Mulder is in the big hammock out back, sprawled like a Roman Emperor. The chickens are out, pecking for bugs among the goat droppings. He has a lemon shandy in a frosty glass. He has a tomato sandwich with tomatoes from their garden and homemade bread. He has Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell next to him.
He has misgivings.
Scully enters his field of view, stage left, “Mulder, you’d better put those damn chickens away before he gets here, especially Francisco. That rooster is a complete menace.”
She glares at the enormous bird. They’ve had a few scuffles, she and Francisco. There have been Band-Aids and three stitches.
He slurps at his drink. “You don’t think your brother wants to see my big cock?”
She is silent for a long moment. Then, “I swear to God I will literally kill you, Mulder. I will shoot you and I will bury you out here and I will put a big gazebo over your grave and every time I sit in it I will think about how much you had it coming.”
She stalks back to the house.
“Jesus,” Mulder says to the chickens. “Someone is in a mood.”
***
It’s an awkward greeting, but not as awkward as he’d imagined. He and Bill have always hated each other, which makes it easy to pick up where they’d left off, like two enemy pirate captains running into one another at a bar in Tortuga.
Bill, per usual, looks like he was waiting for the Dulcolax to kick in. Douchebag plaid shorts that Rob Petrie wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot golf club.
He sweeps his sister up in a massive hug and she got rather teary and Bill, to his credit, looks a bit pink around the eyes and nose as well. He puts his sister down after a moment, smoothing her hair.
Bill and Mulder then acknowledge one another’s undeniable existence on the material plane. Shake hands like sulky but well-mannered children after a baseball game.
***
Now they’re on the deck while Mulder tends the grill, three gorgeous steaks from a neighbor’s cow before him.
“It’s beautiful out here, Dana,” Bill says.
“Mostly Mulder’s doing,” Scully replies, sipping at the wine her brother had brought. “He’s honestly a wizard with this property.” She glances at him when she says it and he smiles back.
“Really?” Bill says. “Well, color me impressed. Mulder, I had no idea you were such an adept little homemaker.”
Mulder moves the steaks to a serving platter. “Oh, sure. Dana just uses me for cooking, yardwork, and sex.”
Bill chokes on his beer and Scully closes her eyes for a beat the way Anne Boleyn must have when they led her from the Tower.
Mulder sets the platter on the table, uncovers the potato salad and the asparagus. Sourdough rolls and goat-milk butter.
“Now Bill,” he says, “you tell me if that steak is too rare and I’ll pop it right in the microwave for you. Let me know if you need anything else, some A-1 or ketchup or anything at all. I want you to feel at home.”
Absolute daggers in Scully’s eyes.
Bill coughs lightly. “Everything looks fantastic, thank you both.”
“It was good of you to make the drive, Bill,” Scully says, loading up plates with food. “I know it’s a bit of a haul.”
Bill smiles indulgently. “Couldn’t be this close to my kid sister after so long and not swing by!”
“Though we would have understood,” Mulder says, warmly. He butters a roll and passes it to his brother in law. “Never feel obligated.”
Bill narrows his eyes as he accepts the bread. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to need some new pictures of the kids,” Scully says brightly. “Matthew must have grown six inches since that school photo you sent, Bill! And Mom says Claire has lost two teeth.”
“I’ll tell Tara to send some,” Bill says, puffing up.
They eat in silence for a time. Knives cutting through the tender steaks and stabbing into waxy potatoes and young asparagus. Butter dripping down chins.
“It’s a shame William isn’t growing up here,” Bill says, wiping his plate with another roll. “Dana, how could-“
Her fork clatters to her plate and he shuts up.
A roaring silence like an event horizon.
“Bill,” Scully says, sweetly. “We have the most beautiful rooster to show you.”
Pre-IWTB at the unremarkable house, Mulder accidentally hurts himself to the point that he *has* to go to the hospital, so he goes to Scully’s work incognito and she has to doctor him
-
The summer sun begins to dip beneath the horizon as Mulder adjusts the pile of blankets and picnic basket to his liking. The air is warm and the view of the seafoam colored sky is absolutely amazing from this height. He smiles down at the romantic alcove made of pillows and a single strand of Christmas lights he’d found in the attic.
Scully hates surprises, but she needs this, he knows. Almost as badly as he does.
Mulder stands and sways his weight from foot to foot, giving the surface beneath his boots an experimental bounce. It’s solid, sturdy. For as old as this unremarkable house is, the roof is relatively new. Mulder runs a hand through his wind-blown hair and smirks. If their date night under the spray of fireworks goes as well as he hopes, this overhang will be the last place left on their property to cross off the to-be-christened list.
The traditional string of muted booms and soft pops echo across the open field. It’s familiar now, a comfort to feel consistency in far-off sounds of society, and he knows their celebration will last all through the night.
Three years they’ve called this house home. Four years since Scully has worked her precious body to the bone to regain her presence in the medical community. Five years since he’s been labeled a fugitive and sentenced to live life in the shadows.
Turns out, that’s the least of his punishment. Watching his Scully - his partner in all things - walk out the door every day without him makes his chest ache more than any death sentence ever could.
He wipes his sweaty brow with the flannel shirt protecting him from another skin-peeling sunburn and spins around to climb down the ladder. He wants to shower and run a bath for Scully before she gets home from the hospital.
He sinks down onto the first rung as his mind replays their last bout of lovemaking: Scully’s soft little bottom rising and falling in his lap, his fingers tangled in the long tendrils of her hair, her swollen lips trailing across his skin while she whispers how much she loves-
His boot slips and the ladder jerks to the side.
Mulder gasps as his body plummets, his feet floating above his face, his eyes widening…
He lands on his side in a bone-jarring thud. “Ahh, fuuu…”
He writhes, his long fingers digging deep into the dirt. His eyes water and his vision blurs. He coughs, rocketing a gut rolling explosion of pain through his ribcage that steals the breath from his chest.
Scully. Scully will kill him for doing this without her here if the ache in his skull doesn’t do it first.
Mulder stiffens, waits for the pinpricks of agony to taper off, and assumes he’s cracked a rib - maybe two this time. Not great, yet not life-threatening, either. But when he rolls onto his knees, his back muscles seize up like a rusted screw, sending him face first into the mossy earth.
Dirt clings to his pout. “Sonofabitch.”
The strand of lights twinkle atop the roof and he can see the same annoying squirrel that always steals Mulder’s birdseed romp boldly across the blanket nook. He rolls his eyes, feeling mocked by the expensive bottle of Cabernet nestled in the picnic basket twelve feet above him. He slowly succumbs to the realization that he can’t hide his injury and would rather embrace the incredulous concern of his doctor instead of the love of his life’s worrisome scrutiny. He groans, his resolve wilting.
Dammit, he has to take a trip to the hospital.
Scully’s hospital.
Mulder reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his cell phone, the action sparking pain through his spine like the firecrackers popping off in the distance.
He presses SEND on the contact for his usual cab company, panting into the mouthpiece as the phone rings. “Yeah, I need a ride.”
-
It takes Mulder several minutes to scoot his way out of the cab, toss the nosy man a forty, and limp his way to the Emergency Room’s front desk. He’d texted Scully on the way here and her response was a string of frantic questions he had no answers to.
“Doctor Dana Scully?” he asks, head bowed. “I’m here to see Dr. Scully.”
He knows Scully’s shift ends in twenty minutes so they can leave together after she pokes and prods him to her liking, but the waiting room is packed full with injured people. A man with a rag covering a bloody hand sits by a woman with a red welt on the side of her face where half her hair is singed off. Fireworks are as dangerous as lovesick men on ladders.
The intake nurse arches a bleached brow. “And you are?”
Mulder tugs the brim of his Knicks hat lower on his forehead, a niggle of paranoia creeping up his neck.
A familiar voice interrupts, “I’ll take it from here, Margo, thanks.”
He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s her. Scully’s warm presence engulfs him like a blanket. Her cross necklace glints welcomely in the fluorescent light and the fruity scent of the shampoo he’d helped massage into her scalp this morning relaxes him. Even as jolts of pain singe his nerve endings, Scully’s touch is a salve that dulls the senses.
She helps him to a stretcher in the corner and slides the privacy curtain closed in a flurry. Her fingertips flutter across his face again and again, caressing his jaw, his neck. A splash of mussed hair that’s spilled from her ponytail and onto her name tag looks like liquid cinnamon.
Goddamn, he loves her.
“Sorry, Scully.”
She unbuttons his shirt as swiftly as she does at home and tosses his hat, raking her fingers through his hair. Her shoulders slump and she finally exhales a chest full of breath, “What the hell happened?”
Mulder grimaces as he melts into the rock hard bed.
He tells her everything.
-
One emergency x-ray, a shot in the ass, and an amusing cognitive assessment later, Mulder stares up at Scully in doctor-mode buzzing like a bee above him.
“Two cracked ribs and severe muscle strain,” she diagnoses. A sweet sigh of relief puffs past her lips, but the crease of concern he‘s come to know better than the back of his hand contorts her brow. “I thought we talked about not dying enough over the years.”
All he wanted was to get out of the house with her and melt the stress from her muscles with his own under the rainbow-colored sky. Was that too much to ask?
“Romance has died, apparently,” he mutters. “I should’ve known.”
She scoffs, fighting the upturned curl of her mouth. “Yes well, a lot of good that would’ve done.”
He chuckles and instantly regrets it. His ribs throb and now his butt cheek burns with whatever was in that shot.
“Shh, the muscle relaxer will kick in any second now.”
Loud voices and beeping machines fill their comfortable silence as Scully fiddles with his blankets. He can even hear clusters of cherry bomb explosions and whizzing Roman candles through Our Lady’s brick walls. Mulder can see it now: bright colors bursting above their roof at home. The amber glow of twinkling lights wound around the empty nest of pillows and snacks, just waiting for them to enjoy it.
“I had wine and cheese and everything,” he chuffs bitterly. “Guess that pesky family of squirrels will have the time of their lives.”
“You don’t have to risk your life on a ladder to romance me, Mulder,” she tells him affectionately. “You do it quite well standing on your own.”
“You know me, Scully, I’ll never give up.”
“Fortunately, I do.”
“Hey,” he adds, seriousness taking hold. “I am sorry for… for coming here.”
