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slippinmickeys · 4 years

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Of the Eight Winds, Part 7

This is part seven in who knows how many from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn’t cheat (because sorry that’s not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Links to parts one, two, three, four, five and six.

When he repeated the words “I, Fox, take you, Dana” he made a face, and she couldn’t help but laugh. It was half nerves and half him and bubbled up from inside her. The officiant smiled at her indulgently, and Mulder repeated himself and again made a face, and again she laughed. This time she looked over her shoulder at her mother who was standing witness, giving her an “ honestly , Dana” look while simultaneously trying to hold a one-year-old Lily who did not want to be contained. Mulder repeated the vows one more time.

“I, Mulder, take you, Scully,” he said, changing the words to better suit them, and there was no funny face, and no laugh. There was only a rightness to it, which washed gently over her and settled her nerves.

When the officiant told Mulder he could kiss the bride, he leaned into her slowly, and then wrapped his arms around her tightly, lifting her feet up off the floor. There were whoops and hollers from the small congress of witnesses, one of which she knew for sure was Charlie, and another she suspected might actually be Skinner.

When they darted out to the car after the ceremony, they were pelted with sunflower seeds which Scully didn’t realize until Mulder picked one gently out of her hair and popped it into his mouth.

They didn’t have a reception, just a small dinner at an Alexandria restaurant.

Scully watched the way Doggett and Reyes sat, heads bent together at the other end of the table and nudged Mulder.

He put his arm around the back of her chair whispered in her ear.

“There’s just something about that office, Scully.”

They had both left the X-Files once Scully was pregnant enough not to be out in the field anymore. Scully transferred to her old teaching position at Quantico, and Mulder “retired,” opting to write books for a few years while he finished his PhD, later opening his own practice.

They consulted often with their replacements and Mulder felt like he spent just as much time at various FBI facilities as he did at home working.

When the Lone Gunmen were killed and buried at Arlington National Cemetery, Mulder stepped away, eventually deciding that his consulting days were over.

A couple of years later, after William was born, they received an “It’s a Boy!” congratulations card postmarked from Arlington, Virginia. It was blank, but for a monogram as a signature, which read simply “TLG.”

As a one-year wedding anniversary gift, Melissa Scully offered to take Lily off of their hands for a week if they promised to go somewhere warm and tropical. Mulder figured Scully had probably put her sister up to it -- or at the very least had her add the tropical addendum to her gift, but either way it was nice to get away from it all. He hadn’t slept in one day since becoming a father.

Melissa came to their door with a small suitcase and a giddy smile, eyes only for her niece. She was rewarded with a big, sticky hug.

Mulder already had their luggage loaded in the car, but Scully lingered in the doorway, she was having trouble saying goodbye.

“Scully, our flight is in exactly two hours and I know you like to get to the airport early,” he said. He would not go back inside himself or he’d have trouble leaving, too.

Finally, Scully gave Lily one last hug and said to her sister, “the terrible twos are a real thing, Missy. Call us if you need us.”

“We’ll be fine,” Melissa said, and ushered Scully outside, Lily perched on her hip. Then she called “I’m not offering when she’s a threenager!”

On their flight home, Mulder reached for Scully’s hand.

“I’m not spending that much money on a tropical vacation again, if we’re never going to leave the room.”

Scully wiped a finger down one side of her mouth and gave his lap a meaningful look.

“Worth it,” she said.

Mulder defended and received his PhD with little fanfare.

Scully made him a celebratory pie (sweet potato), and they sat down on their back porch to eat it with a bottle each of Shiner Bock once they had both kids down.

It was a beautiful spring night, a warm breeze wafting through the woods behind their house. Mulder could almost swear he could smell the cherry blossoms from the district.

He leaned back after finishing his slice in record time and let his fork clatter to his plate. He lifted the beer to his lips.

When he set the beer back down on the table, there was a small brown box wrapped in white ribbon sitting next to his empty plate. Scully smiled at him as she took a sip of her own.

When he opened it, he found the antique brass compass that had passed between them several times.

“Regifting, Scully?” he said to her, mirroring words she’d once said to him.

“Turn it over,” she lobbed back.

Above the old To finding our way... inscription, it now read “ To Dr. M.” He leaned over and gave her a lingering kiss.

When he sat back down and picked up his beer, she reached over with her own and clinked the necks of the bottles together.

“Doctor,” she said to him on a nod.

“Doctor,” he nodded back.

With their second child, Scully went into labor a month early. He’d been speaking at a conference in New York when an organizer pulled him aside as he was exiting the stage from his last panel and told him he had a phone call. It was Mrs. Scully, who sounded concerned but was trying to hide it. In the background he could hear a muffled TV and then a worried three-year-old “ Where’s daddy ?”

The train ride back to DC was torture. He was anxious, could barely sit still. He kept calling Mrs. Scully who said she didn’t know much -- they’d had to take Dana into a Labor & Delivery room and Lily was really bothered by the whole situation so she’d taken her home to her house. Melissa, who had planned to be Scully’s doula, was in San Diego with Bill.

Later, when he was holding the baby for the first time, Scully’s doctor came into the room. There had been some complications with the labor, but Scully hadn’t elaborated, and Mulder had been too elated to by the birth of his son to give it much thought.

The OB informed them that she didn’t think it was possible for Dana to have any more children.

While the doctor was going through the finer points of it, Scully reached out and squeezed his hand so hard it hurt. He could only hear the roaring of blood in his ears.

Scully thought “Crusher” was a ridiculous name for a cat. However, family tradition mandated that every pet be named after a female doctor and Will got naming rights on this one. He had recently gotten really into Star Trek .

The cat sat on the coffee table, as black and fluffy as her predecessor, but with a slightly more quarrelsome personality. Scully thought it was probably fitting being that their first born was about to be a freshly minted teenager.

Mulder came into the living room carrying an enormous bowl of popcorn with Lily on his heels, sulky as she plopped into an easy chair. Good grades had earned Will the Saturday evening activity of his choice and he’d opted for a family viewing of the first Lord of the Rings movie. No family member’s presence was optional and Lily loathed sci-fi/fantasy, much to Mulder’s dismay.

He set down the bowl, which Crusher nosed thoughtfully, and cut his eyes to his wife.

“Will’s in charge of the ice cream,” he said, his eyes widening with a look of slightly anxious amusement.

“Is that wise?” Scully asked.

“No,” said Lily quickly with no small amount of sass, earning her a sharp look from her mother.

Will came in then balancing four tubs of Ben & Jerry’s and several spoons. He paused when he reached the coffee table and gave Mulder a significant look.

“They come in pints,” he said with a British accent, which launched Mulder into an uncharacteristic fit of hysterics. Lily rolled her eyes. Scully wondered what was so funny.

Scully had had one of the longest days on record, and if she walked into a messy house one more time, she swore she would walk directly up to her bathroom, climb into a hot bathtub and not get out until morning.

When she got to their front door, she could barely open it for the load of hockey equipment in front it.

“That’s it,” she said to herself.

She would have followed her oath to the letter if she hadn’t tripped on a cat toy halfway through the kitchen. Mulder and the kids were all parked in various spots around the room.

“You okay?” Mulder asked her, barely looking up.

Her silence spoke volumes and eventually the three Mulders in the house were looking at her with a kind of low grade fear.

“Why,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, “am I the only person in this house who cleans it?”

Will opened his mouth to say something, but Mulder put a hand on the boy’s arm.

“The mop has a handle, not an access code,” she said, giving them each a cold glare before heading up the stairs. “I will be in the tub,” were her parting words.

When she came down a couple hours later, wrapped in a silk bathrobe and a significantly better attitude, she found the house spic and span, a rumpled looking Mulder sitting quietly at the kitchen counter nursing a Coke.

“The house looks great,” she said, and he smiled at her.

“We’ve implemented a few extra columns on the chore chart,” he said, “and I have a row now, too.”

She reached for the Coke and he handed it over.

“Got you something,” he said, and nodded at a lone parcel sitting on the countertop.

When she unwrapped it she found a hastily made homemade sign, made from what she could tell was scrap lumber that had been sitting around the garage. Painted on it were three words in three different handwriting styles. It read “Bless This Mess.” They had all signed it.

She felt her eyes start to tear.

“It’s hideous,” she said, and Mulder laughed. “You can hang it over there,” she sniffed.

It would hang in their kitchen for the rest of their days.

Lily was 17 and was just getting over the nightmarish huffy know-it-all stage of the early teens. Mulder and William—who had just hit the gawky, all arms and legs stage of adolescence—were sitting at the dining room table, taking apart Mulder’s old VCR. It had stopped rewinding and they had a plan to watch Plan 9 From Outer Space that night. Mulder swore the movie was better on video, so William swore it too.

“We’re missing a screw,” Mulder said to his son, who was in charge of keeping the various component parts together on the table.

“We’re not, I handed them all to you,” Will said.

Lily came skidding into the kitchen, grabbing the edge of the doorway to keep her balance.

“Dad,” she said, her voice tremulous and shaky. Mulder was on his feet before she finished saying his name. “There’s something wrong with mom.”

Mulder tore up the steps, the thundering steps of his children right behind him and skidded to a halt in the door of the master bath. Scully was on the floor--he couldn’t tell whether or not she was conscious.

“I heard a thump and I came in here and she was like this,” said Lily, nearly in tears.

“It’s okay, Lil,” he said distractedly, reaching forward to feel for a pulse on Scully’s neck.

When his fingers met her flesh, she inhaled deeply, and tried to sit up.

“Mulder?” she said, her eyes flickering open “what… what happened?”

“Honey, you passed out,” he said, giving her a hand to sit up.

She looked pale, but glanced over his shoulder at the worried faces of their two kids and said, “I’m okay guys.”

She did a self-assessment and convinced a not-really-convinced Mulder that she was fine, with the caveat that she go to the doctor first thing the next morning, and when she walked into the house after her appointment, she looked shocked and was shaking.

Mulder walked over to her and tipped up her chin to connect eyes.

“Don’t make me guess,” he said quietly.

Her eyes shone and she gave him a tentative smile.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

#the X-files #fanfic #msr #au #of the eight winds #my fic

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serahsanguine · 4 years

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What’s Left Unsaid, Says IT All Ch, 11

What’s Left Unsaid, Says it all part 10/?

Rating; NC-17, NSFW

This Story can be Found at Ao3

pt 1, pt. 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9 pt. 10

Taggin; @skullsmuldon @baronessblixen @today-in-fic

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Notes; Thank you to my wonderful beta for helping with this chapter

p.s. finally, a new chapter is here writing with depression and writer's block is so hard

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Chapter 11: Moveing Forward?

Scully was sitting on the plane with Missy. The children had fallen asleep on both their laps happily snoozing as the world quite literally flies by. Her things had been packed and the items she really wanted (ie the baby items) to keep had been sent off by courier. She threw most of her clothes away and the ones she really, really liked she kept and were in the cargo part of the plane.

She slouched in the chair the overhead fluorescent lights shining down on her. Ellie drooling and mumbling on her lap snuggled into her chest. Her eyes peered out of the cabin window onto the passing clouds full of greys, white, creams, and almond colors. Her mind wandered to Mulder and in a mere few weeks how they would be living together. They had come to the agreement while she was in San Francisco that the house was certainly big enough for both of them and it would be great for him to be a prominent part in their life. He would sell his apartment and also most of his things. There were only three things he really wanted to keep, one being his Syfy collection which she knew meant a lot to him. His bed, so he had somewhere to sleep and the old style brown leather couch which had fond memories for both of them. He had given her the two weeks to get settled and in some sort of routine before he moved in, to which she was grateful. She had to look past how awkward and hard it would be being so close to him everyday all day knowing she loved him and not having that feeling returned which is entirely her fault.

She sighed and Ellie's hand gripped her top and clung to it for dear life, as if knowing her mother's eternal turmoil rip her apart. He was picking her up from the airport and helping with the twins she knew he had missed them in the last two weeks and they had wormed their way into his heart just like the first time she had laid eyes upon them.

A few hours later the twins had woken up and were playing with their toys in their double pushchair, babbling to each other in their own little code. She passed customs with ease and Melissa was being Melissa and started flirting with the security guard, he wasn't her type but she will never learn. Scully was walking to baggage to collect their things and that was where she spotted him. His chestnut hair shining against the airport lighting, his hazel eyes shimmering green against the brown and blue eyes of swarms of people. He had the broadest of smiles on his face and she could definitely tell that he was indeed happy to see both her and the kids.

“Hey Scully.”

“Hi Mulder.”

“Did you get everything you needed to be done?” he asked so casually, it sounded a little guilty they hadn’t really spoken while she was packing the house. But it was good for her and possibly to him gave them both time to think of where their ‘Relationship’ whether that be platonic or romantic.

“Fox, can we get moving now. I would like to get home at some point tonight.” Melissa spat.

“Hello, Melissa.”

“Humm.”

She was staring at him disgustingly.

“Well, yes, in fact, I borrowed the minivan to take you all home to Scully’s then I’ll leave you to it”

“Good” Melissa walked off towards the walking ramp.

“Sorry about Missy”

“It’s ok, I understand”

“She will forgive you though it's just going to take time.”

Mulder bent down so he could see the twins face to face at their level. “How are my two favourite mini people doing?”

“Dada,” Ellie said with an enthusiastic smile and Will just looked at him and back at his toy.

“Yes, baby girl I’m here.”

Scully smiled down at them both and for a few moments her anxiety about him moving in was gone “She’s a daddy’s girl.”

“Are you saying that Will is a Mummy’s boy?”

“Well you never know.” she said jokingly as she pushed him lightly “Come on we better get going.”

Mulder drove them to Missy’s house first and then drove Scully and the twins to her soon to be their house.

They stopped in front of the house and the long driveway the stone light up towards the front door was on. Both kids were in the backseat giggling to themselves.

“Which one do you want me to take in?”

“Might as well please Daddy's girl” he laughed and grabbed the bags first placing them in the porch before grabbing Ellie and taking her upstairs and placing her in the crib. Scully soon followed and was taken back by what Mulder had done to the nursery.

“When? How? Jesus Mulder, you didn’t have too.”

Mulder chuckled “I’m glad you like it, I painted while you were away, I had the keys early.”

Scully placed Will in his crib and took a full slow spin around the room to really take it in. there was a jungle theme with different shades of green and blue with hand painted lions, giraffes and tigers with a crib next to it. When she spun some more the changing table sat in the middle as if separating the two halves of the room but also bringing them together. She spun some more and saw Ellie's side of the room with pastel yellows and pinks with a huge painted light brown teddy bear.

“Honestly Mulder this is truly amazing I…….” she took a large inhale as thinking her next words “Truly don’t know what to say”

“Don’t say anything I wanted to do something nice for them”

“Thank you”

He smiled and walked downstairs. He listened as Scully gave them some stuffed toys and put on a CD of sleepy time meditations to help calm them down and settled before falling asleep. He placed his jacket on his shoulder before watching Scully tiptoe down the stairs.

“I should get going,” he said quietly.

“You can stay if you want and watch a film, it's still early.”

“Are you sure?” he asked in a questioning voice.

“Sit down, I'll get us a drink. Do you want a beer, tea, coffee, wine?”

“Beer would be nice.”

She grabbed the drinks and sat on the floor next to him as the furniture was going to arrive tomorrow all that was on the floor was a small rug.

“Here you go.”

“Cheers,” he took a sip before he looked at her questionably, “Wine?”

“Why not?” she laughed “before you worry I pumped earlier.”

“Oh,” he blushed slightly embarrassed “Shame there is no tv or DVD player Caddyshack would have been good right now.”

“Really Mulder, Caddyshack?”

“It’s a classic.”

She laughed a full belly laugh “if you say so” She took another sip of wine already feeling the effect in her stomach after not drinking for so long it was kind of a rush.

The night went on and so did the drinks they got to talking about everything and finalizing for when he was going to move in. What time he would be popping back tomorrow to help move her furniture in. The atmosphere was light and flirty, neither one of them realizing it, but simply enjoying each other's company.

Scully reached for the last bit of wine in her glass but accidentally knocked it over. Mulder jumped up, "stay there, I will get a towel" as he headed into the kitchen. He was back in an instant, kneeling beside her wiping up the small amount of wine. "Good thing it missed the rug, huh? That's all we needed was the babies getting drunk while crawling around on the floor."

"Mulder that's not even a thing!" She replied but giggled over the image in her head.

At that moment he leaned into her, pushing a bit of hair behind her ear, "it's so nice to hear you laugh, I have missed that, and other things."

"What things, Mulder?" She whispered.

