Scully and Mulder: *conferring in hushed tones, making the softest eye contact you've ever seen only breaking it to look at the others lips, with their noses inches away from each other*
The suspect they're supposed to be interrogating sitting like 5 ft away from them: ಠ_ಠ
So, today's fluffuary prompt was "fake dating." I wrote "fake-fake dating" instead because I thought it was funny. No AO3 link today because I barely have wifi tonight and I'm glad if I get this posted to tumblr, LOL.
tagging @today-in-fic
"Act natural, Scully," Mulder says, and she closes her eyes for a second, lets out a small laugh.
"This is bizarre."
"A little," he agrees.
"Alright," Skinner says, climbing into the van to sit opposite them. "You ready?"
Scully nods. "Yes, sir. We're ready."
Mulder refrains from taking her hand. Not yet.
"Remember," Skinner says. "There will be a number of activities over the course of the day. We have signed you up for all the ones during which our suspect is most likely to approach you. You will find your itinerary in your room."
"Yeah, we know," Mulder says, but Skinner keeps talking.
"All the couples within the cult fit a certain profile. So when you talk to people, make sure to mention that you're—"
"Newly together, on our first weekend away together, and obviously madly in love," Mulder finishes for him.
Skinner nods. "We'll have eyes everywhere. If he approaches you, do not break cover. All we need is to identify him for now. Just a face to match to the person. We have agents at two other locations and we’ll keep you posted on any developments from there."
"Understood," Scully says, as if they didn't already know this.
"I'm sorry you have to do this," Skinner says. "If Agents Jones and Walker hadn't been in that car accident yesterday…"
"It's fine," Scully says, and Mulder sighs.
A weekend undercover at a couple's retreat, bait for a cult leader they've been unable to pin down for months. Yeah. Sounds fun.
**
"Ready?" Mulder asks her, offering his arm to her as they're walking up to the door of the small inn.
"Sure." Scully sounds doubtful, but hooks her hand under his elbow.
"Hey." He covers her hand with his. "All we have to do is pretend to be a couple for one weekend."
Her eyes are filled with amused exasperation as she looks at him. "Mulder, we are a couple."
"So?"
She sighs, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "We're an actual couple pretending to be colleagues who are pretending to be a couple."
"Sounds more complicated than it is, I think."
She laughs and leans into him as they head inside to check into their room.
**
"Nice room," Mulder says.
“Yeah,” Scully says, sounding distracted.
The room is basically just a bed. A big four-poster bed. Mulder had dreams about beds like these. A lot of them involved handcuffs.
"I'm sorry to say that we're expected to attend a couple’s arts and crafts class in ten minutes,” Scully interrupts his reverie, pointing to something on their printed out schedule.
He frowns. “What is that even supposed to be?”
She shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“Do you think it involves body paint?”
Scully carefully folds their itinerary and puts it on the nightstand before she leans up and gives him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
**
It does not involve body paint. Fifteen minutes later Mulder is sitting in front of a blank canvas next to Scully, listening to a cheerful instructor telling them to “just paint from the heart! Share your feelings for each other through the magic of artistic expression!”
He looks to Scully for help, but she’s sitting upright, jaw clenched, holding her paintbrush out in front of her like a weapon.
“What are we supposed to do?” he whispers to her.
“I don’t know,” she whispers back. “Does she expect us to paint a picture together? I can’t even draw a straight line.”
“Me neither.”
“What do we do?”
He grins and nudges his shoulder against hers. “Paint from the heart.”
They make a mess of colors on their canvas that means absolutely nothing, but he gets to brush paint from her cheek and she laughs as he tries to draw a kitten, and he hopes that even if they’re terrible at this, they’re at least managing to look as if they’re having a good time.
And honestly, he really kind of is.
**
There’s lunch next and as their itinerary says, they’re supposed to mingle and appear social and approachable.
“This is a nightmare,” Scully says as they look at the crowded dining room where couples are navigating around each other holding canapés and chatting about the weather.
“We’ve been through worse,” he says weakly.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Remember that time a bunch of townsfolk tried to behead you?”
She shudders. “To be honest, I’d prefer that right now.”
A waiter a few feet away throws them a sharp look. Mulder recognizes the guy as Agent Hammond and takes it as the reminder that it is to play their parts. “Let’s get it over with.”
At least the food is good. The conversation, however, is torture. He didn’t realize how out of practice he was with small talk until this very moment. Scully is doing a little better, making awkward comments about the drive up here and the size of the room and the quality of cheese on the sandwiches. He throws in the occasional lame joke that only Scully usually laughs about. She gets him. That’s all that really matters.
