“What’s it going to be now, Mulder?” she asked, her voice low and steady, one brow lifting slightly. “A doctor’s examination… or a girlfriend’s?”
The question settled between them, stripped of humor or easy deflection. For a long moment neither moved. The weight of it hung in the air, sharpening the space between them.
Mulder simply looked at her. The easy grin he’d worn through the evening faded, replaced by something softer and far less certain. A short, startled breath of a laugh escaped him as he shook his head.
“Wow.”
The word hung there.
“Wow,” he repeated, sounding faintly amazed by his own silence.
The corner of Scully’s mouth twitched. “Compelling answer.”
“Give me a second here, Scully.” The genuine appeal in his voice drew warmth across her features.
He glanced down at her hand, still resting against his chest. “I was simply aiming for playful medical banter.”
“I’m having a hard time believing that.”
Another quiet laugh slipped out of him. “Yeah. Me too.”
The lamps flickered. The room sharpened for an instant, then dimmed. A second flicker followed, and the apartment was swallowed by darkness. The hum of electricity vanished, leaving only the rain drumming steadily against the glass. Even the streetlights outside had gone dark, wrapping the city in a deeper hush.
Neither of them moved immediately. Mulder remained acutely aware of her palm against his chest, the warmth vivid in the sudden black, the steady beat of his own heart beneath her touch.
“Did you pay the bill?” he asked at last.
Scully made a sound that was barely a laugh. She withdrew her hand and stood.
“I have candles.”
He listened as she moved through the apartment, her footsteps soft and familiar on the floorboards. A drawer opened, glass clinked gently, then came the scratch of a match. Warm light gradually returned, pushing back the shadows in slow, golden waves.
Scully reappeared carrying the candle, the flame casting shifting shadows across her face and catching in the faint strands of hair that had slipped loose. She set it on the coffee table and settled back onto the couch. The soft glow danced between them, deepening the quiet intimacy of the room.
Mulder watched her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Sticking to the original point… based on my findings so far, everything appears to be normal.”
“Normal.”
“Beautifully normal and healthy.” A faint flush appeared along his cheekbones.
“Is that your scientific opinion?”
“God no,” he made a face. “That’s my opinion as a rookie who’s conducted a highly thorough and ongoing examination. Several, actually.”
Scully nodded. “I see.”
Mulder’s expression softened as he watched her. “It’s also my opinion as an extremely attentive companion.”
Scully studied him for a moment. “So that’s what you are?”
“That’s the title I’ve been using,” he said with a small shrug. “Until I hear otherwise.”
For several seconds neither spoke. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, a constant backdrop to the flickering candle. When he finally looked back at her, her face had gentled in the warm light.
“So that’s it?” Scully asked softly.
His brow furrowed. “What’s it?”
“You assign yourself a title and then wait for administrative review?”
A laugh escaped him. “It’s a highly efficient system.”
“Is it?”
The smile lingered between them. Mulder shook his head.
“You know,” she said, tapping a finger lightly against his knee, “most people would just fill out the paperwork.”
“Most people certainly don’t spend seven years avoiding the paperwork.”
Scully hummed her approval.
His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to hers. Something warm settled low in her chest.
“Scully,” he said, her name carrying a quiet question.
She didn’t answer with words. Instead she shifted closer, closing the remaining distance. Her hand rose to his cheek. Mulder leaned into the touch instinctively.
The kiss was gentle and certain. When their mouths met, it felt less like discovery and more like confirmation. Of what had existed between them for years, finally allowed to exist without excuses. Mulder softened beneath her hand, his palm finding her side to draw her closer with quiet relief. When he smiled against her lips, she felt the boyish happiness in it and couldn’t help laughing softly.
She pulled back just enough to breathe.
His eyes opened. “What?”
Scully shook her head, still smiling. “Nothing.”
“That’s my line.”
“I’m aware.”
Outside, the rain continued in steady sheets. Inside, everything felt unexpectedly simple.
A storm keeps the city at a distance, leaving Mulder and Scully alone with a silence that no longer belongs to work. What has developed between them exists somewhere undefined, sustained by habit, restraint, and something neither of them fully acknowledges. It only takes a single question to bring that fragile balance into focus.
The rain in D.C. didn’t so much fall as take over the night, turning streetlights into blurred halos and the city beyond the windows into a shifting wash of grey. Wind drove it hard against the glass, relentless and uneven, more like March than May. Spring had arrived on the calendar, if nowhere else.
Inside Scully’s apartment, the lighting was low and deliberate. Lamps instead of overheads. Nothing harsh. The kind of choice you made when you already knew you wouldn’t be going anywhere, especially not in weather like this, and not with company you didn’t intend to send home.
There were no files spread across the table, no reports waiting to be finished. The absence of them changed the quiet. It wasn’t the brittle, searching silence of long nights spent chasing answers, eyes burning over paper. This was something steadier. Something that settled in and stayed, familiar in a way that still felt new if examined too closely.
Because things between them had shifted.
Not all at once. There wasn’t a single moment either of them could isolate without changing it in the telling. Just a series of small allowances accumulating since New Year’s Eve. Nights that stretched later than they should have. Weekends that passed without interruption. The first time he didn’t leave and neither of them remarked on it the next morning.
The quiet that followed had not been awkward. That was the difference. It had settled too easily, slipping into place as though it had always been there, right up until they stepped back into their separate lives and pretended it hadn’t.
After that, it had been easier not to ask questions. Easier to leave it unspoken, as though giving it language might change it.
And still, they kept ending up here, close enough to enjoy it, careful enough not to define it.
They settled onto the couch after dinner the way they always did, out of habit more than decision. Mulder stretched out, claiming space without thought, one leg bent, the other angled toward her. Scully folded into the corner, back against the armrest, her legs drawn in just enough to fit alongside his without either of them needing to adjust.
His knee rested against her thigh. It had become familiar, that point of contact, easy in a way it hadn’t been at the beginning, and for that reason alone, harder to ignore.
A medical journal lay open in her lap. She had mentioned it earlier in the week, made a point of wanting to read it, and now her eyes tracked the page with careful attention.
Mulder held a thin digest loosely in one hand, though he hadn’t turned a page in several minutes. His gaze had drifted upward, unfocused, as if whatever occupied his thoughts existed somewhere beyond the ceiling. When he shifted, it was subtle, but enough to deepen the contact between them before settling again. Then came the sigh, long and deliberate. Not boredom. Consideration.
Scully didn’t look up.
“You know what they say?” he said, his voice low, almost casual, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. “That having a boyfriend is essentially a highly effective early detection screening method for breast cancer.”
Her eyes remained on the journal, though she had been reading the same line twice over without taking it in. A brief pause, measured. Not surprise, but evaluation.
“‘They,’” she said evenly at last. “I’m curious whether this particular authority overlaps with the one responsible for your continued investment in alien abduction literature, or if you’ve recently expanded into public health.”
