#thinking about how scully has this kind of connection too (this ‘two closest people’ connection) it’s just to a ghost

[carefulfears]

thinking about maggie looking up at mulder from her deathbed, grabbing his hand, directing her final words to him, rather than her daughter. 20 years after she stepped in between him and a gun, wanting to leave him with something. her grandbaby’s father. how mulder brings up scully’s coma, but for those 3 months “back in the day,” it was him and maggie. it was him and maggie at the crime scene and on the bench outside the fbi and choosing gravestones. how he was always invited by her. “this is a moment for the family, but you can join us.” so many decades of phone calls, check-ins, the way that in wetwired when he calls and she doesn’t answer, he knows. the inherent connection that comes with knowing your closest person’s closest person: two emergency contacts, two people who always have to be notified, two people who are always at the side of a hospital bed or funeral or event. two people who know what “i’m fine” means, what an eye roll means, what a nosebleed means. closeness in the periphery.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Elizabeth Rowandale

Elizabeth Rowandale has 16 stories at Gossamer spanning from 1995 to 2012, plus she has more at AO3 (other fandoms too). She's been giftng the fandom with stories for a long time! I've talked about some of my favorites of her stories before, including Hallways and Water's Edge. Big thanks to Elizabeth for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no.  When I find myself suddenly caught up in a fandom that has already lived its glory days (which happens a lot, I'm habitually late to the party), I am always ravenous for fic written during the original run - it always has a different perspective and voice and it's like a little bit of the experience captured in time -- so I can understand how others would be interested in my past.  That said, some of my early stuff is pretty awful. LOL.  I have left it online for two reasons: 1. Nostalgia, 2. I know there are some fics I've read in my life that may not have been the best written in a literary sense, but just had something magical about them that fed exactly what I needed.  And I would hate it if the author took down that work and I could never find it again (which has happened).  So I try to respect that same sentiment should it appear in one of my readers.  I'd say by about 6th or 7th season of the original run, my work became presentable. :)  My largest X-Files work ("Water's Edge") was begun during the original run and completed about a year after the show ended.  That one I definitely still claim as my work, even though there's certainly stuff I would fix if I were writing it now.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

So many things!  Let's start with my husband. :D  I met the love of my life on the X-Files newsgroup in spring of 1995.  We were married a year later, and we are still married 24 years later and have a 20 year old daughter.  One of the most important friendships of my life came from being part of this fandom - she began as an "Edgehead" during the original posting of "Water's Edge". The fandom brought me my family, friends, and made me believe in myself as a writer and, in some ways, as a person worth being friends with, for the first time in my life.  It's kind of crazy, really, how different my life would be without it.  The experience was not without its flaws.  There was a lot of judgementalism, a lot of cliquishness, a lot of snobbery.  I was condemned almost as much as I was welcomed.  But in the end it was all worth the life experience.

As far as the fic itself, X-Files was my first real experience with fanfic, and it thoroughly spoiled me for all other fandoms forever, because the sheer VOLUME of professional quality work being put out there was mind-boggling.  I expected all fandoms to be like this, and the fact is this is extremely rare and precious.  I think I could read X-Files fic for the rest of my life and never run out of pieces worth reading.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I started out primarily on a.t.x.c..  Then progressed to mailing lists (especially Scullyfic/E-muse!), and later was very involved on The Haven.  The Haven was quite a magical experience.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I think I answered this by over-babbling on the question above. :D  But ultimately, I think I would have to say my belief in literature as a tool to connect people on an intimate level that almost nothing else can.  To give people a brief moment of sharing their precious internal worlds and inviting someone else to step into it with them.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

Really, it was inevitable.  It has all the classic tropes that have always spoken to me - Supernatural horror, law enforcement partners, partner UST, misfits as heroes, haunting soundtrack.  But amusingly enough, my first impression of it was negative.  My mother and I had been religiously watching "Sightings", a FOX reality show (before "reality shows" were a thing) on the supernatural.  Then that got cancelled and they replaced it with some show that was about fictionalized encounters with and investigations of the paranormal.  And we were like WTF we don't want that, we want real investigations and evidence!  So I didn't watch it out of protest. :D  Then one night I stumbled upon it when I had nothing to do and watched "Lazarus".  I thought the show was okay, but that I could never really get invested in it because there was no real chemistry between Mulder and Scully (yes, you can laugh me out of the room now :D).  But the thing is, you can't FIND the significant moments in that episode unless you're already embroiled in their world.  Like when Mulder calls her "Dana" on the phone and we all know he's panicking big time -- this was my first episode, so I assumed he always called her Dana, no big.  Some time passed, then I saw Conduit.  And Tooms.  And I started to get really sucked in.  Then I saw Genderbender.  Now, if you know me at all, you know since I was about 6 years old, my life has revolved around my current muse.  I get obsessed with a certain actress/performer/character, and that becomes my lens for the whole world (yes, at 6 it was Lynda Carter as Diana Prince).  I have always moved from one Muse to the next, and the few times I've been without a focus person I'm very untethered and unproductive.  So, I'd been in one of my longest dry spells following my Madonna and Vivien Leigh obsessions, mostly focusing on reading Dean Koontz books, when X-Files came along.  And this obsession was unique in that I can actually pinpoint the moment I fell.  I was sitting in my bedroom watching Genderbender, and they were outside the general store and Scully had just been touched by Brother Andrew and was a little tripped out and staring after the horse and cart when Mulder stepped up to see if she was okay, and...I actually felt myself falling for Gillian Anderson.  And there was this moment of both elation and bittersweetness, because I knew how all-consuming my obsessions could be and the emotional rollercoaster they could entail (especially when I was younger, I'm a little better armored now :)).  But I have no control over when and where they hit.  But I knew by the end of that episode that I was off on another wild ride of the muse. :)

