#i loved him talking to ariel and just indulging her the entire time
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live action prince eric you are soooo silly and i love you <3
#he is such!!! a guy!!!#i like that they made him dorky he’s now the perfect man#i loved him talking to ariel and just indulging her the entire time#also when they were coming back to the castle and had to hide from his mom. THEIR SMILES.#the little mermaid#princess ariel#prince eric#the little mermaid 2023#text#userevaz#movie: the little mermaid (2023)
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It seems like you’re getting overwhelmed with Gabbriettes asks lately so if you don’t want to post this no worries! But since I saw some questions about her lore…
1. She used to be a dancer, which led to her dancing in one of Charli’s videos, and later was hand picked by Charli for Nasty Cherry, a band created for a Netflix show. They did semi-well for what the project was and they had a lot of potential until The Incident.
2. The Incident: one of the members, Chloe, collaborated with Ariel Pink, a known racist who attended the Jan 6 riot. Ariel posted photos that included Chloe wearing a traffic cone on her head while doing a Nazi salute…it was bad. I don’t remember if there was an official disbandment but they sort of just fizzled out. It’s unfortunate because I really liked them.
3. She doesn’t follow any specific diet. She says grains give her stomach issues but she’s a foodie and likes to indulge, and her options would be limited if she cut grains out entirely, so she plays around with grain free recipes at home to sort of offset that. She’s not vegan but uses dairy and egg alternatives based on the recipe she’s making.
She had been to The 1975 shows in the past as well, with the Charli connection they might’ve already met. At the very least they were probably talking since he liked her pic in July. She was with Levi Dylan at the time but he’s rumored to have cheated on her multiple times so.
Anyways I’ve followed her and kept up with the LA influencer scene for far too long but I love her. Besides looking alike aesthetically, their personalities are just really similar. I’m rooting for them!!
Ohhhh this helps a lot thank you for taking the time to introduce her to us properly 🥹
The possibility of them having met before / known of each other makes this even cuter. Like yeah I remember the pic post Malaysia but like if he’d seen her through Charli and stuff and maybe gotten to know her here and there….so cute. 🥰
They do seem very compatible and I really like that she has a unique sense of style and a great personality. But of course most importantly she seems to make him very happy. That’s all that matters. Sweet babies 💗
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I got an ask a couple days ago about the whole light singer theory and I totally lost it so this is for that anon
gwyn as a lightsinger and elriel dumb fuckery-let’s talk about it
tbh I don’t remember a lot of what this anon said but i’ll try my best.
first the evidence for the lightsinger theory is very very thin and insubstantial.
sjm repeats a lot of adjectives for different characters and so when she says gwyn is “glowing” I think that’s less about some secret power and is more describing her joy.
I’m not going to go through the books and find every time she’s used this phrase but it definitely didn’t start with gwyn. I do know for a fact she uses it after her characters have had sex and that it was used to describe elain at some point. does that mean all of her characters are evil monsters who eat men for breakfast? cough cough amren. but no it doesn’t.
“gwyn was described with a secret. she must be hiding something” I mean pretty sure this contradicts with the whole “she’s unknowingly manipulating people” come on guys at least make it a little harder for me to rip into ur arguments. like this could mean a lot of things, I personally think that it might be her relations to the autumn court. I mean her grandfather lived in berons house like she’s got to be a vanserra which might give her fire powers. and that can also provide another explanation for the glowing even though we’ve established that, that means nothing
“gwyns singing caused nesta to find the harp” maybe but I think it was more the fae words she was singing and this doesn’t fit with the information we have about light singers, which is very little might I add. we don’t actually know if lightsingers sing just as we don’t know if all shadowsingers sing. we know they lure people but are they luring people with light? song? some other method? we have no idea.
“gwyn lured azriel and is manipulating him” huh? what sounds more likely, gwyn who is nestas best friend, a crucial part of her healing journey, and a kind person who has done nothing to prove otherwise, would be a secret evil mastermind/pawn who is manipulating azriel or his mate. which we know mates are drawn to each other. and literally what would gwyn gain from this?
really the whole azriel shadows act differently with her so she must be evil. girl ur denial is showing. haven’t we established that his shadows can sense danger and don’t like light? if gwyns power is light why tf would they want to interact with her? and wouldn’t it make more sense if elain who his shadows don’t like, is the accused light singer? like come on let’s use some common sense here. but anyways that’s how y’all sound.
now we shall indulge their dumb fuckery because that’s always fun
let’s go on the possibility gwyn is a lightsinger. she’s not going to be evil let’s use our brains here. so lightsinger/shadowsinger boom another mate connection.
a lightsinger sounds a lot like a siren what else is like a siren? a mermaid. who is the most famous mermaid? ariel. and what retelling do gwynriels want for our ship? the little mermaid.
the ic tends to like having monsters/ancient beings on their side, case in point, bryaxis, the bone carver, the weaver, so i’m sure they would love having the last lightsinger on their side. also their whole thing is like taking in the people who didn’t fit in so gwyn as a little misfit lightsinger would work with that
and if they do have light powers gwyn and az could have some hot shadow/light sex
maybe a little power training sesh.
how about when they’re mating bond clicks instead of just like the normal chain of light connecting them, light comes from gwyns side and shadows come from az’s side and they meet in like a yin and yang type thing.
what if in a similar way that feysand can talk through their bond, their powers provide communication beyond the feeling of their mates like emotions and whether they are alive
well if you got this far, the entire thing is clearly a way to disregard the clear romantic coding in the end of his chapter and villainize gwyn because she’s a threat to there ship. all these hoes are really just in denial, they know their ship is sinking but they can’t handle it so they lash out.
so anyways fuck elriel, gwynriel supremacy loves and anon this is for you :)
#gwynriel supremacy loves#asks#anti e/riel#yea sorry I lost ur ask#but I agree with everything you said#gwynriel#gwyneth berdara#azriel
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Distractions
Summary: Belle French was known in Storybrooke as a respectable person who did not help her friends steal or make out with people in the middle of the street.
Until now.
Rating: PG-13
AN: Based on this prompt. Whoever prompted it thanks so much! I had a blast letting inspiration take me with this one.
“This is theft. You know this, right? You want me to help you steal.”
Ruby made a dismissive gesture, intent on lock-picking the side window of the pawnshop, located in one of Storybrooke’s only dark alleys between buildings. Belle, nervously, stood just outside it, trying to discreetly make sure no one was watching Ruby clearly attempting to break into the shop.
“No, I’m asking you to stay here and be my lookout while I go into Mr Gold’s shop and recover my property.”
“It’s not your property if you pawned it and never paid to get it back. And it’s stupid to cross Mr Gold over a key-chain, of all things.”
Ruby huffed, trying to keep her hands steady as she worked on the window. Belle was sure she was at least, and at best, tipsy. At midday.
“It’s from Tiffany’s Belle, it’s worth like three hundred bucks. That’s why Mr Gold gave me a hundred and fifty for it. And I was gonna pay it back with my monthly tips, it’s not my fault some jerk grabbed my ass and made me drop a fuckton of plates Granny made me pay for. Also he’s never gonna notice a stupid little key-chain missing, relax.”
The librarian didn’t point out the blatant contradiction in Ruby’s description of the key-chain both as valuable and stupid.
“Why does it have to be me? I’m supposed to open the library for the afternoon shift in like ten minutes. Surely Ariel-”
“Nope, you’re the only person I know who can actually distract Mr Gold in the unfortunate case he arrives early.” Belle scoffed, making Ruby roll her eyes. “The other day I watched him listen as you went on and on about medieval bookbinding techniques, and it wasn’t the first time. Might as well put that ability to good use.”
Finally she shimmied the window open, slipping inside the shop with a lot of elegance for someone that tall and not-sober. Belle pulled her cardigan closer, a cosy suede-coloured knitted one a bit too large for her, which had previously belonged to her mother. She glanced around, trying to not be too obvious as she kept watch. A breeze ruffled her maroon dress, making her glad she had opted for tights instead of stockings in the morning. Still, even with her legs covered and her sturdy cardigan she was freezing, having left her coat and scarf at the library.
“How long is Ruby gonna take?”
She glanced at her watch, fretting over the scant few minutes that she had before she was due to reopen the library, and almost startled in surprise when she heard the telltale sound of a walking stick hitting the pavement. She turned around and looked up, almost running smack into Mr Gold.
“Miss French! Are you okay?”
She let herself enjoy the warm cadence of his voice for a couple of seconds- she was a sucker for accents and his was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best she’d ever heard, especially when he lost control of it.
“Mr Gold!” Belle glanced behind him to where she could see the still open window and beyond someone moving. Ruby, still rummaging for her stupid key-chain. She tried to remember it was a gift of her mother’s, the last one before she had up and left her with Granny. It was important to her, even though she liked to pretend otherwise.
“Miss French, what an unexpected pleasure.” He seemed a bit confused. “Shouldn’t you be at the library right now, though?”
She tried not to smile too much at the notion that Mr Gold was aware of her schedule, or that he was gentlemanly enough to take off his sunglasses before talking to her. She needed to focus, to think about buying Ruby some time.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Perhaps we can go to the library?”
Impulsively, afraid that he would somehow slip past her and into his shop, she grabbed him by the arm, her fingers sliding across the soft wool of his overcoat till she reached the buttons around the cuff. He seemed a bit startled by it but, surprisingly, he didn’t try to shake her off.
“I’m sorry, Miss French, but as much as I’d love to slip into the library for a moment I’m waiting for a shipment that’s supposed to arrive in a few minutes. But if it’s urgent I’ll gladly hear you out.”
He looked at her expectantly, his eyes warm and his entire demeanour friendly and open. It disarmed her, in a way.
“Well, you see, it’s… it’s about that discussion we had the other day? It left me with a few… ideas that I wanted to run by you?”
“I’m always eager to indulge my passions with those who share them with me. So, what do you wish to talk to me about?”
Belle tried not to look and act as guilty as she felt, willing her brain to find a way to get Mr Gold’s attention away from the vicinity of the pawnshop.
“Well, I was rather hoping that we could be somewhere more private for what I… wanted to convey to you.”
He frowned, either confused by her or unhappy to be unable to do as she asked.
“I’m sorry, Miss French, but that’s quite impossible. I’m sorry to disappoint.” Behind him Belle spotted a flash of red. Ruby was beginning to make her way out the tiny window she’d used to break in, having a hard time of it by the looks of it. “I’ll drop by later this afternoon, if you’re amenable. Now I’m afraid that I must-”
He was about to turn around and see Ruby, Belle knew it. Out of ideas and going solely on instinct she let go of his coat sleeve, her hands gripping the top of his shoulders. She had one second to register the look of shock in his face before she pressed her lips to his, with absolutely none of the finesse she liked to think she had acquired in her years as a kisser. He felt stiff underneath her touch, but he did not push her away, which was a relief. In a second she’d pull back and make some sort of excuse and she was sure he’d bend over backwards to reassure her, wishing to soften the blow of his rejection. It should give Ruby enough time to make an exit.
