An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/9
Fandom: The X-Files
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Holman Hardt, Sheila Fontaine
Additional Tags: MSR, Post-Episode: s06e08 The Rain King
Summary:
When an unusual streak of devastating weather events hits northeast Kansas, the potential for another chapter in the casefile they closed a year ago brings Mulder and Scully back to Kroner.
In the midst of a new investigation, old memories arise: of a shared motel room, and a night they never spoke of...
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
the thing is mulder ripped his heart out a long time ago and is always tossing it up into the sky and juggling it and wordlessly trusts scully to catch it when he’s not paying attention but scully very carefully and quietly pressed her heart into mulder’s hands soon after they met and he didn’t quite realize it even while he’s holding it and carrying it with him
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
For @calimanc, who sent me this prompt two years ago. Thank you to my friends who helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass. Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
@calimanc, do you remember sending me this prompt? It was two years ago to the day. I can’t believe how long this took, but it’s finally done! It grew from a short fic of a few thousand word into a novel-length thing with plot, which was unexpected but fun to write.
A lot of people have helped me along the way through beta-reading and cheerleading: urlovingfriend, @unremarkablehouse, @bakedbakermom, @baronessblixen, and @bookishscully. Thank you all so much; this fic wouldn’t exist without you! The original prompt came from a list by @cecilysass, so I’m tagging you too!
Set in late season 5. This is a finished fic and I will be posting a chapter a day.
Summary:
Following a lead on a case they just can’t seem to solve, an accident leaves Mulder with supernatural powers; the same powers their main suspect seems to posses. In a race against time to stop a series of murders, what could be a key to the case instead puts new obstacles in their way.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The morning light filtering through the blinds was unforgiving, but Fox Mulder’s hangover had been mercifully dulled. Between the four extra-strength Tylenol, a punishingly hot shower, and the intoxicating, lingering memory of Scully’s lips pressing against his forehead, the physical ache in his skull was entirely secondary to the sheer, panicked hammering in his chest.
Because the memories hadn't stopped at the kiss.
As he stood under the scalding water, fragments of the dark apartment trickled back in disjointed, dizzying flashes. The heavy blanket. Her pulse beneath his thumb. The echo of his own rough, slurred voice breaking the silence. He couldn't remember the exact words, just the heavy, devastating shape of what he’d said. Something about being twelve. Something about the dark. The second you walked in. Or had he only thought that part? He squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the cool bathroom tile with a muted groan. God. Even through the blank spaces, he knew exactly how it had felt: like laying his entire soul bare. He had handed her the heaviest truths he carried, and he had absolutely no idea if he had pushed too hard, overwhelmed her, or ruined the fragile peace they had just found.
When he finally dragged himself out of the bathroom, dressed in his suit, the familiar armor settling over him, he found Scully in the kitchen.
She was already dressed in her tailored FBI armor, though the severe lines of her suit were entirely undone by the soft, lovely pink dusting her cheeks. And something else, something quieter, harder to name, the way she wouldn’t quite look at him. She was standing at the counter, her movements uncharacteristically jerky and nervous as she poured coffee from a French press.
"Morning," he rasped, his voice still thick.
Scully jumped slightly, nearly spilling the coffee. "Morning." She quickly set the press down, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the countertop. She slid a steaming mug across the kitchen counter, right next to a brand-new, bristles-still-wrapped toothbrush. "I, um... I made it strong. Black."
"Thank you." He stepped up to the counter, reaching for the mug. As his knuckles brushed the quartz countertop, his eyes dropped to the plastic-wrapped toothbrush sitting innocently beside his coffee. A slow, dry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He picked it up, twirling it thoughtfully between his long fingers.
"You know," he murmured, his voice still carrying a rough, gravelly edge from the night before, "I vaguely remember you saying last night that if I brushed my teeth, you would make out with me."
Scully immediately brought her ceramic coffee mug up to her mouth, using the rim to entirely mask the brilliant, uncontrollable smile breaking across her face. She took a slow sip, her icy blue eyes dancing with amusement over the top of the cup.
