“I can’t believe you,” Scully hisses as they exit Skinner’s office. “We’ve discussed this, Mulder. Multiple, no, countless times. You can’t just accuse someone of being a supernatural entity based off a… a wild hunch!”
“A hunch? Scully, we have concrete evidence. It’s literally documented in the folder you’re holding right now.”
“That ‘evidence’ is obviously subject to interpretation,” Scully retorts, stomping down the hall in an attempt to keep pace with Mulder’s long strides. “An interpretation I thought we’d agreed upon before going into that meeting. And I don’t appreciate you abandoning a solid hypothesis, that we discussed at length, in favor of whatever the hell that just was.”
Mulder stops outside the elevator, turning to her. “That was the truth, Scully. It’s out there, if you would just open your mind a little and accept that there are things science still can’t explain.”
“But science can-” She reaches out and punches the button for the elevator, “-explain it. You just like the sound of your own theories and ideas better than fact. Fox Mulder, the champion of truth, the only man willing to consider the extreme.”
“You know you like it,” he says in a low tone.
Scully’s eyes go wide, and she grabs his elbow. “Do not-”
The elevator doors open, and they scurry into the lift. Mulder presses the button for the basement.
“Do not use my weaknesses against me at work, Mulder, that’s not fair,” she says as the doors slide closed.
“Weaknesses?” Mulder asks casually. “Am I your weakness, Dr. Scully?”
“I’m serious. We’ve have a few close calls in the past few months; if we’re not careful, we’re going to be found out.”
“How, by arguing? We did that before we started fu-”
She gives him an imploring look.
“-working after hours,” he corrects. “Besides,” he continues, angling his chin downwards to reach her ear, “I happen to know arguing turns you on.”
Scully licks her upper lip. “I’m just saying we have to be more careful,” she insists, staring straight ahead.
“Then I guess this isn’t the best time to invite you out for a drink,” Mulder says.
Scully glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s Friday the thirteenth,” she notes with a twinge of a smile. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky?”
Mulder shrugs as the elevator doors open into the basement. “Historically, the thirteenth is my lucky day.”
-
“You know, it’s been nine months since our first date,” Mulder says conversationally. They’d walked to Casey’s Bar from the Bureau and are now perched on stools at the far end of the counter, nursing a beer each.
Scully furrows her brow, obviously doing some quick mental math. “February… that was a date?” she says, somewhat amused. “You should have told me at the time. I wouldn’t have waited so long to put out.”
Mulder raises his eyebrows. “Dana,” he says in mock surprise. “I thought you were a good church girl.”
“What gave you that idea, my penchant for kneeling?” she mutters into her glass.
Fuck, she’s good.
They’ve been together for six months now, and it’s surprising how little has actually changed between them, in the practical sense. They’ve been pretty good at keeping their relationship a secret, Mulder thinks. It helps that everyone in the Bureau already thought they were crazy, codependent, and tanking their respective careers. Apparently, bad reputations make the best cover.
He and Scully arrive at the Hoover building in separate vehicles, squabble over conflicting viewpoints, have lunch together almost every day. He rests a hand on her back, guiding her through the halls, and she gives him withering glances and dramatic eye rolls when appropriate. From the outside, they’re still the same Mulder and Scully.
And then they go home to one of their respective apartments and tear each other’s clothes off.
Well, they usually make it home. That quickie in the office annex was an outlier.
Nine months seems significant somehow. The length of human gestation, Mulder thinks absently. It seems like a length of time worth celebrating.
“Would it be terribly corny of me to propose a toast?” he asks.
“A toast to what?”
He’s suddenly shy. “Us,” he says softly. “How far we’ve come. And how much,” he adds, giving her a nudge with his elbow. She rolls her eyes at him, and it feels overtly fond.
Scully lifts her glass. “To us,” she says warmly. “And to spooky shit.”
“You remember,” Mulder says as they clink glasses, recalling that first toast in Casey’s all those months ago.
“Mm,” she replies, sipping her beer. “I do. It was a… notable evening.”
“What made it notable for you?” he asks.
“We had an actual conversation, for one,” Scully muses. “About our personal lives, attraction, about how we relate to the outside world; and by extension, how we relate to each other. I remember very clearly feeling like we were close to something.”
“So did I,” Mulder admits. “So what happened, on your end?”
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “The spell wore off, maybe? When I got home that night I remembered all the reasons it would be a mistake to let myself feel. And then Mark happened, and you know the rest of that story.” She turns on her stool to face him more fully. “What happened for you?”
“I took you on a very cold, very dark picnic,” Mulder reminds her.
“Which was wonderful,” she offers.
Mulder nods. “But then when I asked you out again, you had a date. I don’t know, maybe I was going too slow, being too subtle. But when you started going out with that jackass it felt like… in a way, you were saying that what I had to give wasn’t enough.”
Scully doesn’t say anything, just stares down at her glass.
“And I realize that it’s selfish of me to project that onto you,” he amends. “Your choices aren’t about me. But fuck, I wished they were.”
“You’d be surprised how many of my choices actually were about you,” she says softly. “I surprise even myself. You told me before that you didn’t think I’d last a full year working with you, remember? There was validity in that. This job… it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. So much is at stake for us, so much has been taken. But I chose to continue because I believed in you, and in our work. We have different methods and come to different conclusions, but we’re working towards the same thing. That’s what I believe.”
He reaches over beneath the cover of the countertop and takes her hand, clasping it atop his knee. They sit in silence for awhile, taking sips of their drinks, palms pressed together.
The truth hides in many places, Mulder is learning. Places more secret and sacred than dusty file folders or abandoned warehouses, more mundane than the locked rooms of the Pentagon or trapped beneath thousands of years of ice. The greatest truths are scattered pieces he stumbles upon every day; reflected in his bathroom mirror, scribbled on post-it notes in their office, hidden under Scully’s warm tongue. He knows he’s an obsessed man, prone to irrationality and impulse; but in quiet moments with his partner, he finds small fragments of peace he never thought he could reach.
“Where are you?” Scully says softly, drawing him back into the present. A dim barroom, a sweating glass, her soft hand in his. He wonders if the day will come when his mind wanders too far for her to follow.
“I-I know how crazy this is going to sound, Scully but bear with me… do you ever think that we’re… that we’re bonded somehow? Like we were always supposed to end up here. Together.”
“Like here, here? In this bar?”
“Maybe. Maybe less specifically this bar and more generally this time and place on earth. This universe, this dimension. With each other.”
She shakes her head gently, smiling. “Mulder, it’s been a long week. If we’re going to talk about the metaphysical I need to either have more to drink or be under the influence of a postcoital surge of oxytocin.”
He leans closer to her. “Do you have a preference as to which, because I’d gladly provide either.”
Scully pushes her half-empty glass away from her, eyes dark and soft. “Take me home, Mulder,” she whispers.
His heart squeezes. “Will you stay?” The night, the rest of our lives, until our boat drifts over the edge of the earth?
She nods, and another piece of the truth slides into place.
