#xfchallenge

[starbuck09256]

A picture in the sand

Episode Fic

Unruhe

Pictures in the Sand

Author: @starbuck09256

For: Kasey Slippin Mickeys

Rating: Teen (I did use the f word not sorry)

First a huge Shot Out to @gaycrouton for putting this goodie together. Girl you are fantastic. I can’t wait to read your fic and everyone else's! 

My prompt was Unruhe and that it should take place in Traverse City with another woman goes missing. I followed it mostly. I rewatched the episode about 9 times, which isn’t bad I like the ep anyway. Here is my angsty (as requested) interpretation.

Not gonna lie, I’m really terrible at procrastinating so this is very much not Beta’d I apologize for spelling and grammar errors. Just happy to barely make the deadline. 

6am Dana Scully's Apartment

She wheels her suitcase next to the end table. Not paying attention she swings it to far and the picture frame on top falls and shatters to the newly stained wood flooring. “Shit” Scully mutters before moving her suitcase to find all the shards of broken glass. She picks up the frame staring at a picture of her and Melissa at a family picnic at the beach from a few years ago. Melissa’s glowing smile staring back at her, she traces the pattern of Melissa’s dress remembering Melissa spinning them around in the sand, letting the tiny pebbles crush against their toes. Like they used to do in San Diego.  Melissa had been galavanting around the world and had just gotten back her smile to be with family, the lightest Dana had seen her in the last few years.  Scully thought it was just because Melissa had finally gone to all the places she talked about endlessly in the dark confines of their shared room. Scully sighs, she remembers that dress Melissa wore in a different context too, one where she is helping their mom pack it away in a donation bin. Melissa so much taller than Scully, it didn’t make sense for Scully to keep it in the back of her closet as a reminder of the women who embodied the bright color and flowy design. The picture inside the jagged frame not scratched and torn right on the side of Melissa dress. The irony isn’t lost as she sits there on the floor where Melissa bled out in between the wood slates a bullet meant for Scully, a life meant for Melissa. She can’t help feeling that the last two years have been so unfair, she is no closer to justice for her sister, no closer to finding the answers of where Duane Berry took her. Now as the nightmares have increased she thinks of the women in Allentown all dying slowly, she wonders if she is next in line. If this picture of her and her sister will find its home on her moms mantle along with catholic candles that flicker in and out of all the lives tragically cut short by senseless violence. Scully presses the picture into the front pouch of her suitcase. Vowing to find a new frame to hold the precious photo right when she gets back from their new case in Michigan. 

She’s only been to Michigan a couple of times. The only real fact about the state that she loved is no matter where you are you are within 7 miles of water. The water calls to her, always has, from years of watching her father navigate it’s depths to summers spent at camps with giant lakes that at night made you feel like you might as well be in the middle of the ocean.  She remembers briefly staying once and seeing the shores of the great lake as it extended out for miles. From her seat at the window she looks out to the expanse of trees and meadows the clouds just above the horizon. Mulder shifts against her. His head resting in her lap on his coat. It’s been a weird few months between bounty hunters and his moms stroke he is more restless than normal. The case brought to them because of the weird photo of a girl seemingly screaming into the camera. Mulder ever elusive with his information he likes to dangle clues and hints to her but never the full story. It use to be fun, this game they play him trying to get her to open her mind to the fantastic to make connections and leaps with scraps of information. Now though it just gets on her nerves. Why not just tell her the facts? Does he think she is so closed minded that she will refuse to go? She wants to refuse. Start standing up for herself more, part of her is tired of seeing these women taken, beaten, lives destroyed in the end does it even matter the how? Is the why so important? What about stopping it? Lately she feels like they are only there for the aftermath, taken to a point so far outside of plausible. She’s getting tired of being taken herself. He mumbles in his sleep and shifts closer to her. That’s the real problem she thinks, how close they are and yet not at all. While they spend endless hours together, eating, sleeping in crappy motel rooms, driving miles and miles of road and for what? to be put in danger constantly?

