#with mulder it’s this hesitant familiarity

[carefulfears]

do you have a headcanon of when mulder caught feelings for scully? i’m on the same page w you that scully has had it bad since day one, but i can never make up my mind about mulder

yeah i’ve always said that i think he was aware of the connection between them since her abduction, but i think specifically 3.

ascension is very frantic, it’s rooted in so much trauma and desperation. very few moments are about scully, as a person, really. it’s about getting there in time. it’s about rewriting history. it’s about failure, and standing alone in the end.

in 3, he is surrounded in her absence. her badge. her file, marked with her name. her necklace, which he slips around his own neck, carries with him.

dana scully was farrrrr gone from day one, humming against him in the rain and telling her friends how cute he is, but mulder is more single-minded.

he’s so very fond of her, in the beginning. he knocks on her door to invite her on his run, when he knows she’s just supposed to be discrediting him. he lowers himself beneath her every time he has bad news or a vulnerable conversation. he says “dana,” softly, and checks in on how she’s doing. he believes she’ll be head of the bureau someday.

so much of that is just who he is (trusting, passionate, kind), and she’s the only person who has ever valued that, taken him seriously.

but he’s also internalizing who she is, the consistency and the curiosity and the quiet intensity.

that moment in the rain, before she laughs, before she asks where they’re going and follows: he says “you think i’m crazy,” and turns away. it’s the first time in the series (and remains rare) where you can see that there is a weight to it all. he plays into being “spooky mulder,” but part of him is really disappointed to think that this new partner won’t believe him either.

she thinks about what he said, and she meets him on his level. she questions it, she combats it, she adds to it.

when they both burst out laughing, it’s in pure joy and excitement. it’s the moment that spurs the rest of their lives.

that means a lot to him, to be listened to. to be held to a standard, not just dismissed.

but mulder only knows how to conceptualize love in absence, in the search, so when he’s left listening to her scream: he knows. it feels like the worst thing that could ever happen, because it feels like his closest person disappearing, and that’s the experience he’s most familiar with and enmeshed in.

i believe there’s a script note in ascension that mentions that he’s doubting if he had failed his “closest friend.” it’s the loss being so great, so unbearable, that makes it unavoidable.

(thinking of him smiling at diana, telling her, “i’ve done alright without you.”)

i see a lot of people describe msr as a “fell first/fell harder” trope, but i think most things just hit mulder harder. it’s their natures.

but by the time he hangs her cross around his neck, by the time he abandons the truth to sit and hold her hand, he knows.

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 33/34 - end call

[Read on AO3]

Mulder isn’t sure how long he's out for, but he knows it can’t have been more than an hour or two before something wakes him from his dreamless slumber. He blinks a few times at the striped pattern on the ceiling from the street lights shining through the blinds, and suddenly remembers where he is.

The sound he hears is the familiar cry of Madeline, just the beginnings of it, but he knows if it goes unanswered for much longer, she will be harder to console. He gets to his feet, running his hands over his tired face as he crosses from his room into the hall.

He only hesitates a second before pushing open the door to Scully’s room, peeking his head inside. She’s sitting up in bed, looking disoriented and adorable, clearly only having woken up a moment ago as well.

“Stay there,” he says quietly, accidentally startling her with his presence. “I can get her this time, hon.”

He’s not sure where that endearment came from, exactly, but he can blame it on the lack of sleep later if she asks. He makes his way over to the bassinet, peering over the edge at the baby inside.

“Diaper change,” he informs Scully, lifting Maddie out and taking her over to the changing table next to the dresser. By the time he gets her cleaned and changed, Scully is passed out again on her side, her hair fanning out over the pillow with a bit of drool escaping her lips. He chuckles softly, taking Maddie with him as he goes out to the kitchen to prepare some formula for her.

He returns and takes a seat in the rocking chair, moving Scully’s robe aside so he can sit down in it while he feeds the baby. As much as he usually dislikes being kept awake in the middle of the night, this isn’t so bad. Maybe in a few weeks he’ll be tired of it, but for now, it affords him the opportunity to see Scully in a way he doesn’t often get to. And getting to be a father? Just the cherry on top.

Maddie falls asleep again before she can finish the bottle, which means she’ll almost certainly be up in another hour or so wanting more. Resigned to this fact, Mulder lifts his elbow up and places a kiss on her sweet-smelling forehead. Maybe it’s too early to say, but this little creature can do no wrong in his eyes. Even if she keeps them up all night, he’ll never forget what it took to get here. This is what they’d wanted, him and Scully, and all the highs and lows that come with it.

Careful not to jostle her too much, he settles her back down in the bassinet and puts the cap back on the bottle. It’ll need to go in the fridge until the next feeding, probably. He walks over to the door, placing a hand on the door handle.

“Where are you going?” Scully slurs, her eyes half-lidded beneath furrowed eyebrows. She lifts herself onto her left elbow, a movement that—in her semi-conscious state—takes a lot more effort than usual.

Mulder holds up the half-filled bottle of formula and gives it a little shake. “Putting this away,” he answers in a hushed tone.

“Are you coming back?” she asks.

He stares at her, wondering if she’s even aware of what she’s saying, or if she’s just talking in her sleep. 

“I was going to go back to bed, but I can if you want me to,” he answers; Then, after a pause, “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she breathes, laying back down and adjusting the covers over her shoulders.

His heart pounds in his chest. “Okay,” he says, his voice strained. “I’ll be right back.”

This time when he returns, he opens the door with less hesitation, since theoretically, he has an invitation. He briefly wonders if she’d just wanted him to sit in here and talk or something, but the way she’s pulled back the covers for him clarifies her meaning pretty effectively.

The mattress dips below him as he takes his place on the right side of the bed. He’s not sure she’s even awake anymore, but he reminds himself that she asked for this. It’s not even that unusual these days to share a bed with her, and yet each time, he still feels as nervous as the last.

She hums in appreciation once he gets settled, rolling over to face him.

“I like having you here,” she says sleepily, wrapping her arms around his right arm.

‘What a coincidence,’ he thinks, ‘I like being here.’

It doesn’t matter if they get woken up every couple hours throughout the night—it’s one of the best night's sleep Mulder has ever had. For the first time, he has his family all under one roof. Never mind the roof—they’re all in one room.

When they wake in the morning, Scully’s head is resting on his shoulder, and his hand is tucked snugly around her waist.

He can’t imagine a better place to be.

-.-.-

She leaves Mulder with Maddie in the living room while she puts the laundry away, smiling to herself at the sight of the two of them playing together. Maybe playing is an exaggeration, but Mulder keeps making her kick her legs to the beat of whatever of his CDs is currently playing in the CD player, a game she seems rather indifferent toward. 

She does seem to like being in the bouncy chair, though, even though she hasn’t quite figured out how to reach for the colorful toys dangling above it. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll be shoving anything and everything she can reach into her slobbery mouth, Scully reminds herself. There’s plenty to enjoy about these newborn days, and she vows to make the most of them.

As she’s finishing hanging up one of her work shirts in the closet, her cell phone rings on the nightstand where she’d left it the night before. She hooks the hanger onto the rod and sets the remaining pile of clothes on the bed before picking up the device and checking the caller I.D.

Bill, Jr.

Scully sighs and pushes the door to her bedroom closed, leaving only a small crack in case Mulder needs something. Only then does she feel ready for the conversation that is about to take place.

“Hi, Bill,” she says, feeling dread pool in the pit of her stomach. This was one of the consequences of not telling her family that she’d tried to forget about, initially, but now it had come back to bite her.

“Dana,” he says. “So, I talked to Mom on the phone yesterday.”

Scully sits down on the edge of her bed. It’s either that, or pace around in circles until she wears a hole into the carpet, and she’d really like to not have to replace the carpet in here another time.

“What did she tell you?” she asks, calculating just how upset she needs to be with her mother the next time she sees her.

“Nothing,” he answers. “She couldn’t talk, just said she was very busy and that I should call you.”

Scully suppresses a breath of relief.

“I was actually going to call you today,” she says, which is mostly true. Mulder had been asking her all morning when she’d get around to telling the rest of her family, and she’d promised it would be soon. She knew it was probably making him as anxious as she was. He’s the one who had worried about Bill since the beginning of all this.

“So, what is it?” her brother asks, clearly bracing for some kind of life altering news. “Cancer?” he guesses, muttering the word in hopes of it being wrong.

“No,” she’s quick to assure him. “No, it’s not that. It’s– um…”

How to go about this? She has a couple options here. Which part of the news should she break first?

“Spit it out, Danes,” he says, clearly growing impatient.

“I, um…” 

Good news first, right? Well, not that any of it is bad news, from her perspective, but from Bill’s… 

“I adopted a baby, Bill,” she says, keeping her voice quiet enough that Mulder won’t hear.

“You did what?” he asks, still processing what she’d said. “A baby? Why would you–? Without telling us?”

Scully purses her lips, keeping silent while he comes to terms with this announcement.

“It’s not—” he stammers, searching for the right words. “It’s not like… Emily… right?”

She huffs, despite knowing he means no offense by asking. But somehow, it still hurts to hear the detached way he questions her.

“No, just a regular adoption through an agency,” she says, working hard to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“By yourself?” he asks, emphasizing the words.

And here’s where things could go south very quickly. 

She’ll just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid. 

“With Mulder.”

It would be better, she thinks, if Bill would just jump straight into yelling at her, but instead she has to sit through at least thirty seconds of complete silence, the tension making her want to snap.

“With Mulder,” he finally repeats, the tone of his voice indiscernible.

Scully’s tongue peeks out and runs over her upper lip, a nervous tic she’s thus far been unable to quell. “Is there a problem with that?” she asks, testing him. Daring him to voice his disdain for the man she’s chosen to spend her life with.

Bill Jr. has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“What, are you trading off taking care of it like some class pet, Dana?”

And there’s the predictable moment where he pushes her over the edge. It was only a matter of time before he said something truly hurtful.

“Her name is Madeline, Bill,” she says forcefully, her voice raising an octave. “And actually, Mulder and I are living together. We’re raising her together, as partners.”

“As partners,” he scoffs. “What, he couldn’t at least make an honest woman out of you? I can’t believe Mom is supporting this—”

“If it matters that much to you, I’ll have you know that Mulder and I are, in fact, married,” she says, taking a tone of superiority that she usually reserves for embarrassing sexist law enforcement officers in Podunk, U.S.A. “But before you come flying across the country raring to fight, we only got married to make the process easier. You don’t have to worry about your poor defenseless sister falling to the whims of some quote-unquote ‘dangerous man.’”

“Dana,” Bill says, frustration and disappointment evident in his voice. “I just don’t understand you. You could have any man you want, someone who would give you a real family. Why would you settle for this– this… arrangement you have with your work partner?”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me, Bill? Why do I have to explain myself to you?”

“Is this what you were hiding at Christmas? Is this why he came along?”

Her deafening silence is all the answer he needs.

“I can’t believe this. My baby sister has a sham marriage…” he groans. “How could you let this happen, Dana? What are you going to do when he runs off to go search for aliens and leaves you?”

“Mulder has been the best father a kid could ask for,” Scully speaks angrily into the phone. It’s one thing for Bill to insult her, but the things he’s saying about Mulder are unacceptable.

“I hope that’s true,” he spits. “I hope for your sake, Dana, that you’re right. But I’m telling you right now, I don’t have much confidence in the guy. How can someone like that, with his head constantly in the clouds yelling that the sky is falling, ever be the father he needs to be? I just don’t see it. Why couldn’t you just find someone who loves you and settle down the normal way? Why?”

Scully’s pounding heart shatters, spilling all over the floor in tiny pieces and knocking the wind out of her.

“He does love me,” she gasps through tears, hoping that if she says it with enough conviction, it might be true. “He does.”

She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince now, her brother, or herself. Either way, it’s clear he detects the uncertainty in her voice, that nagging bit of doubt she can’t seem to shake. She imagines on his face the smug look of a slimy defense lawyer about to rest his case, knowing that he’s about to let a guilty man go free. Her stomach twists sickly.

“You sure about that?” Bill asks.

A gentle tap on her shoulder startles her out of her near panic attack, and she looks up to see Mulder standing there, an unreadable expression on his face. How long he’s been listening, she doesn’t know, but with tear-filled eyes, she feels vulnerable and hurt and just wants it to stop. He holds his hand out for the phone, and she releases it from her iron grip, handing it to him without a word.

His thumb immediately finds the end call button, and he tosses it on her bed without a second glance.

Crouching down to her level, he holds her gently in place by placing his hands on her arms, locking his eyes with hers with an intensity she’s rarely ever seen.

“I do love you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Don’t listen to him. I love you.”

His thumb brushes soothingly over the smooth underside of her elbow, and she finds she can’t look away. She’s too overwhelmed now to contain her tears, and she doesn’t have the strength to do so even if she tried. They spill forth like a river, and she holds fast to his words, afraid that if she lets go, she’ll be pulled under by the current.

“You do?” she asks, trembling under his grip as she searches his eyes for the truth.

He nods simply, his brows furrowed in worry at the state of her.

Desperately, and without a second thought, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly. The position can’t be good for his knees, but he responds in kind, encircling her waist in the security of his arms.

“I love you too,” she gasps, hardly able to get the words out through the tightness constricting her throat, but she has to. He needs to know what she should have told him long ago.

His shoulders drop in relief, and she feels him bury his face in her neck and clutch her tighter, his hand moving up her back to entangle with the hair at the base of her neck.

“You’ve given me everything,” he murmurs into her skin, his voice breaking with honesty. “This family, Scully… I’ve wanted this with you for so long.”

She lets out a sob, grabbing at his shirt for purchase and refusing to let go. His Adam’s apple bobs against her shoulder, and she knows him well enough by now to know that he, too, is overcome with emotion. 

He pulls back suddenly and his eyes meet hers, watery and clear, a direct window into the depths of his soul. For the first time, everything he feels is laid bare at her feet, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he loves her. Every bit of her, just as she does him. And for the first time, she allows herself to believe it. 

Under the weight of his undisguised adoration, she almost forgets how to breathe.

She has just enough time to draw one last shaky breath before he surges forward and kisses her, covering her mouth with his like a desperate man that has been dying of thirst in the desert. His lips are salty with tears—either hers or his, she can’t tell, but what’s the difference? He drops his knees to the ground, allowing him a little extra height and better stability so he doesn’t have to rely on her for balance quite as much. 

They cling desperately to each other, here in this small bedroom in their apartment in Georgetown, and she realizes all at once that she has everything she could possibly want. His hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against her jaw as his lips move firmly and smoothly over hers.

This is it, the thing she’s scarcely allowed herself to hope for. Mulder—all of him. As a friend. As a partner. As a husband. Now, a lover. 

Her family.

“Your brother’s an idiot,” he says into her mouth, startling a huff of a laugh out of her before he devotes himself entirely to the kiss, giving his utmost care and attention to the fullness of her bottom lip.

She smiles and pulls back just long enough to look at him, his shining, tear-filled eyes and radiant grin making her stomach do somersaults.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she says, cupping his face between her hands.

His fingers brush her tears away, leaving only happiness in their wake.

And she kisses him again.

