Missing Scene Exchange Fics in Chronological Order
With all the Missing Scene Exchange fics in, I wanted to make a thread for anyone who hasn't read them!
In this chronological order, you'll be able to see Mulder and Scully's relationship grow over time through these missing scenes <3
Ao3 Collection Link Here
"Celestial Bodies" (Syzygy)
Scully and Mulder let their feelings fly after a particularly strange case pushes them to their limits.
"Across the Sea" (Memento Mori)
Mulder and Margaret Scully talk after Scully's diagnosis, and Maggie reflects on her daughter, her partner, and their journey so far.
"A Night Stolen" (Small Potatoes)
What happened after Mulder found Scully with Eddie Van Blundht? Fill in the missing scenes between that moment and when they visit him in jail
"Partners in Love and Crime" (Redux I)
Scully knows she'll be called to identify a body. Mulder asks her to lie and say it was him. What happens? Does Mulder feel guilty? Is Scully hesitant?
"Rebehold the Stars" (Redux II)
“Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars” he murmured, more to himself than her, his voice low and tender, his gaze never leaving Scully's.
"Is This Living?" (Post-Redux II)
What happens after Mulder picks Scully up from the hospital after her miraculous recovery from cancer?
"Ashes to Ashes" (The End)
While taking in the burnt remains of their office, the only thing capable of snapping Mulder out of his numbness is the sudden realization that Scully needs him.
"The Sick Rose" (One Son)
What if they were in a developing/established relationship and Mulder finds Scully alone in his apartment after the "making it personal" comment?
"Calm Before the Storm" (Agua Mala)
Another hurricane throws a wrench into Mulder & Scully's travel plans.
"Meet the Petries" (Arcadia)
Mulder and an almost drunk Scully discuss their aliases pre-Arcadia.
"A Case of You" (Three of a Kind)
The Lone Gunmen make amends to Scully. Mulder eavesdrops on Scully singing Joni Mitchell.
"Shroomality" (Field Trip)
They just survived a shroom trip that nearly killed them! Anyone else who shares that experience would talk about it. Would it change their dynamic at all?
The timeline gets a little wonky here:
The Unnatural (April 24, IRL baseball reference)
Three of a Kind (July 9-11 99, IRL convention dates)
Field Trip (April 19, Official XF Archives book)
Dr. Parenti's file indicates Per Manum happened June 18th 99, so, I'll just put it here?
"Never Give Up On A Miracle" (Per Manum)
What happened after Mulder and Scully learned that the IVF didn’t work?
"the things they say in the dark" (Amor Fati)
If there is one truth she can't deny, it's that those who love this man are both blessed and stricken for their loyalty.
"Running Up That Hill" (Sein und Zeit)
Scully stays to comfort Mulder after he learns the truth about his mother's death. Leading up to when Skinner knocks on the door the next morning.
"We’re Not Here To Get Involved in Personal Problems" (X-Cops)
After the events of X-Cops, What happens in the weary early morning hours of February 21, 2000.
"Butterfly Kisses" (all things)
The fluorescent light of the aquarium casts a warm glow over her and alerts her to the fact that she did fall asleep on his couch.
"An Exploration of Fate" (all things)
What followed the conversation on the couch ... has romance blossomed for Mulder & Scully?
"Match/Strike/Fire: 'Light Up It's Springtime'" (Brand X)
What happens between Mulder waking up in the hospital and when we next see them at the office with the pack of smokes.
"Good Times on the Bureau's Dime" (Hollywood A.D.)
Mulder and Scully have the Bureau credit card. What do they do?
"Three Conversations" (Three Words)
What happens after we cut away from the scene where Scully takes Mulder home?
"Philotes" (Empedocles)
What do Mulder and Scully talk about and do after the gift scene? In this next scene he doesn't leave, and they talk more.
"forty eight hours." (Existence)
How did the two days following Existence pan out? How did it transpire that Mulder went on the run? What was that conversation like between Mulder & Scully?
"She Has A Stick to Pee On" (My Struggle IV)
How does Scully find out she's pregnant? What's her thought process in staying home vs going with Mulder? Reaction to Skinner's news we didn't see?
In "Sein Und Zeit," Scully stays to comfort Mulder after he learns the truth about his mother's death. This fills in the blanks before Skinner knocks on the door the next morning. (Written for the XF Fanfic Exchange)
The gentle babble of water from the fish tank.
The rustic creak of the desk chair.
The shaky exhale of a broken man.
Her mind kept repeating the horrible words she delivered just as Mulder was trying to rationalize what happened to his mother. It was more blunt than Scully would have liked. In an instant she watched the tidal wave sweep away any sense of calm or clarity. The torrent of anger and grief beat against the fragile wall he desperately tried to maintain. He fell apart; shielded himself from her. She kneeled down and reached for him, felt her own tears prick at the corners of her eyes. His arms draped over her shoulders and she pulled him close, a hand resting on his neck to ground him. Soft lips tenderly kissed his cheek as he sobbed.
Scully traced her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, working small circles in an attempt to soothe the tension. She pressed her cheek against Mulder’s temple feeling the heat radiate off his skin. His convulsions slowed to smaller tremors. His hold on her started to loosen; strong arms that enveloped her twitched as they softened. He pushed back with eyes closed and took a much needed breath of air, a weak hand settled on her upper arm. Her palm gently moved to his damp cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb. Mulder slowly opened his eyes and reached up to take her hand, bringing it to his lips. He endeavored to stand and Scully rose to her feet with him.
“Mulder?”
