so, apparently the finale is called “so long, farewell” which has so many layers and connections i can’t deal with it. firstly it’s another musical lyric as a title (this time unedited from its original text unlike the la cage episode) and we already know that ted loves a musical.
secondly it brings back the julie andrews conversation in episode three which was possibly one of my favourite interactions of the entire season.
but thirdly and (possibly most importantly??) the entire plot of the sound of music is that maria is sent somewhere she originally doesn’t want to go, she gets there and feels instantly out of her depth. the team children try to force her out and the adults don’t take her seriously but gradually, through her unwavering positivity and gentle care she makes an impact on every single person. kids and adults alike, all changed for the better because of her guidance. but then!! maria falls in love, thinks she is no longer needed and she Leaves. she runs, goes back to the convent where she feels safe but then, after a honest conversation and a realisation of her own purpose and the importance of being true to her heart she Returns! she comes back, her role slightly changed but still just as important and involved.
all this time I’ve been worried that ted will be like mary poppins and leave when he is no longer needed, when he’s served a purpose. but this episode title has me feeling (hoping) that maybe he’s like a different julie andrews character after all..
I always thought the Detective came to respect Scully; and that they formed a loose alliance based on understanding (she even looked gratified he'd changed his mind.)
I have a longer collection of Millennium fics coming soon– but a big chunk of them were written solely by the lovely @baronessblixen (or Anika), so I decided to group them all together here.
So, let’s go!
Loose chronological order~~
@baronessblixen‘s (Ao3)
Impatient (Ao3)
““I could drive over to your apartment.“
“Mulder, your arm is in a sling. You can’t drive.” Scully pinches her nose. She can barely move; her own body, without the aid of painkillers, reminds her that she’s not getting any younger.
“I can drive with one arm, Scully. I told you.”
“You can’t, Mulder. Or you shouldn’t. Just stay where you are, all right? I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He’s quiet again and as much as Scully longs for him to hang up the phone so she can go back to sleep, she knows the silence is not a good sign.””
Mulder is miffed that Scully left; and calls her as soon as his druggy haze wears off. Scully, meanwhile, just wants sleep, but gives up after realizing he’s already driven over.
Good Morning
““It’s winter,“ Scully says.
"Have you heard about socks?”
“You’re not wearing socks either.”
“My feet aren’t ice blocks.””
Mulder may be charmed to finally have a domestic routine with Scully; but he’s still an odd man with a hyperactive mind that prevents him from sleeping.
Kissing You (Ao3)
““Yeah, this can’t be real.
“Scully?” he whispers her name into the crown of her hair. A strand of hair catches on his bottom lip and he tries to free it without moving his arm and waking Scully. Any amount of using his tongue and blowing against the flick of hair is without use though.
“Why are you spitting in my hair?” she mumbles, not moving, seemingly unfazed…””
Mulder wakes after his successful New Years Eve with Scully… and doesn’t believe this can be real. Scully also gets spit in her hair. (Note: I’m stretching the believability by including a fic at his apartment instead of at hers: but CC doesn’t care about canonical facts, so why should I?)
Word Salad (Ao3)
““With his arm in a sling, he is a perfect picture of pity. Her mother awwed when she lay eyes on him as she opened the door. Mulder wasn’t an expected guest at her mother’s New Year’s Day afternoon tea party, but he is a loved one. Her friends treat him like a long lost child who needs to be fed and pampered. They’ve been here for two hours and Mulder hasn’t been without food since. Every time she checks on him, he’s munching on cake, on cookies, on whatever he is given.””
Mulder is brought along to the Scully-New-Year-afternoon-tea-party and picks the absolute wrong time to mispronounce “quiche.” Luckily for him, the Scullys are a pretty cool family.
Alternate Endings/Follow Ups
Plans - Chapter 1
““Truth be told, she expected his call sooner. Much sooner. When her phone rings, and she sees his name flash up, she bites her lip to hide her smile.
“Scully,“ he says, not even bothering with a hello, “I need your help.” He sounds desperate enough for her to hold the phone tighter and feel her heart constrict. Should she have left him alone last night? He didn‘t want her to go and she didn‘t want to leave. But she did.””
Mulder wants Scully to come back for another New Year’s greeting, no matter how low he has to stoop.
On A High Note (Ao3)
““Scully touches her neck, where her own wounds itch like insect bites. Who knew that zombie bites and insect bites were actually similar? She saves that info in her brain and stretches her sore muscles. The shower is still running and she hopes Mulder leaves enough hot water for her.
She yawns, thinking about hot showers, hot coffee, and Mulder. It’s only then that she starts listening to the music and realizes that it’s not exactly music. Or rather, it’s not the radio.
Mulder is singing.””
Mulder decides it’s a good thing to take all his pain pills at once. Scully tries not to be amused as he bumbles around singing ballads, high and happy.
A Single Moment
““They decided to “wait and see” (as if they were a virus, not two people tentatively taking steps towards a romantic relationship). But Mulder must not have listened because here he is, with his arm in a sling, his rose and a sheepish grin.
“Come inside,” she says after too many seconds and he pushes past her. He smells freshly showered, like pine and citrus, and she wonders how he could have managed by himself with his injured arm.
“I put a bag over my arm,” Mulder says with a shrug, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Considering how often he hurt himself, maybe it is.””
Mulder is tired of waiting; and shows up New Year’s Day with a rose. Scully overcomes her nervousness by trusting in their strong bond.
One More Moment
““He’s hiding in her mother’s upstairs bathroom, staring at the neatly folded, perfectly arranged towels. The sight unnerves him. Is this his future? Does Scully fold her towels like this? He hasn’t even spent enough nights at her place to know this little thing.
“Mulder?” Her voice is muffled through the door. He doesn’t know how long he’s been up here. Maybe five, maybe ten minutes. Long enough for Scully to notice and miss him.””