It was a good plan, a solid plan, but she did not count with him softening, head tilting to the side so that their lips locked instead of simply pressing against each other. His left arm slid around her waist, beneath her open cardigan, making her shiver as his gloved fingers curled around the fabric of her dress in order to press her closer. She made a sound between a whimper and a moan, sliding her own hands up towards his hair, a secret obsession of hers. He growled deep in his throat when she raked her fingers across his scalp but otherwise made no protest as she tugged on his hair to get his head to tilt just so.
She tried to concentrate on what she heard around her, trying to see if she could somehow guess whether Ruby had made it out or not. But it was hard to focus when Mr Gold’s tongue was slipping past her lips and curling against hers, the smell of him- sandalwood, leather and wood polish- making her dizzy. She pressed herself closer, wrapping a leg around his upper thigh in an effort to compensate for their height discrepancy and cursing herself for wearing her three-inch heel booties instead of the five-inch heel knee-high boots she had selected at first in the morning. She corrected herself a moment later, when Gold’s hand slid from around her waist, travelling towards just behind her knee to help her in her newfound determination to climb him like a tree.
“Hey, this is a public space, keep it PG!”
Leroy’s gruff voice jolted Belle out of the moment, serving as a much-needed bucket of ice water. She pulled back from Mr Gold, their mouths making a deliciously-obscene noise as they separated. She tried bravely to ignore the faint trail of saliva that still linked them both, choosing instead to focus on Ruby, who was staring open-mouthed at her from behind Mr Gold, eyes wide and looking vaguely horrified. Mr Gold himself was harder to read, eyes unfocused and breathing heavy, but she noticed that he still held her close, the hand gripping her thigh sending little shocks of sensation all over her body. She didn’t dare look around, vaguely aware that there were several people around them, all likely staring at them in roughly the same manner as Ruby. Gently, bravely ignoring the way her hand trembled, she combed back Mr Gold’s hair, which she had teased into a veritable mane, and lowered her leg to the ground, making a fuss about smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of his coat as she gathered her remaining wits about them.
“Yes, so… that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.” She sounded scandalously hoarse, and she noticed how it made him tremble beneath her touch. “Perhaps… we can resume this debate later, when you can think of a rebuttal you wish to share.” She adjusted her cardigan around her, gathering her bravery about her like a cloak and adopting what she hoped was a nonchalant attitude, mostly for the benefit of the nosy crowd they’d gathered. “If that’s agreeable with you, Mr Gold?”
The Scotsman said nothing at first, eyes still wide and unfocused. Then he blinked and seemed to jolt out of whatever stupor he was in, looking at her like she wasn’t real. Like she was some sort of apparition or a fairy.
Like a goddess.
“Yes, that-” he paused, accent so thick it was almost impossible to understand him. “Yes.”
She smiled, giving into her need to touch him one last time and adjusting his pocket square.
“Splendid. I look forward to it. Perhaps after the library closes?” He nodded, like a good boy, and she rewarded him with another brilliant smile. “It’s settled. See you later, Mr Gold.”
“Miss French.”
Her name was barely recognisable from beneath the wreckage of his brogue, and she shivered at how rough the accent made him sound. She walked past him, pointedly ignoring Ruby’s unsubtle attempts at catching her attention as she crossed the street, looking forward to a few hours of relative quiet at the library where there was little to do except for shelving books and daydreaming.
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Holding Out for a Hero- Steve Rogers x Reader Pt.9
a\n-Hey lovely people! This one is very much self-indulgent fluff & smut. (If you don't like smut just consider the part where you reach your room the end of the chapter) Enjoy <3
summary: date night ;)
part 8
Steve caught up with you when you all left the meeting room. "Hey," he said softly, "You okay?"
You put your head on his chest and he wrapped your arms around you. "I just don't get how I let that happen. Why did I not ask about him more?" Steve rubbed his hands on your back soothingly. "How could I have been so blind? This man was double-crossing the team and I was playing scrabble with him, not knowing a thing. I just-" you sighed, "I just wish I would've done better."
Steve lifted your head from his chest and looked at you, his brows furrowed gently. "You couldn't have possibly known if he passed the security check. These things are super thorough. You did the best you could," his gaze softened, "and that's enough."
You smiled at him and pecked his lips, not needing words to express your gratitude. "So, now that this whole thing is over, how about that date you promised me?" you said teasingly. "I seem to recall something about a real date that included 'leaving the house', which seems very exciting." Steve smiled. "How about tomorrow night?"
"Why not tonight?" you pouted, mirth shining in your eyes. "Because I need time to plan." You rolled your eyes. "You had two whole weeks to plan. But whatever," you said mock-annoyedly, "I guess tomorrow night must do." Steve laughed at your antics and gave you a sweet kiss.
You practically ran to Julie's room. You thankfully heard her and Bucky talking, which meant they weren't busy doing… other activities. You knocked on her door. "Come in!" you heard Jules call. You barged in, not even caring Bucky was there, "Steve and I are finally going on a date tomorrow!" you exclaimed with a huge smile on your face. "Oh my god! That's great!" Jules smiled as well. "Bucky, I'll talk to you later." Bucky tried to protest but Jules glared at him and he meekly left the room.
"Where is he taking you?" Jules asked once Bucky left the room. "I don't know yet, he'll probably keep it a surprise," you replied. "Well," Jules said, "it doesn't really matter as long as you get laid later," she smirked. "God Jules," you laughed, "sometimes I think you want me to have sex more than I do. Just in case, would you do me a favor and take Lola to your room tomorrow?"
"I just want what's best for you," she winked. "And of course I will. But seriously, I know how much you were looking forward to this date. You must be bursting with excitement!"
"I nearly am," you admitted, unable of keeping your smile off your face. You stayed in Julie's room for a while after that, having your girl talk and laughing until you cried at Jules' ridiculous jokes.
Tomorrow night couldn't come soon enough. You were antsy the entire day, your mission report taking a lot more time than it should.
Finally, tomorrow night came. Steve told you to be ready at 7, so you showered and got dressed. Steve refused to tell you where you were going, so you didn't really know what to wear. You ended up going with a simple, comfortable dress. Nothing too elaborate, but it showed off your curves very nicely.
At exactly 7 pm, you heard a knock at your door. You opened it and Steve was in front of you, looking extremely handsome in a navy polo shirt and black jeans. He looked at you in awe. "You look beautiful as always," he complimented and pulled his arm from behind his back revealing a small bouquet of red roses. It was so cheesy, and you couldn't help but beam at him. "You look great too." You took the bouquet from his hand and kissed his cheek. "I'll just put these in a vase and then we can go."
After you put the flowers away, Steve took your hand and led you towards the elevators. "So, are you finally gonna tell me where we're going?"
"No. Be patient," he smiled at you.
You got to the Avengers garage, if you could call it that. It was a big underground parking lot, filled with cars that belonged to the residents of the compound. Some, like Tony, probably had more than one. Steve led the way to a black Audi. He opened the passenger door for you and got into the driver's seat. "Where are we going Steve?" you asked again, unable to contain yourself. "You'll see," he said with a mysterious air. "Come on!" you pouted, "Can you at least tell me what we're going to be doing? Cause I'm actually pretty hungry."
"Well, you're in luck," he smiled, "We're going to eat." You whooped, making him laugh heartily.
After a pretty short ride, you stopped at a little Italian restaurant on the side of the road. Steve quickly got out of the car to open your door for you, his hand extended for you to take. "Always the gentleman," you smiled and rolled your eyes at him as you took his hand. You liked being "treated like a lady", or "courted", or whatever old-fashioned thing it is Steve was doing. You had to admit, you felt properly wooed.
You entered the restaurant hand in hand. "Mr. Rogers, we were waiting for you," said the hostess at the entrance, and let you to a small, secluded niche at the back of the restaurant. There was a candle-lit table for two waiting for you. Steve thanked the hostess and she left you to your own devices, saying someone will take our orders in a few minutes.
"What do you think?" Steve asked, looking you softly. "I really like it," you said honestly, eyeing the restaurant. It was a pretty fancy spot, but because of its small size and dim lighting, it still achieved a cozy atmosphere. "I probably couldn't have picked a better restaurant myself," you voiced your thoughts to Steve. He beamed at you, clearly pleased with his choice. "Well, you haven't had the food here yet. It's delicious."
You looked at the menu, noticing the variety of delicious kinds of pasta, having a hard time deciding which one you wanted. A waitress went by your table, carrying a big dish of excellent-smelling pasta. "Steve, are all the dishes in here this big?" you showed the size of the plate you just saw. "Yeah," Steve said casually and your brows shot up. "Didn't you say you were hungry?" he smiled, amused at your reaction. "I am, just not That hungry. Do you mind if we share?"
"Not at all. What do you want?"
"Well, I don’t know. There are so many fancy things here, some of them I don't understand. You've eaten here before, what do you want?"
"Not to insult the fancy dishes, but the best thing in here is probably their spaghetti and meatballs."
"I know what it is, so that's good enough for me. Could you order? I'm just gonna go to the bathroom for a minute," you told Steve, who nodded at you.
You made your way across the restaurant to try and find the bathroom. One of the waitresses directed you there. You did your business and was halfway back at your table when you heard a familiar voice calling your name. "Hey! Is that you?"
You turned around and saw the medic who took care of you your first mission. "Hey!" you smiled and went to his table, where he was sitting with a girl that seemed a little older than you, but still beautiful. "How's your job going? Better than it was the night we met, I hope," he said cheekily. "Yeah, it's going very well. Actually, I didn't catch your name back then." You smiled. "It's Eric," he smiled back, "And this is my fiancée Ellie." She smiled at you in greeting. "I almost thought you were going to say Ariel," you chuckled. "I get that a lot," Eric said and you all laughed. "She's my Disney princess nonetheless." He took Ellie's hand. "It was nice seeing you again," you smiled at them. "Have a great evening!"
"You too," Eric said, "and try not to get into trouble again."
"Will do," you waved at them and went back to your table.
"There you are," Steve smiled, "I was starting to worry you ditched me," he said jokingly, but you caught the glimpse of relief in his eyes. "Never," you smiled reassuringly and took your seat. "Oh, you'd never guess who I just met here! Eric! He's the medic you took me away from on that first mission," you explained. "Nice guy," you continued, "was sitting here with his fiancée. I never did hear the explanation as to why you basically dragged me away from him that night," you said teasingly. To be honest, you didn't really know why Steve pulled you away, but you were willing to bet it was a tease-worthy reason. "What a nice coincidence," Steve ignored the last part of what you said, feigning indifference. "Come on Steve, aren’t you gonna tell me? Please?" you smiled. "You're nosy, you know that?" he said teasingly. "Fine, I surrender. I did it because I was jealous."
"Jealous?" you giggled, "of me and him? Steve, he's a medic who was bandaging my blood-filled leg. That's hardly an attractive scenario."
"I know," Steve sighed, defeated. "But you were laughing with him about something. Besides, you already know I was angry that night so I hardly could rationalize it like you just did," he said sheepishly. You blushed, remembering his romantic speech from that night in the training room. You're wonderful, and my worries shouldn't stop you from kicking ass, he told you. You smiled at him. "Yeah, guess you're right."
