Handfasting by MSR_Pusher
Chapter 11: House Hunting
https://archiveofourown.org/works/81902981/chapters/218144001
Scully had two strict requirements for this real estate venture: everything had to be brand new or recently renovated and absolutely nothing could be classified as a “fixer-upper.” Mulder’s definition of being “handy” involved a roll of duct tape and an abiding hope for the best. She was not about to let him take on a passion project. Mulder, conversely, only wanted a place with some historical charm and whatever would make Scully happy.
Because they had agreed to keep this marriage as low-key as possible, especially to avoid the watchful eyes of the Bureau, they decided it would be best to pose as colleagues looking to co-invest in a property. It seemed like the most logical, uncomplicated cover story.
Unfortunately, neither of them was prepared for Dalia.
Dalia was waiting for them on the front porch of a sprawling, somewhat tired-looking Victorian. She teetered between classy and gauche, though the deep, plunging neckline of her bright fuchsia skirt suit tipped her decisively toward the latter. The suit clung to her ample curves with unapologetic tightness. She had a cascade of dark brunette hair tumbling down to the middle of her back.
As they walked up the steps Scully was hit by her scent. Dalia was drenched in Estee Lauder’s Beautiful, applied with such a heavy hand Scully felt her throat tighten on instinct.
“Fox!” Dalia practically purred when she laid eyes on him. She bypassed a professional handshake entirely, reaching out to grasp Mulder’s bicep with manicured, crimson-painted nails. “I have been so looking forward to showing you the property.”
“It’s Mulder,” he corrected mildly, his attention on the peeling paint on the eaves. “And this is my partner, Dana Scully.”
Dalia flashed Scully a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her heavily mascaraed eyes before turning her attention back to Mulder.
As they moved inside Dalia’s fawning escalated. She was clearly selling more than this run down three bedroom house. Every time she pointed out a feature, a drafty bay window or an original fireplace, she found an excuse to touch him. A hand on his shoulder or a playful swat to his chest when he asked a perfectly serious question about the structural integrity of the floorboards.
It completely rankled Scully.
But it wasn't just annoyance. It was a hot, sudden spike of nausea pooling low in her stomach.
"Fox, just look at these crown moldings," Dalia purred, stepping well into his space to point at the ceiling. Fox. Scully’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. Only two people ever called him Fox. His mother, and Diana Fowley.
Her mind flashed back to a psych ward hallway, to the devastating moment she had looked through the window of a closed door and seen Diana holding his hand. It was a casual, intimate gesture that spoke of an old, intensely private connection. A shared belief system and a shared past that Scully felt completely excluded from. But the ache ran deeper than jealousy. It was rooted in the stinging memory of standing in the Lone Gunmen’s lair, presenting him with empirical proof of Diana’s duplicity, only to have him stubbornly refuse to listen. To Mulder, the quest for the truth was an all-consuming fire, and Diana had been someone willing to simply fuel it, regardless of the cost. Scully couldn't do that. She would never be the partner who blindly validated his obsession without demanding evidence. Watching Dalia touch him now, that suffocating sadness flared up, the quiet, terrifying realization of why she kept her walls so high. How could she risk a real marriage, a real life with him, when she knew firsthand that his blind spots for the people who indulged his crusades could render her voice inconsequential?
Mulder just hummed absently, his eyes on the peeling paint. He wasn’t returning the flirtation, but he wasn’t stopping it, either, hovering in that familiar gray space between distraction and willful ignorance. For a man who was so devastatingly perceptive about seemingly everything, he remained staggeringly, almost pathologically blind to the effect he had on women.
“And the main bedroom,” Dalia purred, her voice dropping as she gestured toward the top of the stairs. “It has a working fireplace. Very cozy for those cold Virginia winters.”
Mulder reached up to inspect a slight discoloration on the ceiling plaster, the movement causing his shirt to pull tight. Scully swallowed hard. She caught Dalia's predatory gaze taking him in.
Dalia reached up to adjust the lapel on Mulder’s jacket and let out a breathy giggle.
Scully felt the last frayed shred of her patience evaporate. The private, isolating hurt vanished, instantly swallowed by a hot, sickening wave of territorial fury. It was entirely unbusinesslike and fiercely possessive.
“What’s the status of the electrical wiring?” Scully’s voice cut through the room like a scalpel, sharp and unforgiving. “The listing failed to mention if it has been brought up to code. As I explicitly stated, we are looking for turnkey properties. Mulder is not a handyman,” she added coolly.
Dalia paused, finally glancing at Scully. Her crimson lips settled into a condescending pout, but instead of addressing her question, she turned right back to Mulder, her voice dropping to an intimate, sultry register.
“Oh, a big strong man like you doesn’t need to be handy,” she murmured, her long pointy nails tracing the line of his forearm. “You just need to have a vision. I can give you names of some wonderful contractors. We could even go over the blueprints together… over drinks.”
Scully’s jaw locked. The sheer audacity of the woman was impressive, if it wasn’t so aggravating.
“He doesn’t drink,” Scully lied smoothly, her voice calm and authoritative.
Both Mulder and Dalia looked at her.
Scully’s tone seemed to have finally penetrated Mulder’s oblivious fog. He subtly but determinedly took a step back and instinctively took a step towards Scully.
“She’s right. I am a teetotaler,” Mulder lied. Mulder glanced at Scully, really looked this time, taking in the rigid posture, the tight jaw, the unmistakable edge.
