Talking About All of Robotnik's Canonical Love Interests
Part Nine: Agent Stone, the Sonic movie series 2020, 2022 & 2024 (find previous part here)
I won't pretend like Agent Stone is some niche character only appearing in one episode of a 30+ year old cartoon; you know who he is. As one of two male love interests, it comes as a bit of a surprise that Stone doesn't stray from what is largely Robotnik's established type in personality. Stone is somewhat of a doormat. He and Ivo do genuinely love each other, but there's a clear power imbalance in their relationship that prevents it from being stable and healthy.
I'm not going to into too much detail, once again because I'm assuming we all know the basics. The only out-there thing about their relationship is probably whatever kinky shit this-
"It's not your fault, Enid, and there is nothing that can be done about it. It's just the way thing are. Goody did tell me I'm destined to be alone".
"I'm- I'm so sorry, Wednesday" Enid couldn't help but whisper, not daring to look into dark eyes. "If only I..."
"If only you nothing, mi corazón", Wednesday interrupted firmly. "It wasn't your choice to begin with, and it's not something you did. Besides, even if you had a say in it, why would you choose an Addams? Even more, me?"
Enid's head snapped up. She felt her fur appearing at the back of her neck and standing up, while quiet growling started deep in her chest.
"What do you-? How are you even-? Gods, Wednesday, I never wanted to strangle you more than now!" Enid decided to ignore how Wednesday gulped, because she didn't look scared at all and Enid was too mad right now to unpack it. Her claws went deep into the wood of the bench.
"Why wouldn't I?! You are the most intelligent, cool, scary, capable, caring and beautiful person I know! I would be so lucky to- wait, I am so lucky and honored to have you as my soulmate so don't ever say something so, so... so stupid to me again!"
She ended her speech (which with every passing second became more embarrassing but no less true) right into Wednesday's shocked face. With widely open eyes she looked very cute right now.
Enid felt metal taste, only now noticing that her fangs came out too and torn a side of her bottom lip.
Wednesday slowly brought her hand to the place where a drop of blood was about to fall. But instead of wiping it, she smudged it more, shivering just a bit when Enid's breath grazed her finger.
"Eres muy hermosa en este momento", Wednesday breathed out with almost dazed look in her eyes, before catching herself.
Enid caught her retrieving hand, pressing it to her cheek, nuzzling a bit, absentmindedly searching her wrist for the scent gland she knew Wednesday as a human couldn't have.
"Enid, I would prefer to finish my book, before dying. Can you let me go?"
"No can do", now almost halfway to wolfing out, Enid didn't bother trying to understand where her sudden obsession came from. "You see, my soulmate was thinking badly about herself, I should reassure her".
She found a spot where scent was stronger and bit there.
"I was just objectively speaking- mhn", Enid bit harder into small wrist, following with sharp eyes, how Wednesday blocked her mouth with her other hand.
You see, if not for the full moon aproaching and pouring hormones into her blood, perhaps Enid wouldn't have almost transformed from sheer irritation. Maybe she would silently listen to the story only to confide herself in the room to think and overthink things, hurting Wednesday and herself.
"Say, Wens, how can someone check if they're an Addams' soulmate?" Wednesday glared at her, even if she still didn't take her hand back. Something primal in Enid preened at it. Wednesday was clearly starting to be mad, but she seemed almost helpless to resist her soulmates attention, even though she sure could.
"As I said, they can't be truly happy with another romantic partner", Wednsday tucked a strand of raven hair behind her ear in frustration, even her cheeks were not their usual deadly white. Her hair was longer now than when they were at their first meeting three years ago. And now she started to wear it loose at home more often, despite not liking being the split image of her mother.
"Go on".
"They are immediately attracted to their respective Addams and wants to be closer to them despite everything".
"Interesting", even if Enid was listening attentively, but the image of Wednesday squirming because she soothed her bite with the tongue, was starting to make her head feel hazy.
"They are- mhn, feel the urge to protect their soulmate at all cost. And the most important, after they meet their Addams they become unable to have any romantic contact with other people".
Enid froze right before biting a second time a little higher. Her fangs and claws rectracted.
"Have you finally came to your senses? Honestly, have you just wanted to tease me? I'm a bit disappointed, to be honest. Even if the full moon not far. You knew, I wouldn't joke about that and it will be painful when we retu-"
Enid just sat there dumbfounded. Did Wednsday not know? Has she had no idea?