The larger part of her though finds it still so thrilling. The challenge the way his eyes light up when he gets a new case and they go back and forth it's why he dangles clues and hints. He loves seeing her mind work, and in truth she loves the challenge.  She looks at the photo again, the edging is distorted the colors blending together. She isn’t sure how you would capture an image like this, how the abductor took such a photo. She presses her finger down on the edge looking at the long lines on the side, a face to the far right what is that? A reflection? She wonders what the image is trying to say. She thinks of the photos of her and Melissa torn and stuffed into her roller bag under the seat. She thinks back to all the photos she has taken over the years the others that grace her mantel in tiny rows. Her brothers photo with his new wife how he blames her openly for Melissa's death. As if she didn't already blame herself. She thinks of those women in Allentown how they said they are all dying, the photos they showed her of others like them that have passed on. She has an appointment in 3 months for more scans. She joined the mufon group and has been getting emails of members passing away one by one. Leaving children and husbands behind. She would only leave behind sad plants and half finished articles for medical journals and Mulder. How would he do with a new partner, she thinks back to Jerry whom he just described as a colleague. Is that all she would be to him in the end? A colleague a good friend? There have been moments when she thought they would be more. Melissa certainly thought they would be. Melissa's’ constant insistence that Mulder was the compliment to Scully's stubborn soul. Scully wonders if this is going to be the end will he be her last? She's never missed having a lover. But lately she wishes her bed wasn't so lonely. Now as Melissa has pointed out she has in fact put everything and everyone on hold for this search of theirs, to find answers for him and now for her. In the past she has found men who are obsessed with things it seems. The latest one resting in her lap. She swallows hard, sleeping with Mulder would be a terrible idea, but if there weren't consequences because she would be gone in a few months? She tries to clear her conscience about it all, her recent scans were fine but the emails of more and more members with the same type of cancer in exactly the same spot are more than scaring her. Mulder is scared too, she now stops mentioning when another one has been laid to rest. She’s seen his fear shining into her eyes when she gets even a cold. Imagine what cancer from a lover would do to the man?  She would never do that to him. If the dedication he has for his annoyingly little sister is anything. The rabbit hole he would fall down if they were more and she was taken by the disease from her abduction would kill him. 

She thinks about her mother and father, how after his death the strong capable of anything Margaret Scully faltered. At first her mom said she could pretend for a few minutes in the morning that he was still at sea, that his smile would grace her eyes soon as he would sweep her into a deep hug that warmed her bones. Then she would remember, remember that time was short. Missy's death certainly didn't help. Losing a child is something that no parent should ever bare. She had asked Dana to give her antidepressants, and while it scared Scully to the core it renewed her mother's faith in God. That that was the only way she could keep going, knowing that her Ahab would be there waiting for a life eternal and her sweet daughter's spirit would be free. But Melissa's death had done the opposite for Scully, she has scene so much injustice so many things that make her doubt God's word that now she has become skeptical and even cynical  in so many ways. Mulder has seen it in her and while she wears her cross everyday part of it is just because it reminds her of Melissa. It reminds her to try and fight. She will fight till the bitter end. Even if that is sooner than she wants to believe. Mulder shifts slightly again and she moves the picture through her fingers. Tries to put that skepticalness to the side. Tries to think like Mulder would. Why would the killer leave it at the scene? How did he get it beforehand? Was he stalking her? She taps on the photo again and moves back to the case file, shifting just slightly careful to not disturb Mulder. 

She reads the report over and over until her eyes want to water at the dry dead air of the cabin. The sun is seeping through the light onto Mulders hair now, his features almost boyish in sleep. She is usually the one sleeping against him even if flying isn’t her favorite thing. She squirms in her seat a bit wishing secretly that Mulder would wake up so she can lay against his shoulder and catch a few minutes of sleep herself. She moves her hand, fingers brushing through his hair. She knows he doesn’t mind, though he still teases her a little when she does it in doctor mode. She sees his small smile and he starts to move. She gives him a soft smile back as he rubs his eyes looking at her with the translucent clouds shading the sun as it shines dimly on her hair. He reaches up and touches her cheek to sweep a stray strand off her face. “Your turn” it’s almost a whisper. She smiles gratefully as he moves and positions his jacket against his shoulder for her to rest against. She sighs as she snuggles into the warm fabric. Mulder pulls the shade down against the morning dawn as they continue to soar through the air. 