Your food arrived, a big hot bowl of pasta and meatballs. Steve and you dug in happily.
"Mmm, That's so good!" you exclaimed. "Told you so," Steve smiled. He had a little sauce in the corner of his mouth and his tongue slipped out to clean it. You swallowed your spaghetti. This man is unbelievable. Who gave him the right to be so goofy and hot at the same time? And he's mine, your brain supplied.
You went on eating in relative silence, except for the occasional sound of slurping. At one point you got the end of a really long spaghetti in your mouth. You continued eating it as you looked up at Steve to show him how absurdly long the pasta was. He looked up at the same time, realizing the other end of the spaghetti was in his mouth. You laughed with your mouth still around the pasta. Eventually, your heads came closer together, and your lips touched as you finished the pasta. You laughed wholeheartedly now, holding Steve's hand from across the table. "I can't believe we just had a Disney moment in real life." Steve looked at you quizzically. "Don't tell me you don't know what Disney is!"
"I know what it is!" Steve laughed, "I just don’t understand what movie that's from."
"I'm totally making you watch that soon. It's Lady and the Tramp, it’s one of my favorites. It has dogs, you'll love it," you gave Steve no room to argue and he laughed.
Your dinner went by like that, talking about Disney movies and other things. When you were waiting for your bill Steve had a far-off look on his face all of a sudden. "You okay there?" you asked, a concerned look on your face. "Yeah, I'm fine." Steve shook from his reverie. "It's just… my mom used to make 'spaghetti and meatballs' on special occasions. Obviously, it wasn't as good as this one, because she didn’t have the ingredients to make it. The spaghetti was pieces of bread she cut in stripes." He reminisced with a smile, "but she put her love into it, so it was the best thing ever."
"She sounds great," you smiled at him. "She was. The greatest." He smiled sadly. You squeezed his hand in yours, trying to comfort him. You knew he lost his mom before he even went in the ice, but these things never really heal.
You got your bill and left the restaurant, waving at Eric as you left. If he was surprised to see you with Captain America, he showed no sign of it, and waved back at you.
You got back into the car. "Ready for the next thing?" Steve asked. "Sure," you said. You didn't realize there was going to be a next thing, but you weren't complaining.
Steve drove you both to a mall close by. You sent him a questioning look but he just smiled at you and led the way into an arcade that was located inside the mall. It seemed closed, but a staff member was inside and opened the door for you.
"Didn't want anyone interrupting us," Steve said, making your way to the token machine and getting some tokens. "What do you wanna do first?" he smiled at you.
You spent the next couple of hours playing most of the machines, and unsurprisingly Steve won almost every time. Damn his reflexes, you thought as he won yet another match of table hockey. But you destroyed him in the Dance Dance Revolution machine.
"Not fair!" he said as you executed the moves perfectly, "You know this game!"
"I knew all of the others as well," you laughed, your answer satisfying him.
You won a small teddy bear as a prize and beamed at Steve. You named him Pooh. "I understood that reference!" he exclaimed and you both laughed.
At last, you thanked the employee that stayed to close after you and made your way to the car, Pooh in one of your hands, the other holding Steve's.
The drive back to the compound was filled with comfortable silence, as you both reflected about the wonderful evening. You reached the compound and Steve escorted you to your room like the perfect gentleman he's been the entire time. "Thank you," you told Steve when you reached your door. "I had a lot of fun tonight."
"Me too," he said, kissing you softly, "Goodnight."
"Oh no, you're not goodnight-ing me!" you pulled him back by his shirt. "You can't keep a girl waiting that long Steve-" you came closer to him and circled your arms around his broad shoulders, whispering in his ear, "-that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of you. And we both know how much you like being a gentleman." You smirked at him, pulling him in for a sensual kiss.
After a few seconds Steve caught on, grabbing your hips. The kiss turned hungry and almost desperate and you moaned into Steve's mouth. You pulled apart from him to unlock your door, you and Steve stumbling in, taking your shoes off and locking the door hastily. Steve caught your lips again in a heated kiss as you guided both of you to the bed. Your hands tangled in Steve's hair as you landed on the bed, Steve in top of you, placing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and neck. Your hands reached the small of his back, bringing his shirt up to his head and tugging it off his body. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his chiseled chest. You placed wet kisses along his collarbone as he tugged at your dress, helping him get it off of your body.
"God, you're beautiful," he said in a hoarse voice that made you wet instantly. He kissed your collarbones, making his way to suck the tops of your breasts, probably leaving a mark, as he unhooked your bra and threw it away. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue as he did the same with his hand on the other. "Steve," you moaned at the sensation and ran your hands on his chest, reaching to undo his belt and push his pants off his legs. When his pants were off you felt his erection against your leg as he ground against you involuntarily.
You slipped your hand past the elastic of his boxers, gripping him and moving your hand along his length. He breathed heavily. "tease," he murmured in your ear, kissing your neck as he took off the rest of your underwear, and his own, leaving you both naked. His mouth found yours once more in a heated kiss as his hand traveled down and teased your clit. You moaned into his mouth. "I need you," you whispered in his ear as you kissed down his neck.
"Wait-" he started, but you reached over to your bedside drawer and pulled out a condom before he finished the sentence. He raised his brow at you, and you rolled your eyes at him. "Shut up and fuck me," you kissed his collarbone. "I never said anything," Steve chuckled, lining himself up with your entrance, "but as you wish," he whispered as he pushed his length into you.
You gasped at the sensation, nails digging into his toned back. He filled you up completely, groaning. "You feel so good around me baby," he whispered huskily and bit down in your collarbone. You took a couple of seconds adjusting to him stretching your walls and then rolled your hips against his.
You moved in sync, grinding against each other. You wrapped your legs around him, allowing him to go deeper, hitting your g-spot again and again. You were so close when Steve's thrusts started faltering, and he brought his hand to your clit one more, bringing you over the edge with him. Your walls contracted around him as you felt waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As you both got down from your high, he pulled out of you and you almost whined at the loss. You knew you'd have a hard time walking tomorrow, but right now you couldn’t help but wanting him inside you. He came back to bed after he disposed the condom and wrapped his arm behind you, moving your hair from your neck and kissing your shoulder sweetly.
"That was…" he trailed off. "Amazing," you finished his sentence and he chuckled. "Exactly."
"If we're in agreement, then there's something I wouldn't mind," you said seductively and ground your butt into him. He groaned behind you and bit your neck. The night was still young, and you were so ready for round two.
#Steve Rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagines#steve rogers imagine#Steve Rogers x Female Reader#steve rogers smut#avengers imagine#avenger!reader#Avengers#MCU fic#chris evans
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Donut (Penny for Your Thoughts verse, Rumbelle)
@halfwayinlight I thought I would have this up for Christmas. Sorry it’s a tad late.
It’s a quarantine Christmas vacation
II
“I’ll see you after the new year.” David gave her a hug before he left the office, catching the elevator with Graham and Emma. They were all headed for his house, where Emma would pick up her son.
“Give Mary Margaret and Neal my love, and tell her that when she gets tired of you there’s always an empty room above our garage,” she teased. Though it was a joke she would miss him. They’d been sharing Archie’s apartment for months now, and though they both longed for their families it had been an interesting bonding experience, bringing them even closer.
Belle only lingered a few minutes extra in the office, leaving a few surprises in Ariel’s desk for her to find. While the rest of the team was taking the month of December off, to spend time with their quarantined families, Ariel had volunteered to liaise with the team temporarily taking their place. Belle was pretty certain the decision had been at least influenced by the agent in charge of the team, Eric del Mar. The first time they’d met in the cafeteria Ariel had been so flustered she’d accidentally stolen a fork. She still kept it in her desk, jokingly calling it her lucky dinglehopper.
With one last look around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything - a month was a long time to be away from work - Belle headed for the elevator and punched the button to take her up to the lobby. Her bags were in the back of the car; it was the first time since September she’d been home. Not being there for Thanksgiving had been hard, but knowing she would get the whole month for Christmas had made up for it.
Archie’s car was in the carport, leaving her spot in the garage free. Belle hoped he’d only moved out of her space recently; it was silly not to use it when she was gone, not that Archie would be driving much. The sound of the garage door meant she couldn’t hope to surprise anyone, but it didn’t matter when the door opened and Claire raced out to greet her.
“Mommy.” She was barely out of the car when her daughter jumped the last few feet, certain that she would be caught. Belle scooped her up, hugging her tight. She needed a million hours of cuddles to make up for missed time. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, baby.”
“You can’t go in the kitchen ‘cause it’s a surprise, but papa said that if you’re hungry I should show you the cuter board in the living room. Uncle Archie let me help with the crackers and the grapes but not with the cheese ‘cause the knife is sharp.” When she put Claire down her daughter still stayed close.
“I think papa probably said it was a charcuterie board, but I like yours better.” She had to guess that it was Archie’s influence more than Gabe’s, unless he had somehow discovered pinterest and been way more bored then he let on. “Where is your papa sweetheart?”
“He had to take Donut outside so she could go potty.”
“I don’t think I understand.” She tried to puzzle out what Claire might mean about taking a donut outside. None of her toys, to Belle’s knowledge, were named donut.
“You will.” Bay chuckled as he came out of the kitchen, a towel tucked into his pants. He probably hadn’t grown at all in the past couple of months, she just wasn’t used to thinking of him as being that tall. When he hugged her her head fit neatly under his chin. “Welcome home.”
“I’m so glad to see you sweetheart. Thank you for all the videos, they brighten my day.” Bay had introduced the whole family to Tiktok, setting everyone up with private accounts. The rest of the team now had accounts, and shared videos, but Bay and Henry were responsible for most of the sharing. She was grateful for the multiple one minute videos she saw each day, and often rewatched, though Claire’s fascination with the fireplace had given her more than one moment of concern.
“Of course the damn dog would decide it needed to go out the moment you arrive home.” The back door slammed, letting in a cold breeze, her husband, and a dog. It was an odd looking thing that could only be classified as a mutt, with a reddish brown head that looked vaguely like a retriever and a body in gray and white that looked like it should belong to another dog entirely.
“Donut?” she guessed. Her attention only lingered on the dog for a moment. She was much more interested in the man crossing the room towards her. Almost three month since she’d been able to touch Gabe was almost criminal in her opinion. Someone should be arrested
“I can think of some names that would be more appropriate for the mutt but your daughter insisted.” She couldn’t answer, not with Gabe’s lips on hers and his hands at her waist. God she’d missed the taste of him. And the feel. And the smell.
“They’re kissing already,” she could hear Claire whisper loudly. “Do they have to take a really big breath like when you some swimming under water?”
“Something like that,” she could hear Bay reply with a chuckle.
“Hugs are better,” her daughter declared. Belle had to laugh at that, when the kiss ended.
“I like hugs too, sweetheart.” Gabe was wearing one of the sweaters they had picked up on their trip to Ireland last year, and the wool was soft against her skin. She wouldn’t mind standing just where she was for a while.
“Especially when less clothing is involved,” Gabe whispered in her ear. Bell elbowed him lightly in the ribs. That wasn’t fair; it would be hours before they could have that kind of alone time.