So when she kept accidentally extend her claws when kissing Ajax, it wasn't just nerves. And when she felt the urge to get Wednesday near and safe and looking at her, it wasn't just friendship. And when she went into the woods not wolved out to protect her, it wasn't just loyalty.
Enid started to giggle. It explained so much! And if Wednesday wasn't so pessimistic all this time and explained, everything would've been different.
"Enid? Are you alright?" See, even if Wednesday seemed cold, she was caring. "Have your hormones gone to your head?"
"You are silly", Enid managed between laughter.
"Mi amor, are you okay?" Wednesday started to sound worried, bending over to Enid, who was maniacally giggling on the ground.
"I'm not. I found my soulmate, realized I've been in love with her for three years, and learned that my soulmate wanted a gruesome death so much she forgot to ask me if I love her. Isn't it a bit silly?"
Wednesday almost toppled over, and Enid tugged her stupid, stubborn, the most perfect soulmate into her arms.
"Hi, I'm Enid", she said, smiling in bewildered dark eyes, that slowly started to soften with tears and soul-crashing relief. "I think you are gorgeous inside and out and many other things I'll tell you throughout our whole lives. I've loved you since I saw you, and I'm really glad you love me too".
Someday Wednesday will make her swear she won't tell a soul that her soulmate cried.
Someday Enid will scold her for keeping all to herself, while kissing all over her tear-soaked face.
Someday they'll tell everyone to the chorus of "well dah".
But now there is just one thing that is more important than anything.
It is to sniffle a little because Enid is not made from stone and there is her love in her arms.
Tom drifted lazily in the syrup-heavy haziness of coming awake. In no rush to wake up, he snuggled into the warm pillow under his head, feeling like he had something to do, but letting it go for once.
He's a person too, can't always be The Iceman Kazansky, he deserves and day off and cuddles goddammit! Preferably with a 5'6 pilot with big green eyes and an adorable crooked smile that secretly made Ice melt evertime. But thats not going to happen, Mav doesn't even like men and they've only just managed to become friends after that disastrous first meeting.
Honestly, Tom just didn't have the brains to spare to realise he had inadvertently insulted the incredibly pretty short pilot instead of flirting with him, he was five glasses of vodka ice deep and considered it a win that he hadn't dropped to his knees then and there in front of the whole bar to beg the dark haired man for a date or even just a night.
Tom sighed gustily and pushed those thoughts away, instead focusing on and thoroughly enjoying the strong gentle fingers carding through his hair, pushing it back off his face. A soft humming came from above his head somewhere, a lilting soothing melody, the low vibrations under Toms cheek were quite soothing....
Wait.....WHAT?!?!?!
Toms eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply, pushing himself up and away from the warm, breathing person beneath him. The magic fingers were taken away and Tom forced down a pathetic whine at the loss, resisting the urge to snuggle back down into the warmth again and beg the hands to play with his hair. Sleep and exhaustion warned at his tired mind and body, dulling his mind and making his eyelids extremely hard to keep open.
'No, focus' he thought sternly, turning wide frantic blue eyes up to meet-
Bright forest green half lidded eyes, heavy with sleep and something else watching him right back from under a fringe of pitch black messy hair, somehow still adorable with a riotous bedhead. And a very familiar mischievous smile that he'd know anywhere.
Maverick fucking Mitchell.
Gods, he was still somehow adorably sexy all sleep ruffled and warm, chest bare apart from his dog tags resting between his firm pecs, which had been Ice's pillow a few minutes ago. Tom dragged his eyes back up and contemplated how into fix this, preferably with his head buried in Mavericks tits again. Heaven.
'No Tom, time travelling back to sleep on his chest for longer has to be some form of unethical or something, bad Tom bad!.....but maybe??'
It then occurred to Tom that he had been staring at Maverick for several minutes with his eyes wide, mouth open and not saying a word.
"Uhhh"
'Shit he looks so pretty like this, could look at him every morning, could make him really happy and wake him up with my-NO NO NO ABORT ABORT!!'
"Uhhh wha-" Toms voice trailed off, brows drawn together and desperately trying to maintain his composure. Ice cold, no mistakes. He's the Iceman. He can do this.