Mulder runs upstairs, overwhelmed with Maggie’s book club friends’ questions on the immediate heels of his new relationship with Scully. She joins him in her mother’s bathroom to soothe his concerns and banter him back to normal.
Her Name Was Bambi
““Can you imagine me and her? Fox and Bambi?“ He grins at her, but her own smile is a grimace. Maybe she is jealous after all, just a bit. "Scully, it never would have worked out with her and me. I wasn’t interested in her that way. I was only interested in you.” Now she’s the one who huffs. “Fine, I was maybe attracted to her for five minutes. I’ve been attracted to you for seven years, doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Shhhhh!” Little Matthew stands next to the couch, his bright blue eyes flickering with childish exasperation. “Quiet,” he says, “watching Bambi!” He plops down again and Mulder and Scully share a look, trying not to laugh.””
Scully and Mulder’s plans are squashed by emergency baby-sitting-Matthew-duty; and a Disney movie stirs up some old jealousies.
What You Heard Isn’t What I Said
““No mom, it’s fine,” she says with a long, drawn-out sigh. “I just don’t know how to tell him, that’s all.” Mulder stops dead in his tracks. Who is she talking about? It can’t be him, can it? He knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he finds himself incapable of moving. The coffees are still in his hands and he stands there, frozen. The door is ajar, but he can’t see Scully, and she can’t see him.
“I’m just not interested in him that way,” Scully goes on and Mulder feels his knees give in. He leans against the wall, his head heavy.””
Mulder’s spring in his step the next day is momentarily halted by a misconstrued phone call; and it takes Scully tracking him down and dragging it out of him to set things right.
Can’t Hurry Love (Ao3)
““But do you realize that I hurried through lunch with my brother because I thought something important was going on?”
“I’m sorry, Scully. What else can I say?” “Next time your exciting news turn out to be about kitchen appliances, tell me right away and don’t make it a secret.”
“In my defense,” Scully shoots him a look and Mulder ignores it, “I never said it was exciting. I didn’t keep it a secret either. So that’s why I’m here? As punishment?”
“Partly,” she admits.””
Mulder is stressed while accompanying Scully to her family New Year’s party, having to meet both her brothers after being openly jealous of Bill’s previous attempts to set his sister up with a friend (previous part here.) He gets to grab a nap upstairs, though.
Change of Plans
““But today he really is fine. His arm is out of the sling. If she wanted, he could hand her a doctor’s note saying he is ready. For anything.
He is convinced that nothing can dampen his mood. That is until Scully opens the door.
“Hi,” she says, her voice unrecognizable.””
Mulder has been WAITING for the sling to come off; but his further plans are halted by Scully being undeniably sick.
Mulder Breaks The Rules (Ao3)
““As unusual as the weather is, the quietness that accompanies it is even stranger. There’s no incessant chatter heard on the streets, people honking impatiently, no children. This is the new normal now. When the first cases of the so-called “Millennium flu” broke, no one took it seriously. Just the flu could be heard around every corner. Now, if anyone uses the phrase at all, it is whispered in hushed, uncertain tones. One thing is certain: it is not just the flu.””
Quarantine after the new Millennium or no, Mulder shall not be separated from Scully. Besides, he prides himself on flouting the rules anyway.
Do you happen to know which fic is the one where Scully moves to California and is in a relationship, when Mulder comes for a case and they stay at her boyfriend’s big home. I think in the end of the fic Scully’s life is in danger and she and Mulder end up staying at the same hotel and her boyfriend shows up right before they sleep with eachother
I feel like I know this story but cannot place it, which is very annoying. Sorry, anon!
If you know what AU story anon is looking for that involves Scully moving to California, Mulder going out there for a case and staying at Scully’s boyfriend’s house, Scully being in danger, and Mulder and Scully being in a hotel where they’re surprised by her boyfriend, please let us know!
Sounds like the mystery fic is You He Did Not Fail by extraordinarily_ordinary. Thanks for the help, @sosoane1 and @timshel901! The fic’s summary is: Five months after recovering from cancer, Scully abruptly left Washington — and Mulder — for a position at the LA field office. Mulder never understood why. Two years later, he’ll have his chance to find out.
literally still processing as i type this but like. he did it for her he flushed her out by sauling their goodman one last time and then he confessed. to everything. and he confessed for her and for his brother and for howard and for HIMSELF. his name is jimmy mcgill and he was always this way—far too clever and far too lonely and always always looking for love.
you could read it as him trying one final time to prove everyone wrong. to prove to his brother and howard and every other person who ever told him he was nothing but a low life piece of shit with a fake law degree and an irresistible impulse for defrauding innocent people, a penchant for hurting everyone around him, that they were wrong about him. see! look at me!!! i’m confessing even though i could’ve gotten away with it!!!!!!
but…..in my heart? i don’t think he confessed to prove anyone wrong. he did it to prove someone RIGHT. he confessed to show kim (and himself) that he really could be the man she believed him to be all those years ago. he confessed to hurting his brother and framing howard and helping an ex-chemistry teacher destroy countless lives to prove that he could still be a man worthy of love. a man worthy of her love.
he took responsibility because he wanted to prove that beneath everything—the metallic suit, the corny ads, his greasy charm, and the piles of felonies—he was and still is the man she loved.
In an episode PACKED with heartbreaking, horrible sights and scenes, the winner for Most Devastating Thing I Had to See is the hand of an off-screen stranger comforting Kim Wexler mid-breakdown on an airport shuttle. The empathy! The humanity! The non-judgemental, tiny offering of grace and kindness when Kim has none for herself! Fuuuuck!
Exact Time and Date Unclear
Sand slopes under his feet. Walking.
He’s relieved to see Scully is walking next to him, her face neutral and impassive. Mulder wonders what beach this is, this rocky and unfamiliar shore. He wonders what happened to Samantha.
Or to Deep Throat? To Diana, to their false children? His mind is muddled now.