2 hours later

She wakes dimly to the voice of the captain letting them know they are starting their dissent into Grand Rapids. Traverse city looms another 2 hours away along the lake coast. It’s interesting the rules they have made through the years. They never discuss a case on a flight and so that time has been devoted to them reading books sometimes playing cards. Arguing over which mythical creature is the most likely to exist. Or more often than not it’s like this morning's flight snuggled against each other asleep. She hears Mulders soft snores against her head. The last few months she has been more worried about his sleeping habits especially after she told him what she found in Allentown. More often he comes in with dark circles and the extra coffee through the day has not gone unnoticed. She can’t complain though, because despite all of this he still is there in the morning to greet her, with a steaming cup to chase away her own night terrors. Places like planes offer a few moments of peace that the other one is safe, and that they are together. She tries not to analyze it too much. Tries to rationalize the fact that they have been through some truly horrible things and are bound to have some strong ptsd and codependency issues. She doesn’t want to love him that way. She likes them just being friends. She wants a bit more out of life, especially if there is less available to her, seeing all of these things over the years she is wondering what she is really fighting for anymore if not for Melissa maybe she would have already left. Is it to be flying off to save women from abductions? Is she trying to find validity in her choice to prove to herself that giving up medicine to become an FBI agent was really the best decision? Is she now leading herself down a path to have another Jack or even worse another Daniel? 

She knows that Mulder is in love with her. She knows that he has become just as dependent on her as she has on him. She doesn’t want that, she doesn’t want a world where the two of them can only exist with the other. She has become consumed by this quest of his and paid so dearly, and now here they are chasing a lead on a case they really have no business on. She knows that it’s about the picture. He sees something or knows something she doesn’t. She’ll have to wait for the drive into town to find out.

As they reach the drugstore she is lost in the sea that is the investigation, while she looks at expired film heating beneath it parts of the edging make sense, if the film is expired and the heat has distorted the edges. But the screaming that is odd, when she points these things out to Mulder he finally explains his theory. She sees a photo booth in the drugstore small and yet she wonders if the film has been tampered here too. Mulder must think something similar as he grabs her hand just as she finishes her questions to the owner.  “This film shouldn’t have the same distortion if my theory is correct.” he mutters pulling her into the small intimate photo booth. She sighs “Mulder,” she starts but he pulls her down and she is sitting right next to him and he’s smiling and pointing to the camera. She gives him the look, the one that shows she is not amused, but he wraps his arm around her leans forward to start the series of 5 photographs of them. He tries to do bunny ears and the camera catches her laughing at it. She sticks out her tongue in the next and so does he.  The third picture is just them stern and serious. The fourth a soft smile from both of them. The fifth begins to click and he makes a kissy face and her grin lights up the tiny booth. Its short lived and while she thinks the exercise is pointless the film proves to be unaffected. She waits for Mulder to throw the pictures away but he doesn’t he pulls out his wallet and tucks them in with a 20 dollar bill and 2 ones. She shakes her head, he asks the owner if they can take a few more photos with the same film. “I think the picture is the key to this Scully,” he leaves and she follows him out. 

They drive to the girls house, pictures on the fridge of a normal couple. Lost in moments together, traveling, and laughing. She wonders if they will find this girl alive, if these will be the last time she smiles. She thinks of moments when her and Mulder where sure that it was the end. She thinks of the pictures of them in his wallet. What a stranger would think. What she thinks of this closeness that has grown between them. 

He takes the camera “Watch out scully it’s loaded,” and he points it right at her but the picture that comes out is of the girl distorted again and she looks up at him confused. He starts to tell her more about his growing theory, how these pictures are the key  Psychic photography. She hates this, she hates looking at cases and having him come up with something so crazy she has to try and wrap her mind around it. She always gives him the benefit of the doubt listens to his theories, but sometimes she just wants a simple explanation. Maybe she is just burned out. It happens to everyone with all the things that have happened to them she hasn’t had a chance to take a break. She wants to talk about this more but as always he is already getting ready to leave. “He was here I think he stalked her.” As they step out into the bright sunshine her phone starts to ring, letting them know that Mary has been found wandering and disoriented.  