“I’m going to need a minute,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. She nodded and watched him walk to the bedroom. After he closed the door slightly a ragged exhale escaped her lips. Her shoulders shrugged off her jacket and she searched in the pocket for her phone. The device felt heavy in her hand and she quickly dialed the number with her thumb. She paced towards the entryway, hearing a single ring in her ear and the outgoing message queued up.
“This is Walter Skinner. I am unable to take your call, please leave me a message.”
*beep*
“Sir, it’s Scully,” she swallowed hard, “I’m sorry to call, I’m not really sure what time it is. But um — I’m here with Agent Mulder. He is very distraught and I really think it’s best that he step down from this case. He needs some time,” she closed her eyes and firmly pressed her lips together, “I’ll stay tonight to keep an eye on him. I’m not sure when we’ll — I’ll be at the office tomorrow.” She disconnected the call and rested the edge of the phone against her chin.
A quick survey of the living room noted an empty pizza box on the coffee table along with food wrappers and laundry on the couch that hadn’t been put away. Mulder basically came back from his mother’s house and entrenched himself in the room. Trying hard to find an explanation, waiting for her autopsy results to have proof that someone else was responsible. Scully moved to his desk and straightened up some of the items that had fallen over. Pens and pencils were placed back in a cup, sunflower seeds were brushed into a pile. As she rested a picture frame back on its easel she frowned at the sight of a brown haired girl with an innocent smile sitting on a jungle gym. Samantha. The picture used to live on Mulder’s desk and fortunately found its way home before their office fire a few years ago. Scully was suddenly overcome with sadness, her lip trembled and she fought back a sob. Her empathy for Mulder was overwhelming and she silently cried into her hands.
----
He sluggishly paced the floor in the bedroom with arms folded. He was exhausted and embarrassed. Mulder stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet feeling the water turn tepid before cupping his hands and splashing his face. He looked up at the mirror and saw the familiar puffiness under his eyes. He tugged at the lower lid and could see the network of bloodshot capillaries setting in. Mulder gripped the porcelain sink and hung his head, drops of water fell from his nose and chin into the basin. He snatched a hand towel from the ring on the wall and dried his face. A childhood memory started to play, images flickered into place like a zoetrope gaining speed. This was a memory he revisited more often than he liked. It was the summer of 1973, Rhode Island. The summer before Samantha was taken.
The house always had a familiar salty scent; it was practically baked into the wood panelling that covered the walls. Each summer seemed stronger than the last. Fox shooed his sister out of the bedroom they shared on the second floor. He wanted to finish the chapter he was reading before dinner. She stomped down the hall and down the stairs, scolding him. He heard a slam and figured she was being a brat as she went outside but then he heard his parents arguing. Fox leaned back against the pillow and tried to focus on his book. The voices got louder. He closed the novel, set it on the nightstand then went to investigate.
His hand slid along the wall as he slowly went down the steps. He stopped before reaching the landing when he heard his father shout about a choice being made. Fox crept closer, he had a partial view of the backyard through the large living room window. His mother argued back and gestured to the yard where Samantha was attempting a cartwheel. Bill stood still as Teena repeatedly beat a fist against his chest. Fox was alarmed at what he witnessed. His father simply turned and walked out of the room, his mother paused then followed to slam the door behind him and flip the lock. The house felt strangely quiet. Fox reached the last step as his mother brushed past and went out to the backyard. She stood on the deck, watching Samantha. He slowly went outside to join her. His mother stood with arms tightly folded and a distant stare. When he called out she jumped at his presence, sharply asking what he was doing there. Fox expressed concern but she brushed him off, throwing a comparison to his father then walking further into the yard. He was left to wonder why she was angry with him, looking on as she smiled and hugged Samantha tightly. Fox felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Mulder held the towel firmly against his face breathing in the clean linen scent, dissolving the memory. He then balled up the towel with a white-knuckle grip and growled as he delivered a blind punch to the bathroom door.
——
Scully sat in the leather chair near Mulder’s desk, her index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of her nose. Pinpoint pressure tried to counteract the headache forming behind her eyes. She suddenly heard a thud come from the bedroom and went to find the source. As she crossed the threshold another loud thump reverberated from behind the bathroom door.
“Mulder?” she asked, leaning an ear down to listen. There was a quick rush from the faucet before he emerged with a towel wrapped around his hand.
“Are you alright?”
“A little physical therapy,” he replied, flexing his fingers then squeezing them into his palm with a wince. “Never would have made it as a boxer.”
“Let me take a look,” she said, moving closer to take his hand. He released his grip as she slid the damp towel away. “Oh Mulder,” her brow furrowed at the angry skin across his knuckles. In the dim light she knew the abrasion would look worse tomorrow. She grazed her thumb over the tops of his fingers and she felt the slightest squeeze. Mulder then pulled away and went to sit on the bed. Scully turned to the bathroom and searched his medicine cabinet for an antiseptic. Luckily he wised up to her insistence of keeping a rudimentary first aid kit. She told him once that she couldn’t be a night nurse all the time, which resulted in a playful pout.
The sharp smell of alcohol pierced his nostrils as he watched Scully dab a cotton ball against his knuckles.
“It was stupid. I know.”
“I wasn’t going to say a damn thing,” she said, adjusting her position next to him. He sighed deeply and shook his head.
“I can’t stop looking, Scully.”
“You can’t, or won’t?” It was a soft-spoken honest question but Mulder didn’t want to answer it. He bristled and took back his hand then rose from the bed. “Don’t do this,” she cautioned, looking up at him.
“Why not,” he replied, then walked out of the bedroom. She quickly stood and followed him. He moved through the living room and went to the kitchen, searching for a bottle of vodka he had stashed on a shelf. Scully joined him right as he was pouring a glass.