So, the short answer is -- Gillian Anderson. :D

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

Truthfully, I can't experience anything without writing fanfic in my head.  I've been doing it in one form or another my whole life, I just didn't know until the X-Files (and the internet) how many other people were like me!!  I started writing X-Files fic before I was even online.  In fact, The X-Files was the reason I got my first internet service - because the fandom was moving online and I didn't want to miss out.  I read my first fanfic in the Unofficial X-Files Fanclub monthly zine and it fascinated me.  I wrote my first X-Files fic, a first season story called "Silent Lines", before I had ever been on the internet, and I had it published in that same fanclub newsletter.  (I was already writing original fiction, hoping to make writing my career).  Later, after I had joined the internet XF community, I wrote a post-ep to "Irresistible" that I posted online.  That was my first online fic.  Some time after (and a few more fics down the road) when all the rights to "Silent Lines" had reverted to me, I posted that online as well.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I dabble now and then. :)  When the reboot came about, I came back to the old stomping grounds and reconnected with some of the Old Guard.  I still have a fair amount of pretty Mulder and Scully on my Twitter feed, and I continue to follow all Gillian Anderson's new projects.  But it's not my primary focus at the moment.  (My serial monogamist muse has another lover this year. :))

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Several (Stargate, Sanctuary, Xena, Battlestar Galactica, Once Upon a Time, etc.).  As I mentioned before, almost none of them had anywhere NEAR the quality and quantity of fanfic The X-Files has to offer.  The closest I experienced was the Xena fandom.  There are some AMAZING Uber fics and Conqueror fics, many of which went on to be published as original novels.  Some fandoms were colder and more cruel than The X-Files.  Some were warmer and more generous.  I was most prolific during my years in the Stargate fandom.  I wrote something like 80 fics.  It was crazy.  I don't think I'll ever be that prolific again.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Just from anything?  From television Dana Scully, Stella Gibson, Laura Roslin, Sharon Raydor, Regina Mills.  I love powerful women with scars.  Kind women at heart who will fight for what they believe in and whom they love.  Mothers - whether in actuality or at heart.  I love women who prove strength and power can be completely synonymous with femininity.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

A couple of months ago my husband and daughter and I finished a complete X-Files rewatch (original series and movies), taking our daughter through it for the first time.  It was awesome to re-experience it all through her eyes.  She grew up hearing about it, but had never seen more than a handful of episodes (and, sadly, the reboot LOL).

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

Every now and then I indulge in X-Files fic, yes.  Sometimes new stuff, most often revisiting old favorites.

I definitely read in my current fandoms.  For a few years I didn't, but lately I've been at it again.  Right now my primary muse is Mary McDonnell, so I'm obsessing over her various roles through the years.  Been reading fic for "Major Crimes", "Dances with Wolves", "Battlstar Galactica", "Passion Fish", and "ER" (specifically pertaining to Eleanor Carter).

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Of course. :)  Mish's "No Quarter Given" will always own my soul. [Lilydale note: It’s a 3-part story: 1, 2, 3.] "Black Hole Season" by Penumbra, "Above Rubies" by Rachel Howard, "Blinded by White Light" by DashaK, "Sounds of Silence" by GirlGone, "Blood Oranges" by Syntax6, "Absolute Zero" and "Never Enough" by August.  So many more.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

From X-Files, I can't really choose between "Water's Edge" which took the most out of me) and "Bridges" (which I wrote just a couple of year ago).   I wrote them from very different places and I am proud of what I accomplished in each case. YMMV.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Never say never? :D  I still feel badly that I left the sequel to "Water's Edge", "High Tide", hanging after posting just a few chapters. I never should have started it. My muse jumped ship to another fandom, and there was really nothing I could do.  And I'm such a different person now, I don't know if what I would write now is what people who loved the first book would actually want to hear.  I came back with the reboot and wrote "Bridges" and that largely said everything I needed to say about what happened to Mulder and Scully after "I Want to Believe".  So, realistically, that was probably my XF writing swan song.  But I would never say I won't ever post another fic.  As the saying goes, "It all comes back to the X-Files".  (And, yes, there's PLENTY of half-finished fic on my hard drive. LOL)

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do.  Now that my kid is grown, I'm trying to seriously pursue a professional writing career from here forward.  And I do still dabble writing fic in my current fandoms.  Right now there is a Major Crimes fic sitting on my hard drive waiting for me to work up the nerve to post it.;)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Once I'm inside my POV character's head, the narrative in my brain won't shut up.  I flesh out and what-if everything.  I fill in every moment that doesn't appear on screen.  I talk to myself a lot and live in my head and sometimes scare family members.  I get some sort of orgasmic high from things like seeing Laura Roslin grasp and tuck into her own hair when she's crying while my inner voice screams "OMG IT'S CANON SHE SELF-SOOTHES WITH HER HAIR!!!!!"  I maintain a surprisingly sane outer presentation for the crazy obsessed artist I am within.

What's the story behind your pen name?

