His bare chest is soft and firm beneath her cheek as she contemplatively runs her fingertip up and down his breastbone. It's nearing midnight, she'll probably regret that they let sex run this late when she has to heed her alarm in less than six hours and drag herself out of this wonderful cocoon. Right now though, when she's sated and warm and feeling so unbearably content, she can't bring herself to care. Everything feels too good. Her thoughts are fuzzy and unguarded when they're like this.
"I wish you'd been my first," she confesses to his sternum, slotting her fingers into the faint grooves of his ribs. His chest vibrates with a quiet chuckle.
"I dunno Scully, seven years was worth the wait but do you really want to extend that to thirty-six?"
"No, I mean," she stirs, nestling closer into his side, "When I'd had sex for the first time, I wish it somehow could have been with you. And it was fine back when it happened, I don't regret it, but it would have been nice to be with someone so in tune with what I want, someone who pays attention to my needs. Before you I'd never been with a man who's made me feel so unrestrained but so incredibly safe. Sex has never felt like an expectation, it's just been so...effortless."
He's silent, reflective for several moments, and for a heartbeat she wonders if she's revealed too much, a hesitation born of habit rather than application of the current circumstances. He nuzzles his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply.
"I'm touched that's your depiction of me," his voice is surprisingly gravely when he does speak, "Frankly I'm flattered that your perspective of our sex life has been so...transformative."
"It has been. It is," she hears the playfulness in his voice but reads the honesty beneath, and her own reply is deathly sincere. For two people who had been so chronically constipated in verbal communication in the past, physical intimacy has seemed to peel back all reluctance now.
"Hopefully it doesn't need to be stated that the same is true for me, Scully."
"I'm glad. Who knows," she props herself up to gaze down at him, stroking that perfectly sized patch of hair on his chest, "Perhaps in another life virgin Dana Scully is having her mind absolutely blown by a very capable and irresistible Fox Mulder right as we speak." He looks back up at her, clearly delighted. She adores him in all states but like this especially: all rumpled and mussed in her bed and improbably, impossibly hers.
"Didâdid my intelligent and skeptical partner just suggest the possibility of alternate universes in bed, no less? Scully, three rounds in one night, a man can only take so much."
Talking about scully and baths, can you maybe write a fic where scully and Mulder have sex in the bath? âš
( AO3 Link )
It's already been a long week and it's only Tuesday.
It hasn't been a "bad" day per se, but the past 48 hours have already been filled with time-sensitive paperwork, inconvenient requests from Quantico, assholes in the FBI building, assholes on the road, and she's about 90% certain she's going to start her period tomorrow.
Mulder thankfully seemed to pick up on her run down mood because as they left the office he said under no uncertain terms that he was making her dinner and that he'd meet her at her apartment. They do things like that now: just assume that they're spending the evening together. She likes the warm, fizzy feeling that thought stirs up inside her. Now as she soaks in the bathtub she can smell shrimp, peppers, and onions wafting from her kitchen and the once long-neglected sensation of being cared for brings unbidden tears to her eyes.
She is most certainly getting her period tomorrow.
Mulder appears in the bathroom doorway, looking so much like a weekend boyfriend that it makes her pulse flutter. He's predictably out of his work attire, trading it for a faded red long-sleeve tee shirt and a clear favorite pair of jeans. Thereâs a small hole worn into the left knee and she finds it unbearably endearing.
"Fajitas are ready but don't rush," he slides his hands into his pockets under the guise of casualness but his eyes rove appreciatively over what is barely concealed beneath the bubbles.
"Come in with me," she invites plainly. His body sways slightly as though his first impulse is to comply, but he hesitates.
"You sure?" Mulder knows how valuable her bath time is and she gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, scooting forward in indisputable enticement.
He grants her a quirk of a grin and begins to disrobe while she openly watches him, admiring his olive skin and the pull and play of his muscles as they've revealed. Warmth pools in her pelvis when he slides his underwear down his athletic thighs and like the flick of a switch she wants him immediately.
He hisses through his teeth at the heat as he slides into the water behind her and she fondly mutters "you big baby", earning her a tickling poke in the ribs. With some careful maneuvering (and thankfully minimal sloshing) he gathers her against his chest, his knees bracketing her hips and his arms draped atop the sides of the tub. She sighs in utter contentment, she can't help it. Being close to him like this feels too good.