“I was thinking,” he began after a beat, “my mother never got closure. She just had to live with the decision that she and my father made all those years ago.” He took a long drink and continued. “I wonder if she just assumed Samantha was dead. Made herself believe it so she could move on. I can’t do that, Scully, I can’t just move on. I need that closure. I need to know I’ve done all I can to find out what happened to her.” Mulder finished off the glass and poured another. Scully saw the turmoil on his face, he stared at the tumbler and gripped it tightly. His tongue slowly dragged against his lower lip, pulling it into his teeth. He tipped back the short glass feeling the burn from the vodka coat his throat.
“I can’t stop thinking about that kid, what her parents are going through. Amber Lynn deserves better. Her parents deserve better.” He reached for the bottle and doubled the amount from the previous pour. “Mom thought I could help, she wanted me to help these people. She had given up.” Mulder rambled in a soft voice then took a sip. The sense of defeat was choking the air in the already congested kitchen. “I never called her back. She called when I was out in California and I said I would talk to her later; but I never did.”
Scully brushed at her cheeks, an ache stung her chest as she remembered the last voicemail she left for Melissa. She came to Mulder’s side and placed her hand over his, easing it down to the counter and taking the glass. He watched her kiss the rim and finish off the vodka without even a tic. She moved closer, arms finding a familiar hold around his waist. Scully searched for something to say but knew it would fall on deaf ears. There was warmth from his hand on her back, fingers splayed as he encouraged her to move even closer. She felt a little selfish seeking his comfort when he was on an emotional razor’s edge.
“I’m so sorry, Mulder,” she finally said into his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in her ear. She felt his hand move up to the back of her neck, gently lacing his fingers in her hair. His head dipped down to rest next to hers. Scully pushed back and met his tired gaze, mist clouded her vision until a flutter of eyelashes released a tear down her cheek. There was a shine to his hazel eyes as he searched her face; seeking that touchstone, that totem, that knowledge that he would be okay. He bent closer and kissed her, the taste of alcohol lingered on her lips. She kissed back without hesitation, not wanting to break the gossamer thread that drew them together. Grief and loss were motivators, driving two souls faster into each other’s arms.
Hands traced familiar paths but triggered new sensations. Primal arousal swirled like a maelstrom and the worn leather couch was a safe harbor. Mulder needed to feel skin on skin and his hand slid underneath her shirt, grazing across her taut abdomen. Scully arched her back as she tugged his soft t-shirt, releasing it from the waist of his jeans. Their lips met again leading the way for tongues to mingle and dance. She wanted to help him forget. Her hands began to undo her pants, inching them down over the curve of her hips. Mulder pressed back and fumbled with his jeans. He balanced on one knee sinking lower into the couch cushion and watched her slide back, a fiery aura glowed in the dim light of the room. Before he could think, she was on top of him; hot breath against the side of his neck, arms framed the side of his face as her body pressed against his. He met the rhythm of her hips.
“Use me to forget,” she whispered. He moaned at the request, pressing fingertips harder into her soft curves. Skin to skin. Romance would come another time, tonight played host to half-dressed biological urges desperately seeking a release. Her knees clamped tightly to his sides as a shudder rolled down her body; pain and pleasure written on her face. Leather stretched underneath them, friction caused a deeper patina to the vintage cushions.
“Fuck me, Mulder,” her voice broke as the threshold reached its maximum. His nails dug into her lower back, her teeth gnashed at his earlobe as his momentum increased. Short, ragged breath was shared between them. Syllables bounced around but couldn’t form words. Scully gasped and bit her lower lip as the dam broke. She was overcome, tears streamed down her face while he reached the peak. He cried out as he came, one final deep thrust. Her hand covered her eyes trying to control herself.
“I’m sorry. God I’m sorry, Scully,” he weakly pleaded as he kissed her damp cheeks and stroked her hair. His own emotions bubbled to the surface.
“It’s alright. It’s okay, it’s okay,” she managed to say through tears. Shame washed over him pulling him into an undertow and he sat up to hold her close, shifting her into his lap. She sobbed against his shoulder, empathy taking over once again. His strong embrace could have shattered her like a porcelain doll. She held him just as tightly.
----
The bedroom was their quiet sanctuary. After cleaning up, Scully adjusted the bedclothes and guided him to the side of the bed. He laid down first, leaving room for her to curl up beside him. His arm draped over her waist catching the rise and fall of her form. She held his hand, placing a gentle kiss on his fingers.
Darkness allowed nightmares to invade his mind. Drenched in sweat he trembled next to her. Moans and cries caused her to stir. She reached for his shoulder, took him out of the midnight visions. Her voice comforted him and told him he was safe with her in his bed. This continued well into the night. She felt him get out of bed and heard the click of the bathroom door. The faucet ran as he coughed deeply, followed by the flush of the toilet. She lay on her back, waiting for him to return. When he crawled back into bed smelling of mint mouthwash, she gently rested her head on his chest.
Dawn arrived all too soon and just as she felt sleep was finally at hand, sunrise brought an unwelcome knock on the door. She ignored it at first, nuzzling back into the pillow that held his scent. He breathed peacefully beside her. The knock repeated. Scully shifted under Mulder’s arm and slipped out of bed, padding out to see who the culprit was. A flip of the lock and a turn of the knob open the door to Skinner standing on the doorstep. Scully then recalled the voicemail she left several hours ago. There were a thousand words he could have strung together when he saw her but he settled on the easiest one.
“Hi,” he said sheepishly when he noticed her disheveled hair and work shirt. She blinked and stood firm with her hand bracing the door.
“Hi,” she echoed.
“How is he?”
