After the incident at the Theater with Atlas and Titan.
Elara only made it half way home when she broke down. She was alone. No one would see. She can let it slip just for a moment. She knows she's not supposed to act like this. Both Titan and Atlas got hurt and for what?! Because she failed to descalate the situation! She let herself lash out and yell back. She once again let her emotions get the better of her and her friends got hurt.
This is even worse then what happened with Astraia. At least no physical harm befell anyone when that happened... not like it was much better, she broke a friendship. And now... now... She fell to her knees and sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. If she had just smiled and nodded, agreeing with Atlas then he wouldn't have lashed out. She wouldn't have been hurt. Titan wouldn't have had to save her. And... and Titan would not have had to shut down his emotions. Oh god. What if he is stuck like that?!
Then there is Atlas. Something was clearly wrong and all she did was antagonize him. She instigated and argued. That is not how she is programmed. What is wrong with her?! She knew better... gentle, kind, quiet, calm, compliant...
She looks at the dents in her arm from Atlas' hand, lucky the punctures on her other arm had stopped bleeding thanks to the small army of nanites she had that repairs small damages. They had stopped the bleeding but lacked the materials to fill in the holes. She deserved this... like Moon always said:
You wouldn't get hurt if you just did what you're supposed to do.
She shivers as the words replay in her head. If only she had acted as she was programmed to... With a sigh and a few more sobs she pulls out some bandages she managed to grab as she left the Theater. Might as well wrap these up, hide them from the others until she can get them fixed. She'll make time... eventually. She needs to get home, the children are probably hungry and need her. She cleans up her face and forces herself to stand up. Just smile and pretend everything is okay. She needs to tell Andromeda or maybe Malware about Titan. Hopefully they can help Titan. Stars knows she would just make it worse.
chapter 2 of 2 / wc: 1509 / msr, angst, s10, post-home again
summary: She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared.
this is the first fic i ever wrote! it got deleted along with my original blog a few years back, so i thought i’d repost for that sweet, sweet validation. check out my fic tag if you’d like! xx
(chapter 1)
Early morning sun began to creep slowly through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom. A cock crowed distantly, causing Mulder to stir. He pulled the covers up and over his head, trying to block out the growing brightness of the sunlight. When the cock crowed again, Mulder sighed deeply, accepted defeat, and began to rub the sleep from his eyes. He absently reached across the bed, searching for her hand, her waist, any part of her he could use to anchor them both to each other. His hand met crisp, cool sheets. Sitting up he turned towards the empty space beside him, brows furrowed in concern and sad realization.
She had left. Last night she was grieving, covered in salty tears, clinging to his thin, cotton t-shirt. That was acceptable Scully behavior, in the night, where she could hide in the cover of darkness and their thick down comforter. But, after all these years, she couldn’t face him in the light of day. She didn’t – couldn’t – trust him enough to allow herself to be seen vulnerable in the harsh sunlight, where everything seems so real. At night, in the inky shadows, life feels less weighty, less impossible. The day is not as kind, bringing to light all the things you try to forget, try to hide.
He sighed again, this time wearier, heavier. What could he say, what could he do for her? As he fell apart after both his mother’s and father’s deaths, Scully had been there, even when he had pushed her away, yelled, showed up at her apartment drunk out of his mind. She had cared for him, she had held him, she had dried his tears. And he would do the same for her.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed his keys off the bedside table and slipped into a pair of ratty running shoes, almost as an afterthought as he took long strides out the bedroom door and down the hall. As he approached the main room of the house, his pace slowed.
Coffee. He smelled coffee.
Rounding the corner and stepping into the sparsely furnished living room, Mulder saw the front door sitting open and could hear the muffled noises of coffee percolating. A cold wind whipped into the entryway, causing the screen door to lightly swing on its creaky hinges. He took a deep breath of the chilled air, and stepped outside.
There she was, bed head, wrapped in her favorite flannel throw she had left behind in her hurry to leave him. She held a mug of coffee in her hand, steam rolling off in waves. Hair fluttered around her pale, freckled face, catching on the dry skin of her cracked lips. She hasn’t noticed him standing there and he takes a moment to see her in a rare moment of unguardedness; she was simply existing. No power suits donned as armor. No carefully constructed walls to hide her emotions, to keep him out. She looked calm, but pensive; maybe even a bit wistful. Her freckles and mole that she tries so desperately to hide, as if they are chinks in her bulletproof armor, stand out proudly against her porcelain skin in the soft morning sun.
Lifting her right hand, she brushes away a delicate tear off her cheek and tucks her unkempt hair behind her ear in one smooth movement. Mulder catches his breath as the early dawn rays dust her face with gold. Even in her sorrow, she is beautiful. He takes slow steps towards her from behind, and by the way her posture changes, he knows that she has heard him begin to approach.