At that moment Mulder raised his hands up to cup her face, his eyes moist with tears, he leaned in and gently kissed her. Scully reached up and put her hands on either side of his neck, reciprocating the kiss. Their passions deepened as their mouths parted and tongues explored, it had been so long, as both direly missed one another. His hand moved into her hair as his passion deepened then he suddenly and unexpectedly pulled away and stood up.

"Mulder, is something wrong?" Scully said breathlessly.

"I've got to go, Scully," as he grabbed his coat and headed to the door. "I will see you tomorrow. I just don't want to make things confusing right now, we need to think of the kids."

Scully, still sitting on the floor with tears welling up in her eyes quietly replied, "I understand Mulder, I will see you tomorrow."

At that moment he opened the door and lightly closed it behind him. Scully sat and cried quietly, not only over the fact that he left but also the fact he was back and she still loved him just as much as she did from the first time she saw him. She would fix this, she had to, he was the love of her life.

#txf fanfic #TXF #The X-Files #the xfiles #the x files #mulder and scully #WLUSIA

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madeahashofit · 5 years

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My Kung Fu

One of the benefits of having a kid is the opportunity to read with them: brand new books; stories you have known all your life; stories you wished you had read. It’s a chance for you to grow and learn as a family.

Before reading it together, I had known the broad outlines of the Zen koan, Banzo’s Sword. It’s the story of a young man, desperate to impress his father, finds the sword master Banzo and insist Banzo train him. Banzo agrees. The young man asks how long it will take to become a master. Bazo tells him a lifetime. Too long, the young man says. He tries to bargain with Bazo, offers to be his servant, and with every offer the time to mastery grows. Eventually, the young man realizes that he can’t get to mastery without putting in the work and being patient. I recommend that you read Bazo’s tale here.

This is also the plot to Karate Kid.

***

I fell in love with the X-Files in it’s second or third season, in dark basement in Centreville, Virginia. A friend introduced me to Mulder and Scully and the Consipracy through her brother’s library of VHS recordings off the air. We went our separate ways – college in different states – but I kept up with the X-Files until the end and I have all seasons on DVD – except, strangely, Season 4.

Viewers may remember the The Lone Gunman. Byers, Frohike, and Langly were allies of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, who ran The Lone Gunman, a publication that explored conspiracy theories (i.e., Lee Harvey Oswald was either a patsy or part of a larger conspiracy, the was filmed by Stanley Kubric on a soundstage in Hollywood, Extraterrestrials walked among us. ). They provided what could be charitably described as “operational support” for Mulder and Sculley, including legwork, photography, and hacking/phreaking, in service of the Agent’s search for the truth in the alien invasion conspiracy.

Sometimes they got up to their own shenanigans.

I do prefer the one-off X-File episodes over the Conspiracy, if only because the Conspiracy was bleak. Check out Jose Chung’s “From Outer Space” or Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man.

It Sure Is.

Another, Unusual Suspects is the Mulder/Gunmen origin story. In a scene with a character, “Holly,” who is running from the Cigarette Smoking Man, when she asks him about his hacking skills, Frohike tells her that his “Kung Fu is the Best.” The phrase, a kung fu film trope and well-worn in-group code from the black-trench-coat-and-combat-boot nerds, struck in my brain. I liked it so much at the time that I added it as my signature on my home printed business cards.

I seriously I thought that was sufficient to will myself to success (whatever that means) without having to actually put in any work. I had no patience. Success as a writer would find me.

***

I’ve had a lot of jobs since college and no explicit plan other than to be a kick ass novelist: Sales Associate, early morning chyrons for major market TV, secretary, program coordinator, and secretary. I thought the novel would come by magic and my future set. Eventually I decided to turn the only skill that I spent any time actually working on and turn it into a corporate career. I took a certificate in Technical Writing and through the power of nepotism found a job doing that for a small software company.

And over the last 13 years the job grew far outside that specific title. The knowledge I built up writing about our software products made it natural that I should also do pre- and post- sales. And live trainings. Marketing material. Trade shows. We were part of a much smaller company then and everyone did what they needed to do to move things forward. Honestly, I really liked it. I like having a skill or knowledge people appreciate. Still, nearly everyone who’s ever known me longer than 5 minutes thinks it strange that I’m a damned good capitalist.

I had no explicit plan. I took opportunities as they came (opportunities that are only available to a select few, I remind myself; I’m a stupid lucky human being) and eventually found something I genuinely liked to do.

My kung fu is just okay.

***

That friend popped up on my radar a few years ago. I happened upon an article she wrote about her distrust of Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop. We reconnected on Twitter. Soon, she found global internet fame from her piece on Brigid Hughes, the second editor of the Paris Review, and how she was erased from the history of that publication by that publication and, among others, the New York Times. She advocates for the remembrance and recognition of women in the arts, especially those who have been edited out. She started a quarterly journal and a bookstore, as a single mom, an American living in the UK.

And if you were not paying attention, while her success might seem as the work of magi, she has made a series of explicit choices large and small that move her to her goal. Choices invisible to all but those who care the most. But as she will tell you – and has told others who make the same assumption – she’s put in the hours building her knowledge, skills, and “brand.” She’s put in the work on her kung fu.

***

This is not the same scale. I’m not shining a light on long suppressed, yet fantastic, women authors. I want to build software that makes life just a little bit easier. I don’t want to disrupt life; I want to help smooth out the bumpy trail so we can all get to where we need to be.

I’ve put in 13 years. I’ve got some skills. My kung fu is not the best. Not yet.

I starting my third week of a 15 week Coding Boot Camp at Flatiron. With the support of my family and an okay from my supportive boss, I am taking Vacation/Leave to learn to code, to add that skill to my set of tools. When I finish, I will be armed with the skills to help me be closer to that kung fu mastery that I wanted to advertise on that cheap business card nearly a quarter century ago.

To some, this may seem like a giant, brave (or insane) leap into the unknown. To all those who love me the most, this is the next, small logical step in my pursuit of happiness and some kick-ass moves.

First Published Here http://thisiswhatyougetwhenyoumesswithus.com/2019/05/27/my-kung-fu/

by Robert Pedersen

#cigarette smoking man #coding #flatiron #kick-ass #kung fu #mulder #ruby #scully #x-files

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Teen Titans Spotlight #8: Hawk

Whenever I wield a flamethrower, I like to do a bit of grappling with my enemy first.

And right out of the gate! First fucking panel! Christ, Hank Hall!

This comic book is from 1987 so even though I had a gut feeling that "zipperheads" was super racist, I still had to look it up to make sure. So now my Google search history contains a search for "zipperhead"! Man, I hope I don't get gunned down in a mass shooting over the next few days! Not like anybody will be able to log onto my laptop by guessing my new super racist password!

Visually, I don't like what this panel is implying!

How long did Hank Hall carry that stupid hang glider kit around with him before some editor huffed, "Just give him fucking flight powers already!"? I love when a comic book introduces a sexy woman and then has the main character instantly refer to her as a "kid." Way to make me feel like a pedo, comic books! I mean, I expect to feel like a pedo when reading Deathstork. But not Teen Titans Spotlight On Colon! Two soldiers begin following Hank and the Sexy Kid but Hank knows how to deal with them! First he calls them dinks which is weird because how does he know they're a committed couple with no children? And you'll never guess what he does second! Oh, you guessed. Yeah, he punches them in the face.

Ha! I bet Hank is feeling pretty dumb about his dink comment now!

The sexy kid's name is Lupe. She works for the Queen of the Hive whom Hank has traveled to South America to see. She was a huge fan of Hawk's sneaking panel last issue so she wanted a memorable walking away panel of her own.

You would think she's running away because of the violent man comment but really she's just headed to the Jeep. I have no idea why a couple Slendermen make an appearance.

I only included the second panel in the above image to show I wasn't lying like I totally hardly ever do. She really was just heading back to the car. Hank and Lupe drive into the jungle to meet with Arachnid, the creature composed of billions of other insects. He's waiting to give them a ride on a gigantic tick that's also probably composed of other insects. If these insects have such great powers of transformation, why can't they take the form of a limousine or a helicopter or Heidi Klum? I'm not too impressed. Arachnid and the giant tick take Hawk and Lupe deep into some jungle ruins to relax before meeting the Queen of the Hive. Relaxing means eating dinner topless and now I regret never having relaxed with anybody in high school. Although after eating, Hank is swarmed with bugs so thankfully that regret only lasted a few seconds. I knew it was a trap, Gabrielle Ruggero! Although now that I'm remembering Gabrielle, how likely would it have been to die from bug bites?! The regret is back! Lupe drugs Hank so that when she reveals the big surprise (that she's the queen! Surprise!), he'll be too fucked up to remember that she's a kid when he puts his face in her pleasure region. Hank's main concern isn't that Lupe might be a little young but that he might be sticking his dick in a vagina made from cockroaches. "No homo, dude!" is probably what Hank would say when he learned his cock touched a cockroach.

"She told me she was as ancient as the first life that crawled on Earth" is no excuse for statutory rape. Better play it safe and go jerk off in a bush, Hank!

Queen Lupe tells Hank her life's story which doesn't include any proof that she's older than sixteen. I thought she would be all, "I was born within the buzzing chaos of a hornet's nest!" But instead, she's all, "My whole village was slaughtered and I followed a butterfly to safety where it taught me how to spell and rub my genitals on the soft moss of the river rocks while thinking of someone like you."

Don't worry. She's probably nine hundred and sixty-two here.

The Queen of the Hive didn't just bring Hank Hall all this way to fuck him. She also needs his help defeating a white colonialist named Toxicator. I'm not sure what his power or his plans are but who cares? You don't call yourself Toxicator because you're looking to make the world a better place. Hank asks Lupe her age one more time and she's all, "Older than you!" So that cinches it and they fuck all night. In the morning, Lupe is all, "Um, I don't mean to be rude but could you get the fuck out of my bed and go defeat the Toxicator already?!" I bet while she was fucking Hank, she was dreaming of a mossy rock by a waterfall. Seriously, Hank doesn't seem the type of guy to care about a woman's needs. Hank wastes valuable time putting his PVC hang glider together before finally heading off to stop the men ruining the environment. It's not the kind of thing he usually cares about but he got some action out of it and now feels slightly obligated to give a shit. What a hero. On his way to talk to the lead man behind the deforestation, the rest of the man's crew begins shooting at him. It's a good thing because now he knows he can be as rough as he wants! It would have looked bad if Hank just showed up and started punching a guy in the face without getting his side of things. Maybe the Queen of the Hive just doesn't want the white man discovering her nuclear testing facility!

Apparently nobody on the board of the Comics Code Authority could speak Mexican Spanish.

Just like any good Californian, I've always known the phrase "Chinga tu madre" to mean fuck your mother. I've also never put any thought to the phrase than that. Apparently, it's got a lot more subtlety and nuance that I've been ignorant about. And used in this context, where a guy just yells "Chinga!", I can see why maybe it wouldn't offend (especially to some East Coast editor who didn't grow up with the phrase "chinga tu madre" and was just working from an English-to-Spanish dictionary). Or maybe they just didn't care? I certainly don't! Or maybe the person who reviewed this issue let it go because they were working on The Flash and the memo in the background reads, "Buy The Flash by us guys!" The Toxicator interrupts Hawk's interrogation of this guy who is probably just a secretary. He looks exactly like the rejected G.I. Joe action figure you'd expect him to look like. He and Hawk talk mercenary trade secrets for a bit until The Toxicator is reminded that he's getting paid a lot of money to protect this deforestation company. At that moment, he shoots Hank in the face with his super-soaker full of what I'm assuming are toxic chemicals. One of the guard's speeches is translated with a note that it's translated from the Portuguese which is when I realize this is taking place in Brazil. Whoops! That also explains the "chinga" thing although in Portuguese, "chingar" means "to scold." So I don't know if it totally explains it! Sometimes when a guy crashes through my front window causing me to shit my pants, I yell, "Scold!" I should have know they were in Brazil since the first panel says Hank is landing at an airfield in "Matto Grosso." But since it's spelled incorrectly, I can pretend that I thought it was just a made up place! Hank's lungs are now full of something called u-cyclotron so he has to escape on the giant tick. To revive, he has to suckle at Lupe's breast. Man, I really wasn't paying enough attention to this comic book in 1987! I could have told Gabrielle that my lungs were full of u-cyclotron and there was only one remedy!

"So, uh ... cough cough ... Gabrielle. Um, I've got a weird ... cough cough ... request?" "Who the fuck are you, nerd?"

Oh yeah. That's totally how that would have went down. My regrets are many but not hitting on Gabrielle Ruggero definitely isn't one of them. You gotta remember your limits! Hank comes up with a new plan after tripping balls off of Lupe's breast milk. He tells her to gather all the bees together and make sure they drink deeply of her titty juice. Then he has them sting all of the invaders so that they're out of their minds from the hallucinations. At that point, it's just a simple matter of telling them he's God and that they really need to change their ways. Being backwards Brazilian Catholics full of Portuguese and Native superstitions as opposed to logical white oppressors, they're all, "Chinga me! Chinga me, God! Tell me what I've done wrong my entire life and fix it!" Boom! Problem solved and Hank Hall got laid to boot! Teen Titans Spotlight #8: Hawk Rating: B+. It's a good thing the writer clarified that Lupe was older than sixteen. I mean, she didn't offer any valid proof or anything. She just said she was! But it's not like a sixteen year old would lie about her age just because she was thirsty for some big super hero dick, right?! Also, she's completely fictional so who fucking cares?! Anyway, it was a decent story that ended rather abruptly and super weirdly (even if I lied about the breast milk which was really just rare pollen used to make healing mead). How can you go wrong with a comic book that shows an ass, uses the slur "zipperhead," and swears in another language?! I bet Comicsgaters hold this comic book up as a triumph of what the medium can produce!

#Teen Titans Spotlight #DC Comics #Hawk #Hawk and Dove #DC #Teen Titans

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leiascully · 6 years

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Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part Two)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces My Struggle in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters: Mulder, Scully, Tad O’Malley, Sveta (established MSR) Content warning: canon-typical body horror (mentions of abduction, forced pregnancy, etc.) A/N: I’m collecting all the related stories that go with Visitor/Resident under the title “All The Choices We’ve Made”, because it felt right at the time. This story is an alternate My Struggle that reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.

Part One

In the morning, Mulder texts Skinner: "We're in." They get a call ten minutes later, while they're lingering over their coffee.

"You're on speaker," Mulder tells Skinner, putting the phone on the table between them.

"You've been excused from your regular duties today," Skinner says gruffly. "You will meet Mr. O'Malley on Pennsylvania Avenue at 10 a.m. near the National Gallery of Art. He'll provide transportation offsite to meet the subject."

They exchange looks over the table.

"Sounds a little cloak and dagger," Mulder says.

"Mr. O'Malley insists on taking precautions," Skinner says.

"At least he doesn't seem likely to blow up the car while we're in it," Scully murmurs.

"Don't judge a talk show host by his cover," Mulder murmurs back.

"Agents?" Skinner says, just a touch of tension in his voice. He is probably being watched. They are always being watched. Pressure comes from the top and Skinner, Atlas-like, has borne the brunt of it so that they could dart between the shadows, bringing light to the darkness.

"We'll be there," Mulder says, and ends the call. He leans back in his chair. "What's the dress code for subterfuge?"

"I doubt it's black tie," Scully says. "I'm still wearing a suit."

"Come on, Scully, we're out of the office," he teases. "You've got an opportunity to break out the leather pants and the badass jacket."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "I was saving those for your birthday."

"That's better," he says immediately.

"I thought you'd think so," she tells him.

They're at the appointed place at the appointed time. Mulder squints through his sunglasses up and down the street. "Tad O'Malley isn't very prompt."

"I imagine he's the sort of man who likes to make an entrance," Scully says, crossing her arms.

"What do you mean by that?" Mulder teases. "You thinking of anyone in particular?"

"Of course not," Scully demurs with a smile. She glances toward the Capitol. "You know, Mulder, I hate to admit it, but something about this feels good." She looks at him. "Most of it feels like we're being taken for a ride, but part of me welcomes this."

"I know what you mean," he says.

She sighs. "Something else to discuss in therapy."

"The thrill of the chase is real, Scully," he says. "You can't blame your brain for enjoying the rush."

"I know," she says. "I just thought I'd...outgrown it, maybe."

"All the more reason some part of you craves it," he says. "Recapturing our misspent youth."

"I don't want to be most comfortable with my back against the wall," she says wryly. "And yet, here we are."

"With your back against the wall, you always know where you stand," he says, and a black limousine pulls up to the curb. The door opens and Tad O'Malley unfolds himself from the back seat. He's tall, even taller than he looked on television, and dressed like he's heading to a conference where he's the keynote speaker. Scully in her suit looks perfectly appropriate next to him. She shoots Mulder the tiniest smirk. He straightens his shoulders under his jacket and extends his hand.