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

~~~

AHHH that's the end (except the epilogue) 🥲 I can hardly believe it. I'll have a longer author's note tomorrow with the last chapter, but for now, here's a drawing I spent WAY too long on (not an artist, but I tried)

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[oohnotvery]

Hand To Your Heart (Chapter 2)

Okay, wow wow wow. Thank you all so much for the flood of support for this story! I now have imposter syndrome and am extremely nervous that I won’t do it justice . . . but here we go anyways.

Please enjoy this extremely long, dialogue-heavy chapter!

tagging @today-in-fic

Five Weeks Earlier

Scully

The basement office is so hot, her makeup is melting. Scully has already shed her nylons and suit jacket and wishes there were more she could remove without treating Mulder to a daytime strip show. Over at his desk, the man in question has rolled up his sleeves and yanked down his tie so it dangles askew around his neck. Even from across the room, she can see the sweat beading on his forehead.

She shifts uncomfortably and lifts her hair to fan the back of her neck, wondering when maintenance will be down to fix the broken air conditioning. Every few minutes, she glances up at the basement skylight, the brutal sun somehow scorching even at the bottom of the earth. She imagines what Mulder would think if she climbed on top of her desk to tape up the window. Since when does the temperature hit 100 degrees in May?  

A trickle of sweat slides down her spine and she shudders in disgust. She’s eyeing the skylight for a fourth time when a pencil flies violently across the room, striking one of the filing cabinets. She jumps, turning to glare at Mulder.

He rises to standing and wipes grouchily at his sweaty brow.  

“Let’s get out of here,” he says with a tilt of his head towards the door.

“Where?” she asks with a half-laugh. It’s not even one o’clock. They never cut out this early, not unless they have a flight to catch or monsters to chase.

“To a restaurant, back to our apartments, a movie theater, literally anywhere that has functioning AC,” he says irritably.

She hesitates for just a beat before peeling herself off her chair and grabbing her bag. A triumphant smile flickers across Mulder’s face and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly as she brushes by him towards the door. Over the years, they’ve reached an unspoken agreement about not using the elevator when they’re trying to sneak out of the building unnoticed. The onset of heatstroke has her feeling particularly grouchy about the possibility of seeing other human beings today, so she heads towards the perpetually vacant stair well, Mulder on her heels.

She swings open the door and startles backwards into Mulder’s chest when she sees a man trotting down the stairs towards them. Mulder pushes in front of her to assess the hold-up.

“Hey, Mulder,” comes a familiar voice. As Scully sidesteps her partner, Special Agent Mike Stephens comes into view. His eyes flit to hers and a wide smile rises to his lips.

“Dana,” he says eagerly, stepping forward as if he’s about to hug her. Her spine stiffens reflexively and Mike takes a step back.  

“Agent Stephens,” she says with a polite smile.

“You cutting out early, Mike?” Mulder asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.  

Agent Stephens laughs easily and shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, actually. You two headed out on a case?”

Mulder’s eyes catch hers and they nod in unison. “Yep. Just got the call.”

Placing a palm to her lower back, Mulder starts to usher them down the stairs towards the parking garage, but Mike catches her wrist and she jolts to a halt.

His eyes flicker quickly to Mulder’s before landing on her face. “You’ll call me?” he says. “About . . . the thing?”

Instinctively, her eyes flit to Mulder, who is watching her with an inscrutable expression.

With flaming cheeks, she shakes her head. “You’ll have to excuse us, Agent Stephens,” she says brusquely, catching Mulder’s arm and tugging him down the stairs with her. She barely registers the flash of disappointment on Mike’s face.

In the parking garage, she and Mulder argue briefly over their next move—she’s envisioning a cool, dark movie theater; he wants food and a cold drink. When he finally suggests a place near the river that serves salads and margaritas alongside his mainstays of hamburgers and French fries, she concedes.

She’s nearly finished with her first margarita by the time she finally starts to cool down. They’re seated at an indoor/outdoor patio and the breeze off the river, combined with the AC pumping inside the restaurant, feels like heaven on her hot cheeks.

Scanning the river for boaters, she swipes at Mulder’s basket of fries for the fifth time and ignores his warning look.

“Stop ordering salads if you’re just going to eat my food,” he grumbles, reaching over to toss a crouton in her face.

She wrinkles her nose, munching happily around his fry. “Calories don’t count when it’s not your food,” she preaches.

He rolls his eyes and stabs a finger at her salad. “You dug your own grave, Dana Scully, now lie in it.”

The little sister in her wants to stick her tongue out, but she resists the urge, settling instead for a dark glare and a petulant stab at her lettuce.

“So,” Mulder says after a time, leaning back and stretching his arm over the back of his chair, “what thing did Mike want you to call him about?”

She crinkles her nose and squints up at the sun like she isn’t sure what he’s talking about. “Agent Stephens?” she asks casually.

Mulder’s lips twitch at her uneasy deflection and her stomach twists. He’s a profiler, for God’s sake. She can’t hide anything from him.

“Give it up, Scully,” he prods, a wicked gleam rising in his eyes. “There’s a dirty little secret between you and Mike Stephens, and I’m going to get it out of you.”

Her eyebrows rise in challenge. “Is that so? What are you, some kind of FBI agent?”

He scowls. “Har, har. Have your fun now, because in five minutes, I guarantee you’ll be sharing all your mysteries with me.”

She pretends to consider this, swirling a finger in her drink. “And what kind of interrogation techniques should I expect from you, Agent . . . ?” she asks teasingly, smiling to herself.

But she should know by now that he gives as good as he gets. Mulder leans forward, a wolfish grin rising to his pouty lips. “You know, Scully, if you wanted me to tie you up and flog you ‘til you’re begging for mercy, you could always just ask.” He winks and she flushes ten shades of red.

Needing a distraction, she again reaches for his fries, but he slaps her hand away. Indignant, her mouth falls open.

“No, no, no,” he taunts with a wagging finger, “no fries for you until you spill.”

She groans. “Oh, come on, Mulder, it’s nothing.”

“The fact that you refuse to tell me means it’s not nothing.”

“It’s nothing,” she doubles down, praying to God that Mulder doesn’t actually try to wrestle this out of her. She can feel her cheeks darkening just imagining what he’ll think if he finds out what Mike wants.

There’s a short pause where Mulder takes a long swig of his margarita, then he leans across the table and fixes her with attentive eyes. He pops the drink’s swizzle stick into his mouth and swirls it around with his tongue, and her flush deepens. Goddammit, that tongue.

His eyes widen gleefully. “Dana Katherine Scully,” he says incredulously, “are you actually blushing?”

Her eyes narrow. “Drop it,” she warns.

He leans even closer, chewing temptingly on the stick. “Come on,” he says, seeming to consider something. “If you tell me what Mike wants from you, I’ll do all our requisition paperwork for the next month.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Backing down from your hardball interrogation scheme so quickly, Agent Mulder?” she taunts.

He smiles deviously. “I’ve got handcuffs in the back of my car with your name on them, Agent Scully.”

She rolls her eyes. “Technically, Mulder, since you’re the one in charge of requisitioning our vehicles, you should always be doing that paperwork—”

“And I’ll do the expense reports,” he adds with a smirk.

Now that is tempting. She spends hours of her time filling out their damned expense reports, trying to make excuses for the ridiculous things Mulder tries to get the government to cover. But is it tempting enough to risk the humiliation that will surely follow her disclosure?

Clearing her throat, she fixes him with a no-nonsense stare. “You cannot tell anyone.”

He scoffs. “Who the hell would I tell? The fish?”

She licks her lips and leans closer, their fingertips touching across the table. “Please just—please keep this private.”

He nods solemnly, and she knows he will.

Shifting nervously, she drums her fingers against the table. “Do you remember when Agent Stephens and I worked that emergency call a few days ago with the drug enforcement team? The night Skinner made you fly to Huntsville for that hearing?”

Another nod.

“We—well, the team went out to breakfast the next morning. We’d been up all night, and we were able to successfully subdue the perpetrators—”

Mulder makes an impatient gesture with his hands. “Yeah, yeah. Get to the juicy stuff already.”

She glares at him. “Well, at breakfast, Agent Stephens was friendly with me.”

She can tell Mulder is fighting back a smile and it irks her. “Go on,” he says.

“He, uh, he showed me a lot of . . . attention.”

“That’s it, Scully,” he says, rubbing his palms together eagerly. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” She kicks his shin under the table and he shoots her a wounded look.

“Anyways,” she continues primly, “it wasn’t necessarily unwelcome attention. He’s attractive and smart, and we worked well together that night.”

There’s a minute change in Mulder’s expression, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of moment, but still he nods. “All fair points.”

She studies her partner quietly, trying to break through the now-neutral expression on his face. What is he thinking? What will he think? She drops her gaze to her drink.

“And that’s all, really,” she says with a shrug.

Mulder’s finger comes into her vision when he taps at her wrist. “That’s not all, Scully,” he says. “What did he want? Please tell me it was something freaky or extremely embarrassing.” When she doesn’t respond, he huffs. “Hell, just tell me, Scully. You know my mind is already beginning to conjure far more indecent scenarios than what’s actually going on.”

“Your mind is a shocking place,” she murmurs, deflecting.

“Tell me.”  

She lifts her eyes to his and is surprised to find genuine curiosity reflected at her. He isn’t just looking for an entertaining story. He wants to know about her life.

She hesitates briefly, then shakes her head in defeat. “Agent Stephens asked if I wanted to have a relationship with him.”  

He chuckles and flexes his fingers. “He asked you to go steady? Wow, you really worked me up for nothing, Scully, damn.”

She bites her lip. “No, he didn’t want to date me,” she corrects. “He asked if I’d be amenable to a . . . casual relationship.”

Mulder cocks his head in confusion.

She huffs aggravatedly. “Sex,” she adds, refusing to drop her gaze even as her cheeks burn. “He asked if I’d be interested in having casual, no-strings-attached sex with him on a regular basis.”

Mulder’s mouth drops open and the swizzle stick falls from his lips. She rolls her eyes heavily and takes a long swig of her drink.

“See, Mulder?” she says, stabbing a finger at his gaping mouth. “You’re already acting like a teenage boy.”

“He wanted to be friends with benefits, Scully?” Mulder’s eyebrows rise. “Go, Mike Stephens, go.”

“Really, Mulder?”

He waggles his eyebrows mischievously. “I dunno, that sounds pretty hot.”

“Well, I told him I’d think about it,” she replies archly, even though it’s not entirely true.

His eyes narrow. “You didn’t tell him no?”

“That’s what he was trying to ask me on the stairs—whether or not I wanted to pursue that type of relationship with him.”

Mulder studies her for a long minute, then reclines back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. She waits for him to ask more questions, or perhaps tease her, but he simply fades into silence. Their waiter returns and they each order another drink. When their second round appears, Mulder downs half of his beer in one long gulp, then reaches out to tap at her wrist.

“Is that something you’d consider?” he asks.

She tilts her head, debating whether to continue picking at her wilting lettuce. “Hmm?”

“Being friends with benefits?”

Her eyes snap up to his. “Not with him,” she says dismissively, because it’s really no question. “I barely know him. We aren’t even friends, technically.”

“But if there was a friend?” Mulder asks, drumming his fingers lightly against her skin.

She shrugs. “Possibly? I haven’t thought about it much. It’s not unappealing, I suppose. I could see how it might be nice if one didn’t want to be in a committed relationship.” She takes a sip of her drink and winces at its sourness. This one is definitely stronger than the last round.

“It’s hard to date in our profession,” Mulder observes.

She nods, skimming the rim of her drink with a finger to collect the salt. “It can be.”

“It’s lonely.”

“Hmm?” she asks distractedly, sucking salt off her thumb. “Yeah, that’s what Agent Stephens said too.”

“Oh, did he,” Mulder remarks.

She slides her finger along the rim of her glass for another lick of salt but Mulder bats her hand away. Affronted, she glares at him.

“Stop doing that,” he mutters, “it’s distracting.”

She narrows her eyes. “Distracting from what? We’re not exactly having a serious conversation here, Mulder.”

He rankles. “It is serious, though. You’re debating getting your jollies off with Mike Stephens, a person you hardly know.”

Her eyebrows rise. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve made it quite clear that I will not accept his offer.”

“You won’t because it’s Mike Stephens making the offer?” he clarifies, his eyes darting between hers. “Because you don’t know him well, right? Or trust him.” He hesitates. “But you do acknowledge that our jobs are stressful and isolating, and you aren’t opposed to the idea of such an arrangement.”

She sucks in a breath and blows it out steadily. “I—I don’t know? Mulder, do you want me to call him right now and get it over with already?”

He grins, showing his teeth. “I can’t say it wouldn’t be fun to bear witness to his crushing disappointment upon learning that he won’t be getting the Agent Scully in his bed.”

She reaches across the table and flings a fry in his face.

Mulder ducks, then leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. She’s gazing out towards the river, debating whether or not she should order a third drink, when his voice breaks her concentration.

“We could do it.”

It’s so casual, she almost misses it.

“What?” she asks, her eyes turning back to his.

He gestures between them. “You and me. Friends with benefits.”

This time, it’s her jaw that drops. He leans forward again, all his earlier jesting gone, replaced now with a restless energy that makes her squirm in her seat.

“Oh, come on, Scully. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Her eyebrows fly to her hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act like some pearl-clutching virgin. I’m a good-looking guy, you’re a good-looking gal. You’ve acknowledged that our jobs don’t allow us to date, not in any meaningful way. Neither of us is having regular sex—”

“Mulder,” she hisses.

He ignores her. “Plus, you know me better than Mike Stephens, and you considered doing it with him.”

“I did not consider doing it with him,” she snaps.

His eyes fix her in place. “You said it could be a possibility.”

She gapes, then slowly shakes her head. “Mulder, this is so far beyond the bounds of professionalism—”

He slams his fist onto the table and she jumps, her margarita spilling out over the sides. “Professionalism, Scully? Really? You’re going to fly that flag right now?” He shakes his head, scowling. She finds herself extremely confused by his sudden irritability.

“Are you messing with me, Mulder?” she asks carefully, taking a napkin to the sides of her drink.

He is quiet for a long minute, his eyes fixated on her clean-up efforts. She’s about to ask him again when he finally looks up at her.

“I’m dead serious, Scully,” he says. “If you wanted to try an arrangement like that, do it with me, not with Mike Stephens. At least I’m someone you actually know, and presumably like.”

“But it wasn’t ever my idea—”

“Is it a bad idea?” he counters.

She sputters out a disbelieving laugh. “It’s a—it’s the worst idea—”

“Mike Stephens is the worst idea—”

“Stop making this about Agent Stephens, Mulder!” she shouts, and Mulder’s face falls. She gives him a long, hard look. “Just—just give me a moment to think.”

He nods and her mind instantly flashes to a hundred different images, things she’s fantasized about for years but has never allowed herself to imagine as real possibilities. His strong, masculine hands sliding across her bare skin, his lips dragging wetly down her neck, his toned, lean abdomen rippling as he picks her up and throws her onto the bed. She sees herself lying before him, pale and naked and flushed, as he presses kisses from her forehead to her toes. She imagines clutching his tanned, muscular forearms as she comes with his fingers inside her—

“Are you picturing me naked, Scully?” Mulder asks coyly, and she curses under her breath as a flush races down her neck and chest.

“No,” she mutters angrily, but his eyes are gleaming and she knows she’s lost this battle. He sees right through her; he always has. As tempting as this arrangement is, his ability to read her like a book is what makes it so dangerous. What happens when he figures out she’s in love with him? What happens when sex stops being gratifying for her, and she decides she needs more from him?

“This could break us, Mulder,” she says weakly as his eyes rake over her own body. God, is he picturing her naked? “Before we get impulsive, we should pause to consider how this could compromise our working relationship.”

“Is it really that impulsive?”

She blinks, stupefied. “Given that this is the first time we’ve ever thought about it—”

“I’ve thought about it dozens of times,” he breathes, fixing her with a hungry look. “Hell, hundreds of times, probably.”

She swallows. “You’ve thought about . . . us?”

“You’re gorgeous, Scully,” he says, his eyes turning briefly warm. “I may be a madman, but I’m not so cracked that I haven’t noticed how beautiful you are.”

She shuts her eyes and her brain immediately bombards her with an image—Mulder in a shitty, dirty, nameless motel room, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he comes with her name on his lips.

“And it’s just sex,” he says, breaking her concentration. Her eyes flutter open. “It’s just body parts moving around. I’m not asking you to marry me or even date me.” He flashes a wide grin. “I’m not that crazy.”

“Yes, you are,” she mumbles under her breath, lifting her drink and finding that her hands are trembling.

Mulder seems to notice too because he reaches forward and catches her wrist, setting her drink down before pulling her hand into his.

“Try it with me, Scully,” he murmurs enticingly, his eyes slightly feral. “See if we like it.”

“I haven’t said yes—”

“But you’re thinking about it,” he says, his fingertip sliding up her arm, drawing goosebumps in its path.

“No, I’m not,” she lies.

He smiles knowingly. “Your body says otherwise.”

Her eyes flutter up to his as warmth begins to pool treacherously in her core. This cannot be happening. Fox Mulder cannot seriously be asking her to sleep with him. It’s too—it’s too—

“Scully?” he prods gently, and behind the hunger in his gaze, she sees affection. Warmth. Tenderness.

Jesus Christ. He really does want this.

When she speaks, her voice is shaky, but firm.

“We might hurt each other,” she whispers, her final protest.

He frowns, squeezing her fingers. “Never, Scully. I would never hurt you.”

“You can’t promise—” She swallows. Her veins pound with arousal, excitement. Adrenaline starts to shut down the rational side of her brain.

“Okay,” she finally says, looking down at their joined hands.

His lips curl into a satisfied smile and he pushes his basket of fries towards her. “Good girl. Now eat your fries.”

[randomfoggytiger]

Fight the Future Hallway, In-Depth (Part I): "I Just Held You Back"

Mulder's head snaps up from his father's old photos when a knock raps at his door.

Scully opens the door, advancing slowly in, resolute in her decision but hesitant in her method of delivery. Her left hand twitches, her lips tighten, her expression remains muted and war torn. Already determined to aid him by leaving.

Mulder senses her weariness, senses her something else; and asks softly, "What's wrong?"

She responds flatly, unemotionally: "Salt Lake City, Utah. Transfer effective immediately." Punctuating her recital with a gulp.

Mulder looks away, annoyed at this obstacle, snide at the FBI's interference; then sits back in his chair, frustrated by what he believes to be her lack of faith and conviction. He begins fidgeting as that annoyance blooms into emotional turbulence.

Again unemotional, again flat, Scully says, "I already gave Skinner my letter of," looking up to admit, "resignation."

Mulder coils into himself, bending at the waist, voice slightly thickened with righteous anger and racing fear. "You can’t quit now, Scully," he insists, head down, not wanting to face her denial.  

Scully, unrelenting, hands him the truth-- as she believes it-- no matter how distasteful, knowing-- believing-- she is handing him the key to his success. To freedom. "I can, Mulder. It's done."

Looking down and closing her eyes briefly, she admits in self-deprecation (one eyebrow raised rebukingly at her cowardice), "I debated whether or not to even tell you in person, but--"

Escaping this reality, this moment, is no longer feasible: Mulder explodes, cutting her off, chin shaking with barely suppressed emotion: "We are close to something here--"

Because, for him, it's long since become "we."

He twists around in anger, furious that he has to explain himself to Scully, that she has seemingly lost faith in their mission. In him. But the mission is all that ties them-- all that Mulder has allowed to tie them-- so he grasps for that life preserver: "--we are on the verge--"

The first spark of life flickers in Scully: still too detached, too dispirited for complete frustration, she cuts him off. "You're on the verge." Pausing to close up her emotions once again, she begs, "Please don't do this to me, Mulder."

Mulder doesn't back down, bolting from his chair to pursue that brief acknowledgment of what is shared between them-- disguising his hope, again, in the language of the quest. "After what you saw last night-- after all you've seen-- you can just walk away?"

He's run away from his shakier, unsteadier emotions into familiar, though barbed, debate, believing he can prod her beyond her stubborn boundaries and back to his side.

This angle, unfortunately, only reinforces Scully's decision: leaving him because she's failed him, will continue to be a hindrance to him. Immovable, unflappable, and flat once again, she masks her expression into one of ease. Unable to maintain the facade for long, she looks to the side while halting through "I did. It's done."

Mulder cracks, throwing aside all pretense in a last desperate attempt: I need you on this, Scully." His way of repeating her plea back to her.

