I’m wearing a thin white blouse and a black bra,” she elaborated, still not making eye contact, but not making much progress on the paper she’d been staring at.

Oh.

He laughed sympathetically and did his very best not to imagine what that looked like. “No one ever comes down here but us,” he offered.

She finally looked up at him and she looked like she was carefully trying to choose her words.

Double oh.

“I hope I’ve never made you feel uncomfortable-” he started apologetically. Was she really suffering because she thought he’d just leer at her?

She cut him off immediately as if already knowing what he was thinking. “No, it’s not you, Mulder.”

They stared at each other for a moment before awkwardly laughing off the uncomfortable situation. “I just didn’t want you to think this is how I normally dress. I didn’t even realize how noticeable it was until I took off my coat at security.”

“You can dress however you want,” he offered. At her raised eyebrow he quickly added, “I mean, what’s important is your work. I’d never judge you for whatever you choose to, or not to, wear.” He was digging himself in a hole, but based off her smile, she wasn’t mad.

She stood up and started unbuttoning her coat. “Good, because then I’d have to start being vocal about my opinions on your ties.”

He let out a little laugh before looking down at his current tie with pigs on it. “Hey, what’s wrong with my ties?” he asked before lifting his eyes back up to her.

No wonder she’d been shy. The silk blouse was nearly see through and her black bra was undoubtably visible through it. He’d taken a big glimpse of her back as she hung up her coat, but only saw the two front cups for all of one millisecond before giving her privacy and darting his eyes down to his work.

“Aside from the fact they’re tacky?” she teased goodnaturedly. He could hear the smile in her voice, but didn’t want to look at her and accidentally look down and make her regret her decision.

He was able to keep his eyes away for the whole rest of the day and for that, when the coat was back on her shoulders in preparation for the walk out, she gave him a grateful smile and an appreciative “Thank you, Mulder.”

He was proud of himself for proving that he was a good partner and would never oogle her, but later that night his thoughts kept flashing to that hint of black lace and he remembered a millesecond’s glance can go a long way with a photographic memory.

II

“Mulder! I need your help!”

The bright flash of the crime scene techs make him blink his eyes and wipe a hand over his face. He’d been here once before, when he quite literally kicked her door down to rush to the bathroom and find her fighting with Tooms.

Sometimes he liked to imagine what it’d be like for them to be the average, everyday partners. Would she have ever invited him over for a cup of coffee? Or would he have never seen the inside of Scully’s domain if it wasn’t the scene of a crime?

Wordlessly, passively listening to the ongoing conversations around him that were saying nothing more than abduction, blood, missing, is that her partner? He had to see everything - he had to make sure no stone was left unturned.

He entered forbidden domain without hesitation. Of all the times he imagined being in Scully’s bedroom-

He shook the thought from his mind and glanced analytically around the room. It was as he’d imagined: clean, orderly, feminine, so very Scully. A closet in the corner was cracked open and he mindlessly went over to it. Realistically, he knew it was his memory of her telling him about Donnie Pfaster keeping her in the closet mixed with his desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, Duane Barry was stupid and this was all a misunderstanding and he’d find her there. But, as his heart knew, as soon as he opened the door there was nothing.

Well, nothing wasn’t accurate. This was the closet that she kept her clothes and hamper in, and upon opening it he was met with a strong waft of her scent and all the clothes he’d do anything to see filled again. 

His eye was caught by a cup of a white bra dangling off the laundry basket, caught on the rim by the bridge in the middle and a matching pair of white panties sitting on top of the other dirty clothes. He swallowed thickly and felt a crashing wave of guilt for feeling like he was invading her privacy.

He needed to find her.

III

Either she didn’t hear him knock on the adjoining door or he didn’t hear her tell him to wait. His brain was too overwhelmed in this moment to actually know which it was.

All he knew was that he just walked into see Scully on all fours with her ass in the air towards him as she looked under her bed for something. That in and of itself would have been enough to kill him, but she was currently in the middle of getting dressed and all she was wearing was her underwear. Which, he was eternally greatful for because he may have just died on the spot if not. 

Her back was pale and milky with an intermitten smattering of freckles that reminded him of starlight, but what stood out most in this moment was how round and perfect her-

“Mulder!” she screamed as she completely fell to the floor, as if trying to dissolve into it. Her hands quickly came to her front to cup her breasts as she whipped her head over her shoulder.

He only met her eyes for a moment before snapping them shut and running back to his room, slamming the door behind him. “Scully, I’m so sorry!”

IV

It would be a miracle if he didn’t crash, plain and simple. It was just impossible not to look. 

Scully’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat, a gift he’d forever be envious of, but as she slept she inadvertenly unbuttoned the top button she’d previously had buttoned which opened her blouse down to the front middle clasp of her bra. She was dead to the world, her lips parted slightly as her chest rose with each deep breath. It was just him alone in the car now with the sounds of the seventies and Scully’s sleeping body turned towards him.

Because of course she was.

What really didn’t help was the intermitten groans she’d release as she’d squirm in her seat in an attempt, he presumed, to get more comfortable. Oh, and to add to it all, her skirt was riding up as her hand just innocently rested at the hem. It was a sight that was as endearing as it was arousing.

She made a gasping sound and his eyes left the road to look at her face, which was now accented with a furrowed brow of sleepy concentration. Was she having a nightmare?

His own brows furrowed in concern as he glanced between the stretch of desolate highway and the passanger seat to make sure she was okay. From mile marker 66 to 78, she gasped three times, moaned twice, and readjusted one time that resulted in her brushing her breasts against his arm that was resting on the middle console, and now Mulder was cursing himself for not wearing better pants. 

“-der,” she whispered. He’d heard those three letters together enough to know it was the ending half of him name, but he’d never heard them in quite that inflection. Curiosity started to turn into hopeful understanding as he realized that Dana Scully, his beautiful partner, sounded like she was having a sex dream.

But there was no way-

He glanced at her colored cheeks as she sleepily nuzzled herself against the headrest. Against his better judgement, his eyes darted down to the valley of her breasts and stared appreciatively before she breathily whispered, “Fuck.”

Then, with the timing and grace of a bull in a china shop, he drove over a rumble strip and she woke up with a start. “Wha’s wrong?” she slurred sleepily but alarmed.

“Sorry,” he coughed, readjusting himself in his seat while praying she didn’t see his hard on. “I was looking at a billboard and drove over a rumble strip,” he explained, hoping she didn’t turn around and notice the large expanse of nothingness behind them.

Luckily she was too preoccupied with herself to notice anything else. She started pulling down her skirt and rebuttoning her shirt before squirming in her seat uncomfortably. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, uh-” she started, but stopped herself.

“Hm?” 

“Did I talk in my sleep at all?” she asked nervously.

With her behaviour confirming his hopeful suspicions, he bit back a smile. “No, not at all.”

Extra Bonus

She wasn’t sure if there was a sight more jarring but welcome to her than that of a sleeping Mulder in nothing but his boxers in her bed. It was a sight she’d imagined countless times over, though she’d never admit it, but she didn’t think it would take these circumstances for it to have to happen.

She’d seen his body in an assortment of ways and segments throughout their partnership, but she’d never gotten a chance to really appreciate it up close. It truly wasn’t fair that he lived on a diet of fast food and Kraft Mac and Cheese yet could simply run on occasion and have a body like this, but she was too stunned by it to be resentful. 

This is what he was hiding beneath his clothes every day. Mulder was always kind, gentle, and sweet towards her, but this was a body of elegant strength and power. He wore his masculinity well and she wasn’t saying that jsut because, in her efforts to document his recovery, she’d observed his nocturnal tumesence come and go in flares. 

It just amused her to no end he was sleeping like an angel on the very same spot she’d been in while imagining him with her hand between her legs. 

Though he’d been wearing a little less in her imagination.

[starbuck09256]

The Bed You’ve Made Part 4

conthe ivf works but Mulder is sleeping with Diana.

Part 1 https://starbuck09256.tumblr.com/post/183232727829/the-bed-youve-made

Part 2 https://starbuck09256.tumblr.com/post/183599512139/the-bed-youve-made-part-2

Part 3https://starbuck09256.tumblr.com/post/184118948364/the-bed-youve-made-part-3

Scully waits for him outside the doctors office, he feels her nervous energy until she sees him. It’s almost like she melts, her whole face lights up. He tries to think of Diana and getting to the bottom of what she knows but all he thinks about is Scully's face looking more beautiful than ever. That he is about to hear his childs heartbeat for the first time that the two of them have so many complicated decisions ahead of them, and he grins at her just thinking about watching this life grow inside of her.

“Hey,” he says sheepishly.

“Hi,” she reaches up on her tiptoes to brush her lips across his cheek.

He doesn’t want that, he wants to kiss her, he’s almost lost the sensation of her kiss from a few days ago. He turns and kisses her chastly like she had done just days ago on her perfect plump lips. Her blush is almost as red as her hair.

“Careful a girl could get use to that,” her eyes twinkle with her words and he chuckles looking at his shoes.

“You ready?” he asks gesturing to the door. She wraps her fingers with his and nods as he opens the door for them.

He chews on his lip as Scully starts to undress, he starts to turn away but the zipper on her skirt gets caught.

“Mulder could you umm...pull this down a bit, it seems to be snagged.”

He reaches over she has already taken off her shirt and bra and is covering up her breasts. His breath catches in his throat as he realizes she is wearing a matching set of lacy navy blue bra and panties they seem to be similar to Diana’s but in the same color as his favorite shirt of Scullys. The striking contrast is cosmic. He has trouble breathing.

“These match that shirt you sometimes wear.” he isn’t sure why he says anything maybe it’s because her skin is so impossible soft against his palm, maybe it’s because she can’t stop smiling at him and he can’t help the lingering taste of her lips on his.

“You said that shirt looked nice,” she can barely breathe his hand is stuck on her ivory skin and both of them feel the crack of lightning in the room. Her words dance in his head for a moment before realization hits.

“You bought these because they match the shirt?” his eyes dance up to hers.