“So is anyone going to tell me about this new addition to the family?” No one had mentioned a dog on any of their calls, which were at least once a day.
“She was sleeping in Claire’s playhouse a few weeks ago. We made calls but no one seemed to be looking for her. The vet gave her a clean bill of health and a little snip snip so it looks like we are pet owners now.” Gabe groused, but couldn’t hide a smile when he looked down at his daughter gently petting the dog and whispering confidences in her ear. “She certainly is more comfortable sleeping on Claire’s bed.”
“I thought we should call her Goldilocks since she was in someone else’s house. Archie voted on Snow White for the same reason. But the short one had the final say so she’s Donut.” Bay shrugged. “I’m going to go check on things.”
“Things?” Belle asked as he headed for the kitchen, where she wasn’t allowed to go according to Claire. She assumed that he was helping with dinner; Archie had mentioned something about cooking lessons with Bay which was good, since Archie knew more about cooking than Gabe by quite a bit.
“Dinner, obviously, but I promised not to spoil the surprise by sharing the menu.” He tugged her towards the sofas, where the ‘cuter’ board was laid out on the coffee table along with an open bottle of Bordeaux. Belle sat on the sofa next to him but turned so her legs were across his lap.
“So you decided that a six year old, a college sophomore, and a full time roommate with his six computers wasn’t interesting enough, you added a dog to the mix?” She and Gabe were both relieved that Bay’s college was still doing online classes, and Archie being around made sense both for Archie not being alone and for help around the house, but it was a full house especially when both kids were home schooling, Archie was working from home and Gabe was working on a new book.
“It was snowing.” Gabe was full of bluster, but Belle knew that he’d been thinking about getting a dog anyway. In fact she was a little surprised it had taken so long, except that they had talked about waiting until Claire was old enough to have some of the responsibility. Gabe loved on every dog they saw at a crime scene. “She’s gentle with Claire.”
“You’re a marshmallow, Gabe Gold.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I am confused by the name, though.”
“It’s your fault, actually. You know how she loves stories about when you were pregnant, and how much you loved eclairs.”
“I always love eclairs, I just loved them a little more then.” And Gabe, bless him, had indulged her with early morning drives to the bakery, late night drives to the grocery store, and at least a few times special flavors overnighted from out of state bakeries.
“Most people would call it an obsession, sweetheart.” There were no eclairs on the charcuterie board, of course, but he did hand her a cracker topped with brie and raspberry habanero jelly. “You know how she likes to say that she is mommy’s favorite eclair.”
“She is my favorite.” It had been a joke at first, calling her baby a little eclair. She and Gabe had spent months debating baby names; sadly between the two of them there were many names that reminded them of cases they had worked and people they did not want sharing a name with their baby. It was a nurse who had misheard eclair and thought she was saying Claire, and the name had worked. She and Gabe both loved it.
“Claire reasoned that her favorite treat from the bakery is jelly donuts. Like mother, like daughter.”
“You can’t fault her logic.” Belle laughed, even more amused now that she understood the name. “I’ve heard worse names for a dog.”
“Bay says dinner in five.” Claire appeared a moment later, dog at her side. Belle scooped her up, holding her on her lap. It didn’t get much better than holding her little girl while cuddling with her husband.
“Good, because I’m very hungry.”
“I’m very hungry too, and Uncle Archie made…” Belle quickly put a finger to her daughter’s lips.
“Let’s let Bay and Archie have their secret for a little longer. They wanted dinner to be a surprise, remember?”
“I forgotted. I won’t say anything, okay? Papa says secrets are good sometimes like when Bay says something is a secret or when there’s presents under the tree. But sometimes secrets make you feel bad in your tummy and then you have to tell mommy or papa.” Claire nodded her head wisely, explaining back what had been explained to her.
“Papa’s right, sweetheart. You should always tell mommy of papa if someone wants you to keep a bad secret.” She hated thinking about anyone like that near her daughter, but she and Gabe knew too much about the kind of people that manipulated children. They’d talked a lot about how to keep their kids safe. “But this is a very good secret. Bay and Archie are making yummy food. And we know it must be yummy because they’re not letting your papa in the kitchen at all.”
“Hey, I can cook,” Gabe protested, though not with much vigor.
“You cook more than you did when I first met you, though that’s not saying a lot considering I think you spent at least five years using nothing more than the microwave and coffee pot.” While no one would call him a gourmet he could pull together a meal. Spaghetti was still his most often made dinner. Grilled cheese and tomato soup were a close second.
“That might be true but you could still spend tonight on the sofa if you don’t watch yourself.”
“That anxious to spend the night alone again?” She raised an eyebrow, teasing him back.
“Never again, if I had my way.” They kissed again, over their daughter’s head, only stopping when Archie coughed politely.
“Dinner’s ready.” Claire wiggled down first. Belle was slower, but when she stood she gave Archie a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“We have so much to catch up on, Arch. We’re going to eat so much popcorn.”
“My tivo is full of things to marathon.” Their online marathon dates hadn’t been the same, and David had no appreciation for corny sci fi. “It’s been killing me not to watch Star Trek Lower Decks until you got here.”
“I can’t wait.” She followed Archie to the dining room, Claire holding her hand and Gabe right behind her. Bay was waiting next to the table which had been laid out in all the best china. In the center of the table was a platter of turkey meat. There was cranberry sauce and corn souffle and mashed potatoes, gravy and rolls, candied yams and green beans. It was a full Thanksgiving feast. “Oh!”
“We didn’t want you to miss Thanksgiving. Facetime Thanksgiving isn’t really the same.” Bay’s apron was covered in a million questionable stains, but Belle didn’t give a thought to her clothes before hugging him.
“I didn’t tell, Bay. Not even a little bit,” Claire proudly exclaimed. Bay picked her up.
“Of course you didn’t, Plum.” Bay set her on her chair. Next to her on the ground was a dog bed and a large bone. “Before eating remember that this is only possible because Archie taught me so if anything’s wrong it’s his fault.”
“It’s going to be perfect.” Belle say down between Gabe and Claire, holding both of their hands. “I am so thankful for all of you. My family.”
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Hi there! I dont know if you are still taking request but if you still are, can you write spy Draco gets hurt badly during his mission and that suprises everyone in hogwarts because they dont know he is a spy? Thank you in advance, and I love you and your blog ❤️
Draco Malfoy doesn’t speak; it has been three days since he woke up in the infirmary, and nothing that has been done has been able to get a reaction out of him.
When Malfoy hadn’t shown up to the first day of their sixth year, Harry had known it was something to do with Voldemort, but he’d assumed Malfoy had joined him and was now in a mission for the Dark Lord.
Oh, how wrong he was.
Malfoy had somehow appeared straight in Harry’s dorm room one afternoon - scaring the shit out of Ron and Hermione, the only people there - and said only one word - Horocruxes - before he’d passed out.
He’d been bloodied, and dirty, and bruised, and he’d looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Harry understood nothing except for the fact that Malfoy needed help, and so he’d sent Ron running to get Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall. Hermione had shoved Harry out of the way and began muttering healing spells in earnest, her face pale and her hands bloody.
Harry could only stare.
Madame Pomfrey and McGonagall had both worked in tandem, with a synchrony that only comes from years of working together. After they were sure Malfoy wasn’t going to die, they’d taken him to the infirmary, and Ron and Harry had turned all of their questions on Hermione, who’d been trembling since Ron had pulled her away from Malfoy, after Pomfrey and McGonagall arrived.
“He - He was spying for the order.” Hermione had whispered with shaking hands. “I was - not a lot of people knew, I - I don’t know how they - how they-”
She’d stopped talking then, and neither Ron nor Harry had pressed her for more.
Two days later, Malfoy had woken up. There had been questions, of course. A lot of them. Malfoy didn’t answer a single one, and though they tried again, it’s been three days of no answers.
“There’s nothing wrong with his vocal chords.” Pomfrey says, when Hermione has stopped by to check on him for the fifteenth time in five days; she’s been sleeping in the infirmary more often than in the Gryffindor Dorms lately. Ron and Harry are hovering uncomfortably by the door; though he believes everything Hermione had said - including that Malfoy changed - he doesn’t think he’s ever been close enough to Malfoy to be welcome in the room at the moment. “It’s trauma. Shock, too. We can’t rush the process.”
He’d arrived through a portkey Professor McGonagall had made for him, charmed to lead him straight to wherever Hermione was. The first few nights Harry tried to fool himself into thinking that Malfoy got away before hte worst happened; that as soon as he’d been found out he had managed to get out. He knows he’s wrong.
The scars are both old and new, some as old as four months, which means the beginning of July, or the last of June. Right when they went home for summer. He doesn’t want to think of anything that might’ve happened to Malfoy, becuase he doesn’t think he could stop thinking of what he could’ve done to stop it, and it is a line of thought he cannot indulge in right now. Instead, he focuses on helping Malfoy, as much as he can, which mostly comes through in helping Hermione.
He and Ron bring her food, and books from the library, and even things like a toothbrush or a change of clothes in the weekends, when she refuses to leave Malfoy’s side. She feels guilty, Harry knows; being one of the only two people who knew of Malfoy being a spy, she thinks it’s her fault, it must’ve done something she did.
And honestly, Harry doesn’t know if it was; maybe it was an ill-timed letter, or a floo call one of them made carelessly. He does know that Hermione wallowing in guilt and not taking care of herself does nothing to help Malfoy, and that even if it was something she did, she couldn’t have known.
“Please, Hermione.” He begs. “Please, just - it’s dinner. Go to the Great Hall. Eat there. Talk to people. Malfoy will still be here when you’re done.”
Hermione rubs at her eyes - darkened by lack of sleep - and shakes her head to wake herself up.
“I’m fine,” She says. She looks back towards Malfoy - sitting on the infirmary bed, hands on his lap, eerily quiet and still - and shakes her head. “I don’t want to - I don’t want to leave him alone. What if I - what if I leave, and something happens, and I’m not here? I - I knew what he wanted to do, I promised he’d be safer this way, and he’s - he’s-”
Her voice breaks, and her eyes begin filling with tears, and Ron and Harry look at each other helplessly.
“‘Mione, this is not your fault.” Ron says firmly. “You said Malfoy changed. If he did, he would’ve done this anyway, whether or not you promised safety. You’re wasting away, and that is not helping him. Do you want to end up in one of the infirmary beds with him? Do you think you’ll be any help to him, then?”
Hermione’s lower lip trembles, and she wipes at her eyes, shaking her head.
Harry is surprised by just how much Ron is like his mother.
“Good.” He continues. “So you’re going to come with us to the Great Hall, you’re going to eat something, and you’re going to sleep in a bed for once. You can be right back here tomorrow morning.”
Hermione still looks hesitant, and so Harry speaks.
“I’ll stay with him.” He says. Hermione looks at him, and he nods. “You didn’t want to leave him alone, so don’t. I’ll wait with him, until you’re back.”
“You’ll stay the night?” Hermione asks dubiously.
“Yes,” Harry says. “It’s alright. We can take turns.”