"Fox Mulder," O'Malley says warmly, shaking Mulder's hand.

"That's quite a coincidence - that's my name," Mulder says just as warmly. "What are the odds?"

O'Malley makes a finger gun. "They told me you were sharp."

Mulder shrugs pleasantly. "It's a sharp world."

"Indeed it is," O'Malley says. He shakes Scully's hand. "Agent Scully."

"You make quite an entrance, Mr. O'Malley," she says.

"She's shot men with less provocation," Mulder jokes.

"Funny," O'Malley says.

"Did they tell you I was funny?" Mulder asks.

"Of course," O'Malley says. "A regular one-man show. Join me for a little ride?"

Mulder exchanges sideways looks with Scully underneath their sunglasses. He expected a show, but the limo is a bit much. "Right here is fine. I'm afraid I'm not dressed for a limousine."

"Allow me my small precautions," O'Malley says, gesturing to the open door of the car. "Low-flying aircraft often use what they call 'dirtboxes' to record conversations that I would prefer stayed private."

Mulder glances at the sky. There's a kid with a kite and the faraway glint of a commercial jet, but no drones, nothing hovering.

"Aircraft employed by whom?" Scully asks, arms still crossed. She leans back slightly on her heels. Mulder can see the glint of her ring on her left hand where it's tucked under her right arm. He wondered if she'd wear it.

"I'm afraid I can only speculate," O'Malley says, as pleasantly as if they'd asked him what the weather was or whether the Cubs would win the World Series. "Shall we?"

He folds himself back into the car. Scully shrugs imperceptibly, looking at Mulder, and they follow O'Malley in, taking off their sunglasses. The interior of the car is dark, the windows tinted probably beyond the legal limit. The partition is up between the driver and the passenger compartment, but even if it's two against three, Mulder likes those odds. He and Scully are strapped and they're scrappy. They've handled worse than O'Malley.

The limo is suitably appointed, luxurious almost to the point of parody. O'Malley reaches into a high hat full of ice and pulls out of a bottle of champagne, offering it to them like a maitre d'.

"None for me, thanks," Mulder says. "Scully?"

She shakes her head. "Mr. O'Malley, your precautions would seem to imply that you have enemies."

"Not of my own choosing, Dana," O'Malley says, his teeth bright as he smiles. He pops the cork and pours himself a glass of champagne. "Truth tellers will always face opposition, as I'm sure you know.

She inclines her head in what might be a nod. Mulder turns toward the window. The old habits come back fast; he can sense her next to him, poised to act if necessary. The city slides by outside and he presses the button to roll down the window. Nothing happens.

"Your windows are broken," he says. "That's a shame. It's a little stuffy in here."

"Oh, those don't roll down by design," O'Malley says, that salesman's grin still wide. "I had the vehicle bulletproofed."

"Sure," Mulder says. "All those gun-toting liberals in the Whole Foods parking lot. What if there's a run on quinoa?"

"How can we help you, Mr. O'Malley?" Scully interrupts.

"I know the briefing you received was brief," O'Malley says, turning the charm on her again. "I also know you've been out of the game a long time. But I'm not some Johnny-come-lately to UFO-related phenomena. I'm a true believer like yourselves."

Scully ducks her head. "I wouldn't categorize myself as a true believer."

"Nor would I," Mulder says. "I want to believe, but actual concrete proof has been strangely hard to come by. Not that that matters much these days. Anyone can claim to be an expert on the internet."

"Sometimes they even give you your own show," O'Malley says, still genial. Mulder can feel the prickle of Scully's disapproval, but O'Malley rubs him the wrong way. "I guarantee if you still ran the X-Files, you'd have a platform bigger than you can imagine."

"Perhaps," Scully says. "But for better or for worse, Mr. O'Malley, those days are behind us. We're off the paranormal beat, so to speak."

"I could give that all back to you," O'Malley says, leaning forward. He's only looking at Scully now. She gazes back, that enigmatic mask in place.

"Mr. O'Malley, how does a man with your conservative credentials come to consider himself a true believer in UFOs and 9/11 false flag conspiracies?"

O'Malley turns away from Scully, but Mulder can tell he doesn't have the man's full attention. "I take it you think my message is disingenuous?"

"Conspiracy sells," Mulder says. "It didn't in the 90s, but it's a hot property now. It pays for bulletproof limousines, among other things."

O'Malley's smile gets sharper. "You think I do it for the ratings?"

Mulder shrugs. "I think you're The O'Reilly Factor with a shopworn little gimmick. I think you're 4chan with a cable contract."

O'Malley snorts. "What Bill O'Reilly knows about the truth could fill an eyedropper."

"At least we agree on that," Mulder says pleasantly.

"Try me," O'Malley says.

Mulder taps one finger to his lip. "The Kelly Cahill incident."

"Kelly Cahill and her husband were driving home in Victoria, Australia when a craft appeared overhead. The Cahills lost an hour of time and Kelly was hospitalized with severe stomach pain after discovering a triangle-shaped mark near her navel," O'Malley recites. "As I said, my interest is real. What I need is your expertise."

"Our expertise for what?" Scully asks.

"I know what you've been through," O'Malley says. "Both of you."

"With all due respect, Mr. O'Malley," Scully says deliberately, "I doubt that's true."

"You're right," he says. "My apologies. I've heard the rumors. I've read the reports. I used to subscribe to The Lone Gunmen. Between your histories and your experience in law enforcement, you have the skills and knowledge I need."

"And why should we put those skills at your disposal?" Scully asks, ignoring the rest.

O'Malley leans forward, the flute of champagne dangling from his fingers. "I'm rattling some pretty big cages in the intelligence community, but I'm prepared to go all in. I'm prepared to blow open maybe the most evil conspiracy the world has ever known."

"That's quite an assertion, given the history of the world," Scully returns cooly. "What's stopping you from exposing this conspiracy? I assume your following would support you."

"If I'm putting my ass out there, I need to know I've got backing I can depend on," O'Malley tells her. "My viewers are with me, but like I said, these are big cages, and the players in them don't care about ratings. They know how to make people disappear."

"So does David Blaine," Mulder murmurs.

O'Malley ignores him, still looking at Scully. "I've got something to show you...and someone."

The limousine glides out of the city as they sit in silence. O'Malley sips at his champagne and checks his phone. Mulder and Scully glance at each other. Mulder shrugs and takes out his own phone, scrolling through Twitter and checking his usual news sites. Scully looks out the window. After nearly four hours of turning onto increasingly narrow roads, the limo makes one last right onto a gravel path that reminds Mulder of the driveway of the house they lived in when they first moved back, before the case with the priest and the organ trafficking. They might as well be going nowhere. Google Maps tells him they're in or near Low Moor, although there's not any signal. It's as good as he's going to get.

The limo pulls to a stop outside a small dingy house and Mulder hears the locks release. He opens the door and steps out, stretching. He offers Scully a hand out. She accepts it, surprising him, and slips her sunglasses back on.

"Aliens couldn't find this place," she says, as if aliens didn't find Skyland Mountain. "How did you, Mr. O'Malley?"

O'Malley smirks. "A man in my position finds himself contacted by interesting strangers."

"I imagine that's true," Mulder murmurs, lurking at Scully's shoulder, in his best for-your-ears-only voice. O'Malley can probably hear, but even in broad daylight, he's always felt like he and Scully have a back channel, code talkers communicating sub rosa. They walk toward the house. Mulder tries not to saunter like he's in a Western, strolling up to the local bar. The door of the house swings open and he automatically reaches for his gun and stops himself. He sees Scully flinch the same way.

"Everyone," O'Malley says in a self-important voice, "meet Sveta."

Sveta lingers just outside the doorway. She is young and lovely, vulnerable-looking, her skin dark brown and her black hair falling around her face. She looks at them as if she is not quite sure whether to bolt. That's the usual attitude of the people they interview. Mulder relaxes slightly. She looks exactly like the person O'Malley might have chosen to be a smokescreen for his flimflam, but she's nervous too. Somehow, that's a comfort.

"Sveta, this is Dana Scully and Fox Mulder," O'Malley says. Everyone shakes hands. Sveta's only tremble a little.

"Hello," Sveta says formally. Her voice doesn't shake. She's got a Midwestern standard accent. Not a lot of clues there. "Welcome to my home."

"Sveta suggested I call you," O'Malley tells them, standing next to her.

"You probably don't recognize me," Sveta says, looking at Mulder. "You interviewed me and my family when I was just a little girl. Right after my first abduction."

"I'm sorry," Mulder says. "I don't remember."

"We lost the majority of our files in a fire a number of years ago," Scully says. "Yours might have been among them."

"It's all right," Sveta says. "I'm sure you've been through a lot since then. Please, come in."

Scully looks at Mulder and follows Sveta in. Mulder follows her, his hand hovering near the small of her back. O'Malley brings up the rear, closing the door. Sveta pulls up her shirt. There are six circular scars around her navel. Scully leans forward.

"May I?" she asks.

"Of course," Sveta says, and Scully peers closely at the marks. "These are from over twenty years. I've lost count of how many times I've been abducted."

"The scoop-mark scars are classic," O'Malley says. "As I'm sure you know. And then there are the memories implanted over actual memories to make the abductees forget."

"We call them screen memories," Sveta says.

"I'm familiar with the phenomenon," Scully says dryly. She straightens up slowly.

"Things come back to me sometimes," Sveta tells her, letting her shirt fall back over her stomach.

"What kind of things?" Scully asks. Mulder recognizes the gentleness in her voice. It's the one she always saved for the times they had to interrogate children.

"Tests," Sveta says in a small voice. "Harvesting." She gestures toward her pelvis.

"Harvesting your ova?" Scully asks.

Sveta looks at O'Malley. He nods. "Yes," she says. "They made me pregnant. But they took the babies before they were born. They tried to take the memories, but I remember. I remember the lights. I remember the way my body changed. They do everything through here." She points at the scars.

"Tell them about your DNA, Sveta," O'Malley says in a hypnotic voice.

"I have alien DNA," Sveta says. "For sure. They take the babies out through here. They put the DNA in."

Scully glances at Mulder. "Have you had a doctor confirm that?"

"No," Sveta says. "I couldn't be sure that any doctor I visited wasn't one of Them." Mulder can hear the capital letter when she says it. Them. He used to talk the same way.

"Is that something you could test, Scully?" he asks.

Scully stares at him. He can sense her reticence. There is something childlike about Sveta, for all that she's an adult. One way or another, O'Malley is manipulating her. They have sacrificed enough children to this quest. He thinks back to the clones of his sister on the farm with the bees, the red-headed scientists in the facility where Scully's ova were stored. Emily. William. Uncounted others.

At last, Scully nods. "I'll examine you myself, Sveta," she says. "If that's all right."

"Thank you," Sveta says fervently, her hands clasped. Mulder knows the light in her eyes. Sveta, at least, is a true believer.

#xfiles fic #xf alternate season 10 #the x-files fic #xfiles season 10 fic #mulder x scully #xf revival #my fic #atcwm verse

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tatooedlaura-blog · 6 years

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Waiting Words

This third series reads as follows:

Shattered … Desolation … Determination … Us and Ours … Ratty Towels … The Sleepover … Skinner and the Punch … Oregon … Impossibilities … Something from Nothing … Out of the Car … Partners … News … Never Replace You … The Chip … Date Night … Evidence of Things Unseen … Maggie’s Walter … Glasses ... Maggie’s Truth

First series … Second series

*********************

Waking up slowly, his eyes dry, lips cracked, muscles aching, bruises tender, he found himself alone, staring at his weapon across the bed, sitting quietly on Maggie’s bedside table.

He had last seen his weapon before he was taken, safely tucked away in the closet, under lock, key and code. The night before, day before, whenever before, Maggie had helped him upstairs, gotten him into soft t-shirt, softer flannel, cradled in mattress and feathered down before kissing him, telling him she’d be back just as soon as she checked on the others. He’d been asleep in seconds, comforted more than he would ever admit out loud that Mulder and Scully were downstairs somewhere, available for a fight if the necessity arose. Now, however, he was awake and staring down the barrel of a gun Maggie had felt the need to place beside her in the night.

Not beside him but her.

If he wanted to, he could analyze that, debate whether it was next to her for fear he’d shoot her if she woke him up from sleep with a hand on his arm or a mumbled word, send him spiraling back to black plastic bag over head, wooden bat to back, cement meeting skull or if it was next to her because she would use it to defend him if and when another decided to invade her quiet life, her fiercely loved family.

Or he could stand, move, shower, eat, drink, ignore.

Instead he asked her quietly, when she walked back in a few moments later, holding a cup of steaming tea, “do you know how to use it?”

Setting tea beside gun, comfort and fear hand in hand on polished oak, “I do but since Bill died, I haven’t practiced.”

“We’ll do that soon but then I’d prefer to sleep with the gun in the drawer, my side or yours, doesn’t matter.” Moving closer, Maggie examined a cut, studied a still darkening bruise, laced her fingers against the back of his neck, while his gaze moved from tilted neck to warmer eyes, taking in all features between, “Maggie.”

She could see him ignoring all pain, not flinching at her touch against his already aching bones, “Walter.”

It was on the tip of his tongue, the words waiting to have life breathed in them, to cross the gap, change the world, alter the universe, but they remained quiet, knowing there was something he had to do before anything could happen, “should we go wake up the kids and have some breakfast?”

She felt it in the air between them and liking the unspoken for the moment, surrounded by it, she took his hand, “it’s actually time for dinner and Fox will love that you called them ‘the kids’.”

Holding out a hand to her, “help me up?”

“Of course.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Scully woke to find Mulder’s hand splayed across her belly, tapping gently on her skin, and smiling, she turned her head to find him with his eyes closed but a small smile on his face, “are you Morse coding ‘I love you’?”

The happy grin grew larger, “I love that you know that.”

“Is it for the kid or me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I love you back but he’s not going to answer for a little while. Morse code doesn’t kick in until the third trimester.” Scully kissed his nose then slid from the bed, “come on, let’s go find some breakfast.”

Mulder corrected her as he followed, “dinner. It’s after 9.”

“Same day?”

“Who the hell knows.”

Heading to the kitchen, Mulder stopped dead in his tracks and Scully, being short and still waking up, ran directly into him, knocking her nose into his back and her hard lump of belly into his butt. “Hey.”

Mulder whispered over his shoulder, “your mom and Skinner are making out by the kitchen counter. Don’t look! Don’t look!”

“Mulder …” Skinner’s voice carried to Scully’s still hidden ears, “we are not making out. I am drinking a cup of tea and Maggie is upstairs looking for her slippers.”

“You could have been making out and one day probably will be making out and I just want to prepare.”

Scully smacked his arm as she rubbed her nose, her voice muffled, “why don’t you prepare next time when I’m not behind you. I smashed my face.”

Turning, he pulled her forward, kissing the top of her head before drifting down to hold her hand, “sorry. Didn’t mean to squish you.”

“I’ll forgive you.”

“Thanks.”

Skinner, accepting their insanity long before this, didn’t even flinch, “anyone hungry? We were about to wake you up to help us solve the hot button debate of hot dogs or macaroni and cheese.”

Scully, finally seeing his face, gravitated towards him, doctor hands reaching for injured flesh, fingers tilting his head for a better look at multiple cuts and egg-sized lumps, “how did you sleep? Do you need anything for pain? Any nightmares?”

Mulder came over, removing her still probing hands but waiting for the answers, staring intently until Skinner finally responded, the back of his mind amusingly contemplating the rest of his life with Doctor Cold Fingers and Spooky Mulder while he told them, “I slept okay but not great. I took two Tylenol before I came downstairs and as for nightmares, nothing I can’t handle. Now, leave it alone for awhile, okay?”

Said with more love than irritation, Scully gave him a smile, “I vote Mac and Cheese and how many boxes should I make?”

Maggie, slippers now securely on feet, walked soundlessly into the kitchen, “at least four.”

“Are Frohike and company gone?”

“Yeah. They folded their blankets and left me a note saying thank you and asked to have a security meeting with me at my earliest possibly convenience.” Handing the paper to Mulder as she walked by, “why do I need to have a security meeting with Melvin?”

The rest of them in instant agreement that some cameras, better locks and maybe a bullet proof bubble over the house were fine, upstanding ideas, Scully spoke first, “because the world isn’t the nicest of places and for better or worse, you are now unequivocally associated with three individuals who seem to attract an awful lot of unpleasantness.”

“I don’t want to be a prisoner in my own home, Dana.”

“Maggie,” Mulder reached out to her, holding her arm lightly, “the boys are the best at what they do. You’ll never even know your house is safer than Fort Knox, I promise. The only things you will see are three or four sensors in unobtrusive corners, if you look hard.”