“It’s been a rough night for him,” her voice was raspy with the tones of early morning. Skinner had his own theories but immediately boxed them up when he saw the exhausted look on her face. Scully was fiercely protective of her partner and she knew he was there to talk about the LaPierre case. Her expression matched the concern in her voicemail that she really didn’t want Mulder involved. Right on cue Mulder entered the room, hovering close to Scully’s side. Skinner said that the LaPierre’s were asking to meet with him and that he booked plane tickets for later that morning. Mulder wordlessly nodded and retreated to the bedroom leaving Scully to request an additional ticket out to the west coast.
X Files Missing Scene Fanfic Exchange gift to @night-of-cydonia , tagging @today-in-fic
Prompt: what happened after the flashbacks in Per Manum, from Mulder’s perspective?
It had been hours. Or it felt like it had been hours, anyway. He craned his neck to see the time on the microwave; 3:15. Her appointment was at 1:00, she should be back by now. He considered calling her, but maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe it was bad news again. He shifted around a bit to get more comfortable on her small couch, thought about lying down in her bed but decided against it. Thought about digging through her fridge for something to eat, but decided against that, too. If Scully was devastated right now, if the last embryo transfer didn’t work, he had no right to physical comfort or nourishment. So he laid there and waited.
When she’d first asked him to be her sperm donor, he was so shocked he couldn’t speak. That turned out to be a good thing, because she insisted that he not answer right away; she wanted him to take some time to think it over, not go with whatever response came to him readily. He wasn’t sure if she was worried that a too-fast response would be a yes or a no; was she afraid he’d regret saying yes? Or was she worried that he’d say no, but might have said yes if he’d had more time to think? It didn’t matter, his immediate answer was yes, and his answer the next day when he stopped by her apartment was yes, and each and every time he saw her, or thought about it, or went to the clinic for his “deposit,” his mind screamed yes. Yes, I want to father your child. Yes, I want to be tied to you forever. Yes, I want to argue over whether or not they can play contact sports or date when they’re 15 and whether we’re willing to pay out of state tuition for college. Yes, I want it all, with you. He didn’t really know if any of that was available to him; maybe she just wanted his sperm and nothing more. But whatever it was, however little or much she wanted from him and with him, the answer when it came to Scully was always yes.
When he’d come by her apartment to give her his answer, there was so much he’d wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he needed her to be in his life always, that whether she decided to quit the FBI or transfer back to Quantico, or something else entirely, that he would be by her side. He’d tried to say all those things, but what came out was “I wouldn’t want this to come between us,” which he realized too late sounded like he was softening a “no.” The look on her face was a punch to the gut; the gentle quiver in her chin that she recovered from quickly, her rush to assure him that it was okay, that she understood. All the profound things he’d wanted to confess fell out of his head and the only thing he could muster was that the answer was yes. Watching the realization dawn on her, the relief flooding her body, the joy that tugged at the corners of her mouth, felt like magic. That he could make her that happy was something he’d only dreamed of. She’d hugged him so tightly, and he smiled against her hair, smelling her shampoo. For as much pain and suffering as he’d brought into her life, he could do this for her. It didn’t make up for all the rest, but it was something.
He’d had a lot of questions about how the procedure worked, but he didn’t want to burden her with explaining it so he did his own research, learning about all the hormones she’d have to inject herself with to prepare her body and the affects they would have on her, and the need for precise timing of when they transferred the embryo into her uterus.
The embryo.
It was a medical term, but in a literal sense it was the combination of their DNA. Half of her and half of him, duplicating and developing into what had the potential to become a baby. It got them ¾ of the way to pregnant; all the embryo had to do was attach to her uterine lining. It just had to stick around. The statistics said there was a 60% chance, generally speaking, but that didn’t necessarily take into account the damage done to her ova under cryo storage, much less the damage done to her body during her abduction; he doubted the medical community had data on how those factors affected her odds.
The first transfer he was mostly out of the loop on. Scully told him when to go in and provide his sperm sample, and that was it. He observed her mood swings and irritability and inferred they were side effects from the hormones, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to be intrusive and wasn’t sure what his role was. He wanted to know everything, but he didn’t think he had a right to. One day, a couple weeks after he’d spent some quality time in the donation room, she’d been flipping through some documents in the office when she got a paper cut. What started with an expletive quickly devolved into sobbing and he was confused, and worried, and a little bit scared. He went to her, gently placing a hand on her back, and she shook her head as if to say “it’s nothing, I’m fine.” He crouched down beside her, trying to see her face, but she hid it in her hands.
“Is it…is it the hormones?” He’d asked tentatively.
She’d looked at him then, her eyes bloodshot and wet, and shook her head again.
“It didn’t take,” she squeaked out between shuddering breaths. “I went in for a pregnancy test yesterday. It didn’t work.”
He’d moved closer, kneeling on the floor beside her chair, and enveloped her in a tight hug, stroking her back as he whispered in her ear reassuringly.
“It’s okay, Scully. We can try again, right?”
She’d nodded, but didn’t speak, her arms wrapped around his neck with a strangling grip. After a time, the sobs that racked her tiny frame subsided and she sniffled, relaxing a little. He took a chance at humor, wanting to bring some levity to the moment.
“That one just wasn’t the one, Scully. It was probably the next Jeffrey Dahmer or something.”
She snuffed a small laugh, pulling back to look at him. The pain in her eyes gripped at his heart and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his own emotions from spilling over.
“Why didn’t you tell me when the transfer was, or when you were taking a test?” He asked, hoping that his tone conveyed care and concern, not irritation.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be that involved. I didn’t want you to feel obligated I guess.”
He picked up one of her hands from her lap and held it between both of his.
“I want to be as involved as you’ll allow me to be. It’s your decision, but I’d like to know where you’re at in the process, if I can. Did more than one zygote make it to embryo stage? Did they freeze any?” His knees ached from kneeling on the floor but he didn’t want to lose this moment where she seemed to be opening up to him.