At the hospital Scully is faced with looking in the hollow eyes of the woman on the fridge, one that won’t be smiling again as pain and inevitable death beacon her near. The scans don’t lie, Mary is facing a very difficult road of recovery if that is even possible. As Scully stares at the scans as Mulder goes to grab them something resembling coffee she thinks of Betsy in Allentown, about those women with tumors at the same spot as Marys unfortunate lobotomy. Mulder has sense Scully's distance and luckily has chosen to back off, leaving her with the time she needs to figure things out. Scully is deep in thought when Mulder returns he sets down the coffee letting the steam rise up and wafted into her nose. It’s a beautiful smell coffee, seems the fine people of Traverse City understand its importance. Mulder touches her shoulder gently a sad smile across his lips as he stars at the scans once more. Just as the uniform officer comes in and tells them another woman has been taken. Anger boils through Scully, whomever this guy is he has no idea what he is doing and unless they find him soon she is afraid of another poor woman facing the same fate. Mulder throws the rental keys to her knowing that right now he needs time to look over the details from the officer, starting working up a profile right away. Precious time is ticking fast as she presses her foot down on the pedal. This is her strength driving fast and a little more reckless than Mulder ever has. It annoys him, how much she speeds and whips into places. It’s why he drives most of the time in reality. Because she got tired of hearing him complain about her going to fast, but time is of the essence.  They are following a patrol car the blue and red lights flash into the fading sun. As they race around the corner. Mulder finally looks up at her his voice catches in his throat. “Mary will never be the same will she?” Scully shakes her head in sadness. “We need to find this person, and fast” She nods and throws the car into park, throwing her seatbelt off dashing to the scene. They need a clue, a hint, and hopefully something more than a screaming girl in a fucking polariod.  

Just as they get there they realize that the rush wasn’t necessary, Scully needs to review the file as Mulder heads right inside to assist.  Another man dead another woman taken and nothing to go on. Mulder doesn’t find any cameras or film, in the car as he was thinking through the profile he wonders about the word Unruhe, a place? A thing? A person? It sounds like it’s a word. He asks one of the officers to use the computer quickly typing the word into a search box as he continues shuffling through 1040s and spreadsheets. Scully walks in the file in her hand, a killer like this she thinks might have been there might have been at the scene. As they argue again over the photograph she feels the frustration of the day, of the inevitable failure that might await them if they can’t find something quickly.  Mulder is ready to head back to Washington, to find the clues that have eluded them so that she can save the next victim. Both of them know that time is limited and Alice doesn’t have long, while she thinks him going back to Washington is a mistake, it’s really not that long of a flight and the bureau does have some fantastic resources. She sighs hangs her head and works her connection. It seems that for them, when they go their separate ways they form a complete picture in the end. 

 She watches as he races out leaving her the keys to the rental car as he hitches a ride back again. She works through the evening and well into the night in a small motel with a view of Grand Traverse Bay on Lake Michigan. She opens the window and listens to the water softly kissing the sand while the moonlight shines off the lakes black opals and into the darkness. Mulder calls her lets her know his planes has landed and he has been able to get a forensic photographer to help him first thing in the morning. She lets him know that Mary Lefont died and she fears that the same will be true for Alice if the construction owner has hired men off the books. Mulder sighs, “You caught that Scully, you found us a tangible lead as soon as I find something out with this photo I’ll call you it should help you refine it” She hums in response right now she is looking at a list of 300 people in the apartments next to the latest abduction. She sighs and says she is tired before hanging up. She knows that sleep will be hard fought tonight, it’s already almost 3am. She walks out of the hotel towards the Bay listens to the waves as they crash against the shore with a dullness. While the stars shine brightly out beyond the black depths of the lake she thinks of Mary, about those pictures of her smiling in those photos on the fridge. Her toes are in the rough sand from the lake, not like the sand that she and Melissa danced to in the photo. She wonders of Alice's family will have similar photos on their mantel of another woman taken in her 30s. She hopes that the station can pull up something on the construction workers, they need this lead. Regardless of the success Mulder thinks he will find she needs the tangible investigative skills of the mortal realm. She walks back to her room, letting the moonlight chase her form across the soft swirls of the water. She falling into a lifeless deep sleep while the dull ticking of Alice's life lingers in the background. 