She looked like she wanted to believe him but doubt remained, however slight, a sigh of resignation coming out after a few moments, knowing she couldn’t and probably shouldn’t fight the combined efforts of the three of them, “I’ll talk with them but no guarantees right now.”

Walter relaxed slightly, his muscles tight for too long during the last three minutes, “that’s all we ask.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

It was while Scully dried and Skinner washed, having insisted that he needed to move to keep his muscles loose, “Scully? May I ask you something?”

“Yes, Walter, you may ask me something.”

Feeling an oddly paternal need to flick water on her, he refrained, “what would your honest reaction be if I asked your mother to marry me?”

To be fair, the bowl in her hand was very slippery, the metal smooth, the fingers forgetful of how to grip. It clattered to the ground, Scully doing her half-second behind best to catch it and the thing, instead of being captured, flew across the room as knuckle hit metal, metal hit floor, floor unforgiving, linoleum slick.

Both watched the bowl finally come to a halt in the hall, the clanging echoing a moment longer, before Skinner looked down at his agent, “that tells me a lot.”

Retrieving the bowl in silence, she came back to the sink, Walter unmoving but curious as she picked up her dishtowel once again before, “that doesn’t count in my answer. You dropped a bomb, I’m allowed to have butter fingers for a few seconds during processing.”

He understood, knowing not to judge on first reaction, “but now that you have your bowl firmly in hand, what do you think?”

“I think … that … it doesn’t really matter what I think but since I know that’s not the answer you want, I guess … well …” setting bowl on counter instead of flinging it to the floor as she had a minute ago, “dad’s been gone for six years and I think he’d want her to be happy. She smiles at you like she used to at him and that … that’s probably the best thing I’ve seen since he died and it makes me happy to know you want to make her smile like that for the rest of your lives.” Feeling the need to apologize for the ramble, she crossed her arms and turned towards him, giving him that eyebrow Mulder feared and he got a kick out of, “are you going to make her smile like that forever?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

Rocking back and forth on her heels a few times, she gave him a grin, “then I won’t be calling you ‘dad’ but there’s a really good chance Mulder will so prepare yourself.”

“I will.”

Uncrossing arms, she wrapped one around his waist in a half-hug, then pointed towards the dishes still waiting to be washed, “you better get those done, Walter, or she won’t be smiling anymore.”

#msr #maggieNskinner #lone gunmen #back to normal #or as normal as it gets with this bunch #angst be gone #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my writing #Life part 3 series

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karanan · 6 years

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Eleven Questions Meme

I was tagged by @the-empires-weapon, thank you!

Favorite band? Sleeping At Last. It’s like streaming music straight from my soul

Would you rather live by the beach, or by the mountains? BEACH. I grew up in a coastal town and have always lived close to the sea (and rivers). I feel quite lost if I don’t live by the coast or some other body of water

Have you attended university, and if so, what did you study? If you didn’t, what’s your area of expertise, or what would you have studied if you went to a school of higher learning? I attended uni in Sweden where I studied video game development - 2D graphics. It was pretty awesome but I dropped out halfway through because the programme was just too nonsensically academic whereas I wanted to learn more practical skills. Also for personal reasons

What character has influenced you the most in life? I don’t know if I can answer this with a singular character because there are many that have probably had a pretty profound effect on me. For starters, Link from the Legend of Zelda, who was like the first character I as a child identified a whole lot with. Gave a quiet kid a bit of extra courage. Mass Effect’s Commander Shepard was really important to me during my art school years, she was a symbol of like everything awesome in humanity that I aspired to. And of course, my own Roscoe, he’s been incredibly important to me for these past 6 years. I’ve learned a lot about myself through him. I’m not joking when I say that I think he’s helped me explore and find my own queerness and I love that. There are others, I tend to pick up stuff from characters all over the place, like Luke Skywalker and Fox Mulder and many others, but those are the ones that stick out to me right now.

What kind of art do you like seeing from others? What’s your favorite style, of sorts? I like seeing a whole variety of styles! But of course I’m a subjective little goblin with my own goblin hoard of favourite art. I tend to prefer (and strive toward) a somewhat realistic painterly style where the painting/drawing hasn’t been overworked and you can still see elements from the painting/drawing process, like the brushstrokes. Some of my art heroes are Alphonse Mucha, Anna Dittmann, and Ali Franco (nsfw)

What do you prefer: Youtube, Netflix, or cable? All 3 bring something different to the table. I don’t go to Youtube for films or shows, just as I don’t go to Netflix for independent content creators. I only ever watch cable if I’m at my grandparents’ place, but it’s kind of nice to not have to pick something, you just turn the TV on and get your eyeballs blasted with whatever happens to be on. If I had to pick, I’d probably go with Youtube because that might be the only place where the contents of all 3 intersect

What kind of sensations belong with sex? (I’m curious because I’ve *always* had the idea that pain is just a part of sex, regardless of virginity, and apparently that is not the case??) Depends on what you’re looking for. My automatic response would be pleasure. Some people might enjoy more of an edge with that, like pain, but only if it’s deliberate.

To my trans friends: how and when did you learn that you were trans? It was more of a drawn out realisation through experimentation than any one exact moment for me. At some point it was just the only way forward and it suddenly seemed incredibly obvious, looking back at how I related to gender all my life in the past. The seeds of gender questioning have been there for an indeterminate amount of time, but I consciously thought of it maybe 5-6 years ago, and then I seriously started considering transness about 3 years ago.

What is the earliest meme you can remember from your first days on the internet? Oh shit. Back when the first “memes” were forming, they weren’t even called memes. The first actual meme I remember (as in when people called them memes) were the fucking rage comics. But like before that? Ancient flash animations and the like. Also when I was in 4th or 5th grade, there was a Swedish website that had sound clips parodying a stereotypical Finnish man complete with the accent and swearing and everything, which was peak humour for a bunch of 10-11 year olds. The teachers were of course not pleased.

What’s one weird thing that fascinates you? Not sure how we define weird in this case. I mean, space is weird as hell and it sure fascinates me to no end. But as an interest, it’s not that weird. I guess getting obsessed with little seemingly inconsequential details can seem weird, like the iridescence of magpie feathers, or the etymology behind some of the words in my dialect, or aurora borealis, or--

Do you believe in the supernatural. If you do, what kind of things do you believe in? If not, what’s the reason? I believe that the supernatural is really just the regular natural that we don’t understand or can’t explain yet. I’m fascinated by--ayyy there’s one--the paranormal, I’ve tried hunting for ghosts and I always scan the sky for UFOs but I haven’t seen shit. Which is disappointing. Because a lot of people claim they’ve seen things and I believe that they believe what they saw (exception for people who make it up for shits and giggles)--however they might not have seen what they think they’ve seen, or what they have seen must be perfectly explainable by science. I grew up in a “haunted” house that several people with no connection to each other would claim they saw the same thing all the time in--I never saw anything weird apart from mirrors breaking or stuff flying/falling over but it was an old house, could’ve been anything. But my point is, I’ve heard some shit and I don’t think the people I’ve talked to are lying, I just think there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. And I’m of the mind that everything can be explained scientifically, that’s the only way the world makes sense to me. Maybe ghosts are echoes from a different dimension or a parallel universe? Quantum physics or some shit, I don’t know. I’d love to see something one day though. Basically; I want to believe. One day we’ll be able to explain all the weird shit throughout history, and laugh at how we didn’t understand.

Thank you for the interesting questions! Now for my 11 questions for you guys, I’m going to steal my own from when I did this meme years ago because I’m lazy:

1. Do you have any persons of note or otherwise interesting stuff in your family history? 2. You have been given a budget of several million dollars by your developer/company of choice to create something (film, TV show, theme park etc.) for your favourite franchise. What do you produce? 3. You’ve been offered a spot on a one-way trip to Mars, do you take it? 4. Sith or Jedi? 5. Which one of your own OCs is your favourite? 6. Congratulations your government has approved a citizen wage/basic income system and implemented it flawlessly. What do you do with your time now that you don’t have to work to survive? 7. Playing it dirty or by an honour code? 8. Do you have a certain type of character that is always your favourite? 9. Any guilty pleasures? 10. What’s your favourite word? 11. You now have to fight a superhero, which one do you pick?

11 tags: @starrypawz, @aspyforthethrone, @lhunuial, @tehjai, @darthvronton, @hoiist, @catpella, @s0tc, @cathuia, @lukeskywalkersbutt, lastly I’m tagging you back, @the-empires-weapon As always, feel free to ignore

#meme thing #about me #long post

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randomfoggytiger · 1 year

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X-Files Collector's Edition: The X-File That Started It All

In the wake of the 30th Anniversary, I combed through my fic pile and pulled up some fics dealing with the Pilot. (Don't worry about the AUs-- I'll stick them in another list later for the fun of it.)

Loose chronological order below~

Melymbrosia's Untold

""Double-blinds, triple-blinds, codes instead of names, codes instead of the details of procedures or drugs. Dr. Charne-Sayre has assured her bosses that the lab assistants will have no idea what projects and experiments produced the blood tests and organic compounds they're analyzing, and that this will not, in fact, even seem strange to them. The old men ask if it can't all be done by computer instead; they have what Bonita Charne-Sayre privately considers a charmingly naive faith in computer security, possibly because they think of it as half magic and half obfuscation. No, she says, and again no, and finally they give in. Medical research, it seems, requires a larger budget and a more select staff than mere conspiracy.""

The horrendous experiences of the Pilot abductees.

@discordantwords‘s (Ao3) Cataplexy

""It took him a moment to realize that he was awake, that he could move, and he did so in a rush, sitting up and shucking off of the blankets. His heart thudded in his chest. He lifted one hand and then the other, clenched his fist, looked at his fingers.

Across the room, in the second bed, his father mumbled something in his sleep, turned over, began to snore.""

Billy Miles's dad hopes his son will snap out of it, willingly covering up all evidence to protect his son.

zulu's First Sight

""She remembered that there was at least one agent who pursued unusual cases. She'd heard about him from...whom? Tom Colton, in their last year at the Academy. He'd told her about the agent who chased unexplained phenomena the way the rest of them tracked drug shipments and illegal weapons.

"He's a real ghostbuster, apparently," Tom had said, laughing. A group had gathered around him, ready to hear the sort of case study their instructors didn't see fit to assign to them officially. "They say he's rather--spooky. Spooky Mulder, chasing after aliens with a badge and a gun. You know you've gone bonkers when, you know what I mean?"

Dana smiled with the others, but the idea intrigued her. "And they let him?" she asked.

"The way I hear it, it's the only way they can keep him happy enough to do their V.C.U. profiling for them." Tom snorted. "They say his profile caught Monty Props almost single-handedly.""

Scully's boredom is eased with her thrilling new assignment to the notorious Fox Mulder. Although Melissa is her only familial support, she tries not to let it dampen her spirits-- as yet unaware that Mulder is on a campaign to figure out who she is and why they were partnered.

Maidenjedi’s Ab Initio

""Stuck. He was stuck in an elevator at the Hoover Building after 6pm on a Friday night....

On a Friday night.

Mulder sat down and started fishing in his pocket for sunflower seeds. Of course there weren't any, he never had them in his pants pockets. It was a crazy habit anyway.

Somewhere right now, guys his age were picking up chicks at bars. Or maybe they were married and having kids.

Mulder? He was chasing demons and ghosts from a basement. They called him Spooky for a reason.

The elevator starting moving an hour later and Mulder went home.

To nobody.""

Mulder is a lonely, paranoid man: friendly only to Reggie Perdue, and suspicious of anyone else at the FBI. TLG slip him information about Bellefleur; but he is a little more intrigued at his first glimpse of Dana Scully.

Surajtare’s Fragments in Time

Chapter 1

""Over the next few days, Mulder set his investigative skills to find out whatever he could about this Dana Scully. Her credentials made him uneasy: undergraduate degree in physics, M.D., "Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation."

In Mulder's head the people of the world were divided in two: word people and number people. Word people saw stories everywhere. Number people saw equations. Mulder was a word person through and through. He never trusted number people; they usually had an obsessive need to quantify everything. Scully was definitely that kind, a person who could never understand the X files. The mere thought of a partner like that was exasperating.

Then, on March, he got a call from Reggie, his former ASAC at Violent Crimes.""

Mulder finds out about his assigned partner through the grapevine, immediately assuming she's been hand-picked to be "his type." He's mildly surprised at Blevins's pick.

Chapter 2

""So, how do you like the X Files so far?" he asked her, a little teasingly.

"They're interesting. They are!" she added when he saw his skeptical look.

"Well, this is an interesting first case," Mulder said, sitting back in the chair and stretching his legs. He couldn't fight the smile anymore and she reciprocated, briefly.

"Do you really think aliens have something to do with all this?" she demanded, growing serious.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I can't find any better explanation."

"We haven't found any explanation, so far," she said.

Mulder soothes Scully after her embarrassment over the mosquito bites, admitting he'd had first-case paranoia, too. Scully admits she's fascinated by the case overall; and their conversation slowly turns to why he's so devoted to the X-Files.

Lara Means’s (Ao3) The View From the Outer Office (Ao3)

""Today it's just one agent -- Agent Mulder. He doesn't come up here much, and his name doesn't come up very often in Mr. Skinner's day-to-day work -- mostly Section Chief Blevins supervises him. But today he's waiting for the Assistant Director. And he looks nervous.

His knee is bouncing pretty steadily, and he's chewing on a fingernail. He keeps glancing over at me like I'd disappear if he didn't. When he catches my eye he smiles a nervous little half-smile, which I return before I go back to my work.

He clears his throat and I look up. "Um... I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."

You didn't forget it, Agent, you never asked. "Kimberly.""

Mulder tries to get information out of secretary Kim, too impatient to wait for A.D. Skinner any longer.

Athene's Dana Scully's Senior Thesis

""She was accepted at Johns Hopkins University College of Medicine up in Baltimore, and graduated with the President's Medal in 1988," Frohike continued. He stared at a photo in his hand, one Mulder couldn't quite see. There was a little smile on his face, and a hint of admiration in his voice as he continued. "After being recruited by the FBI under a grant-with-stipend issued by the Critical Position Acquisition program at Quantico, she did a two year residency in clinical pathology at Hopkins. When she finished-"

"Let me guess," Mulder interrupted, a sneer in his voice, "she was at the top of her class."

Byers took up the narrative, his voice calm, ignoring Mulder's interruption with the ease of long practice.""

Mulder, enraged about being partnered, gets TLG to dig up information on one Dana Scully (who he believes is a plant set up to get him into an HR harassment claim.) His thoughts turn soft when he sees her honest eyes.

@spookytheory's Fire, But Better

""First ring of fire: cleared. Blevins seemed content. The strange man in the corner seemed non-plussed. Both fit her preconceived notions of what FBI higher-ups were like. Old, stand-offish, starchy, and, dare she say, predictable? Dana is used to bland men: soulless nurses and aides who seemed to give life and hope to patients from their own personal stores. Some salt-and-pepper doctors were exceptions. Her heart clenches as her mind whispers the name Daniel.

She shakes it off with a roll of her shoulders. I chose this.

She lets this assurance distill into confidence and begins walking down the hall, smiling and nodding at her new co-workers. They blatantly ignore her.""

Scully is trying to shake off her past-- and its mistakes-- by seeking a new change in this assignment. Still, it echoes her heel taps all the way down to the basement.

Madeline Partous's (Annex) Pilot, The 01

""His castle. His domain. He knew that many people saw his exile to the basement as a demotion, a source of shame, but he'd considered it a new lease on life, the compensation for the dues he'd paid.

He'd been the golden boy, and it had earned him a measure of freedom. Now he planned to exploit it for all it was worth, despite the fact that he knew it would condemn him to ridicule and obscurity in the end.""

Mulder covers his extreme surprise and intrigue with sarcasm, finding himself immediately drawn to Dana Scully: New Recruit.

@i-gaze-at-scully’s (Ao3) She's a medical doctor

""Einstein.

His new partner literally took on Einstein.

“A New Interpretation.” Polite way to say actually, you’re wrong. Here’s why.""

AUish-- Mulder is mad that he is forced to have a new partner; and decides that he hates doe-eyed, green Dana Scully.

Beshter/Publius's Seasons: First

Chapter 3

""Dana Scully," she passed over her badge to the pleasant woman behind the ticket counter, stifling her own yawn, yearning for the coffee she could smell coming from some mysterious corner of the airport. Why 8 AM, she silently complained? She hadn't seen Fox Mulder. She half expected he would come last minute, tumbling to the gate, tie rumpled and dark hair scattered, as he'd grant her an unapologetic smile. She doubted he was really used to having to do anything on time for anyone, or at least not for a partner. From what she had gathered from his personnel file it had been a few years since he had one of those.