Scully shakes her head no before he’s even finished her name, continuing its hypnotic, robotic pivot as she softly refutes, "You don't need me, Mulder. You never have. I just held you back."

Mulder is shocked, horrified, struck dumb by her assumption-- a strikingly similar parallel to his silence in Never Again: her mind opened to him paralyzes him in inaction.

Scully takes his silence as confirmation of her words; and looks down, pretense gone, while she tries to think of any last words, fruitlessly smacking her lips.  

Realizing the wisdom of a quick departure, she flings "I gotta go" over her shoulder as she begins her retreat.

(Rob Bowman explains, "So she’s running because she’s afraid that he’s going to talk her out of it, and so the best thing she can do is hit the elevator button and go, go, go. She never makes it.")

So, she turns; so, she leaves.

Mulder watches her go, popping his hands on his hips, internally warring to stay back, to go after. Ultimately, he can't let her leave believing a lie, propelling himself forward on that truth alone.

Angry at his cowardice, worried and desperate by her exit, he barges through the door and into the hallway.

Scully is fleeing, was hoping to outpace Mulder before his second wind, doesn't flinch so much as brace herself when he yells "You wanna tell--" after down the hallway. She was expecting this last stand, but had hoped he wouldn't. Discouraged, she keeps walking-- she must flee, flee, flee.

"--yourself that--" immediately snags her attention; and the injustice of his claim-- that she isn't being torn apart by acting on the truth (or what she believes it is), for his sake-- finally provokes anger.

Scully pivots immediately, standing her ground and preparing to fight, seeing that Mulder won't let her go without one-- to his own, she believes, detriment.

"--so you can quit with a clear conscience, you can, but you’re wrong," he finishes, thundering up to her with conviction. He's made his decision and is prepared to tell her the truth. All of it.  

Scully’s veneer has cracked; and she is no longer willing to deal in careful terms to spare their feelings. The truth is the truth, and they both must live and die by it.

"Why did they assign me to you in the first place, Mulder?" she asks, searching his face, hoping he will relent and let her go.

Finding he won't, she continues, voice wavering: "To debunk your work." She pauses, shaking off the last of her apathy to save him-- at least once-- with the truth. She may have been used against Mulder all these years, but she can help him now, even to her own detriment. "To reign you in, to shut you down."

Mulder cuts through her pain, her fear, her fight with a tender, startling admission: "But you saved me."

The truth revealed.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (12/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 12: Flesh and Blood

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 8:35 am

Mulder comes back inside shivering violently, his hair flattened like a dog who’s been out in the rain. Scully wraps him in the same quilt she slept under on the couch and pushes a mug of coffee into his hands.

“Where have you been?” she demands, sitting down across from him at the tiny kitchen table. “You don’t even have a coat.”

Mulder still seems to be trying to stop shivering, leaning against the table on his forearms, staring at the coffee cup. Jackson can tell there is something important inside of him, something that needs to get out.

“I was looking for someone,” he says in a tremulous voice, hesitating. “Sort of.”

“Who?” Scully draws back, her eyes shrewd. “Someone outside?”

“Scully,” he says painfully. “Scully, I need to tell you something, and I’m not sure this will be easy.”

“You spoke to Rose,” Jackson interjects, unable to contain himself. “Didn’t you?”

He moves to sit down directly at Mulder’s left elbow. He finds that he wants the man to look at him, to reassure him that he understands why Jackson had to keep secrets. Mulder’s eyes lock on his. “Do you understand who she really is, Jackson?”

“Who?” Scully says sharply. “Rose? Who are you talking about?”

“I can’t shine her,” Jackson replies to Mulder. “But yeah, I do think I know who she is.”

Scully’s frustration is rapidly rising. “Someone you know, Jackson? The person who brought you here? Who are we talking about?”

There’s a rap on the door, loud and urgent, that keeps Jackson from answering her question. All three of them startle.

“Is that her?” Jackson asks Mulder in a small voice.

But he already knows that it isn’t. Mulder’s doing that thing he now associates with his biological father—face completely frozen, mind moving at dizzying speed, trying to calculate and rearrange puzzle pieces rapidly. Scully’s eyes dart anxiously from Jackson’s to Mulder’s, and the three of them sit at the table, paralyzed for a moment.

“I’m going to get up and try to see out the window,” Mulder whispers slowly. “Jackson, do you sense…?”

“No. There’s nothing to sense. Nothing to shine.”

Scully bites her lip hard in response to that. “You still have the stiletto, Mulder?”

He nods and then gives them each a reluctant glance. “I don’t suppose I could convince the two of you to go upstairs and lie low,” he says.

Jackson is surprised when Scully reaches across the table and clasps each of their hands in hers. “No,” she says firmly. “No sending people away. Let’s stay together to do this.”

Just like in The Incredibles, thinks Jackson childishly, pushing down a stab of fear. He watches Mulder nod again before crossing the room to look out the window. Except Scully isn’t Elasti-Girl and Mulder doesn’t have super strength, and Jackson’s own super powers are pretty overrated.

Scully gestures to the center of the room, motioning for him to stay low, and Jackson ducks down, again getting random images of bullets flying in her mind. Her mind also moves very fast, but its movement is different from Mulder’s. She leaps step by step, like hopping from rock to rock across a creek, or swiftly snapping together a model, or constructing a tower lightning quick, whereas Mulder’s goes everywhere at once. Jackson decides her brain’s patterns feel more familiar to him. More similar to his own, or at least how he tries to be.

It’s going to be okay, Jackson tries to reassure himself. These two aren’t superheroes, but they’re smart and brave. And they used to do this kind of thing all the time. They’ll protect me.

Scully has picked up Mulder’s other gun and is crouched near the desk, just a few feet from Jackson, her hands on the gun and her eyes on Mulder.

“Two men on the porch,” Mulder whispers, leaning carefully to see out the front window. “One of them…”

Jackson pushes the words out for Mulder in the same way he did for Rose, concentrating in his mind. You know you don’t need to say things out loud for me to hear.

Mulder’s eyes meet his across the room. A look of understanding. He presses his eyes shut.

Tell Scully they look armed. One of them is a Kurt Crawford. But he looks older than when we knew him.

“They’re armed,” Jackson whispers across the floor to Scully. “Mulder says one of them is a Kurt Crawford, but he looks older?”

He feels something like a cool blast of surprise from her, but she nods to show she’s heard.

“What do you want?” Mulder calls loudly through the door. “Why are you here?”

There’s a knock on the door again, then a pause. “We have no issue with you, Agent Mulder.” The voice through the door is low and unemotional. “Let us inside.”

“Come on now,” Mulder calls back with false jocularity. “You must know I’m not going to do that.”

“We know you have the boy.” There is a pause. Mulder doesn’t flinch in the slightest. “You can’t hide from us indefinitely. We’ll get to him eventually.”

Jackson wraps his arms around himself and hugs himself tightly, trying to hold back a jolt of terror. Mulder’s eyes pop over towards him abruptly. He must have felt Jackson’s fear.

“Why are you doing this?” Mulder asks, still staring at Jackson, and this time his voice sounds more on edge. “Why can’t you leave the boy alone?”

“Let us in, and we can discuss it.”

“Don’t,” hisses Jackson. “Don’t believe him.”

Mulder presses a finger to his lips in warning. Jackson, I would never in a thousand years. You’re okay.

“You, out there,” Mulder calls through the door. “The one who looks like a man we used to call Kurt Crawford. I met a group of hybrids like you years ago. I don’t know if you’re personally one of the men I met or not. They told me they were trying to stop what the Syndicate was doing.”

“We were,” comes the fast response. “That’s right.”

In hazy confusion Jackson sees images from this scene—Mulder and a group of identical blond men in a laboratory, looking at vials, having stiff and formal discussions—but these visuals are sketchy and incomplete. Peering across the room, he realizes why: this imagery is coming from Scully. It’s her impressions of what happened, not a true memory. She must not have actually been there, but she can imagine it. Her face is impassive, stony, but he knows she is afraid, too.

“Back then, you said you were subverting the project to protect your birth mothers,” Mulder continues. “To stop them from suffering.” Now Mulder’s eyes fall on Scully and remain on her as he talks. “So you understand what it is to want to protect your flesh and blood, don’t you? We want to protect the boy in the same way. Can’t you respect that?”

There is another pause. Some murmuring on the porch. Jackson instinctively strains to shine the two men, even knowing rationally it’s impossible.

“We understand your position,” the man’s voice replies. “But we wish you’d rethink it. We have no plans to harm you and Agent Scully. We would prefer not to.”

“Why?” Scully’s voice cuts through the living room now, crisp and angry. “You didn’t seem to mind killing the boy’s parents. You seem to intend to harm him, a child who has done nothing to you. Why turn squeamish with us?”

“You were once our allies in working against the group you call the Syndicate,” the man’s voice replies instantly. “And you and Agent Mulder are also our flesh and blood—or at least some members of our organization feel that way.”

Scully frowns in confusion, and Mulder laughs bitterly. “Then the boy is your flesh and blood, too,” he calls back, his tone sardonic. “You should want to protect him. Maybe you didn’t hear the big news back in 2000. He’s our biological son.”

“He’s more than that,” the man’s voice calls. “He’s a Syndicate project left unresolved.”

Abruptly Mulder slams his hand against the wall, rattling some framed artwork and the panes of the windows, making Jackson jump. “You’re a Syndicate project left unresolved, too,” he shouts back. “For that matter, so am I, and so is Scully. Who are you to decide which projects need to be pruned?”

“He’s dangerous. A potential liability. We regret the need to do it,” the voice calls back, stoic and unruffled.

Jackson feels sick with despair. This isn’t the plot of a movie. These men are ready to murder him, just like they murdered his parents, and for reasons no one can control. There is nothing Mulder can say to convince them.

“Let me make a deal with you,” Mulder says, his voice calming and smoothing out again, his eyes locking back on Scully. “We’re about to be back on the X-files again. We might have … resources or access that could help you or your organization. We could give you that in exchange for leaving Jackson alone. Whatever you need.”

Scully’s face turns pale, and her thoughts leapfrog around anxiously. Dangerous offer. Corrupt. Unethical. Illegal. To Mulder, she nods, her eyes hopeful.

They will do literally anything, Jackson realizes at once. Nothing is off the table. That should be a comforting thought, but it’s somehow scary, too, like they are also out of control.

“Unfortunately you don’t have anything we need,” the voice says in reply. “There is no information you have or could access that we do not already have. We have always known more than you, even back in those days when you were trying to cure your partner’s cancer, Agent Mulder.”

With a boom, the door frame slams with impact, like it is being kicked by someone very, very strong. By someone with super strength, Jackson thinks.

“Scully,” Mulder calls in panic, eyes on the straining door. “You have to get him out of here.”

Bam. The door is kicked again, and the whole side of the house shakes ominously. But the door hasn't broken yet.

“Jackson.” Scully is at his side instantly, grabbing his arm, her fear roaring inside of her like an injured animal. She drags him towards the stairs with one hand, her weapon extended in the other and he scrambles to get his feet underneath him.

“Go, Scully,” barks Mulder. “I’ll cover you.”

Jackson feels Scully pulling him at the same time he picks up scraps of her jittery thoughts and feelings. Won’t be able to cover us. Guns don’t work. He’ll die if he shoots.

With a sickening crash and tinkle of glass, the door explodes open, falling onto the floor of Mulder’s living room. Scully slows for a half second to take it in, and for the first time Jackson can actually see the two men standing in the door frame: an older version of the blond man Scully pictured before, and a younger dark-skinned man in a blue puffer coat. Both hold weapons extended in front of them.

“Stop,” Mulder demands, holding his gun on them. “Stop where you are.”

“It will just make you sick to shoot us,” the older blond man says calmly. “Possibly kill you.” He takes a step towards Jackson, and Scully starts up the stairs.

“Out of the way, Agent Scully,” he instructs loudly, aiming his gun directly at Jackson.

Scully slides her own small frame in front of Jackson. “No,” she says in a low, simple voice.

“I can shoot him through your body,” the man says with a sigh. “I would rather not.”

Mulder quickly steps between the barrel of the gun and Scully, his hands up, gun to the ceiling. “Come on,” he pleads. “Don’t do this. Let’s talk. There’s got to be something we can bargain for.”

The man purses his lips, his shoulders rising and falling. He exchanges a fast glance with the younger man next to him, who nods grimly. And Jackson sees what’s about to happen, even without being able to use his shine.

Mulder and Scully are both so brave, and they will never, ever give up on trying to protect him.

And this man is about to give up on trying not to hurt them. He’ll shoot both of them. Just like he did Jackson’s parents back in Wyoming.

Then he’s going to shoot Jackson anyway.

All that death for no reason.

Jackson knows he can’t keep standing behind Scully, using her as a shield. He’s not a little kid. He’s not William, not that baby she tried to protect all those years ago. He’s Jackson now, and he has to find some way to defend himself.

He tries to clear his head, watching the man’s gun extend. Maybe he can move something in the room to hurt the men, using telekinesis like he could when he was little. He hasn’t been as good at that lately, but he could try. He looks around desperately.

Lightning-fast, he scrambles out from behind Scully, hopping off the stairs onto the floor below. He swings his body around to concentrate all his effort on the coffee pot in the kitchen. It successfully flies through the air, past him, aimed squarely at the man extending the gun.

It doesn’t make it there.

A shot rings out, and the coffee pot instantly drops to the floor, several feet short of hitting the gunman. Did the shot hit the coffee pot? It doesn’t look shattered, only broken in a few pieces.

Jackson looks behind him to try to see what the bullet hit. But there’s no sign of a bullet hitting anywhere, only the kitchen looking just as it did before.

Suddenly he feels something strange, something warm and wet spreading over the front of Mulder’s old shirt.

He looks down to see the bright red of blood at the same time he hears Scully’s screams in his ear.

The next few seconds pass strangely.

Disconnected, but also in a kind of slow motion, like he is underwater.

He staggers to the side, watching in bewilderment as the man with the gun looks at them regretfully and walks out the door, his companion behind him. Mulder and Scully don’t pay attention to them at all.

Then, somehow, the next thing Jackson knows, Mulder’s holding him, lowering him to the ground in front of the couch, his gravelly voice shaky and desperate. “Easy, easy, you’re going to be fine.”

There is fear, fear, dread, guilt firing at him from everywhere. It turns out that’s much worse than bullets, he thinks. None of this is anything like in GTA. He wants to tell this to Mulder and Scully, but when he opens his mouth, it seems to be full of blood. It bubbles from his lips.

In the next moment, Scully is ripping apart his bloodied shirt, her eyes unnaturally bright and wild. Her hands are pressing down on his torso. Her mouth is crying out something that Jackson can no longer hear.

After that, he can no longer focus on one thing at a time. It’s all happening at once. Like Mulder’s brain come to life.

In and out. Slices of heat and cold, light and dark, cacophony and silence.

Mulder’s wearing that old shirt of his, holding a tiny baby in a blanket, leaning over to kiss Scully. Who knew he could be so happy? They're both so happy.

Darkness creeping around the edges more and more. Mulder and Scully’s sobs and cries, audio fading in and fading out. He thinks he sees the two of them clinging to one another, and he thinks: I’d have liked to learn to love them.

But the last thing he feels isn’t love. It’s grief. So, so much grief. Their grief is like a weight. And it pushes him down, down, down.

***

[frogsmulder]

When the Ice Melts

Chapter 1/4

What if all the sexual tension in that Ice scene was for a reason?

Mulder and Scully hook up before Mulder is locked up in storage, and she comes to believe that he was infected; 5.2k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic

read on AO3

Scully pauses in the dark before her door, an unease settling in her gut. She watches as Mulder unlocks his door, disappearing, the urge to say something to make him stay trapped on the tip of her tongue. She hesitates, self-aware and stumbling. She takes a jagged breath and the words lurch from her, expulsed by their own volition. “Good night, Mulder.” She bites her cheek at the sound of her own weak voice, so unlike her. So far from the civilization that has conditioned her, she’s forgotten how to command her presence with confidence. Perhaps it was the quiet of his brief company that deceived her senses; let her sink into vulnerability in front of him. She has noticed the way she reacts around him, the way he opens up a raw part of her she is scared she recognises. Yet she is drawn to uncovering the feeling over and over; drawn to him over and over.

The dim light seeping into the hallway illuminates his smile when he leans through the doorway. “Good night, Scully.” 

His quiet return sends flutters of elation through her core, she tries hard to suppress and ignore. But again, the need to see him a little longer outweighs her sensibility. “At least everyone’s okay.”

His eyes soften, considering, lending her an opportunity to escape the fool she is making of herself. “Don’t forget,” His voice catches her and pulls her around again. “The spots on the dog went away.”

Watching as he goes to his room, obscured by the darkness, his words tumble around her head. The hallway empty, she alone, the unease returns and curdles in his absence. The spots on the dog went away. 

Opening her door, Scully runs from the feeling of dread, chastising her irrationality. She turns on the light and washes away the darkness, banishing those thoughts to the back of her mind. The room is as she expects from a group of men living alone in the arctic: clustered and disorganised, dubious posters and the singular smell of sweat and deodorant. Familiar yet of no comfort. Further in the details of the former occupant’s life are the very human idiosyncrasies that remind her why they are really out here. The unopened birthday present, the photos of family: these men had full lives with people missing them, so easy to forget in the cold all alone. She picks up a frame casing a boy and his parents. It radiates warmth and intimacy, almost tangible in her hands, but where are they now? God had sent that boy here and delivered him into the arms of disaster. Now she stands here in his place, in his room, watching over his things: a stranger. She wonders about her own mother, how she would react if it was her God had delivered and not some poor other soul–wonders what might yet happen. The spots on the dog went away. 

Unable to look into their faces any longer, she turns all the pictures upside down and hauls the draws in front of the door. The loud scraping of the wood against the floor grates against her nerves. Sinking to the floor, she cradles her legs against her chest. This isn’t like her; she decides, curled up in a corner, cowering from terrors. She looks to the door as if she could see through it, anticipating the danger lurking outside, preparing to jump at any moment. Taking a deep breath, she turns away to look anywhere but there. Her eyes land on the ceiling and she licks her lips. It’s hopeless. Something beyond draws her attention back, luring her in with the bait of curiosity like a fish on a hook. She knows what it is before she can recognise the feeling: the thought of Mulder has wormed its way back into her mind. Part of him has implanted himself in her prefrontal cortex, steering her subconscious, in a way she cannot shake. His casual charm and boyish annoyance have always caught her attention but out here, isolated… 

He is the only one she can trust – not even herself. 

Resolutely, Scully swallows down the fear brewing within her. She is a scientist and a detective: observation is her prerogative, and paper and pen, her equipment. Slowly, she moves away from the door to where she left her bag on the bed. Withdrawing her notepad, she outlines a list:

I don’t feel like myself

Fear or Parasite?

Fear = high adrenaline situation, isolation, distrust, arguments w/ mulder

Parasite = exposed to infected blood, the spots on the dog went away

When did I start to feel this way?

… After Bear got infected - infected blood?

She knows she’s going to do it before she even gets up from the bed. She thinks as she pulls the draws back again that they were there to stop her getting out as much as to stop anything getting in. All the while, a niggling feeling is telling her this is pivotal. Beyond the door is a choice she cannot return from, but if she stops now it will never happen. She knows it like a cold ache in her bones, the consequences of both action and inaction haunting her future. The only remaining question is, which ghost is she less afraid of?

His door is cold and stinging beneath the soft rapp of her knuckles. Scully waits with bated breath, stranded in the corridor, floating further away from her conviction with each passing silence marked by her thumping heart. She is about to accept the fate of path of inaction when the door creaks open a jar, revealing a squinting, bare-chested Mulder. 

The flick her eyes make to his torso is involuntary, barely a millisecond in length, but it feels obvious like a large clumsy mistake, as grand as tripping over her own feet. In this close proximity, she can hear his breathing stop, see his gaze catch, feel his notice. She keeps her eyes fixed to his, untrusting of herself to not make a second observation. She is a scientist after all.

He swallows thickly. “Hey.”