By the time they make it out of there and back to their room, his head is spinning.
“People do this all the time?”
Scully flops backwards onto the bed and groans. “I know. I feel exhausted.”
He lies down on his back next to her. “We’re not even done for the day.”
“Nope.”
“What’s next?”
“A half hour break.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“In which we are supposed to call Skinner.”
“Seriously?” He covers his face with his hands. “Why did we ever say yes to this assignment?”
“Because we didn’t really have a choice,” she points out.
The conversation with Skinner, at least, is quick. They have no news to report and neither does he.
Mulder hangs up, stares at the phone in his hand for a second before meeting Scully’s eyes. “What did he mean, we should give it a bit more effort?”
Scully shakes her head, obviously as confused as he is. “Was he honestly just telling us to act more like a couple?”
Mulder lifts his hands. “We are a couple!”
“I know!”
He sighs. “Fine,” he says. “What’s next?”
“Apparently we’re going to do trust exercises.”
“Kill me now.”
“Come on, it’ll be fine.”
“Don’t tell me you actually want to do this.”
She gives him a long look. Yeah. They’ll just have to close their eyes and remember that first of all, they get paid to do this, and second of all, they are working on bringing down a dangerous cult leader.
“Okay,” he says. “How awful can it be?”
**
Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t being asked to “open his soul” to his partner in front of a bunch of strangers, sitting cross-legged in a circle.
“Tell us three things you love the most about your partner,” a middle-aged guy in a corduroy suit and a smile that looks painted on tells them.
Help, he thinks. Three things? How personal should they be? Should he make something up? Or just choose things that actually describe Scully? Will there be a test later? He wouldn’t put anything past these people anymore.
“Do we make something up or are we going to go with our actual personalities?” Scully whispers in his ear.
“Let’s be honest, in case it comes up again later,” he whispers back, and turns his head to see the middle aged corduroy man smiling his wide unsettling smile at them.
“Would you two like to start?”
No, Mulder thinks, they wouldn’t. But just as is so often the case, Scully comes to their rescue.
“Sure,” she says brightly. “Three things. Alright, let’s see… Well, he makes me laugh, I love that about him. He’s very quiet in the morning because he knows I like to sleep in, and… and I know that he always values my opinion even when we disagree.”
Mulder feels his heart racing in his chest as sounds of “awww” echo around the room. He’s touched by her words, but also completely at a loss for his own, so he stalls for time by leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her cheek.
“Thank you, honey,” he says. They were told to act more like a couple. This should help. He still doesn’t know what to say. There are simply too many things to choose from. What does he love the most about her? He doesn’t even know where to start.
But then Scully takes his hand and he just starts talking. “What I love most about you,” he says, holding her gaze, “is how open-minded you are. You never judge without reason and you always get all the facts first. I know we were very different when we met and I kind of expected you to run the other way, but you took the time to get to know me, and I will never take that for granted. Not ever. And I love how smart you are. I’ve never met anyone with such a razor-sharp mind before. Sometimes I just want to sit and listen to you for hours. I want to disagree with you just to hear your explanation for things because I can’t get over how beautiful your mind is. And… you make me happy. Everything about you is my favorite thing. If I have to pick a third, I love the way you make me feel. I love that you’re the person I trust the most in the world. You have no idea how much it means to me to know that I’m always safe with you.”
There’s silence in the room for a few seconds as he ends, before somebody starts clapping and everyone else follows. Scully just stares at him with wide eyes for an endless moment, and then she takes his face between her hands and kisses him.
She kisses him. In front of everyone. A long, soft kiss, her hands sliding into his hair, and he wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her back.
They aren’t this kind of couple. They’re not big on public displays of affection. Not just because nobody knows about them, he thinks, but also because they’re not the types to make out in front of strangers. He wonders if it was something he said or if she’s just really getting into this undercover dating thing.
He hopes that his words have something to do with it. They definitely came from the heart.
**
They’re dancing after dinner—another mandatory activity—when a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses steps in their way. Agent Hammond from earlier.
“Skinner wants you to call him,” he mumbles, and is gone again.
Mulder exchanges a frown with Scully and takes her hand as they head off the dance floor and towards the lift to their floor.
**
“You got him?” Scully asks, her ear close to Mulder’s, sharing the phone.
“No,” Skinner says. “Not yet. But we made a positive ID at our other location. He’s not with you.”
“So… We’re done?” Mulder asks.
“Technically yes,” Skinner says. “But I’ve been advised to tell you to stay until tomorrow anyway. Keep your cover for now. We don’t know if he might not have other people scoping out your location.”
