#world cup#world cup 2026#fifa world cup#england nt#bukayo saka
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Awn that convo between niki and forever was so sweet, both of them sharing their interest in therapy (and having a bad time spelling psychologist)
It'd be awesome if q!niki became the new island therapist (RIP Melissa, roier himself confirmed her death multiple times to bagi), she could hang out with a lot of different people and get to listen to everyone's stories
Melissa Coates
What my mind thought on Christmas Eve...
Prompt: Scully crying about missing Melissa and Mulder comforting her.
Gone Girls
by: mldrgrlRating: PG
When he finds her, she’s alone in a dark room, staring at an empty bed. A piece of him hopes that her sister has just been taken to surgery, that she’ll pull through, but when Scully looks at him, it goes without saying that Melissa didn’t make it.
“It happened three hours ago,” Scully says, her voice softer than he’s ever heard. “She went into surgery and, um...the damage to her brain was worse than they had hoped.”
Mulder kneels down when Scully looks at her lap so that he can still see her face. Her voice starts to break when she continues and tears gather in the corners of her eyes.
“Her blood pressure started to rise,” she says. “And...um. She slipped away. She died for me and I tried to tell her I was sorry but I don't think she'll ever really know.”
“She knows,” he says, not just to be comforting, but because he firmly believes it. “Melissa knows.”
Scully sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head. “You were right. There is no justice.”
“I don't think this is about justice, Scully.”
“Then what is it about?”
“I think it's about something we have no personal choice in. I think it's about fate.”
She looks away from him towards the empty bed, her brows knitting together. She looks defeated to him, and his heart aches for her.
“Skinner told me that he talked to you,” he says. “That you were insistent about coming back to work. Now, if Melissa's death is-”
“I need something to put my back up against,” she interrupts.
“I feel the same way,” he says, nodding. “We've both lost so much. But, I believe that what we're looking for is in the X-Files. I'm more certain than ever that the truth is in there.”
“I've heard the truth, Mulder. Now what I want are the answers.”
When he reaches for her, she gives a little sigh and he can tell that a protest almost formed on her lips, but she slumps against him and he wraps his arms around her. The next breath she takes is a shaky gasp and a single sob escapes before a flood of tears begins to flow. He tucks her into his chest like he’s trying to shield her from the world so she can feel free to let go.
He wants to tell her that he knows what it’s like to lose a sister and feel an unbearable weight of guilt for it, but he’d have to be able to tell her it gets better, and he can’t do that. If he could take the burden from her though, he would. He would shoulder the pain and guilt so that she wouldn’t have to, but he can’t do that either. The helplessness is perhaps the worst part of grief.
“I’m sorry, Scully,” he whispers into her hair. “I am so very sorry that this happened.”
He can feel when she’s exhausted of tears. Her weight, slight as it is, grows heavy against his chest and the fingers that clutched at the lapel of his jacket grow slack. She isn’t asleep, she’s just depleted.
“I want to go home,” she whispers.
He would love to be able to do that for her, but her apartment is a crime scene. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You can’t...it’s…”
“Right.” She sucks in a breath and suddenly she’s pushing him away and wiping her eyes.
“I can take you to your mother’s.”
“No. I can’t go there.”
He almost says ‘your sister’s,’ on reflex and has to bite the inside of his cheek. He’s contemplating hotels downtown that look like they’d have nice room service when she looks him straight in the eye, lashes sticky with tears.
“Take me to your place,” she says.
He agrees and tries not to let his surprise show. He had imagined that she’d want to be alone, but he’ll take her anywhere she wants to go. She spends the twenty minute car ride in silence, eyes closed, cheek against the window.
Never has his place felt more like a bachelor pad than when he leads her inside and kicks a pair of shoes away from the door. The place is a mess. Newspapers are everywhere. Dishes clutter the sink. He doesn’t even have a bed to offer her.
“Looks like the maid is on vacation,” he says. “Sorry about...I should take you to a hotel. Are you sure you don’t want-”
“This is what I want.”