"Your memory is fuzzy, Mulder," she corrected smoothly, lowering the mug just enough to speak. "I said perhaps another time."
Mulder tilted his head, holding her gaze with a sudden, heavy intensity. He set the wrapped toothbrush back down on the counter. "Well," he said, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer, "I am just letting you know that I did, in fact, brush my teeth this morning with my existing toothbrush. Not that I don't appreciate the new one."
The silence stretched, thin and fragile.
Scully stared at him. The air in the kitchen completely stopped moving. She allowed her gaze to drop for a fraction of a second, taking in the damp, dark spikes of his hair and the familiar, broad-shouldered drape of his suit. It defied every known biological and medical law that a man who had consumed half a bottle of bourbon less than eight hours ago could stand in her kitchen looking this devastatingly handsome. It was entirely unfair.
She studied the playful, hopeful vulnerability shining in his eyes, a stark contrast to the heavy, broken confessions of the night before. Slowly, deliberately, Scully set her coffee mug down on the counter. The ceramic clinked loudly in the quiet room.
She closed the distance between them with a fluid, confident grace that made Mulder’s breath hitch. She paused just short of him, long enough to make it a decision. Long enough to let him stop her.
She stepped right into his airspace, tilted her chin up, and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss perfectly against his lips. Soft, but deliberate.
She pulled back, the sudden absence of her warmth leaving the air between them instantly colder. The crisp lines of her tailored blazer settled as her rigid professional posture fell seamlessly back into place. She turned on her heel, the sharp, decisive click of her shoe against the tile signaling her full intention to grab her briefcase and retreat behind her armor.
For a microsecond, Mulder was completely paralyzed, the ghost of her lips still searing against his own, caught somewhere between utter disbelief and reverence.
But as she took a second step away from him, the shock abruptly burned off, replaced by a dark, adrenaline-fueled surge of pure, feral instinct. His breath caught, a sharp, almost audible rasp in the quiet kitchen. Something fundamental, instinctive, and long-denied in him simply gave way.
He reached out, his large hand snapping forward to wrap securely around her wrist, his thumb pressing exactly over her frantic pulse point.
With a ragged, breathless sound, he hauled her backward. Scully let out a startled gasp as she spun around, her momentum carrying her flush against the solid wall of his chest.
Before she could even process the sudden shift in gravity, Mulder leaned down and captured her mouth. His hands flew to her waist, gripping her with a desperate, bruising strength as he backed her up against the edge of the counter. In one fluid, effortless motion, he lifted her off her feet and set her right onto the cold quartz. Scully gasped into his mouth, her legs instinctively parting to let him step flush between her thighs. But her hands anchored him just as firmly, her fingers tightening in his damp hair like she was actively choosing not to stop this.
But he didn't rush. He slowed it down, drawing out the agonizing anticipation. The kiss deepened slowly this time. Not frantic. Exploring. Learning. Her lips were softer than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine, yielding, supple, answering him in a way that made something in his chest violently ache. His hand came up, almost hesitant at first, his thumb brushing along her jaw before his long fingers slipped into her hair, not gripping, but threading, cradling, as if memorizing the weight of her there. His tongue swept past her teeth, tasting the intoxicating blend of mint and dark roast coffee, devouring her with a deliberate, starving heat that made her shiver against the cold stone beneath her.
Scully exhaled softly against his mouth, a breathy, helpless "Ohh..." the sound barely there, but enough to completely undo him.
His thumb shifted at the base of her skull, tilting her head back just slightly, changing the angle, drawing it out, letting it linger until the moment stretched thin and electric between them. Her hand found his wrist, then slid upward, fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulder as if steadying herself.
“Mulder…” she breathed, the word soft, unguarded, half warning, half something else entirely.
He answered by leaning in closer, his forehead brushing hers for the briefest second before his mouth found hers again, deeper now, more certain. A quiet, involuntary sound escaped him, low, rough, a vibrating growl of pure need, before he could stop it.