Scully nods. “Is that likely, sir?”
“If you ask me?” Skinner sighs. “No. There’s nobody else there. But stay the night anyway. To be safe.”
“Understood,” Scully says.
“Look, I know this isn’t ideal,” Skinner continues. “I’m sorry to put you through this. It’s only until tomorrow, okay?”
They assure him that they understand and hang up.
Scully turns the phone over in her hand and Mulder can see that she’s pondering the same question he is thinking about.
“Did Skinner sound particularly sorry to you?” he asks.
Scully shakes her head. “He sounded almost…”
“…Amused.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “Do you think he knows?”
“That we’re faking being a fake couple?” Scully meets his eyes, a small grin on her face. “I don’t know, Mulder.”
“Well, nothing we can do about it either way.”
She licks her lips slowly. “Mulder… about what you said earlier…”
“In that group therapy session?”
“The trust circle.”
“Right.”
“Was that… I mean… Did you…”
“I meant every word.”
“Oh.” She lowers her eyes, but he can see her blushing. “I… Thank you. That’s… I appreciate it.”
He pulls her into his side and kisses the side of her head. “So formal, Scully.”
“I wish I could…”
“What?”
She leans into him with a long exhale. “What I said just seems to inadequate in comparison now.”
“I liked what you said,” he assures her. “I’m glad that I can make you laugh. I love making you laugh.”
“Mulder?”
“Yeah?”
“So, maybe this isn’t ideal,” she says. “But since we have to stay the night and we have this nice four-poster bed right here…”
“Yes,” he says, “I’m in.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He takes her hand and raises it to his lips. “With you, I’ll do anything.”
Some domestic MSR fluff for you! 💕Set in a little AU where we handwave a bunch of stuff and Scully and Mulder are both around with baby William. (I've been calling it an FU for obvious reasons 😅) I hope you enjoy it.
—
For a lifelong insomniac, being awake at – Mulder glanced at the clock – 2:14 am was hardly unusual, but waking up to an empty bed was rare these days. He lay there listening to the sounds of a quiet apartment for a moment and then rolled out of bed with a yawn and a stretch to investigate the disappearance of his bedmate.
As expected, it was a short search. Through the open door of William’s bedroom, he could see Scully standing over the crib, softly illuminated by the warm glow of the nightlight. His eyes traced the long-memorised line of her profile as her lips moved in an unintelligible murmur. So peaceful, so beautiful; his heart ached with it. Mulder considered himself the luckiest son of a bitch alive. So many things he hadn’t even allowed himself to hope for were now within his reach.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he made his way to the kitchen to prepare a quick snack. Late night feeds made Scully hungry, and a hungry Scully was a grumpy Scully.
Mulder gathered up his supplies, including two jars of peanut butter, and waited for the water to boil. He was careful to pull the tea kettle off the burner in time to prevent its squealing from disturbing the hushed calm of the night. The tea was steeping and he was just putting the bread in the toaster when Scully joined him.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I would have gotten up with him if I’d heard him wake up,” Mulder greeted apologetically.
Scully shook her head, “It’s fine, Mulder. He didn’t cry. He’s still sound asleep, actually. I just — I had a strange dream and went to check on him.”
He nodded sympathetically. Nightmares were a familiar, if still unwelcome, guest in the Scully-Mulder household.
Mulder opened his arms in invitation. Without hesitation Scully stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his back and resting her head on his chest. He kissed her hair and rubbed a comforting hand up her back. They stayed like that until the toaster popped and he resumed making tea and toast for two.
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” she admitted once his back was turned. “Just a very strange dream. We were at Disneyland with Will. You were wearing mouse ears. It was…”
“Spooky?” he suggested over his shoulder.
“A little,” she agreed with an amused huff.
“Hey,” he gestured with a peanut butter-laden knife for emphasis, “if our kid wants to go to the cash-grabbiest place on earth, I’m there.”
Scully regarded him seriously, eyes bright and lips pursed, before at last smiling softly, “I know.”
Like so many things before, the awareness that his presence hadn’t always been a given hung between them unspoken.
Before the weight of that thought could grow too heavy, Scully raised an eyebrow and nodded toward his plate. “What I don’t know is how you can eat that textureless goop instead of proper crunchy peanut butter like this.” She took a bite of her own slice with a contented sigh.
Mulder scoffed, “This from the woman who can’t stand pulp in her orange juice.”
“I stand by that. Juice is not meant to contain debris. However, peanut butter should contain actual chunks of peanuts or you’re missing the very essence of the experience,” she insisted.