“I’m not mad, Mulder,” she says softly. “I worry about you.”
His eyes fall shut. He knows she isn’t angry for risking exposure. For fuck’s sake, he’s done a lot worse and she still fell in love with him. But now that he’s here…
Dana Scully’s intelligence is overwhelmingly attractive. She’s stunningly sexy, and he’s damned certain there’s not one person walking the halls of this hospital who hasn’t appreciated it. But he also knows she can’t last a single shift without calling him.
So he wonders.
Not about her looking twice at another man or second-guessing her choice to hold him at night, but about the little things. The personal things. What is he now if he isn’t her partner, some stranger’s name scrawled on an intake paper? They’ve belonged together since the day they met. He just doesn’t think it’s too much to ask for the world to know they belong to each other, too.
“So there’s really no one here that knows, huh?”
“Knows about… us?” Scully whispers, and he nods. “Of course not. You know that’s not possible.”
Mulder knows that, of course he does, but it hurts to hear her say it. Maybe in some sick way he wants her to feel the same loss he does when she’s thriving in the real world without him.
“It’s just… I miss you.”
“Oh, Mulder. You just saw me this morning.” She’s blushing about exactly what he saw in the shower this morning, but he can tell it’s painful for her to admit their impossibility aloud. “Kissed me, too.”
“It’s never enough.”
It’s a truth they both know.
She stops fidgeting with a file containing his faux name, grabs his large dirt-stained hand and cups it between her smaller ones. “I miss you too, always.”
“Yeah?”
Chewing her lip, she tucks her chin to chest and squeezes his fingers. “You know… Mulder, you know I hate keeping us a secret, right?”
“I know, Scully.” He squeezes back. “Maybe one day…”
“Yes,” she says thickly. “One day.”
-
Scully swoops back into the room after leaving him to officially end her shift, eying him critically as he awkwardly tries putting his shirt back on.
“Busted.” She grabs his sleeve and tugs, undoing all his hard work.
“You just wanna take my shirt off again,” he says with a waggled brow.
She leans back. Her eyes are narrowed, but her mouth is soft with a special kind of amusement meant only for him.
“An added bonus.” She cups her hand over his stubbled jaw. “But I’ll admit you do look especially sexy in flannel.”
“Mm…” Whatever pain meds she’s pushing has him warm and fuzzy. He nuzzles into her soft little palm. “Tryin’ to tell me you have a lumberjack fantasy I can fulfill for ya?”
Scully scoffs, and his cheek suddenly feels bereft without her thumb arcing across it. “You’re high, Mulder.”
“High on my love for you,” he coos, sliding one hand up the back of her pant leg, curving possessively around the rounded cheek of her ass.
She stiffens, his name hissing through her teeth. He pouts and lets his arm fall limp on the gurney.
Scully needlessly fusses with his IV, then rips off his blood pressure cuff in a show of irritation. But the corner of her mouth lifts, and she’s flushed. To anyone else she’d simply be ignoring an obstinate patient, but to a man who’s spent nearly every day with her over fifteen years, he knows she’s flattered. He also knows she finds his flirting equally thrilling as inappropriate while wearing her spotless white coat and stethoscope.
Maybe they should roleplay more often.
She prods his belly once again, her tiny hand pausing just above his pelvis. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“C’mon, Scully, be honest. You’re tired of playing doctor.”
Her eyes flick to the closed curtain before whispering, “That’s what the cuffs are for, sir.”
“Jesus Christ,” he husks. Even through the ample surge of muscle relaxers he feels himself harden. “You tryin’ to torture me, doc?”
“First do no harm,” she says primly.
He grins dopely. “Promises, promises.”
“Promise me no more flirting and we’ll get out of here soon.”
He catches her lab coat when she tries to turn away, dipping in his fingers in the pocket, giving it a playful tug. “Not even a little?”
“You’ll survive, Mulder.” She twines her fingers through his and pulls them to her cheek, just for a second, before pressing the gentlest of kisses to the pulse fluttering in his wrist. “I’ll personally see to it.”
Mulder smiles so hard his mouth hurts.
Maybe they’ll see fireworks tonight after all.
-
@today-in-fic and any other reblogs are much appreciated since I rarely post fic on here anymore. Enjoy!
Mulder persuades Scully to come up to bed after she falls asleep on him by telling ten things he loves about her; about 850 words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic
The first thing Mulder is aware of is the absence of rustling papers; it's eerily quiet like a thick soup of silence. Waking up a little more he peaks an eye open. The night is dark even with the numerous lamps they have lighting their living room; the darkness is as thick as the silence beyond the windows. He has the urge to get up and draw them, to cocoon them in their little house of warmth and light but his back aches and something heavy on top of him is weighing him down. That something moves in her sleep.
Mulder throws his head back over the side of the couch to look at the clock mounted on the wall behind him. Two in the morning. He groans, his back complains, and Scully snuggles up closer to him seeking out his bodily heat. All around them are the remnants of medical studies and important patient files that she has been working on for the last he doesn't know how many hours. He fell to the tides of slumber long before she had; chewed pencil at her lips and notes in her lap. He had watched her for a while, rubbing her shoulders, listening to her spout her reasoning and humming along, not especially understanding what she was saying. But that didn't stop her, that never stopped them from spring boarding ideas off of each other.
He rubs her shoulders now, coaxing her from her sleep. "Scully," he whispers.
"Mphhmm," she refuses, burying further into him.
He brushes her hair away from her eyes and kisses her temple. "Scully, honey, we need to move."
"But I'm comfy." Is her groggy reply as she pulls one of his arms around her body, trapping herself in his embrace, wearing him like a favourite blanket.
Mulder takes the pencil from her other loose hand and places it on the coffee table. "I love when you're sleepy: you're grouchy."
She snorts defiantly. "M not."
He chuckles, removing the blanket of papers covering her legs. "I love how you become clingy and cuddly too, even though you'd never admit it fully awake." Resting his chin on top of her head, he signs. "I love how you're so small--"
That wakes her up. "Mullderrr!" she protests but continues to snuggle into him nonetheless.
He shushes her soothingly, squeezing her in his arms. "I love it because you fit perfectly under my chin and I get to hold you like we are made for each other."
"That's ridiculous."
"Mhmm, so are you." Looking over her forehead, he can see her eyes closed but she still has enough energy to pull a face at him. "I love when you pout, it's the cutest thing ever. And on the same subject the way you lick your lips when you concentrate is endearing too."
A small chuckle rolls through her body, remembering the many times she has caught him staring from across offices or work meetings, even at her mother's Sunday dinners. Mulder rubs his hands up and down her arms persuasively, trying to get her to rise. Dropping his lips to her ear, his breath tickles the hairs on the back of her neck as he murmurs, "I love the way you think and challenge me and share your ideas"
Splaying his fingers out over her ribs, he encompasses her torso with the lightest of touches. "I love your laugh--"
"Don't even think about it." Her voice is stern, a warning accompanied by her own fingers digging under his to free herself.
Mulder chuckles. "I love how you can read my mind."
Despite her tone, he tickles her anyway, keeping them both balanced on the couch as she wriggles and flails, tears falling from the corners of her eyes, her laugh ripping through the quiet of the house.
"Stop! Mulder! Stop it!" she half laughs half shouts, breathless. She slaps his arms until they sting bright red, but he doesn't care. Turning around when he finally relents, she faces him panting.
"I love your eyes. And your lips. And your nose. I love your hair."
At this she arches an eyebrow and he brushes his thumb across the curve.
"I love your infamous eyebrow."
She smiles and kisses him before he can continue, all sweet and well-intentioned but she can't resist teasing him just a little. When she pulls away, he knows he is wearing a dazed look; in too deep to care that she can reduce him so easily to a simpering puddle of a man.
"I love the way you kiss me." His voice is low and rich like honey, she tastes his words on her tongue. "I love the way you love me. I love you."
She kisses him again. "That's more than ten things."
"I love everything about you Mrs Dana Katherine Scully."
"Mhmm." She brushes her noses against his and steals another quick kiss, murmuring against his lips, "I love the way you carry me to bed."
A/N: It was meant to be a short fic but over the past couple of weeks, it took on a life of its own. Pre IWTB. Angst and stuff. And some smut. Sorry for all the typos; no beta. Enjoy :) Tagging @suitablyaggrieved @baronessblixen @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm
The summer night air was sticky with humidity. Scully laid on her side, watching the open window in inky blackness. The unremarkable house’s air condition still needed to be fixed, so until then, it was fans and open windows. The large box fan near the window hummed as she pushed the sheet covering her to her waist. She was sweating without even trying. The idea of taking a cold shower was appealing but she didn’t want to wake Mulder. Instead, she would try to sleep, despite how uncomfortable the summer night was.
With a new resolve, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The sounds of their new home were something she was still growing used to. Two years on the run with Mulder and she had come accustomed to noisy streets, sirens, shouting, and the odd couple in the next room riding the bed. The quietness was something that was going to take getting used to. If she really focused, she could hear the orchestra of tree frogs outside, the hooting of a lone owl, and humming of crickets. She also heard Mulder’s even breathing. She sat up and rolled over to check on him and feel some relief. He was on his back, the sheet covering them also bunched around his waist. She watched his bare chest rise up and down rhythmically with sleep.
It was good to see that their new home was doing him good as well. Maybe it would bring some sense of peace or grounding. Too long had he known instability. She remembered after he had come back from the dead how she wished they could settle down and start a family after William was born. But no. She had urged him it was safer to leave than risk being with her and their son. Was she as much to blame for the predicament they had suffered along with his never-ending quest for Truth? She blamed herself for where they were. Scully tried to push the thoughts out of her mind as she tried to focus on the outside noises in order to fall asleep. But sleep would remain elusive.
She heard Mulder moving in the bed next to her. It wasn’t the normal shifting in bed but more frantic struggles that came with nightmares. Not again, she thought. Scully sat up quickly and placed her hand on his bare shoulder. “Mulder,” she whispered. She shook his shoulder gently. “Mulder, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
He sat up suddenly, like a jack-in-a-box, startling her. He looked around in alarm as Scully turned on the lamp next to their bed. “Scully!” He called her name in a whisper as if he couldn’t see her still. “Scully…”
“I’m right here. We’re safe,” she whispered, trying to get him to look at her. “Mulder, you had another nightmare again.”