When I began removing my real name from the internet (for you young folks, we all started out using our Real Names and building our virtual houses on Geocities, then got warned from everywhere of the scary scary place that is cyberspace and started NEVER EVER using our real names, then Facebook came along and now everyone and their dog is out there with their real names, and Gen X is still going WTF ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!??), I simply chose what I found to be a pretty last name (Rowandale).  Elizabeth is my real name.  Along the way, when I had started to feel confined by expectations for my writing based on my reputation, I challenged myself to be more honest in what I wanted to write by using the mental trick of a pen name no one knew was actually me, and invented "Rowan Darkstar" (the darker "edgier" side of Elizabeth Rowandale).  "Rowan" was taken from Rowan Mayfair in Anne Rice's "The Witching Hour", my favorite novel at the time.  Later, I went public with the fact I was Rowan Darkstar, and when I moved into my next fandom, I did so with that as my primary name.  I have written in most of my fandoms as either Rowan Darkstar or LadyRowan with the exception of anything else Gillian Anderson related wherein I carried over the Elizabeth Rowandale since there were many crossover readers from X-Files.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Many of them do, yes.  For many years my mother was my primary beta reader!!  Sadly, she now suffers from dementia and can no longer fill that role.  My best friend came into my life through my Stargate and Sanctuary fic, so there's no hiding from her, and she is now my beta.:)  My husband met me in the fandom.  So...yeah, most of my close friends know.:)  In my 'other life' as an Army wife (now retired) and suburban Mom not so much.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

The most reliable place is probably AO3.  It doesn't have much of my older stuff, but I generally post anything new there.  I'm Rowan_D on Twitter.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files?

No, you can't be red/green colorblind and be a field agent for the FBI.  No, soul groups don't work that way, Scully would have been his lover in some lifetimes, too.  Yes, someone with Scully's education and deliberate precision of language WOULD say "for whom?" and not "for who?", you are quite right to cringe.  No, you can't drive to Quantico and back to downtown DC and have it still be morning.  And lastly -- The Kansas town after which they modeled "The Rain King" is NOT brown, it is NOT flat, it HAS a regional airport, and the residents are educated and intelligent.  I lived there at the time -- There was a whole layout in the local paper about the crew visiting for "authenticity."  I still marvel at how that is even possible.

(Posted by Lilydale on August 25, 2020)

[admiralty-xfd]

Culmination

This is chapter three. To go back to the beginning, click here.

AFFIRMATION

SCULLY

(Never Again/ Memento Mori/ Small Potatoes)

“Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life.”

“Yes, but it’s…”

She’s been thinking about this unfinished sentence a lot. The silence that followed, the distance they felt as they sat across from each other, thinking so much but saying nothing. Mulder’s desk situated between them like a huge mahogany metaphor for this particular bump in their road.

For the first time, it felt like they were in a real fight. The things they’d said to each other had hurt, but worse than that is the quiet resentment she now knows they’re both feeling. This inability to communicate about the things that really matter only adds to her frustration.

Two steps forwards and three steps back. It’s exhausting and disheartening to feel this way right now. She can’t help but wonder if she should be in a very different place in her life. Her friends are getting married, having kids, doing… normal things. Things she assumed she’d probably be doing by now. Things she thought she really wanted to do. Even the people she considers friends are so distant to her now. Mulder has taken up every inch of available space in her life. This can’t be healthy, can it?

But she’s still here with him. She’s connected to him in a way she’s afraid to examine too thoroughly. Their partnership has become personal to them both, and she’s only starting to truly realize the implications of that; the consequences of that.

His behavior towards her the morning before she left for the Pudovkin case in Philadelphia was aberrant. She’s having trouble explaining it, or justifying it. Maybe he was upset that she’d tuned out the evening before while he was questioning a witness. Or maybe he was annoyed about having to use his vacation time; idleness in any form is a peculiar brand of torture for him.

In any event, his bad mood combined with her disgruntlement has pushed them both to a breaking point. Without even realizing what he’d done, he had cut her to the quick with his flippant attitude about something very important to her, to how she views their partnership. He’s always treated her as an equal, always. And his dismissal of something as seemingly trivial as a desk only augments its significance in her mind.

It isn’t about the desk. It was never about the desk.

Four years into their partnership and she honestly can’t recall feeling this angry at him before. It surprises her. She doesn’t like it.

She’s well aware that she hurt Mulder, too, though. She hadn’t meant to but she’d trivialized his life’s pursuit, and made him think she didn’t care when she does... of course she does. She wouldn’t be be here if she didn’t. And she truly believes he knows that, regardless of what was said between them.

So why was he so upset? Why had he been so unkind after she’d returned from doing his bidding, as always? It wasn’t like him. She still can’t make sense of it.

She’s convinced it can’t be because of Ed Jerse. Mulder has never shown any interest in her pursuing a social life other than to mock her for it. If she’s being completely honest, that very mockery is what led her to call Ed in the first place.

It was ill advised, the entire thing, but how the hell was she supposed to know Ed Jerse would turn out to be a psychopath? The frustration she was feeling had to express itself somehow and a mysterious handsome stranger seemed like the right outlet. He was nice. She found him attractive. They’d had a good conversation, a good connection. And quite frankly, she needed what he’d given her. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s body beneath her, everything that followed had almost been worth it.

Almost.

What had she been thinking? One night stands aren’t her. Getting tattoos with men she just met isn’t her. She’s having trouble admitting to herself she slept with Ed Jerse because she was angry with Mulder. It didn’t feel that way while it was happening. But she did. She knows this now, she just doesn’t quite know what it means. It was being thirteen and sneaking out of the house to smoke her mother’s cigarettes all over again.

Maybe she really did want Mulder to find out. Maybe she wanted to find out what he’d do.

Being acknowledged by him and feeling like her work has meaning isn’t something she thought she’d have to work so hard to obtain at this juncture. It’s the first time in their partnership she’s felt devalued in such a way. It frustrates her to no end that she has to throw that concern in now with all her other concerns.

Chiefly, the very real concern that she’s dying.

Ever since she’d learned that the MUFON women in Allentown were all dying of cancer as a result of their abductions, she feared it may be a possibility for her. But as every day passed, she grew more and more hopeful that maybe her fears had been unfounded.