“That’s like saying silt is the essence of river water, Scully.”
“Actually, I think it’s more like pieces of ice in a glacial melt. But to follow your analogy, the silt would be an essential component of river water, Mulder, tracing its journey. Without it, the water could have come from anywhere.”
He nodded. “That’s fair, but irrelevant when considering peanut butter in context as part of a category of blended foods known as butters. The smooth, butter-like texture of the final product is key, regardless of the original texture of the ingredients it’s made of.”
Scully opened her mouth to respond, and instead let out a mighty yawn. “You know, I think I might be too tired to argue with you about this any more tonight.”
Mulder placed his hand over his heart and gasped theatrically, “Dana Scully, too tired to argue? Call Doggett and Reyes. It’s an X-File right here in our kitchen!”
“Shut up, Mulder,” she said, giving him one of his favourite little Scully grins. She didn’t point out that he’d referred to it as their home rather than hers for the first time.
He smiled smugly back at her. “How about we agree to consider each other’s perspectives?” he asked, holding up his toast in offering.
“Always,” she agreed solemnly.
They exchanged bites.
“Well? Are you still too tired to argue?” Mulder asked. Truthfully, he had no strong preferences in the crunchy vs smooth debate. Arguing with Scully about the appropriate texture of peanut butter was all for love of the game.
Scully wrinkled her nose and tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes sparkling. “I believe the armistice will hold for the night.”
He laughed, “Wonderful news, Scully.”
She stood on tiptoe for a quick kiss, “Let’s go back to bed, Mulder.”
Scully slips in and out of consciousness, but Mulder refuses to leave her side. Fear and anger clash inside him at seeing her lying here like this with a gunshot wound. A preventable one. The anger is not directed at her at all. Agent Peyton Ritter better keep his distance from him for the next decade or two, or at least for a few weeks.
More anger is reserved for Kersh, for separating him and Scully. But he knows Scully wouldn’t want him to be angry. What would she want, though? Is she angry herself? He can’t ask her. He can’t ask her anything. She’s just lying here, balancing between life and death.
He’s called her mother. Of course he did. The only reason he’s already here is because he didn’t trust Agent Ritter. He was already on his way when he got the news. In the hospital, they told him that he couldn’t see her because he’s not family. Right now, he’s not even her work partner. Flashing his FBI badge did nothing. Maybe he could have called Skinner or even Kersh to pull some strings, but he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t accept it. He smiles at Scully, impatient to tell her the story.
“Can’t wait to see your eyes again, Scully,” he says now, softly as if she were just sleeping peacefully. How often has he done this? Too often. There’s no telling if she can hear him, if his words have any effect. But it’s worked before and he wants to believe. “I want to see you roll your eyes at me – and you will. I’m not going to tell you until you wake up, though.”
And then he just keeps waiting.
It’s very late, or very early, when Scully wakes up for real. Mulder sits up straight, staring at her.
“Hey, you,” he says when her eyes settle on his face. “Have a good nap?” He can’t help himself. She tries to smile and everything falls off of him. If she can appreciate his attempt at humor, she has made it through the worst.
“Where am I?”
“Hospital in New York. Do you remember anything?” She nods with difficulty.
“I was shot.” Her voice is quiet, hoarse. “Fellig?” she asks.
“He wasn’t as lucky as you.”
“Oh, I think he was.” She coughs, then winces.
“Here, have some water.” Mulder helps her with the sippy cup the nurse has provided in case she wakes up. He knows they will come check on her again soon.
“My mom. Mulder, I need to-”
“I called her. She’ll be here as soon as she can. You need to rest.”
“You sound like me,” she says with a smile, making him wonder if she’s high on painkillers. She must be.
“That’s not bad, is it? Listen, Scully, I- um, I see the nurse. I told her we’re a couple, so unless you really don’t want me here, you-” He knows it’s all too much for her to take in right now and he wishes he could have prepared her for more than five seconds. Judging by her face, he’s not sure she’s even understood what he just said. They will just have to improvise.
“Ms. Scully,” the nurse says, swiftly checking Scully’s vitals. “Glad to see you’ve come around. How are you feeling?”
“Like someone shot me,” Scully says, making the nurse laugh. Mulder is holding her hand, absent-mindedly stroking the back of her hand.
“Your fiancé here wouldn’t leave your side.” The nurse winks. “He’s a good egg.”
Right. He didn’t just pretend they’re a couple. He said they were engaged.
“He is,” Scully says, glancing at Mulder. “My fiancé.”