He looked around, his shaggy hair swishing side to side. “We’re safe?”
She nodded and caressed his cheek. “Do you remember? We have a home now. We aren’t on the run anymore.”
They both hated nights like these. They had just recently purchased the house in Farrs Corner after spending nearly two years on the run. It wasn’t just Scully who was having trouble adjusting to this new lifestyle. Scully was cautiously looking for employment in medicine in order to give their cover some sort of normalcy but had yet to find anything. So, they stayed home together, just trying to adjust to this new normal.
“We aren’t.” He repeated it like a mantra rather than a question. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He seemed to come back to his senses. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
He shook his head, unable to form words. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled signaling the start of a summer thunderstorm. “I’m going to go downstairs for a bit. I don’t want to keep you up.” He placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek before jumping out of bed. “Go back to sleep.”
She looked confused at what he had just said. Unable to formulate an answer, she watched him retreat from their bedroom. What had just happened? Her brain was still trying to process it. “Mul--” Her voice fell silent.
The nightmares were not anything new for either of them. Scully had them as she tried to deal with her abduction, they appeared again after she chose to give up their son in order to protect him. For Mulder, his nightmares never truly went away. She remembered the nights she would spend with him after he returned. When they reclaimed each other in the Quantico brig and went on the run from the federal government, she found out the extent of his own nightmares that had plagued him since he had left her in Georgetown. And then Scully’s own nightmares returned with fervor.
They acknowledged each other’s demons and nightmares but they would not discuss it. That was their unspoken agreement.
But Scully was tired of that agreement. She thought that since they weren’t on the run anymore, that their nightmares would dissipate. Maybe they could find something of their old groove that existed when their physical relationship evolved and the brief month they embraced the idea of having a family together. She sat back against the mountain of pillows and the oak headboard. She could stay here, let him mope, and fall back into his old patterns or do something about it. She had lost him once before and once was already too many times to count.
Scully got out of bed, the wood floor, cool to the touch. She reached for an old National’s sweatshirt her mother had gifted Mulder last year for his birthday. The shirt smelled of him and she hugged herself as a reminder of better times. What constituted better times now?
She walked down the stairs silently, carefully avoiding the squeaky stair towards the bottom. He had already claimed the couch they had bought at a small furniture store and turned on the TV to a late-night ‘Twilight Zone’ marathon. She remembered when they got the couch. It was after they visited a farmer’s market out by Aldine. She had urged him to turn off so they could see it. For fun, she told him. They needed to purchase the other half of missing furniture that her mom had failed to save when they went on the run. Scully remembered specifically when they had found the couch. He had jumped on it, extending his long body as he used to when he would sleep on the leather couch in his old Alexandria apartment. This is perfect, he had declared that day in Ikea.
Maybe he had insisted on that couch for that same reason. Scully stood by the staircase and watched as he returned to his similar routine. The only light came from the light on top of their stove. It cast the room in an eerie green glow, reminding of the movie ‘The Matrix.’ He picked up the tv remote and flipped it to a ‘Twilight Zone’ episode (how on Earth did he know what channel to turn it to?) and settle down on the couch. For a second he sat before he took the extra pillow and put it behind his head, lounging his long body awkwardly.
She stood there for a few moments longer. He lowered the volume and dropped the tv remote on their coffee table. The blue glow from the television became a welcome gateway to his past. Scully did not want him falling down that rabbit hole again. “Mulder,” she called softly.
“I’m okay, Scully. Go back to bed.”
He made no effort to face her or acknowledge her presence other than speaking to her. Mulder still refused to face her. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the low rumble of thunder and the beginnings of a summer storm. The downstairs was just as muggy with all the windows open. After a moment's thought, she silently closed all the downstairs windows that weren’t sheltered by their porch. She jogged upstairs and did the same. Closing the windows made their house even more suffocating in the July heat. “Shit, Scully, leave the windows open.”
“There’s a storm coming,” she replied from top of the staircase. She made her way back down. “I don't want our house getting wet.”
“Well, it’s even hotter now.”
She continued to watch him from a distance. “Well, what do you want me to do, Mulder?”
“Stop staring at me for starters.”
“Then acknowledge me instead of running away.” Bitter memories of her own mistake plagued her; she should have never urged him to go into hiding. Things might be normal. They would still have William. “Mulder?”
“I’m not running away.” He turned up the volume on the television to tune her out. “Go back to bed.”
She ran a hand through her long, red hair. She was frustrated, tired, hot, and in no mood to argue. In a few quick strides, she stood in front of the television with her arms crossed. Mulder frowned and tried to look around her. “You’re blocking the view.”
“There used to be a time when you would say I was the view.”
He physically winced. “Well played.” She reached for the remote and turned the tv off angrily. Mulder sighed and sat back up on the couch. “I was watching it.”
“Were you or were you using it as an excuse to tune me out?”
“I wasn’t aware we were having a conversation,” he replied flippantly.
Scully bristled. She could take his barbs in stride; she was used to dealing with a pissy Mulder who didn’t get his way. The last few months on the run had become this...verbal war between them and each word became a lob of artillery across their relationship of no man’s land. But his reluctance to even communicate with her fume even more at this moment and deep down, she didn’t know why. “You woke up from a nightmare. What do you expect me to do, Mulder? Not care? Not do anything? Not love you?”
He shrugged. Another rumble of thunder sounded closer. Scully looked out the window as a stray lightning bolt lit up the night; she half expected a cryptid out there watching them. “I don’t know.” He paused. “The storm sounds close.”
“They were calling for rain tonight.”
There was a ping on the metal roof of their porch. Then a second. Then a third. Then a steady stream of pings and dings from rain hitting their roof. “So they were,” Mulder acknowledged. “Scully, save your energy and go back to bed. No use in both of us losing sleep.”
“Mulder, I’m up because I care about you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I do! Has the fact that I’ve been on the run with you for the past two years mean nothing? The fact I’m still here and want to build a life with you? We have a house. We have furniture. We, Mulder,” she stressed the pronoun. “Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”
He sighed and sat up. “But I don’t want to bring you down.”
“Mulder, I lied to congress for you for starters. I will kill anyone who would dare touch you. What else do I need to do to prove myself to you after eleven years?”
“Nothing.”
Another clap of thunder made their house shake and then darkness. “Shit!” Scully snapped.
“I got it, Scully.” She heard him stumble around, a beam of a flashlight, and then he was digging through their pantry. Mulder produced an additional flashlight and an oil lamp. “It was left with the house,” he offered uselessly. “It still works. When you found the house, you really meant out in the middle of nowhere.”
Scully shrugged as he lit the oil lamp and brought it into the living room, sitting it on the coffee table next to the TV remote he was just using a second ago. Scully watched him stare at the dancing flame then meet her eyes. “I just don’t want you to feel more guilty than you already do, Scully,” he whispered. “I know you do.”
“I could say the same. Mulder, you aren’t a burden.” The summer thunderstorm continued to rage outside. After a moment’s thought, he got up, took her hand, and led her outside to their covered porch. “The lamp…”
“It’s fine.” The screen door shut behind them and Scully stopped in her steps as he came behind her. Mulder pressed himself against her back and whispered, “Come sit with me.”
When they bought the house, the porch had a rusted chair swing and two, somewhat new if not sturdy adirondack chairs with a small table that sat between them. Mulder led her to the chairs. He sat down, sighing briefly before he tugged gently on her hand. “Mulder, no.”
“Who’s going to see you? Come here, Scully.”
She huffed, pretending to be annoyed, as he pulled her into his lap. But this was the first time in weeks he had made a physical advance towards her. In the darkness, save from the little light from the oil lamp inside, she allowed herself to relax as his arm came around her waist. She rested her head against his shoulder, despite her own initial reservations. “We need to get the air condition fixed tomorrow.”
“I’ll call them first thing.” She closed her eyes as his hand snaked up under the sweatshirt she was wearing and gently began to rub her back. Goosebumps erupted as he caressed her bare skin. “This would be easier without this on.”
“I know,” she murmured.
Her eyes were closed as she enjoyed this moment. “I don’t want to burden you because I love you,” he whispered into her ear.
“You have nightmares almost daily,” she whispered back. She opened her eyes and kissed the curve of his neck. “I hear you wake up and it breaks my heart that I can’t help you. You hide from me or won’t let me in.”
“You hear me, huh?” She hummed in acknowledgment. He sighed and kissed her. “Did you have nightmares after your abduction?”
“Yes,” she whispered without hesitation. Mulder could remember a time she would never admit or discuss her vulnerabilities. “I also had them after you were abducted, before you came back, and when you were gone.”
Mulder admired her quiet strength of which he tried to draw from daily. “My nightmares started with the abduction. When I came back, I felt left behind.”
“I didn’t…”
“It wasn’t you.” He was quick to his defense. “At first maybe, but never you. Please know that. I never blamed you. I just was so unsure of everything. When you had the IVF treatments, do you know I used to daydream about you telling me I was going to be a father? Lamaze classes, the nursery…” His voice faltered. “And for 72 hours, it was good.”
“It was my fault.”
Scully had her eyes closed as the memories played in her head like a broken type; it kept repeating the same scenes over and over again. She felt Mulder’s fingers dig into her skin lightly, massaging her. “Relax, Scully. What’s done is done.”
“It’s my fault. All this is my fault,” she confessed. She choked on her own words and suddenly tried to pull away. Mulder’s other arm had coiled around her waist. “Mulder, I’m not okay. We’re not okay.”
“No.” He agreed after a long moment. “We aren’t, are we?”
Lightning lit up the sky and the rain grew heavy. It sounded like God was dumping everything on them. How fitting. The few pings on the metal roof of their porch sounded like someone was dropping a bucket of gravel on top of them. The air suddenly seemed cooler and the summer humidity vanished. She shivered slightly, unused to the sudden change in the weather. Mulder brought her legs up so she sat comfortably in his lap. “I should go inside,” she whispered to him.
“Why?”
“I thought you wanted to be left alone.”