Now that she knows the truth, she dreads telling Mulder. The last thing she wants is to feel even less like an equal, to feel like someone fragile to be cared for or pitied. Just one more reason he needs to protect her.

As the phone rings, she realizes she picked up and dialed his number without even rehearsing what she’s going to say. Also, she forgot for a moment they are still kind of in a fight.

She idly wonders how someone can rely so heavily on another person and still feel so fucking lonely all the time.

“Hey, Scully,” he answers. He sounds apprehensive. She hopes that’s a good sign and not a bad one.

“Hi.” Suddenly she has no earthly idea how to proceed. “Um.”

“Before you say anything, can I say something first?”

“Okay.” She’d rather not be having this conversation at all, so she’s glad to delay it even for a moment.

“I just want to say I’m sorry for being such an ass the other day. Especially considering what you went through, it was insensitive and wrong of me. It’s none of my business what you do on your own personal time. I don’t know… I don’t know why I acted that way and I’m sorry.”

Wow.

“I appreciate that, Mulder.”

“Also, I… I didn’t really hear you when you were talking about the desk. I mean, I heard you, but I didn’t hear you. I’ve thought about it and you’re right. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have your own desk. I put a request into HR to get you one. We’ll figure out where to put it next week.”

Jesus. This is completely unexpected.

“I hope you know that having you here isn’t just something I tolerate, Scully. You’re not just a box to be checked. I want you to be here. I just… I hope you know that, is all.”

Weirdly, this fight feels so unimportant now. She doesn’t need the desk. She just needed to hear him say that.

“Mulder, thank you. And I hope you know it was never really about the desk.”

“I do know. I know that now, believe me.”

“Then cancel the request, okay? I don’t need it. I hate Battleship anyway.” She smiles and hears him laugh on the other end.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. And thanks again. Thank you for hearing me.”

“Of course. I always try to hear you, Scully.”

She knows, but she’s glad he said it. Maybe there’s hope for their communication skills after all. “I… I actually called because I have something I need to tell you, and it’s not good.”

“What is it?” His concern is evident.

“Can you meet me right now?”

“Yeah, of course. Are you at home?”

“Actually I’m at Holy Cross Memorial.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Meet me at oncology.”

“I’m on my way.”

She hangs up the phone and looks up at her brain scans, displayed on the wall like some macabre art exhibit. A proclamation of death demurred.

She called Mulder before she even called her mother. It had been automatic, like a nerve sending a signal to the brain that she has no control over. Somehow he’s a part of her, like a phantom limb she will always feel. This knowledge scares her, it gives her pause. She’s never been so dependent on another person in her entire adult life.

It’s always been hard for her to let people in, even the ones who are closest to her. She’s always looked out for herself, been tough, independent. It’s probably what attracted her to the FBI in the first place.

This feeling of powerlessness is strange territory for her. She’s well aware of Mulder’s proclivity to protect her, but she fears it now. This time it feels different. She’s vulnerable now, in more ways than one. It’s not his fault, either. It’s just who he is.

How is she going to tell Mulder she will someday have to give up on him? That they won’t be able to continue this journey together? How will she admit defeat, failure? And at what point will her body decide to give up on her, to give up on both of them?

She knows now, more than ever before, his life’s work is her own. His life is her own. They are in this together, forever entwined. Maybe that’s what he was trying to communicate to her before, in their office. Maybe he’s already come to that realization. It took a cancer diagnosis to wake her up.

“Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life.”

“Yes, but it’s…”

She knows now.

���...It’s my life, too.”

***

They’re sitting in her apartment on the couch, a fire roaring, soft music playing, wine glasses in hand. It’s not a scenario she ever thought they’d be in together. Incredibly, something has happened. He’s made an effort to get to know her more socially and it’s confusing and exciting and a little scary.

“I’m seeing a whole new side of you, Mulder,” she says as she sips the wine. It’s not great wine. She’s not surprised. But with Mulder, it’s the thought that counts.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks. She looks at him, the contours of his chest visible through his gray T-shirt. She doesn’t get to see him much outside a suit and tie. The way it’s distracting her right now makes her a bit grateful for that fact. Just a little bit.

“I like it,” she confesses.

She does like it. This isn’t the kind of attention she’s used to getting from him. There’s no pretense to be in her apartment, no new autopsy notes to go over, no paranormal theories to discuss, no arguments over what to believe or not believe. Just two friends hanging out.

With wine. And music. And a fire. And thoughts about how he looks in his T shirt that are decidedly unfriendly.

“Do you ever wish you could go back and do it all differently?” Mulder’s voice is unusual, hushed. She’s not used to him talking to her like this. It’s sexy. God help her, his voice is so sexy.

“Do you?”

His nod is barely perceptible but she sees it. As he shifts closer to her on the couch she knows exactly what he’s doing and she feels a rising panic inside her. Suddenly all the fears and doubts that have kept her from thinking about this very moment are real, and in her face.

Oh god. What is he doing?

As he inches closer and closer to her lips, her mind goes through a roller coaster of emotions.

Her first impulse is to tell him “no” but then her brain loses all control to the other parts of her body that just want him to kiss her, now.

They are mere inches apart when her apartment door bursts open and there is Mulder, again, looking disheveled and confused. She looks at one Mulder, then the other. She barely has time to register what’s going on but everything suddenly and disappointingly makes sense. Thoroughly grossed out, she pushes Eddie Van BlundHt off her and moves away. The real Mulder’s face is inscrutable.