âWhat do you need to make things better?â His gravely voice vibrates against her back. She feels tip of his nose against her temple as he breathes her in. She carefully shifts to face him, adoring the expectant expression on his handsome face. She needs to figure out what sheâs done to deserve this kind of devotion so she can do it again and again and again.
âYou,â she states simply, truthfully. With little preamble she straddles him, delighted to find him already astonishingly hard and eagerly reaching for her hips to help guide her home. She moans in relief when he slips inside her, the stretch of him still novel enough to burn in the most delicious way.
"I love that sound," he confesses against her lips, his own brows knit in pleasure. She gifts him another whine just for being so good to her and the groan he makes when she slides the rest of the way onto him is beautiful. She touches herself in tandem to their delicious rhythm as he strokes her breasts, murmuring words of praise and encouragement between kisses to her neck. The caressing heat of his breath on her skin and his thumbs on her nipples make her utterly tremble. They work seamlessly together to make her come before he lets out a broken cry that sharply echoes in the steamy room.
They kiss softly, drunkenly, as their heartbeats slow. She presses her forehead to the scruff-roughened curve of his jaw and prays that he stays tonight so that they can lay like this in bed. As it is, if Mulder keeps stroking her back like this sheâs at serious risk of falling asleep.
With regret she realizes sheâs starting to feel hungry and chances a glance at the tile floor, groaning for a much different reason when she sees how much water has spilled. Sheâll have to find some extra towels or the grout will never be the same.
âWhy is bathtub sex so hot but so inconvenient?â Mulder quips, apparently on the same page as her. Despite herself she laughs as he grins goofily back and Scully realizes she might make it through the week after all.
Prompt: When Scully has a panic attack during intimacy following her final encounter with Donnie Pfaster, Mulder provides some much-needed healing.
(Part I can be found here)
(Part II can be found here)
///
Fifteen minutes later she lies sprawled, relaxed, and utterly sated as she listens to Mulder putter comfortably about in the bathroom. Heâs left the door partially open, enabling her to watch the length of his shadow shift and glide in the shaft of light cutting across the bedroom carpet. She allows herself to drift with her eyes half open, breathing slowly with a contented smile on her face. She feels about as good as it gets after sexâand this is sex with Mulder, which is saying something. Her body feels loose and heavy, still simmering in her sense of pride at having taken huge strides of resilience tonight.
Also it was just really, really good sex.
As if in alignment with her thoughts, Mulder snaps the bathroom light off, striding relaxed and still naked back to where she resides utterly supine on the bed. She shifts her thoughtful (and no doubt goofy) smile in his direction, sighing happily. He looks so beautiful in the amber lamp light, his body lean and long and toned, his chest wide, his penis still impressive even while soft. Sheâs too exhausted to come again, but her hormones take appreciative acknowledgment of his physical attributes all the same.
âYou fallinâ asleep on me?â He quips, leaning over her playfully. She shakes her head drowsily, biting her lip bashfully.
âMm, no,â she replies truthfully, âJust basking.â Mulder gazes at her for a beat, his eyes filled with such warm light the green in his irises seems almost moss-like. It sometimes frightens her when he looks at her like that. Occasionally, the emotions it evokes almost feel overwhelming. Before they kissed it made her consider the possibilities; even since theyâve kissed that still holds true.
âGood,â his voice is so deep she can almost feel it in her own chest, that smirky, arresting mouth lowering to press against her own. He kisses her slowly, languidly, in the unhurried artful manner she loves. He nuzzles her forehead, kisses her temple, presses a warm wash cloth sheâd neglected to notice heâd brought between her legs. Itâs the perfect level of soothing heat as he rubs it within her sensitive folds; his lips continue making slow, sensual paths over her neck and chest as he cleans her, making the act simultaneously seductive as well as caring. She moans quietly, she canât help noticing that tonight he didnât hesitate to touch her. A few more passes and he tosses the cloth unceremoniously across the room onto the bathroom tile. He seems loath to separate from her and that suits her fine as she wraps one arm around his neck to draw him closer.