“I find the company rather pleasant.” Sitting in the darkness with him, Scully wished she could see his face. She saw his faint outline from the light the oil lamp was casting from the window. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. She pushed an errant piece of hair behind her ear and rested her head against his shoulder. “Just thinking.” He hummed and watched out into the darkness. Lightning lit up their property followed by another loud clap of thunder that shook their house. “The angels must be one hell of a time bowling,” she whispered above the din of rain.
“Angels bowling?”
“That is what mom used to tell us when we were kids. I have this memory of when I was four and there was a really bad thunderstorm. I woke up and the power was out. Missy was at a sleepover. Bill…” She chuckled. “Well, he was a big nope. Charlie was still a baby. Dad was out to sea so I crawled into my mother’s bed. She told me every time there is thunder, the angels are bowling and getting strikes.”
“Must be a lot,” he whispered.
She hummed. “How come we can’t talk like we used to?” She asked him. “Why can’t we find our way out of the darkness?”
“Maybe we just need a little light on the subject.” After a moment’s thought, he pushed her onto her feet and got up behind her. “You left the windows down here open?”
“Just the ones covered by the porch,” she replied. “Why? Pushing me away again.” After a moment, she whispered, “Sorry.”
“No,” he said, “but I want to see your face.”
Scully was clearly confused as he led her back inside, safe from the storm raging outside. Even with the windows open, she could still hear it. But the room was slightly cooler as the storm took away the summer heat. Mulder went back to the couch, leaned forward, and adjusted the light on the oil lamp so the room became brighter. Scully stood in her spot as he held out his hand. “I’m not going to bite, Scully.”
Taking his gesture as an olive branch, she grasped his hand and sat next to him on the couch. “We did pick out a nice couch,” she whispered softly.
“We did but I don’t want to go to Ikea ever again. The bookcase for the bedroom was a nightmare to put together. Why don’t we go to that farmer’s market next weekend and see what they have? I doubt anyone will care to look for a fugitive there.”
We. She nodded slowly, unsure of where the conversation was heading. “I would like that.”
“Good.” He paused for a beat. “I can’t undo the past. Neither can you.”
“I wouldn’t let you go,” she whispered, “if I could do it all over again. I wouldn’t let you leave. We are weaker when we are apart.”
“And stronger together.” He licked his lips. “There is a lot of things that I would like a do-over with, Scully. I should have never gone to Oregon. That way, I wouldn’t have been abducted and I could have been there when you learned you were pregnant. There’s a lot of things we could have and should do. But something you taught me, we have now.”
“What are you trying to say, Mulder?”
“You want to talk? Know what my nightmares are about? Then let’s talk.”
“Okay,” she whispered, unsure where this conversation was going.
“Okay? Just okay?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I’m not sure.”
“The nightmares don’t change,” he said after another long moment. “I have the same ones that plagued me when I returned from my abduction. I regret the choices I made when leaving you and William.”
“The blame is just as much as mine.”
“I wasn’t planning on coming back,” Mulder told her. “The fact I got caught is the only reason you saw me again.”
“Fate.”
“I guess.” He leaned back and threw his arm on the back of the couch. “I don’t know, Scully. But I wish you didn’t have to go on the run with me. You would’ve been safer with your mother.”
“Mulder, I can’t live alone. Not without you. I thought I made that clear. Where you go, I go. What you do, I do. There is no me and you. There hasn’t been for a long time. It’s us. There’s only us.” She waved her arm around the darkened room. “We have a future now. I know it isn’t ideal or how we wanted but we have a home, Mulder. The fact that you are wanted by the FBI means nothing. I want us to have a life together, Mulder.”
He rubbed his chin and asked, “How much of that will change when you finally find a job at a hospital. Will you talk about me? About us? Or will you keep me a secret?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You can’t exactly take me out.”
The rain continued in its intensity. Scully rested her head on her arm. “So? Does that really mean so much to you, Mulder?”
“I just...you know how you stress ‘us’ and ‘we,’ Scully? Well, it feels like I would be left behind. I don’t want to be left behind again.”
She felt her heartstrings pull. “I’m not. As far as everyone knows, I’m taken.”
“Except Bill Jr. He refuses to acknowledge me.”
“Bill’s an ass.”
He smiled slightly. “But what’s stopping you?”
“I love you. Isn’t that enough?”
He nodded. “I’m just as insecure as you are, Scully.”
“Are we that broken?”
“I feel like I’m playing poker with you,” Mulder said. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Like we used to in the beginning of our partnership. You would let me see glimpses of who you were but never the full picture. When our relationship evolved, it got a little better.” Scully frowned as he continued. “But when you were pregnant with William when I came back...I felt like I didn’t belong. It felt like the whole world had moved on without me. You were just humoring me to make me feel better.”
She closed her eyes, a familiar pain welling up in her chest. William was also one of the other unspoken agreements they had. “I wasn’t humoring you, Mulder. I wanted you to be in his life, in my life. You are still his father.”
“Even though you sent him away,” he whispered.
His voice carried no accusations; he was merely stating a fact. But it still didn’t stop it from hurting any less. “I didn’t know what else to do, Mulder. I was failing our son. I couldn't keep him safe. I had let him getting kidnapped by a UFO cult. I had a moment where I truly thought William had passed. I saw this giant explosion and I feared the worst. But as I rushed to the site and there he was, Mulder. Wrapped in his blue blanket and crying up a storm, but he was untouched. Not even a scratch.” She stared at the flame of the oil lamp, lost in memories. “It just added to my fears. I thought I was crazy but more than once I thought I caught him moving things with his mind. Then he sent the alien artifact across the room...the same one that caused you condition…” She choked back a sob that came from deep within her. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t keep him safe. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed you away too, we would be in a better place today. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, look no further.”
Mulder was dumbstruck by her confession. She looked away and saw tear glimmer in her blue eyes. She shook her head and brought a hand to her mouth.
“Excuse me.”
He watched her rush back outside to underneath their porch. Her silent cries were drowned by the raging storm. He threw his head back in frustration. “Shit,” he murmured.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a series of photographs Mrs. Scully had put up over their fireplace when they moved into their new home. He could make out some of the images in the dim light. One of his favorites was taken by her mother shortly when they bought the place. He had spun her in his arms. He remembered how her long hair twirled with him. He had brought her into a kiss. Mrs. Scully had captured them right before that as both their foreheads pressed together and he felt nothing but love for Scully.
That’s all he had for her, nothing but love. So why was he out here hurting her instead of loving her? Hell, what was their relationship anymore?
He got up, carrying the oil lamp with him. He pushed open the screen door and it slammed behind him. Carefully, he set the lamp on the table between the two chairs he was sitting on earlier. She wiped her tears away hurriedly. “I’m okay, Mulder.”
“Are you though?”
She shrugged and he took a moment to take her profile dancing in the firelight. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.
She crossed her arms and laughed half-heartedly. “I’m sure.”
“I mean it, Scully.”
She took a deep breath and sighed, turning her head to look at him. His five o’clock shadow was pronounced in the low light and he still chose to run around without a shirt and wear nothing but his sleeping pants (she wasn’t complaining). He sat back down in the chair and held her gaze. She turned away. While they were on the run, sex between them had taken on many different meanings. Some days it was a band-aid, others, a fix like a drug. There were special moments too but those seemed few and far between. “I’m sure you do.”
He rubbed his face and hunched over, resting his elbows on his legs and burying his face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? What can I do to make this right?”
She shook her head, refusing to answer him. “I used to think, once upon a time, we could have a happy life. That we would get our happy ending. But now, I’m not so sure.” She laughed awkwardly and whispered, “I’m going in and back to bed. Goodnight, Mulder.”
She disappeared like a ghost in the night. Mulder was reminded bitterly of the earlier years of their partnership when they always seemed to be on the cusp of something greater. Then that night they made that next step. And for a bit, everything seemed perfect. Then his abduction. Pregnancy. Chaos. Anger. Being on the run. An entire cluster fuck.
He was always surprised each morning that she still woke up next to him. And also thankful. Oh so thankful.
Mulder walked to the edge of the porch and leaned against a post, listening to the storm. He could feel the peeling paint against his shoulder. He straightened his stance and ran his fingertips over the chipped, yellowing paint and tried to think what she wanted. What they wanted. He remembered having that dream too. A happy handing that included her and William. But William…
She did the right thing, he decided. He couldn’t change the past but he could still do something about the future. Their future. His mind played with the idea of painting the porch with her and going to the home improvement store with her and picking paint colors. Their trip to Ikea had been an experience. While they did bicker, he found their new turn to the domestic refreshing and he loved it.
The unremarkable house could be something special. They could make it a home. He looked out to the darkness and the lightning lit it up followed by a clamp of thunder. It sounded more distant. He turned slightly and could see the stairs on his mind. He imagined Scully climbing back up the stairs, carefully avoiding the squeaky ones, going back to their bed, unable to sleep. She would be crying perhaps but definitely hurting from their exchange. Something he had caused. And maybe something he could fix it.
He picked up the oil lamp again and went back inside, shutting it behind him. He blew out the oil lamp, and in the dark, carefully navigated back up stairs. He saw candlelit coming from their bedroom. As he stood in the doorway, Scully was sitting up, looking through something. “I brought the candles from the bathroom,” she answered before he could ask.
“What are you doing?”
He paused short before the door frame and she closed it. “Something silly.”
“What?”
“Home decor magazine,” she whispered. “I like to imagine what we could do downstairs.”
“You do that a lot?”
“What? Think about becoming an interior designer? You would be good at it,” he replied.
His bare feet padded softly to their bed where he lounged on the other side of her. He propped up his head. Scully smiled sleepily and caressed his cheek. “It’s a silly dream.”
“Well, we have a house...a home.”
“Doesn’t feel like it, does it?”
The storm outside grew with not intensity. A clap of thunder made Scully jump and he calmed her by putting his hand on her knee. “A bit jumpy?”
She smiled tightly and shook her head. “Just a little caught off guard.” Mulder took the magazine and turned it towards him. “I like the green in that picture. Maybe we could paint the kitchen that color.”
“No, no, no...sea foam green. We could do that bathroom, the one downstairs.” She turned a page as her hair fell forward. Mulder smiled and pushed it away so he could see her face. “It’s good to see you smile.”
“It’s a surreal feeling,” she confessed softly. “I keep expecting someone to burst through the door or the FBI to take you away again. Or something else. It’s weird…”
“Not being on the run?”