This signifies a shift in their relationship; a step forward, from platonic partners to a romantic couple. It’s a shared experience that has the potential to change their dynamic forever. Years of trust, fighting together against a common enemy, seeking the truth… it could all come crashing down today, in a shopping mall in Woodbridge, Virginia.
They’re going to IKEA.
Summer is on the rise, and the humidity is close to stifling as they buckle into his car. Scully’s wearing a little striped t-shirt, capri pants, and sandals, revealing sky blue painted toes. For a disorienting moment Mulder wonders if he’s going to develop a foot fetish. Probably not, but Dana Scully could make even the most vanilla of men want to do crazy things.
“Do you have your shopping list?” Scully asks as he starts the car.
He pulls the folded scrap of paper out of the chest pocket of his white t-shirt. “Right here,” he replies, eyes darting over to her for one more look as he holds out the list.
She takes it, catching his eyes momentarily. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asks.
I want to suck your toes. “You look nice today, that’s all.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
Scully can probably tell he’s desperate for her; she can read him like a dog-eared, yellowed paperback. He’s simultaneously grateful for her sharp instincts and embarrassed by his carnal desires. He hasn’t gotten laid in four years, and he fears he’ll be too eager when the time comes. As it is, he can barely believe she’s let him have even the smallest glimpses of her as a sexual being. She’s intoxicating, and he’s dizzy with the knowledge that this beautiful, brilliant, downright edible woman actually wants him. Him, a mortal man of aliens and bad ties and a porn collection that’s gradually becoming least seventy-five percent redheads. A man without a bed.
Hence their Saturday morning pilgrimage to the shrine where all new couples journey to find furnishings, low prices, and themselves.
“So, we’re looking for one tall bookshelf, a locking filing cabinet, a bed, and two night tables,” Scully reads. She refolds the paper and reaches across him to tuck it back into his shirt pocket. “That’s clearly not all going to fit in this car,” she notes.
“I’ll get the bigger stuff delivered,” he says.
It’s only a twenty minute drive from Mulder’s place, and they have the air-conditioning on. Mulder is starting to relax; it’s been a long time since he’s had a partner, in the domestic sense, and he’d forgotten that it makes the mundane more bearable.
Scully clears her throat almost imperceptibly. “I’m proud of you, by the way.”
“Really? Why?” Mulder asks.
“You managed to get rid of a lot of stuff,” she says, turning up the dial on the car’s air conditioner. “And organization is very clearly not your strong suit, so progress should be acknowledged and celebrated.”
“Yippee,” Mulder deadpans.
“You know, it’s odd; we’ve known each other for all these years and I never asked… why don’t you have a bed, Mulder?”
There it is, the question he knew would come up at some point. He clears his throat, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “I, uh… I lived with someone, around ‘91. Another agent, actually. We were together for a while, and then one day she took some assignment in Europe and that was that. I got rid of everything that was hers, and that, uh, included the bed.” Technically our bed, he thinks. He winces. He’s never talked to Scully about Diana before, and he wonders if she’ll be upset that he was withholding such a large piece of personal information.
Scully is quiet. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “That’s… I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry I never mentioned it,” Mulder says. “It’s not like it’s some big painful secret. I just… don’t really think about her anymore.”
“It’s alright,” Scully says. “I think it’s best for these kinds of things to come up naturally. And… I was dating someone when we met,” Scully confesses. “We broke up as soon as I got back from Bellefleur.”
Mulder looks at her quickly. “Really? Why?”
She furrows her brow. “Multiple reasons, but primarily I realized that this job, my assignment, was bigger than I’d anticipated. And the things you and I went through together, the things I’d seen… when I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to be tied down to him. To have to go home and have this man ask me how my day was, as though he could ever understand even half of what we do.”
“So you chose the job over him,” Mulder muses.
“In essence… I chose you,” Scully points out. “Whether I knew it then or not. I’d never be able to turn my back on you.”
Mulder exhales slowly. He’s strangely moved.
“Take a left at the next light,” Scully prompts softly. “And yes, I do realize the irony in breaking things off with a man because of his normalcy, only to continue trying to date so-called ‘normal’ men.”
Mulder shrugs. “No, it makes sense. Maybe he just wasn’t right for you, but the next normal guy could be, right?”
“Right,” Scully sighs. “Einstein’s definition of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.”
“I’ve been led to believe that being with me is another type of insanity,” Mulder points out. “And objectively, I can’t disagree.”
“You do make me crazy,” Scully agrees, voice low. “But that’s not always a bad thing.” He feels her small hand squeeze his thigh. “And I fully intend to return the favor.”
Mulder lets out a quiet groan, hands sweaty on the steering wheel. “You planning on giving me some roadside assistance, Agent Scully? Because I’m gonna need it if you keep doing that.”
She removes her hand, tucks her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t do anything,” she says innocently.
“Uh huh.” He pulls into the IKEA parking lot. “Well, we’re here. You ready?”
“As ready as a person can be for a labyrinthian furniture store on a muggy Saturday,” she replies.
-
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Mulder says from his spot on the bedroom floor, surrounded by scattered pieces of a ‘HOLLEBY’ bedside table. “These instructions are useless and-” he flips through the booklet, “-thirty-two pages long, Jesus.”
Scully doesn’t respond; her eyes are glued to her own manual as she assembles a drawer from the second of the two nightstands. “Shh,” she hushes him softly. “I’m concentrating.”
“How have you managed to put any of these pieces together?” he asks, scooting across the floor to her. “There aren’t even words, just vague illustrations.”
She has a screw between her lips as she lines up two of the wood pieces. “I took wood shop in high school,” she says around the metal pin. She removes it and inserts it into a pre-drilled hole. “I guess that was some kind of preparation for assembling flatpack furniture?”
“That’s adorable,” Mulder says, rising to open a window. The room is stuffy with the day’s heat, and his t-shirt is glued to his back. “Do you still have any of the things you made in class?”
“The step stool in my kitchen,” she replies. “And my mom might have some things I’ve forgotten about.”
He casually strips off his sweaty t-shirt and tosses it in the laundry basket. “Remind me to look at that stool the next time we’re at your place,” he says. “Also I’m gonna order a pizza, you interested?”
Scully looks up at him then and is seemingly surprised by the absence of his shirt. “It’s hot in here,” Mulder explains, almost defensive.
“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Scully says, eyes shamelessly traveling his torso. “And I’m always interested.”
“Are we still talking about pizza here, or…”
“Make my half one with everything, please,” she says, attention returning to her project.
“Wait a minute,” he says, dropping to his knees next to her on the carpet. “I’m not done here.” He leans in and presses his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, tasting the salt on her skin. How she can still smell so good on a sticky June day, he doesn’t know; but he wants to lick her entire body.
“Mulder,” she sighs, putting down her screwdriver, “You’re distracting me.”
“That’s the idea,” he says, lips wandering up her neck and behind her ear. He flicks his tongue against her earlobe. “Forget the furniture, honey,” he says, all hot breath and lust. “We don’t need it for what I have in mind.”