Everything comes to fruition in her mind in an instant. Maybe knowing she’s dying brings clarity she hadn’t had before. Maybe it’s the wine she’s been drinking all evening. Or maybe it’s the hard fucking evidence that she was only just half a second away from pulling his mouth to hers and letting him take her right there on her couch.

Whatever the reason, she can’t deny it anymore, she knows the truth.

She’s in love with Mulder.

Not the kind of love she’s always felt for him; the kind of love a best friend feels, or a partner, or a confidant. No... the kind of love that overwhelms her senses and reaches deep, deep down to every single part of her. The kind of love she’s been waiting her entire life for.

It’s difficult to believe she hasn’t realized it before now, but she’s actively worked so hard not to fall for him that the opposite actually happening never concerned her. She’s kept herself so closed off for so long, it’s become difficult to see things that are staring her right in the face.

The disappointment she feels at this turn of events is painfully evident. She knows it wasn’t really Mulder saying any of those things to her, but what she knows now is how much she wanted it to be. She wanted him to be saying those things. She wanted it to be him, wanting to kiss her. She knows it.

And now she’s completely fucked.

Besides the fact that she has no idea how to convey any of this to him, she’s dying. If she tells him she’s in love with him, she’s dying. If she doesn’t tell him, she’s still dying. She doesn’t know what to do.

Not telling him is easier. She thinks she’ll stick with that.

After the police arrive and escort Mr Van BlundHt back to jail, Scully starts cleaning up the wine glasses. This isn’t like the Ed Jerse situation; it’s much worse, because she feels like Mulder now knows something about her that she doesn’t know about him. Her walls have started to come down in front of him and she doesn’t like that feeling.

Thankfully, the embarrassment isn’t solely hers; as Mulder lingers near the doorway he can’t look her in the face. She secretly hopes he just leaves so she won’t have to explain herself.

“Do you think he could have drugged the wine?” Mulder asks.

She had opened and poured it herself. She knows this isn’t the case. But he doesn’t know that.

“Maybe.”

He nods and turns to leave. They won’t talk about it again.

MULDER

(Redux II/ Emily)

He races to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. He can’t believe what she’s told him, he has to see her for himself.

Remission. She’s going to be okay. She’s going to live.

The pain he’d felt last night at her bedside was so intense he’d been utterly lost. He couldn’t fathom what he would do, how he could possibly move forward without her by his side. He can’t remember another time in his entire life he’d felt so alone. And he knows from lonely.

He’d actually considered joining forces with the cancer man, for fuck’s sake.

Oddly enough, that very consideration has got him thinking. When it comes right down to it, Mulder would give just about anything to save Scully’s life. He’s realizing protecting her has become his highest priority and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Solitude has been a comfort to him over the years. If he doesn’t get too close to someone, he doesn’t have to risk losing them. He’s remained focused, determined, undeterred in his quest. He hasn’t had to worry about distractions.

After the Diana fiasco, he made a conscious decision not to pursue any romantic entanglements that might distract him from his mission. It wasn’t for lack of desire or interest, just a lack of availability. He knew he’d be unable to give someone the time and energy required to maintain any kind of healthy relationship while remaining focused on his work.

He hadn’t counted on Scully showing up in his life and blowing that plan to pieces. The way their lives have become intertwined was something he could never have anticipated. Although proud of himself for keeping things between them mostly professional over the years, he’d be a fool to deny what he knows now is the truth: there is no other person he’d rather be with than her: professionally, intellectually, romantically, sexually, all of the above. He simply can’t imagine another scenario.

If that’s what love is, then that’s what he’s found. In spite of everything, even though he hasn’t been looking for it, somehow he’s found it here, on this godforsaken planet, in her.

He thinks it might be possible she loves him, too. But he doesn’t think it’s possible he will ever feel worthy of her.

He knocks and slowly peeks into her hospital room. “Scully?”

She’s laying on her side but she’s not asleep. He inches tentatively into the room, searching her eyes. She sits up and reaches for him. There are no words either of them need to say.

He goes to her and sits on the bed, wrapping his arms around her. His smile is so enormous he worries it might jump off his face and go flying around the room. He can hear her sniffling as she grips the back of his jacket, and one of her hands moves to the nape of his neck, fingers spreading into his hair. His body tenses. How does she know to do that, how much he likes that? Does she even know or is it completely unconscious?

He wishes they were something they aren’t, so he could kiss her. God, he just wants to kiss her. Why can’t he do that? It’s never the right time. Why can’t it just be the right time?

He knows that’s not the main reason. He knows the real reason: he’s afraid.

“I can’t believe it, Mulder. I really can’t.”

He doesn’t plan to let her go for a long time, so they just stay that way, holding onto each other.

“I’m so relieved, Scully. Do the doctors know what turned it around?”

“None of them can say for sure, but I’m never removing this goddamn chip again just in case.”

He laughs, and breathes her in. Considering she’s been stuck in the hospital for several days he’s amazed at how great her hair smells.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he hears the door open behind him, but he can’t see who it is from his vantage point. He soon realizes that the Scully family has arrived.

He releases her and turns around, finding Mrs. Scully’s eyes flooded with tears. He tries to avoid Bill Jr’s stare, but can feel it just the same. He wants to cut the guy a little slack. He loves his sister and is just looking out for her, much like himself.

He thinks of Samantha. He can relate.

“Oh, Dana!” her mother cries and runs to the bedside. Mulder starts to slide off the bed but Maggie envelops him into a three-way hug, and he returns it. He may not be Maggie’s family, but she is well aware he is her daughter’s.

“Fox, thank you for being here.”