His free hand moved slowly this time, deliberately, sliding down from her shoulder and tracing the delicate, rigid line of her spine, learning her by touch. He wasn't hurried; he was feeling the shape of her, mapping the curve of her back through the thin fabric of her blouse, committing every inch to memory.
Scully inhaled sharply at the contact, a tremulous "Ahhh..." escaping her bruised lips as her fingers curled tighter into his shirt. The air in the kitchen shifted. Warmer. Thicker. Suffocatingly intimate.
His hand continued its descent, pausing at the small of her back before sliding lower. His fingers slipped roughly beneath the hem of her blouse, his large, warm palm searing against the bare skin of her lower back. With a sudden, possessive certainty, his hands gripped the curve of her ass, his fingers digging deeply into her flesh as he lifted her and dragged her fully forward until her center was pressed flush and hard against his pelvis.
They both stilled for a fraction of a second at the undeniable, straining friction of his arousal trapped flush against her. He was thick, entirely hard, the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing insistently against the seam of her slacks, impossible to ignore.
Breathing. Listening. Feeling the moment teeter on the edge of something monumental.
Then, she leaned into it, her hips rolling involuntarily against his thigh, chasing the heavy ache throbbing between her legs. That was all the permission he needed.
The kiss escalated from exploratory to scorching in a matter of seconds. Their breathing lost all rhythm, uneven, frantic, panting overlaps filling the quiet kitchen in a way that made everything else disappear. She moaned, a soft, undone sound vibrating deep in her throat as his chest pressed hard against hers, the friction sending a heavy, liquid heat pooling directly between her thighs, drawing a deep, aching warmth low in her body that made her grip him tighter without thinking.
Mulder surged upward into her, his gaze flicking to hers for a fraction of a second, checking, asking, and when she didn’t pull away, everything in him let go. Scully responded by arching into him, her thighs tightening instinctively around his waist to anchor him closer.
"Mulder," she breathed out, tearing her mouth away, gasping for air as her hands slid down to grip the lapels of his suit jacket. "Mulder, wait... we are going to be late."
He didn't stop, his breath hot and ragged as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses just at the corner of her mouth, then along the line of her jaw. He sucked a stinging, bruising kiss right over her frantic pulse, his teeth grazing the tender flesh as each one trailed fire down her neck. One of his hands slid from her hip, trailing hungrily up the back of her thigh to bunch the fabric of her slacks, pulling her impossibly tighter against his rigid length.
"We're the FBI, Scully," he murmured against her skin, his lips brushing her pounding pulse, his voice lowering into something that felt less like a joke and more like a promise. "We dictate the timeline."
She let out a breathy, unsteady laugh, gently pushing against his chest to force him back an inch. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, his green eyes blown wide and dark with a wildly goofy, completely giddy grin breaking across his flushed face. He looked like a man who had just won the lottery and still couldn't quite believe the winning ticket was real.
He let his forehead drop forward to rest against hers, a long, shaky exhale escaping his parted lips. He didn't step back entirely, his hands remaining securely anchored to her waist as his thumbs traced mindless, reverent circles against her sides. The blinding adrenaline was slowly leveling out, replaced by a warm, heavy reality that was almost too massive to process.
Scully smiled back, a soft, breathless thing. Her hands slid down from his lapels to rest flat against his chest, her palms absorbing the frantic, echoing beat of his heart. It was a silent, physical tether that assured him she wasn't running away. They stayed like that for a long moment, simply breathing the same air in the quiet kitchen.
He cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly between her knees, trying to catch his breath. "So, um," he started, his trademark awkwardness rearing its head in the face of this terrifying, glorious new frontier. "Just for clarification... is kissing allowed now?"
Scully looked down at him, her heart overflowing. She offered him a radiant, devastating smile and gave a single, definitive nod. "Only here, Mulder," she said softly, reaching out to smooth the collar of his shirt. "At work, we are professional."
Mulder’s grin widened until it practically split his face. He nodded enthusiastically, completely buzzed on the sheer euphoria of crossing the line. "Right. Professional. Absolutely."