Suddenly she’s facing him, looping her arms around his neck. “I’m doing this for you,” she purrs. “Do you think I like putting together IKEA furniture? No one likes it, Mulder. It’s like a multidimensional jigsaw puzzle.”
He pulls her onto his lap. “Oh, but I think you do,” he says, nibbling her ear. “You like being capable Doctor Scully, in charge of things… showing me what those hands can do.”
She leans in, licking his full lower lip. “Not everything is about you, Mulder,” she says, pressing a scorching kiss to his mouth. “I’m just doing my coworker a favor.”
“Is that what they call this nowadays?” he asks, hands clasping her hips as she grinds down on his lap.
She shuts him up with a kiss, the furniture and pizza forgotten.
The odds of that happening are pretty damn slim; Mulder’s had it down by heart for years, but he’s grasping at all possibilities right now.
He had sent the letter through the postal service in an attempt to keep himself from stressing out over its delivery, but that plan backfired the minute the envelope left his hands.
He dropped it in the mail on Saturday evening. It’s now Wednesday, and Scully has made no mention of it. There’s been no indication in her demeanor at all to suggest that she’d received any revelatory mail-pieces.
He might live the rest of his life in this horrific limbo, a purgatory of his own construction. He’s been on pins and needles all week, filling the basement office with nervous energy, furtively glancing at Scully in attempts to read her facial expressions. Did she get the letter and throw it out? How is she so calm? Maybe it got stuck in one of the sorting machines…
Before he knows it, Scully’s bidding him a friendly “goodnight” and shutting the office door.
Say what you will about anxiety, but it sure spices up the workday.
Mulder drives home in a fog; he’s exhausted from the mental exertion of thinking in circles and jumping to conclusions. Inside his apartment he flops down on the sofa and calls for takeout from the Thai place down the street that has his order memorized.
The next time he confesses his undying love to somebody, he’s going to use e-mail.
A knock on his door shakes him from his reverie.
“How much do I owe-” he begins as he opens the door, then freezes.
Scully is standing at his doorstep, a high flush on her cheeks. She looks somehow startled, as though he surprised her by opening his own front door.
“Scully,” he says, concerned. “Are you alright?”
“Mulder,” she replies, voice cracking on the edges. Her big blue eyes are full, ready to spill over her lower lids.
Oh.
“You read it,” he says softly. He feels his chest tighten into a tight knot of anxiety, and he swallows hard.
She nods. “Can I- I need to come in.”
He stands aside, ushers her into his living room.
She’s vibrating with nervous energy. Mulder motions to the couch. “Would you, uh, like to sit down?”
“I’d prefer to stand, thank you,” she says, voice tight. She grips her elbows.
“Well, I guess I’ll sit,” Mulder says softly, lowering himself to the couch. “Scully, I-“
She holds out a hand. “You got to say your piece, Mulder, now it’s time for mine.” Her lower lip crumples slightly, and he wants to get up and hug her.
She takes a deep breath, pulling herself together. “Mulder, when I received your letter today…” She blinks back tears. “I was completely overwhelmed. I’m not even sure how I managed to drive here,” she admits. “And I appreciate that in it you acknowledged the inopportune timing of your confession. Things just keep piling up,” she says. “But now I just want to know, need to know… why the hell did you wait so long?”
There’s pain in her voice, and he aches in return.
“I didn’t know how you felt,” he says simply, “and then Mark happened.” It’s so insufficient, but it’s all he has.
“I wish you’d told me before,” she says. “I wish I’d known. I dragged you into this mess with him, and the whole time you… you felt that for me.”
“Scully,” he says slowly, “If I had told you I loved you, would you have still gone out with Mark?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and his heart falls into his stomach.
“How can you ask me that?” she says, voice a rough whisper. “What do you want me to say?”
Say no. Please. “I’m only interested in the truth, Scully. You of all people know that by now.”
A tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away roughly. “I… I don’t know. Do you have any idea how long and hard I worked to not feel? I’d wake up every damn morning thinking about you. I’d scrub myself raw in the shower so you couldn’t smell me, sense how much I wanted you all fucking night. I’d come to work and turn my heart off, bury my feelings so deep that even now I can barely scratch the surface of them. I did it for years, Mulder.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “So when my mother introduced me to a nice man with a little girl, I decided to go for it. And I almost forget how to really feel something. But you… you never let me forget. And the rational choices cease to make sense.” She sniffs noisily. “You turned my entire world upside down.”
He hangs his head. “I’m sorry-” he begins.
“No,” Scully interrupts. “No, Mulder. I don’t want your guilt, or your pity; I don’t need it. I want you, and me. I want us to be the two broken people we are, healing. We can’t keep hurting each other with misguided attempts to protect each other.”
“What do you mean, then? How do we stop?”
“By being honest,” she says, coming around the coffee table and perching on the edge of the couch. “We start here. Right now.”
“I-I don’t know how much more clear or honest I could possible be,” Mulder stammers. “The letter spelled it out. My cards are on the table.”
“They are,” she agrees, “But you wrote under the assumption that I wouldn’t reciprocate. You left no room for alternatives.”
“Alternatives being…”
Scully’s eyes are pleading. “Mulder,” she whispers, beseeching.
There’s a knock on the door.
Mulder glances over his shoulder, startled out of their moment. “I ordered Thai,” he explains. “If you’re here, then that must be the delivery guy,” he says.
Scully nods. “Likely.” She gets up from the sofa and crosses to the desk, fetching the tissue box there. “You should-”
“Answer the door, yeah,” Mulder agrees absently, standing and feeling his pockets for his wallet.
The bored teenager on the other side of the door holds the bag out. “Sixteen forty-nine,” he says.
“Give him a twenty,” Scully instructs from the living room, blowing her nose.
Mulder digs a bill out of his wallet and hands it to the delivery guy. “You and the Mrs have a good night,” the boy says, stifling a yawn as he shoves the money into the pack on his waist.
“That tip was what, twenty-five percent?” Mulder grouses, setting the bag on the coffee table.
“Oh, so you can do math,” Scully says, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “So what’s your excuse for being a lousy tipper, then?”
“Spoken like a former waitress,” Mulder mumbles.
“You’re goddamn right,” Scully says. “Best IHOP server in San Diego.”
Her bravado contrasts sharply with her puffy eyes and watery voice, and Mulder wants to pull her into his arms and never let go.
“You want any of this?” he asks, pulling steaming cartons out of the bag. “There’s plenty for both of us, and if you don’t eat I’ll feel like a crappy host.”
She sits back down on the couch, setting the tissue box on the coffee table. “If you don’t mind sharing,” she concedes.
“I’ll grab you a fork,” he replies, giving her knee a squeeze.
They eat quietly, passing cartons between them, migrating together until they’re shoulder to shoulder in the center of the couch.
“So,” Mulder says, “Before the food got here, we were talking about something pretty important.”
Scully nods, turning her fork to wind noodles around the tines. “That we were,” she agrees.
“About honesty,” he prompts. “Alternatives.”