He turns to ask Scully if she knows, but when he sees her, the questions evaporate from his mind like wisps of fog. He can only remember the line from the poem instead.
“My heart leaps up, said Wordsworth, when I behold a rainbow in the sky. So was it when my life began; so is it now I am a man.”
“And is that the case for you?” says Scully, for whom the truth is always irrevocable, a fixed star. “Does your heart leap up?”
Mulder considers the question. Did my heart ever leap? Leap to what, to whom, to where? And if it had, would I remember?
San Francisco, California
One Week Since Scully Vanished
1999
In the hospital Scully discovered that the young man, Anish, was very kind. He brought her a bag of snacks and a change of clothes.
“And I brought him fuzzy socks,” he said, setting something fluffy and salmon-colored on the table next to Mulder’s bed. “It can get cold in hospitals. They’re pink, but I didn’t think Agent Mulder would mind.”
“No,” Scully said quietly. “I don’t think so either. Thank you.”
Anish approached the bed respectfully, clearing his throat. His eyes stopped on Scully’s hand, which was always placed over Mulder’s, and then he took in her face, as though he were studying her.
“He hasn’t regained consciousness?”
“Not yet,” Scully whispered. “I hope soon.”
“I also brought these,” Anish said, handing her a folder. “For when he wakes up. I thought he might like to keep them. They were so significant for him. He … wouldn’t let anyone else touch them, you know.”
After he left, Scully opened the folder.
Inside was a stack of printed papers. On top was a black-and-white image of her childhood bedroom in San Diego, with PHOTO 1 written, in Mulder’s handwriting, across the top.
Exact Time and Date Unclear
The path they walk along the sea is circuitous. The wind blows; Scully’s hair is a wild flame, a fluttering streak ahead of him on the path. As they wind their way, Mulder keeps thinking of the lines from Wordsworth, the poem from another dream, turning each word over in his mind again and again like a seashell.
Scully turns around, and he can see her lips move, but the wind picks up in a sudden gust.
“I can’t hear you,” he calls to her.
Her clothes flap around her as she nods solemnly, turns, and walks away from him.
“So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!”
San Francisco, California
One Week Since Scully Vanished
1999
Scully thumbed through the photos in numb amazement.
The picture of the bus pass, photo 4, had a caption. Next to the section of the photo where her hand was visible, Mulder had scribbled: her fingers. This was underlined several times, as though it were the most important detail in the world.
It was hard to construe this notation as anything resembling investigative work. Scully shook her head at his apparent sentimentality, sending a quick look of disbelief at his unconscious face.
There were more notes on the picture of her postcard from Las Vegas – “Thought of you. Wish you were here. - DKS.” He’d rewritten that part of her message —“Thought of you. Wish you were here” — again and again maybe twenty times underneath the picture, the repeated sentences looping around the corner of the image when he had run out of room. Like he was a child being punished in school. Or like he was simply losing his mind.
She bit down on her lip, hard.
She kept flipping through these pictures, this strange documentation of her experience, but she stopped again when she got to the image of the Apollo 11 keychain.
At the bottom of that paper, he’d scrawled three cryptic bullet points:
-nobody gets there alone
-makes me whole person
-the flaw in the mission
Scully leaned over and pressed her face gently against his arm, weeping silently.
Exact Time and Date Unclear
The sea is unsettled, Damascus steel, the surf a chorus of urgent stage whispers. Scully stands with her back to it, facing him. She wears gray, too, a long flowing linen dress.
“Are you still contemplating rainbows in the sky, Mulder?” Scully asks. She stands in the sand, a hole, a fort; she is wriggling her toes. “Or is your mind elsewhere?”
Mulder looks up at the sky, as ominous as the water. Clouds like sharp fangs everywhere.
“No rainbows,” he says wistfully.
Scully follows his gaze skyward. He wonders what she sees, if conditions look as grim to her as they do to him.
“The Child is father of the Man,” she says, still looking up. “Like Wordsworth says.”
“That means our fate is sealed,” Mulder’s words are just sad whispers, so quiet the wind lifts them away.
“Fate is a single cord, black thread braided with white thread, excluding nothing,” Scully said.
“Are you teaching me philosophy now?” Mulder sighs. “That’s kind of tiresome, Scully.”
Scully shakes her head, a close-lipped smile. Behind her, a wall of sea water falls over in a thunderous crash. “You always say you want the truth, Mulder, but lies are a comfort to you. So easy every time.”
I grew up with lies, Mulder thinks. Lies are what I know best.
“You know me,” Scully reminds him. Somehow she is hearing inside his mind.
San Francisco, California
One Week Since Scully Vanished
1999
His eyes cracked open in the early evening.
Scully leaned forward quickly so that her face would be the first thing in his line of sight.
“Mulder,” she whispered, all quiet joy. “Hey. Welcome back.”
He blinked in confusion and wrinkled his forehead. Right away she could tell that hurt him, because he winced.
“Don’t move your head too much,” Scully said, cupping his jaw lightly with her hand. “You have a fresh bandage and a new incision.”
He tried to bring his hand up to his brow, but she stopped him, surrounding his hand gently in hers. He stared blankly at her.
“They had to go back inside in order to deal with – well, it’s not important right now. The surgeon says you should be all right, if you’re careful. And I’m going to personally make sure you’re careful this time. No more risks.”
He nodded gingerly, his eyes not leaving hers.
“You scared me to death, Mulder,” she said. “When you’re entirely better, I’m going to be very upset with you. Lucky for you, that could take weeks and weeks.”
He tried to smile, but it seemed to pain him. “Had dream again,” he croaked.
In a brief flash Scully wondered if that meant more marital bliss with Agent Fowley, but that was pointless to think about right now. She was just happy he was awake.
“Does it hurt to talk?” She ran a finger lightly over his lips. “Oh, Mulder, your lips are so dry. Let me get you some petroleum jelly.”