In the morning after she wrestles Gerry to the ground. She thinks back about the pictures she has of Ahab of the two of them at her medical school graduation, her white coat and his proud smile. She wonders after all the terrible things that have happened to her would he still be so proud? Or would his smile have dimmed like that glossy paper it was printed on. Would her own eyes shine as brightly as they did that day ever again? Or had the 3 months she missed, the sister she mourned be evident through the lense. She knew the risks was aware of the horror she would face. Lately she feels as if she is facing a far more looming nightmare. Another birthday another lonely night with no prospects of changing. Mulder and her might be pushing that line in the sand between acceptable partnerly behavior but it’s a not a road she is ready to take, nor is she sure she wants too. She loves him, she knows this after so many dangerous situations, hours and days spent together how could she not. She thinks of the other pictures she knows he keeps in his wallet. The one of him and Sam, sometimes she thinks she still sees that young innocent kid staring back at her. His devilish grin when he shows her the fantastic. The way his face lights up just a little when she pulls out his favorite sunflower seeds when he was sure they were out. Does he see it in her? Does he see the young agent who was new to the field but prepared for the boys club? Does he see the same smile and young ambition she once was so consumed with that she let the rest of her life slip away? She’s getting older her birthday just passing and she thinks about the fact that now she is as old as Melissa was when she died. She thinks about the pictures they won’t take, about the people now missing from the Christmas dinners, the Sunday brunch, the nephews birthday parties. Her phone rings and it’s Mulder he booked the first flight back and is already on his way to the precinct. She wants to know where Alice Bryant is she wants them to win one for once. Mulder wants her to wait until they can interrogate Gerry together. They are so good together, she knows. The two of them play off each other so well with suspects. Mulder seems crazy and she seems scary and she loves it. She loves the power it gives her. She loves seeing justice and fear mingle together in the room. She hopes they are scared, hopes that the suspects feel even the small degree of fear that they cause their victims to feel. It is that feeling that has kept her with the FBI, she loves being the one to find the evidence and then confront the suspect with her findings. Mulder is in a way the perfect partner for her. He steps back lets her take the lead, knows that if anyone will find something tangible to hang a case on it’ll be her. 

Gerry gives them a location, and as they race to find her, she can’t help but be angry at Gerry seeing her as troubled. She isn’t troubled is she? Conflicted? Scared? Maybe. She doesn’t want to overthink a psychopaths words. She learned long ago from Mulders profiles how they use words and gestures to gain trust. Luther Lee Boggs being a prime example for them both. 

Scully races up the hill hoping and praying that they can find Alice alive, and hopefully not as damaged as Mary, but as she makes it to the top, Alices still form crushes her thoughts. She touches Alices’ cold skin, her cheeks. Watches as the CS tech starts to take photos of the scene. More photos, more death, and now another body. At least Gerry is in custody. At least they saved the future woman that he might have tortured and killed.  Mulder meets her at the car, her anger rolls off her in waves like the lake shore. Maybe tonight she will sit on the shore and cry, no one would be able to hear her sobs over the water. She wants to leave to go home and fix her broken frame try to not think of photos and sand and lives that could have been. She can’t drive and though she wanted to be in control she hands the keys to Mulder so they can drive back to their hotel and clean up. She needs to wash the failure she feels down the drain. It doesn’t work that way, Gerry shot the police officer that was processing him, they put out an APB but her mind can only race about possible new victims he already might be on his way to take. 

They look at the photo of the officer on the paperwork, Mulder is right the photos are probably the key. God who else did Gerry take a photo of? Who else is going to deal with a madman telling them they are troubled and killing them to fix it? 

Apparently the benefit of Traverse City being smaller than most major metropolitan areas is when you need to steal something you pick the same drugstore you stalked your victims. Gerry has assaulted the owner and taken more film. They walk through the drugstore one more time, she thinks of the apartment complexes on each side and tells Mulder as such as he once again puts money into the photo machine. She looks at him in curiosity, last time they went in this time he is letting it roll without them. HIs theory has developed and isn’t ready to share just yet, she knows he will explain in the car. She wants to get going, he tosses her the keys and she walks out into the bright sun. 