With his simple greeting she relaxes, distracted from the tension tightening between them. “Hey,” is all she can think to say back, but with that single word he seems to understand her completely. 

A wry smile forms on his lips and he opens the door wider, gesturing for her to come in. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

She ducks under his arm. By the dim light of the hallway, she surveys his room, much similar to hers, with the exception of his clothes joining the clutter on the floor: it pulls a smirk from her. She hears the soft click of the door closing behind her, swaddling them in privacy. “I feel like I'm going out of my mind, Mulder.”

“I know–” his hand briefly rests at the small of her back as he passes her to turn the night lamp on. Suddenly, a warm glow floods the space and lights up Mulder’s sober, empathetic expression. It catches her off-guard: how deeply his eyes seem to burrow into her soul, seeing right through her, as if he’s known her for more than a lifetime. Carefully, he sits down on the bed, always his attention remaining on her. “I’m scared too, Scully.”

She remains standing in front of him, her hands clasped awkwardly. She shakes her head. “No, Mulder… I think, I’m not sure, I don’t feel like myself.” And then in a whisper, she adds, “I think I might be infected.”

His face falls with a crashing wave of sickly pallor. He blinks slowly. Reaching out for her hand he pulls her closer, down next to him on the bed. She follows his lead in a motion so smooth and natural she doesn’t question why she lets him move her like this until she is sat too close to him. Close enough she can feel herself leaning towards the warmth he radiates. 

Measuredly, he says, “Da Silva checked you.”

Scully looks down, feeling Mulder's thumb gently stroke the back of her hand. While the contact is comforting she is still unsure, somehow detached from the sensation. 

“Like you said–" she lifts her head, yet her eyes trail behind on the spot where he is touching her– "the spots on the dog went away.”

He stares at her in uncertainty; she can see his mind working, searching for an argument to the contrary–but that's her job. She shouldn't need him to explain all the rationalised possibilities, she is capable of that herself; it's her forte, field of expertise, reason of current employment and yet… 

“You are still acting rationally though– seeking out advice.”

“We don’t know how it affects different sexes; our only confirmed infections are all male. We have been looking for symptoms as they present in men–”

“And dogs,” he interjects: a failed attempt to lighten the mood. 

“But behavioural effects are doubtless going to present themselves in different ways, especially if it does subsist on the production of hormones, as those are in different balance across the sexes.” Scully shakes her head, scoffs hopelessly. She looks into his eyes properly for the first time since she knocked on his door. “Mulder, I could be infected and we may never know.”

He nods pursing his lips. “Regardless, Scully, I know you're not infected.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He bites back a smile and shrugs as though that were the only explanation he need give. “I’d know.” She remains unconvinced, needing more evidence than a hunch to ease her worry. His tongue peaks out to wet his lip and he sighs, seeing her expression. “If it would make you feel better, I can check you again.”

She considers and nods slowly, turning her back to him. It occurs to her, in this position, how vulnerable she is, yet she isn't scared of the feeling. Instead she chases after it, pulling her shirt over her head, the cold touch of air to her skin a sharp reminder of her position. The mattress dips behind her as he moves closer and she holds her breath. 

Suddenly, she feels his breath brush the shell of her ear as he murmurs, "I promise I will be every bit the gentleman.” 

Scully blushes and chastises herself for her disappointment, bowing her head to hide her face, concealing her embarrassment as much from herself as from him. 

The heat of his hands prickle and burn her senses as they approach her skin, brushing away the baby hairs at her neck. His fingertips brush so softly down her back, charting every bump of her spine, searching for any imperfection that could belie the truth. He skims over the goose flesh of her arms, gently clasping her wrists, returning to guide her arms above her head one at a time. 

Scully swallows. The trace of his fingertips down her ribs makes her shiver and swell with an undeniable gasp, so close to the side of breast. Casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder, she is met with his small, apologetic smile. He mouths 'sorry' and abruptly she is aware of how still the room is; all she can hear is her own short breath and blood rushing between her ears, playing the same beat that pulses between her legs. 

Cutting the taught thread of his gaze, she turns around and leans further into him, trusting him. Taking his hand that is resting at her waist she holds it to her neck. "You need to apply more pressure, Mulder." She covers his hand with her own, guiding him. "Like this." 

He manipulates and massages the flesh of her neck and all the way down her spine. She allows the fantasy in the deep waters of her mind to play between the shores of her conscious and unconscious thought: how good it would feel if he were as possessive and caring of her pleasure as this. She closes her eyes against the force of the tide that storms her, washing her in arousal. She licks her lips in desperate agony. 

"Scully?" 

Her voice cracks, "Y-es?" She turns around to see him smirking gleefully; I told you so written all over his face. "No worms?" 

"No worms."

She's about to ask him if she can stay, not ready to be alone just yet, when Mulder moves away, turning his back on her. It's a moment before she realises he's looking for reciprocation. His back is bare before her and she reminds herself that this is just a routine examination – if she doesn't employ medical detachment, she doesn't know if she will have the confidence to do this. Yet as she raises a hand to smooth over his skin, she trembles, unable to ignore the heat that emanates from him, the heat he is making her feel. Clenching a fist, she steadies herself and allows herself to touch him. 

The first thing she notes is how soft his skin is. The second is the tone of his muscles across his shoulders. The third is how easily her mind has wandered from the task at hand. She is sure to do a more than thorough job, mapping every inch from his broad shoulders to down the sides of his torso. She finds by accident that he is ticklish there, jerking away from her touch with a sharp breath through his nose. It is odd to think of her partner as having such a simple weak spot. Usually he is so strong, stoic and solemn, even his humour is dry. She knows by reason that he is not weak, the little of his past she has the privilege of knowing only makes her think that more not less. As far as she is aware, he never cares for the derogatory opinions of others, brushing them off as easily as old, dried mud. She wonders if that has always been the case, or a skill he has had to learn. 

"What's the diagnosis doc?" 

"Hmm?" She looks up, seeing him too looking over his shoulder as if to catch sight of the creature crawling beneath his skin. Her smile is small and shy. "I think we're good." 

He turns back around to fully face her again, the warm light of the lamp casts soft shadows against his skin, highlighting the gentle definition of his muscles, and catches against the hair dappling his chest and down from his belly button disappearing beneath the waistband of his pyjamas. She bites her lip. He is the one only half dressed before her and yet she is the one feeling naked.

“See something you like?” he taunts playfully, without an air of seriousness. 

Flushed with embarrassment, Scully reaches for her shirt. “Sorry, um I sh– I should go.” She begins to put her arms through the sleeves. “Thank you–”

"Dana…” he interrupts her, a reassuring hand resting on her knee. “Stay a while; I'll feel better knowing you're here with me." 

Though she hesitates, she knows she's already made the decision before she answers. Finding herself swimming in the green sea of his eyes, she agrees with a whisper, "Okay." His pupils are dilated, darkening like a wild electrical storm. No matter how ardently she tries, she can’t tear herself away from him. She's quickly catching fire like dry grass in summer. He swallows, his jaw clenching. Scully reaches out, unthinking, to touch his stubbled cheek and cups his jaw "Mulder…" 

Unless she is mistaken, his voice is deeper than before, his breathing quicker too. "Yeah?" 

Despite telling herself this is improper, all arguments of protest fall short before her lips. His are just centimetres away, perfect and inviting. She leans in slowly, allowing him to put an end to this before it’s too late. Instead his hand travels from her knee to her waist, squeezing. Scully finds herself falling the rest of the way, meeting his lips unhurriedly without caution. 

Quickly, she learns that Mulder is like no-one she has kissed before: he likes to take his time, teasing her with almost polite brushes of his tongue across her lips. She shucks her arm the rest of the way out of her shirt and shuffles closer, relaxing into him. His hand at her waist pulls her closer and she straddles his lap, rocking forward to satisfy the excruciating ache building at her centre. His other hand tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and weaves through the roots of her ponytail at the base of her scalp. 

Breaking away, a small “Fuck” falls from his lips, now glistening. She has the urge to taste the word, catch it and him before it can escape, yet she waits on him. Mulder looks up at her in a hazed reverie that makes her heart pound. “Dana…” The sound of her given name marked in his voice reaches its claws into her and holds steadfast. The feeling scares her but she wants him to say it again. “I need to hear that you are sure.”

Yet Scully isn’t sure. Not truly. She doesn’t think she could ever be sure. Instead she opts for a different truth. “It’s okay, I want this… unless you–”

“No! God, no, Dana,” he jumps to assuage her fears and lets loose a laugh, burying his face into her shoulder to hide his amusement. 

She lifts his chin to catch his gaze and places the palm of her hand to his chest. Beneath, she can feel the hammering of his heart and it reassures her to know that he is as nervous and excited about this as she. Grinning a little too, Scully kisses him this time, finding that pleasure he hinted at earlier. His tongue is hot against hers, pulling as she pushes, pushing as she pulls. His hands begin to wander, roaming her skin. His fingers tease at the top of her bra. 

"Take it off," she breathes. 

In one swift move, she finds her back landing on the mattress, her head shielded from the impact by his supportive hand. At once, he is over her and she flushes with heat seeing him bare down on her, his eyes devouring her body in awe. His gaze lingers on her breasts where her nipples harden under his intense attention, and with an intoxicating hit of confidence, she arches her chest, inviting him in. Resting his weight on one hand, he brings the other up to gently cup her left breast, testing the waters. His eyes flick to hers, dark but crystal clear, asking for her permission. Just the soft touch of his hand against her skin is sparking pleasure throughout her body but just the tingle of it isn't enough to satiate her need. Caution, somewhere her higher ego warns, but deep at her core she knows that this is going to happen, that she wants it to happen, and she trusts Mulder. 

"Mulder," she whispers his name, holding back the whine caught in her throat.

Her hand atop of his, she guides him to hold her breast firmer, massage her, find and pinch her nipple. When he gets the idea, her head rests back on the pillow and a sigh rolls through her. She scratches across his back and through his hair, smiling as he moans his contentment, but quickly he steals the breath from her lungs as he licks at a hardened nipple, letting the cool air play over it before taking it into his mouth. 

He doesn't stay there long, sitting up to pull her trousers and panties down, revealing her swollen sex to him. Her slips a finger through her folds and–

"God, Dana." He plunges his finger in and drags it out slowly, swirling her arousal around up to her clit. Repeating the action, he asks, "Do you always get this wet?" 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she reels through the science of lubricant production depending on a number of different factors that isn't necessarily an indication of arousal, but she would be lying if she said her state right now had nothing to do with him and the agonising ministrations he is performing. Sitting up on her elbows, Scully looks at him, her eyes wandering south to where his fingers touch her. Even in the dim light, she can see the extent of her wetness and she bites her lip to hold back a moan at the knowledge that he is doing this to her. Mulder notices her line of sight, and fucks her with another finger, curling to meet her g-spot and passing his thumb over her sensitive clit. Her hips jump and her eyes scrunch shut as she gasps. 

An ache starts building through her body, her muscles tightening around the feeling like string winding around a bobbin. Her hips roll as she can't help but chase after her release but she doesn't want this over yet. 

"Mulderrr." She grasps at his shoulder, imploring, all the while her body betrays her. "Oh my god." She moves her hand to frame his face, seeing a glint of pride in his eyes and the corner of his smile. She gasps, "You're gonna make me come." 

He hums and leans in to take the words straight from her lips. Moaning, she lifts her knee up to where his hips are still clothed in the soft flannel of his pyjamas. A thrill runs through her to think that he is still as clothed as when she knocked on his door yet here she is squirming under her partner as he brings her to the precipice. Summoning all the strength he is quickly stealing from her body, she pushes him onto his back, breaking their kiss, panting. With a furrowed brow he cocks his head in a silent question but she can only smile and kiss the stupid look off his face. 

Scully allows herself now to fully appreciate the sight of him before her. With permission and no more self conscious glances, she runs her hands up his abs, soft yet defined clenching under her touch. Rocking into him, she kisses under his jaw, the lingering smell of aftershave mingling with his sweat. She licks at it. He moans, his hands weighted on her hips, encouraging her to move again. Kissing and nipping down his chest, she sights herself finally with the bulge in his pants. Curiously, she cups him over the cotton squeezes. She looks up when she hears the sound of his head hitting the pillow, a hiss emitted through his clenched teeth. 

"Please say you won't kill me," he mumbles. Her fingers make light work of the drawstring eager to remove the final barrier between them. 

His pyjamas off, his cock bobs between them, grandly parading its size. 

"Jesus," she whispers. "Please say you won't kill me." She wraps her fingers around his shaft, thinking back to his comment earlier about passing judgement in the Arctic. He had to know he was above average. Swiping her thumb over the head, she marvels at him. "Were you hiding this the whole time?" 

"Why, thank you." He smirks, entertained by her reaction. 

A flush of embarrassment drenches her from head to toe, coursing hot through her mingling with the molten heat of her aroused state. Oh, he knows. She dips her head to hide the colouring of her cheeks. 

Humming, Mulder tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and she quickly flicks her eyes up to him; the intimacy and familiarity of the gesture suddenly cutting her to the bone. His gaze is strong upon her, his lust addled eyes harbouring more than simple attraction. A strong potion of admiration, care and pride swirled in those dark eyes and something else. Truly observing his dishevelled state, something in her gut clenches. It was a thought she discarded with haste before it had chance to unfold and bloom into something larger–unavoidable. 

Taking back control of her emotions, she licks up the underside of his cock and swirls around the head. She takes a moment to suck him into her mouth. But before she can give him the satisfaction of her full talents, she lifts up and crawls up the bed to him, enjoying the slightly pained and disappointed look befalling his features. "Condom?"

"Yeah–" He nods towards the nightstand– "In my wallet."

She reaches out to pick it up and fumbles through his wallet to find the foil packet. Tearing it open eagerly, she wastes no time rolling it on and lining herself up above him. As she does so, her mind wanders back to how they ended up here: the stress of the case? Their loneliness and isolation? The chaos of the unknown and her need to feel in control? 

The first time she had laid eyes on him in the dingy light of the basement, she was struck by his boyish good looks and then in the light of the projector, his charm had shone and she had made the decision to follow him. Now his charm is in his smile and caress. This could feel like a mistake. But it doesn't. 

His hands are everywhere: her sides, caressing her curves, her breast, her hips, steadying her as she slowly sinks down. He fills her gloriously, stretching her with every inch. She would feel greedy, indulging so lavishly in his size, but sensibility had vaporised with his first searing touches to her body. Now Scully knows them, she craves them, finding it is more than want driving her forward but need. The need to be touched and held and reassured. It had been so long since someone had cared for her like this; she'd built tall walls to protect herself in its absence. She thought she was strong, but oh how quickly he is undoing her. Why does she like that? 

Clenching around him, she smirks as his eyes roll back into his head, his breathing long and deep through his nose to control himself. A hand to his chest, she rocks forward and rolls her hips experimentally: his groan of pleasure encourages her, a replying spark in her clit making her shiver. Seeking more, she speeds up her pace and begins to rise and sink in a pleasing rhythm, feeling him move inside her. For the moment she can let go, free of worry and fear, instead feel good.

"God, Dana," he moans, sweat rolling from his brow. Mulder grabs her ass and moves to meet each of her thrusts, pounding into her from below. She bites her lip to catch whimper before it escapes, her brows pinching together, concentrating on the new sensations: his fingers digging in and the pleasant sting as he moves. She tips her head back, her panting turning from soft to harsh as the flood of her orgasm rises within her.

Suddenly, her back hits the mattress once again. Her eyes wide with shock, Mulder brushes the hair from her face, taking time to ask her if she is okay. Licking her lips, she manages a nod, caught up in the warmth of his eyes. He kisses her once more, long and deep, gentle yet purposeful, flooring her with his care. Distracted, she relaxes, sinking into the bed and allowing herself to feel the press of Mulder above her; his body, his smell, his heat is everywhere all over her. Soon she learns, she likes him surrounding her.

She moans as he teases the slick head of his dick over her clit. "Mulderrr," his name is a breathy sigh, an encouragement, a plea, an echo for more. Kissing her in reply, he surges into her and she gasps against his mouth, hips bucking, giving into him. He waits for her to squeeze her legs around him before he continues, starting slowly, but building speed with each thrust. He withdraws slowly and returns with a snap of his hips, watching her as she watches him, this strong catch between them. His fingers curl around the back of her thigh and brings her leg around over his shoulder, stretching her impossibly more. The reality of it unfolds around her, and with it she is keenly aware of every sense, ratcheting with intensity. Mulder is with her and inside her and around her. The same Mulder she has grown to respect and trust. This is more than the lust she felt on their first case. 

Yet instead of being overwhelmed, she gleefully smirks, tilting her head up to capture his lips. 

He stills for a moment before she rocks her hips. His head drops to her shoulder, his forehead resting there, as he buries his face. "Dana…" he pants. "Can you… come? I'm so… close." 

Pushing a hand down between their bodies, she draws tight circles around her clit. Again, she feels a hot rush flooding her body, but more intense than before. Her toes curl and her muscles tense as she gasps and whines, finally overcome by release. Drowning in satiated bliss, she hears Mulder shout muffled by her shoulder as he follows her. 

Briefly, the air feels chill against her sweat-slick skin as Mulder moves over to the other side of the room, where the bin is. Although he is still with her, in that moment she misses the comfort of his presence beside her. Rolling her head to the side on the pillow, she watches him, a loose smile playing on her lips. When he turns around, she can see him mirroring her expression, growing into a casual smirk. 

"Hey," he greets her just as easily, for the second time that night. 

She stretches her arm out, inviting him back. "Hey, yourself." 

He crawls onto the bed beside her without much grace, lying close to her in the single bed, pulling a blanket up over them. With the limited space, Scully allows herself to snuggle into his side, her head not quite resting on his shoulder, but not fully on the pillow either. It’s an indulgence she allows herself that is easily excused and she doesn’t feel like denying herself the small touch of his skin against hers, not when she is as warm and cosy as she is. Not when it pales in comparison to what they have just done. To her own surprise, she doesn't care. Perhaps it is the hazy bliss that clouds her mind, but there is nowhere else she can imagine herself: up in the far reaches of the arctic circle, isolated from the rest of the world and herself, only snow storms and fear for company. Listening to his soft, steady breathing, in and out, underneath the palm of her hand, her eyes slowly drift close.

"You okay?" he murmurs to her ear, and she can't help but chuckle. 

"Very." 

He hums, satisfied with her response. And then he holds a breath, as if trying to lock away his nerves. She feels this, being so close to him, yet she knows it’s more than their physicality that informs her intuition. 

He hesitates, "We should probably talk about this."

Lifting her head up to look at him, she considers the wariness in his eyes, but also how it conceals the happiness beneath. "Mhmm.” She rests her head back on the pillow, closing her eyes. “But later, I'm comfy at the moment."

His chuckle rumbles through her palm and she falls asleep to the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 33/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

She remembers slow mornings. They were few and far between, but they were one of her favorite things. Nothing to do, nowhere to be, no reason to leave the warmth of the bed for anything other than a quick trip to the bathroom to brush away their morning breath. It felt so painfully normal, like they were any other couple sleeping in on a Saturday.