The nurse had brought them a little packet of Vaseline, and Scully hastily opened it and began spreading it over his mouth, using her fingertip. His eyes tracked her as she worked.
“You’re going to have to take it easy, Mulder,” she said. “Really. No work for a very long time. No projects this time.”
His hand enclosed around her wrist, stopping the Vaseline application for a moment. “The dream…” He broke off. “Was it real, Scully?” His voice was still raspy. “Seemed real, but also … too good to be true?”
She stared down at him warily, dabbing the last of the Vaseline in the corner of his mouth.
“What was your dream?” She hesitated. “Was it the same as before … the comfortable life? With Diana?”
“No,” he said. “Not that.” He closed his eyes, as if exerted, but then opened them again. “The past. My sister on the beach. The … attic bedroom. All true?”
Her eyes couldn’t pull away from his, no matter how much her instincts told her to hide.
“Yes,” she said, after a pause. “All true.”
“Oh God, Scully,” he sighed, clasping her hand. “I’m so glad.” His eyes shut again, fatigue taking him. “So glad it was all true.”
The grip of his fingers relaxed, and she watched him sink back into sleep. She remembered how the boy Fox told her she’d gotten it wrong about adult Mulder, about how he felt about her. She wondered just how wrong she might have been.
State Road
Chilmark, Massachusetts
4 Weeks Since Scully Vanished
1999
He couldn’t sit still in the passenger seat – first fumbling with the radio, then searching for landmarks out the window, then flopping his head over to look at Scully again.
“Are we there yet?” Mulder said irritably.
“You know exactly where we are, Mulder,” Scully said, but her tone was tolerant. “How are you feeling?”
“How are you feeling? You’re the one who’s been driving for hours and hours,” he said.
“My neck is a little stiff, actually,” she admitted. “I’ll be ready to get out soon.”
“I would’ve driven, you know,” Mulder muttered. “I’ve driven this trip a thousand times.”
She just glared at him, the message not needing to be spoken aloud. Driving is not permitted on Dr. Scully’s brain surgery recovery regimen.
Both Mulder and Scully had been granted a generous leave of absence: Mulder, to recover from his second surgery, and Scully, to recover from being a victim of manslaughter, he supposed: some strange Bureau way of acknowledging that they had made a mistake.
Scully was using the leave to approach her role as warden of Mulder’s health with full commitment. While he was being checked out of the hospital back in San Francisco, Scully had picked up the pamphlet the nurse gave him and read the instructions to him sternly.
“Do not dye your hair for two weeks following the procedure,” she had announced. “Do not drink alcohol. Try to walk or get activity everyday, but avoid strenuous exercise or contact sports for three weeks. Do not engage in sexual activity until speaking with your doctor. Change your bandage every two days.”
“Good thing I bring my doctor with me,” he’d said. Her eyes had shot up over the pamphlet, and he’d smiled winningly. “For changing the bandage, of course, Scully.”
The predictable eye roll, yes, but also a tiny, coy smile. There was possibility in that smile.
Recovering from brain surgery was not something Mulder ever wanted to be experienced in, but he knew a little something about it now. He knew, from last time, that he would be incredibly sleepy the first few days. He slept the whole flight home, even though Scully kept waking him up to check his temperature.
He was out like a light again in the cab on the way back to his apartment from the airport, but that was okay, as Scully had wordlessly slid into the cab next to him.
Every time he woke up under the print blanket on his couch, he would lift his head and look around for her, and she would always be somewhere nearby: interminably cleaning up dishes in his kitchen, standing over him speculatively holding a thermometer, curled up in the leather chair across the room reading a novel.
She changed his bandages much more often than every two days.
Mulder had been worried about what would happen to Skinner, so he kept calling into work, even though this agitated Scully, who would prefer he pretend he had no job at all. Their boss had solved the problem of how to get access to Hays’ equipment by breaking Georgette and Anish into the San Francisco field office evidence room in the middle of the night. They’d set up the machines and brought Mulder and Scully back to 1999 right there on the spot. Of course, unauthorized entry into the evidence room was a violation of an untold number of F.B.I. regulations and likely federal laws. But Skinner had somehow managed to cover up the incident and now himself acted like it had never happened. Scully’s sudden reappearance had been a perplexing twist, and at this point, everyone wanted the spooky case with the loose ends just to vanish. So as far Mulder could gather, there would be no further word said about it.
As he gained more energy, he began to go on walks around his block with his personal physician. He liked this because it meant a trip out of his apartment, and also because she always held his hand. Anyone who passed the two of them, bundled in coats, hand in hand, admiring holiday decorations, probably assumed they were just some ordinary couple, out for a walk together.
Maybe they were. They hadn’t talked about what happened in the attic, but she wasn’t exactly pretending it hadn’t happened, either.
He would say she was definitely showing more affection, albeit in a subdued Scully way. They watched a movie on his couch, and she leaned her head against his shoulder in a way she hadn’t before — at least not so intentionally, not so obviously. Pushing his luck and playing the vulnerable patient card, he arched his arm over and around her like a slick teenager, drawing her in a little closer. Not subtle, but she didn’t object.
At first, she was making the long trek back to her place in Georgetown to sleep each night, but that started to seem impractical. She spent one uncomfortable night sleeping on his couch after he’d fallen asleep in his bed, which he only found out the next day because she was cranky, muttering about the kind of grown adults who slept on couches and their inevitable long-term back problems.
The next night, after she confirmed he was sleeping on his side like the brain surgery recovery instructions said to, she crawled into his bed and lay down next to him.
He tensed, not sure what to do with the knowledge that she was right behind him.
Even in the haze of his surgery-induced sleepiness, his brain couldn’t help but experience flashes of her pale body straddling his, the lift off of the dress, the revelation of those perfect, pink-tipped breasts he’d barely gotten to spend any time with. These were images that just weren’t going anywhere any time soon.