She’s looking towards the wall with the computer screen and small chair she slowly nods shallowing hard as she turns towards him. He sits back air whooshing out of his lungs like he ran up 10 flights of stairs. She’s about to admit so much, tell him how she wants a chance for them, that she’s always wanted him, and not just as some donor, she wants a chance to love him like he deserves but as always they are interrupted with a soft knock on the door and the moment is lost.

Mulder stands next to her, eyes fixed to the screen hand holding hers, just like she asked,  as their child not even the size of a lime illuminates the room, they hear a strong heartbeat like a hundred running horses and she is already so in love. As they ask a few questions Mulder asks for extra pictures, and at first the idea thrills her, that he wants his own copies.

He really is going to be involved in everything, but then he asks a series of other questions, investigator type questions. Questions that are designed in introductory investigative techniques to suspects. Her blood boils, does he not think she did her research? That she would trust anyone to give her her true heart's desire. Does he really think she doesn’t have those same doubts of how this worked when all the evidence and numbers said it should of failed? Tears burn in her throat and when the doctor asks if she has any other concerns. She looks up, Mulder is looking down at his feet, tracing a small imaginary line on the floor.

She asks for copies of everything, charts, records, notes, every single thing they have ever written down thought or observed in relation to her care. Mulder turns and looks at her, his eyes meet hers and it is now that she understands that his doubt isn’t his own, or her own. But other forces are involved and all she wants to do is collapse in a dark room and cry. She says nothing, he waits with her, while copies are made she asks for duplicates of everything, as the rain drenched parking lot looms before them she reaches the end of her resolve turning to him with the extra stack of her whole life and shoving it into his chest.

“You don’t think I thought this was impossible? You don’t think I’ve doubted this every single second?” her tears slide down her face mingling with the rain as anger fills her up where joy should be.

“Scully.. I just want to make sure.. Make sure this is what we want, don’t you? Don’t you want to make sure that we aren’t falling into some torturous elaborate plan, that ends painfully for both of us?”

“I WAS THERE” she screams “I was there for every single test, every single minute that this process was done, NOT YOU, Me Mulder, why would they even care?? They burned the files, got rid of the evidence, Nothing is even left in that damn basement but pain and sorrow, and answers we will never ever get.” she is so mad she is shaking as the rains cascades along her face.

He steps back, realization dawned on him. “

You never wanted to get them back did you? After we lost the evidence from Gibson, the basement gone. Is this what this is Scully? Did they finally get to you, is this the deal you took, a child for my life’s work?”

She steps forward challenging him as she always has.

“Our life’s work Mulder, not just yours, OURS, you think I would ever even think of betraying you?” he scoffs biting his lip.

He takes a step back, “I think that you deserve to be happy Scully, truly you do, I think you deserve a normal life with normal things like wonderful children, and I think after everything that has happened and all that has been lost, you might not even realize, that they know that too, how much you long for it, and that you unknowingly have been played as I have been so many times before and I don’t know if either of us can handle the devastation this...this could bring upon us.”

He’s right fuck, he is so right, after Emily she was broken in a way she didn’t even know was possible. She’s already in love with their child, already thinking about the years ahead of them, the sheer joy and happiness, and unwavering devotion. She throws up her hands and steps to him letting her head rest against his chest as his arms incircle her.

“I never not even for one second believed you would betray me.” he mutters kissing the rain drops off her forehead. “I think you have a dangerous chip in your neck, that might have more control then we’ve ever believed. I think that..they know, just how important you are to me.” she sniffles.

“What can we do?” she asks her voice small but her eyes are fierce.

“We can throw them off the scent a bit,” she looks up at him questioning.

“I’m seeing Diana,” she pulls back. Looking past him into the dark clouds.

“I know” she states biting her lip.

“I think she is here to derail us split us up,”

Scully nods.

“But Scully, she is more dangerous and calculating than I ever thought possible, we need to play this so close to the chest. We can’t slip up, we can’t let our emotions dedicate our moves. She is cold and calculating and a master in everything manipulative.” Scully looks at him,

“Is she the one who said I made this deal?”

Mulder can’t help but chuckle. Diana is way too smart for that.

“No, she said that you are the only reason I’m alive and that they are going to use you against me, that I had to be careful to protect you.”

Scully is taken back her words rushed

“Damn, she is .. good.”

“She knows more than she ever lets on, she wants me to meet a contact tonight in Nevada…”

“I should come with you,” Scully now terrified for all three of them.

“Normally I would never want to risk it, you are my weakness Scully... but more importantly you are my strength. I think we need to be very careful about splitting up in the next few months.”

She nods and rubs her face.

“You’re going to be sick of me,” he teases.

She laughs and he kisses her deep with purpose, it’s mesmerizing being kissed by him. As they pull apart he rests his forehead against hers. “Wow,” she smiles. His fingers interlace both of hers.

“Do you have a plan?’ she mutters. Hoping to god he has some idea of what to do.

“Not really, but my partner is brilliant and I’m hoping that on a flight to vegas she she’ll come up with something.” she looks up at him and prepares to follow him to the airport.

@scully-eats-sushi @contrivedcoincidences6 @knuffelkontje@tngbabe@danaedaniels @itsclaucueva @sandymans-world@lappina@postmodernpromartheus @missmelimelis0900 @foxystarbucks@skinny-gillian @gwensghosts @wendyi111 @peacenik0@monaiargancoconutsoy@marinafrenzy @improlificinsarcasm @today-in-fic

[ghostbustermelanieking]

phantom weights chapter two

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose).

---

Mulder and Scully had been put on suspension almost immediately after everything that happened in Norfolk. Two weeks later, they were called back into Kersh's office and told that it was over. The X-Files, all of it. They were officially being dismissed from the FBI.

Scully was quiet, slumped in her chair beside him like a kid called to the principal's office. When Kersh mentioned the story she had leaked on the Internet—accusing Mulder of it first before she softly clarified that she had done it—Mulder looked over at her in a sort of proud astonishment. She said nothing; she had offered him a small shrug and nothing more.

She kept glancing over at Mulder, as if expecting him to lose his mind, to get angry at the prospect of losing the Files, but for the first time in his long, recurring career, Mulder didn't care. He didn't have the energy to keep up the Files anymore; he didn't need them. He knew the truth now, and it was enough to almost make him wish he'd never gone looking. His sister was gone, and he knew there was no use in looking for Jackson—it’s harder to find someone who doesn't want to be found. And he lived with Scully; he didn't have to work with her. They were together and they were alive and they were having a baby, and he was just done. He'd loved his years on the X Files, but he'd also lost so much because of them. He was ready to let them go.

When they got home, they crawled into the couch, her curling into his side, him pulling an afghan over them. “Are you okay,” she murmured, her nose brushing the side of his neck.

He nodded, kissing the top of her head. “It was a long time coming, honey,” he said. “Really. I'm ready to move on.”

She hummed low in her throat, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Never thought I'd see the day,” she muttered dryly, and he chuckled quietly. “I think you're right. I think it's time.”

“I can't believe you leaked some bogus story on the Internet,” he whispered teasingly, his lips to her hair. “That is very unlike you, Dana Scully.”

“It was the only thing I could see to do,” she said stubbornly. “For you and Jackson and… I didn't know what else to do. I wanted to warn people."

“I know. I know. I think you did the right thing.” He squeezed her close, slid a hand down to rest over her hip, her abdomen. She was starting to show, just a little; he stroked his thumb up and down her side. “I'm sorry,” he added softly. He'd said it before and he would say it again; they both had guilt cloaking them heavily, following them like a dark cloud. “I'm so sorry, Scully… for the way that everything went down.” He'd do anything to change it. Anything in the world.

(He missed their son horribly, as bad as he had missed him in the years after they first lost him. The mournful ache in his chest had begun the first time he walked away and hadn't really ended ever since; it had only numbed a bit, and now it was back. He wanted to see his son so badly. He knew that Scully felt the same way. He'd wake up sometimes to hear her crying out, or mumbling their son's name in her sleep, and he would always wonder if she could see where he was. He never asked her, though; he didn't want to put that on her. Sometimes, in a surreal moment that usually began and ended in an headache, he thought that he saw him, but he could never quite tell if it was real or just wishful thinking. He'd seen a thousand different impossible things in his life, and believed in almost all of them, but he didn't know what it felt like to connect with his son. And besides that, he wasn't sure that Jackson even wanted him to see, anyway.)

Scully pressed her face into his shoulder, her hand clutching at his shirt. She mumbled that she loved him. He tugged her close until she was mostly in his lap, her head tucked under his chin, and held tight. “What are we going to do with ourselves now?” he joked. “Now that we don't have our jobs.”

She lifted her head and gave him a soft look, a small smile. Small, but not insincere. “We'll think of something,” she said, the same way she had in that hotel room in Henrico County. He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

---

Scully was sick in the mornings the first few weeks after Norfolk; half the time, he'd wake up to her retching in the other room. They spent a lot of time in bed. She slept leaning against his shoulder, her forehead warm, her sleep restless. She had nightmares often, sometimes about Jackson and sometimes about Mulder and sometimes about the baby—she woke up in tears one time, clinging to him desperately as he wiped her tears away, and she choked out, “I really thought I was going to lose you, Mulder.” She was inconsolable and frantic, still locked firmly in the dream, and he held her tight, emotional and on the edge of tears himself. They were both a mess, at the beginning, the hope they'd felt at that first doctor's appointment largely masked by the grief they'd been feeling since the dock, since the Van de Kamps’ house in Norfolk, since the day that Mulder had walked away from their son and never seen him again.

He did the best he could for her. He made her tea, brought her food, read aloud to her, went into the bathroom when he heard her throwing up and rubbed her back and offered her cold glasses of water. They had nowhere to be and a part of him was relieved. He wanted to be here with her. He held her while she slept and was grateful he had her, if nothing else. She'd always been enough, and he missed their son like crazy, but he still had her. And the baby. He did have the baby.