âDo you want something to sleep in?â He mutters against her collarbone, and she nods, knowing heâll fetch her the softest, most oversized tee shirt he can find in his possession. He places a loud smacking kiss on her shoulder, releasing her just long enough to retrieve an ancient, obnoxiously bright yellow St. Thomas Virgin Islands shirt that absolutely swallows her. As he helps her wrestle it on she catches a whiff of his detergent and it makes her feel so safe that tears threaten to well in the back of her eyes.
As he clambers into bed with herâwith some boxers slipped onâshe notices he passes over turning off the bedside lamp, and she realizes heâs giving her no opportunity to process this evening in the sanctity of darkness. He started this beside her and it would appear he intends to finish it in the same manner. She feels as thought this ought to irk her, but it doesnât. Heâs already done so much for her tonight.
âYour wrists okay?â He gently taps at her arm, âDo you need to put anything on them?â
She glancesâtheyâre ever so slightly pink but far from raw, and the marks will almost certainly fade by morning. Part of her hopes they donât. She shakes her head, snuggling down into the sheets and presenting her back to him, that usual unspoken request of âwill you hold me?â. Immediately he snuggles his chest against her shoulder blades, drawing one of her wrists up to gently kiss her pulse point before tightly wrapping his arms around her middle. He subtly rucks the hem of the tee shirt up past her hips, deftly slipping his hand between her legs. His fingertips idly stroke through her curls and while Scullyâs fairly certain he doesnât mean for his touch to arouse her, when he inhales deeply against the back of her neck goosebumps prickle across her skin.
âYou smell good,â he mumbles, âLike us.â She hums quietly in reply.
They lay in warm, incubated silence for a few minutes, long enough that she wonders if heâs fallen asleep, but then she feels his lips move against the threadbare fabric covering her shoulder.
âYou doing okay with everything, partner?â His thumb softly traces an arch on her bare belly. She takes a deep, steeling breath. She needs this now just as much as she needed what she and Mulder did a scant thirty minutes ago.
âI thinkâŠI think Iâm ready to talk about that night now.â His arms give her a reassuring squeeze.
âScully, you donât have toââ
âNo, I do,â she counters insistently, âI do. Iâve never really told you what happened, and I think you have a right to know.â
Mulder pauses a beat, then she feels the tension release from his body minutely before he nods against her.
âHe had me in the dark the first time,â she clears her throat nervously, âA-a closet, I think. My wrists were boundâŠI couldnât see anything, all I could smell was rot, and dirt, and dust. The case had already gotten so deeply under my skinâŠyou knew that, you knew immediately even though weâd only just become friends.â
âI hated that you felt you had to hide it from me,â he whispers. She doesnât resent the interruption, sheâd known this. Had known it back then, too perhaps.
âI felt soâŠweak. So inept and helpless,â she continues, her heart pounding at the memory, âAnd so scared. I was so scared, Mulder.â
âFucking bastard,â even quietly spoken she can hear the venomous hatred for Pfaster in her partnerâs voice. His hand absently strokes her forearm, his touch, as it always has, bolstering her to go on.
âAnd the other nightâŠI donât understand how, it all came back to me. His snarling face, feeling trapped and helplessâŠI donât know why it happened. And I panicked.â
âWe donât get to choose how our brain tries to come to grips with our trauma, honey,â the sadness in Mulderâs voice brings the sweetest ache to her heart. Her sensitive, protective, loving man.
âBut you helped me then too, Mulder,â she confesses in the cozy sanctuary of his embrace, âThat was the first time IâŠI ever truly let my guard down in front of you, and you didnât shame me for it. You didnât treat me as though I was any less for being affected by what happened.â
She takes a breath after this, already having revealed more internal emotion than sheâs typically comfortable. She shifts against him, twisting around so that she can cuddle to his chestâthe safest place sheâs ever known on Godâs green earth. She relishes the sensation of his hands running up and down the length of her back. Sheâs convinced this is what heaven feels like.
âI trust you,â she murmurs like a revelation, âI trust you with my life.â
He must know this, surely it doesnât need to be spoken aloud, but the way his breath stutters tells her that the same most certainly holds true for him.