“Refused to leave. Don’t worry, Mr. Mulder,” she says to him now, “we’re not going to try again. It’s nice to see true love here in the hospital. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t overexert yourself, Ms. Scully. You’re lucky to be alive.” With that, she leaves them alone again.
“You heard what the nurse said, Scully.”
“We’re engaged?” she asks him.
“They said only family was allowed. I panicked. I didn’t know when your mother would get here and they didn’t know whether- I had to do something.” He’s not going to mention how pale she looked. How serious her condition was. There will be time for all of that later when she’s back home. She has a long road of recovery ahead of her.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Engaged,” she repeats.
“We can make it official,” Mulder says, only half joking. “Imagine Skinner’s face if we did.” Her eyes are closed again, but she’s smiling. He doesn’t know if she’ll remember any of this. It doesn’t matter.
“I’d marry you tomorrow, Scully. Think about it. They couldn’t make us testify against each other. I wouldn’t have to lie next time you’re- it’s something to think about, isn’t it?” When he’s done fantasizing, a grin on his face, he realizes that Scully is asleep again. She probably didn’t hear any of what he just said.
“I’ll say it again tomorrow,” Mulder promises, her hand still in his. He won’t let go. “Or whenever you’re ready to hear it.”
Merry Whumpmas (X-Files Edition) (4431 words) by autumnalexfiles Chapters: 6/31
Fandom: The X-Files
Summary: A series of short X-Files/MSR drabbles and ficlets based on Tumblr user @whumpishprompts 'Merry Whumpmas' prompts for the month of December.
🩵 tagging @today-in-fic 🩵
Chapter 6: Nowhere To Go (read on AO3 ->)
They haven’t spoken for miles.
The argument hadn’t even been about anything in particular, rather an almost inevitable release of tension after nearly four days of chasing a case that had turned out not to be an X-File at all – just an ugly, brutal, human kind of horror. The worst kind.
Mulder had pushed. Scully had pushed back. He’d said something she knew he regretted as soon as it left his mouth, and she’d snapped right back with something she knows she really regrets now.
By the time they hit the Beltway, the windshield wipers can barely keep up with the falling snow. Scully stares out the passenger side window, watching the blur of lights through the worsening conditions, her jaw tight.
Muder pulls up in front of her building and breaks the silence first.
"We’re here,” he says curtly, looking straight ahead.
Scully nods, fingers already reaching for the door handle and stepping out into the biting cold. She retrieves her overnight bag from the backseat, and before she has a chance to lean in and say a polite goodnight or thanks for the ride or drive safe, the wind catches the car door and slams it shut. She winces, knowing that Mulder has likely interpreted that as a deliberate act, and she can’t blame him. She looks at the ground, feeling chagrined.
They probably both could have handled that better.
Bracing herself against the wind, Scully pulls her coat tighter, adjusts her bag, and starts up the walkway toward her building. She makes it halfway there before she slips on a patch of ice and goes down – hard.
For a second she sits there in the snow, slightly stunned. It takes a few seconds before the pain catches up to her. She’s rolled her ankle – a sprain, she realizes with immediate clinical certainty. Her hip and elbow, which took the brunt of her fall, will undoubtedly be bruised by tomorrow, and her ankle is probably already swelling in her boot.
Instinctively, she turns toward the road just in time to see the taillights of Mulder's car disappearing around the corner. Of course. When have they ever had good timing?
Scully’s chin wobbles involuntarily. She presses her lips together and carefully pushes herself up, cursing under her breath as she tries to put weight on her ankle. She’s suddenly freezing, the wind whipping at her face, the snow finding its way into the gaps of her clothing. Mercifully, she manages to make it into her building without slipping again, and limps her way up to her apartment.
There’s a note taped on her front door – rarely a good sign. She reads it once, twice, and then laughs, a hollow, dry sound in the cold hallway.
ATTN RESIDENTS: BUILDING HEATING SYSTEM DOWN. EXPECTED REPAIR BY MONDAY AM. APOLOGIES FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
It’s Friday night. Of course, this is how the week from hell would end. Of course, this would be her weekend.
Scully tosses her bag on her bed, and doesn’t bother to unpack. Instead, she changes into sweatpants and a cozy sweater, and pulls on the thickest socks she owns. Her ankle throbs as she limps to her linen closet and retrieves two thick blankets, then hobbles over to her freezer for an ice pack, before settling on the couch.
With her ankle propped up on a cushion, the ice pack tucked against the throbbing joint, Scully wraps herself in both blankets, and turns the television on to some black-and-white movie she barely pays attention to. She has to turn the volume up twice to hear the dialogue over the storm hammering against her windows, and still her focus is elsewhere.