“Alright,” Hermione sniffles quietly. She stands and hovers for a little while on Malfoy’s bedside. “I’m going to the Great Hall, Draco. I can - I could bring food back for you, if you would like.”
There’s no reaction. Hermione sighs slightly, and then presses her knuckles softly to Malfoy’s.
“I won’t be long,” She promises. “Harry will stay with you.”
Harry nods helpfully, and Ron and Hermione walk out of the infirmary.
Harry stands awkwardly for a while, before sitting down on the chair Hermione had been using. Harry has never liked silence, but this one in particular is driving him insane.
“So, uh, how are you?” He asks. Malfoy doesn’t respond. “Not good, I imagine. I’m sorry I didn’t - I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. I know, I know, I didn’t know, how could I have - but I - I’m also sorry for that. Not knowing. I was - I thought you were a prick. You were a prick, but even when you weren’t I - I think I was already used to seeing you that way, so I never bothered to look at you any other way, and I didn’t notice - I - I’m sorry.”
There’s still no response, and Harry sighs and leans back. He leans forward again, and then shifts his weight. Leans back again. Forward. Back. He taps his foot. He’s moving so much he’s half expecting Malfoy to snap out of his trance and snap at him for being annoying.
He doesn’t.
Staying by Malfoy’s bedside is hell. Mostly because Harry can only sit there and wallow in his own guilt, his insecurities and uncertainties, and the only thing there is to do is watch Malfoy, which gives Harry a painfully clear view of everything that’s happened to him.
There are bruises on his face, and his arms, and a long cut across his nose. There are scars under the hospital gown, Harry knows even if he hasn’t seen them. His grey eyes - pale grey, much clearer than Harry had noticed - are still on the white wall, and he’s barely blinking.
It’s… creepy.
Still, he comes back the three nights later. And then another three. And another three. Him, Hermione, and even Ron take turns every night to stay by Malfoy’s bedside. Harry has taken to reading Muggle books out loud for Malfoy to hear. He gets through all of Disney’s fairytales, and then reads Mulan again because he thinks it’s Malfoy’s favorite, even if he has no way to know.
He’s reading The Little Mermaid when it happens.
“She’s dumb.” Malfoy whispers shakily.
It’s nearly three in the morning - Malfoy barely sleeps - and Harry has to blink various times to make sure he didn’t imagine it.
“What?” He asks.
“Ariel.” Malfoy says. His voice sounds odd; unfocused, distant, terrified. “She’s dumb. She gave away her voice for legs for someone who she didn’t even know because she thought she was in love with him.”
Harry’s jaw is slack.
Malfoy doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night, no matter how many times Harry tries to question him.
Over the next few weeks, it happens again. They’re always tiny comments, and they’re only with Harry. Some of them are nonsensical, but most of them are pretty structured, if a little vague. Harry can mostly carry out a conversation with him, as long as no one else is around and Draco - because it’s Draco now - feels sufficiently comfortable.
The first time Harry tries to get him to speak in front of other people, Draco curls up in a ball and doesn’t speak for three days, not even to Harry, alone. The next time, it’s only one day, and the time after that, his fingers keep twitching nervously but he tries to get a few words out.
He doesn’t succeed, but Harry’s proud of him anyway.
The next few times, Harry holds his hand through it. He’s taken to doing that, holding Draco’s hand, whenever he gets nervous. Harry doesn’t know if Draco was always this anxious or if it is a new thing, but he is always anxious. Now that Harry can read him, he notices it all the time, in the set of his shoulders, the twitching of his fingers, the way he swallows.
Which means there’s a lot of hand-holding, which, surprisingly, Harry is entirely okay with. The first time Draco speaks with another person around - Hermione - it’s the words ‘It’s not your fault’ and Hermione and him both cry. Harry tries to let go of his hand to give them a moment of privacy, but Draco squeezes tighter and looks at him like he’s begging Harry not to leave.
It is a long, slow way. Draco develops a stutter for a while, and he doesn’t ever discuss what happened at the Manor, and Harry doesn’t press. They sleep in the same bed every night, and, with Draco in his arms, Harry’s arms wrapped around him, he realizes that, with his friends and his boyfriend on his side, they’ll win the war.
They have to. Because Harry isn’t going to allow anything else to harm Draco, or Ron, or Hermione, ever again. They don’t deserve it.
And he will do anything to ensure their safety.
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inspired by @honeybabydichotomy some time back / me wildly needing a series of small brain breaks from trying to plan this remote lesson while sleep deprived because i simply could not fall back asleep after 3:15 this morning and my brain is feeling A Wee Bit Totally Deranged, here is my vague/wishy-washy to-write list!
things you can more or less properly call WIPs:
*the story i am actively working on right now, in which eliot & quentin take a miserable vacation together and i attempt to set a world record for number of words devoted to cultivating the precise emotion of Agonized Horniness. i thought that this was going to be short and it is definitely going to be well over 20k, big lol @ me for wildly underestimating the quantity of feelings i had about eliot waugh! but actually i am having extreme amounts of fun with this deeply self-indulgent project, which has both let me try out some things that feel new for me and also unexpectedly become very personal but not at all in the way i usually mean when i say that a story is very personal, to the extent that not only am i not (as i usually am by this point in a fic) incredibly impatient to finish it, but also i am a little sad at the prospect of no longer living with it in my head all the time! i have superstitiously grounded myself from posting any more snippets of it but taken as a set i think these do capture the vibe.
*a quick & slightly goofy resurrection fic set as a kind of episode tag for 5x03 set in an alternate universe where the “plot” of season 5 is not really happening but alice and eliot still wind up on the top of grief mountain. my motivation for this one decreased as season 5 continued to be Like That to the point of erasing any desire to keep anything from it in my personal magicians canon, but i like the central conceit which involves rewriting alice’s golem spell as a collaborative spell because i’m a sucker for any and all pieces coming together imagery, and also i feel like for me personally actually succeeding in writing something light and breezy would be a really instructive and cool learning experience!
*i am too bashful to publicly describe the last item on this list and may yet prove to be too bashful to ever finish it but it started out as me trying to imagine a conversation in which quentin tells eliot about Ye Olde Sex Magic Escapade and has sort of evolved into like me thinking a lot about eliot’s ability to trust himself? trying to find the right tone/voice for this one has been a beast largely because quentin turning 800 shades of red while he explains to eliot that a stranger had to give him advice about how to give his girlfriend the orgasms he didn’t know she wasn’t having is the funniest thing in the entire world to both me and eliot, but then every other Concept i have for it is, you know, not so much. i would like to persevere though for precisely the reason i am so bashful about it, which is that i am interested in trying to do what like 80% of people into fic do several times a year, namely write a story that moves through characterization & emotional beats mostly through the mechanism of Doing It.
wisps of half-assed notions floating idly in my brain which may or may not ever result in any actual writing:
*i have two vague epilogue/coda notions for wild geese. one is that i’d like to just check in on that version of quentin a few months later and get to see him feeling like a functional person and enjoying & reflecting on the novelty of that, learning to lean in a little more to who he is and what he wants, possibly via [redacted for reasons of bashfulness], possibly just further toying with the hugely entertaining to me notion that one lingering side effect of his death/undeath is that he suddenly becomes a foodie. or he gets into, i dunno, kickboxing. just very Wow I Have A Body times. the other idea is that i am charmed by the notion of quentin and julia getting a brakebills grant to do summer fieldwork at a hedge coven/hippie commune in like maine or something, both because i like the idea of q & j getting to have a fun low-stakes magic adventure together (they deserve it!!!) and because i’m amused by the extent to which julia would be like “this is an extremely fun way to spend exactly 2 months of my life after which i would fully go out of my mind” while quentin is like “idk maybe i do want to join a hedge commune? i wonder if eliot would be into it.” also q & e writing interdimensionally transmitted letters!
*some.... thing... about julia and eliot becoming friends, either like a snapshot of them bonding while trying to resurrect q, or else a post-resurrection fic where the process was very quick so they never really bonded but now that eliot and quentin are dating julia just shows up one day like “hello eliot who is dating my best friend and therefore also my best friend now! :D” and eliot’s like “wait what now” because he’s so used to imperiously friend-seducing people in the weirdest way possible that julia texting him a link to showing of john waters shorts at metrograph is not something he knows how to process
*some... thing... about alice figuring out how to Be Okay after quentin undeads and they break up. she gets really into some niche hobby or takes herself to some scenic location and hates it or finally tries pot. shit, maybe i am accidentally talking myself into casually shipping alice/josh. but also maybe she doesn’t hook up with anyone? maybe she gets to just have... a... friend? (kady?)
*the night of the s5 finale what i really wanted more than anything was some kind of wildly, exuberantly happy ending for eliot and the mechanism for that which popped into my head was an old school kinda 5-times-ish fic centered around a series of new year’s eves. (1) yes i have written this exact conceit before (2) yes this was partly influenced by the fact that new year’s day by taylor swift REMAINS the eliot love song of all time and “i want your midnights / but i’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year’s day” is still the most infuriatingly perfect description of eliot in love humanly conceivable. the heart wants what it wants.
*something exploring my vague headcanon that quentin and julia absolutely accidentally did magic as kids but it was always in the structure of being dreamy kids playing at magic and half-convincing themselves in that dreamy-kid way it was real, so that when later they outgrew that they also mentally filed those experiences away as playing pretend with great intensity.
*some............... thing........... involving present day post-s4 (alive) quentin and arielle’s... grave? great-grandchild? i dunno man, like, teddy never existed without quentin going back in time, but arielle was presumably a real person and not some weird quest-generated cipher, and i just can’t imagine that a version of quentin who remembers even as much as her name and that they were married has access to fillory and some free time and doesn’t try to figure out what did happen to her. or, like, eliot comes across someone in a familiar town with familiar eyes and is like, q i think there is someone you maybe have to see. for most of my half-assed notions i would probably be almost as happy to read a fic that already exists instead of writing it myself but for this one in particular if anyone has read one please do send it my way. it just feels like an odd gap to read so many fics where quentin and eliot are thinking about The Mosaic and Their Family and not at all interested in the branch of that family that like, concretely in this timeline lived. in my brain this is NOT a depressing story but it is admittedly hard to see how that would work out in practice.