Mulder’s expression shifted into a quiet, satisfied smile, the kind that suggested he had expected nothing less.
“It’s a question of method,” he said. “Tactile. Repetitive. Close range observation.” His head turned toward her now, abandoning any pretense of disinterest. “Dismissing the data because of its source seems uncharacteristically narrow-minded.”
Her finger tapped once against the edge of the journal, then again, small, precise, controlled. She still hadn’t looked at him, but the shift in her attention was unmistakable, drawn taut by the weight of his gaze and the way it lingered longer than it used to.
“That is an imprecise and deeply questionable approach to preventative medicine,” Scully said. She shifted slightly, her hand pressing into the cushion beside her, aware of the warmth there without letting herself follow the thought too far.
“I’m simply pointing out the advantages of an attentive companion,” Mulder said, shrugging.
“An attentive companion,” she repeated.
The words lingered longer than they should have. Scully’s gaze stayed on the page, but she wasn’t reading anymore. She understood him. He wasn’t subtle, not really. And she wasn’t oblivious.
It would have been easy to answer directly. Easier, maybe.
Instead, she adjusted the edge of the journal in her lap, a fraction too precise to be casual, buying herself a second that didn’t quite resolve into anything.
They had never had trouble saying things. Just not these things.
He watched her more closely then, picking up on the shifts that most people would have missed. The way her hand had gone still against the page. The slight change in her breathing. Her focus no longer on him but somewhere just past his shoulder.
He had pushed it a step further than usual.
With Scully, that kind of ground didn’t give way all at once. It tightened. Quietly. And if you weren’t paying attention, you would miss the moment it happened.
“You think it’s inaccurate?” he asked, his voice softer now, but no less deliberate.
She didn’t answer right away.
“It’s imprecise,” she said at last.
Mulder angled his head, studying her differently now. The trace of amusement had faded. Not gone, but set aside.
“What makes it imprecise?” he asked. “Faulty premise, or incomplete variables?”
Scully’s gaze stayed lowered a moment longer, as if considering the question on its face rather than the one beneath it. When she did look at him, the movement was controlled, her expression composed just a touch too carefully.
“Why a boyfriend?” she asked. “What you’re describing isn’t gender specific. There’s no reason a girlfriend couldn’t produce the same outcome.”
Something in him registered the shift at once.
She had not rejected the premise. She had adjusted it, redirected it just enough to take the weight out of it without refusing it outright.
Mulder felt the impulse to smile, though he held it back. He had seen her do this before, in interrogation rooms, in briefings, in quieter moments when something pressed too close to the personal. Precision used as distance.
And he let her do it.
Pushing her directly had never worked. It only forced her further back, into that controlled space where nothing uninvited could reach her. Whatever this was between them, it did not respond well to pressure. It required patience, the kind he had learned slowly where she was concerned.
“Fair point,” he said, easy enough to pass for agreement. His gaze stayed on her. “So it’s not the designation you object to.”
Scully didn’t answer. She lowered her eyes to the journal in her lap. The lines blurred together almost immediately, her focus settling there without holding.
Mulder watched the shift, the way it closed the space between them without either of them moving.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
He adjusted slightly against the cushions, more deliberate this time. His hand found her foot where it rested near his leg, fingers closing around it with quiet familiarity. His thumb moved along the arch, slow, unhurried.
Scully’s breath caught, small but enough. She didn’t look up. The journal stayed open, the page unturned.
“You didn’t answer,” he said, softer now, his hand tightening just slightly around her foot. “Scully?”
“Mulder,” she said, the word leaving her on a breath that was closer to a warning than his name alone should have been. It should have been enough. Usually, it was.
She kept her eyes on the page, even as her awareness narrowed to the points of contact. His hand. The slow movement of his thumb. The fact that he hadn’t let go.
He let the moment hold, then shifted more decisively this time. He pushed himself upright, fluid, his hand slipping from her foot. Before she could fully register the change, he reached for her hand and guided it upward, his touch light but certain.
“Field test,” he said, a trace of humor returning, quieter now. “For the sake of scientific accuracy.”
Her palm met his chest.
The contact was immediate and unmistakable. Warmth, steady breath, the solid presence of him beneath her hand.
Scully didn’t pull away. Her hand remained where he had placed it, fingers resting lightly at first, as if the contact itself required assessment.
Then something in her expression shifted. The tension she had been holding did not disappear so much as change shape, softening at the edges, giving way to something more open. Her mouth curved slightly, not hesitant, not guarded, but touched with a kind of quiet wonder she made no effort to conceal.
Mulder felt the change the moment it happened, not in what she did, but in what she didn’t. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t reduce it to something clinical.
His hand stilled around hers, not restraining, simply present, as if any sudden movement might break whatever this was becoming.
“What do you feel, Doc?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the humor still there but thinned, threaded with something more deliberate. “Anything concerning?”
Scully met his gaze.
For a moment, it seemed possible that she would step back from it, that she would return them both to safer ground, where words could be controlled and meaning could be contained.
She didn’t.
Her fingers shifted slightly against his chest, settling more firmly.
“What’s it going to be now, Mulder?” she asked, her voice low, steady.
The question lingered between them.
A slight lift of her brow, just enough to make clear she understood exactly what she was asking.
Mulder stilled, something unreadable crossing his expression.
He didn’t answer.
“A doctor’s examination,” she said then, her gaze holding his, unwavering, “or a girlfriend’s?”
Found your work of Gillian and David on A03. Thank you for your delightful stories. Will you include any backstory of what happened to these people in the 1990s? You reference a time period of about 20 years ahead of the date, so I was wondering if there would be any background info to help your readers get an idea of your characters?
I am enjoying your work.
Oh my, I would love to read that too! 😂
I wrote a very long response to your question, which was mostly just a lot of rambling.
In short, though: I'm afraid the answer is no.
That said, I never thought I’d write Mulder/Scully again, and yet here I am, mainly as a creative outlet to balance my work life and to cope with the current chaos it brings. So, who knows what the future holds?!
Thank you for your nice words! And maybe, if you stick around for the next 20+ years, you might just see your request fulfilled!
Summary: Frustrated and weary, Scully’s patience is tested as Mulder clings to fleeting mysteries, seemingly ignoring the tension simmering between them. Or does he?
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the rolling green hills and endless fields stretching in every direction. But the landscape’s beauty was wasted on Scully. The warm air and faint breeze did little to soothe her irritation or ease the weight of the day pressing on her shoulders. Dust clung to her ankles and the hem of her skirt as they trudged along the narrow, winding trail, her steps heavy with more than just fatigue.
She glanced up at the distant hills, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. What should have been a peaceful view - the rolling hills, the swaying grass - felt like just another obstacle, one more stretch of pointless ground to cross.
They’d spent hours circling the town and its outskirts, listening to the same vague, half-baked stories from locals. All the while, Mulder’s focus seemed somewhere else. And not on the case they were supposed to be working.