He hadn't thought about it much, the prospect of another chance at fatherhood. Thinking about it honestly scared the shit out him; he was at the age of retirement, and he was about to be a new parent—up every night when he was already tired, a jungle gym for a toddler when his back and knees already felt like they were constantly about to give out, having to pay for a college fund without actually having a job. And he was equally scared about what it meant for Scully: the reality of carrying a child at her age, the high risk of the pregnancy, the possibility that he would lose them both in the process, Scully and the baby.

But every time his mind went to the dark place, to the worst possible things that could happen, it never stayed there. He couldn't stay there. He couldn't help himself. Despite everything, everything he was afraid of, he already loved this kid with everything in him. More than he could put into words. And despite all of this, everything they had been through, a part of him had wanted this ever since Scully first asked him to be the father of her child, and wanted it still. He loved the baby; of course he loved the baby. He'd loved it from the moment that Scully had taken his hand and put it on her belly. He loved the baby, and he wanted to be a father to it. He'd be a good father, he promised himself. He would be. And he knew that Scully would be an amazing mother. That first day after the doctor, as soon as they'd gotten home, she'd taken out the ultrasound photo and pinned it up on the fridge with a magnet. The way he imagined she'd had pictures of William up years ago, the way that parents had pictures up of their children. She was going to be such a good mother.

One morning, when they were lying in bed together, Scully tucked into his side, her head on his shoulder and her feet intertwined with his, she said, “I want to fix up both rooms.”

“What's that?” he asked lazily, his eyes half-closed, his fingers in her hair.

“Both rooms,” she said, lifting her head. “Both of the guest rooms. For the baby and for Jackson.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. They were nose to nose, her eyes bright, crystal blue and full of emotion. “In… in case he comes back,” she added softly.

He leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose, stroking the back of her head. “I think that's a great idea,” he said softly.

She smiled, just a little, the corners of her mouth upturning softly. “Nothing too elaborate,” she said. “I don't know… what he'd like, but… I want to have something ready.”

He rested his cheek against the top of her head, squeezing her tight. “I do, too,” he replied. “I do, too.”

---

It was well into April, over a month after the ordeal in Norfolk, when Jackson realized that no one had came for him yet.

Ever since he first set out on his own, months and months ago, he'd been running. Each time he thought he had evaded them, every time he thought he might be safe, he found himself nearly getting caught again, having to run or hide and fearing the danger of what would happen if he did get caught. More of what had happened when he was a child, when he stayed in that hospital for nearly six months and experienced experimentation, poking and prodding, until his parents had finally sprung him loose and moved across the damn country in an attempt to get away. He had been followed all his life by this, and it had been even worse since they took his parents. He never really thought it would end. That was why he couldn't be with Bri or Sarah, that was why he gave up on finding any more family after his grandmother shut him out, that was why he couldn't go with Scully and Mulder even if he had wanted to (which he didn't). It was too dangerous for them. People would never stop coming for him and he didn't want to get anyone else killed.

But it was nearly the end of April, and he hadn't seen a single one of those fucking conspiracy drones coming after them. He hadn't had to run for his life yet, or use his weird-ass powers very much. By the end of April, it seemed like nobody was coming for him, at least not to kill him. (Additionally, it seemed like his birth parents probably weren't coming for him, either, a relief in its own sense.)

It was also at the end of April that Jackson began to want to stop running. He never thought he would want to stop living like this, but the shiny newness and excitement had worn off immediately. (What little there had been considering his parents had been murdered, that is.) He was tired of it, of all of it: the fear, the dirtiness, the exhaustion. The loneliness. He couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand it anymore, but he had no way to stop running. He didn't have enough money to stop running. He wasn't even seventeen yet, and he didn't know where he would go if he stopped running. He couldn't afford a house or an apartment. He could get a job, but he didn't know what place would hire a sixteen year old with no work experience. And even if he got a job, he still probably wouldn't be able to afford a place for a while. Not on a minimum wage job with barely any money saved up. He could keep sleeping in his car, he could keep playing the lottery, but he was sick of that kind of instability. He wanted somewhere permanent to stay.

It was impractical, he told himself again and again, but he couldn't let the idea go. He never thought he would be so homesick, but he found himself longing for the security of four square walls. He wished for his bedroom, for his old house, nearly every single night, but he knew that wasn't possible. But he was thinking about what might be possible, and his mind kept lingering over the idea of getting an apartment. He'd be seventeen in about a month, and he thought he could probably get a good fake ID made. All he would really need is a job, and the money to put down an apartment.

The idea stuck solidly in his mind, until it became clear that he was going to do this one way or another. All he had to do was decide where. Norfolk wouldn't work, but he still thought he might like to be close to Sarah.

It was a couple of days before he remembered that Sarah rode the bus to Richmond on weekends for music lessons. An avenue where he could hopefully grab a few hours without her parents or sister getting in the way. That seemed to settle it for him.

Jackson went to Richmond. He looked for affordable apartments on the edge of town and found one he thought would actually work. The landlord believed him when he said he was nineteen, and didn't ask too many questions. It seemed perfect, aside from the large security deposit and rent for the first month. He didn't see how he could afford that and food until he got a steady paycheck (he'd need to get a job first), aside from either stealing it or winning the lottery again, and there's only so many times you can win the lottery before attracting attention.

He couldn't think of any solution aside from the obvious one. There were two people who would probably be perfectly willing to give him enough money to rent a place of his own. He was guessing they'd prefer he just move in with them instead, but he was sure if he played his cards right, he could get the money. He figured they'd be jumping at the opportunity to help him, considering all the grief and guilt he'd seen in them.

But a part of him was still stubborn, recoiling at the idea of having any contact with his birth parents. He knew that the smoking fucker wasn't his birth father, which was honestly a relief, but that didn't matter in the long run. No matter how much they clearly cared for him, he couldn't engage with these people. It was a betrayal to his parents, his entire family. He'd told Ginger that he wished he could know her better, but he wanted to take it back now. He couldn't deal with the expectations, the grief, the guilt over his parents, wondering what they'd think if they knew he was interacting with his birth parents. He didn't need them, he told himself. He would be perfectly fine without them.

Jackson told himself this over and over again, but the decision didn't stick. It was one more night slept curled up in a ball in his car, freezing cold, that made the decision for him. He had to get his own place, and this was the best way he could see to make money.

He'd just ask them for money, he told himself. Nothing more. Nothing more. Just money, and then he would be done with them.

---

Jackson drove to Farrs Corner the next day. He knew how to find them without giving them any idea he was coming. (He knew Mulder could hear him some now, which was a weird experience; he was used to only Ginger being able to hear him. But whatever the case, he didn't want them to know he was coming. That'd only make things harder.)

It was an hour and a half drive, and he spent most of that drive with anxiety compressing his chest, his ribs. How the hell was he going to do this? What if they saw through the charm, the manipulation? Would they even do anything about it? What if they wanted him to stay? Of course they'd want him to stay, but how the hell was he going to say no? He knew what Mulder was like—the guy had hugged him right off the bat, for fuck's sake—but he didn't know much about Dana Scully. Didn't know much beside the things he had been seeing from her his whole life.

What the hell was he even supposed to call them? Was he supposed to refer to them by their last names? (Well, they did do it to each other. He sure as hell wasn't calling Mulder “Fox," that was for certain. And maybe if he used their last names, it'd be like drawing a line in the sand. We may share genetics, and a weird X-Men mind connection, but I am not your son. Not anymore.)

He was thinking about the time when he was five. They'd had to draw a picture of their family and talk about what they'd gotten from their family. Who they looked like, or who they acted like. It was a screwed-up assignment, but Jackson hadn't known that then. All he'd known was that he didn't look like anyone in his family, and he probably didn't act like them, either. Because he was adopted. He'd never know where he came from. But he knew, at the time, that he wanted to.

He was dreaming about Ginger sometimes (although he didn't call her that yet), a pretty woman with red hair who made him feel warm and safe inside. The way his own mother made him feel. He wanted to know who she was. He maybe even wanted to find her.

So that night, he'd walked into the living room and climbed into his mom's lap, put his head on her shoulder and said, “I want to look for my real parents.”

In retrospect, he was possibly more tactless as a five year old than he was now. (Although maybe not.) At the time, he hadn't seen anything wrong with what he said. But his mom's face had paled, her eyes wide as saucers. Jackson understood now: her son had uttered the words that are every adoptive parents’ worst nightmare.

“Y-you mean your birth parents, honey,” she'd said, more gently than he probably deserved.

Jackson had nodded. “My teacher says we gotta talk about our family in class.”

“Jackson, sweetie…” His mom rubbed nervous circles on his back. “We're your family. Remember? We talked about this. Just because we didn't give birth to you, or don't share any genetics with you, doesn't make you any less our son.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “But I'm someone else's son, too.”

His mother had taken a trembling breath, as if trying to compose herself. “Not exactly, honey. Your birth parents are not your parents, not like Dad and me. They might've given you up because they couldn't take care of you, or to give you a better life…”

“Or not!” Jackson said stubbornly. “Maybe they gave me up because it's super dangerous, and they didn't want me to get hurt, but they're still coming back for me someday.” He didn't want to believe that the woman from his dreams would give him up because she didn't want him. He wanted her to come for him and give him a big hug and tell him how much she loved him, just like his mom did all the time.

His mom sighed. “I think that's unlikely, Jackson. Now, sweetie, listen… I know this is a difficult subject for you to discuss… but it's unlikely you're ever going to get to meet your birth parents. Now, I'm sorry about that…”

“I could if we looked for her!” Jackson nearly shouted, slipping up. He didn't mean to refer to the woman, to Ginger, directly. He'd never told his mom and dad about her. He liked to think he had a birth father out there, too, someone else who loved him and missed him, but all he knew about for sure was Ginger.

His mom was still talking. “... know it's difficult, but you know how much your dad and I love you…”

“But they're my parents!” Jackson yelled.

“No, they're not,” his mother said, nearly wailing or screaming, or maybe in a quiet slip of a whisper. Jackson couldn't quite remember. He didn't think he wanted to.