*as you can tell from this list i am not generally a big AU person in terms of writing, because by the time i’ve exhausted the things poking at me from canon to resolve or play around with i have historically lost my stamina for that fandom. BUT, the one gratuitously self-indulgent non-magic AU i want in the world is one where quentin and alice were college sweethearts who got married at 23 and divorced six months later and quentin reacted to this by deciding that love/joy/hope/happiness/dreams are for children and stupid people, and now it’s like... 6-10 years later idk and quentin is “fine” in that he shows up to work on time and pays his bills on time and doesn’t often feel sad but lives a very small life in which he doesn’t often feel much of anything or have much of a connection to himself or other people, enter of course eliot having gone through some Rough Times but eventually turned a corner towards getting his shit together and whose joie de vivre / general hotness / open-hearted affection shakes things up in ways that are both thrilling and totally horrifying!
uncategorizable by the headings listed above:
*on december 28, 2019, i started a google doc titled “magicians underworld breakout fic” which i have sporadically been adding notes towards ever since, inspired mostly by how much i think it was a missed opportunity to never have quentin and penny come to any kind of mutual understanding of each other (or even of their own reactions to each other!) except via fake pod person underworld nonsense, and how potentially fun it would be for them to team up to make it back to life. it currently contains just under 3600 words, but they are exclusively things such as:
hades and the underworld library? hades and the whole library? what’s cool about god motivations is they are almost definitionally stupid
or:
They have been taught certain things and those things are lies - connecting to how Margo got her axes
similar to #3 on the WIP list above, the reason i may never write this is the same as the reason i very much want to actually write this, which is that it is by necessity very plotty, something i have never, ever, ever done. i started brainstorming in the last few days i was wrapping up wild geese partly because i was so excited to have written a story where like magic events happened and only like 96% of the plot could be described as “and then a person has a feeling” as opposed to my usual 100%. i have generated a lot more ideas than i really expected to (some of which i like a lot!) but also am still extremely far from having a workable story, although i also have not dedicated any purposeful time to it really, just kind of let it percolate. also it is tough because every version of how it might be told i come up with definitely involves multiple POVs and so far seems to involve more than 2 partly because like a bunch of my other magicians grudges/missed opportunity wishlist items keep sort of working their way in, which is... a lot. i feel like a sensible thing to do would be to come up with at least one (1) kind of mid-tier plottiness concept, somewhere between “50k words of And Then A Person Has A Feeling with a couple thousand spent on Magic Things Happen, Which Are Also Feelings, But Whatever” and like “5 strands of plot drawing together for me to work out every single one of the 700 beefs i have with this show at once” but AS YOU CAN SEE i literally do not have any ideas that fall into that category at the moment, so. we shall see!
#the magicians#this wound up truly unhingedly long but sleep deprivation is rly jostling my brains!#also first real of quarantine qontent is there are no rules of quarantine qontent
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Chapter 4: The Revolt (Part 3)
T/W: Blood…lots of blood, use of the N-word, slavery themes, death, cursing, threats of death, themes of the occult, violence, revenge, abuse towards children and women…
A/N: As promised, here is Chapter 4! If you enjoy this please let me know in a reblog. It would mean a whole lot to me, thank you!
The crowd murmured in agreement as Cyrille still glared at his sister with anger. “Because if you don’t join us you will die.” Delphine appeared from the shadows and gave a quick side eye to Cyrille as she walked up front next to Allix. “You blame her for her father’s death as if Dupreé didn’t bark the orders. The man is vile and without remorse for any of your lives. Even though we cannot go back to our true home of which we were stolen from, we can start a new life here free from French and Spaniard rule.” “Arm yourselves gentlemen and ladies, tonight we shall take The Dupreé.” The crowd got riled up and became motivated from Delphine’s words. She was always able to talk herself into and out of any situation, except with Mrs. Dupreé. Allix felt defeated at the fact that she couldn’t rally the people in the same manner as her, but she still proceeded with the mission.
Master Dupreé continued to crawl on his stomach in attempts to escape the mob of his slaves. He can hear the crowd roaring with excitement to storm the plantation. He would’ve made an attempt to save his wife and children, but in his mind they were already dead given his condition. His fine silk garments became permanently stained with what couldn’t be differentiated between mud and manure as he clawed through the backyard of his soon to be ransacked home. He struggled to breathe trying not to focus on the pain from his fall. “And just where do you think you’re going garçon?” Master Dupreé was then yanked up from the ground and slammed his body against the wall. “Rayan, what have they done to you?” Jacques’ eyes expanded in fear at the sight of his son.
“You took my mother away from me and killed my father!” “I… had… to…” Rayan’s grip on his father’s collar grew tighter, matching the clenching of his other fist. “You had to?! Why?” “Because she wanted to kill her, she wanted you all dead.” Rayan held him up higher with both hands. “Josephine never liked your mother, I... I was in love with her and she loved me.” Rayan’s face softened and he released his grip on Jacques’ neck. “My wife, she wanted to kill her, kill you and your sister. I couldn’t let that happen. I-I had to sell her to save the both of you.” Jacques was gasping for breath with each passing word he spoke. “And how do you justify murdering her husband, my true father?” “Josephine was aiming for you two, as he ran, I pushed the gun so neither one of you would get shot. I didn’t want him to die, but I couldn’t stop her.” Rayan dropped his birth father onto the floor. He stood over him, perplexed at what his next move would be. Jacques was coughing and gasping for breath on the floor. “I named you after my father, you are meant for great things not... this.” Rayan still kept a stone look on his face, but he took in every word he was saying.
“You and your sister are the next in line to carry our name.” “And your other daughters?” “They are not strong enough, they’re as wicked as their mother. I know you two will be alright as long as you have each oth-” A blade cut through the air and decapitated Jacques Dupreé. Rayan’s eyes widened as his father’s head rolled onto his feet. He looked up to see the shiny blood stained sword in the possession of Maudette Beaulieu. Her hair was uncovered and disheveled. Her long, dreaded hair was dyed red from the backsplash of his blood, her breathing was heavy and ragged with a sense of satisfaction in her eyes; she looked up at Rayan who was still processing what he had just witnessed. “Maudette, what have you done?” “He nearly killed my only son and murdered my husband. A life for a life.” Maudette pushed her hair away from her face. “He told me―He told me that him and my mother were in love and that he kept Josephine from killing me and my sister. And you… killed him.” A sudden lightning bolt broke through the sky and the harsh rain soon followed after the thunder crashed. “And you believe the words that come out of a man facing certain death?” Rayan stood silent.
“You are young and naïve Rayan, you know nothing of the unspeakable evils that this man and his family has done to all of us.” she spoke calmly while gathering herself together as she continued. “He could never truly love your mother, she was enslaved. As am I, as are you and your sister.” “But it was my choice to decide his fate, not yours.” “As I said, you know nothing.” She picked up her sword and thrust it into the back of Jacques Dupreé’s headless corpse as she walked towards Rayan. “If he valued you so much as he claimed, you wouldn’t be working all day in the hot sun awaiting his next orders. You wouldn’t have such a desire to revolt against him and neither would your sister.” Rayan remained motionless. You and your sister’s birth was a product of his cruelty and self-indulgence, we are lower than cattle in his eyes and there are others just like him who see us the same way.” “We could have at least given him a chance.”
“Given him a chance?! A chance for what?! To escape and bring more of them back here to kill us all? Are you that simple?! We’ve wasted enough time speaking on a dead man. Let’s head back to the front where Allix and your sister are. Maudette and Rayan walked off and he turned back one last time to see the corpse of his father and wiped the preemptive tear from his eye. Cyrille and a few of the others dragged Josephine and her daughters out onto the middle of the courtyard. Josephine's entire being was riddled with fear as her former slaves surrounded her and her daughters Charlotte, Juliette & Arielle Rose. She yelped as she tried to hold her children close and attempt to break the circle, failing each time. “The crowd dispersed thinly enough for Allix and Delphine to walk through and approach them. “What do you vermin want?!” Allix and Delphine looked at each other before Delphine spoke. “What we want?! You ask us what we want as if you are in a position to give us what we want.” “What we want is to be slaves no more. What we want is for you and your surviving kin to leave and never return here.”
“You expect us to leave the only home we’ve ever known, for what?! So you animals can ravage our home like the savage beasts that you all are?!” Josephine held her daughters close. “Even in the face of certain death, you are unfathomably arrogant.” Allix blinked twice and turned to face Delphine with a furrowed brow. “Delphine, may I have a quick word.” Delphine’s signature scowl was chiseled on her face as the two women commenced a private counsel. “I hope you’re not going to be foolish enough to even think about letting them live?!” “Look, Jacques and his men are dead and I couldn’t live with taking the life of innocent children, especially in front of their mother.” They looked at Josephine and her children, even in the face of certain death she carried an air of arrogance intermingling with her heightened sense of fear. It infuriated Delphine, but she kept her emotions withheld internally… she always did.
“That woman is no mother, she is just as wretched as her husband if not more. She is a part of those who have stolen our ancestors from our true home for over a hundred years. If we let any of them live, we will die. Simple as that.” As the women were speaking, Charlotte Dupreé inconspicuously slid her rosary from her wrist to her hand and tightly clenched it as she whispers in the youngest Dupreé’s ear. “There has to be another way Delphine.” “There is none, they brought this reckoning on themselves, Allix. I thought you of all people would understand.” Allix huffed in defeat as her and Delphine walked up to the huddled women on the floor of the main court. “End of the Dupreé bloodline begins with your deaths tonight.” Delphine’s fangs became exposed as she approached the terrified women.
“YOU FILTHY, LOW BRED NIGGERS ARE NOTHING BUT GODLESS SAVAGES! YOU THINK KILLING US WILL BRING YOU FREEDOM, BUT YOU WILL ONLY BRING YOU ALL CLOSER TO DEATH! MUCH QUICKER IF YOU LET THAT HALF-BREED BASTARD WHORE LEAD YOU! YOU ALL ARE NOTHING MORE THAN CATTLE AND YOU WILL ALL DIE LIKE CATTL–” Delphine backhanded Josephine with such ferocity her cheek was painted with her own blood as it was dripping from her face and mouth onto the floor. The assault caused her to cough up blood as her defenseless daughters watched in horror. “Don’t tempt me to kill you before you witness your children die.” Delphine coldly remarked while crouched in front of her face. As she got up she looked to see which offspring she would expire first. “Pick your most admired child Josephine.” “Delphi- '' Before Rayan could even attempt to convince his twin sister to reconsider, she grabbed a hold of Rayan and covered his mouth. “This is beyond you now, I best advise you to hush and stay out of my way.” Delphine sped back to the traumatized mistress of the plantation who was now sobbing. “Choose or I will.” She looked down at her and was still crying. “Alright then.” The Dhampir walked over around the children who were tightly together whimpering. “Is it Juliette?” She pulled back the hair of the middle child . The vein protruding from her neck made Delphine’s fangs grew in anticipation of her bloodthirsty revenge.
“Please Delphine, don’t.” Josephine murmured. “Or will it be young Arielle?” Arielle screamed attempting to back away into her mother’s arms as Delphine approached her. “PLEASE DON’T HURT MY FAMILY!!! PLEASE!!!” “The little one it is.” “NOOOOOO!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!” Delphine ripped the child away. Causing Josephine to fall back, and she quickly attempted to grab Delphine’s pant leg with the last bit of strength she had, but it was fruitless as she dragged her youngest from her arms as the child wailed in perpetual fear. “You made your point Delphine, let her go!” Allix sped forward, blocking off Delphine. “Allix, move!” “I can’t let you spill this child’s blood Delphine.” “But it was okay to spill blood when your father was killed?!” “That’s different and you know it. They are no threat to us remember?” “Which is why this has to happen, now move!” With her free arm Delphine struck Allix in her abdomen and sent her flying across the room, her back hitting the wall with such force it shook the entire foundation of the mansion. While she was temporarily distracted, the eldest daughter Charlotte bolted up and struck Delphine in the face with her rosary. “TO HELL WITH YOU, CHILD OF SATAN!” Her skin sizzled the moment it came into contact with her skin. Delphine’s screams of pain can only be described as an inhuman echo as she released the young child’s hand to violently remove the accursed religious totem from her cheek. The child looked back tearful as Delphine grabbed Charlotte by the hair, exposed her neck and her mouth became unhinged as she took a deep monstrous bite into her and ripped her skin clean off, making her blood gush out splashing onto her mother and Charlotte’s younger sister Juliette as she continued ripping her in half and dropping her torn corpse on the floor, completely covering Delphine’s face with blood as well as a few other terrified slaves that witnessed the horror, except for Cyrille who seemed to be quite amused by the graphic sight. In turn, he appeared to reveal a smirk as he licked the blood off his lips.