“Mulder,” she said, her voice edged with exasperation and something sharper. “We’ve been out here all day. We’ve talked to everyone in town, and all we’ve got are a few strange stories about lights and noises. This is a waste of time.”
The words came out harsher than she’d intended, but she didn’t regret them. She was tired of chasing ghosts in broad daylight, and even more tired of Mulder’s indifference to her exhaustion, or to anything else that might be on her mind.
Since they’d lost the X-Files, he seemed to latch onto any excuse to steer them off course. Acting like nothing had changed. Like they were still chasing trails of lights and shadows, despite the new restrictions, despite everything else between them. And today was no different.
“Come on, Scully,” he said, coaxing. “The witnesses all saw something near these hills. They saw it from up there.”
She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to snap, swatting at a mosquito that buzzed near her ear.
He always had an answer, always managed to make her reluctance feel like a lack of vision, a failure to see what he saw, rather than the futility she knew it was. They’d heard the same story all day, locals and vacationers describing lights in hushed voices, strange sounds drifting from the cabins perched on Decorah High Point, all pointing back to the same hills. To Mulder, that was enough. To her, it was just another distraction.
And all of this now, after everything they’d been through in the last couple of weeks. After he’d decided to trust someone else over her.
Scully looked up at the hill, biting back the bitter taste in her mouth, and kept walking.
They trudged in silence, the path winding upward, steepening enough to tug at her fatigue. By the time they reached the top, the slope softened, easing into a gentle rise that led to an open clearing surrounded by ancient oaks, their limbs twisting into wide arcs over the grassy hilltop.
The valley stretched below, a river meandering with a glassy surface barely disturbed by the faintest ripple. Apart from the rustling leaves and a distant bird call, the hill was still, almost expectant.
But nothing unusual caught Scully’s eye. No mysterious lights, no strange shadows, just the unbroken landscape stretching before them, silent and indifferent. She let out a long, slow breath. Nothing but more empty scenery.
“As I said, a waste of time.” She crossed her arms, her jaw tightening as she waited for him to respond.
Mulder let out a resigned sigh, putting his hands on his hips and glancing away, clearly unwilling to engage. “If you’re that exhausted, Scully, go back to town. I’ll catch up with you.”
She turned to face him, eyes sharp, frustration flaring. “It’s not that,” she snapped, her voice low but cutting.
He looked at her, brow furrowed. “Then enlighten me, Scully. What is the problem?”
She paused, fists clenched at her sides, her voice tight. “You! The problem is you, dragging us out here for no reason, ignoring direct orders, like that doesn’t even matter anymore.” She hesitated, searching his face, bitterness creeping into her voice. “Like—” She stopped herself, fists still clenched. “We’ve spent the entire day out here, Mulder. And there’s nothing. Nothing here.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of exasperation and challenge. “Since when did orders mean so much to you?”
“They always did!” she shot back, her voice cutting through the silence.
Mulder let out a scornful huff, his gaze dropping to the ground, but he didn’t respond.
They stood in strained silence, the weight of unsaid words filling the space between them. Mulder’s shoulders slumped as he let out a long, weary breath, the fight draining from his posture. He looked past her, scanning the quiet hillside before finally nodding, resigned.
“Okay,” he said, his voice low and tired. “Let’s take this route down. Head back to the motel.” He gestured to a narrow trail leading down the other side of the hill, his tone flat, as though he’d run out of the energy to argue.
Scully opened her mouth, starting to say his name softly. “Mulder—”
But he held up a hand, a small, silent gesture to let it go. Without another word, he turned and began walking down the path, his steps heavy with the same weight she felt lingering between them.
After a few minutes of following the winding path, the landscape shifted, opening up to reveal another valley below. The sun was dipping lower, almost touching the top of a distant hill, casting long, golden rays over the scene. The light was breathtaking, spilling over the valley in hues of amber and soft pink, catching the tops of trees and scattering across the gently flowing river.
For a moment, Scully found herself caught by the beauty of it, her earlier frustration softened by the quiet majesty of the view.
Then, suddenly, a sound, a low, faint hum that rose and fell like a heartbeat. At first, she thought she might be imagining it, but then it grew louder, vibrating through the stillness. Strange echoes followed, reverberating through the air like whispers or distant voices carried by the wind.
She stopped, instinctively reaching out to Mulder’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
Mulder nodded, his posture sharpening as he scanned the horizon, his expression shifting from resignation to alertness. The faint hum grew stronger, mingling with other noises - laughter, distant music, the soft rumble of an amplifier. Almost instinctively, both he and Scully turned toward their right, their gazes landing on a cluster of large trees whose branches stretched wide, half-concealing whatever lay beyond.
Without a word, they veered off the path and moved through the trees, finding a narrower trail that sloped down the hillside. The strange echoes grew clearer with each step they took, resolving into music, voices, and the unmistakable sounds of a crowd.
After a few minutes, the trees parted, and they came to a wide, grassy plateau nestled in the valley below. Spread out across the clearing was a stunning sight: a small, vibrant concert radiating color against the fading daylight. Hundreds of string lights were strung from poles and trees, casting a warm glow over clusters of people sitting on blankets or low folding chairs. Lush greenery framed the scene, creating a natural amphitheater as if the valley itself had been designed for this purpose.
At the center of it all was a small, rustic stage, draped in soft fabrics that caught the evening light. Lanterns and fairy lights hung from the edges, and paper lanterns floated above, their colors deep red, electric blue, and soft green, casting a glow over the stage and the surrounding grass.
People sat scattered across the gentle slope in front of the stage, laughing and chatting, some leaning back on elbows, others deep in quiet conversation. The air was filled with the murmur of voices and soft music, creating an atmosphere that felt both festive and intimate. The scene glowed like a hidden oasis of warmth and life tucked away in the valley.
“Oh,” Mulder muttered, realization dawning. “So this… this must be the source of all those lights and sounds everyone’s been talking about.”
Scully held back a retort, deciding to let it go. “That’s quite a spot for a concert,” she said, her gaze drifting over the valley where the lights twinkled like fireflies against the darkening backdrop.
“Yeah,” Mulder replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well then, mystery solved, I guess?”
She shrugged, dusting off her hands. The frustration of the day lingered, but as she looked down at the valley, she felt herself relax. The music and lights filled the scene with a quiet beauty that seemed to soften everything.
“Alright, let’s go.” He turned and started down the trail a bit further, and she fell into step beside him. They walked in silence, the trees soon blocking parts of their view. But as they descended, the music drifted up through the gaps, now clearer. A symphony of violins, cellos, and woodwinds echoing through the valley in rich, layered waves. The notes rose and fell with haunting beauty, filling the space between them with something almost sacred.
They followed the trail until they came across what looked like the remains of an old wall, rising just high enough to reach Mulder’s chest. The structure was narrow, stones stacked in a line as if it had once been part of something larger.