He leaned in and stole one more quick, breathless kiss. "I can be professional."
________________________________________________
FBI Headquarters- Laboratory
By ten a.m., that same electric tension had followed them all the way to the forensics lab at Quantico.
Scully was in her element. She had traded her suit jacket for a white lab coat and was leaning over a stainless-steel examination table, a pair of tweezers deftly sorting through the petri dishes of evidence she had so fiercely wrestled away from Deputy Miller.
They were working in perfect, seamless tandem, a non-verbal dance they had perfected over the years. Mulder held out his hand; Scully passed him a file without looking up. He slid a magnifying glass across the table just as she reached for it. But today, the rhythm was heightened. Every time their shoulders brushed, a jolt went through them. Every time they accidentally caught each other staring, they both quickly cleared their throats and stared aggressively at the evidence.
Mulder stepped up right beside her, close enough that the crisp, clean scent of her soap, now tangled with the memory of coffee and heat and her mouth, was scrambling his senses.
"The lab results just came back on the dirt we scraped from the underside of the Tanner boy's sedan," Scully said, her voice dropping into the low, rapid-fire cadence they reserved exclusively for each other. She tapped a glossy printout with her pen, her hand trembling just a fraction. "You were right about the extreme heat, Mulder. The sand in the dirt wasn't just burned. It was melted completely into glass."
"Like a bomb blast?" Mulder asked, leaning in closer. His shoulder brushed hers.
"Similar, but the chemistry is wrong," she murmured, her eyes darting nervously across the data. "Melting terrestrial dirt into glass takes a sudden, incredibly intense flash of heat, thousands of degrees. But there's no crater, Mulder. No explosive damage to the car itself. Just a targeted, massive blast of heat directly underneath the car."
"And the radiation?"
"Small, weird spikes," she answered, her brow furrowing. She pushed that same lock of red hair behind her ear, a movement Mulder tracked with entirely unprofessional focus. "Whatever caused that heat also left a strange radioactive footprint behind."
"So," Mulder said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "What's the official FBI stance, Dr. Scully? Did Mark Tanner spontaneously combust, or did he park on top of a mini-volcano?"
Scully shot him a familiar, fond look of exasperation, her scientific mind clicking into high gear and finally giving her something solid to hold onto. "I am looking at the possibility of a freak electrical event. Something like ball lightning or a severe, highly localized storm. A massive surge of electricity would explain the extreme heat, the melted glass, and why the car battery was completely drained of power."
Mulder turned to face her completely. A slow, lopsided smile broke through the heavy tension in his jaw. "A freak electrical event," he repeated, the gravel in his voice completely at odds with his teasing tone. "You know, Scully, if you keep throwing around phrases like 'freak event', they're going to revoke your FBI Science badge and stick your desk right next to mine permanently."
Scully flushed, fighting a losing battle against a small smile. "It is a documented atmospheric anomaly, Mulder."
"It's a gateway drug to little green men," he countered. He stepped effortlessly into her space, bracing one hand on the edge of the lab table. The movement boxed her in just slightly, entirely on instinct. His large frame cast a shadow over her, the heat of his chest hovering mere inches from her shoulder as his teasing smile faded into something much more intense.
"Besides," he added skeptically, his voice dropping into a serious rumble. "Ball lightning is unpredictable, Scully. It's a chaotic act of nature. It doesn't selectively target healthy twenty-year-old men and leave their cell phones sitting perfectly on the console. And it certainly doesn't explain the footprint anomaly I found at the scene."
"Mulder, a sudden lightning strike could have severely disoriented him..."
"He took two steps out of his car and vanished," Mulder countered, his voice dropping another octave, the sheer intensity of his gaze anchoring her in place. "He didn't walk away. He went up. A hovering craft with a massive electrical field explains everything. The field drains the battery. The exhaust heat from the ship hits the ground directly beneath the car, melting the dirt. And the beam pulls him right out of his shoes."