She remembers slow mornings when she wakes up with Mulder’s arm slung heavy across her waist, and feels the press of his erection against her ass. Morning sex. She remembers that, too.

Yesterday already feels like a dream, and yet here he is beside her. He’s not quite himself, but there will be time to find the rest of him. To pull it out slowly from wherever it was secreted away, to help him remember how dogged he is, how determined, how insufferable at times. She doesn’t hope for any aspect of his personality to remain forgotten, even the parts that drove her crazy. She wants him back in full, right down to the sunflower seed hulls in her cupholders and the socks he always seemed to leave lying on the floor. The pain of missing Cal and the kids, of worrying about what will happen to them and her mother, is tolerable with his arms around her. She hopes this feeling never fades.

Mulder’s chest presses against her back as he pulls in a deep breath and stirs. She runs her hand over his forearm to let him know that she’s awake, and he wriggles down a little so he can hook his chin over her shoulder.

“Morning,” he says in a gravelly, sleep-worn voice.

“Hi.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Really well. You?”

“Good,” he says, then drops a kiss to her cheek. “I dreamt that we were on a boat and you were wearing a red dress. Is that a memory?”

Scully tries to remember being on a boat together. She gets strange little flashes that don’t quite add up. A snow globe. Sitting on a rock surrounded by water.

“I’m not sure,” she answers.

“You punched me, if that helps,” he adds, and she rolls to her back so she can see his face.

“I punched you?” she repeats, and he nods.

He looks adorable, rumpled and boyish with his hair standing on end. She smiles at him and tries to smooth it down.

“Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“What time is it?” He asks, craning his neck to see the bedside clock. “The guys said Langly would be here to pick us up at 10:00.”

“Only 8:15,” she answers. “We have plenty of time, and not much to pack.” He looks at her for a long time, and an intense expression that makes her nervous slowly crosses his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I just…there are things I want to say to you, but I feel like I hardly know you. At the same time, I feel like you know me better than I know myself.”

The knot in her stomach tightens.

“What do you want to say?” she asks.

Mulder hesitates.

“How I feel…” he begins, then averts his eyes to where his hand is resting on her belly. “I want to tell you how I feel about you, but I don’t know if that’s already happened or if it would be the first time. And it seems like it’s too soon, but it also…doesn’t.” He shakes his head and cringes. “I’m afraid I’m not explaining myself very well.”

Her heart begins to pound and her throat tightens.

Fuck, Scully. I love you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she whispers, and he looks at her face.

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“Maybe that’s why…” he moves his hand to her face, running his fingers lightly across her cheek. “Maybe that’s why I feel such a strong urge to say it.” She waits, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing. Mulder sighs, then leans forward and brushes his lips across hers. “I love you,” he says, just a ghost of a sound. If she’d not been waiting with bated breath, she might have missed it.

She barks a sudden sob, tears springing to her eyes with alarming speed, and Mulder pulls away, horrified.

“No, no, no,” she says emphatically, reaching for him. “Happy tears.”

She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, and he holds her while she cries with relief. Her dreams have come to life, finally. No more waiting.

Once she’s gotten her bearings, she loosens her grip on him and he pulls away so he can see her. He frowns, and she’s sure she looks a mess, but she feels better than she’s felt in months.

“I love you too,” she says, and his frown quickly morphs into a goofy smile.

All of Scully’s possessions fit into her small duffel bag, and Mulder has no possessions at all aside from the clothes he borrowed from Byers. When the phone rings at 10:01, they take a look around the apartment to be sure they haven’t forgotten anything, then lock the door for the last time. They trail down to the ground floor hand-in-hand, excited and afraid, and most of all hopeful. They both slide into the back seat, and Langly twists around to address them.

“Morning, lovebirds,” he says with some measure of surprise, and they smile like a couple of lovestruck teenagers. “Did you bring the burner cell?” he asks. “We’ll need to wipe it and pop in a new sim card before we send you on to the next leg.”

“Shit. No,” Mulder says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll go grab it, be right back.”

Before he exits the bus, he drops a quick kiss to Scully’s cheek and whispers, “love you,” in her ear.

She watches him disappear into the building, already anxious for him to return.

“Seems like you two worked things out,” Langly says with a suggestive pop of his eyebrows.

“I guess so,” Scully answers, feeling embarrassed that their affection is so obvious.

Langly chuckles and sits back in his seat, fiddling with the radio.

“Frohike drove up north this morning to pick up Mulder’s dog,” he tells her as he scans through rock, hip-hop, and pop music stations. “Our identity guy is leaning towards Canada for your location. It’ll be easier to get the dog across the border if you don’t have to fly.”

“That’s great,” Scully says. “Mulder will be happy to hear that.”

She looks at the door to the apartment building, tapping her toe against the floorboard impatiently. He should be coming back through any moment.

“Did you know that 90% of Canadians live within 150 miles of—”

Scully jumps at a sudden shattering boom against her ears, and her hands instinctively fly to the sides of her face. Her ears are ringing and her heart is in her throat as she slowly looks up to see that the bus’ windshield is mostly gone, and green-blue pebbles of tempered glass are littering the dashboard.

“What the hell was that?” she asks.

Langly doesn’t respond. She only hears a wet gurgle from the driver’s seat. She starts to sit forward so she can see him, but the door beside her flies open and strong hands are encircling her arms before she has even a split-second to react. The world goes dark as something slips over her head, pressing painfully against the front of her throat. She can’t speak. She can’t think. It’s too familiar. Is it happening again, or has time gone on a loop? Is she back there, at the warehouse?

“Mulder!” she manages to scream, just once.

Her hands are forced behind her back and she hears the zip of a cable tie, then her knees hit a hard surface. She hears a door slam and then the roar of an engine. She’s knocked against a wall as the vehicle she’s been placed in begins to move.

It’s happening again. They’re taking her back. They’re taking him from her.

Again.

-

Mulder is just swiping the burner cell off the coffee table when he hears a muted boom from below. He steps out onto the balcony and looks down to the parking lot where Scully and Langly are waiting in the bus. At first, he can’t make sense of what he sees. There are bits of something spilled all over the hood of the bus, and the steering wheel looks too in-focus considering how far away he is. Then he spots a van, black and mostly windowless, parked across the lot. He watches a broad-shouldered man walk briskly away from the van and towards the bus. He doesn’t wait a second longer.

He flies down the stairwell, his feet moving so quickly it’s a miracle that he doesn’t fall. His heart is pounding in his legs and in the palms of his hands, and he feels like he might vomit. The only thought in his mind is “no.” No, this can’t be happening. No, they can’t take her again. No, not when he only just got her back. No, no, no, no, no.

When he flings the entryway door open, the van is peeling out of the parking lot, taking a right towards the freeway onramp. Mulder chases after it, his feet pounding against the pavement somehow propelled by pure will as his lungs burn and his mind goes blank. The van turns and disappears from view, and he stands there, breathless and bereft.

They took her.

They took her.

They took her.

He doesn’t know what to do. He should know what to do. He runs back to the bus, where the back door is hanging open and Scully is conspicuously absent. He pulls the driver’s side door open to find Langly blood-soaked and sputtering, a deep red patch wetting the chest of his T-shirt.

“What happened?” Mulder asks desperately, pressing the palm of his hand against the wound.

Langly lurches and blood runs from the corners of his mouth. He tries to speak, but his throat is flooded. Keeping his hand in place, Mulder pulls the burner phone from his pocket and dials 911. They keep him on the line, instructing him to do what he’s already doing by keeping pressure on the wound. Langly is still breathing, but his eyes have fallen closed.

Mulder needs to call Byers and tell him what’s happened. He needs to figure out how to get Scully back. He should know what to do, but he doesn’t. He can’t remember ever feeling so hopeless.

-

When Frohike walks through the front door with Frenchie in tow, Mulder is sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. Frenchie barks at him once, but when he lifts his head and looks at her she begins to wiggle excitedly and pulls at her leash until Frohike cuts her loose. She charges him, jumping up onto the couch and licking his face, and he actually smiles, forgetting for just a split second that Scully is gone and Langly is in critical condition.

“What the hell happened to you?” Frohike says, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter. “Where’s Scully?”

Reality comes slamming back down like a two-ton weight.

“She’s gone,” he says tightly, fresh tears springing to his eyes. He pushes Frenchie off the couch and encourages her to lie down at his feet. “They took her.”

Frohike turns and looks at him, gobsmacked.

“Who?”

Mulder shrugs helplessly.

“Whoever took us before, I assume. And Langly—” Frohike’s face blanches, and Mulder chooses his words carefully. “He’s alive, but he’s in bad shape. Byers is with him.”

Frohike slumps into a chair.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles, and Mulder gives him a minute to let it soak in.

He pets Frenchie aggressively, running his hand from the top of her head down to her tail over and over.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, glancing up at Frohike. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Jesus,” Frohike says again, his hand held loosely over his mouth. “In all the files, it never once referenced a location. We’d have to find someone who was involved in the project.”

Somebody who’s involved in the project. Mulder knows of a couple somebodies who are.

It only takes him a split second to make up his mind. He takes out the burner phone, which is streaked with Langly’s blood, and dials Diana’s phone number from memory.

“Who you callin’, man?” Frohike asks, looking worried.

It rings and rings. He waits to hear the clipped sound of her voice, followed by her angry demands. He’s prepared to do whatever is necessary to get Scully back. To keep her safe. If that means returning to Diana, so be it. If he is the collateral that will allow Scully to go free, it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make.

You’ve reached Diana Spender, I’m unavailable right now—

He snaps the phone closed as a strange mix of relief and frustration washes over him. He tries the house phone and hears his own voice on the answering machine. As a last ditch effort, he tries his parents’ house, hoping that she’ll be there.

Teena answers almost immediately, as though she’d been waiting by the phone.

“Jeff?” she says fearfully, her voice lowered. “Are you all right, son?”

“No, Mom, can’t say that I am,” he tells her, running one hand over his eyes. “And you can stop calling me Jeff; I know that’s not my name.”

There is a long, heavy silence.

“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

“You should be,” he says flatly. “Is Diana there?”

“No,” Teena answers. “She and your father have been…busy.”

“I recently learned that my father was murdered in 1995,” Mulder tells her bitingly. She doesn’t respond. “Do you know Scully, Mom?” he asks her, sitting back.

“Yes, Fox. I’ve met Dana many times,” she says. The sound of his given name on his mother’s tongue pricks at something in his chest. “She’s a lovely woman.”

He feels the tears welling up again, tightening his throat.

“They took her away,” he whispers harshly, closing his eyes. “They took her from me, Mom.”

“I know,” she whispers back, sounding equally pained. “I’m sorry. I know now that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I regret ever agreeing to any of it.”

Mulder sits up suddenly. Frenchie scrambles to her feet and watches him raptly.

“Do you know where they took her?” he asks. It feels as though his entire life is riding on the answer.

Teena doesn’t respond right away. He hears her even breathing, and seconds tick by in agonizing purgatory.

“Have you ever visited the Patapsco River, Fox?” she asks, and he blinks, stupefied.

“What?”

“Of course you have, it runs right through Baltimore, but it’s much more enjoyable in a country setting.”

“Mom, what the hell does this have to do with anything?” he barks at her, frustrated. “Do you know where Scully is?”

“There’s a nice little area called Henryton, right on the banks of the south branch of the Patapsco. I think you’d like it there, Fox. Just do be careful of the tunnel, the railroad is still active.”

His anger fades as a chill creeps up his spine. He stands, and Frenchie follows him as he paces towards the kitchen. Frohike follows as well, only with his eyes.

“Is that where she is, Mom? In Henryton?” So much adrenaline is coursing through his veins that he feels sick.

“Be careful of the tunnel, Fox. Trains do pass through,” is all she says in response.

Mulder closes his eyes and heaves a shuddering sigh.

“Thank you,” he says, and he hears Teena heave a sigh of her own.

“It’s the least I can do,” she whispers. “Please, take care.”

She hangs up before he can say goodbye. He turns to Frohike, who is waiting with raised eyebrows and upturned palms.

“Well?” Frohike asks expectantly.

“Find out everything you can about an area on the Patapsco called Henryton,” Mulder tells him. “We’re going to need a car.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[pennyserenade]

new beginnings

i wrote this quickly for mulder’s birthday. i’ve never written any x files fics before, not really, so i guess you could say this is my first. it’s set in season one, unbeta’d & a product of a spur of the moment decision.

———

twelve & thirty-two feel miraculously similar and yet monstrously different to mulder.

even though it’s his birthday, he celebrates for samantha. he goes to work early, clicks around in emails, pours over files with flickering interest and sips away at too many cups of coffees as he waits for scully. while uneventful and bordering on macabre, his gift to her is a brand of brotherly devotion. he doesn’t know where she is, just that she is, and he works with the same dogged determination that landed him in this basement today, the same as any other.

later, when he chances a glance at sam’s photo, tucked away into a manilla folder, he starts to smile a half grin. he misses her so badly. it’s the kind of missing that is half nostalgia and half staggering grief, so he’s got to tuck the photo back away and try hard not to think too much about how badly he misses her.

in another month it’ll be her birthday but it will hurt a lot more to celebrate her then. he probably won’t. doesn’t usually. one year, after sam disappeared, their mother got their birthdays mixed up and he learned that it was easier that way. somehow it seemed if sam could absorb his birthday, take it, what happened seemed less awful because then at least she would’ve had more time being eight. he had felt like he was giving her something back, for all the times he was mean or awful. for all the times he had been unaware that their time together as children was drawing to an end.

sam was always so happy to be getting older, loved reminding him that the day she would be able to watch herself was getting closer and closer. he had hated that; she’d been so bratty about it. so adolescent. he wishes more than anything to hear that snotty whine of hers again. he celebrates her in this way, too: missing her, remembering her. if she has to exist in the liminal space of his mind he likes to make sure it’s familiar to her, painted with as much memory as he can offer.

lately it’s been easier. he’s hesitant to admit why, but he knows why: a certain red headed agent. the odd familiarity comes from her, her inclusion into this world of his. at twelve he didn’t know loss yet. he turned twelve, like he had turned eleven, and ten, and every age before it. at twelve mulder never thought this much of his kid sister in his life, not even when she was pestering him.

scully is not samantha. not at all. he doesn’t think of her in that way, isn’t looking for her to fill that spot. but she does fill a spot, a curious place he hadn’t known was even missing, really, until she’d walked in and taken it. mulder feels like he’s sharing samantha again, as if scully is a friend he’s invited over for dinner and not an assigned partner, and that’s…helpful. he hasn’t told scully much about her, but what he has told her is indefinitely more than he ever expected to. sometimes it feels like he won’t ever have to tell her more, like she will just understand, maybe even learn on her own, as if sam is hers too. not a memory, but a real kid.

what makes today most odd is the way he feels, though: lighter, buoyant. he knows this has something to do with scully too. he tells himself it’s nothing more than a schoolboy crush, that it happened because she’s young and pretty and he’s been stuck in the basement for far too long. he doesn’t go out enough. any man is likely to get a crush on a girl if she’s the only girl he’s seen - aside from the occasional naughty video - in months. he’ll say anything, but he knows there’s only small truths to any of it.

when she comes in, hours after him, she’s wearing a bright colored suit and her hair is down, same as usual. her lipstick is dark today, like she might know it’s his birthday. she can’t but the thought is nice. she smiles when she sees him. he takes off his glass and smiles back.

“you’re in early,” she notes and he nods. he rises from his seat and takes the projector remote in his hand. it’s obvious he’s been waiting for her. it’s my birthday, he wants to tell her, but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know why he wants to tell her so badly (except he does: because he likes her, & wants to tell her everything.)

“there’s this case,” he begins as explanation. already he can see an amused glimmer in her eye. she makes a soft sigh that’s meant to signal defeat, but it’s not defeat. from anyone else this would be a betrayal but from her it’s camaraderie. he wants her to do this with him forever.

he laughs, successfully egged on. she turns off the lights for him and a picture that doesn’t pair well with breakfast pops up. scully’s unflinching and he thinks: my god. nothing about it is improper, not dirty but longing. he wants to ask her to hold hands, maybe even make a blood pact. it’s innocuous, really. with scully suddenly he’s twelve and he’s not in that room, but a different one altogether. samantha is there but she’s happy, a nuisance. and it’s his birthday.

“mulder,” scully says, voice incredulous. the presentation is over and he’s smeared his thoughts on crop circles all over the room. she’s been patient and so has he; he has awaited her scientific mind all morning and like a present he can’t to unwrap it. maybe it is a present. “your theory is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

he smiles. “c’mon scully, go easy on me this morning. it’s my birthday.”

suddenly it’s out. he’s thirty-two and he’s twelve and he doesn’t mind remembering he’s having a birthday this year.

“happy birthday, mulder,” she says. “i didn’t know.”

her eyebrows furrow like they do sometimes when he’s giving her something to think over. a piece of evidence. a body. today it’s just him. he likes being her object of study.

“you do now. hopefully it’ll make packing for this all the easier,” he tells her, shutting off the projector. “i’ve got a feeling about this one, scully.”

“but mulder—“ she interrupts, beginning her earnest counter argument. as he listens to her try to debunk those crop circles he had compiled and worked out into an entire case, he can’t help but think: this is the best birthday i’ve had in decades.

[skelavender]

mulder and scully’s wedding rings and scully in her wedding dress to celebrate their super platonic, just bros wedding in kind of perfect! read chapter 3 here, or below the cut!

Mulder is more excited then he’s let himself be since Scully proposed. He’s buzzing out of his skin, and hoping that it doesn’t show. He doesn’t want Scully to think he’s nervous.

“Are you nervous?” she asks from her seat in their office. They’re both still in their suits, acting as if it’s a normal workday, and not the fifth Wednesday since they got engaged. As if it’s not their wedding day. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you nervous?” She repeats, “You’re all jittery. It’s not too late to call it off if you don't want to do it.”

“I do,” he says quickly, “I’m just finding it hard to focus. I mean, we’re getting married in less than an hour, Scully, don’t tell me your attention is entirely on that autopsy report.”

She smiles, “It’s not.” She closes the folder and puts it to the side. “Do you want to get going early?”

He rises, “Absolutely.” At the door, he offers her his elbow and she places her hand in the bend, familiar. “You ready for this, Mrs. Spooky?”

She gives a full laugh, “Yes, I am.”

They both grab garment bags from their cars and walk the three blocks to the courthouse. Mulder hadn’t mentioned anything about the tux, but Scully isn’t entirely surprised. He’s treated this with the same weight she is. It’s no small thing. 

They change quickly in the public restrooms and meet back in the lobby. When they tell the clerk they are there for their civil ceremony appointment, she asked about their witness.

“Do we… need one?”

“I mean, technically someone here could do it? But people tend to prefer a friend or family member to sign their marriage licenses.”

Mulder and Scully share a look. 

“Should we…” She starts.

“Probably.”

“I mean, he’s the only other one who is supposed to know.”

“I’ll call him.” He nods.

“It’s really no trouble for someone here–” the girl says, but Mulder cuts her off.

“It’s fine, as long as it’s okay for us to wait ten minutes?”

“Of course.” She says. 

He and Scully step outside as he dials Skinner’s office.

“Skinner,” the man says when Mulder goes through.

“Sir, I need you to meet me and Agent Scully at the courthouse and to not ask questions.”

“Agent Mulder, I can not bail you out of jail.” Skinner replies immediately.

“Is that really your first thought?”

“With you? Yes.”

“Well neither off us have been arrested, we just… need a favor. It’ll only take half an hour.”

“And what’s the nature of this favor?”

“It’s… personal. Just a signature. Nothing big.”

Against his better judgment, Skinner agrees. 