"Here you go, Ms. Scully, if you could sign here," the ticket agent pointed towards a line on the receipt she passed over, and slid Scully's open badge over the counter. Scully's own serious face stared up at her as she signed quickly.

"Who did you con to get that good of a picture, Scully?" Mulder's lazy, monotone drawl was somewhere just above Scully's ear, and she snapped her head up, nearly knocking the top of it into Fox Mulder's chin.""

Scully is floundering in the paranoid waters of Fox Mulder way too early in the morning, and without her coffee. She feels a little guilty that Mulder nails her on her eagerness to debunk his crazy theories.

astronaught's Equilibrium - Chapter 1

""He has had friends. He has had lovers. He has certainly been played with, though not in the fun way. Fox Mulder doesn’t have fun. Fox Mulder sits in his basement office for fourteen hours a day reading rotting casefiles from 1953. He enjoys the work, but his single-minded focus has nothing to do with enjoyment, and everything to do with a desperate and somewhat self-abnegative feeling of necessity. He has a sense of irony so well-cultivated that an outside observer might mistake it for a zest for life. In reality, it is the final recourse of the smart and painfully sincere. He thinks he jokes at the world because he’s given up on it joking back, but Fox Mulder is nothing if not a compulsive seeker of wonder, and deep down his ill-guarded, latchkey heart murmurs Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.""

Mulder's humor garnered him respect from Scully; and both mutually want to hope in each other.

@wexleresque/hllsteeth’s

Table for Two - Chapter 1

""Mulder bounces his leg and taps his fingers on the sticky table, the pent-up energy from hours of sitting in a car being released from his body like pressurized steam. Through the stubborn pieces of hair that hang over his forehead, he observes the agent sitting across from him as she examines her nails and sighs tiredly.

He can sympathize with her on that front, at least. Though he’d strategically found the least uncomfortable way to fold his tall body into the plane, sleep had been far down on his mental to-do list. Instead, he’d let the case details swirl around the ether of his consciousness, looking for patterns and anachronisms that he may have missed, all the while stealing glances at Scully while she’d white-knuckled her way through turbulence and read over the case notes.""

Mulder observes Scully's post-plane meal.

@scapegrace74-blog‘s (Ao3) Fictober, Day 11. Theme: UFO

""They are two hours into their flight to the very plausible state of Oregon when he asks her to switch seats. She’s momentarily confused. With his coltish legs, there’s no way he should prefer the window, and she tells him as much. Challenging Agent Mulder’s assertions is already beginning to feel less like a job description, and more like a secret vice.

“We’re almost over Utah.” As though that explains anything.

“What’s so special about Utah? Is it a hotbed for UFO activity or something?”

He smiles and makes the obligatory harhar gesture, but his eyes shift to the hublot behind her, so she obliges by sliding out into the aisle.""

Mulder and Scully have a mini conversation about their respective faiths and beliefs before the Oregon plane experiences turbulence.

@scullysexual/PostApocolypticAlien

(Un)Buried.

""An unmarked grave. No mortsafe protected this body. There was nobody left to care about what happened to it.

Just the three of you stand in the graveyard in the black of night. The coffin is brought up, the lid removed.""

Mulder is intrigued by the body, mulling this new development over while Scully instructs the cemetery men to take it to the morgue.

10.02 (Ao3)

""It suddenly dawns on you how fun having a partner again could be so fun. You missed it, you realise.

Standing in the rain, in a graveyard, next to two unusually empty graves, discussing how a coma patient is sneaking out and taking people to the forest, it should be as absurd as everyone says it is but it is, instead, a reality and the person who is supposed to argue is absurdity is standing in front of you, laughing, believing it all.""

AU-- Mulder realizes how alone he was while watching Scully laugh in the graveyard. He makes moves that are very not canonical.

@kateyes224‘s (Ao3) Unnamed

""She was nervous as she packed her bags for “Ore-gone”, as her spooky, shockingly attractive new partner called it.... Dana spent almost an hour dutifully stuffing clothes and toiletries into every nook and cranny of her rolling carry-on, fretting over how many layers to bring, erring on the side of caution and, she decided as she was barely able to zip it closed, definitely overpacking.

It wasn’t until she opened her bag in her motel room in Bellefleur that her stomach plummeted as she pawed frantically through her bag, realizing with no little amount of horror that she’d forgotten to pack her pajamas.""

Scully forgot her jammies, and Mulder lends her his shirt. Both of them appreciate the high art of Steven Spielberg references.

@scullywolf's (Ao3)

Pilot - Chapter 1

""Sighing, she picked up the tape recorder and turned back to her computer, grabbing her glasses from the bed and sliding them on. With a click to restart the tape, she resumed her transcription.

“...four millimeters in diameter and twenty-seven millimeters in length. Object is cylindrical in design with small spheres on either end. No identifying marks, stamps or branding were found. The potential purpose of this implant is unknown.”

The recorder clicked as the tape came to its end. Scully read back over her notes with a small shake of her head, then saved her data and shut down the computer. She had started this case with such confidence, certain that with proper investigative work and attention to detail, they would be able to figure out what was happening to these kids. Now, though… now she was not so sure.""

Scully is intrigued by this strange, new case; and, while not quite sold on the ape theory, she isn't about to subscribe to the alien one.

Fictober Drabbles - Day 3: Basement

""Diana once remarked how appropriate it was that his office was in the basement. “The Fox’s den” she called it, and he blushed and thought her so clever. Infatuation will do that; if anyone else had said it, he’d have rolled his eyes.

She wasn’t wrong, though....""

Mulder's infatuation with Diana turns into desolation when she leaves. He didn't realize how much isolation had affected him until Scully knocks, helping him to stop clinging to loneliness.

Tammy D. Aiken-Phillips/ThamasD's Nine Minutes

""It took only a moment for It to look them over, catalog them, and then telepathically inform It's comrades of It's findings. And intentions.

*The Female - She will have what We need in approximately eighteen Earth months. The Male - His body will be able to provide Us with information in approximately eight Earth years. We will have them then.* *What shall we do with them for now?* A comrade questioned. *Wipe their memories of this visit and return them. Inform our connections on their planet of their importance and the timetable I have set. The arrangements will be made.* *Affirmative.*""

In the 9 minutes that Scully and Mulder are abducted, the aliens have assessed them and marked them for future abductions.

@frostbitepandaaaaa's (Ao3) Nine Minutes and Then Some

Chapter 1

""As much as she was dizzy with relief, she was now weak with abrupt, crushing mortification.

“I need to sit down,” she told him, herself, cinching up the belt of her robe tighter for good measure.

“Yeah, of course.” His voice wavered with a note of insecurity. His motions were suddenly hasty, rushing to put the barrier of the cheap, motel table between them. And just like that, they were drawn apart like hydrophobic molecules.""

Scully is shocked at how much Mulder truly understands and cares her embarrassment post mosquito bite scare.

Chapter 4 (Ao3)

""I believe that hypnotherapy can have… therapeutic uses,” Missy begins, slowly, still recovering from her shock, “though I am not so sure of the… veracity of the memories it is said to tap into.”

Dana smiles, that little half-smirk that her sister dons whenever she was amused against her better judgement.

“What?” Missy asks her.

Dana shakes her head, looks down at her plate. “Nothing… that just sounded like an answer I would give.”

Missy grins. “I’m not as hippy-dippy as you think I am, Dana.""

Melissa sides with Mulder, admonishing her scientific younger sister to keep an open mind.

@neednottoneed/neednot’s (Ao3) Unnamed

""Maybe, she thinks, she’ll lose another nine minutes if it means he’ll look at her like that again.""

Scully realizes she can only talk about and understand her experience with Mulder, the man who lights up like a boy at Christmas when it comes to these uncharted, paranormal waters.

Erin M. Blair’s (Ao3) His New Partner

""He wasn't quite certain what to make of her. He read her personnel file, along with a photocopy of her thesis. Her intelligence in the scientific would help him brainstorm and come up with plausible theories, along with keeping him sane. He had a gnawing feeling that Scully would gradually change his life, forever.""

Mulder is struck with how quickly his bad luck with partners has so suddenly turned around.

Macspooky's New Partners

""Come on," he slipped an arm around her waist and led her in the direction of the ambulance. "I think I might have another patient for you ladies and gentlemen. Possible concussion."

"Mulder...it wasn't..." She wanted to say that it wasn't that bad, that she had only been dizzy for a moment.

"Go on...." he said. "That's an order. I'll meet you at the hospital. You should be checked out.""

Scully berates her behavior in the wake of the case, scoffing that she'd been swept off her feet and gotten a concussion for her troubles. Mulder kept her company and thought she'd "done good."

@allyinthekeyofx's (Ao3) Playing the Game

""By the time morning comes her pile of sunflower seeds far outstrips his and he knows he will have to stop on the way to the airport to buy more.

He also knows that Dana Scully is not to be underestimated.""

Scully and Mulder have to spend a night at their burnt down motel before flying out. He does them both a favor by buying them new clothes and passing the time with easy bonding games.

@cactustree's (Ao3) Babyface Blues

""The residual embarrassment from the mosquito bite incident has only just begun to wear off when a flight attendant leans down to place a paper cup of coffee on Agent Mulder’s tray table and then asks him softly, “And would your daughter like anything?”

Dana is leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed, but she is not asleep. ....

The motel fire left her with nothing but what she’d had on her person when she and Mulder rushed out in response to the news of Peggy’s death, and so she is still dressed in the same oversized raincoat and jeans that were soaked through in the cemetery, face bare of makeup, hair loose about her shoulders. She is twenty-nine years old, a medical doctor and a federal agent, and she has just been mistaken for the daughter of her partner, who, as far as she is aware, is in his mid-thirties.

Mulder lets out a quiet chuckle. “No, thanks,” he says to the flight attendant. He does not correct her.""

Scully tries to correct her babyface with a new haircut.

@freckleslikestars/Living_Underground’s perfect lullaby (Ao3)

""They were over Idaho when he carefully removed her reading glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket for safe keeping, lest her head loll to the side and crush them.

The lights of Montana cities sparkled bellow as her soft, nasal snores competed with the whir of the air circulation in the cabin.

Around the time they flew across the Missouri River, her head dropped to his shoulder and she slouched into him.""

Mulder is surprised that Scully can sleep through their return trip from Oregon. He ponders on his impressions years later; and is shocked when she admits it's "his presence."

David Hearne's Thoughts at 11:21 P.M.

""Then the woods came. They brought twisted black corpses, metal hidden inside flesh, marks branded onto skin, and the light. Your new partner picked a spot and declared it unnatural. He spoke of time being snatched like quarters from the pavement. He pointed the finger of blame at a comatose teenager. None of it was false. None of it was true. It was all merely unsubstantial. You might as well try to bottle the wind as prove what happened in those woods.

You became angry at the mystery. Then you became scared....""

Scully had noticed how defensively Mulder believed before they even left for their case; and is surprised that he calls after to keep her in the loop. She listens.

@invidiosa/Circe Invidiosa's (Gossamer, Alt., Live Journal, Website)

silent fury

""Scully hurled the report into the trash can and dropped down onto the chair in front of Mulder’s desk. “They ask me to debunk your work, and then when I can’t do that, they just redact everything? And you want me to just sit here in silent fury and just take it?""

Scully is furious over her redacted report; and channels her frustration into Mulder's next case, ready to get back out and expose more truths.

@the-spooky-alien's Day 2 of Fictober!

""Oh, c'mon Scully, don't play innocent,'' he snorted, stomach clenching as annoyance flared high in his mind. She couldn't seriously ignore what everyone was calling him behind his back. ''Never heard of Spooky Mulder?''

The look of warning she gave him was enough to dampen his irritation. He mouthed an inaudible 'sorry' at her, wincing when she crossed her arms.

''I have, yes,'' she said, coldly. ''But it can hardly be considered a warning. It's merely a stupid nickname because of what you do with the X-Files.''

Stupid. That was one word for it.""

Mulder is relieved that Scully didn't (doesn't) chase the rumor mills; and is touched that she considers him intelligent.

Diadem’s Scene 02 - Thank You

""At first I guess it was simply morbid curiosity - would I find the body of my sister? Anything was better than the "unsolved" stamp the police had given the case file detailing Samantha's abduction.

After a couple of years, though, I realised that finding her would not be so simple. She would not just be dropped in the middle of a field and left there to be found by some farm hand. I knew by then that everything was much more complicated.""

Mulder had lived a lonely, obsessive life since childhood; and is grateful to be saved and given dignity by Scully's presence.

amalnahurriyeh/Amal Nahurriyeh's (DW) Triptych With Luggage

""We got you something," her father had said quietly, when they'd all been having lunch back at her apartment after the ceremony.

"You didn't have to," she'd said, and blushed. She still found it hard to talk about the FBI with him; she'd pretty much stuck to telling her mother about it on the phone since she left her internship, and conversations with her father had devolved into safe topics: football, politics, Billy's disciplinary record.

"Sure we did," he said, and swallowed. "Come on down, they're in the car." She'd gone out to the parking lot behind her building with him. "Your mother thought we should wrap them, but I figured that was just a waste of time." He unlocked the trunk of the car and lifted it. She paused for a second, confused. "It's a whole set of 'em," he said, gesturing to the suitcase sitting next to the windshield wiper fluid. "I figured, you'll probably have to do more traveling now. And you can't put your FBI suits in Billy's old duffel, huh?""

Scully pours her excitement for her first field agent case into packing her new, expensive suitcase (gifted by her father in his hesitant support.) It serves her well all of Season 1; and it becomes her conduit during the rough, grounded months in Season 2.

Foxhunt2blue's Pleasures of Simplicity

""It's always strange how children can't wait to grow to adulthood---constantly in a hurry to be something they believe will be so much better. When they finally get there they wish they were children again.

Somewhere along the way they lose what can only be called magic, but maybe it's something else.""

Scully reflects on the innocence that can only be lost in adulthood; and her ensuing transformations over the years in many hallways.

Enjoy!

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gilliansanderson · 7 years

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If Ever There Is Tomorrow; Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this took forever, I had to physically beat the words out of the muses mouth for this, I tell you. Next one should be up quicker I swear. Anyway, tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

[Chapter 1] [AO3]

2. Where The Wild Things Are

Fall 1971

The once green leaves have fallen and turned to rust. They rustle softly in the breeze, accompanying a symphony of cicadas as they mourn the end of summer. Mulder is ten years old today, and in typical Mulder fashion, had decided the only just way to celebrate hitting double digits was a trip to the gloomy forest. Dusk seeps in like the tide; Home-time has long since passed, but Mulder has a flashlight and a story to tell.

“Once,” he begins, voice dramatically hushed. Perched on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree, his young audience leans in, eager to catch his words. “In these very woods, lived a very old, very bad man. He lived in the very tops of the trees and from up there he could the whole world. He lived on rats and owls and, occasionally, lost little girls,”

The mid-October wind picks up forcefully, a chilling wail punctuating his words, the small group shivers and huddles ever closer. “One day there was this girl, she was nearly seven years old and had long brown hair, her parents were worried, because she went away one night and never came home, so they went looking in these woods all night, but when they finally found her she was dead, in a nest of bones on the top of the highest tree and the man had chewed her face right off…”

“Stop it, Fox! You’re scaring Samantha,”

Samantha had grown visibly pale. Scully, snapped out of her trance, puts a comforting arm around her, “Don’t worry,” she whispers in the other girl’s ear, “It’s only pretend,”

Mulder’s inner circle consisted of his sister, his best friend, and his best friend’s sister, who though quite fond of Mulder was even fonder of Samantha, with her braid-able hair and a mutual love for Barbie dolls which Dana, despite her greatest efforts, had never come to share. So it comes as no surprise when Melissa jumps to her defence.

“I think I’ll take her home, Danes,” she tells them, rising to her feet and dusting off her floral skirt.

“Aw, c’mon Missy, don’t be a killjoy,” Scully groans, but Samantha stands and throws her an apologetic smile, “It’s okay Dana, I’m kinda tired anyway,”

“Don’t stay out too late or mom will freak,” Melissa says with the proud authority only an older sibling could possess, before tugging the younger girl gently behind her, until the warm glow of her lantern fades into the distance and plunges the forest into black once again.

“Well, what do we do now?” Scully huffs. “Have I told you the one about the Jersey Devil, Scully?”

She rolls her eyes towards the moon. “Only like a billion times,”

“How about hide and seek?” he concedes, “Or are you afraid of the bad man too?”

They glance up at the twisted treetops concealing the glittering night, no monster in sight. “I’ll play with you, Mulder,” Scully smirks and quickly turns, “But you have to find me first!” she calls behind her as she darts off through the trees.

Mulder shuts his eyes and counts to ten.