He felt her forehead press against his back, just between his shoulder blades. Warm breath against his spine made goosebumps spring over his body. She probably thought he was already asleep. He realized she was intending to comfort herself, not him.
It worked to calm him down nevertheless. He fell asleep not long afterwards, and those were the sleeping arrangements every night since.
He didn’t try for more than that. Not yet. He had read the pamphlet, and if he knew Scully, she probably worried their encounter in the attic had contributed to his aneurysm. To him, it still seemed worth it – wouldn’t have been a bad way to go, frankly, if he had to – but he didn’t think that argument would fly with her.
Still, there were reasons to be hopeful. And he definitely was, more than he could remember in recent years. It’s just that there was a melancholy edge. An old one. From the way Scully’s eyes studied him when she didn’t think he was paying attention, she saw it, too.
And then there was the way her eyes sometimes wandered to a point in the distance, her mind lost to unspoken anxieties he could only guess at. She had some shadows of her own, too. Maybe the possibility of a blank slate was just too much to ask for for the pair of them.
It had been her idea to drive up to Martha’s Vineyard.
When she first raised the idea, it surprised him — that she would permit a road trip. But she said that he was ready for a little more activity in his daily routine, that he could nap in the car on the drive up, and couldn’t they stay in his father’s old house in West Tisbury? Of course he agreed.
Now, driving straight out to Squibnocket Beach in Chilmark — also her suggestion, even though it would be cold on the beach, and it probably would have made more sense to go to the house in West Tisbury first and drop off their bags— he realized he hadn’t asked questions about why she wanted to come. He’d assumed she just wanted to see what the place looked like twenty-six years later. Sightseeing for a former time traveler.
“It looks different, doesn’t it? More rocky? Fewer dunes,” Scully commented, breaking into his thoughts, as she pulled into the beach parking lot. “I walked here one afternoon in 1973—this is where we took the photo on the beach that day.”
“I don’t remember the way it looked back then as well as you. Not as fresh in my mind.”
“You could see this beach from your boyhood bedroom window,” Scully said with a smile. “I loved that.”
“Just barely,” shrugged Mulder. “Although, when we sold that house in Chilmark, you better believe we listed it as having ‘beach views.’”
Scully turned off the engine as a family in matching neon windbreakers walked by on the path in front of the car, two kids arguing loudly with one another. The mother, who was carrying a kite, let it drop it into the wind and put her arms around the children instead. The kite suddenly skittered up a few feet into the air behind her, trailing after them like a guardian angel. Scully watched this intently as they passed.
“More people here than in 1973,” she commented. “Even in the cold weather.”
“The march of progress,” Mulder said, a hint of bitterness.
Tell me something better about 1999, something we don’t have now.
“Are you ready to get out?” Scully said, her eyes boring into him. “Maybe take a little walk?”
It was cold but clear, and the sun was beginning to set, the sky steel blue dissolving into periwinkle and gold. Most of the other visitors on the beach were headed the opposite direction, maybe back home to have hearty chowders and hot toddies.
Scully took his hand, but then seemed to change her mind and instead hooked her arm around his, sidling in closer to his black leather jacket. He suspected he was being used for his body heat.
Mulder always loved how rocky and irregular Squibnocket could be. He hadn’t been here for years, but he remembered how it always changed constantly, unpredictably. Not just decade to decade, but day to day. Today, it was scattered with a spray of pebbles as well as the more sizable, stolid rocks. Obstacles large and small.
They hadn’t walked far when Scully approached one waist-high boulder. She ran her hands over it, tracing her fingers through its grooves, scowling, and then looked back towards the road as though gauging the distance.
“I think this is where we took the picture with the body cam,” Scully said. “I think this is the rock I put the camera on, although it looks so different. I suppose it’s just been worn down by surf and wind and time.”
“Yeah,” Mulder said. He placed his palm on the surface, too, and it felt warmer than he expected, baked by the sun. His eyes drifted in the direction he imagined they must have stood in the moment the photo was taken. The faint and ghostly image of kid him, Scully, and Samantha projected before his eyes on the beach like a hologram. A childhood memory he never experienced.
That cloud looks like a ballet slipper, doesn’t it? Or maybe a rainbow?
“You miss her all over again,” she observed.
He looked down and quickly contemplated his hand on the rock.
“Mulder,” Scully said, carefully, watching him, “I don’t think I really understood about your sister’s disappearance — what that must have meant for you as a kid. Not really. I thought I did. I just want you to know that even though I only knew her a little while, I miss her, too … and I wish she were here now. I don’t ever want to give up on finding out exactly what happened to her.”
Mulder didn’t say anything. He turned to look out at the breaking waves, the edge of the surf catching on rocks. This was an offer, he realized. To help him lift something he was used to carrying alone.
“I keep thinking about her in that other multiverse,” Mulder confessed quietly. “Wondering what she grew up to be like in the 1999 there.”
“Me, too,” Scully said. Her eyes fell on the beach before them, like she was also seeing a phantom image of Samantha and young Fox in 1973. “I think she probably turned out a lot like you. She was so much more like you than I expected.”
“You thought so?” Mulder said.
“Yes,” Scully said, placing her hand on his, on top of the rock. He sat with that idea for a moment, the sister who might have grown up to share qualities with him as an adult. A tempting alternate reality for someone who was no stranger to loneliness. But he wasn’t lonely now, not really.
“I don’t regret spending that extra time with her,” Mulder said. “In several respects that was … the best twenty-four hours of my life. Which is really something, when you consider that the first time it was the most traumatic twenty-four hours of my life.”
Scully’s smile was sad. Her eyes shifted to the sea, too.
“And yeah, I’m always going to be angry that she was taken from me. But I also don’t regret my own fate, the course my life has taken,” he said. “Is that strange to say?”
“No,” she said simply, sliding her small arm around his again. “I don’t think it is.”