Mulder stepped up to the wall, pressing a hand against its cool surface, his gaze drifting thoughtfully over the valley below. The soft glow of lights and the lilting notes of music transformed the view into something otherworldly, as if they’d stumbled into a world apart from the trail they’d just traveled.
“You know,” he began, his voice low, almost tentative, “we could stay here a bit. Listen.” He glanced at her, a hint of invitation in his eyes. “If you’d like.”
She looked at him, brow raised. “Here?”
He nodded, patting the sturdy stone. “Well, I guess… up here.” He gestured to the top. “We’d have a fantastic view.”
She eyed the wall, then him, her skepticism clear. “Up there?”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, quietly encouraging.
“Mulder,” she said dryly, “in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in a skirt, and this is quite high.”
He took a step closer, extending a hand. “I can help you up,” he said, a hint of a playful challenge in his voice.
Scully hesitated, meeting his gaze and searching his eyes. There was something familiar there - gentle, earnest, offering her this small escape. She knew this version of him, the one who could surprise her with unexpected kindness, but it felt like she hadn’t seen him this way in a long time. Or maybe that was just her.
She sighed, ignoring his outstretched hand, but stepped closer to the platform, glancing up at the narrow stone wall. She took in its height, then turned back to him, eyebrows raised and head tilted, her expression clearly saying You really think I can get up there?
Mulder’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Excuse me,” he murmured, his voice soft as he moved in closer, his hands sliding gently to her waist. Before she could respond, he lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all, and set her on top of the stone wall with ease.
What had she expected, Mulder wondered. He’d carried her through an entire spaceship not long ago.
She blinked down at him, half-amused, half-surprised, and something else she wasn’t ready to name.
Mulder took a step back, sizing up the wall before bracing himself. With a burst of momentum, he caught the edge and pulled himself up in a single, smooth motion.
Scully leaned forward, shifting to the side to make room as he swung a leg over the edge and settled behind her.
The space was tight, just barely enough for the two of them. Mulder scooted closer, his chest brushing the side of her arm. He placed his hands on his thighs, glancing out at the view with quiet intensity.
“Wow,” he murmured, his voice softened by awe. The valley below was breathtaking, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun.
Scully looked out, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. “That’s just… beautiful,” she whispered. She felt the words hang in the air, glancing sideways at Mulder as the golden light cast soft shadows across his face.
They sat in silence, legs dangling, looking out over the valley where the concert below was bathed in the fading glow of sunset and twinkling lights, giving it a dreamlike quality. Music drifted up in waves, notes of strings and woodwinds filling the air, mixing with the scent of evening grass and the distant sound of laughter.
Scully’s tense posture began to soften, the weight of the day slowly melting away. She leaned back, ever so slightly, letting herself relax into his presence, feeling the warmth of his chest just behind her shoulder.
Noticing her shift, Mulder adjusted his position, subtly aligning his leg with hers. One hand rested on his thigh, steady and relaxed, while the other found its way to her forearm, his fingers grazing the soft skin there. It felt like an accidental touch, but he didn’t pull back, and neither did she, though she found herself holding her breath.
When she finally exhaled, the tension released in a quiet, unsteady breath. He began to move his thumb in gentle, circular strokes along her forearm, the simple, soothing motion sending a warmth through her.
As the next song ended, a brief silence settled over the valley. Someone stepped up to the stage, the murmur of a microphone and faint distortion of amplified words drifting up to them, too muffled by distance to make out. They shared a look, Scully raising a curious brow, but neither spoke. Moments later, the crowd quieted as a man and woman joined the stage, their silhouettes barely visible against the backdrop of warm lights.
Then, familiar chords began to drift up from the speakers, smooth and low, the unmistakable melody of I Just Can’t Help Believing.
Mulder’s whole expression shifted, his eyes lighting up with pure, boyish delight. Scully couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her, knowing full well his deep-seated, almost childlike love for Elvis.
Mulder grinned, unfazed, swaying slightly to the rhythm as he hummed along, tapping his fingers in time on her forearm. He leaned close, his nose brushing her hair, and began to sing quietly, “I just can’t help believin’…”
The warmth of his voice, soft and unguarded, made her giggle despite herself. He continued, voice low and tender, each word threaded with the nostalgic affection he had for the song. As his voice mixed with the music from below, she let herself lean just a little closer, allowing this rare, easy closeness to settle around them.
Mulder leaned in, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as he whispered, “I missed that laugh.”
The words took her by surprise, a small rush of warmth blooming inside her. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks, trying to hide the pleased smile tugging at her lips. But he’d already seen it, and his own expression softened, a smile curving at the edges of his mouth, genuine and unguarded.
Without a word, his fingers found the small of her back, moving in slow, gentle circles. She realized she was now completely surrounded by his presence.
The gentle strum of the next song drifted up from the valley, and Scully immediately recognized the melody of Let It Be Me. Her eyes drifted shut as she surrendered to the moment, letting the music wash over her.
Every sensation felt heightened. The warmth of his hand, his fingers lightly caressing her arm, the steady presence of his body beside her.
The soft evening air carried the scent of grass and earth, mingling with the faint, lingering sweetness of flowers somewhere below. Everything blended into something achingly beautiful.
She felt his gaze on her, intense and unyielding, like a warmth pressing into her skin. Opening her eyes, she turned her head just slightly, meeting his gaze. His expression was disarming, almost pleading. That same look she’d seen on his face that one fateful night in his hallway. She knew this look, and she knew what it meant.
Just like back then, he leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking down to her lips for a split second before returning to meet hers. She felt his hand wander from her lower back, fingers slipping beneath her hair to brush the warm skin of her neck. His touch was gentle, grounding her, and she felt her breath catch as he drew closer.
Slowly, Mulder closed his eyes, his lips hovering just a breath away from hers. And then, he kissed her.
His lips were warm, soft but certain, pressing gently against hers as his hand steadied her at the nape of her neck. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his mouth and the steady weight of his hand. She let herself sink into the kiss. Her hand found his arm, holding on as if this fragile moment might slip away.
Then, with a gentle tilt of his head, his tongue traced softly along hers, slow and languid. The kiss felt tender, a slow exploration that unraveled them both bit by bit.
The world around them melted away - the valley, the music, even the evening air - until only the warmth of his kiss remained.
When they finally pulled back, the world seemed to settle around them, but the air was charged with something new, something that had been waiting for a long time.
Mulder stayed close, his forehead resting gently against hers. He smiled softly, his breath warm against her skin.
“This non-existent extraterrestrial phenomenon was really worth looking into, don’t you think?” he whispered.
Scully let out a quiet laugh and shook her head, reaching up to brush a stray hair from his forehead. Her gaze softened as she looked at him, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.
“Could be my favorite alien-hunting-experience yet,” she murmured, her thumb tracing a gentle line down his temple.