The End
///
Notes: This fic took a lot out of me and was a deeply personal project in ways I probably don't need to discuss. I'm glad to have given Scully a chance to process and heal.
I'm extremely proud of this story, most especially because it was written in a manner I don't typically embraceâover the space of a few weeks I actually sat down and hand wrote nearly forty pages from beginning to end (give or take a few edits) on paper. I've never written in this manner before; often I piecemeal my fics in a very scattered and unorganized fashion. Writing in this way enabled me to experience the entire development of storytelling and I intend to write my long form fan fics in this manner in the future.
Rating: E
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Light Bondage Season: 7
Prompt: When Scully has a panic attack during intimacy following her final encounter with Donnie Pfaster, Mulder provides some much-needed healing.
///
The unyielding pressure of the metal handcuffs digs deliciously into Scullyâs wrists as she drifts beneath Mulderâs steadily surging bulk. Heâs warm and strong above her, his lips carving sweet paths of pleasure up and down her neck with each steady thrust.Â
Sheâs languid. Relaxed. Her eyes slip closed as he notches the web of his thumb and forefinger beneath the crease of her knee, hitching her leg up higher against her torso. She hears the clink of the cuffs against the headboard as she jerks, the slight variation in position making Mulderâs shaft feel impossibly thicker and harder inside her. She lets out a shuddering breath as his hips grind into hers, pushing her deeper down into the mattress and mussed sheets. He nips at her shoulder and she quivers again beneath his unyielding frame.
âMy Scully,â he husks into the tender divot where jaw meets earlobe, âYouâre all mine.â She hums happily in response.Â
Involuntarily, unexpectedly, her mind gently suggests to her the reality of her current situation. Her hands are bound, prone on her back upon a surface that allows her absolutely no purchase to get up quickly. Sheâs completely vulnerable in this position.
Weak.
Trapped.
She pushes the thought away, irked that her ever-restless Special Agent mind is interrupting her with training instincts while Mulder is clearly intent on giving her the fucking of her life tonight. She gnaws on her lip, determined to enjoy the thrumming, pulling ache that is building between her legs, but suddenly the steady, sharp clink of the bracelets seem so unbearably loud.
God, youâre with Mulder right now, she reminds herself, Youâre safe. Heâs making you feel good. Nothing bad can happen to you when Mulderâs here. Focus on Mulder.
-- He wasnât there the last time the Devil decided to pay a visit, Dana. --
Donnie Pfasterâs grinning face suddenly swims into her mindâs eye, his smirk slowly widening until it is shrouded in horrifying malice. Her blood runs cold as she feels the phantom bite of glass digging into her forearms and palms, feels the rough fabric of the gag around her throat. Chilling, sharp dread streaks up her spine like an iron rod, and the previously pleasant comfort of Mulderâs breath on her neck suddenly becomes hot and intolerable. Her body stiffens, not in pleasure this time but in panic
-- Thereâs no way out, girly girl⊠--
âMulder!!â
Scully surges up so quickly that the metal restraints wrench her shoulders painfully back. She canât breathe, can hardly see, can barely think aside from processing the fact that she is having a panic attack. Despite her logical mind knowing itâs futile, she yanks her arms sharply against the shackles, inadvertently dislodging Mulder as she takes a deep, gasping breath.
âScullyâ?â she can hear the surprise and confusion in his voice, although with the rapidly descending tunnel vision it only serves to panic her further. She can taste iron on her tongue, can hear the cottony sound of the blood rushing and pounding in her ears.
âMulder, pleaseââ Heâs completely withdrawn from her, his limbs no longer bracketing her to the bed, but this only narrows her awareness ever more acutely to the bindings around her wrists. Traumatic memory bleeds into reality as Pfasterâs face shimmers into the blurry mist of every rapid blink.
âGet off me!â She shrieks, âGet them off me, please donât hurt me!â She is actively sobbing now, pleading to Mulder, fruitlessly trying to free herself from her physical and mental terror. She continues to flail, kicking and crying out, faintly aware of Mulderâs attempts to release her, but heâs unable to get close due to her vigorous movements.