Scully sets her fork down, closes her eyes. “This… this is difficult for me, Mulder. It’s surreal; I didn’t expect this outcome for us. For you to… to feel the way you do,” she clarifies.
“On the contrary,” Mulder says, “I feel like this was always going to happen, from the day we met. Somewhere deep in my mind I knew I was going to fall in love with you.”
Scully looks at him then, eyes wide.
“Th-that’s the first time I’ve said that aloud,” he says in realization, eyes not leaving hers.
Scully nods. “How’d it feel?” she asks softly.
Mulder licks his lip. “Kinda depends on how it felt for you,” he responds, voice low.
She takes a deep breath. “Call me crazy, but I think I need to hear it again.”
He nods, then on impulse leans in until his mouth is next to her ear, strands of coppery hair tickling his cheek. “I’m in love with you,” he murmurs.
Scully reflexively grips the edge of the couch cushion. “Don’t,” she warns, voice husky and breathier than he expected. “I’m not ready.”
He draws back. “Ready for what?” he asks.
She smoothes her hair behind her ear. “You,” she says simply, looking him up and down out of the corner of her eye. She picks up her fork and takes another bite of noodles. “I’ve spent so long in denial, Mulder, I feel… flammable. Like the smallest spark could just…” she motions to herself. “Destroy my equilibrium, or something.”
“Is this the official medical terminology? Because I’m not familiar,” he quips.
She huffs a laugh. “No, Mulder. What I’m trying to say is that I think we should go slow. Whatever ‘going’ means, in this case.”
“But we are a we,” he clarifies.
“Yes, I think we are,” Scully says tenderly, facing him again. “I… I want to be. But I’m processing things, so I need you to give me time.”
You can have my whole life. “That’s fine by me,” he assures her. “So you think we have a spark, Scully?”
She licks her upper lip, nodding. “Oh yes,” she says, eyes flicking down to his mouth. “Yes, we do.”
He leans back into the couch cushions. “Well then,” he says, eyeing her lazily, “When you feel like starting some fires… I’m your boy.”
Mulder’s written some hefty works in his life; term papers, theses, monographs, case reports. But none have made his heart pound quite like this.
He actually went to a stationary store this Saturday morning and spent forty-five minutes browsing different textures of card, weights of letterhead, holding up watermarked sheets of paper to the ceiling lights for further scrutiny. None of them were quite right.
He can’t possibly give Scully an illuminated manuscript with gilded edges, so he goes home and digs around on his desk until he finds a usable, albeit leaky, ballpoint pen.
He cracks his knuckles absently. It’s been decades since he’s done this, and he’s out of practice, but what he lacks in finesse he’ll make up for with devotion.
He’s going to write Scully a love letter.
Romance isn’t dead, but it’s certainly on life support; he’s hunched over at his desk in his boxers and a wrinkled t-shirt, trying to pour his heart out onto a sheet of copy paper while his neighbors are arguing down the hall.
Dear Dana,
He never calls her Dana, and he doesn’t want this to sound too out of character. And the word ‘dear’ doesn’t really seem right either. He crumples up the page and pulls out a fresh one.
He should probably write the date, first off. That’s what he learned in grade school, writing letters to his assigned penpal in North Carolina or someplace.
May 2nd, he thinks. He checks his watch, squinting at the tiny date dial to make sure he has it correct. He does.
May 2, 1998
Scully,
He nods to himself. The greeting is to-the-point, yet familiar. Not overly formal or sentimental.
I’ll bet you didn’t expect to be accosted by my purple prose in your mailbox, did you? As though my case reports aren’t enough.
He’s been told his writing style is at times florid to the point of excess; Scully often takes to his reports with a machete, unbidden, and crosses out phrases, begs him to reword things so he can pass as a sane person during review. But hell, this is a goddamn love letter. He’s going to be as melodramatic as he wants.
In all seriousness, however, recent events have shown me that I can no longer afford deny the longing of my heart, body, and soul.
I know I have shown my dedication to you over the past five years we’ve spent together, and received your loyalty and trust in kind; but some months ago I discovered a new dimension to the deep regard I have for you, a faceted gem previously cloistered in stone.
I am disastrously, deliriously, desperately in love with you. My feelings are not platonic, and are deeper than our current partnership. I want to be partnered with you in all things. I ache for you in new ways, hunger for things I don’t deserve, dream of things my eyes may never behold. Nevertheless, I yearn. I yearn knowing that I may never be sated, never taste that which I thirst for. I don’t want to die without knowing your touch, without holding you, but I will carry empty hands to my grave if that’s what you want. I lay myself before you now as an offering, to serve whatever purpose you see fit.
I know my timing is never good, and I’ve been overly cautious in my attempts to make my intentions known. Even now, part of me is hesitant to reveal my feelings, since you’ve only recently split from someone else. But you were right; there is power in the truth, and I gift my truth to you now.
I cannot shake the feeling that everything I’ve worked for, every truth I’ve sought, has led me to you; not by way of any conspiracy or government manipulation, but because I am destined to love and honor you. I am an imperfect man, changeable and obsessive, unreliable and stubborn. Many of my quests yield no fruit, my efforts culminating in failure. But I want to be better for you. I am already better because of you. You are the fire that refines me, melts me down and burns away the bullshit. You make me golden.
You can do what you wish with this letter; burn it in your kitchen sink, and we can pretend I never said a thing. Hide it under your mattress, stick it to your refrigerator, whatever you want. It won’t change how I feel about you.
I love you, Dana Katherine Scully. My heart is yours; say the word and the rest of me will belong to you as well.
Always,
Mulder.
He signs the letter and puts down his pen, wiping his thumb on the hem of his shirt in an attempt to remove the ink smudged on his skin. His eyes scan the page, rereading his missive.
He can wad up the letter and try again, but he knows deep down that no rewrite will be sufficient; words can only convey so much. He blows on the ink to make sure it’s dry, then folds the paper into crisp thirds and slips it into a plain legal-size envelope.
That evening he slips the stamped and addressed envelope into the post box outside his neighborhood minimart. He’s decided to mail the letter; that way he won’t know when, or if, she receives it. It’s completely out of his hands; all he can do is wait.
He has a moment of panic when the envelope leaves his grasp, disappearing into the slot and out of reach, but he lets the momentary wave of anxiety roll through him and dissipate.
He thinks of sixteen-year-old Fox, biking to Laura’s house, so overcome with nerves that he has to go home.
This one’s for you, buddy, he thinks, and walks home in the spring twilight feeling one ounce and thirty-two scents lighter.
“So, now what?” Mulder asks, scooting empty takeout cartons aside with his foot and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
He’d told Scully there was enough food for them to share, but he’s still hungry. He hopes she doesn’t hear his stomach growl.
“Now what, what?” Scully replies. She’s slumped comfortably into the couch cushions, head resting ever so slightly against his shoulder. He glances down at her and his chest aches.
“What comes next for us?”
She puts her feet up on the table next to his, delicate ankles crossed. “Do you mean tonight or in the general future?”
Mulder pauses. “Actually, both.”