She shrugged. “I would still do it again you know? Anything for you.”
The past two years had been difficult for the both of them. The wounds between them festered: William, broken trust, fears of the future, and fears of the present. They seemed lost in the ghosts of the past. “I know, Mulder. I know.”
“I like this.” He pointed on a picture of a room full of old oak furniture that made it feel warm and welcome. “Reminds me of your place in Georgetown.”
“Strange. It reminds me of yours.” She dog-eared the page and set it aside. “So what do we do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where does this leave us? I can’t pretend all this tension between us means nothing. You have nightmares every night. I don’t sleep much either.”
“I know.”
In the muggy room, they sat in silence, carefully watching each other in the candlelight. “I am trying to get used to this, Mulder.”
He nodded and thought for a moment. “Do you remember that night when God spoke to you?”
She held up a finger and whispered, “I didn’t say necessarily that God spoke to me. I said I had a vision.”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “But all the roads, all the choices lead to this one moment. Isn't that what you said?”
“Using my old words against me.”
“Would you have it any other way?”
“I regret nothing,” she said. “I’ve told you that.”
He smiled sadly. “I know, I know.” He grabbed the magazine that she had been reading and flipped it back open. “I mean, what we can always pick out china patterns.”
She chuckled slightly and put away the magazine. “Would it really matter?”
He frowned. “What is wrong?”
“Do you feel like we’re just playing house? Like roles in a play?” She leaned back, shifting slightly to adjust to the oak headboard. “And I’m not talking about what we did in Arcadia. That wasn’t playing house.”
“What do you mean?”
She focused on her hands and tried to imagine a wedding ring on it but couldn’t. She tried to imagine a future where her, Mulder, and William were one big happy family but failed. She tried to think of the future now in this little unremarkable, run-down farmhouse they had bought but came up with nothing. “Like we’re just going through the motions. We haven’t really been honest and open with each other in a while.”
“I think we’ve been relatively open with our relationship.” He frowned. “I am a bit confused here, Scully.”
“How do you define relatively open, Mulder? Why won’t you tell me about your nightmares?” She finally asked. “Why do you keep everything so secret?”
“How come you keep your emotions so close to your chest?” He countered. She looked down at the blue blanket covering her knees. “I’ve never met a poker player who bluffed better.”
She took a deep breath and sighed. She rolled her head backward, stretching her neck muscles that suddenly seemed tighter.”Well said,” she whispered.
“Scully, I’m not trying to purposely hurt you with my words just like I know you aren’t trying to with your little...thing.” He waved his hand uselessly. “So where does that leave us, Scully?”
“Up the creek without a paddle?” She smirked at her own joke. “I don’t know, Mulder. I don’t know where this leaves us.”
“How about the future to start?”
Mulder watched her sad face in the candlelight as he leaned forward to kiss her. She breathed softly as his first kiss was gentle before he deepened it. He cupped her cheek and their tongues dueled. She broke away and whispered, “Mulder, how is this different from everything else?”
He blinked back in confusion. “What do you mean?”
She was frustrated with the whole thing. “What I mean is we’ve fallen into this pattern of hurt, sex, and it acts as a band-aid. But we really don’t solve the problem?”
“And what’s the problem, Scully?” He was afraid to know. “Me?”
She shook her head and confessed. “I don’t know. We both hurt, Mulder,” she began, watching his face, “we both carry wounds that haven’t healed. We both have done things we’ve regret. It is like we’re both a glutton for punishment. We fight, have sex, and we’re okay for a bit before we fall into that dangerous pattern again.”
“Dangerous pattern.”
“We both have so much emotional baggage,” she continued. “So much pain.”
“I think we deserve a bit of a break, don’t you?”
The room was becoming insufferable with the muggy air. The storm outside had lessened to a slight drizzle and thunder could have been heard in the difference. She looked out the window at the fading thunder but despite it, the lightning remained. “The rain is coming from the east from the sound of it. If you open up the window that faces north, I think we could get some air in here and not worry about the weather.”
“I got it.”
He opened the window halfway, checked the screen to make sure it was still there, and the cool air rushed in. Scully watched the candles flicker with the rush of air. “That’s better,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He sat on the edge of their bed and watched her.. “What do you wish for, Scully?”
“A do-over,” she told him. “If I could change one thing, I wouldn’t have made you go away. All of this is my fault really if you think about it.”
“Then stop thinking that,” he told her. “You want to know what my nightmares are about? I’m not good for you, I fail you, I break your heart...I do everything and ruin your life.”
“But, Mulder, you didn’t.”
“What are we to do?” He laughed hollowly. “We both are a mess, huh?”
She nodded and moved closer to him. She rested her head against his bare back, listening to his heart. She wrapped her arms around his waist and felt her take his hands. “But I belong with no one else but you.”
He whispered, “Aw, Scully, you’re killing me.”
“I do love you, Mulder. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“I don’t,” he whispered. He twisted his head slightly so he could see her face. He nuzzled her softly, almost teasing her. “Scully, I know things haven’t been easy for us.”
“See,” she whispered, “we’re falling into our old habits.”
“'This is what got us through for the past few years. Even then, just being with you was enough for me.” He rested his hand on top of hers. “This is just another brick in the road.”
“Don’t you mean brick in the wall? Pink Floyd?”
He closed his eyes, smiling, and shook his head. “I love you, Scully, and that won’t ever change.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed, kissing his shoulder. “The storm is easing up.”
“I’ll open up the other windows.”
“In a bit.” She relaxed against him. “We might want to think about a generator.”
“I don’t mind the candlelight,” he teased. He nipped at her nose. “You look beautiful in it.”
“As much as I love your compliments,” she whispered, “I do value running water. Remember, we have a septic and pump now. If we lose power, we lose running water too.”
“I’ll look at it first thing in the morning,” he murmured. “But we have that rain barrel should we need it.”
“Full of tadpoles,” she continued, “and many tree frogs.”
“I’ll build you a new one.”
He nipped at her nose and she smiled, claiming her lips. Scully’s kiss was soft and gentle reminding Mulder of the soft rain he could hear outside. Her arms tightened around him, her hands expanded up and down his chest. He hummed in approval and tries to turn to face her. She stopped him and whispered. “Not yet.”
He stilled but didn’t let their lips break contact. The way she moved around him reminded Mulder of her examining him and claiming him. He could feel himself responding to her caresses. In the back of his mind, he suddenly began to feel insecure. He had always been comfortable and confident in his own body; he had brought the same out in Scully as their physical relationship evolved. But her words of them just physically using each other like an addiction rang like a bell. “Scully,” he whispered. “Stop for a moment.”
“What?” She looked surprised. Her icy blue eyes iced over with anticipation, gazing at him and making him shiver. “What’s wrong, Mulder.”
“We’re not doing this thing that you were talking about, right? Falling into that same pattern?”
He felt her take a deep breath and sigh. She held up her right hand and held out her pinky. He formed a small pinky promise by interlocking his pinky finger with hers. “I, Dana Katherine Scully, hereby promise my other half, Fox William Mulder, that I love him more than anything and that I would never use him like that. I do it because I love you, Mulder.”
“You promise, Scully? That’s the closest you’ve come to wedding vows.”
“Yeah, well, give me some credit.”
“Moments like this,” he whispered, brushing by her hair, “I wish I could freeze. You are so beautiful, so perfect.”
“You’re a love-struck fool.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
He laughed again and captured her lips. The task of opening the other windows became forgotten as Scully became more insistent. She was pushing him onto their bed, already moving to straddle her hips, and he was already responding to her. “It feels weird here,” she whispered, taking off her shirt. He sucked in his breath at the gorgeous view of her bare skin in front of him. “We aren’t having to run, we’re safe, and we finally have a home together, Mulder.”
“Scully, all you’re dirty talk,” he teased, “keep it up.”
She leaned forward, skin on skin, and he melted. “Shopping for furniture, picking out paint and china patterns, grocery shopping, meal planning.”
His hand cupped the back of her head so she couldn’t pull away as he kissed her so hard, her toes curled. For both of them, they become lost in the sea together. She teased him and led them in their dance. Their rhythm came together as easy as breathing. Both hearts raced together. Mulder held her tightly as she came first, crying his name. He worked harder until they were both falling together of the top of the wave, crying out, and still holding each other tightly as they came down from their high.
She was laughing as she rolled to the side, bringing his arm with her. “Mulder, do you remember that night in Bellefleur when I came to you saying I was cold? And you said somewhere, it just has to stop. You and me. This is something that I pictured.”
“This?” He asked. He brought a hand to her cheek and caressed. “With the all bad?”
“With all the bad, there is good too,” Scully reminded him. “I told you I would do it all over again, with you, in a heartbeat.”
He nodded and brought her close again. “I’ll get the candles in a second. And the windows. What do you say to christen the rest of the house tomorrow?”
“After we go to Lowe’s to pick out paint colors for our bathroom. And breakfast.” She brought the sheet around them. “I don’t care what the future brings. We’ll face it together.”
“While picking out china patterns?”
“I’d settle for a paint scheme first,” she murmured. She watched him in the candlelight. “We did it, Mulder.”
“Not in the way we thought of it, but yes, we did it.”
“Good enough for me.”
She curled up next to him and Mulder held her as they listened to the fading storm outside.
New story today. A little Pre-IWTB for @kyouryokusenshi who celebrated a birthday yesterday. 😊 Hope you enjoy.
Spending time alone in the Unremarkable House can sometimes take its toll on Mulder. The winter months seem exceptionally long at times and so he must find ways to use himself. Won’t Scully be in for a surprise when she gets home...
(I apologize for the long post, but the website would not allow me to post ANYTHING, and I needed to share this story. 🤷🏻♀️)
Snow Aliens and Surprises
February 2007
Snow crunched beneath Mulder’s feet, his cheeks cold, and his nose slightly runny. Looking at the large oddly shaped snowball he had gathered, he let out a breath, the condensed mist appearing before him. Bending down, he began to gather more snow to make the next level to his snow sculpture.
Getting it to the correct size, he lifted it onto the large snowball and set it at the right angle. One more smaller snowball was made and he placed it on the top of the other two. Shaping it and smoothing it down, he glanced over at the others he had already made, and he laughed softly.