***

Walter Skinner is not an idiot. He knows they're in love. He also knows that both of them are too damn stupid and too damn professional to do anything about it. He hears the whispers, knows that everyone else in violent crimes is so sure that they spend their days in the basement office in a haze of sex. But Skinner knows better. He sees the hesitance in Mulder's touches, as if he's afraid that the contact could be rejected at any moment. He sees how Scully soaks his touch in like she doesn’t know if or when she’ll get the next drop. He sees how they gaze at each other when the other is looking away. Or, sometimes, when they’re looking directly at them. 

So, when he arrives at the courthouse to see Scully in a white dress and Mulder in a tux, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“What is this, Agents?” He asks, despite knowing exactly what it is.

“We’re getting married.” Scully says, “As a contingency. We need a witness, if you would be willing, sir.”

“A contingency? For what? Is there a threat you haven’t told me about?”

“A lot of things,” Scully says, “It started because of hospital visitations, medical decisions. The more we thought about it, the more sense it made.”

“You realize that if you’re in a relationship, you can’t be partners anymore?”

“We aren’t in a relationship, sir,” Mulder interjects, “It’s just paperwork. Less than changing wills, and next of kin, and power of attorney, and everything else.”

The look on Skinner’s face can only be described as long-suffering resignation. “You know what, sure.”

Scully looks mildly surprised and looks up at Mulder, “I thought that would take more convincing.”

“I don’t have the time or energy to ask all the questions I have, Agent Scully.”

***

Bartlett, as an officiant at the Moultrie Courthouse, has overseen many marriages. He loves his job. He loves seeing the looks people share when they bind themselves to their love. Loves seeing the happiness spread across their faces. 

This couple is no different. 

They walk in side by side, not touching, with their witness following close behind. Bartlett introduces himself by first name, and begins the ceremony when they confirm that they are ready. He says the same words he always does. They forego vows, saying that it would take too long.

He believes them. He’s seen couples take upwards of half an hour each. He saw them a couple months later for a divorce. Long vows do not a happy relationship make. 

But these two aren’t like that. They’re the type he would imagine said everything they needed to in private, not wanting to spend anyone else’s time on it, or to let them see that intimacy. Where they hold hands, the woman’s pointer finger reaches out to play with the hair tie on the man’s wrist. 

By the time they get to the important part, they haven't broken eye contact once. 

Bartlett focuses on the woman, “Do you, Dana Scully, take Fox Mulder to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” She says, with a peaceful smile. She slips the ring onto Fox’s finger. 

Bartlett turns to the man, “And do you, Fox Mulder, take Dana Scully to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” He replies, "All that and more." His voice is rough with withheld emotion. He places the ring on her finger in turn.

Bartlett smiles, and says his favorite line. “By the power vested in me by the city of DC, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The man takes his now-wife in his arms and lays a kiss on her forehead. In comparison to other ceremonies Bartlett has performed, this is odd, but when he sees the smile on her face and the tears brimming her eyes when she looks up at him and kisses his cheek, any spot of concern is wiped from his mind.

These two really, really love each other. 

***

After signing the final paperwork, the trio heads back to the Hoover building. Mulder and Scully have changed back into their work clothes, the sound of their half enthusiastic, half exasperated back-and-forth just as it usually is. Mulder’s looking into some possible sex demon in Nevada. Scully emphasizes that it’s in Vegas.

Skinner wouldn’t be able to tell it had ever happened, if it weren’t for the glow. 

As they part ways in the lobby, Skinner turns to them. “Have a good day, Agents. And a word of advice? If you don’t want anyone to know, perhaps take the rings off in the building?”

As the elevator closes, the last thing Skinner sees of them is mutual surprise, and Scully quickly working the ring off her finger and opening her jacket to place it in the inside pocket, a spot he’s seen her pat absently the past couple months. He huffs a laugh once the doors close. 

Mulder, slightly delayed, only starts to remove his ring when Skinner leaves his sights. Scully’s hand on his stops him just after it passes his first knuckle. 

“If just one of us wears it for now, it’ll probably be safe. We could stagger it, no one will notice. If… you want to.”

Mulder meets her eyes. She just looks… vulnerable. As if giving him permission to publicly wear his promise to her would be a favor to her, and not one of his deepest desires.

He slips the ring back onto his finger. “I do.”

She smirks, “I’m getting the strangest sense of deja vu. Have you said that to me recently, Mulder?”

“You know, I think I might have.”

With poorly restrained smiles, they make their way back down to the basement. 

***

A week passes, and every day Scully shows up to work with the ring burning a hole in her pocket. Mulder wears his proudly. When it catches the light, she looks at it with jealousy. 

She’s terrified of it. Not being married to Mulder, there’s no part of her that could ever regret or fear that, but of being found out. Wearing rings is an unnecessary risk, one that could lead to an end of their formal partnership, but it’s one that would feel disingenuous not to take. She wants to wear his ring. She just wants to remain partners with him more. 

Her fear comes true about a week into their marriage. She’s in the bathroom when Agent Driscoll approaches her as she’s washing her hands. 

“So Agent Scully,” She says, “Your partner has been the talk of the office recently. He has a wedding ring now.”

Scully’s heart skips a beat. She schools her expression the same way she does when talking to a particularly skeevy suspect. Nothing can bother her. 

“Yes he does, Agent Driscoll.”

“No one in the office seems to know anything. None of us were at the wedding. No one even knew he was seeing somebody.”

“Are you close enough to Agent Mulder to expect to be invited to his wedding?”

“Well, no.” She admits, “But you are. Were you there?”

Inside, Scully is screaming. Outside, she is fixing the swoop of her hair with a damp finger. She decides to tell the vaguest possible truth, “I was.”

“Well?”

She looks at Driscoll now, “Well what?”

“Who did he marry? Do you know her?”

“Yes, quite well.” Scully says. Better than anyone, as a matter of fact.

“Oh, come on, Scully. Spill. Everyone’s wondering.”

“My partner’s private life isn’t mine to discuss.” Scully clears a final nonexistent smudge of makeup from under eye. She sweeps out of the bathroom, managing to avoid any more of Agent Driscoll’s questions, and does her best not to sprint back to the basement office. 

When she makes it back, she leans against the closed door and tilts her head to the ceiling, eyes closed, waiting for her heart to stop thumping in her ears. 

“Scully, you alright?”

She opens her eyes and stares at the dimpled drop ceiling. “I just got cornered by Agent Driscoll in the bathroom.”

“About what?”

“You.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, “Me?”

Scully pushes off the door and moves to lean against the edge of Mulder’s desk. “You and your wife. People have noticed your ring.”

“My… oh. Shit.”

“Mhmm.” Scully agrees.

“Do you think I should stop wearing it?” His voice is small, soft.

“No. It’d be more suspicious to stop wearing it now. I’m just not sure when it’ll be safe for me to start wearing mine.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” She grabs his hand, runs her thumb along it. “I would if I could. It feels… unbalanced this way.”

“It’s alright, Scully.”

She disagrees.

***

When Mulder gets home that evening, he finds a large envelope with “Do Not Bend” crammed into his mailbox. In his apartment, he inspects the contents, and immediately calls Scully. 

“Hello?” 

“Scully, I need you to get over here.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“I need you to make sure I’m not hallucinating.”

“I’m on my way.” The call clicks to a close. 

She opens his door without knocking a mere 15 minutes later. When she steps in, she does so like she’s approaching a wild animal. 

“Mulder?”

“Scully look at this,” he says from his spot at the table, “tell me this doesn’t say what I think it does.” He holds the paper out to her. 

“Our marriage certificate? Mulder, we planned this in advance, you can’t act as if we did it while drunk in Vegas.”

“No, here.” He points to the line with the officiant’s signature. “Scully, tell me we weren’t married by a man named Bartlett Tiddlywinks.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yeah.”

Their eyes meet, and they simultaneously burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

***

The following Monday, Mulder jumps up from his desk as soon as Scully opens the door. “I have something for you.” He trips in his haste to round the desk and approach her.

“Good morning to you too, Mulder. I had a wonderful weekend, thank you for asking, quite relaxing.” She stops her ribbing when she sees his closed fist, fingers down, held out  to drop something into her own hand. She places an open palm beneath his, and he drops a gold chain into it. When she picks it up, it’s long. Much longer than her usual necklace, or any others she owns. 

“It’s for your ring.”

Scully’s eyes snap to Mulder’s. Her mouth forms a surprised O.

“I was thinking about it over the weekend, and it makes sense, doesn’t it? You can still wear it, but this way you don’t have to worry about taking it off for autopsies. It’s long enough that it’ll lay under your shirt, no one will notice.”

“Thank you, Mulder.” She says absently. He’s right, it does make absolute sense. She doesn’t know why she didn’t think of it earlier. “That’s… very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Of course, Scully.” He rests his hand on her arm, and she places her own on top. She reaches into the inside pocket of her jacket and withdraws the ring from its usual home to place it on the chain.

It’s Mulder’s turn to be surprised, “I didn’t realize you had been carrying it around.”

“I kept the old one in me too, in case I… needed to use it. Unexpectedly.” She slips the ring into its new home and holds it out to him. “Help me put it on?” She requests, even though the chain is long enough for her to clasp before slipping it over her head. She wants him to place the ring where it’s going to stay, so sue her. 

He takes the necklace and she turns around. He brushes her hair off her neck uselessly, and Scully does her best not to shiver at his light touch. He lifts the chain around her head and clasps it. When it’s on, the length of the chain places her wedding ring squarely between her breasts, in the perfect spot to hide from prying eyes. She turns back around to look up to Mulder, and leans into him for an embrace. He holds her tight, and presses a kiss into the top of her head. 

The stress and fear of potentially being separated melts away from her in his arms. It’s her favorite form of peace. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[numinousmysteries]

A Miracle, Perhaps

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Five: Miracles

[on Ao3]

November 1994

Hanukkah falls early this year, beginning the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Mulder hasn’t mentioned anything about going to visit his mom so Scully isn’t surprised to see him in the office on Monday morning.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” he asks as she turns to hang her coat up.

“Fine,” she says, not wanting to elaborate.

In truth, it had been an awkward affair. She hadn’t realized how much her family’s congenial rapport depended on everyone being on their best behavior for her father. Without the captain to steer them, tensions flared. Thinking he’d be free of Bill Scully Sr.’s judgment, Charlie made his first appearance at his mother’s table in years with his long-term boyfriend Harry, only to face Bill Jr.’s wrath. This led to a very drunk Melissa “accidentally” knocking a full glass of red wine onto Bill’s shirt as she gestured wildly in her little brother’s defense. Once Charlie stormed off with Harry trailing behind him (apologizing to Maggie and thanking her for the food as quickly and quietly as he could) Bill turned his anger on Dana. He argued that by staying with the FBI even after her abduction she was only asking to get killed.

It all ended with Maggie retreating to her bedroom to cry, Melissa vomiting in the bathroom, Bill cursing into his whiskey at the table, and Dana silently washing dishes in the kitchen.

“Did you spend the holiday with your family?” she asks, coming to sit across from him at his desk.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nope. Frohike made his famous chicken wings, which is close enough to turkey for me.”

“What about Hanukkah? You celebrated with your mother last year,” she says, hesitating as she eases into new territory.

Two years into their partnership and they still do this awkward dance around each other when it comes to anything remotely personal. She’s more than partly to blame herself since she doesn’t willingly share much about her own life.

“‘Celebrate’ is a generous word,” Mulder says. “We didn’t exactly light the menorah and spin a dreidel around. My mom started taking her sleeping pills earlier and earlier each day until she was basically conking out after lunch. I don’t think she really likes having me around.”

“That can’t be true.”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I just remind her of Samantha. Or rather Samantha’s absence.”

“What about your father?” Scully says, trying to change the subject.

“It’s funny,” he says. “My dad’s family was Jewish and my mother only converted before they got married, but as long as I can remember he never wanted anything to do with religion. Besides, Hanukkah isn’t even a very significant holiday. It just happens to fall around Christmas so it’s gotten swept up in that all-American, gift-giving, capitalist fervor.”

“What’s the story again?” She’s familiar with the basics of the holiday but she knows Mulder likes weaving a tale for her, and she likes to listen as he does.

“Well, it all started with the rise of the Greek king Antiochus the fourth in the second century BCE. The Greeks had a mostly live-and-let-live attitude toward the Jews until then, but Antiochus wasn’t a big fan. He forbade Jews from practicing their religion and demanded they worship Greek gods instead. This all came to a head when Antiochus invaded Jerusalem, killing thousands of Jews and turning the Holy Temple into a shrine to Zeus. He also forced Jewish people to eat pork, which was strictly forbidden by the Torah, but now that I mention it, oddly puts me in the mood for bacon.”

Scully smiles but shakes her head at him.

“Anyway, a small group of Jews known as the Maccabees formed an army and managed to overpower the much larger Greek forces. They retook the temple and got rid of all the Greek idols but ran into a little problem when they went to rededicate it by lighting the menorah with pure olive oil. Because the Maccabees were soldiers returning from the battlefield, they themselves couldn’t produce pure oil until waiting seven days after having handled dead bodies. All the oil in the temple had been defiled by the Greeks except for one jug that supposedly only had enough to last for one night. But of course, as the legend goes, it ended up keeping the menorah lit for eight days, just in time for the Maccabees to start churning out their own oil. Since this all went down after the Torah was written, the only biblical allusion to the Hanukkah is actually in the New Testament when Jesus visits Jerusalem to observe the holiday—”

“—in the book of John,” Scully finishes his sentence.

“Someone paid attention in Sunday school,” he says, and she fights the feeling of a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Are you surprised?” she asks with a smile.

“Not at all,” he says, returning her grin. “Of course, some scholars consider the Maccabees to be religious fundamentalists who even killed fellow Jews they didn’t consider to be hardcore enough. And some versions of the story don’t include any reference to the so-called ‘miracle of oil,’ so who’s to say what really happened?”

“Mulder, you are willing to believe in claims of parasitic alien life forms, shape-shifting mutants, and widespread government conspiracies, but miracles don’t pass muster?” Scully asks, the corners of her lips creeping up into a smile.

He shifts in his chair, leaning forward, closer to her. “I recently witnessed one miracle that I believe in.”

“Which was?”

“Watching you go from the brink of death in that hospital bed a few months ago to sitting here and debating Talmudic wisdom with me right now. If that isn’t a miracle I don’t know what is.”

She instinctively pulls back, bracing her hands on the armrests of her chair. He doesn’t budge, keeping his eyes locked on her.

“Mulder, I can’t clarify what happened to me, why I was returned or why I recovered,” she says quietly, “but when I was unconscious in the hospital, I saw things that I believe can only be explained by the existence of a higher power.”

She hadn’t confessed this to Mulder before and she isn’t sure why. This is a man who believes in werewolves and time-traveling killers. Why is she scared to tell him about her own visions?

“What did you see?” He asks, softly, leaning in towards her.

“I saw my father. I saw my sister—and I saw you,” she says quietly. “But it wasn’t just seeing. I felt your presence.”

Mulder pauses for a beat, opening his lips to speak but not saying anything.

“Scully, I’ve heard about near-death experiences, people believing their seeing through a portal into the afterlife. But in nearly every case they can be explained by low-oxygen levels or misfiring neurons in the brain.”

“No, Mulder,” she says, looking down at her hands now. “I read my medical report. I never suffered from hypoxia or unusual neurological activity. There’s no scientific explanation for what happened.”

“So you think it was God?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” her voice quavers. “But I can’t say for sure that it wasn’t.”

“Whatever it was, I’m glad you made it through.”

“Thank you,” she says, feeling the heat rising in her chest.

She doesn’t tell him that along with sensing his presence she felt something more—a fierce devotion bordering on love. Maybe he’s right and it was a miracle that brought her back to him. Or perhaps the miracle is whatever brought them together in the first place.

[television-overload]

pls tell me about the msr adoption story i love any story where they get to become parents they deserved that so much

AHH so basically I watched too many tearjerker adoption videos on YouTube and then suddenly I was thousands of words into an outline

Amor Fati gets Mulder thinking about family again, and things are still a little raw from the IVF try, so he's hesitant to tell her at first.

Screw it, preview of the first chapter:

---

Find out if adoption is right for you!

Visit us at 8080 Meadowlark Ln. Annapolis, MD

“A Home for Every Child!”

Scully stares down at the brochure on the desk. One of many, which are half buried underneath a pile of paperwork from their current case. Things are circled in pen, underlined, annotated in the margins in the familiar scrawl she knows almost better than her own.

stability – less travel? change in division? discuss with Scully

loving home – ask Frohike for real estate agent #

The word “family” is circled three times.

She swallows with some difficulty, finding—to her dismay—that her hands are shaking. Mulder will be arriving any second, and here she is, frozen like a statue.

How long has he been thinking about this? What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.

She’d never have guessed…

[kyouryokusenshi]

Could you write a jealous pregnant Scully during the events of IWTB?

Jealousy's Touch

@today-in-fic

"Mulder, you really should be more careful," Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Dakota Whitney said. Her fingers reached out uninvited, brushing against the reddened skin of his cheek.

Scully's heart skipped a beat as she watched Whitney's hand make contact with Mulder’s jaw, her stomach churning with a mixture of unease and something she couldn't quite pinpoint. She felt a surge of protectiveness, an instinctual need to assert her place.

Scully's smile wavered as she watched the interaction, her maternal instincts kicking in. She felt a pang of jealousy she hadn't anticipated, a familiar feeling from years ago, the protective instincts intensified by her pregnancy.

"Agent Whitney," Scully interjected, her tone firm, laced with irritation. "I think Mulder's got it covered. We appreciate your concern, but this is hardly the first time he's nicked himself while shaving."

Whitney's hand recoiled slightly, and Scully caught the flash of surprise in her eyes. Mulder cleared his throat, his gaze shifting between the two women, his discomfort evident.

Whitney quickly recovered, offering a somewhat strained smile. "Of course, Agent, or should I say, Doctor Scully. I was just trying to help."

Scully's nostrils flared, her irritation growing. "I'm sure you were. But I think we can handle our own affairs without unnecessary intervention." She placed her hand on her belly, her pregnancy not quite evident, but the evidence was there if you knew to look for it.

Whitney's smile faltered as her gaze followed the motion, her eyes narrowed slightly before she turned to Mulder. "Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." With that, she continued on her way, leaving a palpable tension in her wake.

"Scully, I…" he began, but Scully held up a hand to stop him.

"It's not your fault, Mulder," she said softly, her gaze softening. "I know you can't control other people's actions."

Mulder's lips curved into a grateful smile. "You always know how to put things in perspective."

Scully’s hand gently caressed her belly as she approached him. "Just like you always manage to find the truth in the midst of chaos."

He chuckled, his hand reaching out to cradle her cheek. "We make a good team, huh?"

"We always have," Scully replied, her jealousy fading as quickly as it had arisen.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Piper Maru (3x15)

“…And I’ll fax copies of the reports to the Section Chief as soon as we’re finished.” Kim scans this week’s schedule again, dotting every “i” and crossing every “t”. When she looks up from where she’s seated across from her boss, she pauses. “Sir?”

“Hmm?” His broad shoulders are slumped, his tie askew, and his round glasses do little to hide the dark circles beneath his eyes. She frowns.

Kimberly Cook is good at her secretarial job. No, she’s pretty damn great at it, if she’s honest. So when the man she’s been working closely with for two years is troubled, she refuses to let him file the feeling away like some confidential case in his cabinet. 

“Sir, are you sure you don’t want me to clear your schedule until lunch? I can rearrange your day however you need.” 