Fall 1978

Dana hovers nervously on the fringe of the cafeteria, a plastic tray filled with questionable mac and cheese and neon green Jell-O held in an iron grip, for which she is quickly losing her appetite. This is the part she despises. catching people’s eyes, pretending to be interested, to be interesting, trying in vain to explain where she came from; everywhere and nowhere. She hates feigning a confidence which she so desperately lacked.

Dana’s tendency to overthink was new and overpowering. Somewhere along the way, in some school locker room or some sleepover where she was just a pity invite, she had lost the invulnerability of childhood, and let insecurity seep under her skin with every whisper and sideways glance, at every failed attempt to infiltrate friendships which had already been forged in the fires of early adolescence.

Her code-breaking docs squeak on the linoleum floor, she is painfully aware that she’s beginning to attract attention. She feels too small and too large all at once, somehow taking up too much space, yet not nearly enough.

That’s when she feels the hand on her back.

“Scully,” he all but whispers, “Can we talk?”

She trips over air as she recoils. Macaroni becomes airborne, half the room turns to stare. Dana’s face matches the ketchup splattered on the floor. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” She seethes. She had been avoiding him like the plague since she ran out of the principal’s office, thinking she’d be doing them both a favor by avoiding confrontation.

“Scully, I’m sorry, I just…” Mulder stammers, his gaze intense, mournful, nervous. What right did he have to be nervous? Anger overrides anxiety as years of dormant resentment bubbles to the surface and erupts like a volcano.

“Don’t call me that. You have no right to call me that, you can’t talk to me as if you know me, like we’re still friends. Friends write, Mulder! Friends talk to each other, friends acknowledge each other’s existence! I don’t care what you have to say, it’s too late for this, Mulder, I don’t want to talk to you or Samantha or anyone…”

She’s cut off by someone grabbing her wrist, pulling her roughly away from Mulder’s wounded expression, from the hundreds of eyes trained on the scene before them and into the girl’s dingy bathroom.

“Missy, I was handling it,”

“You weren’t handling shit, Dana. Fuck.” Her sister curses as she bolts the door and cracks open the window. “Why did you have to go and make a scene? It’s been hard enough on him already,”

Dana catches sight of herself in the mirror and quickly looks away. She already hates her features, they’re worse when twisted with rage. “Hard enough on him? What the fuck, Missy, who’s side are you on?”

Melissa sighs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, putting one shakily to her mouth, “I knew I should have just told you,”

Dana is momentarily stunned. Her mom had made them promise that they would never smoke when her grandfather passed away, after years of sucking on cigars turned his blackened lungs to ash. She’d already broken that promise several times, but she hadn’t thought that her sister ever would, and for some reason, this fills her with unease.

“Told me what?” Her fingers fumble to strike the match, but she finally sparks a flame. After a long moment of silence, she speaks. “Dad made me swear not to tell you” Smoke billows from her lips, curling and dancing under the fluorescent light, poisoning the air with her poison words. “Samantha was taken, Dana. She was kidnapped, I guess, a few months after we left Massachusetts,”

The walls constrict and the world turns on its side. All Dana could focus on was the tears trailing down her sister’s cheeks, leaving track marks in her rouge, as the things she was telling her registered in her brain. “I guess they thought… How do you even explain that shit to an eight-year-old? What if we had stayed a bit longer? you practically lived there and…”

Dana remembers how to breathe around the same time she remembers how to speak. Oxygen feels like fire in her lungs, her fury burns in her throat. “And what?” she rasps, “What? you think it could have been me?”

“Dana, don’t…” her sister pleads.

“How could you even think to keep something like that from me? She was my friend too, Missy. Mulder was my friend and…”

Mulder. Shit.

Dana bursts out of the bathroom, throughout the crowded dining hall, conversations stall. Mulder is already gone.

Fall 1993

As a child, Scully had a recurring dream of being stuck in a museum overnight, the exhibits would come alive and start to speak. The Smithsonian at this moment was dead, as she stares at the Neanderthals behind the darkened glass, Darwin’s apes learning to walk, she wonders what they would say.

Nature had never come naturally to her. While it felt like practically all her friends were getting married, getting pregnant, getting mortgages, all she was getting was older. And then there’s Mulder.

She feels his lingering presence long before his reflection appears the glass.

“You always did have a knack for running away,” his voice echoes throughout the empty room, life amongst the ruins of the ancient and extinct.

“You’re one to talk, Mulder,” she bites back, feels him flinch, and immediately wants to stuff the words back in her mouth

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant,”

This was something they were still getting used to. Their dynamic was all new, yet all too familiar, a battle of wits in an instant turn into a hesitant dance. They compliment and contradict each other to the point that it was maddening. There had always been something about this man, and the boy he used to be, which sparked an insatiable curiosity, a hunger for the extraordinary, one that could never be satisfied by homily divorcees or besotted superiors to her eternal frustration.

“Are you going to let me look at that?” she softly breaks the silence, nodding to the fresh wound on Mulder’s ribs, which he was gingerly palming through his blazer.

“You just wanna see me with my shirt off,” he grunts, “You shouldn’t abuse your medical license for personal reasons, Scully,”

“It only seems fair after Bellefleur,” She allows her self a smirk

“You have some recently un-repressed memories you want to discuss?” He laughs humorlessly, their banter turning dry as it comes back to Samantha, as it would always come back to Samantha. Scully remembers listening to his regression tapes, seeing her picture in that file, how her heart hit the floor. The doe-eyed girl in a nightdress, the girl who had cried when other kids scraped their knees or stepped on ants. Scully can see the Samantha-shaped hole her absence left behind his eyes, and she can’t blame him at all. She gives up the attempt to lighten the mood and cuts to the chase.

“I know you believe she’s out there Mulder, I want to believe she’s alright too, but…“ she chooses her words carefully, “But I don’t want to see you keep getting hurt,”

The silence is deafening, she starts to think that the wax figures might break the silence before Mulder does, but then he hooks his fingers gently around hers and anchoring her gaze to his. “I just… need to find out, Scully,” he murmurs, “Even if that means doing it on my own,”

Scully studies Darwin’s early men and thinks of how far they’ve evolved, how far they still have to go. Maybe subconsciously she feels she owes it to the girl she once was or the girl she once knew, but she feels herself being drawn in deeper down the rabbit hole, drawn back to him. She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand, answering his unspoken question.

“You won’t be alone,”

#If Ever There Is Tomorrow #txf fanfic #msr fic #fictober #Anyway I kinda hate this #its sloppy and tonally inconsistent but at least its DONE #todayinfic #my stuff

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vgcam · 7 years

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Fanfic: There’s a First Time for Everything…

Author’s notes: Fic created for @txf-prompt-box challenge. Prompt: An FBI charity event. Story takes place towards the end of season one. I can’t exactly categorize it. It’s very delicately smutty, but I’m a terrible smut-writer, so it’s the closest I’d get to this sort of stuff. It’s mostly broody and slightly funny. With these prompts I seem to have lost contact with my real life friends, and have ignored my work, kids, hubby and home… oy vey!

Also tagging @today-in-fic

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sigh.

There’s a First Time for Everything…

By Vered Gilad Friedman

It was their first official FBI event together and for the life of him, he was unusually nervous. He’d been on the job with Scully for almost a year now but even though they’d been having plenty of off duty phone calls, they’d hardly seen each other off work. Not that he hadn’t thought about it; it was just that she was so closed-up when it came to her private life and somehow in a manner that was very uncharacteristic to him, he felt extremely cautious when it came to handling her.

Yes, they’d both been to one another’s apartments but it was always work-related and it was always shop talk they dealt with. He’d always wanted to go beyond but whenever he’d try to dig in a little further through that unseen façade of hers, she would button up and he’d not pushed further.

Why? Because… it was even hard for him to admit this to himself, but the bottom line was, he cared for her and it was more than just this partnership that had been forced upon them. No, it was far more than that.

She intrigued him from the moment he read about her, but when he actually got to meet her, he became fascinated. Yes, he’d tried all those boyish tricks of his on her, and he got her annoyed at times, but he loved those moments when she set her blazing blue eyes upon him, and glared as if she were willing to bash him with a mallet of sorts. He’d get her pissed on purpose, just so he could see that expression on her face. He liked that she took him seriously to the verge that his words could get her to react so strongly. Later on, as they got to know each other better, she had figured out his dry sense of humor and was able to respond in line with it. This just made him feel even more excited being with her. And he got to be with her every day and it was pure elation. Even when they argued. Maybe even especially when they argued.

And they grew closer. He knew that. Nobody had to force them to work together anymore. She could have left and he could have asked that she be removed but none of that happened. Neither of them wanted that to happen. And it was more than just work. He knew it, even though neither of them said any of that to each other, even though he’d still not invited her over to his place just to have a plain cup of coffee.

And here they were, about to go on a… date? Could a formal FBI charity event even be considered a date?

He got out of his car and walked the well-known path to her house as if it were the very first time he’d ever seen it. His heart was pounding so strongly. Why couldn’t he control himself? This was Scully! He saw her just a few hours ago at the office. Why was he making such a big deal out of this?

Last year he went to this event with one of the lab techs he’d been dating. Well, more like screwing, he had to admit. A tall woman, with long blond hair. Not a natural blond. Screwing a woman tended to unveil such hidden details about her. Not that he’d cared. She was a great fuck and a perfect accessory just for such formal occasions. He’d show up, enjoy a good dinner and then finish it up with a satisfying fuck. He’d not delve about it even one second after coming. He was no stranger to dating and screwing and having a good time with pretty women, yet now, when it came to dating his partner, he felt as if he were about to break some sacred vow.

Besides, was this even considered a date? True, he was the one who came up to her and suggested they’d go to the charity event together, but he wasn’t quite sure if she understood that this was more than just two work partners going to some work function. She didn’t even make a fuss when he offered to pick her up. After all, he’d come by and picked her up several times when they went on assignments. He was usually in charge of getting their rentals, so she never argued, and they both took turns driving, so she didn’t go all feminist on him, so maybe all she read into this was just two partners on yet another assignment.

He realized he would have been a lot more self-assured had he known that his companion for the night was going to end up in bed with him a few hours later, but with Scully he wanted much more than just casual sex. Not that he didn’t think about sex when he was with her but this time sex wasn't his main goal. He wanted it to be the culmination to a far more meaningful interaction. He wanted foreplay, but not only of the sexual kind. He wanted them to just snuggle together and talk over a glass of wine, or a movie, or both. He wanted her to let him in. He wanted to know more about her and he longed to share more about himself, because he knew she'd listen and not in a patronizing fashion like his past relationships; those few relationships where it was more than just the sex. Back then when he was a mere toy boy for strong dominant women. It was a time in his life when he had needed that sort of trait in a woman. He was young and inexperienced and they were there to teach him something about the world and he didn’t mind being controlled by them because in a way he felt so out of control about his own life that he wished somebody would just take over. Both Phoebe and Diana had no problem filling that position.

But that Fox Mulder was now long gone. He remembered how vulnerable he felt when Diana got up and left him. He was like this hurt puppy, left to lick its wounds, but slowly he grew stronger without her. A thick layer of scar tissue formed on top of those wounds and he stopped feeling when he went out with women. He made sure they weren’t as smart as he was and he focused on their bodies and zoned out when they spoke. He had enough charm to lure them in so he could satisfy his needs and none of them realized he was just playing them.

And then Scully came and something snapped. She was beautiful and smart, yet vulnerable and soft, and she cared for him and admired him, but she also didn’t let him have his way and she had her own set of values and beliefs. She was never a bitch towards him, she never abused him and he realized that for the first time he had found his equal.

But for the life of him, he didn’t know how to proceed in this new uncharted territory where he wasn’t in control, nor was he controlled. He was at a loss.

He was finally at her door-step. If it weren’t for time constraints, he would have waited out there forever, but the new Assistant Director, Walter Skinner, was mentally breathing down his neck. The A.D. bothered to stress the point that tardiness could possibly lead to re-assignment. Mulder still didn’t know him all too well and he didn’t want to risk it; especially not when it came to Scully. So now being almost out of time, he heaved a deep breath and pressed her doorbell.

He could hear her calling out from behind the door. “Just a second.” And then indeed, a second later, the door was unlocked and opened.

Despite promising himself he’d behave normally, he was so taken aback by her looks, he wasn’t able to speak. He just stared at her, gawking like a total dork, feeling somewhat out of breath in lieu of the totally out of character attire she was wearing.

Yes, he knew she’d be wearing some sort of evening gown, but never in his life did he imagine this look. Her petite slim body was perfectly encased in a black strapless dress that enhanced every minute detail of her every curve, not to mention her perfect snow-tainted breasts.

It’s not that he didn’t think her beautiful in her plain FBI dress code 'uniform', but most days he forced himself not to think what lay beneath, but at this very moment not much was left to his imagination.

"Mulder?" Scully, stared at him confused.

Still speechless, he kept on gaping at her figure. When he realized his eyes had unintentionally become affixed on the amazing crack between her bosoms, he hurried to transfer his gaze to a different section of her body.

He set his attention on her hair, which had been beautifully pulled up into some form of elaborate construction, which he had no idea was at all possible. He always marveled at her perfect auburn hair, but he'd gotten so accustomed to her helmet hairdo, he didn't even think of the possibility of her wearing it differently. The usual second option was a basic ponytail which she reserved for trips to the wilderness and autopsies. There was only one single occasion when she had it up in a bun. It was during their case with the liver eating creature, Tooms. Suddenly she wore it up a-la Melanie Griffith in working girl. That do made her appear very professional and somewhat uptight and he knew she only wore it like that to impress her snarky former classmate, Tom Colton. She tried to appear serious because she thought nobody would take her seriously now that she worked for the X-Files with Spooky Mulder.

She never wore her hair like that ever again. It was then that she really decided where she wanted to be and with whom her loyalties lay. The return of the helmet do was a symbol of sorts. She removed the shackles that were imposed upon her by her previous training and she didn't care anymore what people thought. Well, at least not like she did before, he added as an afterthought.

And this amazing do she was sporting at that very moment was nothing like that puffy, professional bun of hers. No. This do was a testament to seduction. Part of her hair was pulled up while precisely calculated strands of auburn fell loosely against her perfect glowing neck. Mulder had no doubt Scully had bothered to pull the precise number of strands out of the pulled-up arrangement of hair but he wondered if he was the prime target of her amazing look or was she aiming at the general male population.

"Mulder!"

He blinked, somewhat startled by Scully's peeved tone. He had to say something. He had to, but he was so stunned, he just kept on eyeballing her, unable to hide his astonishment.

"Mulder. It's just a dress. Snap out of it. Seriously!" she blazed.

"I… I'm… you… I'm sorry, Scully. It's just that… I've never seen you in this way before." He managed but he quickly regretted his words as she pursed her lips and glowered at him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She shot at him.

Jeez! The woman didn't really know how to take a compliment. "Hmm, well… it's just—"

"Never mind, Mulder," she uttered impatiently. "We're going to be late if we don't get a move on."

And she glided down the front steps slightly brushing him against his shoulder as she went towards their rental. Her superficial touch was enough to exert an involuntary gasp out of him.

Dammit, he had turned into a puddle of boyish adolescence. He expected to sprout zits on his cheeks next as final proof of his total inability to function like a mature, professional adult.

His mind was racing back and forth between 'Jump right in and fuck the hell out of her' and 'Whoa boy, this is Scully you’re talkin’ about. Settle down cowboy'. He was afraid he'd lose control and that that would ruin any chance he'd ever have with her. He knew he wanted it to be totally different with her, but it was as if that dress had managed to erase Agent Dana Scully, colleague, partner, best friend, companion and so forth and instead it brought about only Dana Scully, sex bomb.

He was ashamed of how out of control his physical reaction was, when he knew that what he truly wanted was to treat her with respect and win her affection and love like a true gentleman.

"Mulder! Are you coming?"

Scully stood beside their car, her stance oozing irritability, prompting him into a wobbly dash towards her. He'd lost all his basketball training finesse all of a sudden, barely managing to avoid stumbling right into her as he broke his step at the very last second. He was hoping to get the door for her, but the moment he unlocked the car alarm, Scully hastily opened her own door and slid into her seat.

For a moment he stood there like a child lost amidst a bustling crowd, then he scooted around the car and took his place beside her at the driver's seat.

"If I would have known you'd have reacted this badly to me wearing this dress, I might've worn my bathrobe instead," Scully teased him as they drove through the evening traffic.

Still unable to trust himself, Mulder opted to keep from side-glancing. "Maybe you should have eased me into this," he suggested, surprised that he was actually not only making sensible conversation, but that he was actually able to joke about his awkwardness.

"I'll uncover only one shoulder next time," she laughed.