Mulder smiles at Scully’s mother. He’s always liked her, liked how easy and welcoming she’s been with him over the years. In a way he envies the relationship she has with her daughter; his own mother hasn’t very often been the same reliable source of comfort and support for him over the years. Maggie has never questioned or doubted the devotion he and Scully share, and he feels grateful for that.

“I’ll be in the hall, Scully. You take your time with your family.” He takes her hand and kisses it, aware that Maggie is watching the two of them very closely.

As he gets up to leave, he and Bill Jr share a nod. He and this guy may never like each other, but in this moment they can push those feelings aside and acknowledge the relief and happiness they both feel.

Mulder extends his hand, tries to be companionable. As Bill takes it, he looks Mulder in the eye. “I’m glad you’re here for her.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now,” Mulder retorts. Their grasp tightens, then releases. It’s all he can say in this moment, all he feels comfortable saying. He hopes it’s enough for this guy to stop hating him.

He closes the door behind him and sits on a chair in the hospital hallway, where he waits. He will wait for the right moment to kiss her. He will wait for the right moment to tell her what she means to him. Waiting will become one of his new crusades.

For now, he will wait here for her until she needs him again. It’s where he belongs.

***

The car ride home from Emily’s wake has been quiet. He wants to talk to Scully, he’s just not sure how, or even about what.

It’s drizzling outside, both his hands are on the steering wheel. She’s turned away from him, looking out the window. Every once in awhile he hears a soft sniffle.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She won’t turn to face him. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

He wants to be there for her, even if she thinks she doesn’t need him. He reaches out a hand to take hers, and she lets him. “If it’s any consolation, you did the right thing, Scully. Her suffering is over.”

“I know it is. I’m not feeling guilt, or regret, or anything like that. I know I made the best choice for her.”

“Then… are you okay?”

“It’s just... so unfair. So needlessly cruel, for God to bring a child into this world and allow her to suffer that way.”

He sighs. “I know this won’t help, but if you think that way, you have to concede that God lets this happen to multitudes of other children, every single day. We cannot save them all, Scully. All we can do is the best we can. That’s why we do the work we do.”

She squeezes his hand, knows he’s right.

“You need to keep telling yourself that, Scully. We are doing the best we can.”

“Maybe I’m just being selfish. Because I know you’re right. But I can only think of myself right now, and why this happened. I should never have even known Emily existed. But if I hadn’t, she may have suffered even more. I’m not sure how to feel. It’s almost as if… as if I shared in her suffering. As if she gave it over to me when she died. And now I’m suffering.” She pauses, considers this. “Maybe that’s what being a parent is.”

“Do you wish you’d never known about her?”

“No. She was my daughter, nothing can change that. I’ll always be glad I got to know her, even for those short precious moments. To see myself reflected back to me in a child… it’s something I never thought I’d get to see.”

He can’t help but feel a pang for her, for the loss of something she’d longed for. Not Emily specifically, but the chance to be a mother. It was stolen from her in her prime, and for no other reason than she had gotten tangled up with him and his mission. She may not feel guilt, but he certainly does.

“Emily wasn’t meant to be, Scully. The men who created her didn’t do it so you could know her, and love her. But you did, you got to love her, and as sad as this all is, that’s something worth holding on to.”

Scully turns in her seat, regards him thoughtfully. “Do you want to have kids someday?”

He glances sidelong at her, with a small smile.

She quickly explains. “I mean… I just mean, you know, in general. Is that something you ever think about?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m not opposed to the idea, but maybe I’m just jaded. It’s not a future I necessarily picture.”

As soon as the words escape his mouth he finds himself reconsidering. It’s not that being a parent is something he doesn’t want, it just hasn’t been a priority. But now that he’s openly said it’s a future he doesn’t think about, he can’t help but think about it.

Maybe he’s subconsciously written off the idea of having children because he knows Scully can’t have them. The thought burrows its way into his heart and he can’t shake it. Any kid he had the presence of mind to imagine has always been, in his heart, half his and half hers.

It’s silly; they aren’t even in a relationship. He loves her and he knows it, but this isn’t a conversation he can have with her right now. Just because he sees his future with her, it doesn’t change the fact that they’re sitting in this car together having never even kissed. It doesn’t change the fact that her heart is currently broken by the death of a child that should never have existed. A child that was created using her stolen ova, ova he knew about and never had the heart to tell her.

The two of them have issues that no couple, romantic or not, should ever have to deal with.

He remembers beating the shit out of Emily’s physician the other day. How his devotion to Scully had come pouring out of him in violence. The guy had deserved it, but it took him off guard. The anger and desperation he’d felt in that moment was something even he hadn’t been prepared to feel.

“Where do you think they took her?” Scully fingers the gold cross around her neck thoughtfully. “Some cold facility somewhere? Is she being picked apart as we sit here? Cut open? Researched? Or has she just been destroyed?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“You knew she’d be gone. I should have suspected. After everything we’ve been through, Mulder. Why couldn’t I see that coming?”

He sighs. “You have an optimism I haven’t had in awhile. When I was in violent crime I saw so many horrible things, all the time. It does something to you, Scully. It takes away your hope. It chips away at your faith in humanity. I don’t often meet people who help renew that faith. Maybe it’s why I’m always out looking for aliens.”

“But I wouldn’t consider you a person without hope. Far from it.”

“Maybe since you’ve been around, things have been better. What can I say, Scully? You bring out the best in me.”

She can’t help but smile at him. He squeezes her hand and adjusts his fingers to interlock with hers.

“I don’t say this often enough, but I think you’re amazing, Scully.”

“You do?” She sounds touched.