It’s not the first argument they’ve had that’s left her feeling like shit, and it probably won’t be the last. But this one is getting under her skin – not even the words that were exchanged, just how…unnecessary it all was. Clearly what they’d seen over the last few days had upset them both, so why couldn’t they have just…talked about it? Why can’t they ever just talk about the heavy things?
She knows the answer. It’s just not something they do. She resents that more than the stupid fight itself.
With each gust of wind outside Scully can feel the draft creeping through her windows. She shivers, and pulls the blankets tighter. Despite the layers, she hasn’t warmed up since taking a tumble in the snow. The ice pack isn’t helping matters one bit.
Scully is considering hobbling her way back over to the kitchen to put on the kettle when the lights flicker once – twice – and then go out entirely. The picture on the television shrinks and disappears, the hum of her fridge fizzles into silence, and she’s left in a sudden, absolute darkness.
All at once she feels impossibly small and alone in the shadows. Her living room window rattles in its frame, and her chin wobbles again.
She’s not going to cry. She’s not going to cry.
Her throat tightens. Her eyes prickle with tears, and she sniffles.
She’s not going to cry because her power went out. She’s not going to cry because her ankle hurts. And she’s not going to cry because she had a ridiculously unnecessary fight with Mulder.
She’s going to cry because of...all of it
She gives herself three minutes. Three minutes to sob silently into the safety of her non-judgemental fortress of blankets before she shakes her head, wipes her eyes and her nose, and forces herself to take a deep, steadying breath. She fumbles for her cell phone, her fingers clumsy and cold as she dials the number of the one person she’s still irrationally pissed off at, but the one person she wants more than anything in the world. The one person who could possibly make things better right now.
Mulder answers on the first ring.
“Scully? Everything okay?” His voice is wary and slightly guarded.
She opens her mouth, and what comes out is smaller and more honest than she expects.
“Not…not exactly.”
There’s a subtle shift in his tone toward that quiet alertness she knows so well.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Scully sniffles and wipes her nose with the blanket again, fighting back more tears.
“I’m...I slipped on the ice when I got out of the car. Twisted my ankle. It’s not…it’s not broken, but it’s bad.” She pauses, and then the rest pours out of her unguarded. “And my building just lost power, the heat’s been broken – it’s been down for a few days, I think. I’m freezing, and I just…” She trails off into a shaky laugh that ends up halfway to a sob, and continues. “I don’t want to be alone in the cold and the dark, Mulder. Not after this week. My mother’s out of town, and I don’t know where I...I have nowhere to go.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. She can picture him sitting on his sofa, arms crossed, still pissed about the way they left things, and for a second she fears the worst, expects a flat, cold, 'gee, that’s too bad’ in response, when –
“Say no more,” Mulder declares, his voice low and decisive. “I’m coming to get you. I’ve got power, heat, and a bag of frozen peas in my freezer that have seen me through more injuries than I care to remember.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to…impose.”
“Scully,” he murmurs, “you could never impose. I’m on my way.”
She closes her eyes and nods, and lets the familiar warmth of his voice settle over her like a third blanket.
“No, that’s…I can drive. It’s fine, I can—”
“Scully,” Mulder cuts in firmly, “you just told me your ankle is busted. You’re obviously in no shape to drive. The roads are awful, so let me come get you before it gets worse out there.”
Scully closes her eyes, tears falling silently as the tension eases out of her shoulders. There’s rustling on the other end of the line – she can picture him tossing on his coat in one fluid motion, his phone pressed tightly against his shoulder – and the slam of his apartment door.
“Okay,” she whispers into the darkness. "Okay."
“Okay,” he echoes.
"Mulder? I'm...I..." Scully trails off. It's not often she's at a loss for words, but she doesn't know how to say what she wants to say. What she needs to say.
"I know," Mulder replies, and the way he says it assures he of just that: He does know. "Hold tight, Scully," he continues. "I’m on my way.”
Today's fluffuary prompt was "reunion." I took this as an opportunity to write a little season 2 post-abduction ficlet.
tagging @today-in-fic
also on AO3
He feels as if they've barely had a chance to talk, to simply say hello over the past short few days. She's had a constant stream of visitors in her hospital room, mostly her mother and sister, but also some old friends and coworkers who suddenly remembered that they care about her. And whenever he'd found her alone, she'd been asleep, and so he'd sat at her bedside and watched her breathing.
She's not as pale as she was when she was returned to them.
Her sister wanted to take her home with her. Her mother wanted her to stay at the hospital for a few more nights. Scully silenced them both with a glance and asked Mulder to drive her home.