He did scream. He remembered that. He screamed at the top of his lungs, and the room seemed to shake the way it always did when he got mad. The window by the couch had given a sickening crack, a spider's web of cracks forming on the glass. His mother had begun to cry, slipping off of the couch and out of the living room. Jackson had felt sick to his stomach. He hated making his mom cry.

Later, when she came to apologize for losing her temper, he apologized first, clambering up to hug her around the neck and whisper, “I'm sorry, Mommy. You're my real mommy.” He didn't stop thinking of Ginger as his other mom until years later, but he almost never brought her up around his parents after that. And he never called his birth parents his real parents again.

His mom and his dad were his real parents. He was a Van de Kamp. He'd grown up with them. He was his parents’ only child. They'd named him Jackson after his dad's father, his grandfather, who died when he was four. He'd spent his entire life with them. They were his family. (But remembering the way his grandmother slammed the door in his face made him feel like they weren't. Like he'd been booted out as soon as his parents died. It made his stomach roll with nausea.)

Mulder and Scully's driveway was long as shit. He had to get out of his car to drag the gate open, and then back closed again. Halfway up the driveway, he had to stop. His head fell forward, pressing into the steering wheel. He felt like he was going to cry. He didn't know if he could do this, but he had to. He had to. He needed this apartment, this security. He had to do it, but the guilt was choking him, his throat tightening. He pressed his forehead into the steering wheel and whispered, “I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so, so sorry.”

His mom did not answer, because he was not Haley Joel Osment, and he couldn't see dead people. But if they were watching him somewhere, somehow, he wanted them to know. “You're always going to be my real parents,” he said firmly. He sat up, his eyes squeezed shut, and gripped the wheel with both hands. “Always. Okay? But I have to do this. I have to.”

He rubbed a face over his face, as if to scrub away his tears. He took a deep breath and threw the car back into Drive.

---

Jackson stood on their doorstep, his hands tucked in his pockets, the doorbell still ringing in his ears. He heard footsteps inside, and it was enough to make him almost bolt. But he forced himself to stand still, took a deep breath.

The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door, the knob turning. It opened to reveal Scully on the other side, looking small in an oversized, frayed sweatshirt that read Oxford on the front. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, her mouth hanging open, shocked. She didn't move.

He offered her a sheepish shrug, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. “Um, hi,” he said. “Scully. Erm, Dana. Hi.” Ginger, he added silently. She looked the way she had in the dreams he'd tried to forget.

Scully made a choked sound in the back of her throat and stepped forward, throwing her arms around him. She squeezed him tight, a hand rubbing his back (the way his mom had years and years ago, when they were talking about his birth mother). She was shorter than him, his birth mother, and it was startling. “William,” she whispered in a trembling voice, and he bit back a flinch.

He was thinking of being five again, thinking about the woman he dreamed about, about whether or not she was his mother. And here she was, hugging him and rubbing his back like a mother would. But that wasn't his name. “You and that Mulder guy… you sure like to hug,” he said, his arms still at his side. Scully didn't move, didn't loosen her embrace.

Mulder appeared at the door, his eyes wide and teary. He choked out his name—Jackson, he called him Jackson, at least—and threw his arms around both of them, a hand on the back of Jackson's head.

Jackson stood there awkwardly, tense. He thought about his parents again, and had to bite back a sob. “I, uh,” he said tightly. “I'm okay, you know. I'm fine. I promise.” The least he could do, he guessed, was reassure them.

Scully sniffled loudly and let go, stepping back with Mulder. He had a hand at her back, and they were both looking at him with the softest fucking eyes. He had to look away. “You're… you're okay?” Scully repeated, her voice full of worry.

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand frustratedly through his choppy hair. That was what he got for cutting his own goddamn hair, an embarrassing haircut. “Yeah, yeah, I healed. I'm okay.”

“I saw you… get shot,” Mulder said cautiously.

He shrugged again. “I dunno what to say.”

Scully cleared her throat, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Do you… do you want to come in?”

“That'd be great,” Jackson said, which was true. “I've been sleeping in my car for two weeks, and the AC is very broken.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a quick, guilty look, as if they didn't know what to say that. They stepped back into the house and Jackson followed them, standing awkwardly in the threshold. The three of them stared dumbly at each other for a long moment.

He started because he didn't really want them to start. Didn't want to hear how much they missed him or loved him. He said, “I, uh, I came here because I wanted you to know I was all right.” He didn't know whether or not it was a lie. He really didn't. “And I had a favor to ask of you,” he added.

They exchanged another look, Mulder's hand on Scully's shoulder. “A favor?” Scully repeated.

“Yeah.” Jackson rubbed at the back of his neck. He offered them a forced grin, a pathetic effort to be friendly. He figured he owed them that. “Things have slowed down a lot since last month, and no one's really chasing me anymore. And so, uh, I'm gonna get a job in Richmond. I want to be close to Sarah, but her parents don't like me, so I can't live in Norfolk.” He swallowed hard. He felt like he was rambling. “So I'm gonna get a job and an apartment in Richmond, and I'll see her when she takes the bus on the weekends to her music lessons. But see, uh, I have to put a security deposit down on the place I want to rent. And I don't have enough money…”

“So you want us to help you with the security deposit,” said Scully. Her face was unreadable. He couldn't tell if he'd hurt her feelings or not. Mulder was giving him a wary look, but neither of them looked mad. He couldn't tell what they were thinking. He didn't know that he wanted to know.

“Yeah,” he said. “If that's okay.”

Neither of them said anything. They were both just looking at him. He couldn't tell what they were thinking.

“Richmond isn't far from here,” Jackson added, a little desperately. “We could… see each other every now and then. Remember I said, I want to know you better?”

He felt bad even as he said it. He felt manipulative and small. But he didn't know how else to do this. He didn't want to stay with them. But he felt bad doing this. He felt their anguish both nights they thought he was dead, he knew how much they cared, even if he couldn't return it. He was torn, on the verge of taking back what he said and reassuring himself that he couldn't, that he didn't want to get too close. He had no idea what they were thinking, and he was considering an apology, when Scully suddenly said, “Okay.”

Jackson blinked with surprise. “Really?”

She shrugged, looking up at Mulder. “If… if that's what you want, sweetie… we want to help you,” she said. Her voice trembled only a little bit.

Mulder nodded. “It's the least we can do,” he added quietly.

Jackson gulped. He thought that a part of him hadn't really expected them to say yes. He thought a part of him might've been expecting them to insist that he stay there with them. He was shocked and grateful all at once. “Okay,” he said. “Uh, thank you. Thanks a lot.” He offered them another smile, the closest to a real smile he could give.

---

Their son was in their living room. He was watching TV on their couch, draped lazily over one arm. His eyes had lit up, just a little, when Daggoo had come running in, and so now Daggoo was sitting on the couch with him. He was watching some sitcom, and hearing the sound of his laugh every few minutes was a sort of relief, a reprieve. Mulder kept looking at Scully when Jackson laughed, as if his laugh reminded him of her.

It was the first time Scully had really seen him—not on camera or in photos, not in hazy visions, but him. And he looked like Mulder. He looked just like Mulder.

They were making sandwiches in the kitchen when Mulder pulled Scully aside into the hall, and whispered in her ear, “Are you sure about this, honey?”

“No,” she said with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “No, I'm not. But what are we supposed to do, Mulder? Tell him no?”

He sighed, too, and shook his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You're right,” he whispered.

“If we refuse to do this, we've basically alienated him,” Scully whispered. “This may be the way we can connect with him. Even if it… involves buying him an apartment an hour and a half away.” She wasn't blind. She knew that everything Jackson had said was blatant manipulation, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was going to be able to see her son, talk to him, maybe even spend time with him. See him after today. She could hold onto the hope that he might be a part of her life, a part of the baby's life. His little sibling.

Mulder wrapped his arms around her, his hands wet from washing the tomatoes. “I think this is going to work out,” he whispered. “I… I hope this is going to work out.”

“I hope so, too.” She kissed his cheek and squeezed tight before letting go. “I hope so, too.”

Back in the kitchen, she cobbled together a sandwich for Jackson, layering meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes, cut it in half, and carried it out into the living room. Jackson was bent over Daggoo, scratching his stomach and whispering to him. But he straightened immediately when Scully entered, his face turning a little red. “Hi,” he said sheepishly. “Uh, thanks.” He motioned to the plate.

“Oh, of course,” she said, handing him the plate. She gave him a smile that she hoped was warm and sat down in the chair across from him. Jackson was eating ravenously, as if he was very hungry, and the sight of it made her hurt inside, wondering what he'd been eating, if he'd been eating enough. She hated that he'd been alone out there for so long.

“I was thinking, Jackson,” she added, as Mulder came out of the kitchen to join them, sitting in another chair. “We have some… furniture in storage. A couch, some chairs, a table. A bed, even." All the things from her old house that they hadn't had space for. She hoped Jackson wouldn't ask about the furniture, because she didn't feel like explaining the breakup. She continued, "If you wanted to have those things for your apartment…”

“Yeah,” Jackson said, nearly blurting. “Yeah, that'd be great. I don't remember the last time I slept on a real bed.” He laughed nervously.

A lump was building in Scully's throat. She swallowed it back and said, “We’re glad to.”

“We can rent a U-Haul, drive down tomorrow,” Mulder added. “Talk to the landlord. Maybe we should give him a call later.”

Jackson's head hung forward loosely, his eyes downcast. “We could… go today,” he offered. “If we could get a U-Haul today. I think the landlord and I have something of an understanding that I'm getting that apartment."

Scully bit back a flinch. She didn't expect this to happen so soon. “If you're… ready,” Mulder said uncertainly.

“I think I am,” said Jackson immediately. Like he couldn't wait to get out of their house. He was scratching Daggoo's belly, his tail thumping against the side of the couch happily. “You know. The sooner, the better.”

Scully took a shaky breath and said, “Okay.” She forced another smile, getting to her feet. “I'll call the storage unit,” she said. “See if we can pick up the stuff today.”