âHey, hey, hey, Scully,â though his voice sounds as though itâs coming through a tinny telephone receiver, the soothing cadence of his tone calms her enough to cease her violent thrashing. âScully? Itâs okay. Iâm here. We can be done, Scully. Weâre all done.â His hands gently cradle her face as he demonstrates a slow, deliberate inhalation and exhalation, softly guiding her to take a deep breath.
Donnie Pfasterâs face vanishes as quickly as it materialized, leaving Mulderâs intense expression in its wake. Before she can fully grasp the last blurry twenty seconds, Mulder swiftly grabs the handcuff keys from the side table, meticulously detaching her from the bed frame. Once liberated she scrambles instinctively away from him, still faintly caught in the last vestiges of cortisol and adrenaline, before her hands drop lifelessly to her sides. She canât move, is almost afraid to breathe, although she is painfully aware of how concerned and bewildered Mulder must be. She sucks in a handful of sharp inhales, attempting to calm her racing heart.
âScully?â She hears him attempt, his voice the gentle tone he ordinarily reserves for children and victims of violence, âHoney? Talk to me. I need to know if youâre okay.â Through the muffled thudding in her ears she can vaguely hear the tightness in his words as he attempts to remain calm. She can feel the back of his knuckles against her sweaty, overheated cheek. His eyes refuse to leave hers as he cautiously reaches a slender arm over to grab one of her favorite throw blankets, silently gesturing his intention to wrap her in it. Mutely, she nods her consent, shivering when he reassuringly squeezes her forearm beneath its cozy folds.
âIââ she tries to swallow, but all she can manage is a dry click in the back of her throatâher mouth is completely devoid of saliva, âMulder, can I please have a glass of water?â
She suspects that any other man would have made a less-than-thinly-veiled remark (or worse, a joke) about the truncated duration of their coupling, regardless of her clear emotional response, and for not the first time sheâs grateful for her partnerâs seemingly uncanny insight into her needs. Without a word he immediately rises from where heâs seated on the bed, heading in the direction of the bathroom to fulfill her request. Emotional sponge that he is, sheâs hardly surprised to see when he stands that his previous erection has been rendered completely soft, and she feels illogical shame and regret that her panic attack has put a clear end to their intimacy for tonight.
Her remorse only worsens when he returns with a frosty glass and a warm compress; the glass he hands to her easily, but he hesitates with the washcloth. Great, now heâs afraid to touch her. Any other time he would have pressed the warmth between her legs with no indecision, sensually laving her of their combined mess of bliss, sometimes to the point that both of them would be ready for round two.
Ashamed, she tugs the cloth from his grip, shakily downing a third of the water before half-heartedly using the compress to wipe her face. Mulder stands awkwardly beside the mattress, his hands idle and slightly curled on either side of his beautiful naked hips. She can feel his natural urge to comfort and soothe silently at war with his anxiety over spooking her, and sheâs too embarrassed to address it.
âShall Iââ he clears his throat nervously and makes a vague gesture at her bedroom doorway, âIf you want me toââ
Heâs trying to offer her a graceful way to dismiss him (he knows her all too well), and while it is tempting to fall into her solitary habits, a fleeting glance at the hastily discarded handcuffs on the carpet makes up her mind for her.
âNo,â she manages to choke out weakly, âPlease stay tonight. I needâI want you to stay.â
His shoulders drop infinitesimally in relief and something hot and tight in her chest loosens a fraction. Silently, though a little less uncomfortably, they set the room straight for sleep. Mulder dons his boxer briefs and graciously conceals the cuffs while Scully uses the toilet and numbly slips her silk pajamas back on. She chances a brief glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror, mildly struck at how drawn she looks. So different from the flushed, inflamed woman who had furtively whispered to Mulder a mere thirty minutes ago that she wanted to be bound tonight.
He waits for her to get back into the bed first, and sheâs grateful once again for their non-verbal communication when he correctly interprets her shifting to the center as an indicator that she wants to be held. She tries to ignore the way his eyes widen in clear anguish when he notices the state of her wrists, which are red and slightly raw from the ordeal. She can almost instinctually sense the apology about to escape from him, and she gently touches her palm to his collarbone, whispering a soft âMulder, Iâm okay.â He pauses briefly before gently clasping her wrist and brushing his lips against her delicate pulse point. Turning silently, he switches off the lamp. He settles down beside her immediately, and she feels his arms wrap around her body in the darkness, pulling her close to his chest. His masculine warmth and the satin softness of his bare skin feels so good it makes her teeth ache. She breathes his scent in deeply, nestling her cheek against his sternum. He presses a long kiss to the top of her head.
