5 headcanon Mulder and Scully have a serious conversation about their relationship post Rush
mature | 1.6k wds | post-Rush, implied Per Manum
A/N: This is a variation on the conversation from āPlus One,ā which everyone knows really belonged in season seven. Iām sorry it took me so long to get to this promptāI had to catch up to āRushā in my rewatch. Itās also not in the numbered 5 headcanon format because it didnāt really seem to work that way. I havenāt felt very capable of writing lately, so I donāt know how this is. Itās some words, I guess, which s more than I thought I could produce.
āMaybe weāre too old,ā heād said. āBack in the day,ā heād sad.
She feels every minute of her almost thirty-six years. Knows the phrase advanced maternal age would apply to her now were it even possible for her to become pregnant. Which it is not. Does that make her an old maid? Her mother has stopped asking about her future, for which she is grateful.
Their life seems bound to be only this: the chase, the work, the occasional comfort of each otherās arms when time and affection allows. They are friends. They are sometimes lovers. They are hot and cold. They never (never but once, that awkward New-Yearās kiss) display their affection publicly.
āCome on, Mulder, letās go.ā She tugs at his arm, and they leave Tony Reedās hospital room, enter the sterile hallway of scrubbed floors and mixed medicinal smells.
āYou okay?ā He asks at the elevator.
She shrugs, thinking of the way Chastity had eyed Mulder, of the way Max had done the same to her, but held his evaluation in the past tense. The insecurity is stupid, irrational, offensive to her feminist sensibilities. And yetā¦
She shakes her head. āFine,ā she says.
In the car he touches her knee; she startles to look at him. āDinner?ā
Ah, she thinks. It will be that kind of night. Hot, not cold. āI have food at my place,ā she says. āWe could throw something together?ā
His fingers tighten over the fabric, draw a subtle circle on the inside of her lower thigh. āOkay.ā
āAre we old, Mulder?ā
They are stretched on her couch, her head in his lap while he runs his fingers through her hair.
āWhy do you say that?ā
She shrugs, hooking her fingers over his wrist, pulling it down to kiss his pulse point. The room smells of cinnamon from the lit candle on her coffee table. āI feel old,ā she says.
They returned from Pittsfield two hours ago to a hasty dinner and a bottle of wine, and now they are slow and sleepy. He moves his left hand to the waistband of her pants, tucking only the tips of his fingers under. She arches, just a bit, to let him know she likes it.
She sighs. āIām not young either.ā
He frowns, gives her hip a squeeze. āScully,ā he says. āWhatās this about?ā
She turns her face away, her body too, so sheās looking at his knees and his hand is on her ribs over her shirt. āWhat if you meet someone else?ā
His muscles stiffen under her head. āWhat?ā
Itās quiet for a moment as she thinks.
āThereās no one else.ā
Another sigh. āNot now.ā
āHey.ā He tugs her up, pulls her so sheās sitting across his lap, holds her face in his hands. āNot ever.ā
āMulder, what are we doing? What are we?ā She canāt believe sheās said it aloud, voiced the rabid, gnawing question thatās been eating at her for months. Her face is hot with having spoken it and she feels she needs to redirect, reframe. āI mean whatās going to happen?ā
āWhatās going to happen when?ā
āWhen we really are old. When we retire. When the Bureau finally kicks us out?ā When there isnāt work, she wants to say. What will hold us together?
āIāll always be around, Scully.ā
Around, she thinks. Calling her on the weekends, maybe. Showing up with beer and popcorn when heās in the mood for more than monster hunting. āJust hanging out?ā
āIāll be wherever you want me,ā he says. āIām right here.ā
āAnd what will we do?ā She asks, shifting her weight on his lap, lifting her arms to his neck, leaning into him.
A low rumble of laughter in his chest, his hands moving freely now over her body. āWeāll think of something,ā he murmurs. She dives in to catch his mouth, draws her tongue across his lips. He pulls her tight to him, devours her insecurities, smothers her in love so she cannot doubt.