The wind started to pick up, and she sucked her teeth in reaction. He leaned towards her a moment, allowing his body to protect her from the brunt of the wind. Then they began to wind a crooked way down the beach again, stepping carefully around the fragments of uneven rocks before them.
“Did you drive me here to this freezing island just so you could get me to process my emotions, or what?” he asked.
She smiled her tight-lipped smile. “It may have been part of my agenda. Do you think it’s working?”
“Too soon to say, I think,” he said. “What’s the rest of your agenda?”
“Hmm,” she said slowly. “Would you believe me if I said … a relaxing beach vacation?”
He chuckled. “It’s not exactly bikini season, Scully.”
“Maybe I need to process my emotions, too.”
He stole a look at her then, black coat, her hair flapping in the wind, her countenance as stoic as ever. He wondered what emotions, exactly, she needed to work through.
They walked on the beach together for a long time, the hue of the sky growing darker and darker, a smattering of stars starting to peek out. Mulder’s mood took a turn for the philosophical.
“Scully, if you could travel back to another point in time in your life to revisit it, what would you choose?”
“I think I’m done with time travel.”
“Georgette isn’t,” Mulder commented. “She plans to continue Hays’ research.”
“That’s interesting and admirable, but I don’t especially want to be her test subject.”
“If you chose the day we met, in the Hoover Building, and you had come to me back then with your wacky story about the future, do you think I would have believed you?”
“Of course,” she said. “Without question. I convinced you when you were twelve, didn’t I? And you were much more sensible when you were twelve.”
He smiled a little, deciding she was probably right.
“Scully, do you remember how I told you about the boy in my dream – the one on the beach, building the spaceship in the sand?”
She looked at him with apprehension. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you think it’s at all possible that the boy could be seen as a portent of this whole experience? A sign that I’d be forced to revisit childhood in some more literal way?”
Scully was silent, and her pace slowed.
“Should I take that as a no, g-woman?”
“When you told me about the boy, back in your apartment that day, I thought I knew – I hoped I knew exactly what he meant,” she said.
“You … did?” Mulder frowned. “What?”
“Now I’m not so sure about it.”
She stopped walking. There was no sound but the rush of wind and sea. Mulder waited.
“I had been planning to ask you.” She looked at her feet, taking a slow breath. Whatever was on her mind, he could see it was something that wasn’t easy for her to talk about. “I have a few ova that could be viable, and my doctor thinks the chances are reasonable.” He went completely still. “So I had been thinking of going through the in-vitro process, of having a baby. I had been planning on asking you—before any of this started—if you would consider being the donor.”
He was stunned. That this was something she would want – that this was something she would want from him. That she would seriously think this scenario through and decide he, Fox Mulder, was the guy for this job. But he didn’t fail to notice she wasn’t using the present tense.
“It’s not logical or rational, but I hoped that the boy on the beach might represent – you know, for you …”
“Fatherhood.” He realized it at the exact same time he said the word aloud.
She nodded, looking down at her feet again, her hair blowing over her face. “Because he was digging a spaceship on a beach, just like I had been … in the Ivory Coast? That seemed like a symbolic link to me. I know, I know. It sounds fairly tenuous.” She sniffed. “Like wishful thinking.”
“Scully,” Mulder said, feeling like his heart might break. “It doesn’t sound tenuous at all.” He wrapped his arms around her, and he wondered why he didn’t think of the spaceship on the beach connection, why he always had to be so goddamned self-centered.
After a moment, he lifted her chin with his hand. Her eyes were wet. “You sound like it’s not something you want to ask me any more,” he said, matter-of-fact. He didn’t want to make it a question; he didn’t want to make it sound accusing. He just wanted to let her know that he had recognized it as true.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think it is.”
“Because of what happened in the attic… it makes it too complicated, maybe?”
“No,” Scully said quickly, tightening her arms around him. “Not because of that.”
“Because of some aspect of the whole experience?” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Seeing my messed-up childhood?”
“Oh Mulder, the kid version of you and Samantha,” Scully said, some tears escaping, “they just made me think about it more.” She leaned her head on his chest. “I guess because they looked a little… like what I’d imagined.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head and let that thought sink in slowly. She’d imagined having children to such an extent she’d visualized what they looked like — and they looked, in her imagination, like him and like his sister.
“It was more that when it came down to it,” Scully whispered to his chest, “I put the mission first, too. In some ways I think I’m … more ruthless than you in putting the mission first. I did whatever it took, Mulder. I stole. I lied. I shot someone. I know, deep down, I would have done anything. I’m just not sure I should be a parent, if those are the decisions I make. I worry I’m … damaged.”
“Scully...” Mulder began, but slowed down. He needed to do this carefully, because this was an important argument, maybe the most important one he would ever make to her. “I hope it’s obvious to you that I was wrong about the mission. It is, right?”
She didn’t lift her head.
“About doing it all alone, for one,” he continued, hesitantly.
The word was muffled into his rib cage. “Clearly.”
“Even the whole premise though. The whole objective.”
Scully looked up at him then, her eyes glassy and vivid blue, taking in his face. “How do you mean?”
“I mean,” Mulder said, “I was wrong about the priority of the… It’s not that the answers are...” He wasn’t doing this very well. He searched for his words. “I think the partnership is the mission. It’s the starting place for everything else. And Scully, yeah, of course you do what it takes to protect that. To protect me.”
He cradled the back of her head in his hand, laying his temple on top of her hair. “Whether or not you want to try to have a baby is your choice, and I’ll do whatever the hell you want,” he said. “But I think if you wanted to have a baby, and you wanted me to be involved somehow, that would be an extension of the partnership. It’d be part of the mission.”
The wind gusted abruptly, and he buried his face in her hair, rocking her back and forth in his arms.
“The partnership is the mission,” she repeated, like it was unthinkable.
“Yeah,” he said, feeling a little foolish.