“Okay,” Jackson said, nodding.

She felt Mulder's hand on her wrist, like a reassurance. She went into the kitchen to get her cell phone, passing the fridge, where they still had the picture of the ultrasound, pinned up next to a new picture. One of herself and Mulder and William—Jackson—asleep on her bed, the night they'd brought him home. The sight of it made her want to cry. She wondered if Jackson had see the photo, either of them. She didn't know if he knew about the baby, and she didn't want to be the one to tell him. She picked up her phone and dialed the number of the storage unit.

---

They somehow made it to Richmond and had Jackson all moved in by that night. It happened so fast Mulder could hardly believe it. Trip to Bethesda to get the furniture and the U-Haul, drive to Richmond, paying the landlord, lugging Scully's old furniture up the stairs to Jackson's dinky little apartment. It hurt Mulder a bit, to see that furniture; it was the sign of another member of his family living somewhere without him. He and Jackson carried the furniture up, and he refused to let Scully help, giving her a stern look that made her shake her head and smile ruefully. Jackson didn't seem to notice.

As painful as the entire day was, a part of it was magical. They were spending time with their son. He drove up separately from them, but he was with them during the move, and they managed a few awkward exchanges of conversation. He kept seeing things in the kid that reminded him of Scully. He looked a little bit like Mulder's mother, a little bit like Samantha, but he kept doing things that reminded Mulder of Scully. It made him ache. Every moment seemed precious. Sitting on Scully's dusty old couch that only smelled a little like smoke, drinking cans of Coke in a companionable silence with his wife on one side and his son on the other, Mulder never wanted to leave.

He wanted, more than once, to blurt everything out, to tell their son how much they loved him and how sorry he was for leaving and how they'd never forgotten him. To apologize again and again and again. He could tell by the look in Scully's eyes that she wanted to do the same thing. But they both held back. They didn't want to push too hard. That's why they were doing this, helping their son get an apartment an hour and a half away instead of asking him to stay at their house.

Jackson gave his name as William. He signed the lease William with a random last name tacked on, covering his tracks, but also likely trying to appeal to them. Mulder saw the look on Scully's face when he signed the lease; she was feeling the same way he was. He'd do anything for another chance with him, no matter how much this particular thing hurt.

It was late when they were finally finished with everything, the spring skies dark outside Jackson's dirty window. Mulder took one look at the empty refrigerator tucked into the corner of the kitchen, and said, “Let us buy you dinner, Jackson. We'll get you some takeout.”

“I second that,” Scully added. She'd bought three containers of Clorox wipes and was working on the dusty kitchen counter with one of them. “I'm starving, myself, and I know you must be hungry, too.”

Jackson looked between the three of them like he was considering arguing, and then shrugged. “That sounds great,” he said. “Amazing. Thank you.”

Mulder felt a little bit like one half of a divorced couple trying to bribe the kid, but he told himself it didn't matter. They could be the fun birth parents for a day. He and Jackson hooked up a dinky thrift-store TV across from the couch while Scully called in an order to a nearby Thai place. He paid, of course. They ate in a circle at Scully's old table, mostly quiet. They asked Jackson questions about his life, avoiding the sensitive subjects as best they could—although every subject felt sensitive. Scully asked about school, about friends, about books and movies he liked. Mulder asked about baseball, thinking of the photograph he still had somewhere at home of a young Jackson peering up from under a baseball cap. He had a million different things to ask him, his boy, but baseball was the first thing that came to mind.

Jackson answered the questions, albeit awkwardly, and didn't really ask any questions of his own. Mulder tried not to let it bother him.

Eventually, the quiet became too strained. They'd helped him moved into an apartment without speaking on a single important subject. Scully said, “I guess we better go,” twisting the car keys in her hand and looking as if she didn't want to. Jackson nodded, stiffly, looking down at the newly mopped floor.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mulder said lightly, because nothing else felt right. When Jackson turned to him, he took three hundreds out of his wallet and handed it to him. “Here,” he said. “Consider it a loan til you find a job.”

Jackson gave him a brief, grateful grin. “Thanks, man,” he said, taking the money. “I appreciate that.”

“You call us,” Scully added, her voice suddenly fierce, “if you need anything, okay? Anything. We'll be here.”

Jackson looked a little surprised, possibly by the raw emotion. “Okay,” he said. “I will. I promise.”

Scully squeezed the car keys tight; he could tell she really didn't want to leave, and neither did he. He put a hand to her back and nodded at his son. “Good night,” he said. “Be safe, all right?”

Something strange passed over Jackson's face, something like grief. He nodded.

Scully gave him a wobbly smile, and then they turned, walking to the door. The click of the door behind them felt like a condemnation.

As they walked towards the elevator, Mulder tried to remind himself that they would probably see their son again. If only to come down and check on him. Make sure he was okay. He was sure they would see him again.

[joelyjo]

The Ghost of the Christmas Present

Author: joelyjo

Details: MSR, post-S11 and MSIV, Christmas theme, 2.1K, PG rating

Notes: Comes from the same universe as my earlier fic Everything in its Place, (which you can find here on AO3) but it is not necessary to have read that before you read this. Thanks to @londonboba and @peacenik0 for the beta work to rid this of Britspeak. Tagging @spookydarlablack as I think she might like this one... and @today-in-fic

And, yes, I know it is post-Christmas now and everyone is probably done with reading Christmas fics, but I was my usual dithering self with edits and confidence issues, so... yeah... 

It is the night before the dawn before the day of Christmas, says the Ghost of Christmas Present on the Muppet Christmas Carol. He is jolly in his green robe, overflowing with festive spirit as he guides Michael Caine’s reluctant Scrooge through the streets of London.

Alone on the couch, Mulder sits with the baby curled like a tiny comma on his chest. It is early evening; the light is low and the house is quiet apart from the chatter of the television and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Scully is upstairs, in bed, getting a nap in before their night is disturbed once again. The ‘four-month sleep regression’ is what the textbooks and websites he has read and re-read over the past few weeks have called it, but as far as Mulder’s concerned, it seems like the perfect X-File; somehow their sweet, laid-back baby daughter has been exchanged with a mischievous nocturnal demon. Right now, though, the demon is in its dormant state and Ellen appears innocent and content, sleeping as she is on his chest. Her little rosebud mouth is open, and Mulder can feel the soft puffs of her breath on his neck. She’s been like this since he sat down and switched the television on and started the movie. He dares not move for fear of disturbing her, but he doesn’t care; his heart is so swollen with love for her, he’d sit here all night if Scully would let him.

It is Christmas Eve but tomorrow there are few plans. Church in the morning for Scully, while Mulder prepares the vegetables and puts the tiny turkey in the oven. They will be alone, so there are just a handful of presents beneath the tree and they haven’t even bothered with dessert. But it’s Christmas and they are together and now that Ellen has graced them with her presence, the future is brighter than it’s been in many, many years.

Scrooge is on his knees begging the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come in repentance when Scully appears behind him, threading a hand through his hair in a gesture of tender familiarity. “Hey,” she murmurs. “Seems like someone’s still quiet.”

Mulder hums. “She’s set in for the night. I can try the limbo if you want, but I’m in no hurry. Netflix has every Christmas Carol ever made available to view for three days only.”

“Bonus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Did you sleep?”

“Yeah.” She comes and sits on the couch next to him, her hip bumping against his. “Like the dead. Did she eat?”

Mulder angles his head towards an empty feeding bottle on the side table. They have been trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to encourage Miss Ellen to take some milk from a bottle, to ease the burden on Scully in the night. “The whole bottle. I told you, Scully, she’ll do anything for me.”

Scully chuffs and rolls her eyes. “I’m almost insulted.”

“Don’t be. Think of the undisturbed sleep.”

“Hm.”

They fall to quiet and their attention turns to the television. Scrooge is waking on Christmas morning, with his newfound knowledge of kindness and the Christmas spirit. Scully smiles at his enthusiasm and laughs as he flings open the window, sending Gonzo and Rizzo spinning into the snow below.

Through the living room window, a shadow shifts, and Mulder freezes. He grabs the remote and pauses the playback on the TV. “Scully, shh. There’s somebody on the porch,” he hisses. His mind flashes back to the Russian assassins who tried to take them hostage in their own home and his heart begins to thump wildly.

“What?” she gasps and her eyes fly up to the window. “Where?”

“I don’t have my weapon.”

“Where is it?”

“Upstairs.”

“Shit.”

Mulder gets to his feet and quickly sets Ellen into the pack and play beside the couch. “Stay there,” he instructs Scully. Slowly, he edges around to the front door, grabbing up his baseball bat.

“Mulder! My gun’s in the drawer in the kitchen.” He doubles back and pulls her weapon out, feeling distinctly more comfortable now he has its cool weight in his grip. With supple, creeping steps, he moves towards the door.

There is a scuffling of soft-soled shoes on the wooden floor of the porch, then suddenly, the footsteps head down the steps in a flurry. He yanks open the door and shouts, “Freeze!” at the retreating black figure.

But the figure does not stop, and instead accelerates. Mulder is about to take off after whomever it is when he realises that, sitting on the porch, directly in front of the door, is a large, carefully wrapped package. Frowning in confusion, he looks back up and the figure is gone, ghost-like into the night. “Hey!” he shouts into the darkness.

But there is no response.

Slowly, he lowers the gun and nudges the package contemplatively with the toe of his sneaker. It shifts slightly. There is nothing overtly suspicious about it, apart from its unexpectedness. “Hey, Scully,” he says. “Get over here.”

She appears a moment later in the doorway, looking out of place in her pyjamas and robe, and shivers in the cold air. “What is it?”

“They’re gone. But they left this.”

Scully frowns at the package. It is a box, wrapped in paper covered with jolly looking Santa Clauses, topped with a gaudy red fabric bow and silver ribbons. “It’s a Christmas present,” she says, stating the obvious in her surprise.

“So it seems.” He toes it again. “Doesn’t look like it’s about to explode to me…”

“No,” she agrees. “Should we open it?”    