Dalia’s smile faltered, her hand waving awkwardly in the empty space between them. “Dana, I just meant…”
“It is Agent Scully," she corrected, a perfectly polite smile curving her lips that absolutely did not reach her icy blue eyes. She stared at Dalia with the full weight of a seasoned Federal Agent. "And while I am sure your... hospitality is a selling point for some of your clientele, my partner and I are operating on a strict timeline. This house is noticeably leaning to one side, and the electrical system isn't even close to being up to safety standards. So we won't be needing those contractors, blueprints, or drinks.”
Dalia’s jaw went slack. The crimson pout vanished as her manicured hand fluttered defensively to her throat.
Before Dalia could recover her footing, the sharp, authoritative trill of Scully's cell phone pierced the tense silence of the dining room. Scully didn't break eye contact with the realtor as she reached into her coat pocket and flipped the phone open.
"Scully," she answered, her tone pure ice.
She listened for a moment, the rigid line of her shoulders tightening as she shifted back into her most professional, untouchable state. "Understood, sir. We are leaving right now."
Scully snapped the phone shut. She finally looked away from Dalia, turning her attention to Mulder. Without looking away from him, Scully reached out, her cool fingers finding the exact spot on Mulder's lapel that Dalia had just touched. She smoothed the wool fabric with quiet, unmistakable possession. She felt his breath stutter beneath her touch.
"That was Skinner," she said, then turned on her heel and walked out the door, her posture impeccable. She turned back at the door to add, "Virginia PD is trying to lock us out of the Evans investigation. He needs us back in his office immediately to formalize the federal evidence transfer. We have to go." She left a stunned Dalia and an entirely breathless Mulder in her wake.
“Thanks for the tour,” Mulder deadpanned, turning away.
As he hurried out the front door, the heavy oak swinging shut behind him, his mind raced to catch up. He jogged down the porch steps, his eyes locked on Scully’s retreating figure as she practically ripped the passenger door open.
A slow, incredulous smirk broke across his face as the realization hit.
Scully was jealous.
Scully struggled to get her heart rate under control. She was a doctor. A federal agent. She didn’t throw tantrums over flirtatious real estate agents.
Mulder opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He shut the door with a thud, enclosing them in the small intimate space of the sedan. The confines of the car felt suddenly microscopic, the air growing thick and heavily pressurized the second the doors sealed them in together.
For a long moment, he didn’t start the engine. He just sat there, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, turning his head to look at her.
“So,” Mulder started, his voice a casual drawl. “Not a fan of the bay windows?”
“The foundation was visibly sagging, Mulder,” she snapped, her voice clipped. “And the electrical wiring is a fire hazard waiting to happen.”
“Right. The wiring," Mulder agreed smoothly, leaning back in his seat. He tilted his head, watching the angry flush on her high cheekbones. He couldn’t resist pushing just a little bit more. “Though, Dalia did seem very… invested in helping us navigate all of that.”
Scully’s head snapped towards him, her eyes narrowing. “Dalia was highly unprofessional.”
“You think so?” Mulder asked, thoroughly enjoying this but desperately trying to feign innocent surprise. He rested his elbow on the center console, bringing him just a fraction closer to her. His large frame seemed to swallow the space between them. “She seemed very eager… to help.”
“She was practically offering you a lap dance in the dining room.” Scully fired back, her words tumbling out before she could filter them. She stiffened, realizing how she sounded, and quickly scrambled to rebuild her logical defense. “It’s inappropriate. We are making a major financial purchase. We need someone serious and not someone propositioning my husband.”
The word husband slipped out like a bullet before she could catch it.
She froze, instantly flustered. Her heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against her ribs. She stared straight out the windshield, the silence in the car suddenly deafening.
A small, highly logical part of Mulder’s brain wanted to point out that Dalia actually had no idea he was a married man, considering Scully herself had explicitly ordered them to pose as strictly platonic co-investors before they even walked up the porch steps. Technically, Dalia had just been hitting on a single guy. But looking at the fierce, defensive fire in his partner's icy blue eyes, Mulder wisely decided pointing out that contradiction would be a spectacular way to get himself killed.
Although seeing the unflappable Dana Scully this rattled and possessive over him was clearly the highlight of his decade, he decided to mercifully swoop in and put her out of her misery.
“You’re absolutely right,” Mulder said softly.
Scully blinked. “I am?”
“Completely,” Mulder nodded, his hazel green eyes warm and fixed on her. “And I think my sinuses are permanently scarred from her perfume.”
“Exactly,” Scully agreed, her posture finally starting to relax. She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her pristine slacks, regaining her composure.
“We need a more polished agent. No more Dalias. I’ll make some calls this afternoon and find someone who meets our standards, Scully.”
He shifted the car into drive. But before pulling away from the curb, he let his gaze linger on her profile for one more second. His voice dropped into a low, gravelly register as he added, “Besides, I already have all the vision I need.”
As he pulled away from the curb, carrying them back toward the life they were supposedly only pretending to share, Scully stared out the passenger window, feeling a quiet, terrifying shift in her own resolve. She had built her defenses so carefully, relying on reason and caution to remind herself why surrendering her heart to him was a devastating risk. But as the heavy, charged silence stretched between them in the small car, her mind betrayed her. Despite all her protective walls, it was getting harder and harder to resist the sheer, magnetic pull of the man sitting next to her.