A young Arielle Rose was frozen with tears from her eyes as she watched the life completely drained from her oldest sister’s body. Delphine wiped the blood from her face to her mouth and growled. “Bring her to me!” “COURIR PETIT COURIR!” Arielle took off running, terrified and soaked with her own sister’s blood on her nightgown. She ran as fast as she could out of the house as a few slaves chased after her onto the front lawn in the rain. Arielle fought back her tears and fatigue as she tried to escape from the angry onslaught chasing after her into the woods with sticks and pistols. She tripped over a fallen branch and quickly got up and kept running. She was now covered with blood, mud and dead leaves as it was still raining. She ended up by a wide lake between her and the next patch of land. She cried as she felt that her fate was sealed, but then she remembered that her father taught her how to swim a few summers ago. She bravely eased into the water, when she heard the vengeful horde approaching she took a deep breath as she submerged herself into the water. “We seen her go this way!” one of the male slaves remarked. “No, the girl went that way!” the female slave rebutted. “You don’t know shit woman!” “Hush your mouth! She can’t have gone far.” The group moved away from the river and when she felt it was she thought the coast was clear she sprung up from the water gasping for air. The small child kept kicking her legs under the water to stay afloat while she looked around before she swam to the other side.
She swam to the other side of the river and when she got out she was cold, wet, frightened, & limping into the thick forest hoping to find help to save her mother and surviving sister. Back at the mansion, Josphine was sobbing on the ground looking at the final remnants of her last daughter Juliette being drained from her neck by Delphine & Rayan on both sides. Her daughter took her last breath on the cold hard floor, Josephine was overcome with inconsolable grief. She continued to sob loudly on the floor. As Delphine and her newly turned brother arose from the floor she replied. “Good, next time I’ll teach you how to feed and not fully drain.” Rayan nodded and wiped the young girl’s blood from his mouth. “So what now? What do we do with her?” He motioned toward a distraught and spirit broken Josephine. “Stand her up.” The few remaining male slaves lifted Josphine off the ground by her arms as she became hysterical and was screaming trying to get away. The female slaves dragged away the remains of Charlotte and Juliette from the floor with their blood smearing the floor. “Delphine?” The search group for Arielle returned. “What is it?” “The child has escaped.” “WHAT?! How hard is it to find one small child?! She’s the only non colored person for several miles!” “We searched all of the woods and couldn’t find her.” “THEN SEARCH HARDER!” Delphine launched the large man across the room and knocked him out.” Then Josephine started laughing, with each passing moment her laughing grew louder. Delphine furrowed her brow & walked closer to her as the bloodstained woman cackled an echo through the now emptied mansion. “Do I amuse you Josephine?” “Well quite frankly, you do.” she chuckled out a sentence as blood poured down her pale cheek. “How incompetent do you have to be, to not be able to find one six-year old girl?” she smiled and shook her head. “Y’know, I thought I was worried… I actually thought my whole family was going to die right in front of me, but then I realized you are all a bunch of dim-witted, Godless, vile, niggers, that are lower than the dirt beneath my feet!” her voice projected throughout the home. “And you Delphine… Oh you are the most pathetic and idiotic of them all! You had to sell your own soul in order to stand up to me. And Rayan, I thought you were the smart one. But following your sister into an oblivion of her own selfish making will ultimately be your undoing.” “You speak very boldly for a woman that’s about to die.” “At this point, I am speaking to the dead and soon to be dead. How long before you all go without food? Water? Clean clothes? You are nothing without us!” “On the contrary, we know everything we need to survive and protect ourselves, because our ancestors are always with us. And your death and soon enough Arielle’s death will only seal any loose ends in maintaining our freedom.” Josephine scoffed.
“The only difference between where you all are now and your ‘freedom’ is from those run down shacks to this house. None of you have anywhere to go. If you leave, you’ll only end up captured and hanged by the local authorities, because when my daughter comes back with reinforcements and trust me she will; you all will be skinned alive, the men will be castrated and then you will all hang and be burned and you will pray to GOD that you die before the flames ignite! You’re nothing but an occult WHORE just like your wench of a moth-” With one violent strike Delphine thrust her entire arm into the womb of Josephine Dupreé, she started smiling as her life started fading away. Delphine felt something move inside of her hand so she took it out and saw that she had a small canine looking creature moving around. “What in the hell is this?!” “The end...of you all…” Josephine exhaled after she spoke her last words and then died as her blood continued to stain the white marble floor. Delphine looked at the small creature moving around and became quickly unnerved about its existence. Rayan placed his hand on her shoulder looking over her. “Can we eat it?” “What, no! We don’t know what it is or if it is safe to eat!” “Place it in the woods, the wild animals will help nature run its course.” “Good idea, help clean her up and we’ll look for the child again in the morning.” “What about the sun?” “I’ll help you two deal with that, now go.” Rayan sighed as Delphine left the plantation after the rain cleared with her clothes still soaked with Dupreé blood with the strange creature in her arms. It moved around and then bit Delphine’s arm. “Ow! You little bastard!” Delphine violently threw the creature into the thick of the woods where she heard it cry out and then several howls echoed from every wooded area around the plantation. A nervous Delphine, looked all around for any sign of a threat. “The wolves will have you.” She spoke under her breath, then quickly ran back to the plantation. A very large wolf stood in front of the crying animal-like creature, the wolf then turned into a human and picked up the injured creature and looked briefly at the plantation before he calmly walked off deep into the woods.
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Old Habits Die Hard| Part Two: Just Be Good To Me
Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Dave East x Y/N Fic
SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE
Warnings: Language, Lightweight mentions of sexual situations, brief marijuana use
Y’all. I’m so overwhelmed by the love I’ve received for this story. Thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented and/or followed me on here. Taglist is STILL OPEN. *squees from joy*
JUST BE GOOD TO ME
Your finger traces the tattoos that dart up and down Dave’s back, the smoke from his blunt curling around his head as he leans back to inhale. The box fan on top of the dresser can only do so much as you push the sheets down to your knees so your torso can catch a quick cool down. You love watching the sweat trail down Dave’s spine. You try to catch each drop before they hit the mattress.
“I forgot your bougie ass don’t smoke.” You crawl behind Dave, wrapping your supple legs around his waist. Your arms prop up your body so you can get a better look at him as he takes another pull. Dave instinctively starts to caress your left knee with his free hand. Your skin feels like cotton candy to him. You taste even sweeter.
“You’re gonna stop calling me bougie...” You chuckle gently as you plant gentle kisses on Dave’s shoulder.
“You know I like messing with you. Chill.” Dave lifts himself off of the bed. He still isn’t used to your love language. You pout as he walks up to his dresser to grab his phone. You try to weaken the feelings of dismissal but Dave catches your body language change in his mirror’s reflection as you lean over the bed to grab your clothes from off the floor. He realizes it was a mistake to walk away from you.
“Yo. Come here.” You answer Dave’s command, lifting up the sheets to wrap them around your body like a towel. “Fuck the sheets. Come here.” A mischievous grin covers your face. Dave elicits confidence and freedom from you like never before. You walk over to him, hips swaying to the beat of the bass that’s blasting holes throughout the atmosphere outside. Before you can even get within an inch of him, Dave picks you up and sits you on top of the dresser. He kisses you so deep that your legs can’t help but to swing open like a broken screen door. The bass cranking from one of the cars outside sets the pace for your next round with Dave.
“Fuck…”
“My bad, Y/N. These potholes ain’t no joke up here.” Yahya’s not-so-smooth driving wakes you up from your slumber. You look down to witness the silent quivering pulsate from between your legs. This isn’t the first time you’ve dreamed about Dave since you accepted his friend request a few days ago but the closer you were to getting back to Philly, the more intense they became. You grab Yahya’s hand to assuage your guilt. He smiles. Unlike Dave, he needs no help deciphering your love language.
“It’s okay, babe. I needed to wake up. We’re super close to Aunt Jerri’s.”
“Should I be scared about meeting your family? You made it seem like they’re gonna cut me if I don’t come correct.”
“Aye, they might.” You tease Yahya. Your left hand starts to caress his inner thigh. “They won’t mess with you. Aunt Jerri always got the family in line, I’m sure. She loves you already and she’s the biggest test to pass.”
“Good. I really wanted to leave the lawyer that I am back home. Where should I park though?”
You reorient yourself to the surroundings to direct Yahya to the back street behind Aunt Jerri’s house. You already see the smoke billowing from the barbeques on the street and hear the little ones’ laughs and screams. You also see all of your Dad’s brothers on the back porch playing spades and they’re already at peak shit-talking form. “You know how to play spades, right?”
“Don’t let this Berkeley degree fool you, Y/N.” The vibrations from your phone break up your laughter. You open your phone to see an Instagram notification from Dave. You set up post notifications to track him, lying to yourself enough to believe it was to keep tabs on Dave so you wouldn’t run into him at the block party. Your heart knows the truth. He just posted a picture of him and his cousin Pardi posted on his porch. He and his boys are outside ready to play.
“Is that my Y/N!”
“Hey Uncle Ro!” Uncle Rodney -- or Ro -- was a barrel of a man who always wore his Sunday best even in the hottest of the weather. He was a preacher at an Pentecostal church who could drink the rest of the family up under the couch. He pulls you in for a hug. You try not to soak in the smells of sweat mixed with Christian Brothers emanating from his body.
Yahya trails behind you with his hands inside of his pockets because of the growing fear quaking his bones. The spades game has suddenly stopped in its tracks and your other uncles -- Trace and Larry -- and Mr. Reed, who has always been like an uncle to you, start to ice grill Yahya down to his socks. Your Dad must have sent a bat signal from heaven for his brothers to stand tall on his behalf.
“Y/N! Y/N!!!!!!! Heyyyyyyyyyyyy!” Aunt Jerri breaks up the detente at just the right time. She hugs you with so much force that your eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “And look who we have here, huh? You must be Mr. Yahya. He looks so much like T doesn’t he, Trace….”
Trace doesn’t respond, still acting as a stand-in for your father.
“Yahya, baby, don’t let them scare you. Bring your ass in the house.” Yahya feels relieved as Aunt Jerri drags him by the hand into her house to meet more of your family. You follow right behind.
“Trace, you can relax. The dude bought bags of ice. He’s aight with me,” says your Uncle Larry. Trace doesn’t respond, instead throwing down a ten of spades that erupts the entire table.