"Morning Ice, how'd you sleep?" Maverick grated out, voice at least an octave deeper than his normal register, smile softer and eyes amused at Toms probably very visible confusion.
Tom could feel his brain leaking out his ears at Maverick rumbled question. Red heat slowly spread across his face, covering his cheeks ear to ear, lighting him up in a brilliant blush.
Well there goes that ice cold composure. Oh well.
Although, Tom would like to see someone try keep their cool when faced with a very hot sleep mussed, half-naked Maverick Mitchell reclined lazily in their bed, looking like something out of a magazine and his deepest dreams all at once.
Green eyes swept over Toms face, eyeing his blush with a slow grin spreading across his face. A calloused hand came up from the rumpled sheets and gently caressed his red cheek.
To Toms eternal mortification, he let out a squeak as the hand touched his face and his blush spread down his neck and collarbone. Mavericks sharp eyes missed nothing and followed its progress with thinly veiled interest, lingering on Toms exposed chest and below , where the sheets had slipped down to tangle around Toms hips.
By now, Tom was thoroughly embarrassed and more than a little turned on. Coolness and composure long gone, he abandoned all sense and reason, and ducked his head down to hide against Mavs chest.
'Oh how the mighty have fallen' Tom thinks hysterically. 'How is this my life?!? How do I deal with this?!?!'
Very confused but with no shame left, Tom nuzzled against the soft skin beneath his face, burrowing deeper. Maybe if he hides for long enough, he'll wake up alone in his bed and this'll will all just be a very realistic morning dream and hell wake up alone in his big lonely bed. Wouldn't be the first time.
A sigh from below jostled his head gently, and Tom actually moans softly when the hands start playing with his hair again, body involuntarily relaxing, going boneless against Mavericks body, and eyes rolling back at the contact.
Nope, no dignity left. Not a one.
Tom shifted slightly to get comfortable, careful not to discourage those wonderful, wonderful fingers in his hair, limbs sliding through his rumpled blues sheets and-
Wait. These sheets are light grey. That pillow isn't mine. Nor is that bedside table. Or that lamp. Or the picture featuring Goose Bradshaw and his wife at the beach.
No. No no no no no no no.
He's in Mavericks house.
He's in Mavericks room.
He's in Mavericks bed.
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck.
Toms body stiffens again, mortification bolting through him and ripping him from he hazy relaxed state Mavericks petting seems to put him in. He tensed to get up, find his clothes and apologise profusely and-
Blunt nails lightly scratched behind his ears and a broad hand smoothed over the expanse of his shoulders and neck, massaging the tensions away. Tom inadvertently released his tense posture and melted back down into Mav at the relief and pleasure.
Tom suppresses another low moan, warring with himself at getting up or relaxing into he rare comfort.
Frustrated tears stung at his eyes, because he needed to ego up and apologise and go back to keeping away and being just wingmen with Mav, but at the same time Tom didn't want to.
He wanted to stay right here cradled in Mavericks warm, strong arms and not think about the world or having to be ice cold and responsible.
Tom bunched his shoulders up and took a shuddering breath to calm himself.
Warm, god so warm, hands swept across to gently frame his face and lift it to meet concerned soft green eyes.
"Tom, whats wrong darling?"
'Darling?? Oh sweet merciful gods-'
Tom shuddered under the warmth and worry radiating Maverick. He never stood a chance. He was long gone. Had been since Top Gun. Heck, since the first time he saw a cocky, tiny dark haired pilot strut into the O club in Miramar with a pretty face and an adorable smile.
Time to face the firing squad.
Tom sniffed and looked into those enchanting eyes.
"Mav... Pete. I'm so sorry. I..I uh... don't know how I ended up here. Im-"
"Shhh darling, it's okay. I don't mind Tommy, you're okay. You're safe."
Tom could feel himself melt again at the nickname and endearment. Gods he is so in love with this man.
"No Pete, I need to tell you, I-I just. I wanted tk go home last night and you...you're that for me."
"I- Tom"
"I was tired and sore and hungry and just plain missing you. I needed you. I needed my home. Cause that is what you are for me Pete. You're my everything. My North Star. My Sunshine and my Rainstorms and all my Love. And gods- I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Cause I know you're it for me. You're my whole goddamned world. And I'll love you till the stars burn out."