And just like that the tension that was threatening to implode his belly a mere second earlier suddenly disintegrated into nothing. Dress or no dress, they were their usual selves again, banter and all. He smiled, then slid a quick sideways glance, took in her beauty but now she was his companion again, just that she was even more beautiful than usual.

"You can keep both shoulders out in the open," he told her. “I think my moment of shock is over."

"Pity," she feigned disappointment. "I was kind of getting used to this unknown side of your personality."

"Well, you were privy to a rare event akin to an X-File," he chortled.

"It's definitely worth cataloguing under the bizarre category," she agreed.

--------------------------

Grand Hyatt Hotel, Washington D.C. 21:04 PM

Scully decided to let Mulder help her out of the car this time. Her dress was making it somewhat harder for her to lift herself out of her seat without having to perform some unconventional acrobatics.

Mulder was over his initial shock re her attire and was mostly back to his usual self. Mostly, because she couldn't help noticing how his glance kept straying towards the central section of her chest. Well, when she chose this particular dress she had precisely that in mind.

There were moments during their assignments when she glimpsed something more about Mulder's reaction towards her, but it always seemed like a flicker that he quickly tucked away. She knew he saw her more than just his partner. They were definitely close but that stemmed from the type of job they did day in and day out. He did try to stir their conversations to more personal direction on many occasions, but she kept reverting back to the professional path, despite his constant attempts.

He'd share a sports’ jokes with her and search her face for a reaction. He'd tell her about his family from time to time and he was a major support after her father had died.

But she was having a hard time opening up to him. She was a woman, working in a male territory and to prove herself worthy, she had to show she was strong and unflinching and she couldn't let him in or she'd appear vulnerable, so she kept him out, but he never stopped trying.

So today she chose to leave that comfort zone of hers. She could have worn a far more conservative evening gown. Certainly had her mom and dad seen her like this, she would have had plenty of explaining to do, but her daddy was gone and she wasn't that innocent girl anymore. She wanted to receive more than just a flicker from Mulder this time. She didn't know where this would lead them and how far she was willing to go, but she was willing to move forward and she felt this was the best way to send this message.

The only thing she hadn't accounted for was that Mulder would lose it altogether. He had such a reputation, she was sure he'd take her appearance in stride. Instead, he went all school-boyish on her and at some point she was considering slapping his face so he'd snap out it.

She was glad when he'd eventually recovered, at least to a certain degree.

The door beside her opened and Mulder peered at her through it, making her almost chuckle as he bent all the way down and then snuck another peep at her partially exposed breasts. She offered him her hand and he grabbed it and assisted her onto the sidewalk.

As he gave the car keys to the valet service, she snuck her own peep at his amazingly built body and marveled at the view before her. Yes, he was dressed in a suit and tie most days, but his usual choice of jackets and especially ties were not the greatest. His pants were usually a lot less snug around his buttocks, not to mention his frontal parts, and the loose shirts he usually wore made him look far less masculine than he actually was. And she knew he sported a great set of abs on him, having handled his medical misfits a little too often ever since they'd become partners.

But today it was a black tie event and he'd chosen a much tighter suit and a bow tie instead and not that he wasn't handsome enough as it was, it was just that this particular garb he had on, brought everything into focus, so to speak, and she enjoyed zooming in.

"Scully? You coming?"

She shook her head. "Yes…" she answered, absent-mindedly.

She felt his palm sliding into hers and to her surprise, she shivered. Up until now, most of their physical contact was of a friendly kind; a tiny shove on the small of her back as he ushered her about or a slight touch on her shoulder. It never went beyond that. She was amused at how holding hands like silly schoolkids could make her all giddy and tingly inside.

They climbed the stairs slowly as her narrow dress was preventing her from taking large strides. She’d been watching her footsteps, making sure she wouldn't take any unceremonious dives, so she was completely startled when she heard a familiar army-style voice speak all of a sudden.

"You're late."

Scully gazed up and saw the recognizable shiny cap of the Assistant Director towering above them.

"Sorry sir," Mulder apologized as if he were this tardy student standing before the school principal, "We had shit traffic."

"Save your sorry-ass excuses for somebody else, Mulder," Skinner growled. "Everybody else got here half an hour ago. You're the last to arrive."

Fuck. She was never late for anything before she met Mulder. In fact, her nickname was goody-two-shoes-Scully. She was always the first to arrive and customarily on the decoration committee which meant she was usually preparing for an event hours before. Now she'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, aka, Mulder, and look at her, she'd become little miss tardy and possibly a slut all in one go. Her father would probably be rolling in his grave at that very moment.

"Sorry sir," Mulder apologized, sounding like a very unrepentant schoolboy.

"We'll deal with this tomorrow. Now step on it." Skinner ordered, turned around and basically marched into the grand Hyatt as if expecting Mulder and Scully to fall in line right behind him.

"Somebody's going to get detention tomorrow," Mulder whispered under his breath.

Scully was too uptight at that very moment to find Mulder's antics funny and she sent him a peeved glare to which he responded with a shrug.

Unfortunately, there was no way she could hurry her step while ensconced within the restrictive evening gown, so she proceeded as best she could while Mulder kept to her side. By the time they reached the elevator, Skinner was already long gone.

"Relax, Scully. We’re already late. It's not like we can do much about it."

She wasn't able to see these things the way he did. There was no point in him trying to calm her down. She was still unaccustomed to being scolded, even after all these months with Mulder. She wondered if this would ever change.

The sign by the elevator listed the FBI event two floors down and if she were wearing one of her power suits and comfortable shoes, she would have made a dash for the nearest stairwell, but she'd had enough of stairs with this dress for one day, so the both of them waited patiently till the elevator arrived.

Mulder got in and Scully followed suit. She was barely inside when the elevator doors slid shut. To her utter horror, the trail of her beautiful evening gown got caught between the doors. She felt a strong pull on her body as the elevator began its downward journey.

It all happened very quickly after that. She let out a cry of shock just as Mulder realized what had just happened. He didn't think twice. He grabbed hold of her body and made sure she remained grounded to the floor. The beautiful garment's seams exploded under the pressure and gave way. It was better the garment than her limbs, she managed a quick thought.

Mulder held her firmly to the ground as the bottom half of her dress tore off, they both breathed fast as adrenaline washed through their blood stream. She could feel his warm breath against her nape, and to her surprise she also felt a firm presence pressing against her lower parts. It was the most absurd of moments; sheer horror, pure danger, uncontrolled excitement and sexual delight all mixed into one crazy juncture. It was like the epitome of their relationship, she came to realize.

She let out a silly hysterical chuckle.

"It's great that you're enjoying this, Scully," Mulder murmured against her cheek.

She was about to respond in kind, but suddenly she heard the elevator doors whooshing behind her accompanied by a chilly breeze brushing against her now exposed thighs and buttocks.

Then came a deafening sound created by a major group of people gasping all at once.

She knew she shouldn't look behind her, but despite herself she did. The minute her head turned around, she regretted it.

The entire membership of the Federal Bureau of Investigation all stood outside, their jaws ajar, and their eyes the size of continents, and like a cherry on top of a cake, there stood Assistant Director Skinner fronting the entire crowd. But unlike the rest of the gathered law enforcement personal present, Skinner bore the most outraged scowl she'd ever seen.

She was still pressed hard against Mulder's body, her exposed thong-clad butt there for everyone to see, and she was unable to move a muscle. But Mulder stirred slowly, gently pushing her behind him, but never letting go of her. Finally he stared squarely at Assistant Director Skinner and said, sheepishly, "Errr… what's up doc?"

THE END

@today-in-fic @txf-prompt-box @fictober

#txf-prompt-box #todayinfic #xfiles #fanfic #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully #evening gown #fbi charity event #season one #very light smut #broody #funny #walter skinner #fictober

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edierone · 7 years

Text

In Herba Veritas

From a prompt ages ago, a college AU featuring weed; my last remaining WIP -- enjoy!

A week of these buzzing fragrant late-May days where spring’s been shading into summer, the light holding out longer, the air warmer even after sunset. Outdoor study dates, lunches on the steps in the quad, and a tiny little spray of freckles has appeared across Scully’s winter-white collarbones, sweet cinnamon blossoms he imagines are one of the harbingers of the season to come.

He wishes he could look forward to it, this first summer with her, wishes they both had different plans than their actual ones. But next week is finals, then she’s off to this brainiac accelerated pre-med intensive on the opposite coast for ten weeks and he’s so proud of her for being selected that he’s just about bursting with it; also he wants to fling himself directly into the sun from the pain of being separated from her for so long so he doesn’t think about it if he can help it. He’ll be on the Vineyard, for hopefully the last time, working on his thesis in the stifling-hot attic, writing to her every day when he’s had enough of Decoupling Neurodivergence and the Criminal Impulse, having a sad, silent dinner with his mother every evening, going for long runs on the beach in hopes of being able to drop instantly off to sleep at night, alone in a too-short single bed that suddenly feels much too big without her.

But for now — ahh, for now, they do have the now.

He’s coaxed her out here in the almost uncomfortably warm early evening with the promise of stargazing and possibly a meteor shower and/or some UFOs, after a full day of studying — “You could teach these classes yourself at this point, Scully — what you need is a break to let it all sink in,” he’d said, and either his words or the hand skimming lightly over her bared shoulder and glancing her breast through her tank top had been convincing enough to get her into his rattletrap old Volvo for the drive out beyond the city’s light pollution.

Her seriousness has evaporated with the miles. The Volvo last had A/C when he was in high school, and the turbulence from the open windows has pulled wisps of hair from her neat braid. Her smooth pale thigh, exposed beneath the cutoff denim of her shorts, keeps drawing his eye from the road; she slaps his hand away, giggling, and feeds him single M&Ms whenever she pleases.

Seven p.m., and it’s still broad daylight up here on the hill in the un-trafficked county park he’s found to be an excellent place for solitude. They find a relatively flat spot among the wildflowers to spread the blanket he’d dug from the hall closet, then flop onto it it to rest from the hike up. He’s dying to kiss her, but he likes this part, the anticipation, the waiting — they can never keep their hands to themselves for long, though sometimes it’s fun to pretend they’re not definitely about to jump each other’s bones.

Lying on his back a chaste foot or so away from her with his head cradled in his hands, looking up at the clear blue late-day sky, he muses happily, “Shoulda brought some wine or something, huh? Make it more like a picnic …”

“Oh!” she sits up suddenly, pulling her backpack over and rummaging through it. “I almost forgot!” She holds something up, triumphantly — three little wobbly-looking sticks, wrapped in a dining-hall napkin.

“What are those, cigarettes?” He knew she smoked occasionally, but thought she liked Lucky Strikes, not hand-rolled.

She laughs. “No, square boy — these are from Stoney Dave.”

David Stoney, the really irritatingly good-looking and unreasonably nice rich kid she tutored in Organic Chemistry, had long ago surrendered to the destiny of his name; he often gave out little treats to his friends, which apparently now included Scully. Mulder tries not to sulk.

“Oh, stop,” she says soothingly. “It was a bonus, ‘cause thanks to me, he got an 83 on the lab quiz last week. Relax. In fact … this will help you with that!”

He can’t keep sulking, not while he’s in range of the devilish twinkle in her eyes. She has a way of crowding out the darkness in him, whatever its source or proximate cause (a worrisome thought flits through his brain — oh shit, what’s the summer going to be like without her there to pull me up — but he banishes it immediately).

The problem is, he really is square boy, at least regarding weed — the half-dozen or so times he’s tried it, he’s either felt nothing at all, or gotten really paranoid and freaked out. And frankly, he’s shocked at Scully taking it so casually — she’s got her wild side, but marijuana isn’t just naughty, it’s illegal.

It’s like she can read his mind. “I know it’s technically illegal,” she says with an amused eyeroll. “But if you keep all the little rules, you get to break some of the big ones.” This is something she picked up from Nineteen Eighty-Four — the phrasing, anyway. He suspects she’s always been like this, though, with her color-coded study notebooks and alphabetized shelves, her buttoned-up blouses, perfect attendance at Mass, and unerring ability to be on time for everything always — but underneath it all, her defiant streak, her quick temper, her intellectual adventurousness, the cool blue flame of her sexuality.

She’s not going to guilt him into smoking up with her, or even try to talk him into it, any more than he would her — but as she waits for him to think it through, he realizes he wants to. He feels safe with her; if it makes him paranoid, she’ll take care of him, and if it’s fun, if it opens his mind and loosens his inhibitions, well — who else in the world would he want to be with in that case?

“OK, Cheech, light it up,” he says, with what feels like a pretty foolish grin on his face.

She laughs her wickedly merry little laugh. “Don’t mind if I do, Chong,” she answers, whipping out a cheap drugstore lighter and setting the end of one of the joints ablaze. As it begins smoldering properly, she offers it to him: “Wanna go first?”

“No, no,” he demurs, mock-seriously. “Test it, make sure there’s no paraquat — that’s just good science.”

She shrugs — suit yourself — and takes a nice deep expert-looking drag, holding the smoke in while she passes it to him. He tries his very best to replicate her ease, but knows he probably looks like an FBI agent in bad undercover duds, attempting to crack a teen drug ring. Predictably, his eyes tear up immediately and he coughs harder than an end-stage TB patient.

She giggles, but doesn’t make fun of him, just hands him the Thermos of water and waits for him to recover. His next toke is smoother, and by the time they finish the joint, he’s feeling quite pleasant indeed. Not high, exactly — or maybe he is, yeah, because everything is a little softer around him, and he can’t stop smiling.

“Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” she says, with a slightly spacy smile. “What do you feel?”

“Uhhhh … good,” he answers, and for some reason, this strikes them both as absolutely hilarious. He lays back on the blanket, laughing fit to split. She falls bonelessly onto him at right angles, using his abs as a pillow, and they keep cracking up again every time they think they’re done.

The shadows are getting long when the laughter has finally spent itself and the hyper talking has begun. At some point, Scully sits up long enough to find and light a second joint. They chatter like magpies, jumping from subject to subject, laughing stupidly as they pass the thing back and forth till it’s merely a roach. Then she carefully douses it with water and settles back against him, their bodies forming a comfortable, sloppy T as they quiet down again.

He feels connected, alive, aware, his usually overactive mind surprisingly calm and at ease. They lie there for awhile, senses absorbing everything around them — the sounds of birds, crickets, the warm breeze in the grass; the scents of the evening flowers, the springy soil; the lovely deepening purple of the sky, pink and gold at the edge as the sun sinks below the horizon.

Scully turns sideways, pressing her ear to his stomach, listening with her eyes closed — “I can hear the insides of you,” she murmurs softly. He reaches his hand up — his slightly amazing hand, at the end of an arm that’s longer than he realized — and pets her head, as he would a kitten.

Your hair is soft and pretty, he thinks, his mouth feeling a little too cottony to say it out loud. She makes a sound that’s very like a purr. It buzzes through him, sweet and low, and he realizes he’s half-hard just from that. He almost laughs at the feeling of pride it gives him— well done, reliable young body! — when usually he’s barely tolerant of his own angular awkwardness, shuffling along in a physical frame he has often wished were easier to ignore.

But he’s not ready to do anything about it yet — he feels pleasantly heavy, not willing to move, tethered to the earth and bonded with her, his love. It feels like there’s time for everything, time enough at last. He looks up at the stars and asks her to name constellations. She obliges, lovingly — naming one after the other, pointing with her strong soft capable hand, and as she speaks he can really see them, the shapes they’re supposed to form — she’s a wonderful travel guide. Her voice floats to him dreamily and he starts to drift.

But just as she says “And over there, later in the summer — closer to September, when we’ll be back together again — you could see Vulpecula, the little fox —” he feels a cold finger of dread touch him. It’s the stars. They’re too far away. There are too many of them, it’s too big. And it’s freezing in space. It’s ok for whatever non-human life forms may or may not live out there, but not for people and

oh shit, Sam’s out there

His heart starts pounding, fearful sucking pumps of blood and anguish, circulating hideous sadness a decade old, fermented into something guilty and thick. He’s afraid, so afraid, and he can’t even tell Scully, because if he says anything he’ll infect her with this — this thought virus, this panic — and he has to protect her, like he couldn’t protect Sam —

His body is rigid, his jaw aches, he wonders if whoever took Sam can see him right now.

she’s out there, it’s too big, it’s so cold

“Spooky?”

In his mind it’s like a warm wave of golden sun. He tries to concentrate on her voice.

“Mulder — hey — are you ok?” Stronger now, brighter, but he can’t answer.

She sits up, and he clutches at her — don’t go, don’t you leave me too — but she’s only changing position so she can see him better. She touches his face with one hand, lays the other gently over his hammering heart. Immediately it slows. Oh Scully, sweet Scully …

“The stars,” he mumbles, closing his eyes to keep from seeing their cold glittery twinkling. He feels he has to explain himself, he sounds nuts. “Sam’s up there.”