“No thanks, Kimberly.” Assistant Director Walter Skinner pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine. I’m just a little tired this morning.”

“I would be too…” Kim eyes last night’s memo half-hidden beneath a familiar case file. Its edges are well-worn, the label’s ink faded and smudged from frequent touches of worried fingertips. “If I stayed up all night fretting.”

She takes the file that’s been haunting her boss for five months, slowly sliding it across his desk to face him. 

He grunts at it. “That’s my job.”

“Sir—” Kim hesitates, reaching out to still his hand tracing the letters of the name Scully, Melissa with her own. “Walter, you’ve been working hard on this one. Very hard. You can’t blame yourself for what the memo says.”

She wasn’t supposed to see the memo. It arrived late last night after Walter had suggested she go home. She didn’t, of course, reluctantly placing it on his desk, reading the words “URGENT: case cold. Refile as inactive until further notice” with Melissa Scully’s case number attached. 

“I’ll be appealing the decision,” he says tightly. Kim nods, sympathetically squeezing his hand, already guessing how that will go. She moves to stand, stopping when his hand finds hers again. “Thank you, Kim. I appreciate your concern.”

Kim smiles, flushing as their hands part. If she wasn’t married with a baby on the way…

Her eyes flick up, catching a flash of red hair bobbing by the office window. “There’s Agent Scully.”

Walter quickly moves into the door, beckoning Dana Scully into his office. Kim bites her lip, realizing he’s about to give an agent he respects news that will disappoint her. That will hurt her. 

“Kimberly, would you excuse us please?” 

“Certainly, sir,” she says, already in motion.

“A memo came across my desk last night…” Walter starts as Kim closes the side door behind her.

Her feet stay rooted where she stands. Fragments of the conversation creep through the cracks in the doorframe. She doesn’t usually eavesdrop, but something compels her to listen. The threatening conversation she’d overheard regarding her boss’s favorite agents just days ago leaves her mind racing…

Kim straightens piles of reports into stacks atop her desk when she smells it: cigarette smoke wafting through A.D. Skinner’s closed door. It’s him, the tall, older man who saunters in unannounced, his gray eyes cold, conniving. That’s when he wants to be seen. There are times, like now, where she knows he slips in through the side door like a snake stalking its prey. With concern creasing his brow, Walter had warned her to avoid the smoker, and Kim would never ignore his advice.

Muffled voices rise. 

Agents Mulder and Scully’s names are mentioned, along with the words “end this,” and “obey orders.”

Kim stiffens, worried. 

A door slams shut, followed by strings of obscenities. 

That chain-smoking jackass is bullying her boss again, her friend, into betraying his agents’ trust, and she hates it. Kim sneers at the door as a stream of smoke slithers its way out. An appropriate euphemism, she’s certain. 

The growing knot of concern for Walter only tightens further in her gut. 

Her fists clench at the memory. Then Agent Scully’s heels thunk along the floor of the office as she speaks, urging Kim to tilt her head to hear more.

“You know, it's strange. Men can blow up buildings, and they can be nowhere near the crime scene, but we can piece together the evidence and convict them beyond a doubt. Our labs can recreate out of the most microscopic detail the motivation and circumstance to almost any murder…” 

Kim’s eyes slip shut.

Agent Scully’s voice shakes, overflowing with emotion, and Kim instantly knows their A.D. will take it personally.

“But in a case of a woman, my sister, who was gunned down in cold blood in a well-lit apartment building by a shooter who left the weapon at the crime scene, we can't even put together enough to keep anybody interested,” the agent passionately continues. Defeat and frustration evident, even through walls. 

“I don't think this has anything to do with interest,” Walter placates.

“If I may say so, sir, it has everything to do with interest,” she retorts. “Just not yours, and not mine.”

Agent Scully marches out of the A.D.’s door and around the corner by the window where Kim stands, stunned in the office’s anteroom. 

Kim cares for her boss. He’s a good man and their friendship means more to her than she’d thought possible coming from a man of high ranking authority. But Agent Scully is right, the real interest that affects others lay with manipulative shadow men. 

The agent’s fierce stride slows to a stop. Her back is turned, but there’s no mistaking her swift intake of breath. Kim knows a stifled sob when she sees it. She wishes she could help. She wishes she could tell her she’s sorry without making her cry.

Then the formidable pathologist swipes at her eyes and walks determinedly towards the elevator, jabbing at the DOWN button, impatient to return to where Kim suspects she feels most comfortable. 

Down to the basement, at Agent Mulder’s side.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3

@monikafilefan

[oohnotvery]

Wherever Is Your Heart (Chapter 12)

That night, Mulder’s toweling dry from a long shower when he hears the knock on his door, its pattern just familiar enough to scatter waves of nerves through him.

Without bothering to throw on a t-shirt, he jogs out to the living room and unlocks the door quickly, swinging it open to invite Scully in.

She seems startled by his speed and her cheeks flush as she steps inside.

“Hey, Scully,” he says as cheerfully as possible, even though seeing her standing in his doorway feels a little like being hit by a car. She’s still a bit pale and frostbitten, and her expression still seems a little hazy.

But her eyes have never looked clearer.

She steps forward expectantly and he stills, his heart knocking against his chest.

“You love me?” she asks, her voice no louder than a whisper.

He swallows hard as adrenaline surges through his limbs. “So much,” he croaks.

A slight smile flickers across her face and her brows pinch together in something resembling relief.

“Then come here, Mulder,” she says, walking forward until her head bumps against his chest. She wraps her arms around his bare torso and squeezes, and when it’s clear to him that she wants this, his arms rise to encircle her back.

They pause for a long moment, breathing each other in, until she steps back just enough to tilt her chin up to his face. She snakes a hand up his arm to his shoulder, then runs a thumb across his ear and jaw, before tugging his chin down expectantly.

He meets her lips tentatively, letting her lead. When her free hand slips around to grip his neck and pull him against her tighter, he goes with her, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Nervously, his hands fall to her waist and he uses the contact to tilt her hips forward just slightly. She falters when their bodies meet, her lips stilling against his, and then she’s digging her hands into his ass, pulling him closer and closer until he starts to grow hard.

“Mulder,” she whispers against his lips, and he hears the arousal and desire in her voice. But there’s something bugging him, something niggling at the back of his mind.

He kisses her back but doesn’t open his mouth to her; he lets his erection grow but doesn’t grind into her. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

And Scully can tell something’s wrong. Eventually, their kisses start to slow and she pulls off him wetly, taking a step back. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips glisten with saliva, and her eyes are huge and dilated with arousal. But there’s a rude knot of worry twisted between her brows, and when her tongue flicks out to swipe anxiously at her lips, he knows she’s starting to doubt him.

“Scully,” he says desperately, taking a step towards her, shaking his head. He has to get this right. He has one chance. So why can’t he do it? Automatically, she steps back and he can see in her expression that her walls are rising. She thinks you’re rejecting her again. But he can’t stop himself. His brain is whirring, whizzing, thinking, wondering. What’s holding me back?

Scully raises a steady hand to stop him from getting closer and that’s when he spies it.

The ring.

His heart falters and falls. He suddenly can place his hesitation. There it is.

Without explanation, he grabs her hand and yanks it up to her face. His heart beats rapidly in his chest, anger and betrayal coursing through his system.

“I assumed that all of this—” he says, gesturing between their aroused bodies, “meant that you weren’t with him anymore?” How could she do this to him? How could she come over here and expect to have sex with him when she’s still with Tyler?

“I know we made that mistake before when you were with him, but I love you, Scully. I’m not taking this leap if he’s still in the picture.”

Scully’s eyebrows fly to her hairline and her mouth falls open. She yanks her hand away from his and clasps it to her chest protectively.

“What are you talking about?” she asks venomously. She looks furious. “I’m not with Tyler anymore, Mulder. I wouldn’t have come over here if I hadn’t ended things with him.”

He frowns, a weight lifting. “Then why are you still wearing his ring?”

“His what?”

“His ring, goddammit!” He stabs a finger at the emerald glowing on her hand and Scully blinks.

Then, to his consternation, she smiles. “Mulder, Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “What made you—why would you think—” She pauses, sighing heavily, and then meets his gaze steadily. “If you were so worried about this ring, you should have just asked me where it came from.”

He feels his knees getting a little shaky. He’s starting to think he’s made a big mistake. “You going to hold me in suspense all night, Scully?”

She laughs a little, shaking her head. “Mulder, my mother gave me this ring for my birthday. It belonged to Melissa.” Her voice catches for a moment. “She knew I was going through a difficult time. I—I may have mentioned to my mom that there were things I wished I could have talked to Melissa about. Things involving . . . you. My mom thought it would bring me some comfort, to have something of hers.”

Mulder blinks, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest, cruelest idiot. “Scully, I didn’t know—”

“Is that why you ripped this off my finger that night you came over?” Her face is incredulous.

He nods shamefully, ducking his head a bit at the memory. “I couldn’t in good conscience go down on you while he was staring me right in the face.”

“Jesus Christ,” she curses, a laugh bubbling out of her. She steps forward and takes his hands in hers. With gratitude and relief, he brings their joined hands to his lips and plants a kiss across her knuckles. “Mulder, next time, just ask.”

He studies her for a long while, running his lips back and forth across her hands. “That’s our problem, right? Making too many assumptions. Too much failed communication.”

She flushes heavily, her face growing serious. She looks up at him from under thick lashes. “Well, then. I think we have a lot of making up to do.”

He feels a grin tug at his lips.  

[lovesicks4pphic]

Inevitable Collision

Rating: E

Summary: Set after The Rain King. Sharing a bed in a tiny motel room means there's nowhere left to hide.

Read on AO3 here. 

The whole thing had to be some kind of cosmic joke. If he believed in God, he might think it was divinely orchestrated, some kind of humorous little game at his expense.

It had been a long day of dead-end leads in middle-of-nowhere Arizona, watching Scully get hit on by a creepy county sheriff and convincing himself he wasn’t just as bad when a bead of sweat rolled down her clavicle and disappeared beneath her white v-neck.

The invisible thread that bound them to one another seemed to be getting shorter and shorter these days, the gravity of their connection too strong. He knew, deep down, that at this point it was only a matter of time before they collided, for better or for worse, and the question was simply when.

He thought he might get his answer a few weeks ago when a cow of all things crashed through the roof of his motel room and he was forced to bunk with Scully. Fortunately for his nerves, Scully’s room had a couch and she didn’t put up too much resistance when he insisted he take it, reminding her that he had spent years sleeping on one and was in fact more accustomed to couches than beds.

They slept separately, deeply after such bizarre events, and when they woke the next morning, they continued their familiar dance, never getting too close but never very far away.

Tonight, however, at the lone motel in this tiny desert town, that distance would be forced to shrink even further.

They weren’t expecting to stay the night, thinking it would be a simple, open-and-shut, onto-the-next-case situation but they’d made far less progress than they’d hoped and their next assignment a state over would have to wait.

“You got here just in time!” The receptionist exclaimed after a few taps on her keyboard. “We have one room left.”

“We’ll take it.” Scully replied immediately.

Mulder could tell she was getting antsy, eager to wash off the day. She had been unusually fidgety all day, even jumping at one point when he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. A few times when he’d been speaking to her, her eyes had drifted to his bare forearms below his rolled-up sleeves, completely zoned out. The heat must be bothering her.

“Alright then!” The receptionist beamed. “It is one of our smaller rooms but I’m sure y’all don’t mind getting a little cozy.”

She winked at the two agents and Mulder tensed. How small? He wanted to ask. Please tell me what you mean by small.

As it turned out, ‘small’ was somewhat of an understatement. The bed took up most of the room, which was saying something as it was perhaps the narrowest double Mulder had ever seen. There was hardly any other furniture, just a desk with a rickety old chair tucked under it. Mulder found himself wondering whether he could curl all 6 feet of himself up like a cat and sleep on that instead. Even the bathroom had more floor space than the bedroom and he briefly questioned how offended Scully would be if he said he’d rather sleep on tiles than beside her.

As if reading his mind, Scully appeared beside him.

“Well, there’s no couch this time so I suppose we’d better get comfortable.”

He took a quick glance in the direction of the bathroom. Maybe with enough towels and pillows-

“Mulder, you’re not sleeping on the floor.” She sighed. “We’re both adults.”

He hesitated.

“Ok. If you’re sure. I am quite big.” He joked, trying to distract from his racing heart.

She smiled but he could tell she was a little apprehensive too. He wondered whether it was for the same reasons.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

After a few hours of hunching over files and photographs on the bed, Scully finally stretched and announced she was going to shower. She collected her things from her bag, Mulder’s eyes trying desperately not to linger on the blue silk she pulled out, and disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower running lured his thoughts into dangerous territory and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it, returning his focus to the evidence in front of him. It wasn’t the easiest task to concentrate when his mind kept helpfully supplying thoughts like Scully is showering right now, Scully is naked the other side of that wall, Scully is going to put on something silky and then climb into bed with you.

His groin stirred and he fought the urge to press his palm against himself. It was going to be a very long night.

He’d managed to get as far as reading the same sentence four times when he heard something like a gasp come from the bathroom. It was quiet beneath the noise of the water but he could’ve sworn it was there.

He strained to listen but when he heard nothing more, he returned to the page in his lap. Perhaps the water had suddenly run cold and startled her. That was something he’d experienced more than his fair share of during the many nights they’d spent at motels like these. Perhaps he’d simply imagined it.

“Mm!”

A high-pitched noise interrupted his thoughts and he froze. He definitely hadn’t imagined that .

A million scenarios of Scully in danger rushed through his mind. They were on the ground floor, there was a window in the bathroom that an intruder could’ve easily fit through. They were literally in the middle of a murder investigation. Granted, Scully didn’t have the mark that the other victims did before they were taken. Well, not that he knew of. What if she’d seen it now? What if-

“Mulder!”

The sound of his name in a strangled gasp had him leaping off the bed and across the room. Blinded by panic, he pushed open the bathroom door without knocking.

“Scully!” He called to her, glancing frantically around the room. “Are you ok?”

“Mulder!” She squeaked. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I heard you call my name and I thought you might be in trouble.”

“Oh.” She said quietly, the word almost lost in the rushing water. “I’m fine.”

He wished he could see her face, see for himself that she was ok, but the sight of her was obscured by a grotty shower curtain.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She said a little more confidently. “I, um- I saw a spider. It’s gone now.”

Mulder wasn’t entirely convinced by the explanation but something in her voice told him not to pry. He didn’t want to push her, their sleeping arrangements were going to be awkward enough even without the added element of pissing her off.

“Ok. I’ll just… go.” He finished lamely.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, he wandered back over to the bed to finish, well actually start , the file he’d been reading prior to the interruption.

Some time later, he decided to call it a night. They were at a standstill until they could speak to the most recent victim’s mother, who wouldn’t be back in town until the morning.

With a sigh, he scooped up the sprawling mess of papers and dumped them on the desk. He briefly considered tidying up a little, knowing that Scully wouldn’t be too pleased with his filing system, or lack of. Then again, even if he did organize everything into the relevant folders, she’d pull everything out and redo it anyway.

As he stood by the desk, shuffling the papers about so it looked like he’d done something, the bathroom door opened across the room. Holy fuck.

Scully stood there, framed in the dim light, fresh and dewy from her elaborate skincare routine, damp red hair curling around her freckled face, and silky shorts so tiny they must hardly cover her ass. She looked beautiful. Ethereal. And Mulder had to admit Holman had been right. He definitely did gaze at Scully.

“Sorry.” Scully said, her cheeks turning pink beneath his unrelenting gaze. “This is all I packed. I was anticipating it being hot and me being… alone.”

Mulder opened his mouth a few times before finally finding his voice.

“No, that’s ok.” He started. “You just look so… cute.”

“Cute?” Scully raised a brow.

Mulder winced. She was right. Cute is how he’d usually describe a small dog they walked past on the street, not his unnervingly gorgeous partner who he was hopelessly, desperately in love with. However, ‘you look so fucking good I need to go and take care of myself in the shower right this second before I lose my mind and pin you up against the nearest wall’ didn’t quite seem like the appropriate thing to say either.

“I’m just gonna-.” He pointed to the bathroom behind her before hurrying to grab what he needed, brushing past her and closing the door.

Fuck. He hoped he’d been quick enough that she didn’t notice the bulge in his slacks.

He stripped and hopped straight into the shower. He needed to get this out of his system before he got into bed with her otherwise he would definitely end up embarrassing himself or having to sneak out in the middle of the night to jack off into the toilet, which felt too pathetic even for him. Not that the shower was much better.

It didn’t take long. It never did these days. Not when she was so damn close all the time, always speaking so assertively and so intelligently and giving him those smiles, reserved just for him. Once upon a time, he felt guilty whenever she’d pop into his head as he stroked himself. He’d managed to keep the denial going for a while, ignoring his body’s reaction to her, pushing away thoughts of being on top of her, beneath her, behind her. The line he’d drawn in his head had since been crossed though. And now there was no turning back.

He bit into his forearm as he came, muffling the sound of his groan.

Once he was showered and dried, he reached for his change of clothes and was struck with the realization that he too had packed thinking he’d be sleeping alone. All he had was a clean pair of boxers and a Knicks shirt. It would have to do. He hoped Scully had already turned out the lights.

As luck would have it, he opened the door to a dark room, just enough moonlight seeping in through the flimsy drapes to see the shape of Scully’s body beneath the sheet. If the bed looked tiny before, it looked practically miniature now. Scully’s small form was curled as close to the far left edge as possible, yet somehow left very little room for Mulder. Cozy indeed.

He could already feel his heart pounding, his hands shaking as he pulled back the covers and lay down carefully, not wanting to disturb her. He lay on his left side with his back to her, the two of them facing opposite walls. It wasn’t the most effective option space-wise but it felt safer this way, if he couldn’t see her, maybe he could convince himself she wasn’t there.

“Night, Mulder.”

Scully’s quiet voice broke the still air, reminding him she was in fact there.

“Night, Scully.”

Moments passed by in silence. He could feel the warmth of Scully’s body beneath the sheets, faint heat against the backs of his legs.

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until his chest started to feel hot and he exhaled shakily. In and out, Mulder, you’ve been doing this your whole life.

His left shoulder was starting to ache and he reluctantly turned over, coming face-to-face with the back of Scully’s head. The soft scent of her shampoo instantly surrounded him and he fought off a moan, the urge to bury his face in her hair hitting him fiercely.

He shuffled around some more, trying to get comfortable whilst maintaining some kind of distance between them. He didn’t notice when his fingertips brushed against her bare thigh but he did notice her resulting shiver.

“Are you cold?” He whispered.

The temperature had dropped significantly, as it often does in these kinds of places once the sun sets, and there was a definite chill in the air, though Mulder was too hot and flustered to feel it himself.

Scully nodded and before Mulder could process what he was doing, he was moving impossibly closer, his chest flush against her back. His arm circled around her middle, holding her close but not tight. It was almost strange how comfortable it felt, how natural.

“Is this ok?”

His lips were so close to her skin, his hot breath ghosting across the nape of her neck with every exhale.

“Yeah.” She whispered. “It’s ok.”

Her voice was breathy, the tone different than anything he’d heard from her before.

He hugged her tighter in response, the silk of her shirt so smooth beneath his fingertips where his palm rested against her stomach. Unconsciously, he stroked his thumb back and forth over the material.