Scully was in for a surprise when she got home.
He had been outside for quite awhile now, and he was happy with the creations he had made. Being inside and stuck at home, was beginning to wear on him and he knew Scully was concerned about how it was affecting him. She had said as much a few times, but he always brushed it off, not wanting to worry her.
After she had left for work that morning, he decided to do something different and be more proactive with how he was coping. He had gone for a long run in the cold winter air and then had a warm shower. Staring at himself in the mirror when he had finished, he had nodded and picked up a pair of shears, intent on trimming his beard down. It had gotten unruly and it needed to be trimmed and cleaned up.
Scully did not like it as much as he did, though she had not minded it as much when they had been on the run. Maybe if he did not appear too much like an unkempt mountain man, she would appreciate it more, and also see that he was doing okay in near solitude.
Going downstairs, he had made himself a late lunch and stared out the window at the snow in the yard, an idea beginning to form. Hurrying through his meal, he had gotten dressed in warmer clothing, and headed outside.
Deciding where to set it up, he had started gathering snow to create two snow aliens; snowmen being far too commonplace for their yard. Once the bodies were in their most basic form, he was now working on the best part: a large UFO.
He chuckled as he watched it taking shape under his gloved hands, gliding them along the edges, creating a curved body.
Picking up a stick he had found ahead of time, he carved one large circle around the circumference of the top, and then smaller ones under the edge he had just made. The bottom was given another continuous circle as he thinned the base somewhat, creating a beam-like look.
Smiling as he looked at his handiwork, he stepped back and began to work on the aliens. Curving their faces, he gave them a neck and shoulders before using the stick to create lines, suggesting a more detailed form to their snowy bodies. Adding dark rocks for eyes and mouths, he stepped back and grinned at the finished product.
“Yeah, that’s pretty badass,” he murmured with a nod. “It just needs one last thing.”
He walked to the steps and picked up the sign he had made from a garden stake he found in the garage. Cutting a thick piece of cardboard from an old box, he had nailed it to the stake and written in bold black letters: Nothing to see here. Move along.
Laughing again, he stuck it in the side of one of the aliens, as though it were holding it in its hand to ward off anyone interested in investigating their downed ship. Nodding at the sight before him, he took one last deep breath of cold air and trudged up the stairs, stomping his boots clean along the way.
At the door, he did so again and then unlaced them, sliding them off and leaving them outside, knowing he would need them again soon. Opening the door, he stepped inside, the warmth of the house surrounding him.
He took off his outer layers and blew his runny nose. With a shiver, he walked into the kitchen and washed his hands. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was later than he had thought, although he should have guessed by the sun setting as he finished his project.
Knowing there was no time to make anything from scratch, and God help their stomachs if he did, he opened the refrigerator and searched for leftovers he thought he had seen in there. Moving aside a large jar of pickles, his eyes widened. He grabbed the container Mrs. Scully had sent home with Scully a couple of days ago. Opening the lid, he found a beef stew that smelled so delicious, it made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.
“Thank you, Mrs. Scully,” he said quietly, as he set it on the counter and began to gather items for an impromptu fancy dinner.
Two deep bowls, cutlery, two wine glasses, napkins, candlesticks, and a tablecloth were set on the dining room table. Putting on his coat, he opened the door, slid on his boots and walked to the garage.
Searching around, he found the outdoor table and chairs set Scully had bought last September when the heat had been so awful, sitting outside in the warm humid air had been more preferable than sitting inside.
They had eaten the majority of their meals outside. Cool meals, that did not require the use of the oven, thus turning the house into what had felt like the center of the sun. Sandwiches, salads, or even bowls of cereal had been eaten at that table, both of them sweating and motionless.
Even after the heatwave, they had occasionally sat out there with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine at night, until a wild wind storm had forced them to clear the porch one night. They were put away and not used again.
Until now.
He carried them to the porch and set them up, in clear view of the snow aliens. Smiling at them, he went back inside and brought out the tablecloth, candles, napkins, and cutlery. Laying the tablecloth down, he set the table.
Leaving his shoes outside again, he took off his coat and opened a bottle of red wine. Glancing at the clock once more, he saw that Scully would be home in about ten minutes.
Perfect.
Taking out a pot, he emptied the plastic container of stew into it, to heat up on the stove. Leaving the stew on a low simmer, he poured the wine and as he set them down, he closed his eyes with a loud exhale.
“Shhhhhhhit,” he said through clenched teeth as he walked hurriedly over to his office to double check the calendar.
February 18tb.
“Fuck,” he seethed and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.” He looked around the office and shook his head. There was nothing there that one: she had not seen before, and two: would make a decent last minute early birthday gift. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he left the room and checked on the stew.
When it was hot, he turned it off and covered it. Putting on his coat, he walked out the door and slid on his shoes yet again, and sat in one of the chairs to await Scully’s arrival.
He was not waiting long when he saw her headlights turning off the main road, pausing as she opened the world's creakiest gate, she pulled through and then closed the gate again, before continuing up the snow covered driveway.
He could hear her laughing through the window as her headlights hit the snow aliens. He looked at her as she stopped and shook her head, a huge grin on her face. Turning the car off, but leaving the headlights on, she opened the door, stepped out and walked over to inspect them.
“Hey! Can’t you read?” he called out and she jumped back, apparently not having seen him sitting there. “Move along, woman!”
“Mulder…” she laughed and he stood up with a grin, walking down the stairs to join her. “You are… too much.” She touched the sign and shook her head with another chuckle.
“They’re pretty good, huh?” he asked and she nodded. “Gotta fill my days somehow.”
“Mulder,” she said again and turned her head to look at him. “Oh… look at you.” She touched his cheeks with cold fingers and he inhaled sharply. “Serves you right for startling me.” Holding his face, she pulled him down for a kiss, humming happily as he pulled back.
“You like?” he asked, touching his trimmed beard and she nodded with a smile that made his pulse race.
Oh yeah, he had made the right decision.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and walking toward the house. Stopping at the car, she turned off the headlights and took out her bag. Closing the door, she took his hand and they walked up the stairs.
“What? What’s all this?” she asked, stopping and looking at the table set on the porch.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and running a hand across his chin. “I made the aliens there and thought some dinner would be nice, but… my cooking abilities…”
“Are rather abysmal,” she stated with a smile and he tilted his head with a shrug, his eyebrows up.
“Abysmal seems a bit harsh, but… ehhh yeah,” he agreed and she laughed softly. “But I wanted to do something and I found some leftovers your mom sent over-”
“Ohhh. The beef stew?” He nodded and she hummed. “I was thinking about it all day, so I’m happy to hear it’s on the menu. But are we eating outside? Mulder, it’s freezing out here.”
“Psshh…” he scoffed, waving his hand at her and shaking his head. “We’ve been in colder weather, we can certainly sit out here for twenty minutes and eat some dinner. Come on.”
“Hmm. Yes, nothing better than sitting in chilly weather and eating warm stew, while the warm house is just steps away.”
“Stop.”
“Hmm.”
They walked inside and she set her bag down on the dining room chair before she took off her coat, scarf, and heels. Sighing, she walked over to the sink and washed her hands. Drying them, she took her hair down and ran her fingers through it with another sigh.
“Feel how nice and warm it is in here? And yet you’re still intent on sitting out in the cold? Are you surrrrre?” she asked, stepping closer to him and running her hands down his chest. He inhaled and looked down at her hands, before raising his eyes to hers.
“Yup,” he said, with an affirmative nod and her mouth dropped open in surprise. He grinned and smacked her ass. “Go change into something warmer and come back down.”
“Hmm. Can’t believe you didn’t pick up what I was laying down… your loss I guess.” She shrugged as she stepped back, sighing loudly.
“Nah… I definitely picked it up, I’m just choosing to hold onto it for the time being.”
“That’s all you’ll be holding onto,” she muttered as she walked up the stairs and he smiled, reaching for a bowl and a ladle.
Within minutes, she was back down, dressed appropriately for the weather, her warm boots on as she picked up the glasses of wine. Waiting at the door for him, she smiled as she opened the door and they stepped outside.
“Jesus, it’s cold,” she breathed and he hummed, nudging her forward slightly. “What about the candles? They could add some warmth.”
“Yeah, I’ll go get some matches. Sit down.”
He went inside, grabbed the matches, came back and lit the candles before he sat down and smiled at her. She rolled her eyes with a smile and picked up her spoon, wearing her black mittens with the neon alien faces on the top. He nodded at them and she shrugged.
“Seemed like the right pair to wear. Didn’t want our yard aliens to feel lonely.” He laughed and began to eat his food.
She told him about her day and asked after his. Gesturing towards the yard aliens and his beard, he raised his eyebrows. She licked her lips, her teeth grazing the bottom one as she stared at him.
“I went for a run too.”
“Hmm… are you done with your food?” she asked and he wondered if she had even heard him. Looking down, he saw his bowl was nearly empty and nodded as he looked back up at herGood,” she said in a low voice, one he knew well, as she stood up and stepped closer to him. Staring down at him, she tapped his thigh with her knee. He turned in his chair and she straddled him, his throat going dry as his pants became tighter.
He wrapped his arms around her, his fingers locking together, low across her back. Her mittened hands held his face, running up and down.
“I like your beard like this,” she whispered.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered back and she pulled back in surprise.
“Birthday?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You’re a few days early,” she said, her fingers moving slowly across his cheeks and down to his neck.
“Well, I also apparently completely missed Valentine’s Day-”
“When have we w celebrated that day?” she scoffed and he smiled.
“Maybe we should start.”
“It’s a silly holiday, Mulder. In which people are pressured to feel that their love for someone must be expressed by a card, flowers, or candy-”
“Or lingerie,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Lingerie that they want the person to wear and not the other way around.”
“Are you saying you won’t wear the lingerie I bought for you?” She stared at him and he kept a straight face, though it was very difficult.
“Did you buy me lingerie?” He held her gaze as long as he could, before shaking his head and smiling.
“No. I know better than that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Besides, whatever you wear, is always more than enough for me. All the colors, lace, and bows… you’ll get no complaints from me.” He thought of his favorite sets she wore: the sapphire blue with white piping, the black with the red red bow in the middle, and the lilac with the softest pink lace; they all left him dizzy and aching for her.