“I think they call partnerships with babies something else,” Scully murmured into his black leather jacket, after a beat. “Some other word.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” Mulder said, ignoring the little rush that comment gave him. “Point is, I don’t think it’s a bad quality that you’d be some kind of superhero, tough, g-woman parent. I think you sell yourself short.”
She didn’t say anything, but kept her face pressed to him. He slid his arms around her back again, folding her in close, completing the circle.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Maybe you’re right.”
“That’s my very favorite sentence from you,” he said. “I’m going to have it cross-stitched to hang on my wall: Maybe You’re Right.”
“Not just ‘You’re Right?’”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like you.”
Her frame shook lightly in his arms, and he smiled, too. That he was capable of speaking to her frankly, comforting her, and making her laugh within such a short time frame gave Mulder an irrational burst of confidence. See. Not meant to be a solo act.
After a moment, he slid one hand down to her lower back and set a course back towards the car again. Ahead of them on the beach, a group of teenagers walking together shrieked abruptly in raucous laughter, but she didn’t look up.
“If I did decide I wanted to try the IVF…”
“You’re welcome to whatever parts of me you need.”
She stopped walking and looked at him, and he lifted a provocative eyebrow in response, causing her to laugh again.
“You understand what IVF is, don’t you, Mulder? That it happens in a lab?”
“Whatever parts,” he said, at once more serious. “No parts. All parts. Whatever you want and need. You understand?”
Her eyes raked over his face, appraising. “You’re serious? That’s an enormous offer, and you didn’t think about it for very long.”
“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “But I am entirely serious.”
If there’s one thing that’s true for me, it’s that the mission has always been first.
“You really are, aren’t you?” She reached out and ran her fingers lightly down his jaw. “But we should both give it some thought, Mulder.”
“If you say so,” he said softly. He lifted her fingers from his face and pressed them to his mouth, gentle kisses.
Her gaze held steady, bright and hot. She dug her fingers into the deep pockets of his leather jacket and leaned forward, first just brushing her lips against his, then tilting her head and pressing in for a slow, careful kiss.
He drew her to him and kissed her back: his partner, his ground control, his Beata Beatrix with a SIG.
She pulled away, her eyes still closed, keeping one hand buried in his pocket. “Let’s get inside, Mulder,” she said in a low voice. “It’s too cold out here.”
“Agreed,” he said, although he didn’t feel particularly cold at all now. Trying to get control of his foolish, involuntary smile, he set his arm around her shoulders and began walking at a faster pace.
“So,” he said, as they finally arrived at the path back to the lot. “This relaxing beach vacation you imagined. Did it entail dinner? I’m starving.”
“Me, too, but I confess I’m not sure what restaurants are open in the off season.”
“Luckily for you, you’re with a local boy,” he said. “I know a place. Historic inn in West Tisbury, lobster, the whole Vineyard thing. I’ll take you there.”
“Sounds promising.”
“So long as you understand that I’m medically fragile and can’t be taken advantage of until my doctor says it’s all right.”
She smiled enigmatically. “I’ll consult with her.”
“Oh?” he said, newly interested. “You think there’s wiggle room on that?”
“You’ll have to live with the uncertainty of fate,” she said airily. “What will be, will be, Mulder.”
He laughed at that, and in that moment, he felt his heart leap at the sense of possibility. At everything they had left to do together, every possible turn they could take. He reached into his pocket and fished out her small hand, now warmed, clutching it in his. They turned together down the path.
Source:
My Heart Leaps Up, by William Wordsworth (quoted in Amor Fati)
Notes:
I'm very grateful to everyone who has read and left kudos for this, and especially to everyone who has written comments or discussed it on Tumblr or Twitter. Seriously, thank you so very much for taking the time to do that. I fell behind in responding to these almost right away, but please know they really have been tremendously appreciated.
You know, when I read fic, I never listen to the songs authors list as soundtrack tracks either, but I'm going to make the case to you that these 1973 songs are pretty tied into some of these chapters. So if you feel like it, here is a YouTube playlist with all the 1973 songs for this fic. It's also just fun if you like 70s classic rock / pop / funk at all.
A science fiction legend, a revolutionary female character, and an icon that continues to empower women around the world – Dana Scully is a character who inspires viewers to recognize their strength and embrace their vulnerability.
I'm thinking this is set sometime in Season 3, but not really. Definitely early MSR vibes
1535 words. G. Read on Ao3.
Tagging @today-in-fic
**********
He calls her at 8 pm on a Sunday, entranced by the way the light from his desk lamp reflects off the bald, shiny, back of head of his apartment super, a man named Glen who always seems to be wearing a flannel button-down and a frown.
“Scully, how do you feel about sleepovers?”
“That depends. What snacks are you bringing to the party? Will you let me practice braiding your hair while we gossip?”
“I’ve got a tender scalp, Scully.”
“Why are you asking, Mulder?”
“Heats out at my place.”
“And you want to stay over here.” It’s a question but comes out sounding like a statement.
“You’re so kind to offer.”
She gives a long-suffering sigh, but her next words come out a little too cheerful for it to be believable. “How long?”
He puts one hand over the speaker. “How long ‘til I can come back, Glen?”
“I can have you back in here by tomorrow.”
He takes his hand off the speaker. “Two days, Scully, maybe even three.”
**********
She pulls out fresh fluffy bedding from the third shelf of her hallway closet. Folded neat and organized, like most other things in her life. The sight of them makes guilt prick at his neckline. He knows if roles were reversed, he’d never be so prepared for an overnight stay.
Following her into the living room, he makes a grab for the sheets.
“Give me.”
“No, I’ll get this set up.”
“Nah, Scully, come on. Give me a chance to show off my domestic skills.”
She snorts but hands him the bundle of sheets.
“Just what every woman wants. A man who can drape two sheets over her couch.”