“Well,” she says slowly. “I guess we have to figure out what all this means. How we want to proceed.”
Mulder nods. “Okay. For clarity’s sake… do you want to have a romantic relationship with me, Scully?” he asks carefully. “I’ve made it pretty clear how I feel, but I want to make sure I understand your side.”
She looks up at him then, cheek brushing his shoulder. “Yes, I do,” she replies.
His stomach swoops like a shore bird. “I, um, I’m glad to hear that,” he says, suppressing a grin. “That being established…” He coughs awkwardly. “Um. Do you want to have a sexual relationship? I don’t mean tonight. It doesn’t have to be right away,” he adds hurriedly, “But I think we should be clear about what a romantic relationship entails to each of us.”
Scully looks up at him like he’s grown a second head. “Mulder, do you think I don’t have sex with my romantic partners?”
He raises his hands. “Hey, I didn’t want to assume. After that bullshit with Mark, and what I know of Catholicism, I wanted to be sure-”
“Yes, Mulder, I want to have sex with you,” she replies, cheeks blooming a pretty pink. “I can’t believe you just asked me that,” she mutters.
He wonders if she hears his pulse quicken. “Okay, good to know.”
“I take it you want to have sex with me?” she asks, nudging his right foot with one of hers.
His body is practically humming at her words and close proximity. “I-I…”
“Don’t bother answering,” Scully cuts him off, almost smug, looking down at her hands. “It’s written all over your face.”
“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up,” he says, swinging his feet off of the coffee table and onto the floor. “So what were your evening plans, Dr. Scully? Before I threw a wrench in them.”
“It’s Thursday,” she replies, as though the answer is obvious. “I didn’t have anything on the agenda.”
He looks at her slyly. “Hm… you wanna make out?”
“Mulder,” Scully admonishes, voice stern and fond in equal measure. “That’s not exactly going slow, is it?”
“Fine,” he concedes, rising from the couch with a grunt. “Consolation prize: we go get ice cream.”
More accurately, he gets ice cream, in the form of a Drumstick with a caramel center. Scully opts for some unholy vegetable-based excuse for a dessert. It’s getting late, after nine PM, so they’d elected to just walk to the little market down the street from his apartment and pick from whatever they had laying in their chest freezer.
“What is that thing again?” Mulder asks, unwrapping his Drumstick.
“Nonfat Tofutti Rice Dreamcicle,” she replies. She hands him her wrapper, and he tosses them in the trash bin outside the shop.
“Shall we walk?” he asks, biting through the shell of nuts and chocolate covering his ice cream. “Or we could loiter outside, bum some smokes off of passersby.”
“Let’s walk,” Scully says, giving her fake ice cream a kitten lick. Mulder tries not to watch her tongue.
He fails.
“There’s a park a few blocks that way,” he says, motioning eastward.
The park is small, but peaceful, dappled with cherry trees clinging to their last blossoms. A lighted cobblestone path meanders through the foliage.
“I think we should set some ground rules,” Scully says, bumping his arm with hers as they walk. “Concerning how we interact while on the clock. We don’t want to give the Bureau any more ammunition against our partnership or our work.”
“Business as usual,” Mulder concurs.
“Yes. Our personal and professional lives should not mix,” Scully says. “And I think we should keep - whatever we are - a secret, at least for now.”
“Scully, are you suggesting we sneak around?” Mulder asks. “That’s pretty sexy.”
“I’m just saying we should be discrete, compartmentalize. Keep things professional when we’re in the office or on assignment.” She takes a last bite of her ice cream cone. “Nothing’s sexier than keeping our jobs.”
“You say that now,” Mulder murmurs, looping an arm around her shoulders. “But I can think of a few things-”
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” she cuts him off.
“I’ll show you sometime.”
“You think I won’t show you first?”
Mulder bites back a growl deep in his throat. She’s going to kill him at this rate.
They abruptly stop walking, standing in the middle of the path partway beneath a lopsided willow. “Mulder,” Scully whispers.
“Mhm?” he replies, eyes searching her face.
“I think you should kiss me now.”
His heart is pounding as he steps forward into her space. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he warns her unnecessarily. He doesn’t put much stock in his interpersonal skills much of the time, but he knows he’s a good kisser. And her mouth is so plush and full-lipped, and he’s been dying to taste her-
He reaches out and slips one hand around her waist, the other around the back of her neck, drawing her closer as he leans down. Her upturned face is serene and pale in the night, a reflection of the moon, and he wishes he could slow time down and savor every millisecond of what’s about to happen.
Her eyes fall closed, and his follow, and then there’s nothing left in the universe but her small, warm body in his arms, her gentle exhale across his skin, and their lips meeting for the very first time.
Her mouth is cool and sweetened by dessert, and he can barely taste a hidden heat just beyond the seam of her lips. He feels he might drown in sensation, caught by irresistible currents pulling his body towards hers. He presses her closer, and it feels as though his palm could span her entire waist.
Scully loops her arms around his neck, angling her head slightly and parting her lips briefly before pulling away.
“That,” Scully whispers, almost in a daze. “That’s a spark.”
Mulder can no longer form words; he can only nod.
She slides her hands down his arms, grasping his hands. “Come here,” she murmurs, pulling him further beneath the canopy of willow branches. “One more.”
Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 10: One With Everything
Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E
Thursday, April 30.
Mulder and Scully don’t often get to spend a day in court; it almost feels like a treat. An exhausting, headache-inducing, occasionally disheartening treat.
The only real upside is that they usually drive together.
They’re in Baltimore, and even though the drive back to the office is less than an hour, Mulder can feel his energy flagging.
“You hungry?” Mulder asks, sliding into the driver’s seat. “We can grab dinner before we head back.”
“Mulder, I’m wiped out,” Scully sighs.
“Alright,” he replies, subdued. He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car.
They’ve gone two blocks when Scully speaks again. “I could go for pizza,” she says softly.
Mulder takes a steadying breath. This is progress.
It’s only been a week since the Great Mark Implosion, and things between Mulder and Scully have been thawing slowly. There’s residual awkwardness around them, like the last compacted piles of old snow in the shady places on the sides of the road. Slow to melt, but not a real impediment.
They find a little brick hole-in-the-wall pizza shop not far from the district courthouse. Scully took an appraising sniff when they walked in, declared the scent inside “pizza enough”, and they proceeded to make their order.
“So, how’ve you been?” Mulder asks. It’s a stupid question, but he’s hungry and tired and a little nervous, picking the mushrooms off of his slice of pizza before taking a bite. Scully always insists on ordering one with everything. Thank god she hates anchovies.
“You tell me,” she replies. “You’ve seen me practically every day for the past week.” She takes a first bite of pizza and moans softly. Mulder’s cheeks warm at the sound.
“I mean… in regards to what happened last Wednesday,” he clarifies. Broaching this subject feels suddenly dangerous, and he wants to take his words back.
“You can say break-up, Mulder,” she says gently. “It’s not a secret. And I’m fine,” she says, chewing, then raises a finger. “I know historically I say that when I’m not fine, but I mean it this time,” she explains. “I’m not hurt, just… disappointed. Tired. A little annoyed.”