“I do. It’s not easy doing what we do every day. You take a lot of crap for it, too. From your family, from others at work. In the face of all our dead ends, everything that’s happened to you, and all the terrible stuff we see. You keep on going. I think that’s amazing.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Mulder," she sighs. "But I don’t feel that way all the time. To be honest, on days like today all I want to do is give up.”

They drive in silence for a bit, the rain picking up a bit, the windshield wipers working harder.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“You know, you don’t have to do this, Mulder. I’ll be fine. I don’t need you to make me feel better.”

“I’m not," he insists. "I’m just being honest with you. You put all of yourself into this job even when you probably shouldn’t. You always defend me even when I don’t deserve it. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to get stuck with you, Scully.”

“Stuck with me?” She raises an eyebrow, smiling.

“You know what I mean. If it had been anyone else sent downstairs to work with me I’d be out of a job by now. Or even dead.”

He can feel her gaze on him. He loves it and is unsettled by it all at once.

“I don’t think I could ask for a better partner, Scully. I’m thankful for you every day. I should tell you that more often.”

She looks down at their entwined fingers. He briefly glances down too, and for a moment he can’t tell which fingers are his and which are hers. She slowly traces circles with her thumb near his wrist, right at his pulse point. The gesture is romantic, sensual. He doesn’t want to read too much into exactly how much he’s enjoying it.

“I’m glad you’re my partner too, Mulder. Even though you’re stuck with me. I’m happy to be here.”

He pulls the rental car into Bill Scully Jr’s driveway and turns off the ignition. The car goes silent and they sit together for a moment, the rain pattering on the windows the only sound. She’s still doing the thing with her thumb and he wonders if she’s aware of the power she has over him, or if she’s completely oblivious to it. They look at each other, really look into each other’s eyes for the first time since they left the church, and he briefly considers going for it. He could lean in right now, here in her brother’s driveway, and change everything forever.

Before he makes a decision, she speaks and the moment passes.

“Are you coming in? Or do you have to catch your flight home?” She says it quietly and he can tell she wants him to stay.

He doesn’t really want to endure Bill Jr’s unpleasantness, but his flight isn’t for a few hours, and something deep inside is compelling him to stay with her. Besides, after all Scully has gone through this week, the least he can do for her is put up with her asshole brother for a couple hours.

“I’m coming with you.” He can’t help himself and pulls her hand to his lips to kiss it. He knows, truly knows he’s in deep. The only thing more real to him right now than his love for her is his fear. The only thing getting in the way is his own hesitation.

“Hang on, I’ll come around with the umbrella,” he tells her.

He walks around to the other side and helps her out of the car. He holds the umbrella over her head as she shuts the door, taking her hand again. She doesn’t typically tolerate these acts of chivalry with much patience, but for whatever reason she’s allowing it.

As they walk to the front door, holding hands, he wonders if he’s being inappropriate. They’re off duty, she’s grieving, maybe he’s taking advantage. But she squeezes his hand and makes no effort to let go. He’s just happy she seems to be feeling better. If she’s sending him any signals, he’s certainly not going to interpret them as such, not today.

Maggie Scully opens the door, smiling, and lets them inside. As she collects the umbrella, he glances over her shoulder into a mirror behind her and takes in the tableau of himself and Scully, hand in hand. He has the distinct awareness that they look like a couple.

Maybe they are. Maybe they always will be, regardless of whether or not they ever talk about it.

Thanks for reading! To continue reading click here. I’ll be back tomorrow with Chapter Four.

[mchalowitz]

fic: with/without child

summary: they imagine a life with their son, they try to find him.

Trust no one morphs into trust everyone.

Emails received from anonymous senders, addresses dropped into his lap. A hacked last name of unsubstantiated origin. He keeps this from the one person he really, truly trusts, and tries to believe that this is a noble decision. Her heart has been through too much, he rationalizes. She has felt the stabs of anguish too much by his hand. By withholding what he knows, he causes that pain all the same.

He goes to the far reaches of the country on a hunch, under the guise of visiting his mother’s gravesite. He’s been a free man for a year or so, it feels like something he would need to check off his list of things to catch up on. She’s confused, he was never close with his mother anyway, but she’s glad he’s getting out of the house when she’s spending so much time at the hospital. He kisses her cheek before he leaves with a suitcase in hand. 

He believed he would meet his son. He didn’t. 

Mulder has thought of his son a thousand times. 

A flash of copper hair and toothless smiles when he hands a complacent technician his sample cup at the donor lab, visions of clumsy waddling and eating popsicles in the grass during humid nights on the run. He wastes away in his office, dreaming of kitchen science experiments, and hashing out the dynamics of kindergarten romances.

Bringing up their son to Scully is like adding vinegar to baking soda, an explosion occurs.

If Scully allows herself to dream about a life with William, she would never let him know. In bares bones motel rooms once upon the time, the questions were always on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know everything, right down to the way he smelled, and how he fussed. He never thought he had any parental instincts until the moment he held that baby in his arms. 

For a few months, they stayed in an off-the-grid cabin in the thick forests of Montana. It was the farthest north they ever went, the closest to a life of freedom they rejected across the border. It was the first time they stayed somewhere more than a few weeks, a respite from motel rooms and truck stops. It was peaceful, comfortable, the first seed of inspiration to find their own home. 

They get a little drunk a couple nights in, loosened by cheap merlot. Her feet  stretched across his lap, her small body sunken into the ancient cushions. “Do you think he’s okay?” he remembers asking, twisting his glass in his hand. His alcohol sloshed brain cannot hold this in any longer. “His p--the people he’s with, do you think they’re good?” She says she hopes so, with a hint of a tremble in her tone.

She imagines him as a little boy with her hair and his eyes. His first word is something strange like Okobogee or mothman. He loves books and never sleeps. He tells her he wants to be a doctor, he tells him he wants to be a ghost buster. 