The corner of her mouth quirked and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yes, there were three embryos resulting from fertilization. They transferred one, and the other two are in cold storage. How do you know so much about this, Mulder?”
He gave her a shy smile and shrugged.
“Well I wanted to know what was going to happen to my… my genetic material, so I did a little research.”
Her mouth screwed up in attempt to hide her smile. It was an expression he knew well.
“I promise I’ll let you know for the next one” she finally said, putting her other hand on top of his and squeezing.
She was good to her word, letting him know when she started her period, and that the next transfer would be about 15 days later. She’d even jokingly asked him how his donation appointment went and then laughed at him as his face turned beet red, assuring him it wasn’t a question she expected him to answer. When she snapped at him for something mundane, she apologized and explained that the hormones she was taking to prepare her uterine lining for the embryo transfer made her irritable. On the day of the transfer, she wouldn’t let him go with her but she did let him bring her dinner afterward, and then pretended not to mind that he treated her like she was made of glass until the day she could take a test. Being included in the anticipation and build up was amazing, and he found himself daydreaming about what a child of theirs would look like, how cute Scully would look with a little belly. It also made it that much harder when she called him to say that it didn’t take again. He asked if he could come over, but she insisted that she wanted to be alone. He sat in his empty apartment as the weight of disappointment settled on his shoulders, and he realized how much he had wanted it. Not just for Scully, he’d wanted it for him. He wanted to be a father, wanted to share a child with her. He’d never had strong feelings either way about parenthood, and now he could see that was because he’d never known anyone he wanted to be a parent WITH. Now that he had glimpsed what having a child with Scully might be like, he wanted it more than just about anything. A few quiet tears rolled down his cheeks and he wiped them away before grabbing his gym bag and heading out to shoot some hoops.
They’d had three eggs that fertilized, three chances, and that was it. There were no more viable eggs. The third cycle felt different, less anticipatory and more desperate. She kept him in the loop, but they were both on edge the whole time. After the transfer, she took a day off to relax, hopefully increase her odds, and he brought her lunch and smiled through his anxiety while they talked about everything except what they were both thinking about. He wanted it to work, so badly, but there was nothing he could do to affect the outcome. It felt incredibly helpless, standing by while she overanalyzed every twinge in her belly, wondering if it meant something. Over lunch the day before she went in for her test, he gently asked if he could come with her, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. It was news that he was just as invested in as she was, even though he worked hard to hide it. The last thing he wanted to do was add his own emotional needs to her overloaded plate; she should only be worrying about herself, not him. She declined, but compromised on letting him wait for her at her apartment, so he’d know as soon as she got home, and so he could be with her either way.
So here he was, waiting. The delay in her return told him he should prepare for bad news, but the mind is a fickle thing and he was still dreaming of a positive. He envisioned a daughter, a tiny thing with red hair and blue eyes. Basically a pint sized version of Scully, freckles and all. She’d be wicked smart, of course, and curious as hell. He wondered if Scully would want to name her after one of their sisters, maybe both. Would she want the baby to have his last name? It would be her choice, but the idea of another Samantha Mulder having a chance in the world made him smile as a lump formed in his throat. At some point he drifted off, visions of tossing a toddler in the air while Scully looked on with a smile dancing behind his eyelids.
It was the thunk of the deadbolt that woke him. He jolted upright, orienting himself to space and time, rushing quickly to the realization that he was about to learn his fate. Standing, he spoke.
“Scully? I must have dozed off, I was waiting for you to get back.”
One look at her face was enough. He felt his stomach lurch. He tried to find words as his heart quickened, searching for a sign one way or the other, grasping at hope. But he knew. She walked towards him slowly, her chin puckered and her eyes wet. It was bad news.
“It didn’t take, did it?”
“I guess it was too much to hope for,” her voice was strained around the fresh tears that pooled in her eyes.
He felt his heart break. He’d hurt many times, for many reasons. He’d worried over Scully countless times. He’d cried for her, and with her. He’d grieved for his sister for the majority of his life. But this hurt was different. This was the woman he loved more than life itself telling him that her dreams of being a mother were over. It was the end of a road, the slam of a door, the handful of dirt tossed on a coffin containing hope. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hiding his own pained expression in her hair, rocking her back and forth gently.
“It was my last chance” she keened into his ear, and he pulled a deep breath in through is nose to ward off his own tears. He needed to be strong for her. She could not bear the weight of his own grief on top of hers. He held her tighter. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady his breath, swallowing the lump in his throat until he thought he could speak without crying. Pulling away from her slightly, he kissed her forehead and then rested his own against it, taking another beat to recover.
“Never give up on a miracle” he finally said, not sure what exactly he meant by it. He knew he didn’t want her to give up, but he wasn’t sure what a miracle would look like. He did know that if anyone was deserving of a miracle, it was Scully.
She leaned back into him, tilting her face towards his so that for a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. Just before her lips met his she passed his mouth and instead pressed them against his cheek, resting them there for a beat before she returned to his embrace. They stood like that for an agonizingly long time, rocking gently back and forth while her tears soaked the shoulder of his sweater and and her sobs became more shallow and further apart. He held her until she grew limp in his arms, and then he bent down and scooped her up, carrying her to the couch where he sat with her in his lap. She leaned into his chest, her eyes closed, as he reached down and plucked her boots from her feet, tossing them to the floor in a way that he knew would drive her crazy if she had the wherewithal to care. Next he pushed her coat off one arm, then lifted her torso off him gently to pull it free from the other arm and tossed it, too, onto the floor. Settling back against the couch, he wrapped one arm around her waist and encouraged her to lean into him, her forehead nestled in the crook of his neck. His other hand peppered her with tiny touches of reassurance; a brush down her shin, a stroke on the outside of her thigh, a thumb grazing her jaw, fingertips dancing over her arm, and finally intertwining with hers and settling in her lap. She was quiet for a long time, so long that he thought she may have fallen asleep. Finally she took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Are you okay?” He asked. It was a rhetorical question, but the only only one he could come up with.