“With him, or me, or both?” Mulder asks.
She shrugs. “Both,” she says candidly. “But you provided me with sustenance, so my annoyance with you is diminishing.” She takes a sip of diet Coke before she continues. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve determined that the part of this that bothers me the most is the fact that Mark, or anyone, would base their summation of my character off my sexual history. I’m thirty-four years old, a fully-matured and capable human being, and yet I felt like I was stuck in a web of high school gossip. It’s insulting, being subjected to outdated moral codes by men who have no business passing judgement.”
“I have an impertinent question,” Mulder says. “You don’t have to answer.”
“I’m bracing myself,” she replies, taking another bite of pizza.
“From an outsider’s perspective, these outdated moral codes and judgment seem like a fundamental part of Catholicism. So I guess I’m wondering… why are you still Catholic?”
Her answering sigh is deep and slow. “That’s a big question, Mulder; one I ask myself all the time. I think it boils down to faith. I believe in God; everything else is just window dressing. My relationship with my faith, with religion, is complicated. But ultimately, that’s between me and God. Everyone else, namely Mark, can fuck off.”
He loves her so much in this moment, this tiny self-possessed scientist voraciously eating pizza. “Fair enough,” he says, removing another mushroom from his slice of pizza and putting on the edge of her plate. “So faith in God is intact; faith in men, however…”
Scully chuckles. “It’s at a low plateau,” she jokes, “and yet this may actually be the best break-up I’ve ever had.”
“Ouch,” Mulder says with a wince. “I’d hate to imagine the worst.”
“I egged a guy’s car once,” she says around a bite of pizza.
“No, really?” Mulder asks in surprise. “What’d he do?”
She swallows, wipes her fingers on a crumpled napkin. “Let me be clear, this was when I was in high school,” she says, “So all the emotions were heightened. My boyfriend cheated on me,” she explains. “I was seventeen and wanted to wait to have sex, and he didn’t. It was pretty traumatic for teenage Dana, so I reacted with criminal mischief.”
“Did you get caught?”
Scully shakes her head, picking up one of the stray mushrooms on her plate and popping it in her mouth. “No. I was stealthy,” she says. “And a good church girl. I think most people assumed it was a dumb teenage prank by some local boys.” She pauses. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this,” she says in realization.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Mulder vows, passing her another mushroom.
“So what about you?” she asks, serving herself another slice of pizza. “What sort of romantic entanglements did you get into in high school? Any horror stories?”
“Not much,” Mulder says with a shrug. “Though I was pretty in love with a girl when I was sixteen or so. Her name was Laura and she was the older sister of one of my friends; I think she was probably 18? I was at their house all the time but I hardly ever talked to her.”
“Why not?”
“I was, uh, actually pretty shy back then,” he admits. “Especially with girls. She was really pretty and kind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak I’d get nervous and end up just saying nothing. Once I almost threw up.”
“That’s actually very sweet,” Scully assures him. “Trust me, she probably thought you were adorable.” She chews thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”
Mulder shakes his head. “Not really. I wrote her a letter confessing my feelings and was halfway to their house to leave it in the mailbox when I chickened out. I took it home and burned it in the kitchen sink. Then she left for college.”
Scully hums in understanding. “A tale as old as time.”
“I looked her up once, after I finished at Oxford. She was married with a baby,” Mulder says, chewing a piece of crust. “Nothing would have happened if she weren’t, but part of me kind of wondered.”
Scully is silent, and when he looks up at her she’s got her cheek cradled in her hand, a soft smile on her lips, watching him.
“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.
Her eyes are gleaming. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but… you’re a romantic, Mulder.”
He swallows. “Is that... is that a bad thing?”
She drops her hand, shakes her head. “No, it’s not a bad thing at all,” she says softly.
Scully’s face is awash with blue and red from the neon sign in the window, and her eyes are deep and glimmering. He has to look away to steady himself before he says something he’s not ready for her to hear.
“I think I assumed you dislike romance,” he says, dipping a toe into shallower, yet unexplored waters. “It seems to me that science is somewhat at odds with the concept, when you can explain away all these feelings as chemical reactions with evolutionary precedent.”
“These feelings?” she asks, and he freezes.
“Romantic feelings in general,” he clarifies, recovering quickly. “The heart palpitations, fluttering stomach, desire for physical contact, all those things we felt as teenagers.” All those things I’m feeling right now.
“Some things aren’t meant to be examined through a purely scientific lens,” she counters. “I also firmly believe in instinct and trusting your gut in certain cases. Hell, that’s why I broke things off with Mark. No matter what he said, I knew things didn’t feel right.”
Mulder’s puzzled. “What he said?” he asks.
Scully licks her lip. “When I called him after work,” she explains. “I told him what you told me, and he claimed you twisted his words. A misunderstanding, coupled with manipulation born of jealousy,” Scully sighs.
Mulder’s heart stutters. “And you didn’t believe him?”
“No, I didn’t. It was his word against yours,” she says, voice gentle and firm. “There was no question.”
Mulder feels the weight of her words drape over his shoulders like a warm blanket. She trusts him, believes in him, chooses him.
He’s floored.
“Scully, that offer to elope still stands,” he says with a grin, and she smiles back.
Scully predictably falls asleep on the drive back to DC. Mulder glances over at her periodically, drinking in the sight of his partner curled up in the passenger seat. Her head is resting against the window, rosy cheek pillowed on a small hand.
Scully trusts him, rests in his presence, weighs his words. He doesn’t deserve what she gives him, but he realizes then what he needs to do anyway; fear and uncertainty be damned.
Mulder’s been stressed for days, trying to forget his phone conversation with Mark and attempting to hide his agitation from Scully. It’s not going well. He hasn’t successfully kept many secrets from her since they met, and at this point it’s practically impossible. If Mulder acts at all furtive or suspicious, she catches on like a shark smelling blood in the water and circles him until he surrenders.
Maybe she’s deeply perceptive; maybe he’s just not that subtle.
His resolve to keep his mouth shut lasts until Wednesday, just after lunch.
He’s built himself a fortress of stacks of newspapers on the desk, leafing through them with a magnifying glass. Scully’s in the annex, looking at some fibers under the microscope. They’ve got a case, which usually sucks up all his attention, but the phone call from a few days before is still buzzing in his ears.
“Hey, uh, has Mark mentioned the cafe incident?” he asks from across the room.
Scully keeps her eyes on the microscope. “No, he hasn’t, actually. It was hardly an incident,” she adds, switching out the slide. “You need to relax.”
Clearly, she’d picked up on his nervous energy. For once, he wishes Scully could just read his mind. Then I wouldn’t have to figure out how to tell her, Mulder thinks.
There’s no easy way out of this.
“Have you seen him since then?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
Scully huffs out a breath. “We went out last night. Mulder, I’m trying to focus-”
“He called me,” Mulder admits suddenly. “On Sunday.” Whelp, consider the beans spilled, Mark, he thinks. You dick.