Mulder stands directly behind her, wraps one arm around her waist, and places a gentle kiss to her cheek, still damp from tears. She closes her eyes and leans into the kiss, letting out a soft sigh.
“Hey,” she breathes, her throat tight and raw, but the smallest curve of her lip reveals she is happy to see him. He takes a step back, but leaves his hand resting on her hip, light as a feather. She passes him the mug of coffee, without looking at him. It is silent except for the gusts of wind blowing through the bare trees.
The mug warms his stiff fingers. He knows before he even tastes the coffee that it contains two sugars and the smallest splash of whole fat cream. It’s one of the only indulgences she allows herself in her strict diet, her regimented life. He sips the coffee slowly, relishing the warmth it trails down his throat and into his empty stomach. He hands the mug bag to her, clears his throat.
“I woke up and you weren’t there.” She stands next to him, staring straight ahead, giving no reaction to his words. “I thought that…,” he trails off, not knowing what he’s trying to say to her, what he so desperately needs her to understand.
She slowly turns towards him and leans in. He can feel the warmth of her body radiating from her, the smooth flannel of the blanket wrapped snugly around her petite frame. She smiles sadly and looks at his chest, avoiding his eyes.
“The house looks spotless. Have you hired a maid?” She attempts a joke, to lighten the mood. It’s a pitiful attempt; her heart isn’t in it, and it falls flat. She frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says simply. “I wanted to let you sleep. And… I needed coffee.” He shifts his hand from her waist to her upper arm, trying to make eye contact and failing. “And…I needed….I needed time to think.”
“Scully, listen, I know…I know that we aren’t really on the best terms and that…well I’ve really fucked up and, I just…,” Mulder’s throat begins to close up, tears sting his eyes. “I don’t want you to go through this alone.”
Scully inhales deeply, but says nothing. Her shoulders begin to tremble, so subtly that if he wasn’t holding onto her, he would never have known. He’s glad he knows. He holds her tighter. “I want to help you through this. I’m going to help you through this.”
Her entire body has started trembling, coffee starting to slosh out of the cup with her efforts to tamp down building sobs. Mulder extracts the mug from her iron grip and places it on the rail of their front porch. He turns back towards her, trying desperately to catch her eyes, but she just clamps them shut, trying to maintain control.
Her hair has begun to fall from its place behind her ear; Mulder takes a step closer to her, reaches out to tuck the errant strands back, and tenderly brushes his knuckles against her cheek. It’s all it takes, skin to chilled skin, for Scully to fall apart. She rushes hard into his arms, burying her face into his chest in a way that reminds him of a green special agent with some nasty mosquito bites he knew years ago.
Her tears begin to wet his grey shirt. He makes large, soothing circles on her flannel covered back, pulling her closer.
“Mulder, I...I...” she quietly whispers between gasps for air.
“Shhhh, Scully. I’m here,” he soothes, “I’m here.”
The coffee cools on the railing as Mulder rocks her back and forth, gently, whispering into her mussed hair. And as her sobbing turns to cries and her cries turn to whimpers, he continues to hold her close, arms wrapped tightly around her. She’s letting him hold her broken pieces together, a rare relinquishing of control, and he will not let her down.
When her cheeks have dried and her breathing has regulated, they continue to stand in silence, Mulder holding on to her as if she may dissolve right in front of him, disappear. Scully has been still and quiet for so long that Mulder wonders if she has fallen asleep standing up. Losing your last living parent, your last relative who truly loves and supports you despite your alien-loving partner and questionable life choices doesn’t lend itself to a good night’s sleep. He’s just about to gather her into his arms, blanket and all, when she withdraws her arms from against his chest and wraps them around his body. The strength of her embrace surprises him.
He feels her chest expand as she inhales deeply. “Mulder?” She breathes, a hint of nervousness, maybe even desperation. He doesn’t know if she wants a response, to assure her that he is listening. As if he could stop himself from hanging on her every single word since they met all those years ago in a musty basement covered in newspaper clippings and an unhealthy amount of dust.
He’s about to answer when he feels the vibrations in his chest as she says, “Mulder, I want to come home.”
Mulder laughs, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He tightens his grip around her, holding her close, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, the beating of her heart.
i got. super drunk. the other night with my gf. she ended up caring for my sick ass and i passed out in her bed. anyways long story short i just unpacked my bag i brought over cause im super lazy and slow.. and she left me a note saying, “Hi babe! I hope you are feeling better! I had a wonderful time! You are my sunshine! I’m sorry I let you puke ~Love Sara”😭😭
also if you think for one second she isn’t going to angrily confront vader and slam her fists against his chest screaming about how he stole their son’s life from her and it’s his fault she never got to raise their children and never got to hold her son and had to watch leia grow up calling another woman ‘mama’ i just don’t know what to fucking tell you
Wrote a scene where my inquisitor gets to say goodbye to varric. Does it fit into the fic? Probably not. Will I keep it anyway? Absolutely, it's for me and me alone.