Mulder’s smile widened, and he tilted his head just enough to nuzzle her hand, his eyes soft.
They held each other’s gaze for a moment longer before their attention drifted back to the valley below, where the concert continued to play. Scully leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as the soft strains of music rose up to meet them, settling around them like a gentle promise.
Summary: Bound by Shadows follows Mulder and Scully as they delve into a perilous kidnapping case with unsettling ties to Scully’s personal life. As the investigation unfolds, a secret from the past resurfaces, forcing Scully to confront memories she had hoped to keep buried. With the stakes higher than ever, the case pulls them deeper into the web of shadowy conspiracies, where emotions run high and the bond between them strengthens, as they realize just how much is on the line - both personally and professionally.
‐
Hello everyone, and welcome to my most cherished headcanon for over 24 years! I discovered the show when I was eleven, but my mom wouldn’t let me watch it on Monday nights when it aired in Germany. So, I snuck out of bed and stood in the doorway to the living room, secretly listening to the new episodes. Christmas Carol and Emily were the first ones airing at that time, and eleven-year-old me didn’t understand what was going on at all. I had a completely different scenario in my head, and even though I eventually figured out what the episodes were about, my version never left me.
I can’t believe I’ve finally put all of it on paper over the last couple of months! So yes, this is a dream come true!
I'm also very happy that I get to start posting during Fictober! I've always returned to the fandom in October because I love the atmosphere and all the wonderful stories so much!
As with my previous works, I want to remind you that I’m not a native speaker and I have no beta-reader.
by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG
Summary: Here you are, the long-awaited sequel to A Few Thousand Plus One. Mulder and Scully’s first date.
He’s driving her nuts. Not because he’s doing something, but because he’s not doing something. It’s been nearly six weeks since he made the insinuation that he was going to ask her out on a date, but there’s been no further mention of it since he brought it up. More importantly, it’s been nearly six weeks since she insinuated she would say yes, and he’s done nothing about it.
She could tell she surprised the both of them by agreeing to a date. She would admit, though not out loud and certainly not to Mulder, that she was curious about what a date with him would be like. He was right, it had been so long since she’d been out with a man she could barely remember when it was, let alone what the guy’s name was. Ron?
Please I’m seriously begging you in the name of the smut loving fandom PLEASE continue the drunk sex toy story!! I swear we will all change scullys soaked sheets no biggie 😎 just continue 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼💜💜💜💜💜
Here I come a month late, lol. Sorry for the delay, I wrote something and then I hated it and almost gave up, but my lovely beta and support @admiralty-xfd recentered to me and thus this was birthed. I hope you like it!
Here’s a link to Part One
Here’s the AO3 Link
“Scully, you look like an icicle,” Mulder laughed as they rushed into her motel room. The seven blocks really didn’t take much time, but the wind burned her cheeks and the coat that served her so well in Maryland really wasn’t suited for the cruelty of an Ohio winter.
“I-I’m f-f-freezing,” she stuttered, making a beeline for the heater to set it on full blast while he slipped his coat off.
She turned around just in time to see him taking off his tie, a sight her eyes usually weren’t privy to, but one she always replicated in her mind after seeing. She saw him smirk at her and she realized her appreciation probably wasn’t as discreet as she thought. The cold had sobered her up a little, but not as much as it probably should have and she still felt clumsy from the alcohol, resulting in her stripping off her coat in a less-than-graceful manner.
“You should get on the bed,” he told her as she tossed her coat on a nearby chair and used it as leverage to slip off her shoes.
“What?” she squeaked, losing her balance and letting her foot hit the floor hard as she stabilized herself.
He laughed at her and clarified, “You’d get warmer if you got under the covers.”
“True,” she nodded. “I think I’m going to slip into my pyjamas first. I’ll only be a minute though, so if you wanna stay here and put on a movie or something, go ahead.”
“I’ll be back, I’m going to do the same,” he responded, slipping through the adjoining room into his own.
Now alone in her room, instead of going to the bathroom, she pulled her bag onto the mattress and shifted around for her pyjamas. She disrobed haphazardly before slipping her shorts up her legs and onto her hips. She shoved her fist in her bag, trying to reach around for her shirt, but only finding miscellaneous work attire.
“What do you want to-shit. I’m sorry,” Mulder apologized. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw Mulder had thrown a hand over his eyes and was comically stumbling back into his room.
His underestimation of how long it took her to get dressed resulted in him getting an eyeful of her bare back and she felt herself smiling at his juvenile reaction to her nakedness. She reached around some more and found her t-shirt, sliding it over her head before calling out, “I’m decent!”
A moment later, a red-faced Mulder came back into the room, adorned in a heather gray shirt and a pair of black boxers, with a sly smile on his face. “I don’t know, I thought you were more than decent earlier,” he joked, throwing himself onto the opposite side of the bed and grabbing the remote control.
“Oh I’m sure you did,” she laughed, untucking her hair from the neckline of her shirt.
Dirty headcanon: Mulder and Scully dry humped like crazy before they officially got it on.
Haha I’m so sorry it took me 5000 years to answer this one. I’ve been thinking about it a lot because honestly dry humping is like one of my favorite tropes. I hope you like it! (Sorry for the lazy proofreading)
Frottage: Four Times Mulder and Scully got a little too close. Major UST.
I
She didn’t even know how to classify what just happened. All she knows is that she definitely felt…he’d just pressed…it was an accident on both their parts.
He’d been trying to show her something in the side room of the office, the room that he hadn’t cleaned out in a while and was a disaster zone. The piles of boxes around them made it look like Mulder was competing for a Guinness record in “Most Mini Replicas of The Leaning Tower of Pisa in an office setting”. Trying to navigate between them resulted in Mulder and her invading each other’s personal space with every turn.
She was a little focused on what happened after, but if she was remembering correctly it Mulder who bumped against the tower behind him, sending heavy boxes tumbling down on top of them. He’d genuinely just been trying to prevent her from getting hurt when he curved his body against hers, an attempt to act as a shield to getting hit.
However, the only thing he really accomplished was pinning her to the desk in front of her as his groin pressed into her lower back. She was a medical doctor, she was a human, she was a sexually active woman, and all of these factors cemented the fact in her mind that, yes, that was Mulder’s erection pressing into her lower back.
She knew that, but for some ungodly reason probably due to shock, she reached behind her and felt what was poking her. She supposed the rational part of her mind was trying to justify it as a flashlight he’d been holding or… there was no or and there was no trying to pretend that the firm, heat pressing into her was anything other than Mulder. A fact confirmed when her hand grazed it and he gasped, bucking into her lightly before retracting his hips as far away as he possibly could.
Eight months before, when Emily had first gotten released from the hospital, social services had brought her back to the children’s center, separating her from Scully for the first time in days. Scully had ridden back with her, holding her tiny little hand all the way there. She’d walked her in, sat with her a minute as she adjusted to the environment, and then quietly explained to her that she was going to be leaving, but not forever. Emily’s little jaw had wobbled, scared, like it had when they’d given her an MRI the first time, and she’d crawled into Scully’s lap and whispered: “Don’t go.”