Scully looks up at him then, brows furrowed. “He did? Why?”
“First of all, let me make it clear that I wanted nothing to do with any of this,” Mulder says, setting down the newspaper. “He dragged me into it. I wasn’t going to say anything but it’s been pissing me off.”
Scully gets up from the little table and walks over to the desk, perching on the edge of the chair across from him. “Mulder,” she says slowly, “What are you talking about?”
“Mark called me on Sunday night, saying he had some questions for me regarding your character.”
“My character,” Scully echoes, eyes sharp and questioning.
“That’s what he said,” Mulder says, picking up a pencil and rolling it between his fingers nervously. His heart is leaping in his throat. “But what he really wanted to know was if you… um. Sleep around.”
The words land heavily, their weight sending ripples through Mulder’s body.
Scully’s face turns to stone. “Really,” she says tightly. “I don’t see how that is any business of his, or yours,” she adds.
Mulder’s blood pressure has to be at a record high. “He mentioned something about planning for long term, and his daughter. And he thinks we, um.”
Scully crosses her arms, and Mulder’s never seen such an icy, quiet rage. “He thinks we what, Mulder? Tell me exactly what he said.”
Mulder digs the point of the pencil into the desk until the sharpened lead snaps. “He thinks I fucked you,” he says quietly, not looking at her.
“Oh,” she says, louder than he expected. “Well, that’s lovely, Mulder. Did you happen to tell him that it’s not true?”
“I essentially said ‘see you in hell’,” Mulder admits.
“Right,” Scully says, pressing her lips together so hard they turn white. “And you weren’t going to inform me of this because…”
“Because it’s none of my business,” Mulder explains. “I didn’t want to overstep.”
“A first,” Scully says sharply.
“Hey, I learned from last time,” he replies, feeling suddenly defensive. Why am I in trouble here? “You made it pretty clear after Jerse that this is your life, and I’m genuinely trying to honor that. But your boyfriend called me, Scully. I didn’t ask to get dragged into this shit.”
She’s angry now, and he can’t tell if it’s directed at him or Mark. It feels like both. “You didn’t think I might want to know about this, Mulder? You didn’t think to give me a heads-up that the man I’m seeing thinks I’m an easy lay?”
“Whoa, whoa, nobody said that,” Mulder says quickly. “And I’m telling you now because I think you should know I had this conversation with him. I’m sorry I waited but I was unsure how to-”
Scully’s eyes are red, and Mulder stops. “Scully?” he asks quietly.
“He kissed me,” she says hoarsely. She takes a deep breath. “Can’t think why… don’t really want to think why.”
Mulder feels hot and cold all at once.
“It’s funny,” Scully continues, “I-I could tell he wanted more. It was surprising, and not entirely unwelcome, but I stopped it because something felt off.” She emits one small sniff before setting her jaw firmly. “I guess now it makes sense.”
“Scully…” Mulder says softly.
She gets up from the chair. “Thank you for letting me know,” she says woodenly, before returning to the annex and sitting behind the microscope once more.
Well that went perfectly.
-
They barely speak for the rest of the day, buried in their respective piles of research.
At the end of the day Scully packs her briefcase with short, sharp movements, her shoulders rigid. She slips into her coat, and Mulder sees her mouth set in a grim line.
“Scully,” Mulder says quietly.
She shakes her head once, the smallest negative movement. “I have a phone call to make.”
-
He leaves the office about forty minutes later, a parcel of newspapers under his arm; homework he knows he won’t be able to focus on.
He takes the elevator to the fourth floor of the parking garage, and sees Scully standing at the far end of the row of cars, leaning against the cement wall, cigarette in hand. He walks to her and rests his elbows on the wall, looking out at the twilit city.
“How many of those have you gone through?” Mulder asks, peering around her in search of burnt stubs.
She doesn’t answer, just holds the cigarette out to him. He hesitates, then gingerly takes it and raises it to his mouth. There’s smudges of lipstick on the filter, and he’s not a good enough man to ignore the eroticism of it.
“I haven’t smoked since ’89,” Mulder says, exhaling. He passes the cigarette back to her.
“Sorry to break your streak,” she murmurs, taking a puff. He watches the smoke escape her full lips, her angelic face profaned by tobacco and a dishonest man’s kiss.
“You didn’t,” he says softly.
They watch the world rotate below.
“I broke it off,” she says, eyes tracing the skyline. He doesn’t need to ask what she’s referring to, and she doesn’t elaborate.
Mulder shifts his weight awkwardly. “That night we got drunk… you asked if I thought you were settling.”
“Mm,” she hums. “No spark,” she recalls.
He nods. “It didn’t feel right to say at the time, but the answer was yes. You should be with who you want to be with, Scully. Someone who makes you… makes you feel things. Not the guy who seems good on paper.”
“It would have been right to say,” Scully says. “I asked you. I don’t- I don’t know why you’re suddenly hellbent on staying out of my life, Mulder, when I’m asking you to be in it. I appreciate your respecting my privacy and boundaries, don’t get me wrong; it’s a welcome change from past experiences. But I… I need a friend.”
There’s a tightness in his chest at her words. “I guess I’m overcorrecting,” Mulder admits. “You’ve been through so much hell, had so much taken away… I wanted to let you choose for once.”
Scully shakes her head. “This mentality you have of letting me choose isn’t much better,” she says softly. “Someone else still controls the information. You trying to protect me by omission doesn’t give me much more agency, Mulder.” She stubs out the cigarette and turns back to the rows of parked cars. “You of all people should know the most empowering thing you can give someone.” She starts to walk away.
“You know what amazes me,” Scully says as they walk along the waterfront. “That day we first met… I never would have guessed we’d end up like this. More than partners, more than friends.”
“I didn’t expect you to last three months with me,” Mulder admits, hands in his pockets. “Part of me wanted to drive you away, make you request reassignment.”
“And the other part of you?” she prompts, gently taking ahold of his wrist and drawing his hand out. She laces their fingers together, and their entwined hands swing between them as they walk. He likes it.
“I came to admire you,” he admits. “I read your thesis, for starters, but getting to know you personally was a transformative experience. I saw your strength, your dedication to your principles, your loyalty. I came to depend on your perspective; you were always matching me, challenging me.”
“I thought you hated that,” Scully points out.
“I definitely did on occasion,” he agrees. “But I needed it. I still do. I need your rationality and clarity and willingness to listen, even when you disagree with me. Especially when you disagree,” he amends.
“Respecting the journey,” Scully concurs.
“Exactly.” He glances down at her. “What did you think of me when we first met?”
“Hmm… I’d heard a lot about you, so that definitely colored my view in the beginning,” she says. “But walking into the basement office for the first time, I thought… well, for one, you were much more attractive than I was expecting,” she confesses. “I was actually a little awestruck; that is, until you started talking.”
“Why until I started talking?” he asks, voice amused and defensive in equal measure.
“You were really laying it on thick, playing up the ‘Spooky Mulder’ image. It seemed like you’d been alone down there for a little too long,” she says cheekily.