“Okay. Well, can I get you-”
“I’d just like to sleep.”
“Well, the couch doesn’t look like much, but it’s actually pretty comfortable.”
“I know.”
He isn’t quite sure what she means by that, but she says it as though she’s had some sort of personal experience. He doesn’t press it though, just guides her into the living space and turns on the lamp. He figures the least of what he can do right now is get her something to sleep in, so he finds some sweats and an old sweatshirt to give to her and she accepts them with a nod and then shuts herself in the bathroom.
While she changes, he hastily does a poor clean up job of the living area. He’s feeding the fish when she comes back out, dwarfed by his clothes on her small frame. The cuffs of the sweats are rolled several times to her ankles and the sweatshirt slips off her shoulder a little, but it looks like it will suffice. He relaxes a little bit to see her make herself at home and curl up on the couch, taking the blanket that was draped off the back and pulling it over her.
“I’m gonna…” He points vaguely to the back room where his dresser is. “I’ll be back.”
She’s already got her eyes closed and doesn’t answer. After he changes into sweats and a t-shirt himself, he comes back out and quietly tiptoes across the room to shut off the lamp. With nowhere else to go, he takes a pillow off one of his chairs and pushes the coffee table away to lay down in front of the couch. He settles with a sigh, not uncomfortable on the floor. It reminds him of the second-hand futon he had in college where he could feel every single wooden slat through his thin mattress.
After many car trips, plane rides, and stakeouts together, he’s accustomed enough to the cadence of Scully’s breathing to know she isn’t asleep. It’s confirmed for him only minutes later when he hears her shift and sniffle slightly.
“Mulder?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a favorite memory of Samantha?”
He breathes deeply and tries to think. So much of his memories of his sister focus on the night she was taken. He hasn’t thought about anything else for a long time. Scully sniffles again and his mind works harder to conjure something to share with her.
“The summer before she...disappeared,” he says. “Our parents were fighting a lot. We both wanted to be out of the house as much as possible. Samantha really wanted a kite, but we weren’t going to town very often and we were walking on eggshells a lot, so she didn’t want to ask for one. I felt bad about it so I made her one from broken sticks, a trash bag, duct tape, and some fishing wire. It looked ridiculous, but she was thrilled and wanted to try it out right away, but it wasn’t windy enough. Every time there was a breeze, she was out there trying to fly it and failing. I figured it was shoddy craftsmanship and told her to just throw it away, but she wouldn’t do it. Finally, finally we had a good and windy day and the kite finally took flight and just from the look on her face...I felt like a goddamn hero.”
“That’s a nice one.”
A few moments later, he feels the tips of her fingers brush his bicep like she’s searching for something. He folds his arm and puts his hand in hers. She holds tight. He can feel her tremble.
He squeezes her hand. “You tell me a story.”
“I can’t think of anything,” she whispers, and her voice cracks and breaks. Her sobs are different from just a few hours before in the hospital. She isn’t trying to be quiet and they’re accompanied by frustrated growls.
With tears stinging his eyes as well, Mulder gets up from the floor and fits himself into the space between Scully and the back of the couch, folding her up in his arms and legs. He knows he’s crossing a line, but he can’t sit back and do nothing while his partner falls apart, so he does the only thing he can think of to hold her together.
She doesn’t turn away, which he half-expects her to, but instead turns over and presses herself against him. “I’m sorry,” she cries. “I just…”
“God, don’t be sorry, Scully.” His heart breaks a little and he holds her even tighter.
The End
Melissa Benoist, 2 years ago: huh who knew marrying your co-star/onscreen love interest is a bad idea?
Melissa Benoist now: GUYS GUESS WHO I AM MARRYING!?
To anyone who wishes to start a riot, I will supply free torches and pitchforks as we march to Blujay Studios.
OMG NOOOOOOO WHYYYYYY (im literally crying inside right now)
The baby is sad and even Savannahs friend! Omg I can’t take it