He sees his son more in scenes than details. Chewing on Mulder’s index finger when he teethes, while Scully stands by insisting it’s unsanitary. Road trips to amusement parks that aren’t haunted. Telling him tales of his parents’ adventures like fairytales until he insists he’s too old for these made up stories. 

They never have another conversation about their son that doesn’t end in tears and slammed doors, accusations of resentment for the other’s choices. The guilt cuts hot and deep. Eventually, it seems better to hold it inside. 

It is not an active decision to find more joy in their lives, it just happens. It’s a transition they knew would come eventually, where they have whole days where they don’t think about the fact that they have a son somewhere in the world. They laugh until they can’t breath at each other’s jokes, they like to go to the farmer’s market on weekends with their outfits that unintentionally match just enough to make other people jealous. They make love for no purpose other than because it’s fun. They exchange vows and it is the purest moment of bliss they have ever experienced. 

They are still two parents without a child. They sleep side by side, wonder if giving him up really kept him safe.

It takes more than five years for him to admit to her he used his connections to track him down. More than once. He still keeps the trips to the far reaches of the country on false leads to himself. The world not ending is not the only reason he fell into darkness, ruined their lives, their marriage. 

Mulder believes this time will be different. Their car parked in the shadows, they stare down another government facility. Their relationship was built on trespassing. He wonders how many twenty foot high fences he’s had to boost her over. He sees her wedding ring glinting in the light. “Don’t want our son to think we’re living in sin?” he asks. He can’t go long without making a stupid joke. 

“Mulder, shut up,” she tells him as she swings her leg over the top. He makes a comment about the possibility of being too old for fences. 

Scully starts to respond when he shushes her, pulling her around the nearest corner. They’re rusty at the whole trespassing thing. They didn’t spend enough time accessing the area. Two guards, rifles in hand, cross from one building to another. He waits for them to disappear inside the building. He starts to follow. 

“What makes you think that building is the right one?” 

“It’s been twenty-four years, Scully, you should know a lot of my work is based on hunches.”

He doesn’t expect her to be satisfied by this answer and she isn’t. It has no basis of actual fact. Mulder, in a less than legal fashion, has acquired a keycard to the facility. He thinks. He hopes. He slides it. There’s a click, a flash of green. He opens the door, holding his arm high so she can walk underneath. 

"Alright, since you seem to have a handle on this, which way?"

"Split up, meet back at the car? If you get the milk, I’ll get the eggs."

She decides left in aggravation. With the militarian exterior, he was expecting something a bit more drab, but this facility is almost hospital-like, with its bright florescent lights, and white walls. Underneath, there is something very prison-esque. Each door appears like a vessel of confinement. “I think it’s this one,” Scully tells him. 

"Why?"

"I thought we were working purely on vibes this time around."

“I said hunches, not vibes. Totally different,” he tells her. There’s a bin next to the door, holding a file. She grabs it, begins to read as he watches. She wordlessly urges him with a pat on his arm to unlock the door. She rips out the papers, shoves them into her jacket. 

Click, green. He pushes the door open. The light in the room is almost tortuously overwhelming. It feels like there isn’t enough time to process the images in front of them before Mulder feels a body push hard against him. His partner falls to the ground.

Mulder starts to kneel down to help Scully as she scrambles to her feet. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Mulder, we have to catch him before they do. They’ll kill him.” 

They take off down the hallway. Her hair is flapping behind her, she’s always been faster than him. They follow the squeaking sound of sneakers, the same body being forced against heavy doors to the outside. There aren’t a lot of choices when it comes to hiding places. There’s another building a few yards ahead, more of a warehouse. They watch the door swing shut. 

This is not the kind of game of hide and seek he saw in his mind.

Inside the empty building, it’s almost pitch black. The only light comes from the moon shining through the openings near the ceiling. There’s the click from a gun. 

In all his fantasies, he never sees his child behind the barrel of a gun. 

"Put your hands up!"

Mulder and Scully exchange a look, raise their hands. The light finally hits the child’s face and they both know what the other is thinking. They both imagined a copy of Scully, with her auburn hair, and fair skin, and slight frame. This William, the real one, looks like faded photographs of his father in Oxford sweatshirts and floppy hair. Scully is in there, with his piercing sky eyes, and hints of that auburn color, but anyone’s doubt about the father of this child can be erased in an instant. 

"William," Scully says softly, the comforting tone of a mother. "We're here to help you."

"You can’t help me. You’re going to do to me what the others did to my parents. Stay away from me!” 

It’s been some time since Mulder has had to negotiate when a gun in being held just a few feet from his face. He’s never had to with a scared child. His scared child. “We understand what you’ve been through, William, we just want to help.” He can't begin to fathom what has happened to cause this. “My partner is a medical doctor. If they’ve done something to you, she will know what to do.” 

The gun is wagging around violently. They can see how hard their son is shaking. One wrong move could end this all fatally. Mulder steps forward slowly, hands still up.  “It’s okay,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You can trust us.” He takes another forward step, places his hand on a thin wrist. “I can take it.”

The boy nods. His fingers loosen, letting the gun drop into Mulder’s hand. He closes his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Hey,” Mulder says. “None of that.” William’s eyes fly open, there’s a flash of what looks like confused recognition in his eyes. 

Scully lowers her hands. Mulder watches her expression of wonder as she walks toward him. He’s so tall, her arm almost has to stretch when she brings her hand up to his cheek. This is their first contact in years. She knows he needs it, and she takes that leap of faith that he will not reject her. Whether he knows her or not, he leans into her touch.