“I’d argue with you, Scully, but I think this time you’re actually right,” he concedes. He stops walking, gives her hand a gentle tug to guide her closer.
“Are you glad they sent me to spy on you?” she asks softly, taking his free hand into her other one.
He nods and leans down, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. “Best thing the Bureau’s ever done for me.”
“We should head back to the car,” Scully says. “My feet are starting to hurt.”
“It’s impressive, the things you manage to do in heels,” Mulder notes.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she says with a sly grin.
“Scully, please, be gentle with me,” he pleads. “It’s been a long time.”
“Hm,” Scully presses her lips together, stifling a smile. “I like when you beg.”
Jesus H Christ.
The drive back to Scully’s apartment is short, and before he knows it, he’s pulling over in front of her building, not ready to say goodnight.
Scully must sense this, because she turns to him with hopeful eyes. “Would you like to come in?” she asks. “I’ll make some tea.”
Mulder bites his lip, considering. “Are you inviting me up for a drink or are you ‘inviting me up for a drink’?” he asks.
She shrugs, smiling. “Only one way to find out,” she replies.
He has to at least walk her to her door, right? It’s the chivalrous thing to do. He might as well stay for tea…
Scully seems far more relaxed than she had at the start of the evening. She undoes the straps of her little heeled sandals and kicks them off by the door, tossing her bag and shawl onto the couch.
“What kind of tea would you like?” Scully asks, going into the kitchen and opening a cupboard.
“Uh... you have any black tea?” Mulder asks, sitting on the couch. He knows he should probably be more specific, but the majority of his tea experiences are iced and made by someone else, and he frankly doesn’t know what to ask for.
“Several, actually,” Scully answers, rearranging cartons in the cupboard. “I’m making an executive decision,” she announces, pulling out a box of Constant Comment. “Missy and I liked this one best.”
He watches her over the back of the couch as she starts the kettle, takes two mugs out of the cupboard, drops a teabag into each one. Her hair is a little mussed, and the hem of her dress is dragging on the floor without the added height of her heels. He decides that seeing her all put together at the beginning of the night is no match for watching her come undone at the end.
If only every night could be like this; them sitting on her squishy striped couch, cups of spicy tea in hand, talking about the profound and the mundane. Maybe, somehow, we can have this, he thinks. Pore over case notes on the sofa, kiss each other goodnight, wake up in each other’s arms.
He decides that Constant Comment is, in fact, a very good tea.
Cup empty, Scully sighs contentedly as she rests her head on his shoulder. “This is nice,” she says. “I wish we hadn’t waited so long to do this.”
“What, sit on your coach and drink tea?”
“Well, yes, but more than that. I meant just being together, without holding things back.”
“Maybe we weren’t ready,” Mulder muses. “We needed to grow into what we wanted and needed from each other. I know it took me a long time to figure it out, and even longer to get the courage to tell you.”
“Well, I suppose not knowing how I felt didn’t help; I was too subtle. I took what I considered a big swing in Florida,” she admits, “And when you didn’t respond I decided to back off.”
“A big swing? What are you talking about?” Mulder asks.
Scully covers her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing now,” she groans. “Remember when they tried to send us to that team-building conference? And I came to your room with wine and cheese?”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “Wait, was that a come-on?”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “I came in with this stupid plate of cheese and minibar wine, trying to… to telegraph that I was interested, and you just kept talking about culling techniques all the way out the door.”
“What were you hoping would happen?” Mulder asks.
“I don’t know,” Scully muses. “I was newly cancer-free, and we had just been through that whole ordeal together... I wanted to take a chance and see where it went. Maybe make out a little bit, at least? I’m not sure if... if I would have been ready for more, even if you expressed an interest. But I definitely wanted it.”
“I had no idea,” he says.
They sit silently for a moment.
“I don’t suppose... we should make up for lost time?” he suggests, looking down at her.
She licks her lips, and his eyes follow the movement of her tongue.
She tilts her chin up to him, and he places his hands on either side of her jaw. He leans in, their noses brushing as he tilts his head and presses his mouth to hers. She sighs into the kiss, bringing her hands to his shoulders.
Her lips are so soft and warm, faintly flavored with spices and orange rind from the tea, and he parts his lips reflexively. Hers follow, and the sensation of their mouths slotting together makes his head spin.
Suddenly he feels the slip of her tongue again his bottom lip and he’s in a free fall. They part with a gasp.
“Too much?” Scully asks.
“No, not at all,” Mulder says quickly. “Just surprised me. It was good,” he assures her.
“Good,” she replies, taking a deep breath. “Sorry… I feel like a clueless teenager,” she says with a huff of a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared this much. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling out of my depth all of a sudden.”
“I’ve never cared this much for anybody either,” he admits. “But like you said. We’ll go slow.”
She licks her lips. “Okay,” she whispers.
He angles himself towards her, sliding a hand around the back of her neck to draw her closer. “Try again?” he whispers, lips brushing hers.
“Yes,” she breathes.
He’s been holding back from this for years, he realizes; all those times his eyes caught on her lips, watching her mouth shape his name. Occupying his tongue with sunflower seeds to distract himself from what he really wanted. Leaning close, furtively whispering, convincing himself that he really needed to be in her personal space. It was all an elaborate buildup for this moment.
He has a hand in her hair, the other tentatively resting on her waist. Emboldened by her previous eagerness, he opens his mouth, inviting her in with a soft lick. She responds by looping her arms around his neck, one leg hitched across his kneecap as their tongues meet.
They kiss like kites dancing on air, ribbons twisting and tangling in the wind, all silk and cotton and hot breath. He’s not sure if he pulled her onto his lap, or if she slid across his knees of her own volition; but she’s there now, her compact body bundled against his chest. She cards her fingers through his hair, sucking his lower lip, grazing his tongue with her teeth.
Mulder wants this so badly it aches. He might die if they stop, but something below the belt is bound to make itself known, and he needs to regain control before his body gets ahead of his mind.
“Scully,” he pants, pulling back. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his hunger intensifies. “Scully, if we’re not going to take this further tonight we need to stop now.”
She nods, lips parted as she catches her breath. One strap of her dress has fallen down her shoulder, and he tenderly replaces it with the slip of a finger.
“Don’t touch me like that,” she whispers. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I know,” he confesses. “But… sometimes I want dangerous.”
“So do I,” she says. “But you were right. We should stop.” She slips off of his lap, standing. “It’s getting late,” she say, glancing at the clock. “I have mass in the morning.”
“I hope I gave you a few things to confess,” he says, rising.
“I may add some to the list myself,” she murmurs, and his knees threaten to give way.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he warns her, picking up his jacket and walking to the door. “The more you talk, the harder it is to leave.”
“Then my lips are sealed,” she says. “Goodnight, Mulder.” She opens the door for him, rising onto her tiptoes to receive one more kiss.
It’s brief, but sweet, and Mulder impulsively pulls her into a hug after their lips part. “Goodnight, Scully,” he mumbles into her hair.
He's ascended; gotten high on her lips, floating through the cosmos.