“Not really” she answered, her voice flat.
“What do you need?” He inquired further. He felt like he should do something for her. What do you do for someone who just had their dreams stomped into dust?
She didn’t answer, but he felt her head shake gently against him. She didn’t know what she needed anymore than he did.
“Would you like to take a bath?” He asked, giving her a brief squeeze.
Now she nodded, her cheek brushing against his chest. “That sounds nice.”
He placed a kiss on her forehead before he stood with her in his arms; she was so light it took almost no exertion. He turned and set her gently on the couch and then went in to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He used the toilet and then stared at his reflection while he washed his hands. He stared back at himself, his eyes empty and expressionless. He willed himself not to feel, not to let the sadness overtake him too. He needed to focus on Scully. A pang of pain gripped at his heart and he closed his eyes, biting his lip. Just be here for her. Be her strength. She needs you. With a deep breath, he set his jaw, dried his hands, and drew her a bath.
When he returned to the living room, she was curled up in a ball on her side, staring vacantly. He knelt down beside her and ran his hand down the length of her arm. He forced a small smile to his lips. Be strong for her, he reminded himself.
“Hey,” he said in a near whisper. “Bath’s all ready for you.”
She lifted her head and he offered his hand to help her pull her to standing. She listed slightly, unsteady on her feet, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, escorting her into the bathroom.
“holler if you need me, okay?”
She nodded mutely and he left her, leaving the door open a crack. Returning to the living room, he looked around for something productive to do. He picked up her shoes and set them neatly by the door, hung her coat in the closet, straightened the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. Scully kept her apartment very tidy, so there wasn’t much to be done. It was nearly 5, he should think about dinner soon. A cursory inventory of her fridge indicated that they’d need to order out. Maybe they should watch a movie. Maybe she’d just want to go to bed. Should he get her pajamas ready for her? There was that helpless feeling again.
A sound from the bathroom interrupted his train of thought and he froze, listening. A low moan of agony sounded, followed by a gut wrenching sob. He walked quickly to the bathroom, knocking gently as he brought his lips to small space between the open door and the frame.
“Scully?”
Another wail and a sob. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Scully, are you okay?”
He could hear her falling apart, the shredding sound of her pain gripping at him. He needed to go to her.
“Scully, I’m coming in.”
He pushed the door open slowly, the bathtub coming into view incrementally. She was sitting near the faucet with her legs tucked against her chest, her arms wrapped around them protectively. Her forehead was resting on her knees, and she was shaking with sobs as primal, guttural sounds escaped her lips, which were pulled into a grimace.
He rushed to her side, placing his hand on the bare skin of her back, which was dry and cool in the open air.
“Scully? Talk to me.” He felt afraid. He’d never seen her like this before.
She was shivering violently, her jaw chattering. She wouldn’t respond to him. She had gone somewhere else, somewhere deep inside herself. He needed to either pull her back, or go there with her. He needed to be with her. He stood, pulling his sweater and t shirt over his head in one quick movement, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his legs, plucking off his socks. In a matter of seconds, he was down to his boxers, stepping into the empty space behind her in the tub. He pushed his legs into the narrow gaps on either side of her body and wrapped his arms around her, on top of her own. He pulled her to him so that her back was flush against his chest, and the shock of his warm skin against hers, which was chilled, seemed to jolt her back into reality. She went slack, releasing her grip around her legs as they straightened out before her, her head dropping back against him as she wailed. When she changed position, his arms had drifted to hold her around her rib cage, the soft swell of her breasts brushing against his forearms. She was so raw, so vulnerable, she didn’t even have the sense to care that she was draped over him naked, completely exposed. He was so engulfed with her pain, and with his own threatening to take center stage and pull him under with her, that he didn’t have the presence of mind to be affected by it like he normally may have been. He could see the taper of her waist and the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, he took in the pinkness of her nipples and the wobble of her breasts as her body shook with her grief, but that’s all it was, grief. He didn’t allow himself to see the beautiful naked body of the woman he loved, he only saw how much pain she was in, and wanted to find some way, any way possible, to help her.
“It’s okay, I’m here” he cooed into her ear, gently rolling side to side in a rocking motion.
She turned then, flipping over on to her belly so that they were chest to chest, her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapping around his torso beneath the water. She was still crying, but more softly, more in control, more present. He looked down the expanse of her bare back, the swell of her buttocks bobbing just above the water line. He saw her tattoo, something she kept mostly hidden from him, and he reached out to trace his finger over it, and endless circle against her skin. His chin quivered and he closed his eyes, keeping his breath steady so she wouldn’t sense the tears that were breaking free from his eyes, rolling down to drop into her hair. He brushed them away, his wet hand spreading even more water on his face, which would only help hide what he wanted to shield her from. Her cries subsided slowly, and then stopped altogether as the water grew tepid. He felt her body stiffen, and knew that she had returned to a level of awareness that made her uncomfortable with how exposed she was and the intimate nature of what they were doing. He lifted his hand to brush her hair from her face tenderly.
“Let me get you a towel, okay?”