A some point in his confession, Tom shut his eyes, unable to bear seeing the confusion a nd worry turn to disgust or hatred in those big green eyes he adores.
Once again, two warm hands catch his jaw and caress his cheeks, pulling his gaze up to meet Pete's eyes. A soft open and adoring expression graced Petes face.
"God darling-" Pete rasped, voice caught wig emotion, "you're a wonder, so brave and amazing Tom, I dont know how you dont see how trult lovely you are. I love you too darling. I love you deeper than the seas and more than all the skies. I love your strength and your kindness, your stubborn expression and how you never give up on those you love. Gods how could anyone not love you Tommy. You're made for love. And I love you so much- how could I not?"
Tom leaned forward in Petes hold and gently, softly connected their lips for the first time. They traded soft warm kisses, slowly exploring and loving each other. Tom sniffed and opened his eyes to look at his love, Maverick staring back up at him in pure awe and wonder, amazed at how lucky he was.
Tom lost his fight holding the tears at bay at Petes last words, a choked sob bursting out weakly, and tears streaming down. He probably looked a tearstained mess, it Pete only smiled like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Mature | 3.4k words | MSR, AU
—
October 13, 1995
Mulder sat alone in his apartment, head in his hands, staring at the floor and thinking. Diana was gone—her things gone, most of the furniture, even the crock pot his mother gave them for their wedding. He wanted to believe that all of this wasn’t his fault, but he felt like a failure for the way their marriage had ended. And for the decisions he’d been forced to make because of it. At his feet was a lone cardboard box of photocopies, the most important documents he was able to salvage. It was the all he had left of the X-Files.
His clothes were also boxed up, along with his books, his trophies, his diplomas and knickknacks. Tomorrow morning, a moving truck would arrive, and he would say goodbye to this place forever. He wasn’t sorry. Just sad, a little ashamed. He’d let Diana make a fool of him here, let her seduce truths out of him while he was blindly manipulated for years. He’d planned to sulk alone until it was time to load the truck, but a knock on the door startled him. He opened it to three familiar faces.
“Well well well,” Frohike said. “If it isn’t the spooky birthday boy on Friday the 13th.” The little man shoved a bottle of Jack Daniels into Mulder’s chest and pushed into the apartment.
“Happy Birthday, man.” This from Langly who toted three pizzas, which he tossed onto the coffee table. Byers echoed the sentiment, carrying a mysterious white box under his arm.
“What are you guys doing here?” Mulder asked, not unkindly.
“Couldn’t let you sit alone on your birthday, could we? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”
“We do?”
Frohike was digging around in the kitchen cabinet for glasses, but they were almost all packed away. He settled for a quartet of coffee mugs and plastic novelty cups. “Yes! Imminent divorce and new beginnings! Fighting the good fight!” He carried the dishes in and passed them around.
“We’re gonna miss you, Mulder,” Byers said. “But we all agree this is a good step. You can do some really good work this way.”
“Then why do I feel so crappy?” Mulder poured shots of the Jack Daniels into the mismatched cups.
“When’s the last time you saw Scully?” Langley asked, flipping open the first pizza and digging in for a slice.
“Last week.” Mulder frowned.
“Well, there’s your answer. Cheers.” Frohike knocked mugs with Mulder and threw back a shot. “All in good time, my man.”
Mulder downed his shot with a wince and reached for a slice of pizza. “What’s in the box?”
Langley waggled his eyebrows. “Goodies,” he said.
“Open it up,” Byers tapped the lid of the unmarked container.
Inside were several gadgets, one of which looked like a large gray brick, and at least two bulky phones with fat antennas.
Byers explained, “Those are hacked satellite phones that will connect from anywhere. They’re essentially untraceable and should hold their battery for several days between charges. Good for off-grid work.”
Langley was too excited to wait for him to ask about the brick. “And this one’s a hacked satellite modem. You’ll have internet no matter how remote you are. New tech, definitely not consumer hardware.”
“So you can stay in touch,” Byers added.
At the bottom of the box was a new laptop, which Mulder was sure had a range of nonstandard additions and upgrades.
“And we’re gonna come out to visit,” Frohike said. “Soon. Maybe this winter if that’s okay.” If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think the man was choking up. He was touched, and another wave of sadness washed over him.
“Thanks guys,” he said, voice thick.