âWhat happened?â he asks so gently that it tightens her throat, âDid I hurt you?â She shakes her head emphatically, not wanting him to believe for even a moment that anything tonight was his fault.
âNo,â she croaks out, âNo. Nothing. I justâŠI got a little anxious.â
âYou called out Pfasterâs name, Scully.â
Well so much for skirting the subject.
âI umâŠâ as she begins to process, overwhelm hits her and warm tears begin to swell and spill down her cheeks, âI donât know what happened, I just suddenly realized how much I couldnât move, and then his face suddenly appeared and Iââ The tears come in earnest now, a combination of processing and a reaction to Mulderâs tenderness and understanding, something sheâs never truly excelled at being resistant to.
âShhshhshh, I know,â he coos, an attempt to soothe, not silence her sobs, âDana, do you need to revisit the Bureau therapist again?â
Again she shakes her head frantically, mortified at the mere notion of bringing up her and Mulderâs shared sex life as a cause for her post-trauma relapse. Thankfully he doesnât press the matter, instead passing smooth and slow circles over her back with his big hands. Her tears slowly fade to a natural cessation, leaving tranquil if slightly weighted silence between them. She swallows thickly, steeling herself for what she feels ought to be stated next.
âMulder, Iâm sorry thatââ she hates that her voice is shaky. She hates herself for feeling so small and weak, unable to separate the things that have happened to her from what is supposed to be exciting and pleasurable experiences.
âScully, stop,â he rasps quietly, carefully brushing aside the hair tangled and stuck to her damp temple, âI am so far from thinking about that right now. I need you to be okay and comfortable when we do things like this.â
âI am,â she insists, perhaps a tad too quickly, but the honest intent is there, âI want to be. I trust you so much and I want to do this, I just didnât expect it toâŠâ
Her throat begins to close with emotion again, and he leans over her, meeting her trembling mouth with a calming kiss.
âI know,â he murmurs, âI know. Donât worry. If you want to try again we can do it slowly another time until youâre comfortable. Okay?â
It takes her a beat to not become stirred again by his endless patience and compassion, no doubt crafted from the years of his own horrid experiences. She silently nods, languishes in his heavenly heat and her gratitude for his welcomed proximity, these mollifying thoughts eventually lulling her into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
///
Notes: This will be a two-part fic; Part II is already being drafted as I type this.
Huge shout out to Beth/sunflowerscully, who played an enormously pivotal role in the conceptualization of this story and graciously offered to beta it for me. This fic has organically become our "baby". Xx
For the poangpals Secret Valentine's exchange for @scullygazer. Chapter !
This is a finished fic and the last chapter will go up tomorrow. Thanks to @muldersfingers for the second pair of eyes and @leiascully for being a great beta! tagging @poangpals and @today-in-fic
Summary:
After the events of Syzygy, Scully feels that things are strained between her and Mulder. She thinks maybe some time away from each other will help, but sometimes things don't quite work out the way you planned them.
Got a Funfetti Universe prompt via DM. This one is for you, astrophile!
Grayskull
William came hurtling through their bedroom door and threw himself onto the top of the covers, breathing hard, his eyes so wide Scully could see all of his sclera. It was early, the light behind the bedroom curtains thin and milky. Mulder had gotten up at 5:00, and she had just heard the shower shut off, could hear the squeaky slide of the squeegee across the glass shower door. It had taken a while, but she had trained him well.Â
âIs Daddy gone yet?â William panted, the last word of his query coming out on a pubertal crack.Â
He hadnât called Mulder âDaddyâ since he was six.