Every fiber of Scully’s being had wanted to stay with her, ignoring the ice-cold glare of Susan Chamberliss. But before she could answer, the woman had leaned down and gotten Emily’s attention. “Ms. Scully can’t stay today, I’m really sorry. Maybe she can come back tomorrow.”
Emily had spun around in Scully’s lap and stared up at her, silently begging her to fight back. It ached that she couldn’t say no, and Scully had pulled Emily close in a hug. “I’ll see you soon, okay? But I have to do what Ms. Chamberliss says.”
“Dana,” Susan warned. “You should probably get going. Let Emily adjust to being back here.”
With a tight jaw, Scully nodded, and stood up, unable to even look at her daughter’s tiny face.
“Dana?” Emily had asked, her voice still quiet.
She turned. “Yeah, sweetie?”
“Can you find my Graff for me?” It took her a second to understand what she was asking. Her giraffe. Probably a stuffed animal. She hadn’t seen it since Emily was brought to the children’s home before, so it was likely left at the crime scene, which would make it all the more difficult to get back. But those huge, blue eyes were impossible to say no to, and Scully had smiled and nodded.
“I’ll do my best.”
Emily had watched her go that day, the deep, worried look shining in her big, blue eyes.
by: mldrgrl
Rating: NC-17
Summary: There can never be enough all things fics, right?
Scully wakes with a roll of her head and a deep inhalation. Her eyes open wide for a moment, then roll back as she stretches her neck. She’s warm from sleep and from the blanket that scratches her chin. She doesn’t know how long she was out for and struggles to pull her arm free to look at her watch. It’s barely past dinner time.
With a sigh, Scully pushes herself up from the couch and lets the blanket fall to the cushions. She can hear Mulder in the kitchen, water running in the sink. In her stockinged feet, she’s able to sneak up on him, even if that’s not what she’s trying to do. He’s washing their teacups and she slips her arms around his waist and rests her cheek against his back.
Mulder startles just a bit and looks over his shoulder. “Scared me,” he says.
“Sorry.” She doesn’t feel sorry though, she feels something more like contentment.
“You don’t sound sorry.”
Her eyes slip shut and she smiles, her mild chuckle muffled by his soft sweater.
Author Notes: I know I know I’m terrible person for not getting this out sooner. I’m so sorry. Life right? A huge thank you to @peacenik0 for fixing my terrible grammer and making sure this stays in character (grammer can slide but characterization is a big one for me). Thank you to all the wonderful peeps who said they wanted to read more, I love those notes and those totally fuel me through the day with positive energy. Ok so stop rambling and post the dang fic!
the ivf works but Mulder is sleeping with Diana.
Part 1 https://starbuck09256.tumblr.com/post/183232727829/the-bed-youve-made
Part 2 The bed you’ve made
Scully leaves quickly with another chaste kiss on his cheek. That smile of hers is going to be imprinting on his brain. His cheek still tingles from her kisses. His penis still limp from his escapades with Diana. He closes the door. Letting his head rest against the oak door. Fuck he thinks. Diana says nothing gathering her things. The bra shoved under the side of his couch. She looks at him with those cold eyes of hers, he once thought he could seek solace in them, the darkness wrapping him up in a warm cocoon. What the fuck is he doing? What does he do? He told Scully, he fucking told her he didn’t want to change anything. How does a .002% chance work? He thinks of all the times she’s saved his ass, going to the north pole, pulling him out of that shit camper in the middle of nowhere, when they tried to upload him into a simulation. That’s how it works, every time they have a .002% chance of survival and somehow, someway, those odds are in their favor.
Diana stands silently waiting for him to break the tension in the room, with not the impatient sigh he is used to from Scully, not an accusatory tone or doubt creeping into her voice. Diana isn’t like Scully, not in looks, not in spirit, not in mind. After a few short years together, Mulder has seen inside Diana’s mind, she is cold and calculating in a way that shocked him at first. She showed him how simple it is to care and not care all at the same time. That people care only for themselves in that moment, and only if those feelings will benefit them long term.
Diana doesn’t bring any feelings into this, she probably didn’t have any the first time either, now that he thinks about it in a rational way. But she did have the intelligence, his weakness is smart women, women like Scully, Phoebe, not that they are anything alike. But damn if smart isn’t the sexiest thing to him. DIana is no exception to this so smart in execution, in planning, in every last detail. She doesn’t believe in .002% chances. She works each system and finds each loophole, each small flaw and strikes to her full advantage. She took the x-files because they were never going to give them back to him. Used her own leverage to play both sides. At least that’s what she has told him. Another way to steer him towards her own agenda, he wanted to believe so bad that she came back for them, that one day after she had left and he felt destroyed that she would put him back together again the way the x-files had done the first time. She knew, god, she knew that he would do anything to keep the things that make him feel validated. Originally it was her, validating his beliefs that the paranormal might really be an explanation for it all, that the answers were hidden for them to find together, now she was using the same idea to keep them for herself. Anger had raged through him when he found out she had been assigned and not him and Scully. “fox, they weren’t going to hand them back to you. After everything we went through to get them in the first place? Shouldn’t at least one of us have them?” Almost like Scully in rationalizing her position. Scully doesn’t rationalize being a traitor, stealing something away from him. Scully would fight tooth and nail for injustice. But scully like him doesn’t have the files, Diana is holding them hostage. Using his love of mystery and intrigue to keep him close to her, keep him invested in their fucked up version of fuck buddies. She lets him hack into Spenders files, she brings over a case file while wearing lingerie in his favorite color. What is her end game here? Split him up from Scully?
His precious Scully does she have lingerie like this deep navy with lace edges? Would Scully let him use her to his own selfish ends? Is he any better than the supposed man who is his real father? Using women to meet his own selfish needs, playing the odds to propel his own cause? IS he any better than Diana? Hasn’t he used his own mind games on Scully? Keeping her with him by using her own love for him against herself? He pulled that card in the hallway. Manipulated her feelings for him to give her false hope? Was it really false? Was he not working out some hidden desire to have his cake and eat it too? Have Scully and the x-files? What should he do now? Should he say nothing? Pray that Scully doesn’t come back, that she didn’t see the bra. That elation has blinded her extraordinary investigator skills, and buys him some time. He needs time. Diana touches his arm, it’s brief non-threatening, Diana is too good at this, good at making things seem as they are, pretending there is no deep agenda. He looks up at her, losing himself again in pools of black with specs of gold.
“I’ll see you later,” her voice soft and void of any emotion.