Scully tilted her head, her icy blue eyes locked onto his green ones.
"A hovering craft," Scully whispered, entirely forgetting to raise her usual scientific objections.
"I think we need to look at the airspace radar data for the nights they vanished," Mulder added, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer.
He didn't stop leaning. He deliberately pushed past the invisible line she had drawn in her kitchen, boxing her in against the table until their noses were practically brushing.
"Though," he murmured, dropping his voice to a low, raspy whisper that had absolutely nothing to do with the case, "... I think we're overdue for lunch."
Scully’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, a soft, helpless smile broke across her face. "We are on the clock, Mulder," she breathed, her eyes fluttering half-shut as she happily surrendered to his gravity, her hands coming up to rest lightly against his waist.
"I'm pretty sure FBI guidelines mandate a midday meal," he countered. He attempted a suave, seductive smirk, but it quickly melted into a boyish, overwhelmingly eager grin as he bumped his forehead gently against hers. "And I have to confess, Scully... I have this sudden, intense craving for honeydew."
Scully let out a quiet, giddy laugh, tilting her head slightly, completely lost in the warm, electric bubble they were building.
"Pardon me, Fox."
The voice was smooth, cultured, and slid into the room like a blade.
The spell didn't just break; it shattered.
Diana Fowley was leaning casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed over a manila folder, her dark eyes tracking the lingering proximity of their bodies and the sudden, guilty flush creeping up Scully's neck.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Diana murmured, stepping into the lab with the unhurried confidence of a woman who believed she owned the room. "But Assistant Director Skinner asked me to run this down to you. It’s the military airspace radar data you requested. He also asked to see you in his office immediately."
Scully didn't say a word. She stood perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her chin tipped up in a mask of absolute, impenetrable indifference. But the damage was instantaneous. The soft, breathless woman from three seconds ago vanished behind a wall of pure ice.
Mulder didn't move toward Diana. He held his ground, his body subtly angling to keep himself positioned squarely between Diana and the table where Scully stood, shifting his weight just enough to completely block Scully from Diana's line of sight. He reached out and snatched the folder from Diana’s hand with barely concealed impatience.
"Pertaining to what?" Mulder asked, his voice entirely flat.
"I have no idea," Diana replied, though her smile suggested otherwise. She stepped closer, deliberately invading his personal space as she leaned around his shoulder to look directly at Scully, then back to Mulder. "Let me know if you need help deciphering the Pentagon's encryption, Fox. Some of these black-ops codes take a bit of our... shared history to unpack. You know where to find me."
She turned and walked out, the click of her heels echoing down the hallway.
Mulder watched her go for only a second, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone, before turning all of his attention back to Scully.
She had already stepped out from behind his shadow, snatching the folder from him. She was pulling out the report, her eyes scanning the pages with robotic precision, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the paper.
Mulder hesitated, entirely loath to leave her when the air between them suddenly felt so fragile. He leaned down, intentionally catching her line of sight.
"I'll see you later," he murmured, offering her a soft, lopsided smile designed specifically to melt the ice Diana had just brought into the room. "Try not to solve the entire case before I get back. You know how fragile my ego is."
Scully didn't look up from the file, but a tiny, involuntary smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, some of the rigid tension instantly leaching out of her spine at the familiar tease. She lifted her gaze, the icy blue thawing as she met his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Mulder.”
He turned to leave, his professional instincts warring violently with the lingering, intoxicating pull of their private bubble. When he reached the door, he paused, his hand on the frame, and glanced back over his shoulder.
Scully was still leaning over the stainless-steel table, biting her lower lip in concentration as she fiercely focused on the data. Her shoulders were still tight with an unspoken insecurity she would never admit to, the overhead fluorescent lights catching the red glint in her hair.
Watching her from across the room, the fierce, vulnerable set of her shoulders illuminated under the harsh lights, he realized something terrifying and wonderful.
Protect the partnership, Maggie Scully’s voice echoed in the back of his mind.
The partnership wasn't what needed protecting anymore.