Scully scooted herself up to sit against the headboard.Â
âWhat?â she asked, awake, but not as alert as she would be after her first cup of coffee.Â
âDad,â William said again, his face pleading. âHas he left yet?â
âHave I what yet?â came Mulderâs voice from the en-suite doorway, tucking in the top of the towel heâd wrapped around his waist.Â
âDad!â William said, rolling awkwardly off the bed and then throwing his substantial thirteen-year-old frame against his fatherâs still-damp chest.Â
Mulder wrapped his arms around the boy and threw Scully a questioning look. She gave him a mystified one back, shaking her head.Â
âWill?â Mulder said a moment later, trying to pull back from his sonâs death grip to get a look at his face. âWhatâs going on, bud?âÂ
âI had a,â the boy paused briefly to swallow, and finally lifted his eyes to look up at his father. âI had a dream,â he said. âThat you got killed. On your trip.â
Sweet boy , thought Scully.Â
Mulder shot a look toward the packed suitcase that waited by the bedroom door. He had a flight out of Dulles in three hours.Â
âItâs okay,â Mulder said softly, rubbing the felty softness of his sonâs back.
Scully gave him a âcome hereâ gesture, and Mulder started walking his son backwards toward his motherâs side of the bed.Â
âWhy donât we sit down,â he said. Scully shifted in the bed to make room for the two of them to sit. The bed dipped under their weight, and Mulder raked a handthrough his still-wet hair. Scully reached out and put her hand on Williamâs shoulder.Â
âIt was just a dream, sweetie,â she said.Â
âIt wasnât, though,â William said, glancing at the suitcase.Â
âIt wasnât a dream?â Scully asked softly. She could feel the boyâs heart pounding against her hand.Â
âIt was a dream,â William said. âBut it wasnât.âÂ
He looked pleadingly at Scully, who was struggling to understand.Â
âWhat do you mean, Will?â Mulder asked.Â
William turned back to his father. He took a deep breath in.Â
âYou canât go on this trip, Dad. Youâll die.â
A coldness spread through Scullyâs abdomen.Â
âYouâre having a premonition?â Mulder asked gently, bending his head down to try to look at his son from his own eye level.Â
âDefine âpremonition,ââ Will said.Â
âA strong feeling that something will happen,â Mulder said. âEspecially something unpleasant.â
âItâs more than that,â said Will. âItâs more than a feeling.â
The sun was coming up, slowly brightening the room.Â
âGrayskull?â Mulder asked, their codeword for Williamâs powers. Heâd come up with it at age seven, after watching an old He-Man cartoon. Elated by the idea of Prince Adamâs powerful alter-ego, heâd shouted âBy the power of Grayskull!â and proceeded to lift the coffee table three feet off the ground with his mind. Scully, surprised and afraid and still managing to hold onto some semblance of parental authority, had bleated âNo Grayskull in the house!â and a codeword was born.Â
âGrayskull,â William confirmed.Â
Mulder exchanged a look with Scully over their sonâs head. âYouâre sure?â he asked the boy.Â
William nodded pointedly.Â
In the kitchen, the coffee maker turned on and the sweet smell of roasted beans drifted into the bedroom. The three of them sat in silence for a moment before Mulder ran a hand thoughtfully over his chin.Â
âWhat will happen?â he asked. âIf I go?â
William ran his palms over his knees a couple of times, staring down at the floor.Â
âThe arrest goes bad,â he finally said. âThe guy youâre going after, he has a gun. Hidden. Up by his neck. When heâs ordered to put his hands behind his head, you and the other agentâthe one with curly hair and the gap between his teeth?â
Mulderâs Adam's apple bobbed. William had never met any member of the Violent Crimes task force that his father was currently assigned to.Â
âJacoby,â Mulder said.Â
âHim,â William said sadly. âWhen you and him go forward to frisk and cuff him, he draws on you.â
Scully could feel the blood drain from her face. Her eyes bore holes in the side of Mulderâs head, but he was focused on his son.