He tilts his head at it, regarding it sceptically. It doesn’t seem like it’s a threat of any kind, but in their line of work, it is always wise to tread carefully. With tentative hands, he picks it up. It weighs a bit – not enough to be difficult to manoeuvre, but enough to require some effort to shift it. He gives one final glance around the porch and into the distance, then turns and heads back inside.

Once placed on the kitchen table, the present looks even more strange. There is no label, no card, nothing at all to identify the sender. Scully fingers the bow, a frown creasing between her eyes. “You open it, Mulder,” she says and looks up at him.

He nods and reaches in to pull the bow, then run his finger under the tape. Crinkling, the paper falls away and a plain cardboard box is revealed. Packing tape secures this box and there is an address label with the typed address blacked out. He squints at it, but it is impossible to make out the words beneath the marker that has obscured them. “Pass me a knife,” he requests and Scully presses one into his open palm. He slices through the tape and then folds back the box.

Polystyrene packing peanuts erupt in a cascade of white, spilling onto the table. With a glance at Scully, Mulder delves into the box and removes the contents. Whatever it is, it is wrapped once again, this time in multiple layers of bubble wrap. He holds it up so Scully can see it. It is essentially spherical, about the size of a soccer ball. “Well, unless Wile E. Coyote’s sending us Christmas gifts, I’m guessing it’s not a bomb,” he says with a shrug. Her brow arches.

“Open it.”

He uses the knife to split the bubble wrap and pulls it away. Scully’s resulting gasp is enough to make his heart skip a beat. He flinches in shock.

“Oh my God, Mulder…”

Inside, there is a large glass snow globe, the tiny flakes of artificial snow inside already whirling and storming like a blizzard. They watch, transfixed, as the snow slows and stops and a model family appears. Two parents, two children, dressed in festive sweaters, jeans and boots, with a pile of multicoloured presents at their feet.

Scully reaches out and touches the glass, almost reverentially. “Mulder, it’s…” Her voice trails off and she looks up at him, her eyes suddenly watery with tears. “Do you think…?”

There is no further need for elaboration. He knows what the rest of her sentences would be without her having to give them voice. He remembers the snow globe she picked up from William’s room, one of dozens on the boy’s bookcase shelves; he knows she still keeps the smashed remnants of the one she took in her night stand.

Scully picks the globe out of the bubble wrap and sets it back on the table. The base is polished oak and the figures within are carved and painted intricately. Clearly, this isn’t a two-bit token from a tourist spot. “It’s beautiful.” Touching the smooth, cool curve of the glass, she studies the model family.

“It’s us, Scully,” comes Mulder’s quiet voice from beside her. “Us and him.”

She nods. The father is tall, with dark hair, his sweater navy blue with a fairisle pattern of red and white stars. Beside him, the mother is shorter, red-haired, in a cream sweater with gold flecks. The children are a boy and girl, both in red and denim. All four are smiling warmly. Beneath the scene, a brass plaque is inscribed with the words, ‘Christmas Greetings’.

Abruptly, Mulder spins and marches to the door, flinging it open and yells into the darkness, “William! I know you’re out here!” He pauses and scans the yard. “You’re watching somewhere, I know it.”

His voice rings out in the silent night, unanswered.

“Jackson!” he tries again.

“Mulder,” says Scully as she comes up and looks out alongside him. “He’s gone. He didn’t want us to see him.”

“But he…” Mulder feels desperation clawing at him. All he wants is a chance to speak with the boy, a chance to tell him that whoever his father is, it doesn’t matter, because Mulder has believed himself his father for so long, the genetics of it do not matter anymore. His hands hang useless at his sides and the night breeze whips coldly at his skin. Scully rubs his arm, encouraging him to come back inside, but he ignores her. He thinks of Scrooge on Christmas Eve, before the Ghosts show him how to live and love and closes his eyes against the image of William tumbling into the same condition.

Gripped suddenly by a need to reach out to the boy who once was his, he goes to the very edge of the top of the steps and shouts out, “Merry Christmas! Come in! Come in and know me better, man!”

But the only answer to the silly, foolish quote from the movie he’s been watching is a lone dog barking in the distance, and the susurrus of the wind as it gusts through the trees. For a long moment, he stands utterly still and listens, willing William to show himself from wherever he is hiding, for he is sure that he is out there, watching the house and them. It’s Christmas and he doesn’t want him to be alone, or to feel that the only chance of a happy family he has is to gift a model one contained in a snow globe.    

“Come on, Mulder. He never meant for us to see him. He wanted us to have the snow globe. It’s his gift to us.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. He can sense the sadness in her voice, in her resignation that he has not come to spend Christmas with them but has instead, once again, fled away.  

Eventually, Mulder sighs and nods, then allows her to lead him back into the house and close the door on the cold and the dark.

Back inside, he turns to her. “Do you think he’s been watching us?”

“I guess he must’ve,” she replies.

Somehow this comforts Mulder a little. He thinks back to the dark days after that dreadful night on the docks, the strange kaleidoscope of grief and joy he’d felt, the way he’d questioned everything and how the uncertainty had nearly sent him spiralling back into depression. It had only been Scully, and the tiny life unexpectedly and amazingly growing inside her, that had kept him out of the haze.

At that thought, he realises that the room is quiet and he glances to the pack and play. Ellen is asleep in the exact position he set her down in, her tiny fists curled above her head and her mouth pursed in peaceful repose.

Scully comes to his side and together they look down at their daughter in wonder. “Wow,” she murmurs. “I don’t believe it.”

“Maybe it’s the thought of the Christmas Carol marathon,” he says, deadpan as always. They fall silent, watching Ellen as she sleeps, and Mulder knows that they are both thinking of the same thing. “I hope he knows he can come and see her. That he truly is welcome.”

Scully takes his hand and squeezes it softly. “I hope he does too.”

On the table, the snow globe swirls.

 The End.    

[shieldagentscully-blog]

SAS 5 - Great Minds

May 1994 - Washington D.C.

The body was a 34-year-old male, Puerto Rican, gang member who had been the star witness in a Department of Justice trial involving a cartel operating out of the Port Authority in New York, importing goods and drugs for distribution and sale on the black market. The case was run of the mill, honestly, and the unfortunate fellow had been pretty cut-and-dry as far as such cases went. There wasn’t much a bullet to the back of the skull was going to tell you outside of the fact that the caliber was enough to make an open casket impossible for his family. Scully did what she could to ensure that the funeral home didn’t have to deal with too much of a mess, sewed up the Y-incision and went back to her office to begin writing up her notes.

She was only mildly surprised to see anyone sitting in there. Certainly, she was used to the itchy agent or three who would on occasions camp out there with the impatience of a hyper two-year-old waiting for the results for their investigation, and in fact she had been expecting that very thing on the body she had just put into the freezer. She didn’t even pause as she rounded towards her desk, barely looking at the woman seated across from it.

“Javier de Valle was a standard execution, plain and simple. Was asked to kneel in a parking lot, hands behind his back while they put a slug into the back of his head. The exit wound obliterated much of the upper part of his face. I’m getting ballistics to give me the specs on the weapon used and if it’s traceable, and when they do, I’ll add those to my report. I should have something preliminary for you by the end of the day with addendums within the next 48, depending on how our trace goes.”

The woman merely blinked dark eyes at her, a hint of something tugging at her lips. “Well, that was a horrible way to die.”

It was the British accent that caught her attention, as few people from Justice ever had one of those. She paused, really looking at her visitor for the first time. An older woman, maybe in her 60’s, still clearly vibrant judging from the bemused smirk on her faintly lined face, hair slowly fading from brunette to silver. Her well tailored suit and elegant pearls made Scully suddenly very aware of the standard-order scrubs she was wearing and her own copper hair pulled up in a messy scrunchy at the top of her head.

“Ummm...I’m sorry, I thought you were from Justice, on the body I had sent down to me.”

“I wish I was now, it sounds fascinating.” She shrugged, regarding Scully quickly. “Let me guess, gang killing, likely drugs or some such, and your body was an informant?”

Scully couldn’t deny or affirm that, so she only stared. The woman only seemed more amused by that.

“Of course, it’s the sort of everyday, run-of-the mill stuff that the Department of Justice feels they need to send to Quantico, because nothing less than their best forensic pathologists would do. After all, not everyone can tell that a man having his face blasted off was shot in the back of the head.”

“In fairness, most people wouldn’t get past the face being missing, but beyond that, I suppose they could have used a New York City coroner. They are backed up for a week or more, however, and as this was a key piece for a DOJ investigation, they came to me, as they should.” Scully leaned back in her chair, regarding the stranger. “You know, Quantico is a Marine base. They don’t just let anyone in here.”

“Well, good thing I have the clearance for that sort of thing.” Her smile was now genuine as she leaned across the desk, placing a white card in front of Scully. It read “Margaret Carter, Director, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division”

Scully suddenly felt her mouth go very, very dry.

“Director Carter,” she managed, clearing her throat and tugging at her blood spattered and rumpled top. “I...uh..how can I help you?”

“I just wished to say hello, introduce myself, and tell you that Agent Coulson is speaking to your friend on my orders.” Her expression was mild enough, but there was something of the predator in her as she leaned back, crossing her legs at the knees, pulling her skirt down primly. “I must admit, I find it admirable the devotion you have for Agent Mulder. It’s rare to find that in our line of work. Though, to be fair, you two aren’t exactly the standard for FBI agents, now are you?”

“May I ask why you are reaching out to Mulder?”

“Because I know his father.”

That gave Scully pause.

If she expected Director Carter to elaborate, she was mistaken, as she breezed by that tidbit. “Agent Mulder has been on our radar for some time, since before the FBI managed to snare him. It is unfortunate they did because they’ve squandered the talent as they always do. Bill Patterson is a jackass and always has been, but, that’s where they put your partner and nearly ruined him for anything else.”

Scully’s brain swum as the other woman rattled off the information, racing to try and keep up with her. “I’m sorry, you said that SHIELD wanted Mulder first?”

“Oh, we had every intention of taking him. Politics got in the way of that.”