She doesn’t remember much she remembers her foot hurting from the injection remembers the struggle as she tries to get her gun. She wakes strapped to a chair with Gerry in the dark corner as her eyes try to adjust to the light. Her arms taped down roughly the large sheetrock tool on the shiny metal table. She wants to plead in a responsible way. Gerry knows that this is the end, she can’t let him think that she will be part of his prize. She doesn’t remember much of her German important phrases and it takes her a few moments to come up with what to say to him. Especially since conversational german was the only class she ever got a B in. Luckily the words are there, as if her mind knows to channel the knowledge buried so deep. Gerry gets up to grab the camera, she sees her chance if she can get the tray she can cut her restraints and take him out. She needs to stall, she needs Mulder to have time to find her. She wants to give him time, She asks Gerry about his own Howlers about the trouble with his father. She channels Mulder and knows what brothers will do for sisters. Her own brother would do for her and Melissa. Gerry pulls the tray away and takes the camera to take her picture once more. She struggles with thinking that the photos she took with Mulder in that small cramped little booth won’t be the last ones he sees of her. He will see her on the floor of the padded room in a weird distorted photo that will filter into his dreams for years to come. But luck is on her side and she is able to convince Gerry to take a photo of himself. The camera flash is almost blinding, she knows he is sick she just needs to show him that this has always been about him and not anyone else. The photos come out in a small series of flashes, they wait for the polarization to show the image. She feels vindicated when they show him dead, show him his fate. That justice is finally with her. She just hopes it doesn’t plan on taking her with him. Gerry flips through the photos over and over. Questioning the images, like Mulder did. What do they mean? She hopes they mean that her life will be hers again, that she will be able to see the waves and shore once more. But Gerry thinks it’s about time, that his time is ending and he must hurry. Fear runs through her body a surge of adrenaline as she tugs and struggles against the restraints. She thinks about the time she almost drowned, how it felt struggling in the water, wondering why something so beautiful and peaceful would try to take her life. How she would gasp and flail her arms in sheer panic, like now as she hears Mulder calling her name. God Mulder please please prove that picture true and he does. Thank god he does. She feels him release her final bonds reach out his hand to take hers. She feels the storm calming inside of her, like Mulder is a life preserve her around her waist pulling her up against the tide. She walks out of the dark trailer, walks past the paramedics straight to the lakeshore. She takes off her heels, the prick of the injection still stings but the sand and the wind and the waves cradle her in their embrace. She takes a deep breath, lets the air of the misty water fill her lungs up. She takes a moment to look down at her feet in the sand and as she looks up she almost swears she sees Melissa in the distance dancing on a distant shore. 

tagging @today-in-fic @gaycrouton @xfilesfanficexchange @improlificinsarcasm

[scullyitsme]

the purest specimen of truth

this is actually for @leiascully​‘s @xfficchallenges​: the fic you’d never write. normally i don’t write “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt” william fics, let alone fics where he’s a teeeeeen! so i did that, but i was also at the science march in d.c. this weekend and obvi i had to fic an au where scully was there so. . .also, all the signs mentioned herein were actually witnessed irl haha also, the title of scully’s academic paper is based in real science but to my knowledge doesn’t exist. . .yet.

“What about I was told there’d be pie — but it’s the symbol for pi?”

Scully sighed without looking up at him, though she did admittedly choke back a smile which she wasn’t about to reward him with.

“That is clever,” she said, tapping the capped end of a Sharpie against her temple, “But I was partial to your original idea.”

He chuckled, “At the start of every disaster movie there’s a scientist being ignored?”

She does smile then, peering at him overtop her reading glasses, which have slowly but surely become a permanent fixture atop her head over the last few years.

“Well, it’s true!” He bellows, playfully slapping his hand down atop the dining room table, “The Core, Dante’s Peak, The Day After Tomorrow, Twister —  that one we saw in theaters where they did an autopsy on Gwyneth Paltrow — ?”

“Contagion,” she said, uncapping a marker with her teeth, “Which was impressively accurate, by the way. Not just the autopsy scene but later, the visual showing the way in which new viruses are formed by the recombination of DNA or RNA from different species of animal hosts?”  

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, watching her squint intently down at her poster board, outlining the letters with a pathologist’s steady hand. He reached for a Sharpie, his finger grazing the back of her hand as he did. “So,” he said, flicking the cap off with his thumb, “Are you nervous?”