—
San Diego, CA
The warm California air made Scully think of her childhood—fond memories with Melissa on base housing, sticky summers when freckles appeared on all the Scully children’s noses. She drove up in front of a small house that was so like the one in which she’d spent those years. She double checked the address against the one on her paper; it was right, though she couldn’t imagine this unassuming abode as the site of any secret research. There was a small garden out front, wind chimes hanging from the porch roof. She breathed in deeply. There was no reason not to go in now except the terrifying thundering of her heart and the sense that there was no going back after this. She opened the driver’s side door and got out.
On the porch, she was greeted by two unsmiling men—not hired muscle, she thought. Maybe doctors in plainclothes to blend in with the suburban atmosphere. They wore khakis and polo shirts and the looked around, suspicious, before letting her in. Beyond the foyer, the inside of the house couldn’t be any more different than its outside. It was sterile, white, and filled with beeping machines and medical equipment.
“This way,” one of the men said. He led her up the stairs to the second floor landing, where a woman in scrubs was backing out of a room, closing the door behind her. The man led Scully to the left, to an open bedroom door that was just as sterile, just as white as the downstairs. Here, though, a crib sat in the corner—also white—with a mobile of farm animals hanging over it. In the center of the room stood Diana Fowley. Scully’s eyes ping-ponged between the crib and the woman she didn’t trust at all.
“Agent Scully,” Diana said.
“Not anymore.”
The other woman’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Right, of course.”
“Where is she?” Scully’s heart was pounding, and she wouldn’t allow herself to think about what—or who—was behind the other doors of this nightmare suburban experiment.
“In the crib,” Diana said, stepping aside to let Scully see. “She’s sleeping.”
Scully took three steps closer. She couldn’t breathe. As she approached, she saw a tiny figure in a onesie covered in stars, little fingers curled into fists on either side of her auburn head. “Oh my god,” she whispered.
The child looked perfect. She moved her lips into a subtle dreamy frown, and her long lashes lay against pink cheeks. Scully bent over to lay a hand on the baby’s chest, to feel the movement of her steady breathing and the tiny flutter of her heart.
“You can pick her up,” Diana said. “She’s yours now.”
Tears were blurring Scully’s vision. She tried to blink them away, but one slid down her cheek. She swiped it quickly. “And she’s well now? She won’t get sick?”
“She’s healthy,” Diana confirmed. “But she’s chipped. Like you are.”
A brief wave of anger flared through Scully, but she swallowed it down. She knew what she’d bargained for. She’d accepted the price. She brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, and the child turned into it, as though seeking out comfort. “Does she have a name?”
“The nurses were calling her Emily, so that’s the name we put on the paperwork. You could change it, but that might take some time.”
Scully shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I like Emily.” She couldn’t imagine giving up a single minute with this baby for the sake of another hoop she’d have to jump through. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, then reached both hands into the crib to scoop the child up. Emily wrinkled her little nose and let out a whimper, but didn’t wake. Scully held the baby against her chest, buried her nose in the impossibly soft skin of her neck, her downy head.
“Hello Emily,” she said, and closed her eyes against the enormity of it.
—
Traveling with an infant was a new experience for Scully, and not easy while alone. She was terrified that the baby would stop breathing in the back seat while they drove, that she’d be too hot, too cold, too hungry. But little Emily seemed happy enough, and slept for much of the first day’s drive. Scully had bought a pack-and-play, formula, bottles, and diaper packages in two sizes. Instant motherhood was even more frightening than leaving the job she’d worked so hard to prove herself in.
At a rest stop in Santa Rosa to change the baby and get some caffeine, Scully discovered something hard buried in the package of clothes Diana had sent with her. It was a small cryo-package containing three vials. One was clearly blood: Emily’s, she thought, dated July of this year. Before she’d been cured. Another was mysteriously green and unlabeled. The third looked familiar, an amber liquid she’d seen before. It was labeled Purity - 3.9506. A dated code: the current iteration of the vaccine. She almost didn’t notice the note tucked below the package:
To get you started.
- DF
Scully wanted to hate Diana, but she found herself unable to conjure the same fury she’d felt last year. This was a gift that Diana taken great risks to provide. Whatever bargain she’d made to keep herself safe, it was clear that the woman was still ensnared by the Syndicate’s poisoned grasp. Scully allowed herself to feel grateful to her, despite everything she’d done. Scully placed the vials back in the chamber and made a note to store them with her own recovered ova. Emily had woken up when the car stopped moving, and was beginning to fuss. Scully shoved the clean onesie into the diaper bag and unbuckled the baby, hushing softly to her and humming.