He use to love that about her, that she could separate herself so effortlessly. Scully shows emotion, she has rage and pain, fear and anger, and as of just now she has joy and love. How could he get involved with two women at the same time, after having no one for six years? The world is cruel. He swallows hard opening the door for her to step out into the hallway. The hallway he almost kissed Scully. A kiss that luckily ended, because it was out of desperation, desperation to keep her by his side. Isn’t that what he is doing with Diana now, using sex as a desperate plea for her to give him access?
Diana slips past, there is no kiss goodbye, no acknowledgement of what has happened. He groans as closes the door. He’s not sure what the next steps are, he’s not sure he wants to know. He thinks maybe sleep to use his dreams to once again answer his questions. Maybe that’s what has been going on now, he’s been dreaming of Scully, dreaming of a life together. Does he really want that? Or is he trying compensate for his own guilt? A life he doesn’t want or need, a life that might cost him the only thing Diana thinks he cares about. A child though is different, it’s an answer he hasn’t wanted to ask. What’s at the end of the road? Where does this end and how badly does it hurt?
He is lucky, the weekend passes quickly, Scully doesn’t show up again unannounced. She gives him space, he isn’t sure that it’s good, he figures that his luck has clearly run out. She knows about Diana, and she is taking her time to come up with a way to let him out. But now all he thinks about is a daughter with her eyes, a son with his nose. A child with a stubborn loyalty who will be far too smart for their own good. He still doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Does he go to the appointments? Will he get to hear his childs heartbeat in her body. Will he be there to cut the cord? Will she let him? Does he want her to? Does he give up his quest, his crusade and lose sight of justice? What if he does, what if he gives it up and in 5 or 10 years it all shatters anyway because he didn’t bother to stop it? That the day comes while he is sitting in a parent teacher conference discussing why his child already knows how to dissect worms and speak Klingon. But the aliens knocking at the door are where the real fear should lie?
He groans pulling on his running shoes for the third time today. Maybe exhaustion will win out? Maybe their child will love the feel of the wind rushing pass as the sounds of their footfall hit the earth in cadence.
It’s Monday morning. He feels better, he has a plan he is going to play it cool. Take a play out of the Diana book. This is Scullys’ call, she can be the one to tell him what she’s looking for, what she wants from him, and he can hope that saying yes was enough, that she understood this was her decision and while he wants her to be happy he also won’t sacrifice himself. He brings Scully her favorite coffee and a blueberry scone. He wants to see that smile again, the one that lit up her whole face when she told him. He wants to feel her happiness radiating through his body, it’s almost as good as an x-file.
Diana is an issue though, one that he can’t ignore. The file she slipped him yesterday was thrilling, a new case filled with his favorite things. Diana plays games in a way that makes phoebe look like a novice, she’s said nothing of seeing Scully as his house or the conversation, she left and only met him yesterday to give him a breadcrumb but still kissed him deeply. She is playing the same game as him, the wait and see if it works out game. Wait to let Fox fuck it up to let his guard slide. He wonders if this will be the catalyst for her to slip up as well. Will he finally see what her end game is? She was always a master at chess. When they met Gibson all he could think about is how Diana could beat him. Was this the surprised move that will make the queen fall. Will she need to sacrifice herself?
The crowded bullpen of agents on phones as fingers fly across keyboards, he steers clear trying to navigate the cramp quarters. Chatter reaching into his brain makes him miss the basement; the quiet mornings of coffee and crullers especially the sound of the slides clicking through the spindle.There she is in his favorite blue shirt, the one that makes her eyes sparkle slightly more her hair shine so brightly. Has she always looked so breathtaking? Has he been so consumed that he never bothered to notice?
Scully smiles and blushes all at once at him. He can’t help but smile back at her holding up the treats. As he walks to her desk, Mulder wonders what new literal crap Kersh has shoved down their throats this week. She looks up at him. Her eyes shining and her skin glowing in the terrible fluorescent lights.
“Hi,” she chuckles still blushing. You’d think she spent the whole weekend sprawled out in his bed.
“Hey,.. I uh brought you coffee.” he mutters she looks up at him. Has she always smiled like that? Has it always made his heart melt like this. Is he sure this is a good idea? Can he really try to play it cool with her? The only person who sees through him like no one else?
“Is it ummm… decaf?” she whispers the last word. He is confused, they’ve had numerous discussions of decaf coffee being the most pointless thing on the planet, there is a time and place for decaf coffee; and that is never and in the trash. Her hand reaches out to his brushing it briefly.
“Let’s umm go for a quick walk huh? The fresh air will be good.” He follows her as she walks around a desk trying to look incompiscous but running into the edge of the table, biting her lip and groaning. He wants to reach out to her but she shakes her head. She points to the scone left in it’s little white bag on her desk. “Bring the scone, I’m starving.” he grabs it quickly as they head out.
They are sitting on the bench at the mall. The one they always sit at and debate flukeman and AI, where they’ve made the list of people they would come back and haunt if such things are possible. Kersh now in the top five for both of them. She is looking around nervously. He’s nervous too, he isn’t sure what to do, what they are. Why she would ever want to drink decaf? She reaches into the bag and takes a big hunk of scone. Originally he thought they would share like they always do but she is already ripping another large piece off as the sugar crystals scatter across her lips, oh pregnant right . He smiles softly.
“Sorry,” she mumbles between bites covering her mouth with her hand. He sighs looking around at the reflecting pool thinking of a time in this same place not so long ago when Diana said she needed to go to Europe to pursue their joint interest. A temporary assignment to find out what they knew from the inside. He wonders if that is what is going on now, or if the years have molded her resolve to their own agenda.
Scully’s warm hand lands on his arm. Bringing him back to the present. The cherry blossoms are blooming framing them on this small bench with years of meetings.
“where did you go?” her voice curious.
“just thinking about all the times we’ve sat on this bench.” he smiles at her, his inner struggles aside.
She takes a small sip of her coffee. “I’m going to miss this,” she gestures to the coffee. “no full lead for 9 months.” he shallows hard staring out at the reflection of blossoms dancing in the wind. “Mulder, I know it’s a lot to process, and honestly I know that I probably took advantage of our unique relationship in asking you.” he waits trying to still play it cool as her fingertips grip his. She didn’t take advantage he did, he agreed to something trying to keep a balance and now he’s so unsure if he can handle the consequences. He wants to run away like when he was 12.
“What are you looking for here, Dana?” he knows he shouldn’t use those words. He knows he is the one that brought this shit show home to roost. She sighs but doesn’t release his hand. She is warm anchoring him here like she always has. He rubs his face with his free hand. He doesn’t want to pull away from her.
“Ideally?” she asks, hesitant. He feels the nervous energy around them. It’s so different now, they’ve never been really nervous with one another. He turns looks at her, as she licks her lips as she moves her head back to regard him fully.
“yea ideally.” He is curious. She used medical reasons to justify asking him, used her concerns of tampering as another. She takes a big breath. Breathing out slowly and biting her lip. He feels her anxiety, it’s washing over her in waves.