“What about… nude? Do you like that color?” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear and he jerked forward, holding her tighter.
“That… that so happens to be my favorite color.”
“Hmm… it’s like I have a sixth sense.”
“A… sexth sense,” he corrected her and she pulled back to stare at him. Her head fell back and she laughed, her hands on his shoulders.
“Oh my god…” she chuckled, shaking her head. “That was good.”
“I aim to please,” he teased and she stared at him, her eyes like fire.
“Hmm… and you do it so well,” she breathed and her hands were back on his cheeks, her warm breath warming his cold face. “Thank you for my birthday gift.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
“Not yet I’m not,” she nearly growled and he pulled her closer to him, her lips falling to his, kissing him slowly. Soft nibbles and light touches, which contradicted the looks of molten desire she had been displaying.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t work with an audience.” She pulled back and shook her head, causing him to frown at her. She shook her head again and looked toward the snow aliens. “Hey guys, could you read your sign and take it to heart and “move along”? There’s about to be something to see over here and I’m not quite sure you’re of age.” He laughed as he watched her address the snow aliens and wait for a response.
“I can’t understand them, but look, they aren’t leaving. I think we need to be the bigger people here.” She rocked into him and they both exhaled. “I see you're already a little ahead of me. Well, maybe more than a little.”
“Thank you.”
He grinned and she kissed him once more, before rising from his lap and standing to her feet. Collecting both glasses, she blew out the candles and he grabbed the plates as he stood as well.
The dishes made it as far as the sink, not even given the chance for a soak, before he reached for her coat, unbuttoned it and let it drop to the floor, his own soon following. A trail of clothes littered the stairs and along the floor of their bedroom.
Both of them breathing hard, he lay against her breast, marveling once more at the softness of her skin. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her heart racing beneath his ear.
“See? Isn’t it better in here where it’s warm?” she asked, her now mitten less fingers running through his hair.
“Hmm,” he agreed, his eyes closed as he kissed the top of her breast. “It’s hard to argue with such sound logic.”
“Hmm,” she echoed and he smiled. “Oh. I was, by the way.”
“What?”
“Welcomed,” she stated, offering up no other explanation. It took a second, but then he laughed and he felt her answering chuckle against his cheek. “Very welcomed, in fact.”
“Good. Then I’d say we both thoroughly enjoyed your birthday this year.”
“Hmm. Well, strictly speaking, it’s still five days away. So…” He raised his head and stared at her with a smile.
“What exactly are you saying?”
“Nothing. Just putting it out there that there are still five days to… enjoy my birthday,” she said, with an innocent shrug. They stared at each other and she smiled slowly. He nodded and put his head back on her breast, his eyes closing once again.
“Oh, but this I am saying: I want a cake. We don’t need candles and I don’t need gifts, but I do want a chocolate cake. Or cheesecake. Or ohhhhh, a chocolate pie… Mmmm.” He laughed and nodded, plans already beginning to take shape.
He had built two snow aliens and a large UFO on a whim today. He had five days. He would find her that cake, or perhaps all of her suggestions.
Find and buy, but not bake it himself. Because she had been right earlier; his cooking skills were truly abysmal.
And no one deserved that on their birthday. Especially not Scully. A woman who, oh so kindly, asked the snow aliens to take a hike.
Anon prompt: Mulder is suspicious of Scully cheating.
**May or may not continue with this.
Suspicions
They sat on opposite ends of the couch. Scully was curled up on one corner cushion huddled over her now cold bowl of Mulder’s homemade tomato soup in her hands; she hadn’t taken a single bite. She only looked up to glance at the old Jeopardy episode playing on the television. Mulder sat opposite from her, leaned over the arm of the couch, his bowl of soup empty on the table next to him precariously perched on a stack of unopened mail that was months old. He only looked away from the TV to glance at Scully. They hadn’t spoken all day and yesterday wasn’t much better. Scully had fallen asleep on the couch and he hadn’t bothered to wake her when he went to bed. Sometimes it was her turn to sleep on the couch.
Scully was still in her work clothes, her black slacks and maroon silk shirt covered in grey cat hair from the stray Mulder had adopted last year. Mulder named him Gray Man. Which was ironic, given his fascination with Scully and his complete lack of interest in Mulder. Scully had protested the cat but after a few days she was hand feeding him treats and carrying him to bed. Gray Man had replaced Mulder; at least someone had. Scully was working long shifts at the hospital, which wasn’t very unusual; she was known for her strong work ethic and drive. She never left her work unfinished and when your work was curing terminally ill children, well, it was never ever finished. Her days got longer and her nights got shorter. Mulder tried to wait for her, keeping dinner in the oven until he thought his stomach would eat his backbone, but after awhile, Scully would come home smelling of takeout and cigarette smoke. So he stopped bothering to wait for her. She didn’t seem to mind.
Mulder spent his days wandering the house, writing random thoughts on scraps of paper and he recently started cooking. The problem with the cooking was that he really was not supposed to leave the house, so he had to rely on Scully for his ingredients when she went grocery shopping which was becoming less and less frequent. He had left the house 3 times in the last two weeks to buy toilet paper and groceries at the Costco in town. Then another time, he went on a beer run. Everyone had their vices, his was now craft beer and Scully, apparently, was smoking. But he didn’t know for sure, he didn’t ask. And, he really didn’t care. He would have cared, if Scully kissed him, or if she even hugged him, let alone touched him. But those small physical intimacies were long gone. He had tried to engage Scully a few months ago, he gave her all of his best moves. But she simply waved him away and said she was tired. She was always tired. So Mulder took a walk on the back of the property. He had been taking a few more night walks now.
Scully yawned and plopped her bowl and spoon on the coffee table then leaned over to pick up a sleeping Gray Man off of the floor and curled him into her lap. Mulder seethed. My cat. My wife. He picked at his lip. It had been over 5 months since he made love to his wife, 3 months since they cuddled or touched in any sort of affectionate way and almost a month of hardly any conversation. He couldn’t take it.
“Scully?”
“Hmm?” She looked across the couch at him, his cat pawing at the sleeve of her shirt.
“Can we talk?” He was suddenly nervous, his palms got clammy and his mouth went dry.
Scully’s attention was back on the cat, “what do you want to talk about?”
Mulder got up and stood in front of Scully, she looked up at him and then protested when he grabbed the cat and gently tossed him on the floor. “Hey! Mulder, what the hell?” She watched with genuine forlorn as Gray Man slinked out of the living room with an annoyed twitch of his tail.
Mulder sat next to Scully and felt her shift uncomfortably at his closeness. “That!”
“What?”
“When I sat next to you, your whole body tensed.”
“No I didn’t.”
He stared at her, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Scully averted her eyes from his. He felt his stomach drop. “Scully…” his voice was a low whisper.
She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, and then her eyes made a pass at his, and then landed on the hair on her shirt. She picked at it. “Work as been taking a lot of my time, I know that. I’m sorry.”
Mulder scoffed, “time, really? You think that is what this is about? Or is it just a façade?”
“Mulder!”
“Scully, you can’t touch me, hell, you haven’t touched me in months. You can barely look at me, let alone talk to me. That’s not work stress, that’s not your time.” He watched as her and neck flushed a deep red and for a moment he felt a tiny bit of vindication. But the feeling slowly passed as he realized Scully didn’t have a retort; she didn’t have an argument. She knew he was right. “Are you seeing someone?”
“What?” She looked at him in horror and jumped up from the couch and stalked across the room then turned to him, arms tightly crossed in front of her chest.
Her hair swirled around her shoulder and her jaw was tight. Mulder had forgotten how sexy she was when she was mad. Goddamnit, now it not the time! “Is that so surprising? Is it so surprising that I would have that fear?”
“Yes, and it is completely unjustified-“
He cut her off, “unjustified? Bullshit, Scully. You haven’t been here in months. You have checked out. Gone.”
“My work Mulder, my work takes everything out of me!”
“It has for the past 7 years, and now it’s taking its toll on you? On us?”
“No…”
“Then tell me the fucking truth!” He was yelling now and Scully flinched.
“I am not seeing anyone.”
“Okay, not seeing anyone. Fucking anyone?”
She shook her head and dropped her arms to her side in defeat. “No, there is no one, there has been no one but you.”
“I am no one, Scully.”
“Mulder, no. I am just, there is a lot going on and I just can’t focus. Work and this house, and just everything.” She stopped herself from rambling.
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?” Her eyes were wide and shown with new quivering tears.
“I do not believe you.” He turned from her and walked out of the living room and headed to his office, making an extra attempt at slamming the door behind him. His life was gone. He no longer served a purpose. His work, his family, and now Scully and that fucking cat. He had nothing. He sat heavily in his chair and closed his eyes. He decided that he really shouldn’t be surprised. He was washed up, useless and a burden to Scully. She was beautiful, and smart and had her whole live ahead of her; of course she would find someone new, probably a doctor from the hospital. He allowed himself a few minutes to picture Scully with a faceless man, his hands on her body as she melted into him. A few minutes later he heard the front door slam shut and Scully’s small SUV start up then crunch the gravel as she drove down the long driveway. She fucking left me. He was suddenly furious that she had the ability to leave, and he had no choice but to stay and sit in the dark and wait for her.
A few hours later, Mulder awoke, stiff in his chair to headlights shining through the window and the slam of the car door. After a few minutes of not hearing the door open, he decided to investigate. He found Scully sitting on the steps of the front porch smoking a cigarette.
“What are you doing?” He asked from the doorway.
“Smoking a cigarette,” she said dryly.
“But I mean, for real. What are you doing?”
“Lying to my husband.”
Mulder jerked involuntarily, “about what?”
She turned to look at him as she snubbed the cigarette out on the step and put the butt in her pocket. She let out a shuddering breath and patted the step next to her, “we have a lot to talk about.”
Just listened to @red2007 narrate my divorce/William death fic. I wrote it based on the first IWTB trailers and I loved writing it so much but also what is wrong with me? 🥰
And also for @fashionbooksboozefeminism who asked about 40th birthdays on the run. NSFW
***
Night, cash, Sonia and James. Mulder leads her down the faded carpet and wood-paneled halls of the old Poconos resort, nearly empty nine days past Valentine’s. Everything they own that isn’t in their bag is in the car outside. They stop in front of room 314.