“But Mulder was a profiler. He didn’t work anti-terrorism.”

“As brilliant as your partner’s mind is, Agent Scully, I didn’t want him because he knows how serial killers think. I wanted him because of the way he thinks; outside the box, without labels or preconceived notions, willing to turn the picture on its side and look at it in a different way.”

“I see.” She didn’t really, but she wasn’t willing to admit that. “And this has nothing to do with the X-files, the death of a high profile man in a global conspiracy who served as Mulder’s informant, or the fact that Mulder was infected with a strange virus whose origins cannot yet be quantified?”

“It could be all of that, too.”

None of this made sense.

“I’m sorry, Director Carter, but I find it hard to believe that a global organization such as SHIELD is going out of its way for someone the FBI has nearly written off. Why not just approach him out in the open, like you and I are? Why all the clandestine business?”

Far from offending the other woman, Scully’s tone made her laugh outright. “I knew I’d like you from the start. I pushed to have the pair of you, honestly, but Fury said to try the more obvious one first. I’m glad to see my instincts were right.”

Before Scully could feel nettled enough to demand answers, the other woman leaned over to a briefcase at her feet, pulling out a file she flipped open on her lap. “Dana Katherine Scully, born 1964. Your father was career Navy, retired a read admiral, your mother was a homemaker and now spends her retirement volunteering and working for veterans’ causes. You have three siblings, a sister, Melissa, who last we saw was driving up the coast of California to see friends in San Francisco. You have two brothers, both career Navy, one in San Diego, the other based in Norfolk, specializing in naval intelligence.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Interesting...might have Fury look into him.”

“Is there a point reciting my life story?”

“I like knowing about people.” She didn’t even look up from the page. “You graduated from Maryland summa cum laude taking a bachelors in physics, and then Stanford Medical, where you specialized in cardiology before switching to pathology and the FBI. Had it not been for Daniel Waterston, you’d have been making high figures fixing hearts, instead you are in the basement of the Hoover Building trailing after a man whose heart was broken years ago and he’s never been able to fix it. Why?”

She might as well have dumped cold ice water over Scully’s head for all the shock Carter caused. She hadn’t expected her to drop Scully’s previous sins on her like that.

“I...my father and brothers were Navy. I wanted to do something equally as worthwhile, to make a difference.” It was mostly the truth.

“And a broken heart from a man cheating on his wife wasn’t the reason?”

“Do you honestly think I’d still be here, doing this, if Daniel Waterston is the only reason I joined the FBI?”

Her answer seemed to please Carter. “You didn’t want to join the Navy yourself? You have brains, a medical degree, you could have excelled. They are always looking for that.”

Scully did know that, had even considered it, briefly. “When I was a girl, my father was more often away than at home. It was Vietnam, he was off at one base or the other, and my mother was left in San Diego fending for four kids and praying that he’d come home safely from wherever her was stationed. Granted, it wasn’t World War II, but we all saw the news every night, the names read off. I wasn’t interested in being shipped off to fight in a war and break my mother’s heart.”

“Even though women can be in the military, now, which was more than in my day.” Carter only sounded slightly bitter at that.

“There are other enemies and other ways to fight a war and I’m not Captain America, able to throw myself into battle and defeat my enemies by just beating them into submission.”

She had meant it as a small joke, a call back to SHIELD’s history with the SSR. She had struck a nerve, though. Carter’s geniality faltered, briefly, regarding Scully, as if attempting to stick her 5’2 frame into anything close to Steve Rogers and failing miserably.

“No,” she finally sighed, somewhat sad, somewhat humorously grieved. “Few people can claim to be as hard-headed or foolishly determined to fight unwinnable wars as Captain Rogers was. But, I think your friend, Fox Mulder, might just give him a run for his money.”

That made Scully snort loudly. “He just might.”

She wasn’t sure what it said about Mulder if they could mutually agree he was almost, but not quite, foolish enough to do something like take an untested serum in order to fight super-Nazis. Scully didn’t think she wanted to put the notion in his head.

“Back to the matter at hand, you joined the FBI to make a difference, to have a bit of adventure, use that incredible talent of yours to solve the world’s problems and not just triple bypasses. So, why are you stuck in Quantico again, dissecting gangland executions for needy DOJ prosecutors who got their short hairs in a twist because they didn’t protect their informants well enough?”

Scully nearly choked on her own spit as Carter dropped them neatly between them, all tweed and pearls, as cooly as she was discussing the weather. “Well, I’m here because that’s where the FBI assigned me after Agent Mulder’s unfortunate fall out and the closing of the X-files.”

“Are you seriously happy here, though, doing work any city examiner could do while teaching green-faced cadets how not to puke at the sight of blood and guts coming out of a corpse?”

“Is it what I’d like to do, no, but I’m knowledgeable at it.”

“I’m knowledgeable at how to make a good cuppa and not dribble on myself and yet you don’t see me at tea parties.” She sniffed mildly, disdain evident. “All this talent wasted because the FBI wanted to reign you in and shut you up. Are you really content accepting that?”

“And what, leave? To do what? Work for you?”

Carter only arched one dark, elegant eyebrow.

“I’ve never done the work SHIELD does. I’m a pathologist who has some skills in an ER, that’s about it.”

“You also have some knowledge on a virus known as ‘Purity Control’ correct?”

How in the hell did Carter know about that? “I’ve seen it, yes, but the evidence I have for it is gone now.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. But, I can help you and Mulder find it again.”

“How? His contact has already been killed.”

“Because the FBI has no idea what they are dealing with, but I do. SHIELD has been fighting them for decades. And I’m offering a chance for you to come alongside Mulder to keep up your work.”

Keep up their work? Opening the X-files?

“What is it that SHIELD does again?”

“A little bit of everything, Agent Scully, but primarily we protect, just like every good shield does. Things, places, but mostly people. We are what keeps the world safe at night, able to live another day, because there are things out there that are far bigger than armies or governments, and threats that no one could even predict or begin to understand. We are the first line of defense, and if we are lucky, the only one they ever meet. That’s the idea, anyway, and I should know, as I helped found the bloody place.”

Found? Scully’s eyes went impossibly wide as she stared at the woman in front of her. “You...helped to found SHIELD?”

“Why yes, darling, else the thing would have never gotten off the ground, though I daresay without Chet and Howard we’d have failed even getting that far. The threats didn’t end because Hitler was dead. There needed to be an organized group that could handle these sorts of bigger-than-life threats, ones that all the superpowers caught in their Cold War were too busy to pay attention to. Thus, SHIELD was born.”

All Scully could think in the heat of the moment was that the Gunmen would die of absolute envy at this moment.

“So you want Mulder to help you stop global threats?”

“Fox Mulder isn’t the only one we want.”

Scully knew it was coming, but even when the other shoe dropped, she still felt stunned. “I’m just a forensic pathologist. We are a dime a dozen.”

“You are a gifted scientist, a talented doctor, and you’ve managed to keep up with the likes of Mr. Mulder for over a year, which knowing his reputation I say is an impressive feet. Beyond that, I’ve seen your work. You have a clinical mind and a meticulous investigatory brain and I want it. The Bureau is wasting what talent they have here throwing you at gangland killings and raw recruits, you have more to offer than that.”

Scully glanced down at her scrubs, then at her desk, the piles of papers stacked in the corner, the notes scribbled across a legal pad, the tape recorder with her verbal notes on it from her autopsy. She hadn’t minded returning to the lab, really, but if she were honest with herself, she missed the field work she had been doing with Mulder, the true investigations, the search for the truth. Besides, if he was going to be working for SHIELD, he would need a minder.

“How is your insurance plan?”

At that, Carter smiled widely. “As long as you don’t mind the occasional experimental treatment, I think you will find it adequate.”

“Good, because you are going to find that Mulder is going to need it.”

[greekowl87]

Prompt Fic

@scully-loves-ruthie sent me three prompts originally last weekend. I did one last weekend, these are the other two: 'Have you ever lied to me?' and  'This is where you impress me, right?'

P.S. I have two more prompts I want to knock out by Sunday. Send me more in the mean time? Please?

When they bought the unremarkable house after being on the run for three years, it was a chance for them to settle, put down some real roots. Mulder had always fantasized about settling down into a little place like this out in the middle of nowhere; he remembered telling as much to Scully during the Peacock brothers' case. But this was different. He had Scully now (and still!) with him and this was their home. Their home. It seemed so surreal.

They had called various motel beds theirs but this was different. The old farmhouse came with a hodge-podge of furniture but she resolutely determined that at least one purchase that needed to make was a new bed, their bed. And like a normal couple, they went to a local discount furniture store, picked out a bed and a new mattress, deciding in the spur of a moment to get matching night stands while Mulder's fugitive status was left somewhere else across the country and momentarily forgotten. Scully drove to an old storage unit outside of Baltimore that her mother had up kept and taken out his old fish tank, knick knacks, and pictures. They even went to the local pet store and picked out new fish.

Scully found a new job at a hospital some distance away in Washington D.C. where she could freely return to medicine and keep up some normal semblance of a regular person. Mulder stayed home, relishing in the short times they were together. She worked long hours and the commute was hell too. But, in the first six months, they somehow made it work. Mulder would wake up an hour early before she left to have coffee with her in the mornings or stay up late to draw her baths, give welcomed foot massages, heat frozen dinners. On those rare days off, they would just spend it together, watching bad movies and cuddle on the couch.

Mulder wanted it so badly to work between them. He owed Scully everything while he felt like the world's sorriest son of a bitch to quote Big Brother Bill for ruining her life. When she was gone, he tried to make himself useful around the house. He was a handyman, maid, and cook. He thought he made Scully a pretty good housewife.

One February though, he had been watching too many cooking shoes and decided to do an elaborate stuffed chicken and pasta dish. He even ventured up to the good, chain grocery store and picked up two bottles of expensive white wine. She had said that morning that would be home early but now his insecurities were gnawing at him. What if she finally decided to be rid of him? By nine, the meal had gone cold and was put away in the fridge. He contemplated drinking one of the bottles of wine himself and passing out on the couch in his office. But then he heard her car in the drive way.