Scully shuddered suddenly in his arms, her hips wriggling against his. It seemed to happen in slow motion, the flesh of her ass, barely covered, meeting the unavoidable bulge in his underwear. They both froze. Mulder mentally cursed himself and shifted his hips away from her as subtly as he could.

A beat. Scully pushed her hips backwards again but this time it felt deliberate, like she was seeking him out. Mulder bit back a groan when she found her target. He was undeniably hard now. So much for getting it out of his system earlier.

Another press of her ass against him and he gripped her hip firmly, holding her slightly away from him.

“Scully.” He gritted out.

She responded with a barely concealed whimper. The sound shot straight to his groin and the events of the day clicked into place in his mind with startling clarity.

“Scully?” He repeated, more of a question this time.

This was the moment that could change everything. He knew it and he knew she knew it too. They couldn’t pretend any longer. The thread between them was pulled taut, nothing left and nowhere to hide.

He swallowed.

“You didn’t see a spider earlier, did you?”

Scully’s reply was a hesitant whisper.

“No.”

“And you weren’t cold just now, were you?”

“No.”

The weight of the truth she had just revealed in those two simple answers was astronomical. He groaned and pressed his hips harder against her.

“Tell me you want this.”

He needed to hear her say it. To confirm what they both knew, had known for a long time beneath all the fear, all the doubt and denial.

“I want this.” She whispered, quiet but sure, and turned in his arms. “Please.”

The sheer vulnerability and desire in her eyes as they met took his breath away and after six years of waiting, he couldn’t stand to wait a moment longer. He kissed her.

It felt like coming home.

Her lips were soft beneath his own, parting almost immediately to allow him to deepen the kiss, while her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands slipped down to her ass as their tongues met and she moaned loudly into his mouth.

He had imagined their first kiss in so many ways. Everything from a chaste, gentle press of their lips to a frantic, clashing of mouths. This was somehow everything he’d wished for and more. Sensual and fierce, the intensity of it unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

He broke away, much to Scully’s disappointment, although she was quickly placated when he began pressing wet kisses to her neck, trailing his lips from her cheekbone to the surprisingly sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

He rolled her onto her back, legs intertwined with hers as he continued to kiss and nip at her exposed skin. She writhed and gasped beneath him, throwing her head back in invitation and clenching fistfuls of his shirt.

One of his hands slipped beneath her pajama top, the feeling of her bare stomach beneath his fingers making his head spin. In return, her hands slid beneath his t-shirt, nails raking across his back as she ground her center against his thigh.

He kissed her again, tongues meeting hot and heavy. His hand traveled higher until his fingertips were brushing the underside of her breast and he felt her still in anticipation.

“Is this ok?”

She nodded frantically, which made him chuckle and kiss her again. He couldn’t believe she was letting him do this after all these years. Not even just letting him, encouraging him, desperate for him.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers and watching the way her eyes rolled shut when his hand spread across her breast and squeezed. He got distracted by her chest for a while, transfixed by the way she licked and bit at her bottom lip when his thumbs flicked across a nipple, the gasp and arch of her back when he gave a particularly hard pinch. She was so deliciously sensitive.

“Mulder.” Scully whined. “Enough teasing.”

“Never enough.” He replied with a grin.

He got the message though, reluctantly removing his hands from her shirt so that he could get to work on the buttons. Scully sat up briefly to help, scrambling to get Mulder’s shirt off too before pulling him back down on top of her with a firm kiss.

Somehow during the readjustment, Mulder had ended up kneeling between Scully’s spread thighs and when their bodies met once more, his clothed cock pressed directly against her center. They both moaned at the contact, Scully bucking her hips to press into him harder.

“Fuck.” Mulder hissed.

He didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life and he hadn’t even touched her yet. So much for getting it out of his system earlier, although if he hadn’t done that he might’ve come already just from the friction and the sounds Scully was making.

He drew back to take in the sight of a topless Scully beneath him and yeah, he was suddenly very grateful for his solo time earlier because fuck.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, staring at her almost reverentially.

Sure, he had seen her naked before, but there was always some element of danger drawing his focus and he tried his best to avoid looking anyway, not wanting to disrespect her when she was vulnerable.

No, it had never been like this. This was something entirely different. He drank in the sight, memorizing every freckle, every scar. He wanted to worship her.

Before Scully could respond, he dipped down and flicked his tongue over a taut nipple. She gasped and scraped her nails at the nape of his neck.

“God, Mulder.”

He repeated the action before experimentally sucking, addicted to her sharp inhales and the sting of her nails digging into his skin.

Scully’s hips were grinding against his bare stomach now and he groaned around a mouthful of her when he realized he could feel her wetness through her shorts.

He paused and glanced up at her, her head thrown back against the pillows.

“Are you wearing underwear, Scully?”

She dropped her head down to meet his eyes. She shook her head.

“I only packed thongs.” She said quietly, a coy smile on her lips. “I can’t sleep in a thong.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”  

Scully laughed at that, a light and free sound that Mulder adored. He didn’t get to hear it enough. However, her laughter was soon cut short when he dropped his head back to her chest, giving her other breast the same attention.

“Oh .” She breathed.

Mulder’s lips moved across her sternum and then down across her stomach, placing kisses to her skin as he went. She was squirming beneath him in anticipation now and his desperation grew. He needed to taste her more than he could remember needing anything.

He moaned as the smell of her arousal hit him full force, his lips ghosting over her thighs.

“Scully.”

A plea.

“Yeah.” She nodded in immediate understanding, lifting her hips for him to slide off her shorts.

Once her shorts were off, he settled himself between her thighs, coming face to face with her glistening cunt. Holy fuck.

“Scully, you’re so wet.”

She moaned low in her throat, threading her fingers through his hair. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, tugging her hips closer.

This was it. This was the moment he had dreamt about, the moment that plagued his late night thoughts and dominated his fantasies.

He pressed his lips against her clit, inhaling deeply. Scully whimpered and his cock twitched.

At the first stroke of his tongue against her, they both moaned.

“Oh, fuck.”

Scully’s voice was tight, her grip in his hair tighter.

He lapped at her again, spreading wetness up and around her clit. She shifted her legs wider with a moan and he threw himself into his task with even more enthusiasm. No fantasy could’ve done this justice.

As he continued to lick and suck at her clit, her moans became louder and more frequent until they were near constant, interspersed with gasps of ‘fuck’ and ‘Mulder’ and ‘right there’. He had seriously underestimated how vocal Scully would be in bed, he wouldn’t be surprised if they got a noise complaint and he was only just getting started. Her surprising lack of inhibition only turned him on more.

Her hips rocked up over and over again, fucking herself against his face with increasing desperation. She was dripping down his chin and he couldn’t be happier.

Occasionally, he would dip down to her entrance and circle it with his tongue. On one such occasion, she made a strangled sound in her throat and her hips jolted.

“More.” She gasped out. “Mulder, I need-.”

He knew straightaway and let go of one of her thighs to bring his hand between her legs. He pressed his middle finger inside her, looking up between her legs to see her eyes roll back as she released a low, throaty moan. His finger curled against her front wall and he stroked slowly in and out.

“More.”

He obeyed, a second finger joining the first, his tongue returning to her clit.

“God.” Scully groaned. “Feels so good.”

Mulder gradually picked up the pace, paying careful attention to the sounds she made and the rhythm of her hips. He pushed against the back of her thigh with his free hand, opening her up to him even further, and moaned when he felt more wetness coat his fingers in response.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Scully panted. “Don’t stop.”

Her hips rocked in time with his thrusts, taking him as deep as she could. He knew he’d hit the perfect spot when her back arched and her thighs started shaking, her whole body trembling beneath his tongue.

“Oh god.” She gasped. “I’m gonna-.”

That was all the warning Mulder got before her thighs clamped around his head and her walls clamped around his fingers. She practically smothered him with the intensity of her orgasm but god , what a way to go.

He couldn’t believe he was making Scully come. Scully . His only regret was not being able to see her face but the night was still young.

Mulder continued licking and sucking at her gently, slowly bringing her down from her high, until she pulled him away. She dragged him up her body and met his lips with a hungry kiss. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting herself. Fuck, that was hot.

She broke the kiss and sighed contentedly.

“I knew you’d be good at that.”

“Oh, really?”

“Two words, Mulder.” She smirked at him. “Sunflower. Seeds.”

She punctuated her words with two gentle pokes to his ass cheek and he laughed, ducking down to kiss her again. He couldn’t get enough of this woman.

Scully wrapped her legs around him, pressing her pelvis against his as she kissed him languidly. His boxers were the only layer that remained between them.

She pushed at his shoulder, encouraging him to roll over, and straddled him with zero hesitation. He wanted to burn this image into his brain, etch it into his retinas and never look at anything again for the rest of his life. She was completely naked, skin flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, smiling down at him almost shyly as she rocked her hips against him. Her fingers dipped into his waistband and he jerked against her.

“I want to see you.” She said quietly, sliding down his thighs.

His cock was straining against his boxers and the outline of his head was visible under the thin, damp material. Scully ran a finger over his firm length, her nails softly scratching him, and he shuddered.

“Take them off.”

He did as she requested and when she returned to his lap, she was staring down at his cock in awe. Understandable, really. Even Mulder was surprised that a human being could get his hard.

“I knew you must be big but god, Mulder.”

They would definitely be addressing that statement later. She knew ? Presently, however, he was far too occupied to be asking questions as she took him fully in her gentle grasp.

“Is this all for me?”

“Always, Scully.”

She must have heard the seriousness in his tone because she tore her eyes away then, meeting his gaze. Her focus drifted between his face and his crotch and she licked her lips as if deep in thought. When she shuffled further down his legs, he realized exactly what the thought was.

“Scully, I won’t last if you do that.” He warned.

She pouted, stroking her thumb delicately against his tip as if to say ‘are you sure?’.

“Next time.” He promised.

Scully raised an eyebrow before leaning over his torso, kissing his abs, chest, shoulders, neck and finally his cheek. She pulled back to look into his eyes. Their lips were mere millimeters apart.

“There’s going to be a next time?”

Surprisingly, her tone wasn’t teasing. It was a hopeful whisper.

In response, he pulled her down into a passionate kiss, trying to convey just how much she meant to him, how certain he was that there would be a next time if he had anything to do with it.

His fingers tangled in her hair and she gasped as he unintentionally tugged a little harder than necessary. She was rocking against him insistently now, hips slipping further backwards with each movement. Suddenly, his cock was very much against her ass and she whimpered into his mouth.

She lifted her hips and adjusted them so that she was pressing onto him. His cock was now trapped between her cunt and his stomach and when she began to slide along his length, they both moaned. Back and forth, she coated him with her wetness, little noises escaping her mouth as her clit brushed against him.

Mulder thought he might die if he didn’t get to be inside her soon. Luckily, Scully appeared to have a similar thought. Pulling back, she met his eyes once again, wordlessly asking for what they both needed. He nodded.

She raised herself up, slicking her hand over his length a couple more times, and then positioned him at her entrance. He was torn between looking at her face and watching the place where they were finally, finally about to join. He settled for flicking between both.

Scully’s eyes rolled back as she pressed the first inch inside.

“You ok?” Mulder’s voice was strained, hands skating over her sides as he resisted grabbing her hips and shoving inside her.

Scully nodded and they both moaned as she sank down further. She was so fucking warm and wet, walls fluttering around him as she adjusted.

They both watched as the last couple of inches slowly disappeared inside her. When her pelvis met his, she groaned and circled her hips.

“Don’t move.” Scully breathed. “I just want to feel you for a moment.”

He understood. As much as he was desperate to move, the feeling of being completely connected after all this time was indescribable. He’d held out this long, he could control himself for a few more seconds.

Slowly, Scully began to lift herself and sink back down. Her mouth dropped open in pleasure.

“Fuck, Scully.” Mulder murmured. “You’re incredible.”

It was true. If heaven were real, this would be it.

“Move.” She pleaded.

You don’t need to tell me twice, Mulder thought. He held onto her hips and pressed up into her, meeting her thrusts. He could get even deeper with their combined effort. She gasped when they got the angle right and his cock bumped against her g-spot with every stroke.

Gradually, they picked up the pace until they were moving frantically against one another. Scully braced her hands against his chest.

“Oh fuck.” She gasped.

Her breasts were bouncing on her chest as he pounded into her over and over again. His fingers dug into her hips so hard there’d likely be bruises in the morning but she didn’t seem to mind, in fact the quiet moan in the back of her throat every time he tightened his grip indicated that she might actually be enjoying the rough treatment. He filed that little piece of information away for later.

She was panting now, slamming her hips down against his to meet his every thrust even as her thighs began to tremble. She moaned loudly at a particularly hard thrust and collapsed forward, her face buried in his neck.

Mulder’s hands slipped to her ass and squeezed as he encouraged her to rock against him. Her movements were getting sloppy though and she whimpered and mouthed at his skin.

“Fuck me.” She moaned. “Please, Mulder.”

He understood immediately and flipped them. Scully whined as he slipped out of her but he didn’t keep her waiting long, thrusting back inside of her as soon as they were in position.

Scully cried out and arched up into him. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist and her nails dug into his shoulders, needing something to cling onto.

“You feel so fucking good.” Mulder groaned.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Scully had grown wetter and wetter and the lewd sounds of their fucking were pushing him closer to the edge.

“Tell me what you were thinking about earlier. In the shower.”

He didn’t know where that had come from but he suddenly had to know.

“Mulderrrr.” Scully whined, clearly not in the mood for talking.

“Tell me.” He insisted.

“Fuck.”

Scully groaned and turned to press her face into his arm.

“Were you thinking about this?” He asked, although he knew what her answer would be.

She nodded.

“Do you always think about us when you touch yourself?”

His words were heavy with exertion, the two of them covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Yes.” She gasped.

“Show me.”

Scully moaned. One of her hands instantly fell from his back, slipping between their bodies.

Her moans increased tenfold when her fingers met her clit, her eyes flying open to meet his.

“Feel good?”

The way her hips writhed against him said it all.

“Kiss me.” She pleaded.

He did so without question, their mouths meeting clumsily. When her whimpers and gasps began to increase in pitch, he knew the end was in sight. He could feel her hand moving frantically against herself, her knuckles brushing against his skin.

“So close.” She whispered.

So was he. She was tightening around him and it took all of his strength to keep going. He would not come before her.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” She chanted and then suddenly she was tensing, her walls spasming around him. “Fuck!”

Mulder dropped his head to her shoulder, thrusting into her once, twice more before he was coming along with her, moaning her name into her skin.

Jesus Christ.

He kissed Scully’s shoulder and then her forehead before reluctantly pulling away and slipping out of her. She winced and he whispered an apology. He lay down beside her, their chests heaving in unison.

He stretched an arm out, making a space for Scully, who took the hint and rolled into his side, palm resting against his chest. He brushed his lips against the top of her head.

“We’re pretty good at that.”

“Mm.” She responded tiredly. “We should’ve done it sooner.”

He wondered if she knew how long he’d been waiting. How long he’d been wanting. He wondered if she knew he was in love with her.

“I can hear you thinking.” She murmured.

“Just wondering how we’ll explain the extra charge for noise disturbance on our expense report.”

She smacked a palm against his chest.

“What?!”

She giggled at his mock surprise, honest-to-god giggled . Post-coital Scully was adorable.

“I love you.” She said suddenly. His heart stopped. “In case you were wondering.”

She turned to look up at him and he saw the truth right there in her eyes. He wasn’t the only one who had been waiting and wanting.

“I love you too.” He said. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“I know, Mulder.”

The thread between them snapped.

[sunflowernyx]

Chapter 1 I Newest chapter

He’s halfway up the stairs, patting his pockets for his keys, when he finds the note. A folded, plain sheet of paper with the inscription in a familiar hand by a manicured hand:

In case you and Dr Scully would like to throw the first stone; there is more than one way to kill a god.

On the other side is an address.

He pockets it.

Mulder knows not to let Spender get in his head, but it’s difficult. He’d painted a picture that kept expanding with very little information and very few admittances on his own meddling in Scully’s life and affairs, but by the time the door opens to his home, Mulder can’t help but wonder if Dana Scully was placed in his path to create a weakness or to spy on him.

Which had been the whole point of Spender’s set-up. It’s never just a one-sided trap, and Mulder knows if he avoids it now there’s a whole minefield ahead of him.

He wants to believe her. He needs her to be who she claims to be so badly. For himself and for Emily. Because for once in his life, he wants to be able to do the right thing by the people in his life.

And it would be easy too, coming back home to the vision that greets him as he steps into the living room.

Golden light falls across bookshelves, couches and half-empty mugs of cooling cacao, warming the skin of the girl and the woman curled up sound asleep in a nest of blankets and pillows. The television flickers silently on the midpoint of a family film, keeping them company in the night without disturbing their rest.

Scully’s knees curl up and her arm goes around the little girl, whose head is nestled under her chin, her cheek rounding against Scully’s shoulder. And  it is so peaceful, so picturesque, that Mulder could easily delude himself into imagining this to have been what he came home to for many months already, that it is, has always been, and always will be the norm.

He crosses the carpet on soft feet and kneels by the two girls to brush his fingers lightly down from Scully’s temple to her chin.

The hood of her eyelids slides up, revealing the clear blue sky below, and he watches the clouds of sleep clear with momentary pleasure.

“Mulder?” She murmurs, void deep with sleep.

Her arm tightens carefully around Emily.

“‘Morning,” he greets her. “Sorry for coming back so late. I know you have work in the evening.”

“It’s okay,” she says, and he knows she means it. “How’s the case going?”

Her hand brushes over Emily’s head in a caress light enough it doesn’t wake her.

“Slow,” he admits. “Thanks for watching her for me. I know it can’t have been easy to get time off work.”

Scully hesitates, and he can see it in her face; the war between greedily wanting time with her daughter and her practicality. If he had not reminded her of work he’s sure she would’ve asked if he needed a babysitter the next day too, and the next.

It makes him want to do dumb, reckless things.

Scully has been in their lives for only a handful of weeks, and in that time she has spent every free moment she could manage getting to know Emily. It’d meant a Saturday at the zoo, and another drinking hot chocolate by an ice rink.

He’d taken a Tuesday off on an invitation to visit a lab with her at the University of Maryland, where they’d done the DNA testing assuring everyone that there was no doubt in terms of familial connection. Afterwards they’d gone for a walk in the park, below the snow covered trees and Mulder had swung Emily up on his shoulders, while Scully brought them hot churros, and not for the first time had he considered what they might look like to passers-by. How easy it would be if that image weren’t just a superficial reflection on the water, hiding a much deeper, more murky truth.

“The rest of my duties on this involve paperwork and leading meetings, though,” he says in the present. “So I’ll be home at regular times from now on.”

“Oh. That’s good,” she lies.

And Mulder, he—

He almost laughs. Sleepy and adorable and transparent, he doesn’t think Dana Scully could lie even if she tried.

“Which means I’ll have time and space for dinner,” he clarifies, unable to keep his smile to himself. “This was your first time alone with Emily tonight, and I thought we should keep the momentum going so she really gets used to you. What do you say?”

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