“I would… god this is so hard.” She deflates closing her eyes. She turns fully pulling their hands into her lap. He laughs a little, his surefire partner who backs down from nothing. He reaches up touching her chin smiling at her urging her to continue. He needs these answers before he can deal with everything else. Where are we going with this Scully? What do you need? What can I do? What should I do? Direct me because I’ve done a terrible fucking job doing what I what. He hopes she answers his pleas. Hopes she understand that he needs more guidance than ever right now.
“I want you involved in… well everything as much as you want to be” a smiles plays at her lips.
He sits back surprised.
“I would love it if you could be at the big appointments at least, maybe hold my hand.” She says sheepishly. “I’m scared, i have no idea how to do this and you always..”
She licks her lips again before swallowing hard. “you always center me, make me feel brave.”
He chuckles at her. He centers her, of all the things he has said and done he never imagined he made anyone feel centered. He sits back. He needs to think about what he wants needs to reassess. He needs time.
“when is your next appointment? And um what is it for?” his voice sounds stronger than he feels
She grins. “it’s umm Thursday at 3 for the first ultrasound. It’s umm a big one, we should be able to hear a heartbeat,” she finishes with a whisper.
He nods he stands up pulls her up with him. Tucks a strand of bright red hair behind her ear.
“I’ll be there,”
that megawatt smile is back “really?” she questions, of course she does, she is Dana Scully but he sees the joy shining through her.
“yea, I want to be there for that,” he says smiling.
She has tears in her eyes and she wraps her arms around him. Hugging him fiercely. She pulls back and kisses him. He hesitates but her lips are full and tender. She must sense his hesitation because she pulls back quickly. Muttering a sorry as she picks up the trash.
“sorry, that I’m just..” She trails off embarrassed. He is too.
“We should get back.” he mutters she nods. He follows her out of the park, but doesn’t place his hand on her back. He has just complicated the shit out of his life. His phone rings and he remembers lunch with Diana a new source a new file, a quick fuck at her house. He tells scully in a scruffy voice.
“I have to take this, I’ll see you later,” she nods turning quickly.
He knows she saw the name, and the look on her face proves she did see the bra on his floor. She knows he’s with Diana. His lips still tingle with sweet sugar from her kiss and he isn’t sure how to breathe anymore. As he watches her walk away he sees her shoulders slum as the elation from moments ago brushed off, and defeat takes over her familiar stride.
(Let’s say season 3…a friendship is there, but trust is still fairly surface level.)
He’s spotted it before. A gaze that lingers a little too long. The tip of her tongue gently peeking out from between her lips. A cadence of breath a little more shallow than usual.
It happens rarely, but he notices. Oh boy does he notice it. And it pricks at him just as much as when she looks at another man.
The detective is a brunette. She’s sleek, soft-spoken but clearly well-educated and sharp. Warm skin, even warmer eyes. She’s no doubt attractive, but he barely notices, because his partner is noticing so much harder.
Scully is respectful, professional, attentive. Nothing different there. But despite the crossed arms and the studious tilt of her head as she listens to the woman speak, there is a subtle, relaxed openness that he ordinarily doesn’t see. Scully’s chin is tilted up, exposing her soft throat; her hips are slanted to one side as if to beckon an approach. And her eyes…Jesus her eyes are completely bright and focused.
He wonders, as he does with any man Scully looks at—would she approach the detective later? Compliment her skills? Her ideas? Her smarts? Would the woman be receptive? Reciprocal? Would they go out somewhere and talk and chuckle and bond over the injustices and difficulties of working with men? Would talking turn to gazing? Touching? Kissing? Would he endure having to hear the soft sounds of bliss emanating from beyond the thin walls separating Scully’s motel room from his?
He’s good at torturing himself. And he doesn’t want to admit the reason his brain moves in this dreadful direction. To admit the implications is more torturous than to imagine Scully with anyone else who is not hi…
Stop.
The discussion between the two women finishes, and the detective mentions talking over the results of the autopsy with Scully tomorrow afternoon. Scully smiles and nods. Even as it kills him to observe it, he can’t pull his eyes away. Scully attracted to anyone is a beautiful thing.
He so caught up in staring at her that she clearly notices his observance as the detective walks away. She flushes a little, looks almost sheepish…maybe a little ashamed.
“Sorry,” she whispers hurriedly, and mumbles something about speaking to the coroner to conduct an autopsy. She turns, arms crossed close over her middle as she walks towards the rental car. Now it’s his turn to feel ashamed, as though he somehow caught her in a quiet moment and stepped into an area of her life she isn’t ready (or willing) to share.
He heads back to the car after her feeling disheartened.
The first time I met my boyfriend’s grandparents, I was terrified. First, I really wanted them to like me, and second, he told me they were pretty religious. They’re Roman Catholic, but I’m Jewish, and I didn’t get the impression from the rest of his family that that would upset them, but I wasn’t sure they’d be chill with us dating, and I’m always afraid of those unconscious, anti-semitic micro-aggressions.
Sure enough, within an hour of meeting me they asked if I was religious, in a way that was obviously asking if I had a religion, and which one it was. I calmly told them I was Jewish, and my boyfriend’s grandmother lit up. Her mother was a Syrian who moved to Brooklyn in the early 1900′s and she grew up in a Syrian and Jewish community in Brooklyn and boy wasn’t it nice to have someone around who could help her with her Jewish pastry. It was really pleasant. His grandfather was mostly quiet.
After lunch, he and I shared a cup of coffee and some cookies and I told him about my brothers. He asked if my mom was ok with me dating a gentile. And then he looked around, saw we were alone for a sec, and asked me to follow him out to the garage. In the garage he asked me to take an old picnic basket down from off a cabinet. And then he told me to open it. The moment the lid came off I knew. I knew that shade of red. He told me to take it out and lay it across the floor. It was a Nazi flag. Not just a Nazi flag, but one that was big enough to fly outside a government office, like a massive one. I laid it out, ice in my veins, trying to figure out what was about to happen next. And then he told me to take my shoes off and stand on it.
He told me his vision wasn’t good enough to get into the army, so he snuck on a ship and figured that they’d have to deal with him when he was in Europe, and that’s what happened. He told me he went because they all knew it was bad, and he wanted to help. He told me he took the flag off of some dead Nazis. He told me to go home and tell my mother that I was safe with these goyim she’d never met, that I was loved and welcome and that they’d fight for me. He told me “Never Again”.
He passed away a few years ago, and only after his death, cleaning out his closets did we find his old patches and look up his division. This quiet man who said very little but always shared a cup of coffee with me after lunch was in an anti-tank division, and he and his division liberated camps in Poland. He saw the horrors, first hand.
Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. Today is a day to reaffirm our promise of “Never Again”. Today is a day to remember that the only way for things to get better is to fight. Today is a good day to punch a Nazi. Do it for me. Do it for Grandpa Rocco. Do it for the world.