She slithered away from him, pulling arms and legs into position to shield her breasts and vulva from view so that he could step out, his soaked boxer shorts clinging to his anatomy. He pulled a towel from the rack and held it open, high enough that it would block his view of her, and she stood so he could wrap it around her tiny frame as she stepped onto the bath mat. He hugged her toweled form to his chest, kissing the crown of her head.
“I’m sorry” she murmured.
He pulled back a bit and looked at her face with confusion.
“For what?” He asked, his voice full of concern.
She shook her head. “I’m a mess” she finally said, her eyes on the floor.
He hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him.
“Of course you are. It’s okay to be a mess sometimes, Scully. It’s nothing to be sorry for.”
The ache in her eyes told him that she felt guilty for needing him, for being weak.
“Let me take care of you. Please.” He implored, and she closed her eyes and nodded softly.
Stepping away from her, he grabbed a second towel and wrapped it around his waist, reaching underneath to pull off his wet underwear and draping it over the side of the tub before slipping his hand under the water to pull the plug.
“come on, let’s get you dressed,” he directed her, putting his hand on her back as they walked to her bedroom.
She sat on the edge of her bed, exhausted but seemingly out of tears to shed for the moment.
“There are some clothes of yours, in the bottom drawer” she said absently over her shoulder, and he pulled it open to find clean boxers, sweatpants and t shirts, all items he’d noticed go missing at one time or another.
“You starting a collection, G-woman?” He teased her, and he was relieved to see her shoulders lift in the tiniest of chuckles. It was something.
He pulled on dry clothes, not concerned that she might turn and see him nude, then started looking through her other drawers for something she might like to wear.
“Do you want pajamas?” He asked, and she shrugged noncommittally. She didn’t care.
He grabbed some silk pajama pants, a black t shirt that looked like it would be comfortably baggy, and then paused at the smaller top drawers he knew would contain her bras and underwear. Which would be more intrusive; going into her underwear drawer or dressing her commando? He glanced at her over his shoulder and quietly opened the drawer. What was most readily available were black cotton briefs, and he snagged a pair to add to the pile of clothes. Towards the back, he could see lace, and red, pink and blue somethings. He glanced over his shoulder again; she had fallen to her side, her back still to him, head on the pillow. With preemptive guilt, he plucked at the red lace with his fingertips, pulling forward an impossibly tiny thong. He felt a little stirring in his pants and shoved it back in, chastising himself for thinking about her like that in a time like this. He closed the drawer and set the pile of clothes on her nightstand, kneeling down on the floor beside her. Her eyes were open and staring at nothing. She was there, but not. He touched her arm gently to get her attention.
“Scully? There are some clothes for you here. I’m going to order dinner, is there anything in particular that sounds good to you?”
Her eyes focused on him as though she’d only just realized he was there.
“What?”
“What do you want to eat?” He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
She sighed deeply before responding. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m not sure I can eat.”
“I’ll have to order something really, really good then, so you can’t resist,” he smiled softly at her.
She pushed her mouth into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”
He left her to get dressed and ordered pizza from her favorite place, then picked through her DVD collection and opted for something silly and light. Just when he was about to go check on her, she emerged from her bedroom dressed in the clothes he’d picked out and looking slightly more alert. She stopped to look at the opening credits playing on the TV.
“Weekend at Bernies?” She asked with raised eyebrows.
“You own it, Scully, don’t try to act like you don’t like it.”
She pursed her lips and nodded, having no retort for that fact, and sat beside him on the couch, folding her legs beneath her. Mulder appraised her out of the corner of his eye; she looked better, a little bit anyway. They watched the movie in companionable silence, Scully smiling but not laughing at the funny parts, until a knock on the door alerted them that dinner had arrived. After paying the delivery boy, he plopped it unceremoniously on the coffee table and grabbed a roll of paper towels.
“Whose apartment are we at, Mulder?” She asked him with a teasing tone, and he got up to retrieve two plates as well two beers from the fridge. “That’s more like it” she declared, and he was relieved by how much she sounded like herself.
They enjoyed upwards of an hour of something resembling normalcy, but he knew that didn’t mean they were out of the woods. While people like to see grief as a concentrated experience that is constant until it disappears, he knew that it operated more like waves against a shore; sometimes gently lapping, sometimes receding into almost nothing, sometimes crashing suddenly without warning. He would enjoy this still water, ready to hold her up when it returned to knock her on her ass, if she’d let him.
She didn’t eat much, picking at one slice of pizza until it was eventually gone, but she did finish her beer and then lay down, not resisting when he picked up her bare feet and set them in his lap, brushing his thumbs gently against the arches in an almost-foot rub. As the movie approached its conclusion, he glanced at her and saw that her eyes were again wet and shining, though her expression was neutral. He squeezed the foot in his hand and she looked at him, offering a sad smile.
“You wanna go to bed?” He asked, and she nodded. It wasn’t yet 9pm, but she was exhausted from emotion.
He stood and offered his hands to pull her to her feet, pausing to wrap her up in a brief hug before he escorted her to her bedroom. He wanted desperately to be near her, but he also knew that she often chose solitude when she was sad, and the fact that she’d allowed him to be here as long as she had was likely the limit of what he was going to get. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d let him sleep on the couch. He was considering how to make this request as he pulled back the covers and tucked her into bed, sitting beside her hip on top of the comforter. She took his hand and looked at him in the soft light seeping in from the living room with something like trepidation in her eyes.
“Will you stay?” She asked, and the doubt in her voice shocked him.
“Of course I will,” he answered, squeezing her hand. “I can crash on the couch.”
She shook her head gently. “Will you stay here, with me?”
That lump was back, constricting his voice, so he just smiled at her and nodded, crawling over her legs to lay down behind her on top of the comforter, draping his arm over her waist. They were quiet for a while, but he could feel the buzzing of her thoughts and knew she wasn’t sleeping. It was getting chilly as night fell, and he shivered in his T shirt and sweats.