She asked him. Out of all the people who care about her, she asked him. He said yes.
Standing behind her holding the single small bag with her belongings, he sees how she misses the keyhole on the first two tries as she unlocks her apartment. Maybe she's tired. Maybe she's hesitant to step back into this space from where she was taken by force.
He has a heavy feeling in his own chest as he follows her inside. The place has been cleaned and tidied, it looks just the way it always looked. But all he can see is the mess, broken furniture, traces of blood. The images from that morning months ago.
Scully stops just past the door and he stands next to her, sets her bag down.
"Here we are," he says.
She nods. Swallows. "Here we are. Thanks for driving me, Mulder. I appreciate it."
"Of course." He hesitates, shifts awkwardly on his feet; he isn't sure whether she wants him to stay or go.
"I'll..." she pauses. "I'll see you at work on Monday?"
He turns fully towards her. "You're planning to come back on Monday?"
She shrugs, takes her coat off and hangs it up by the door, her movements sure now. "I'm fine. I'm better."
I'm not, he wants to say. "You should take some time off."
She smiles at him. "Really, Mulder, I'm okay."
He nods slowly. He feels like he's being asked to leave, but his legs won't move.
Selfishly, he does want her to come back on Monday. He has reached the limit of how long he can go without her. "You're still recovering."
"I just need some proper sleep in my own bed."
"But..." He doesn't know what to say. "Will you be okay? By yourself?"
She raises one eyebrow at him. "Yes, I will be fine in my own home."
"No, I just meant—" He sighs. "It just has to be a lot. Being back here. After... you know."
"After Duane Barry broke in and abducted me from my own living room?"
"Yeah."
"But this is my home."
He hears what she's not saying. She has to be here. She has to reclaim her space, her life. But panic makes his pulse go faster; even if she can face the demons of this place, he doesn't know if he will ever be able to breathe normally inside this room again. "I could stay."
She shakes her head. "That's not necessary."
"I'm not offering because I think you need me," he says. "We're friends. It's just what friends do, isn't it?"
She hesitates. "I'm not afraid, Mulder."
He licks his lips, looks at his feet, gathers all his courage. "I am."
Her eyes when he looks at her are full of surprise. "Of what?"
Losing you. Having those same nightmares for the rest of my life, of blood on your coffee table and a broken window. Of not getting to say goodbye. Of leaving and never getting a chance to say hello again. "I don't know."
She tilts her head at him, something unreadable in her expression. "I'd like to shower the hospital smell off. Could you make some coffee?"
He exhales, unclenches his hands, inclines his head in a single nod. "Sure, of course."
"Thank you."
"Do you need anything else? Groceries, or..."
"No." She lowers her eyes and looks so small. "Maybe we could just..."
"What?"
"I've missed so much." She sighs. "Can you just... talk to me?"
He lifts a hand, gently touches her arm, a gesture meant as reassurance, comfort. She raises her head and meets his gaze. And the hug just happens. She's in his arms, warm and solid and alive.
"Scully," he whispers.
"Just tell me everything I missed."
"Okay." He won't, he can't. Not everything, not all of it. Not his fast descent into utter despair, the stupid things he did, driven by the sheer terror of never seeing her again. But he'll talk. For as long as she needs him to.
She's here, she's back. They're together again.
When she pulls back, he can't control the smile on his face any more than the tears rolling down his cheeks. She's alive.
No, he can't tell her everything, not yet. He can't tell her about his biggest revelation: that not telling her that he loves her was the biggest mistake of his life.
But here they are, and he's getting another chance. And maybe one day, he’ll tell her the whole story. All the details she deserves to know. One day.
She wipes the tears from his face and he rests his forehead against hers.
Her absence defied the laws of nature, a vacuum at his side where she was supposed to be. Finally, the world is whole again.
while I'm on the topic mutuals drop your txf fic recs! I've already been starting a collection from the main tag (I love looking through the archive blogs for og fanfictions, herstory) and from authors I like but I would still like to hear from the people. it can be anything I'm not picky. and also self promo is encouraged
There are two great rec lists I'd recommend, one from @cecilysass - this post has a link to her rec list, as well as her own (excellent) stories . And @calimanc posted a great rec list here.
For casefiles it's hard to go past Syntax6, although there are so many good ones, including the early Cancer Arc story 'The Common Fate of All Things Rare' (Aloysia Virgata & Scarlet), and 'Ripper Weather' by Sunflowerseedsandscience. There is a brilliant s1 AU casefile by @leiascully, 'All Awash With Angels'.