Mulder took a deep breath, trying to compose himself and not let his disappointment show as he walked out into the living room to greet her. Scully stumbled in, clearly exhausted. Bags were under her blue eyes and she uncharacteristically threw her coat, gloves, and briefcase across the room. She collapsed on their living room couch and uselessly toed off her heeled boots. "Everything okay, Scully?" he asked softly, moving to pick up her discarded articles of clothing.

"Hm." She was only capable of grunts at this point as she pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve a building tension headache. "Tired."

"You usually call when you're running late," he said neutrally. He kept standing across the room, his arms crossed. "I thought something happened."

"A late surgery," she mumbled. She sat up and looked at him sadly. "Dinner."

"You're birthday dinner. Happy birthday, Scully."

Scully looked dazed as she did the mental calculation. "So it is. But you never remember my birthday, Mulder."

"I told you I remember them like dog years. Makes you younger." He shifted uncomfortably. The guilt and insecurity were overwhelming now. "Have you ever lied to me, Scully?"

"About what, Mulder?" She looked at him like he had grown an extra head. He was quiet and looked down at his feet and then out the door as if looking for an escape. He was withdrawing into himself. She patted the couch and held out her hand. "Mulder."

So much meaning carried in just saying his name. He wordlessly came to her side, taking her outstretched hand. Like two vines, they curled around each other, this time Mulder resting his head across her breast, listening to her heart as she kissed him soothingly and rubbed his arms. "Don't you ever be sorry, Mulder. For anything."

They sat quietly together, unspoken words and gestures communicating volumes. He closed his eyes, thankful for such an amazing woman in his life despite everything. "I made you dinner. Some fancy chicken and pasta dish I saw on PBS," he whispered finally, "and got you some really good wine."

"My Mulder. Housewife. I bet it will reheat well," she teased. "This is where you impress me, right?"

"Trying?"

"Succeeded." She sighed, continuing her leisurely kisses. "The reason why I was working late is so I can have two days off in a row. Just us. No hospital. No mom. Just us."

"I don't deserve you," he whispered into her jacket.

"You do, Mulder," she whispered soothingly. "You deserve a happy ending. We both do."

He hugged her tighter. "I love you, Scully."

"I love you too, Mulder." She stroked his long hair. "Did you at least get me anything for my birthday?"

He looked up and smiled. He drew a small wrapped package from behind the couch. "As a matter of fact, I did."

She tore the small package open and chuckled happily, seeing the picture the seller had snapped of them the day they bought the house. Mulder had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, stealing a kiss, as she laughed in front of the unremarkable house, caught mid frame. He sat up slightly and nuzzled her neck. "Yes?"

"Yes," she said in silent affirmation. "Thank you, Mulder. And for the record, you have nothing to prove. But I want that on my nightstand."

"Yes, ma'am." He kissed her cheek softly. "I just set the bar higher for next year. What do you say we take one of those bottles of wine to bed with us?"

"I was thinking the bath first."

He nipped her neck teasingly and murmured, "I like the way you think."

[literaphobe]

where did ginaxrosa shipping start? and why? (not that i am against it but i just... never considered!?! it)

gina x rosa shipping started because Gina is the driving force behind 80% of Rosa's laughs and 98% of Rosa's smiles.

And when Rosa smiles because of Gina-related reasons, there's a softer touch to those smiles, and they're I-can't-help-but-smile smiles.

Gina can get Rosa to laugh her head off. Big, genuine laughs that make Rosa's head tilt up. Like when Gina tossed a stapler at Charles (2x22 cold open)

Gina and Rosa are different people but have things in common that draw them to each other. Like how they're both people you don't want to cross. Gina and Rosa are scary and you don't want to mess with them. Gina uses her words and spirit, Rosa gives you one look and you know she could beat you up and you'll thank her.

This scariness that Rosa and Gina have are what makes them so evenly matched. They won't back down from a fight, ever, but weirdly you see them letting each other get away with stuff that they'd castrate someone else for.

For example, remember when Rosa almost murdered Hitchcock and Scully because they stole her moose tracks ice cream????

Guess what happened in thanksgiving episode 1x10. It's not blatantly obvious, but Gina's holding (and assumably, drinking) coffee from a cup clearly labeled 'ROSA'. And Rosa does nothing.

Gina and Rosa are also shown to have a special, deeper kind of bond that we see through several (albeit occasionally subtle) instances.

Whenever Gina's being Gina- see 1x16 and 2x07, Rosa's being made to babysit and stop her from freaking people out/stealing/talking to people at parties. This could mean one or even both of two things:

1) Only Rosa can handle Gina because everyone else is too weak to go against her- ergo they are evenly matched

2) People know that Rosa's the person Gina will most likely listen to- alluding to their deeper connection and understanding of each other

Another show of Gina and Rosa's deeper connection is how they're often on the same side. They like to judge, make fun of, and bully people together. They also seem to enjoy standing/sitting next to each other, (sometimes way too close more than they need to be eg. charges and specs 1x22) both of them crossing their arms (mirroring each other, which is like a couple thing/i'm-attracted-to-you thing)

They've also teamed up to solve Holt's island riddle together and protested against turkey murder together. They also locked amy in the boot of a car- and walked off together laughing

They also really care about each other, for example when Rosa was being all guilty knowing she was prob going to have to shoot Charles down in 1x13 and hiding Gina NOTICED that Rosa was hiding away and even asked her why with a pretty confused/concerned looking face. Also, when Rosa got sick Gina prepared a pretty elaborate care package for her so she would get well (and please Gina who you tryna play here acting like Terry paid u/if he really did pay u pls putting the care package together prob took more money than the $20 you claimed Terry gave you)

AND THEN Rosa proceeded to smile so widely all touched by what Gina did for her!!!

And Gina put Rosa in her WILL if that doesn't say "you're important to me" idk what is. And the fact that those two jaguars making love is prob a representation of them is something else altogether

Rosa cares about Gina too, duh. But Rosa's care comes more in the form of protectiveness, like when she placed her arm behind Gina ensuring she got out of the room safely before Rosa when the turkey got loose and tried to attack them. Rosa also put in a lot of security measures in place when Gina got robbed (although amy was involved too and Holt told them Gina was scared, but lbr Rosa's protect-gina instincts got turned on full blast when she found out Gina was scared did you hear the conviction in her voice when she said "we are (going to keep you safe)"????)

Speaking of the turkey, Gina and Rosa get each other. When they protested against the turkey murder and Rosa saw Gina about to flip everyone off she joined right in. They know each other pretty well too. Gina knows Rosa's likes (old movies, someone called 'the vulture', etc.) and dislikes, and she can very accurately interpret what a Rosa action means. (Like when Rosa said 'bye' to Marcus)

Also, Gina and Rosa seem to show interest in each other.

Like when Gina accidentally texted "sup Rosa" to Amy and that was in 2009 when she first joined the nine nine as civilian administrator so obviously Gina was trying to hit on Rosa and has prob been flirting with Rosa for eight years.

Part of their interest in each other includes attraction of course. In the episode where they let Gina interrogate a perp, Rosa looks overly interested in watching Gina forcefully question the perp and even when captain Holt wants to stop Gina Rosa doesn't want it to stop. Also when Rosa unveils her sword in 3x23 as torture equipment Gina looks very turned on no offense

Also Gina is very obviously jealous of Adrian. She only started acting hostile towards him after Rosa started dating him, and please be reminded that this is the same Gina that didn't even put her phone down when Adrian held a knife to Jake, her childhood bestie and oldest friend's throat.

But Adrian dates Rosa and suddenly it's "screw you adrian you're not allowed to stay at Charles's house" and "oh yeah ur right Adrian listen to the universe you should totally not marry Rosa!!" And the day before/on the day he was supposed to marry Rosa Gina doesn't even let Adrian have candy wow Rude

After Rosa's bachelorette party, Gina elopes with some cashier (prob a lady) and it's likely that she was trying to escape from reality bc running away with someone you just met (although Gina was drunk) is not something you do if you're super happy your friend is engaged, no matter how drunk you are, and no matter how Gina you are

Finally: Babylon

Dude if "has secret bathroom they don't tell anyone about that they work super hard on to make nice" doesn't scream "domESTIC" to you then idk what to say mate

(Also Rosa bringing Gina to Babylon for the first time bc Gina got sick is another example of how Rosa cares about Gina!!!)

Besides the implications of sharing a secret private place, Gina has a very violent reaction when Rosa wants to tell Boyle about Babylon (and Rosa asking Gina about it beforehand is like- wife asking wife for permission to bring friend over to house), and wants to keep it a private thing between the both of them

"Babylon's our secret place! It's the best thing in my life." -if this doesn't touch u even a little idk what will

I get why some people might not ship gina x rosa just by watching the show. Some of this stuff is put across in pretty subtle ways, and the things they say/know about each other aren't always treated as a big deal by the show/are throwaway lines. Some things you see between Gina and Rosa like the coffee thing and the putting hand on back thing is something you can only catch by pausing the episode at the right time. Also many Rosa laughs/smiles in response to something Gina does or says is usually in the background, and you may not catch it if you aren't paying attention to the squad's reactions to each other

Are we grasping for straws when we ship gina x rosa? No we r not they r perfect but also the show needs to give us more gina x rosa because this is a ship that has so much potential

Chelsea Peretti and Stephanie Beatriz seem to be putting in effort to make gina x rosa work with their acting so not shipping it = ur not appreciating Stephanie taking the effort to smile so tenderly at stuff Chelsea says as Gina

AND Jake/Amy are a pretty stable couple now, so it's definitely in your interest to start devoting your heart to gina x rosa too!! Why let one ship slay you when you can let two ships slay you

TL;DR- Gina and Rosa would make the perfect power couple that rules over the Nine-Nine which can nicely balance out cinnamon roll couple Jake and Amy! Sign up to be a gina x rosa shipper today!! All we want in exchange is your soul!!