Her hand froze and she visibly stiffened. He immediately regretted bringing it up but as was his wont, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Yes,” she said after an agonizingly long moment of silence.“I still don’t understand why they asked me to speak,” she muttered, refusing to look up at him.

Mulder scoffed, “Scully — you fucking cured Tay-Sachs.”

“No,” she snapped, pointing her Sharpie at him, “I did not cure it. Not yet.”

“Recombiant Adeno-Associated Virus PHP.B Serotype for Cross-Correctional Enzyme Transfer Across the Blood Brain Barrier in Lipid Storage Disorders,” he recited on a single breath, “Sounds like a cure to me.”

She gave him a warm smile, “You memorized the title of my paper?”

“What can I say, I’m your biggest fan,” he grinned. She blushed, which of course only made him grin harder.

“I wish you’d look over my speech. . .” she said softly, picking up her marker again and retracing a giant letter S.

“I told you, Scully, they don’t want a speech from Fox Mulder: former FBI agent and profiler turned New York Times best-selling, National Book Award-winning author,” he said, though not unkindly, “They want a speech from former FBI agent, medical doctor, professor, surgeon, American Medical Association award-winning, guest-lecture giving, honorary degree-having, enigmatic, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Who also happens to be my best friend, the love of my life, and the mother of my child,” he said, “And a damn fine shot, too.”

“Oh, Mulder. . .” she tutted, shaking her head. As if on cue, they heard booming footfalls on the stairs and a second later Will skidded into the room, brandishing a poster board.

At 16, he was just about Mulder’s height and just as lanky and would probably be taller than him by the end of the summer; if his propensity for eating a week’s worth of groceries in a weekend was any indication of his basic metabolic rate and robust genetic profile.

Will cleared his throat, feigning seriousness, but his eyes sparkled with his father’s particular brand of indolence, “Brace yourselves for the unremitting sheen of my brilliance.”

Scully snorted. Mulder and Will threw her identical, indignant looks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender, “You are your father’s son, Will. No doubt about it.”

Mulder nudged her foot with his under the table, “Was there ever really any doubt, Scully?”

She gave him a long look, which did not get passed Will. Not much did. 

“I detect a rather abrupt change in atmosphere,” Will said, licking his finger and holding it in the air as if to sense a gust of wind.

“Son,” Mulder said gravely, not taking his eyes off Scully, “There’s something we have to tell you.”

Scully frowned, but before she could speak she saw the faintest glimmer in Mulder’s eye and relaxed a bit.

“What?” Will said, slumping down in the chair closest to his father, letting his sign drop to the floor.

“William. . .Uncle Walter . . .is your real dad,” Mulder said, his mouth twitching around a grin.

“That explains why I find you and Mom so ridiculous,” Will said, rolling his eyes in with such form that it rivaled even his mother’s practiced art.

“No, that’s just ‘cuz you’re an angsty teen,” Mulder said, ruffling his son’s hair. Will blushed at the childishness of the gesture — more so because, even as a young man, he still craved his father’s approval and affection and was relieved to be in receipt of it.

“Let’s see your sign, Will,” Scully said, capping a nearby Sharpie that was teetering precariously over the edge of the dining room table.

Will reached for the posterboard, brandishing it high above his head. With a flourish, he turned it so they could read its words as he proclaimed them.

“SCIENTISTS ARE PRO-TESTING!” He bellowed, and while he expected his father to laugh heartily and give him a high-five, neither of them expected that his mother would laugh. Certainly no so hard.

After a minute or two went by, Will and Mulder both eyed Scully with a kind of nervous fascination, wondering if perhaps they would have to sedate her.

“Have you. . .have you ever seen her like this?” Will said, his voice low.

Mulder didn’t take his eyes off Scully, who had lowered her head onto the table, collapsed like a pop-tent. Her shoulders still shaking and her muffled giggles getting lost against the polished cherrywood.

“Once,” he said slowly, “But she was drugged.”

This only made Scully laugh harder. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a hot shade of blush-pink and sallow with tear stains.

“I appreciate the encouragement, Mom,” Will said, “But there’s no need to stroke my ego that much. It’s a good sign but it’s not that good.”

Scully reached up to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her faded Quantico sweatshirt — which was older than Will by about a decade. She sighed deeply, then looked at them both through damp eyes and with a warm, almost cherubic smile.