For AUs, I love 'By the Dim and Flaring Lamps' also by @sunflowerseedsandscience, and Broken Things by @mldrgrl ). @slippinmickeys has written so many great stories, including some fantastic AUs, eg 'The Annapolis Grant'.
I haven't written any casefiles, but I have written a number of stories that are basically character studies/MSR-focused. 'One Weekend in Georgetown' is a very Scully-focused/introspective story set in early s7. I love writing (and reading) stories where they're just on the verge of figuring things out.
We are lucky to have so many wonderful writers in this fandom. Happy reading!
Here are some fics involving The X-Files “Pilot” to keep you busy on September 10 in celebration of the day the show premiered in 1993. Although these stories are good to read any day. Enjoy!
9 Minutes by Helen Wills
So what *did* happen during those nine missing minutes?
Cataplexy by @discordantwords
“You almost looked yourself sometimes, there in the woods.”
Center Mass by @kateyes224
In the wake of their first case together, Mulder and Scully make a concerted effort to get to know one another…and end up uncovering more than they bargained for in the process.
Eight Things That Could Have Happened in Oregon by Stephen Greenwood
Eight ways in which events in the Pilot could have differed.
Fade Away by RM (Rocketman)
A rainy night and familiarity.
Happen at Once by tree
She wonders what Mulder tastes like.
Late Night at the Hoover Part 1, Part 2 by fran58
A late night encounter.
One Love by Rachel Lee Arlington
Missing scene from “Pilot”. Post season four story. Scully, her health failing badly, reflects on the first days of her relationship with Mulder.
Pilot by @leiascully
On day one, there was the dark and the light.
Pilot by @scullywolf
It’s the end of Dana Scully’s first full day in her new assignment, and already she’s seen things she’s at a loss to explain.
red robe by @how-i-met-your-mulder
Scully’s thoughts (and Mulder’s thoughts seven years later) on the mosquito bites scene from the Pilot.
Things You Said When We First Met by littlemisfit5290
She shakes his hand. She watches his slide show. She smiles when he tells her they’re leaving for Oregon at 8AM. She lets him call her Scully.
Tilt by Michelle Kiefer
It was as if the planet had tilted and the ground had dropped out from under her feet.
The Two Percent Solution 01: Distraction by Lysandra
Scully is perfectly sensible, 98% of the time.
The Weaker Sex by @seepunkrun
The pilot, genderflipped.
a weatherman to know which way the wind blows by @becketted
These are not all the ways and whys and hows Mulder loves Scully, just some. In reverse.
It’s another anniversary of the first X-Files episode, so let’s celebrate with more “Pilot” fics!
Dana Scully’s Senior Thesis and Lift and Drag by Athene
‘I need you to find me everything you can on a Dr. Dana Scully, a goddamned forensic pathologist out at Quantico. And I mean everything. I wanna know what kind of toothpaste she uses, where she gets her hair cut, and the name of her first boyfriend…’ He slammed the phone down, leaned back in his chair, and fired off a Ticonderoga at the ceiling with a snap of his wrist. It had been a hell of a day, and the evening was not looking promising. / The physics of airplane flight and interpersonal relationships.
impressions, first through fifth by @softnow
five times mulder revised his opinion of dana scully during their first year.
planetary courting by @wtfmulder
Drabble pre-deep Throat
It’s yet another anniversary of the first X-Files episode, so let’s celebrate with more “Pilot” fics!
Fear of Flying by @sunflowerseedsandscience
“I’m not so sure you and me alone in your apartment is the best idea just now, Scully,” he says, his voice soft. “Go on up and get some sleep, okay? I’m more than awake enough to get myself home. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” His smile is gentle, and she understands: this isn’t a rejection of her, merely a lack of confidence in his own self-control. She gathers her purse from the floor of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mulder,” she says, smiling back at him. “Thanks for the ride.”
The First New Year by @mldrgrl
New Year’s Eve, 1992
A Thanksgiving Reunion by @sure-fine-skullz
Mulder and Scully have sex during Pilot, Scully gets pregnant, moves away and meets again at Thanksgiving (prolly a couple of years later) bc Mrs Scully invites him.
Thirty by a_steady_wish
Thirty years since she walked into his office, and he is still in awe of her.
Here was the thing about being a "shipper" in the 90s: These two comported themselves like this in photo shoots?
And then everyone, including DD&GA, and most notably Chris Carter the showrunner, wanted to act like we were unhinged perverted lunatics for reading anything at all into their beautiful platonic relationship.
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
stormborns
andulkaphoto
kianamaiart
prguitarman
titsay
dailybridgerton
dededos