“Are you cold?” She asked, turning her face to the ceiling in an attempt to look at him.
“I’m okay” he lied.
“Get under the covers,” she ordered, and he complied, the warmth of her tiny body a welcome reprieve from the chill of the room. He returned his arm to its station at her waist and she took his hand under the blankets, clutching it to her belly. She sighed deeply.
“What are you thinking?” He asked, sensing that she wanted to talk.
She rolled on to her back, not releasing his hand, and looked at the ceiling as she spoke. “I just…” she started then stopped, and he watched quietly as a tear escaped the side of her eye and trailed down into her ear. “I feel like I don’t know what to do, how to move forward. Being a mother was always what I pictured for my future, and knowing that I’ll never be one….” She stopped again, wiped her free hand at her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and pained. “I feel like I have no purpose. I know it’s stupid and I don’t believe at all that a woman’s only function in life is to bear children, but I still find myself feeling like my life holds no meaning now. What’s the point of this life if I’ll have nothing to show for it, no legacy to leave?”
He felt his own chin quiver and he pulled her to him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping his arms around her back, cocooning her against his body with her toes brushing his shins. He let out a shuddering breath as quiet tears rolled across the bridge of his nose and into the pillow, rubbing her back and willing himself to regain control. How could he tell her that he felt the same way? When his mom was gone, he would have no one on this Earth who was family to him. He would leave no legacy, at least not one he could be proud of. All he had was her, and she was questioning her worth.
“That’s not true, Scully,” he whispered, whispering being all he could manage through his emotions. “You can’t think like that. For one, this doesn’t have to be the end of the road for you, there are other options, other ways you can be a mom. And even if you choose not to pursue those, you have touched so many lives, mine included. Don’t ever think you won’t leave a legacy.”
She didn’t reply, just sobbed against him, clutching at his back until weariness overtook her and she drifted into a fitful sleep. Mulder stayed awake for a long time, enjoying the proximity to her that he so rarely experienced, the gentle thrum of her heart beating against his sternum a reminder that for all they had lost, they still had each other. At some point, he joined her in the reprieve of unconsciousness.
&&
When he woke, the room was dim though the clock told him it was after 8am. He could hear the patter of rain against the window; a dreary, grey day to complement their broken hearts. He turned to see Scully still sleeping, her plump lips slightly parted and her blonde eyelashes fluttering with dreams. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but now was not the time. He didn’t want her to think it was borne of pity, or sadness, or anything other than an unabashed desire to touch and love her the way she deserved, the way he’d wanted to for years. Reluctantly, he left the warmth of her bed and body to use the bathroom and then start a pot of coffee.
When she emerged 40 minutes later, he was sitting on the couch in silence, a cup of coffee in his hands and his feet on the table.
“Morning” he greeted her with a warm smile, and he felt his heart clench when she walked right over and sat beside him, leaning into his torso so he would wrap an arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest. He had the distinct feeling that she had missed him from her bed and sought out the comfort of his physical presence, and he placed a kiss to the crown of her head in appreciation. “Sleep okay?”
“Okay enough,” she answered.
“Do you feel up to going out for breakfast? Or I can go pick it up and bring it back here, if you want.”
“No, I should get dressed and attempt to be a functioning human at some point” she said, sitting up extracting herself from his embrace. “Give me 30 minutes?”
“I’ll be here, take your time” he replied, and she retreated to the bathroom where he heard the shower come on. Her change in demeanor lifted his spirits, and her acceptance of his comfort drew a smile to his lips. Though he hated the circumstances, he couldn’t deny how good the physical closeness felt. He knew that she’d likely put her walls back up without warning, and vowed to enjoy it while it lasted.
&&
After a short wait, they snagged a booth at one of Scully’s favorite breakfast spots that offered things beyond pancakes and bacon; scrambles on a bed of greens with whole cloves of garlic and house made potatoes were just what she needed. He was happy to see her actually eat and they chatted idly about a case they were planning to fly out on next week, some bureau gossip and the merits of jam versus jelly. During a lull in conversation, he saw Scully glance behind him toward the door and her face fell. He turned to look and immediately knew that the very pregnant woman talking to the hostess was the source of her demeanor change. He slipped out from his side of the booth and sidled up next to her on her side, taking her hand under the table wordlessly.
“I know this is going to sound really terrible,” she spoke in a hushed tone, “but this whole experience has made me really hate pregnant women. I feel angry at them for being able to get pregnant when I can’t.” He easily identified the shame in her statement.
“I think that’s pretty normal. I’ve always kind of hated people with normal families and parents who give them the time of day. It’s not very productive, but it can be pretty cathartic, at least in my experience.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No, I’m serious. When I see a two parent family with a boy and a girl, having a nice time out at the park or whatever, some part of my brain thinks ‘I hope they drop their ice cream cone on the pavement.’”
Scully laughed. The sound paired with the broad smile on her face were like fireworks and he beamed at her.
“That’s messed up, Mulder. I like it.”
“I bet that lady’s baby will come out with one of those smushed cone heads” he offered.
“I bet she has heartburn so bad she hasn’t slept in weeks” she retorted, smiling guiltily.
"the things they say in the dark" (The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati)
Author: @monikafilefan
For: spookyfish
There’s this endless ebb and flow of loving Fox Mulder the way she does - fiercely and foolishly, perhaps. But if there is one truth she cannot deny, it is that those who dare love this man are both blessed and stricken for their loyalty.
They just survived a shroom trip that nearly killed them! Literally anyone else who shares that experience would talk about it. So what would that convo sound like? Would it change their dynamic at all?