“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured.
Scully was unaccustomed to the number of strangers’ smiles that greeted them. An elderly couple stopped to coo over the chubby infant, to remark how like her mother she was. Scully’s smile was tight-lipped and nervous. They weren’t wrong—the child did look like her. She had the same blue eyes, the same fair coloring. She tucked Emily’s warm little body against her chest and nuzzled her head.
“Let’s get you some food, hmm?”
By the third and final day of driving, fear had turned overwhelmingly to love. When the baby woke in the morning light, she greeted Scully with a wide, two-toothed grin. She sat up in her pack-and-play and pushed at the mesh sides.
“Good morning!” Scully laughed and felt a flood of warmth accompany her own smile. The little girl babbled a steady “yah yah yah.”
They had six more hours on the road, and then a whole new life ahead of them.
—
Lummi Island, WA
October 20, 1995
Beyond the mainland, the salt air reminded Mulder of chill mornings on the Vineyard. He could go fishing here, or watch the sunrise from a boat, every day if he wanted. Though the coastline and the island were different from the ones where he’d grown up, the place felt like home. The closer he drew to his final destination, the more the melancholy that had clung to him in the last two weeks melted away. He was nervous, but it felt more like excitement than anxiety now. He fiddled with the radio—there wasn’t much signal to pick up on the island, but he needed something to fidget with. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
He rounded a grove of trees and finally caught sight of the little house up a short driveway: blue clapboard, a tiny porch, a brown shingled roof over the cozy two-story cottage. He pulled up alongside a white fence—honest-to-god picket—and climbed out, stretching his limbs with a massive heave of his chest outward.
This was it. This was home, now.
The front door of the house opened, and he felt his heart stutter, then swell. There she was. There they both were. Dana Scully walked toward him with an impossibly cute baby on her hip, smiling broadly in jeans and a woolen sweater.
Mulder couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face. He pushed through the waist-high gate and walked up onto the porch.
“There are my girls,” he said.
Scully blushed. “You made it.”
“I did,” he said as he reached them. He leaned down to kiss the woman he’d ached for over two long weeks. Her lips were soft and sweet, and her eyes dropped closed at the contact. He cupped her cheek, curled his other hand at her waist, and felt the pull of her middle toward his. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth.
Scully breathed deeply, eyes still closed for a moment, and nodded. Then he turned his attention to the baby.
“And you must be Emily.” The infant eyed him curiously and reached a finger out to touch his nose. “Hi baby.” She pulled the hand back and tucked two fingers into her wet mouth. Mulder booped her own nose in return, which earned him a shy half-smile as she tucked her head against Scully’s neck. “She looks just like you said. Just as perfect.” Mulder palmed the baby’s downy head, where blonde hair was growing in soft and fair. The little girl didn’t pull back or object, just watched him with something like awe.
“She’s been really good,” Scully explained. “I think she’s only cried twice since I brought her here. I mean she fusses, but…” Scully shrugged.
Mulder tickled the baby’s belly, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a tiny stuffed fox about the size of his hand, and Emily’s eyes went wide. “You like him? That’s Mr. Fox.” He handed over the toy, which Emily grasped with both hands. “He’s like me.”
Emily pressed her little fingers into the fox’s button eyes, her tiny fingernails scritching at the plastic. Then she brought the fox’s head toward her mouth and bit down on the pointy nose.
Scully laughed. “She likes it.”
Mulder bent to kiss the top of the child’s head, then added another to Scully’s head for good measure. “Let’s go inside, hmm? I can’t wait to see how it looks in person.”
—
Later that night they lay facing each other on her bed—their bed now, Scully realized, and the thought made her heart beat faster. They were tucked under quilts and printed flannel sheets against the autumn chill. Emily slept in the second tiny bedroom next door, warm and safe with a mobile of colorful planets and her little fox beside her.
Scully felt the momentousness of this night, now that it was just them, now that they were really together. She found herself watching Mulder for doubts, for guilt, for regret. She held her own small sorrows: leaving her mother, leaving her job. But she feared most that Mulder would come to resent her for the loss of their work in D.C., their resources, their allies inside, as it were.