âDonât get on the plane, Dad.â
The boy had shown an aptitude for both telepathy and telekinesisâamongst other alarming capabilities, but this was something new.Â
âIâm going to call Skinner,â Mulder said. âLetâsâŠLetâs huddle up in the kitchen in a little bit. WeâllâŠfigure this out.â
Scully finally caught Mulderâs eye and he nodded at her.Â
âWhy donât you go brush your teeth,â Scully said to her son as Mulder rose from the bed and grabbed the cell phone sitting on his bedside table. William watched as he closed himself into the bathroom.Â
âHe canât go, Mom,â the boy said, standing. The flannel pajama pants he was wearing were faded, and his ankles were slowly creeping farther and farther below the cuff. âYou canât let him.âÂ
Scully pulled her lips in between her teeth and gave her son a small nod. He drifted out of the bedroom and down the hallway.Â
Following him a moment later, Scully rose and shut the bedroom door. After a few minutes, Mulder emerged from the bathroom with the cell phone in his hands.Â
âI told Skinner something came up and I couldnât make the trip.â
He pulled the towel off of his waist and stepped into a dark pair of boxer briefs.Â
âGood,â Scully said. Mulder gave her a surprised look.Â
âWhat?â she said, hugging her arms to her body. âI know this is usually the part where I tell you that precognition violates the principle of antecedence, and that an effect cannot occur before its cause. But Iâm relieved as hell that youâre not going.â
Mulder lowered himself to sit on the bed. âAnd here I had an argument all prepared.â He reached down and spun the platinum wedding band he wore around his finger a few times. âPrecognitive phenomena,â he said, a little awe in his voice. âChrist.â
âWhat did Skinner say? Did you tell him it was Grayskull?â
âI did. And not much. He reminded me that it wasnât his op and that Iâd have to make my excuses to the Deputy Director, but that heâd smooth things over.â
âJosephsonâs Method for verifying precognitive dreams necessitates a complete blackout. Your talking to Skinner may have negated our ability to collect scientific evidence. Procedurally, a dream or vision can only be identified as precognitive after the putative event has taken place.â She had, almost against her will, become something of a renowned expert in paraphsycology over the course of the last several years.Â
âFuck the data collection,â Mulder said. âItâs not like weâd try to publish. Anyway, Jacobyâs got a new baby at home, Iâm calling the SAC with a request to cancel the op.â
âThink you can convince him?â
âHer.â
âMy question stands.â
Mulder rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. âSheâs ambitious. My guess is no.â
He reached again for the phone.Â
âIâll get our guy started on breakfast,â Scully said, sliding her feet into slippers and closing the door softly behind her.Â
When Mulder joined them later in the kitchen, Scully handed him a steaming mug and raised her eyebrows in question. Mulder shook his head.Â
From the small kitchen table came Williamâs voice.Â
âCall Jacoby. Tell him to be careful.â
***
Two evenings later, Skinner showed up at their door in his jacket and tie, overcoat billowing in the wind. Scully opened the door wide to admit him.Â
âI canât stay,â he said, ducking under the lintel.
âHey Uncle Walt,â called out Will, who was on the couch relacing a baseball mitt.Â
âHeads up, kid,â Skinner said and tossed a small box covered in gift wrap over the back of the couch. Scully thought it hovered in the air maybe a second too long before her son dropped the mitt to the couch and grabbed it.
âItâs not my birthday,â the boy said, looking up.Â
âItâs a thank you gift,â Skinner said gruffly.Â
William tore open the paper.Â
âIs this the new Assassinâs Creed?â he asked the older man, his tone one of exhilaration.Â
Skinner nodded.Â
âCan I?â William asked his mother, practically vibrating with excitement.Â
âGo ahead,â Scully said. Before she even finished talking, the boy was halfway up the stairs.Â
Mulder had made his way over to the entryway. âThe Op?â he asked the second he heard Williamâs bedroom door close.Â
Skinner turned to him. âWent down.â
âAnd?âÂ
âHe was right,â Skinner nodded toward where William had disappeared up the steps. âHolschu had a gun. Newfangled holster at the base of his neck. It was a shitshow.â
âAnybody get hurt?â
âHolschuâs dead. Jacoby got hit.â
Mulder and Scully shared a look.Â
âHow bad?âÂ
âHe took your warning seriously,â Skinner said, turning toward the door. âHeâs going to be okay.â
Scully reached out and squeezed Mulderâs hand.Â
Skinner paused in the doorway. âGrayskull,â he said, and Mulder and Scully looked at him intently.Â
âYou keep a tight lid on this one,â their former boss went on, his voice weary. âRumors turn into whispers.â He smoothed his tie with his left hand. âAnd a lot of people are listening.â