Scully, a bobbed brunette in yoga pants and a hoodie, slouches against the wall. “If this turns out to be a reboot of The Shining, Mulder, I’m going to be really pissed.”
He works the key into the scuffed lock. “The Haunted Murder package wasn’t in my budget, don’t worry.”
They head inside, Mulder shutting the door behind them. The room is a perfectly preserved 70’s time capsule, amber-hued with shag carpet and velour club chairs. There’s a zigzag bedspread and a macramé plant hanger with a dusty silk fern on it.
“Groovy.” Mulder sets their duffel on the floor.
“Wow,” Scully says, peering around. Her mother would have killed for this room back when she hosted fondue parties and wore hostess pajamas. “Mulder, I feel like I’m in high school again. I’m going to need some blue eyeshadow, then we can play a few rounds of Mystery Date.”
Mulder examines a small porcelain shepherdess on the lamp stand. “Forty is the new sixteen. Go look around the corner.”
Scully picks her way past the walnut dresser and a floral folding screen. A yelp of laughter escapes her. “Mulder!”
The tub is glossy and red, heart shaped, with veined mirrored walls behind. It’s piled with bubbles, steam rising from the surface. A bottle of something called Sham-Pagne sits on the tiled rim. Her chest squeezes at the thought of him putting this together. She’s been remote since the New Year, prickly and self-contained as a spore.
He appears behind her, grinning. “James. Only the classiest for you, Sonia.”
She sits on the ledge, pats the bubbles with curious fingers. “Champagne glasses would have been classy, James.”
Mulder studies the bottle. “It’s got a screw top, so I think this is more a red Solo cup affair. Or straight from the bottle.“
Their joys are very small these days and she clings to them. “It’s absolutely awful, I love it.”
Mulder, beaming, squeezes her shoulder. “Go ahead and get in, I wanted it all ready for you so you could relax right off the bat.”
Scully stands, her back to the large mirrors. She undresses quickly, trying not to catch her reflection in the small mirror over the sink. She doesn’t want to see her choppy dark hair, the purple smudges under her eyes, her sallow skin and WalMart lingerie. A year and nine months and each glance at her reflection feels like watching a Dana who dropped out of med school to follow a band or wait tables at a truck stop. But she can’t tell her not to do it, she can’t wish it all away, it’s just... she is not suited for life in the bardo.
She climbs over the wide ledge, into one of the curves of the heart, and lowers herself into the bath. The steaming water is decadent after so many cramped showers, and this immersion feels baptismal. Perhaps she can come out fully cleansed, grocery store dye gone, Aphrodite on a bed of foam. The bubbles come up past her chin, making her sneeze.
Mulder sits next to her, opening the wine. “Oh, whoa, whoa, she's a lady,” he sings, holding the bottle like a microphone.
Scully scowls at him from the tub. “No need for that, thank you.”
“Tom Jones, Scully!”
She puffs bubbles at him, and they stick to his shirt. “Do you have any cups?”
“I was serious about the bottle, I think.” He passes it to her.
She takes a long swig. It’s sickly sweet and too fizzy. She could easily finish it herself. “Get in.”
He looks surprised. “Really?”
“It’s my birthday, you have to do what I say.” Another swallow.
He’s already undressing. “No, no, I don’t mind. I just figured you’d want to marinate alone.”
Mulder, never self conscious, has no concerns about the mirrors. He gets in the other bend of the heart and water overflows onto the carpet. “Oops.”
Scully, already buzzy, passes him the wine.
He takes a long drink, winces. “Good lord.”
“Mm,” she agrees, settling low in the water. It seeps up her chin length hair, making a sleek dark cap around her face.
Mulder puts the bottle down and fishes around in a wicker basket. He retrieves a pink pouf and a tiny bottle of cherry blossom body wash. “Scoot over here.”
She hunches into the corner. “No I’m comfable. ComFORTable.”
Mulder laughs. “How hard did you hit that bottle?” He reaches around to take her by the shoulders and pull her through the water until she’s settled between his knees like a cranky mermaid. He squeezes a pearly dollop of soap on the pouf and begins to wash her back.
“This is soapy water already,” she observes.
“Well, it so happens I just like touching you, so don’t be pedantic.”
She lets her head fall forward as he makes circles on her back, tries not to feel embarrassed about her bony spine and the furrowed landscape of her ribs. She hasn’t been this thin since the cancer hollowed her out, and she never let him see her this way back then.
Back then.
“Got you a little cake, it’s in the fridge,” Mulder says, like he can read her thoughts again.
“Maybe I’ll save you a piece,” she replies. She wants to be cheery for him, a brave little sailor. The body wash makes her think of spring in DC and she sniffs at it.
He drops the pouf to massage her slick skin with his hands. They’re a little calloused now from the kind of rough work he was never bred for. He works his thumbs beneath her scapulae and she wonders if he can unfurl them like wings, let her fly away.
She takes another gulp of wine. “Mulder.”
“Hmm?” His fingers knead her neck, each tight trapezius.
Scully turns in the water to face him, catches a flash of her reflection as she does. Her hair is kelpy, the heavy black eyeliner she wears now smudged about her eyes like Theda Bara.
She kneels between his bent knees. “Nothing.”
Mulder sighs. “I didn’t want it like this either.” He holds his arms out and she rests against his chest. The water sloshes gently around them as he enfolds her, his heart thrumming at her cheek. She imagines this is what the last moments in the womb are like.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into the wet dark of his body. “This is a really good present.”
His hands are skating over her back again with a washcloth this time. The texture feels good, centering her back into her bones. Sometimes she feels adrift from herself, dissociated, following her own body like a kite.
Mulder strokes her hair and she burrows her face up into his neck, her forearms pressed against his chest. She hopes he won’t sing Happy Birthday like he used to because it will undo her.
He doesn’t, just nuzzles in, whispering sweet nonsense into her ear. “I love you,” he says, in a voice like hot tea on a cold morning. He nibbles her unadorned earlobe.
Scully, who hasn’t wanted sex in over a month (or has it been two?), who has barely wanted to be touched, feels her body stirring. She turns her head, her earlobe chilled, and catches his lips with her own. She tugs at his longish hair, wanting to absorb him and his infinite love and his careworn soul. She nips his tongue.
His response against her thigh is instant and, bless him, he apologizes like a teenager on prom night. All this time and he’s still such a gentleman it might break her heart.
She pulls back, takes his face in her hands. How she loves his face, his autumn woods eyes and his mouth like a Botticelli angel. “Look at me,” she says.
He does, worry in his gaze. “Scully, it’s fine, I know y-“
“Shut up,” she says, with aching fondness. “Please shut up.” She thumbs his bottom lip.
He furrows his brow, uncertain.
Scully lets her legs float up off the bottom of the tub, twists so that she’s straddling his lap, her arms about his neck. “It’s my birthday. You have to do what I say.”
He swallows, still watching her. “As you wish.”
Scully tips her hips forward and he’s inside her, hot and hard and familiar.
Mulder’s eyes close and he murmurs some wordless hindbrain prayer.
There’s almost no leverage, but he’s holding her hips as she rotates them, groaning when she tightens her pelvic floor. She’s wrapped in warmth from the inside out, liquid heat, her breasts crushed to his chest. Water splashes to the floor.
Mulder slides his hands up so that his thumbs are at her waist, his fingers spanning her back. She sighs and leans into the brace of him, her chin tipped up.
He takes her left nipple into his mouth and her shoulders roll back, hands trailing in the water. She exhales hard through her nose. A memory comes to her, Mulder in the tub in Rhode Island, and she recalls even then the fierceness of the unnameable thing she felt for him. Love is such an inadequate word for this.
He’s slowly taken over their rhythm now, pulling her down harder, and she falls away into the dopamine surge. Panting now, belly dipping and rising. Tingling at her sacral spine.
Scully groans in disappointment when he turns his head from her breast. Her areola contracts in the cold, and Mulder runs a hand from her throat to the hot junction of their bodies. She is not long disappointed.
She sees then that he’s looking at the mirror wall, watching, and she’s afraid to do the same but cannot help her curiosity.
Her arched body is a full sail, held up by the mast of Mulder’s arm, rising and falling on an unquiet sea. Even with the glass veined and fogged she sees the slackness of desire in her mouth, her dilated eyes.
In the mirror, Mulder’s eyes are on hers, the face of a mystic in ecstasy. In the mirror she watches his jaw clench and his head roll back. Watches him grind his hips up into hers. He calls out to her god.
She’s dazed, visually overloaded. Scully leans forward to his neck again, biting at it as his fingers continue their steady work between her thighs. The hand that was on her back is on her ass now, and gripping hard.
“You liked watching,” he says at her temple and it isn’t a question, just an observation, but somehow the intimacy of him knowing it trips her over the edge. She’s lightning-struck after so long, her nerves overfiring, and she shudders back into his arms, gulping air.
He traces endless figure eights on her back, or maybe they’re infinity signs. He tells her about a raccoon he saw in the bakery parking lot, eating an entire raisin bread by itself. “It hissed at me when I got out of the car, Scully, and I don’t even like raisins.”
“You’re so brave,” she says. “Just to get my cake.”
“I’d fight a raccoon for you any day.”
When the water gets cold they emerge, ectoplasmic wafts of bubbles trailing behind them to the bed. They can shower later.
Scully, chilly now, wraps herself in the bedspread. She sits cross-legged on the bed like a wise old oracle. “Where’s my cake, please?”
Mulder opens the mini fridge and removes a perfect miniature birthday cake, sprinkles and fudge frosting and a vivid maraschino cherry. She might not save him a piece after all.
He brings her the cake and two plastic forks. A small white box.
“Mulder!” she exclaims. “I thought this was my present, I hope you didn’t really get me anything else.”
He sits next to her on the bed and rubs her back through the heavy comforter. Clears his throat. “It’s, um, it’s not from me, actually. I didn’t just run into a raccoon at the bakery.”
She looks at him in utter bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
“Open it.”
A strange fear creeps over her as she fumbles with the tape holding the lid on the box. Her fingers are clumsy, numb, but she gets it off at last. Inside is a cheap cell phone, a burner. There’s a Post-It stuck to the front.