**********
She takes one look at his legs hanging over the arm of her sofa and invites him to sleep in her bed. It would be rude of him not to accept the offer.
“Aren’t you glad now you didn’t spend time getting the couch ready?”
His taunt goes ignored.
He listens to the sounds coming from the open bathroom door. She had let him go first, courteous host that she is. Perched on the end of her bed, he plays with the fringe of the blanket that lays beneath him. Sitting in Scully’s bed, waiting for her to come to bed feels… inappropriate. Intimate. Illicit. He grins to himself, just a little.
She comes out in the silk pajamas and he convinces her to change into something more relaxed.
“Aw, Scully, you can’t come out here wearing the silk while I’m like this.” He gestures down to the white Hanes and gray sweatpants he wears. “I feel terribly underdressed.”
She rolls her eyes, disappearing back into the bathroom. He struggles to contain a smile when she reappears, still in her silk top, in pajama pants branded with a pattern of Garfield the Cat.
“Scoot over, you’re on my side.”
**********
He wakes up tangled with her, her breath puffing over the skin of his clavicle and one arm trapped underneath her.
And so, he lays there, and soaks in it, and tries his hardest to commit every sensation to memory so that he can keep this moment forever. Birdsong filters in, easy to hear even through the closed window. He hopes this moment comes back to him anytime he walks past a nest.
He’d love to stay right there, wishing he could drag out the moment for as long as it can last, but his bladder is screaming.
“Scully wake up,” he says into her hair, rubbing her back with the hand that’s free. “Scully,” he repeats when she stays unroused.
A deep pull of breath marks her wakefulness, the press of her chest against his own a delightful sensation. She squirms beside him, soft sounds coming from her that are familiar, the comfortable sounds she always makes after naps taken in car passenger seats or on his living room couch after a long night going over case files.
“Mulder,” she says on the end of another deep breath, voice still raspy from hours of non-use.
“Scul-"
Lips brush across his neck, settling firmly in a spot beside his Adam’s apple, cutting short his reply. Her nose nuzzles beneath his chin.
‘Holy shit' is about the only thought that pushes through the sparks lighting up his mind. The heat of her breath from before is nothing compared to the warmth of her lips against his skin.
She’s across the bed before he can really process what just happened. Glowing the morning sun streaming through the window, redness trickles down from the tips of her ears onto the rest of her face. He thinks touching her cheeks might burn.
Eyes wide, she stares at him, and he wants to laugh at the look on her face, but he knows his can’t be much better. He feels his mouth still gaping, caught on the last syllable of her last name, but he finds himself too preoccupied to close it.
Finally her gaze darts away.
“Mulder.”
She's breathless. But she also sounds like she’s about to give a formal presentation. Kind of the way she sounds like when they are in trouble with Skinner. Shoulders squared and tight up to her neck, he sees the tension grow in her by the second.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to do anything. I wasn’t really awake. That was completely unprofessional.” He snorts internally at that, peeking down at the Garfield’s that grin lazily on her legs. “ I didn’t know-"
“Scully.”
It’s apparent that she would keep going if he didn’t stop her. Lucky for him, her moment of panic gave him time to get over his own shock.
“It’s alright.” The nonchalant tone is a little forced, and he hopes she doesn’t notice. He’s still reeling, can still feel the ghost of her kiss, but he knows the only way to keep her calm is to downplay this as much as possible. “Don’t worry about it.”
Now it seems she’s had time to get over her shock. She chews away at her bottom lip (the same bottom lip that he is now intimately acquainted with), regarding him with narrowed eyes. That’s a face he knows. That’s the way she looks when she’s trying to tell if what she’s hearing is bullshit or not.
“I mean it,” he reassures, sitting up now to finally take care of his full bladder. “I’d spend more time reassuring you but nature’s calling.”
**********
The day passes normally (although the car ride in is quieter than their rides usually are, but that could be due to inadequate caffeine levels on her part), 5 o’clock comes, and they get ready to return to her apartment. He figures she must be over it if she’s letting him stay another night. She lets him drive, as is usual.
As soon as they get in the car, her shoulders raise. Up to her ears like they were in her bedroom this morning. She’s nervous. He catches her eye at a red light.
“Gonna give me another ‘special’ wake-up call tomorrow morning, Scully?”
“Mulder,” she groans, hiding her face in one hand.
“Too soon?”
Her withering glare tells him that it is.
“I’ve definitely been woken up in worse ways.” But he thinks he sees a hint of a smile under that frown.
“Can we not talk about this?”
“Okay.” Maybe that wasn’t a smile he saw.
Great job, Fox. He should have known better than to bring it up. Now she’s even more uncomfortable than before.
“I’ll take the couch tonight.” She holds up a hand to stop him when he starts a sentence. “I’m smaller and can fit better, so you’ll take the bed.”
“Scully, it’s your bed!”
“That’s not relevant.”
“Of course, it is!” He frowns at her.
“I just don’t want it to be weird.”
“You’re the one that’s making it weird.”
“You’re the one that brought it up again!”
“I was just trying to lighten the mood! You went stiff as a board the second we got in the car!”
Her head falls into her hands, fingertips massaging the roots of her hair. “This is so stupid.”
“We’ll both sleep in the bed again, okay?” Her head stays in her hands. “So what, you kissed me.” The statement hangs in the air. “Nothing has to change. We’ve slept in the same bed before this, and we’ll do it tons of times after this. Tonight will be the same.”
“Fine.”
She’s obviously done with the conversation, body turned to face the window.
He watches her out of the corner of one eye, watches her cross and recross her ankles, watches her fingernails and the edge of her skirt. It’ll be a rough night if this was the way things were going to go. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking of something to say, something to break the tension.
“Will you wear the Garfield pants again?” He glances over but she still facing the window. “For me?” he adds.
Her eyes are amused when he looks over.
“Yeah, I’ll wear them again.”
“Thanks for letting me stay over. For making space for me.”