Mulder pursed his lips in a frown. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
Everything, everything. Her mind was spinning: What if we fail? What if we lose her? What if they take back the bargain and come for us all in the night? What if you never forgive me? But Scully just shook her head. It felt like too much to talk about now. “It’s nothing. It’s okay.”
She knew he wouldn’t believe her, and he didn’t. He moved his face closer to hers on the pillow. “It’s not nothing.”
Scully’s fingers fidgeted under the blanket. She heaved a deep sigh, and decided not to begin their new life by hiding things, by keeping anything bottled up. “I know we have a plan,” she said. “I know we’re not giving up and that our work will just be different here, but… it’s pretty enormous change—all of this. You must have doubts. I just don’t want you to… regret this. Because of me.”
Mulder was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “I understand why you might think that,” he said finally. “I know that in a lot of ways, this feels crazy.”
It did, Scully conceded. Two months ago, they woke up in their separate city apartments and put on suits to go to work for the government. Mulder was married to another woman. Now they were on a remote island off the west coast, with a baby for god’s sake, planning a resistance to a global colonization in secret. Their lives couldn’t be more different.
Mulder reached an arm across the space between them and took hold of her hand under the blanket. “It’s hard for me to explain why, but this feels right.” She could barely make out his features in the dim light, but she sensed how serious his face was, how intense his look. “Scully, all of this started for me, because my family lost a little girl, and it ripped us apart. I lost her. I lost my family. I needed something to fill that emptiness, and I did it with work, which I thought might help me find her again. I wanted so badly to fix what happened to us.”
Scully nodded. She felt her chin wobble at the profundity in the pause between his words.
“But the same evil that took my sister also gave me another little girl. And it gave me you.” He squeezed her hand. “I still need to know what happened to Samantha after my father used her as a bargaining chip. And I will find out. That hasn’t changed.” He swallowed hard, and Scully wanted very badly to lean over and kiss comfort into him. “But this,” he motioned between them, “is a real chance at family, and that’s something I never thought I could have again, not even with Diana. I don’t know what kind of father I might make, if that’s even what you want from me. I didn’t have a good role model. But… I want us to try.”
Tears were dripping down Scully’s nose now into the flannel pillowcase, and she found it hard to speak. She sniffed. Nodded. Bent her forehead to touch his. “I want that too,” she managed to say. “And I want… Emily to think of you as her father. If that’s okay, I mean. If you want it.” She shook her head at her nervous rambling. “I just know you’d be a really good dad.”
Mulder nuzzled her nose with his own , unmindful of the damp. Then he tipped his chin to kiss her lips, sliding his arm around her middle and pulling her toward him. They held each other tight in the near-dark. “Yeah,” he croaked, and Scully realized he was on the verge of tears, too. “I want that.”
Her head fit perfectly, tucked under his chin. Her face pressed against his t-shirt where she could feel his heart beating, and she pressed a kiss there. She pushed one knee between his and breathed deep, letting the smell of him, of them together, fill her with warmth and need. God, she loved him so much. It was like she’d been holding her breath her whole life, and now she was gulping in oxygen. She knew, then, that they would make this work.
“Well,” Mulder said, his tone lighter now, “if I am any good at it, we’ve got all those little frozen uber-Scullys in storage. Maybe we’ll just make a whole tribe, huh?” His hand was on her waist, and he slipped it between them to poke her belly.
She laughed through her tears, nodding. “Yeah, maybe we will.”
And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and it was getting too hot under the blankets for all these pajamas. They were hungry for each other. He touched her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered. They made love in tear-streaked desperation: clutching, dizzy love—though they were quiet and mindful not to wake the baby (their baby) with too much noise. After, when they’d slept an hour or so, he woke her gently with more kisses. This time their lovemaking was slow and gentle and reverent—like they had the rest of their lives.
— END —
A/N: I had many ideas about what their big plan was to save the world, how they’d build a network of allies through the Hosteens (and the Lummi people that they are so close to now), because who better to help them survive colonization than the people who have already survived it? But this ending also felt right and I think I’m happy with it. Thank you so so so much to everyone who has read and left hearts and kudos and comments. This was supposed to be a one-off little thing. It’s no novel, but it’s more than I’ve been able to write in a while.