“Oh honey,” she says, and it’s the sun made into words — or, no, the moon, rising three-quarters full behind her, tawny and huge this low in the sky. She’s never called him honey before and it breaks him, just a little. “Shhh,” she soothes, stroking his cheek, shifting to lie on top of him, her slight weight like the most wonderful, comforting blanket.

He opens his eyes and her face fills his vision almost entirely — everything else recedes to unimportance.

“Just look at me,” she intones softly. “I’m here and I love you and I’m going to kiss you now, OK?” He nods, not even remotely ashamed of the tear that escapes and slides down his temple; his heart is full and it’s spilling over, she knows him and it’s all right.

She dips down to kiss him; at the first touch of her lips on his, the dread vanishes completely, as if it had been a cloud casting a momentary shadow, and now the radiance has returned. He keeps his eyes open, overcome by the delicacy of her eyelids, the smoothness of her skin, the fluttering of her lashes as she sighs into him, sharing breath.

He remembers that he is not tethered to the Earth, not in actuality; his limbs stir at last, his lower body moving to make a cradle for hers, while his arms, his hands, are free to roam — and roam they do, while he marvels at the soft sounds she makes in response to his touch.

He slides the elastic band off of her hair and undoes the long silky braid so that it falls in a curtain on either side of them, it’s like being hidden in a secret cave behind a waterfall with a water sprite, or a mermaid temporarily slumming it on land.

He laughs from the sheer joy of it, and it catches her, too; their kisses grow sloppy and mistimed, which is funny all by itself.

After who knows how long, he realizes she’s been rocking slowly against the bulge in his jeans and it feels so good he’s afraid she might make him come like that. Is that what she wants? He wants to please her, make her feel as good as he does, but how — better find out.

With difficulty he gets her attention, then nearly loses his words as her eyes find his, so full of desire and trust that he feels somehow purified, sanctified by her love. She blinks, waiting, and he finally manages to say, “Can I — can we —”

“Yes.”

Yes, she said yes, his mind echoes, and he takes her fully in his arms, murmuring love you, love you, so much.

They take their time, which is something they rarely have the luxury to do — up to now, it’s mostly been dorm room beds, roommates just on the other side of a door, stolen moments here and there.

And it is wonderful, full of wonder — everything feels more: her skin smoother, her kisses more intense, her taste even sweeter, every sensation heightened, within and without. It’s beautiful discovery, like the first time they were together — there’s the delicious rush and spark, the longing and the anticipation — but this time he’s not so overwhelmed. Body and soul both feel expanded somehow, able to handle this wild precious thing grown strong between them.

Side by side on the blanket, they slide along the length of each other, skin on skin the most amazing feeling, and when he finds himself between her legs, his tongue coaxing her by infinitesimal steps toward the peak, he looks up at her moonlit nakedness and knows — again, always — that wherever else his life takes him, whatever else he does, he wants it to be with her.

As if he’s communicated this thought directly to her center, she cries out, quaking all around him as she comes; he wants to weep again at the beauty of it all, but she’s pulling him up, kissing him deeply, tasting herself on his lips and saying my god, oh my god … She reaches down, strokes him with the slip from her own body and it’s the most self-control he’s ever used in his entire life to keep from sliding into her right there but he manages to wrest himself free for the time it takes to find a condom in her bag and put it on, kneeling before her, a supplicant who finds himself invited, gladly welcomed inside.

He sinks in — deep, deeper, as if she could absorb him completely — “Ohhhhhh,” she sighs, with a hitch to her breath and rapture in her eyes. This is union, he thinks, we’re joined together …

“Yes we are,” she whispers as he moves over her. Had he said that out loud, or are they just that in sync? No matter, no matter … he’s pretty sure he could do this forever … but eventually, he finds himself climbing, climbing, then falling, floating safely through space with her, landing softly back on the springy, fertile-smelling ground.

After a long time, or maybe just a few minutes, they find the strength to clean up but not get dressed yet; they sit up together, Mulder’s bare back against the large, sun-warmed rock at the edge of their blanket, Scully reclined against his chest with his knees as armrests, the air around them warm and still. He holds her, resting his chin on her head, exquisitely aware of their heartbeats in perfect counterpoint to each other.

They’re silent, spent, bodies humming with the afterglow. I love you, Scully traces lightly on his thigh with her index finger. I’m gonna marry you, he thinks, tracing a heart with the tip of his tongue just behind her ear. She shivers, presses closer against him.

The night above them is beautiful again; she’s given that back to him. He’s about to say something in thanks, but just then, they both gasp, awestruck: A shooting star streaks across the sky, impossibly huge, unbelievably close.

“Make a wish,” he says, just as she says “Meteor, Spooky,” and they shake with laughter.

“Ain’t that always the way,” he grins, and she twists to look up at his face. She traces his cheek with the back of her hand, such affection in the gesture that he tears up again; he’s not used to this, to someone knowing him this deeply and loving him for it. He hopes she knows that he returns it a thousandfold. By the way her eyes fill up, he thinks she does.

She kisses him again, settles back into his arms, gazes peacefully out at the winking stars.

“We’re gonna be OK this summer, Mulder,” she says softly, her voice clear enough to indicate that the weed has worn off entirely.

“I know,” he answers, believing it for the first time, really.

He believes a lot of things, but this — this — is the capital-T truth.

#msr #college au #tw: weed #they smoke out #it's fun #y'all should too #my fic #spooky n dana get hiiiiiiiiigh

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crossedbeams · 7 years

Text

Vice 1/2

This was supposed to be a 5 sentence drabble using “cuddle” for @driftingthroughtheskies and an anon, then it was gonna be smut fir @whatfallsaway and then it got a little bit muddled in with an idea from Sunday’s rewatch chat which was (I believe) pioneered by the Jens, @claricex-woman and @startwreck…. whatever it is… it got away from me rather!

MSR || Casefile || Undercover || S6 || Currently PG, will be NC-17 || Part Two Here

When Mulder got the call it had seemed a fairly benign request, far less dangerous than the New Spartans and much less likely to mess with his head than a loan out to Behavioural Science. Of all the favours he’d been obliged to do to keep The X-Files open, a weekend in New York, reconnecting with an old Oxford classmate was by far the simplest and so he’d said yes. He hadn’t even told Scully he was going on a case; she had some family arrangement and he would be back Monday.

Except he wasn’t.

From that first night, the staged meeting at an exclusive party and the trip afterwards to the kind of club that you need a password and a Bentley to get into, Mulder had found himself swept back into a world he hadn’t even realised how glad he was to have escaped. Jasper Hammond’s circle had more money than morals, a sense of entitlement that had only grown with age and a decisively cruel streak. He had welcomed Mulder with open arms, calling him Fox as he poured him endless Laphroaig, and seeing the wealthy, rakish American who had sometimes helped him with his essays at Oxford instead of the tortured man the Bureau knew. It had been beguiling for all of an hour, easy to forget his task in the face of the moneyed hedonism, but then there had been the private club, the drugs and then the girls offered to him whose faces were painted brightly to mask their youth and their terror, who disappeared into private rooms with uncaring men and were whisked away afterwards.

Mulder remembered in that instant why he had run. Why he had become a government employee rather than a hedge fund manager. Many of his former set saw the world as an enormous shop, where nothing was beyond their grasp for enough money with the right people. And it seemed Jasper Hammond was right at the heart of it, smuggling not only the drugs Mulder had been sent in to find, but anything that people would pay for: weapons, secrets and people just lines on his wicked ledger.

And so the weekend had become a month, endless drinks parties with endless faceless mobsters and moguls as Mulder won Jasper’s trust, fed back information and hid his loathing behind a wardrobe of expensive clothes and an affected coolness.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do it, the sleaziness of easy money was beginning to cling to him at night, refusing to come off under the needle hot stream of the shower and following him into clandestine debriefings and information exchanges. Mulder was losing himself, out here alone with the worst parts of his past, his only communications with Scully a few messages relayed by Skinner when he threatened to walk. Things had been strained between them ever since the bee in his hallway, inconsistent, with moments of connection at Christmas that made him hope they might someday finish that moment, dashed by the despairing certainty that she would never let him be more than her partner. Mulder suspected that his latest disappearing act would tip the scales even further from where he wanted them. Scully wouldn’t care that his intentions had been good, she believed in results rather than rationalisations.

Sighing at having put his foot in it once again, Mulder drags his attention back to the darkened room that is the venue for tonight’s debauchery and prays it will all be over soon. They are in an underground club that is somewhat grimier than Jasper’s usual haunts and the wall between the private room where they are waiting for the owner and the dance floor is thin. It shakes with the heady boom of the bass, jarring Mulder’s teeth in his head, but he doesn’t move. If tonight goes how Jasper has hinted it should, then a hugely lucrative deal will be done, one that will cement his operation’s place in the international smuggling community, make him tens of millions, and with Mulder’s help, provide British and US authorities with enough ammunition to bring it all tumbling down.

One more night, Mulder projects his desire to get the heck out of this assignment to whatever universal deities may be listening, and shifts in his chair, grimacing once again at the cling of the leather pants Jasper had insisted he put on. Citing the club’s edgy, vampy clientele and BDSM inspired decor, Jasper had taken great delight in Mulder’s discomfort, laughing when his old friend had refused to put on a meshed shirt with the tight leather pants before shrugging into his own studded and strapped leather ensemble. They look ridiculous, but Jasper seems to enjoy the theatricality of it, so Mulder plays along, glad that in the sweaty confines of the club he is at least not out of place.

The door opens and in walks the owner, Fraser Malloy. Irish by extraction and lynchpin of the local drug scene, he is five minutes late and the size of a small house. He and his goons are suited and booted in a way that makes Mulder, Jasper and their bodyguard look like the idiot rich kids they are, and after an appraising look that doesn’t bode terribly well, Mulder and the guard find themselves deposited unceremoniously on the dance floor. It seems the bureau will have to hope Jasper Hammond feels like sharing what transpires as a wall of hired flesh forces Mulder away from the meeting.

Physically and mentally exhausted, Mulder crosses to the bar and orders a drink, Jack and coke, the kind of thing Jasper would never order and the caffeine kick he so desperately needs. Sliding onto a stool at the quieter end of the bar, he downs it in one and then rests his forehead on his arms, too drained to even scan the bar for anyone else he recognises.

He doesn’t need to see her to recognise her though. The quiet strength of her voice is enough to cut through his fatigue and all the background noise.

‘Nice pants Mulder.’

And he’s upright, scanning the room until he sees the the beacon of her hair threading away from him through the crowd, shoulders white above a tight bodiced corset and a tray of shot glasses held high over her head.

What the hell is Scully doing in here?

He’s about to follow her when a long arm is flung across his shoulders, halting him.

‘Finally a piece of ass has caught your eye mate?!’ Jasper’s gaze follows Mulder’s to where Scully has now disappeared into a private booth across the dance floor. ‘I was beginning to think maybe you were a poof, but now I know you were just holding out for a ginger!’ The man giggles at his own hateful joke as he pulls Mulder to his feet.

‘C’mon mate, we’ve got details to sort and the redhead will still be here for later.’ Mulder hopes desperately that he’s wrong, he doesn’t want Scully anywhere near Hammond or his people, not even for long enough to settle his own nerves in her calming presence.

His hopes are dashed within five minutes of the being dragged back into the dingy side room as Jasper and Malloy start outlining an exchange of goods in a thinly veiled code they seem to have agreed upon in their private consultation. Mulder feigns disinterest, nodding occasionally when anyone looks in his direction and carefully consigning every detail to memory. It all seems pretty straightforward, something big will be changing hands on Jasper’s yacht in the next couple of days Malloy has found a buyer, and will set up the exchange for a cut. It seems they’re almost ready to leave when a quiet tap at the door is followed by a magnum of champagne and a too familiar redhead. Mulder’s breath catches and Jasper grins, waiting until Scully has placed the ice bucket and glasses and turned to leave,

Then his hand shoots out, catches her wrist and tugs hard enough to pull Scully off her feet to sprawl across their laps. Mulder gasps, rage and bile rising in his throat as Malloy and Jasper laugh and a flush rushes up Scully’s neck and stains her cheeks under the pale makeup she is wearing. She opens her mouth to excuse herself, trying to stand but Jasper’s hand still tightly cuffs her wrist and forces her towards Mulder.

‘Now where’s a pretty thing like you rushing off to in such a hurry?’ Jasper leers, ‘I think my mate here has taken a bit of a shine to you so why don’t you just stay and give him a little cuddle? Nothing nasty mind, just you perch up there on his lap like the pretty little pixie you are!’

Mulder can feel Scully stiffen on his lap, rigid under the other man’s touch and every fibre of his being longs to smack Jasper’s hand off his partner’s wrist. But he can’t, and he catches Scully’s eye long enough to know that she knows they both have a part to play, a fraction of a second where this awful room shrinks down to just them, mulderandscully, before she pastes on a coy smile and swivels in his lap to face Jasper and Malloy.

‘But Mr Malloy,’ Scully breathes, her voice fluttering with deference and flirtation in equal measure, ‘I’m supposed to be serving in VIP.’ She bats her lashes playfully and goes to rise, squeezing Mulder’s leg suggestively as she does, only to have Malloy scupper her escape.

Gesturing to one of his men he says,

‘Looks like Keira is needed in here to entertain my special guests. Get Candice to cover her tables.’ And just like that, Mulder is in hell.

With no reason to leave, Scully sits gingerly back down in his lap, and Mulder tries not to look at the expanse of white leg peeking out from the hem of a very short black skirt that’s now fanned out in his lap. Catching Jasper’s eye, Mulder tentatively places his hand on her hip, feeling the heat of Scully’s skin bleed through the thin fabric as she settles closer to him, still stiff but playing the part assigned her. She smells like smoke, leather and liquor but under it all there’s a tiny hint of Scully, the summer sweet laundry powder and vanilla bath oil smell that he would pick out as her in a crowd. Mulder doesn’t mean to lean in to find it more clearly, but before he realises it his nose grazes the velvet skin between her earlobe and her neck and for the first time in weeks he feels safe. She relaxes a little, curving her body towards him as though she can sense how badly he has needed her, and the movement presses her skin closer to him, the russet of her hair brushing Mulder’s cheekbone and shielding his words even as it teases her name out of him, silent and clear as a prayer against her throat. Scully can’t respond, her red painted lips visible to the rest of the room, but she runs her hand down his cheek with a tenderness that makes him ache even as he refuses to meet her eyes, terrified what he sees there will break him.

It’s bad enough that this is how he must first experience Scully’s legs burning across his, her ass underwear bare in his lap and her body close and calling to him. Mulder’s dreamed of her like this, maybe not this outfit, though there’s something about the slip of her skin over the leather pants that is decidedly appealing, but in not one of his Scully fantasies did their first intimate moment take place in the presence of mobsters and traffickers. As she squirms a little in his lap, Mulder fights to remember where they are, to ignore the gathering heat in his belly from Scully’s proximity, from the smell of her soaking into his clothes, from the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, milk white meeting black leather in a vivid line just below his face. He can’t look at her, can’t breathe her in as deeply as he wants to because in her precarious position she can’t help but feel his excitement, and though Scully will justify it to them both afterwards as a physiological response to her proximity, Mulder will never forgive himself for taking advantage of an awful situation.

The gathering contact heat between his lap and her bottom is reaching crisis point when Jasper Hammond swoops in as an unlikely saviour, clearing his throat and breaking the spell.

‘Time to go Mulder old pal. Sorry to break up your little love fest but there’s shit to do before tomorrow,’ and then he’s sweeping from the room before Scully can even scramble up, her hand grasping Mulder’s just a second to long and forcing him to look at her, to see understanding and affection flash bright in her eyes chasing out something dark and unfamiliar that he thought might possibly be-

‘Mr Hammond is waiting.’ The bodyguard is back and impatient, and there is no space for goodbyes in Malloy’s presence.

Back in the car Jasper regards Mulder with a knowing grin. He’s spent the past few weeks trying to work out Mulder’s vices beyond the odd drink and a cigar under duress, amused and infuriated by his refusal of women, drugs or other illicit pleasures. He had the feeling that if he could find the key, the seemingly immovable cool of Fox Mulder would dissolve into the most satisfying kind of mess. And now he has found something his old friend wants, and he plans to have fun with it.

As Mulder stares unknowingly out of the window, Jasper plots. He’ll get Malloy to send Keira or whatever her name was with the other girls for the meeting on the yacht, find her price and set her on Mulder and see how he falls apart.

This evening has gone better than he’d ever hoped.

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#my writing #my writing: msr #txf #txf fanfic #undercover mulder

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