“No, no, it is a good sign, Will. It’s just. . .” she sighed again, then drew in a long, sobering breath, “After all your father and I have been through, all that we’ve seen, the things that we’ve fought for. . .” she looked at Mulder, then. “The FBI sent me to your father because of my faith in science. They believed that science and reason would take him down. It didn’t, though. If anything it became an asset to his cause, and somewhere along the line I became — and so did the science I brought with me — the enemy.”

She lowered her eyes to her own sign, which suddenly seemed incapable of capturing everything she wanted — and needed — to say.

“The science helped sometimes,” Mulder said softly, “But you were the real strength, Scully.”

She smiled up at him as he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “I guess I just find it preposterous that we have to protest this at all,” she said, shrugging slightly, “That the persecution we faced as a result of our pursuit of the truth has somehow become so much bigger than just us, than the X-files.”

“This whole political milieu is a freakin’ X-file,” Will grumbled.

“Nice 10-point vocab word there, dude.” Mulder said, clapping his son on the back.

“What can I say — my dad writes books.” Will shrugged.

Mulder beamed at Scully, who had rested her chin on her hand.

“Mulder,” she said, her voice hoarse from her laughing jag, “You never told me Skinner was a writer.”

“There must be almost 50,000 people out there,” Scully breathed, her nails digging into the skin of Mulder’s left hand. They could hear the roar of the crowd from beyond the stage — or possibly the rain, which was coming down in sheets. Of course, given that it was a crowd of scientists, they were prepared with slickers and umbrellas, upon which many had inscribed: “Science predicted rain today.”

“You’re gonna be great,” he said, kissing the side of her head which was damp with sweat or rain water or both.

“At least you’re not after Bill Nye,” Will offered, “No one wants to follow him.”

Scully groaned and pressed herself into Mulder’s chest.

“That’s true,” Mulder said, rubbing her back, “Plus, if you screw it all up, no one will remember because they’ll just remember Bill Nye and the fact that Thomas Dolby is gonna sing She Blinded Me With Science.”

“Wait, what song is this?” Will said, digging his phone out of his pocket presumably to YouTube it.

“It’s about your mother,” Mulder said, “Especially the lyric: she’s tidied up and I can’t find anything.”

“Mulder, I want a divorce,” Scully said from somewhere under Mulder’s chin.

“We’re not married, Scully.”

She pulled her head back from his coat and looked up at him, “Fox William Mulder, will you marry me?”

“Sure,” he grinned, running his thumb along her chin.

“Ok,” she said, pressing herself back into his chest again. Then, “Mulder—?”

“Yeah, Scully?”

“I want a divorce.”

The gray sky opened up over the undulating crowd.  If anyone looked up, they’d drown.  

“She looks — ” Will said, standing next to his father backstage, watching his mother at the podium.

“Brilliant? Amazing? Powerful? Divine?” Mulder finished.

Will snorted, “I was gonna say scared shitless.”

Though her voice was steady and clear, from his vantage point Mulder could see what the audience could not: how Scully was anxiously lifting and lowering her stockinged foot from her sleek high heel, running the front of her toes along the back of her calf.

God, he was proud of her. God, he loved her.

“. . .to shed light on what has typically been sequestered away to labs and libraries and lecture halls. To put on full display the humanity that has for centuries stoked the fire of scientific inquiry, refined it, rejoiced in its revelations and more often, endured the frustrations of its arcanum.”

She looked up from her notes, then, and not out at the audience — but to her right, to him and to their son. The next words she spoke, he understood, she had not written for the masses, or for history — but for them.

“The truth exists whether we believe it or not. It endures even the most violent scrutiny and ruthless persecution. As we persist in seeking it, may we find solace in knowing that there is no person, no institution, no government, with jurisdiction over it. It can be suppressed, hidden, censored, altered or misappropriated, refuted and denied,” she paused, looking back to her audience who waited on baited breath, “What those who try to manipulate it beyond recognition, who try to eradicate it and replace it with calculated imitations, fail to recognize is that when all of those measures fail – and they will fail — what remains is the purest specimen of truth.”

She looks back at Mulder, then. At their son. And she smiles, “And it is those of us who want to believe such a truth can be revealed to us who will one day find it, and bring it into the light.”