“Run up to the store right quick, Quaadir.” Dave passes a ten dollar bill to his nephew.
“No, nigga.” Quaadir folds his arms and sticks out his lower lip like it’ll change Dave’s mind. Quaadir is not old enough to be on the corner but he’s talking like them.
“Yo, Pardi. Your son think he brolic. You hear him?! Nigga, what?” Pardi only looks at Quaadir and he quickly changes his mind. “He picking all this up from his moms, man.” The porch erupts in laughter.
Dave needed this laugh. Especially after seeing your engagement pictures with Yahya.
It wasn’t what he was expecting to see when he requested to follow you on Instagram. You looked happy and at peace. The paintings inside of the art gallery where you took your engagement photos looked to be showing their approval of your impending union. Dave couldn’t front: you two looked good together.
You and Dave didn’t go on many dates during your two-week romance. There wasn’t enough time and the time you did have only found you mostly under Dave’s body. The only official date you two went on was when you took him to the Anthropology and Archaeology museum located on the University of Pennsylvania’s campus. He watched you grow in excitement at every exhibit, reading every placard and hanging to the museum docent’s every word. He saw your joy and felt honored to witness it.
He felt the opposite of joy as he read one of the captions under your pictures. You called Yahya “your favorite discovery.” Your nickname for Dave was “favorite”. You were Dave’s favorite and he lost out on you and that hurt like hell. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop scrolling down your Instagram feed. He wanted to see pictures from last summer and of the body, face, smile and the style of the woman who caused him to want to make an entire course correct on that thing called life. He saw that you still had it all. Asking Ariel was such a waste of time and being at this block party was triggering as all get out.
People always talking ‘bout reputation… I don’t care about those other girls, just be good to me … ooooooo
“Just Be Good To Me” cascades down Reed Street in a way that you’ve never heard. You missed this place and this time during the summer when everything stops to allow the neighborhood to bask in delight. It was a feeling you desperately needed last year after you decided to ditch a week in the Bahamas and a week of recuperating at home to spend two weeks at Aunt Jerri’s house. Truth be told was that the Bahamas once had a man attached to it but that fell through.
That’s what led you to go after Dave.
“It’s hot at Hades out here, my Lord.” Aunt Jerri fans herself as she sits on her stoop overlooking the busy street full of barbeque grills, babies splashing inside of kiddie pools and a DJ blasting everyone’s favorite R&B of the 80s.
“Rodney! Rodneyyyy! Boy, toss me a Lime-A-Rita. It’s lit cityyyyyyyy!”
“Mom! Who on Earth taught you about anything being “lit”?!” Ariel’s embarrassment grows at her mother’s attempts to be cool.
“Oh, I’m hip! Too hip to be a square, eyyyy!” She sways ever so gently to “Square Biz” by Teena Marie.
“Ari, leave her alone! Uncle Rodney, don’t indulge her please.” You sip on your Hennessy with ice because, unlike Aunt Jerri, you were free to indulge. Yahya holds you from behind, sipping the last of his Heineken in between fits of laughter. Your Uncle Trace passes another bottle to Yahya as a peace offering and as an official welcome to the family. Your Dad must’ve sent a message to Trace to stand down. Your yellow sundress with a thigh high split up to high heavens is cooling you off as the heat rises from off of the asphalt.
“Y/N … you don’t tell Rodney what to do! I do! Let me be great!”
“You got it, Aunt Jerri!” Yahya kisses your right cheek and grips you tighter. He feels right at home and you’re so relieved that he’s here.
“You know what I need someone to get? More paper plates. Run down to the store, Trace.”
“You got it, Sis.”
Trace’s fashion sense was stuck in 1996; Ghostface Killah and Raekwon would be so proud. Trace was -- and still is -- feared, revered, loved and lusted over. He was the Dave of his time, his roster of women certified. Truth is that he could still build one, Trace capturing the attention of all of the 40-plus-year-old women on the street as he walks down to the store. He still had it.
“Yo, Trace!” Dave hops up from the steps of his Aunt’s house to show Trace some love. Trace got Dave an overnight warehouse job years ago and he’s been indebted to him ever since.
“Peace, king. What’s good?” Dave wants to ask Trace about you but last time he asked someone else in your family, it didn’t end the way he planned.
“Shit, Trace. Just waiting for the street lights to come on so we can really get it in out here. You at Ms. Jerri’s crib? Everybody up there?”
“Yeah. Everybody. You remember my niece, Y/N? She came up too.”
Dave’s mind screams every expletive known to man. He wonders if you came up with you-know-who but asking Trace would open up old wounds and expose a decision that Trace explicitly forbade him not to make.
Dave was Trace 2.0 and Trace knew it. He didn’t want that for his niece so when he saw Dave flirting with you at last year’s block party, he made it a point to pull Dave to the side to ask him in not-so-nicely terms to knock it off.
You worked all the way around that threat with the help of Aunt Jerri.
Aunt Jerri encouraged you to “remember that you’re on vacation” and that “what goes on here, stays here.” She saw the way you looked at Dave. It was the same way she gazed at your Uncle Terrence when she first met him. You were beyond smitten, turned on by the way he walked and talked. Dave could hem you up and pick you up. He oozed confidence that almost crossed into obnoxiousness. You wanted him and couldn’t hide it and Aunt Jerri encouraged to “have some fun with all of that.” She vowed to keep your secret from your Uncle Trace. You didn’t know it would turn into two of the most passionate weeks you would ever have and subsequently the worst heartbreak you ever felt.
“Yeah, I do.” That’s all Dave could muster up to say as he feels his heart boil over. He daps up Trace, sits back down on the steps and opens up Instagram.
Yo. You up here?
Taglist: @yoursoulstea @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy
#yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader#yahya abdul-mateen ii#dave east#dave east fic#fanfiction#old habits die hard
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Part 2 Episode 2 Thoughts (3 out of 4) The Passion of Lucifer Morningstar Scene
I’m not quite sure why Lilith turns up to watch the play, or how she knew about it, but either way, the way they cinematically frame her walking in is very Cinderella-arriving-late-to-the-ball which immediately tells us we are going to be seeing her through a very sympathetic light. and not as a villain. And the very moment Lilith hears the dialogue about refusing to bow to Adam, she is drawn in completely, eyes wide and there’s already sadness there that is almost...child-like? I think what we see in this moment is the flash of the very young Lilith that Sabrina is currently playing on the stage.
i am the angel who will help you get your revenge
Not to make another Disney reference here, but the framing of the way Lilith is watching as Nick says this line is very Ariel-listening-to-Eric on the ship, and I think it’s done for the same reason it was done in The Little Mermaid; we’re seeing Lilith watchful, listening to something with a longing. She’s remembering that very promise that Lucifer made, that he promised her all these things, that he claimed to be different, that he was someone who wouldn’t demand she submit, who would see her equally. Remembering this moment, Lilith seems more...melancholic than sad. She’s remembering the ‘good’ parts of being with Lucifer here, which is sad for those times being over, but nostalgic for the fact the times were had.
She even smiles ever so slightly at the memory when Nick says the line of promising Lilith ‘a throne beside me in hell’. She still hasn’t got her throne at all, but the memory of that promise is still something that makes her smile, even a little, which tells us how the promise was made...presumably with a lot more passion and affection than being shown on stage. Imagine leaving a garden where you were abused by your husband and where the god told you that you were less than him, and must serve that husband who is cruel to you, and then coming upon this beautiful angel who not only says ‘you’re amazing and I won’t hurt you’ but also promises her a throne and crown, a position that means she’ll never have to submit to anyone ever again. Lilith must have delirious with delight, with the thrill of the utter freedom and love being promised to her.
But then as we go further in the dialogue and Agatha says ‘seems a small price to pay, to bend the nee, he offers you so much’ we start to see Lilith’s sadness come through properly. These lines are straight-forward, simplistic and basic and they spell out what can be denied in reality. Lilith remembers being promised a crown, being promised that she would be his Queen, being offered equality and power, but the play is telling her ‘but the price was bending the knee, submitting, doing the very thing you wouldn’t do in the Garden’, and the way Lilith’s eyes widen here, I get the feeling this is the first time she’s really thought about that view of things. It’s even possible that this play, more than Adam, more than Sabrina, is what opens the door to Lilith beginning to think about the Dark Lord differently, because it is in the very next episode that we start to see her being resentful and rebellious.
She has a wistful look though when she watches ‘Lucifer’ show ‘Lilith’ where they could make their home together, and we know from her retelling to Sabrina in the finale, that that time is one she looks back on fondly, that she sees as being full of lovemaking and passion and magic and bounty. The fact Lilith wants to be Queen of Hell, the fact she longs to be back in The Pit (’why have you not called me home to The Pit’) tells us that the place entranced her from the very beginning. Other people might fear hell, but apparently Lilith has always viewed it as wonderful, as her home.
When the curtains close at the act break, Lilith is already getting upset enough that she has tears in the corner of her eyes, but she seems surprised and embarrassed at herself for it. Lilith doesn’t show emotions, we know this, and she even hides them as best she can from the Dark Lord. The only emotion she ever seems to let herself indulge is anger. Now it’s possible that this has been one of her self-preservation techniques, as emotions make her vulnerable to Satan’s attacks on her, but also make her seem weak in others’ eyes. So after so much suppressing of emotion, the fact a simple play that vaguely resembles her life (as we know Blackwood did some major rewriting) is enough to make her cry, is not only a shock to Lilith but also tells us that she has a lot more heart and/or softness to her than we might have previously presumed. In the same way as Zelda really; we see her kill her sister, be angry and dismissive at Sabrina, but in the dream episode we see how much heart she really has.
When the stage is made up to be Gehenna, Lilith looks visibly hopeful and tense as it’s revealed. This is definitely someone who is homesick; this is the place where she was first ‘free’, where she was allowed to be who she truly was, to do what she wanted, where she wasn’t punished for her desires, and where she finally had power and freedom. No wonder it means so much to her.
your wisdom amazes me. you see mysteries and know secret things
When Sabrina is saying all these lines, this seems to have the greatest effect on Lilith. She is getting so upset at this point and is watching the whole thing so intently, it’s a wonder she hasn’t walked all the way up to the stage. This is hitting home on a very deep level at this point, and so I get the feeling this is one of the extremely accurate parts of the play, that this is exactly how Lilith viewed Lucifer. This wonderful, all-knowing angel. This beautiful, celestial being who amazed her and knew so much (Lilith, after all, would have been incredibly young at that point, almost brand new, and here is this fallen angel, already so much older and knowing the entire cosmos) and she fell in love. I have no doubt that it was his intelligence, his celestial knowledge, as much as anything, that made Lilith fall head over heels in love with him. It’s why she’s put up with so much, why she reasons away so much, ignores so much, and why, even now, even until the very end, until she actually hears him say ‘Lilith’s place is to serve’, that she still holds a candle for him, she still holds out the hope that their love will be renewed, that her love will be returned again as she believed it was in the beginning.
She gets even more upset, but in a she’s-remembering-it-herself sort of way, the kind of upset that has that the-memory-was-a-wonderful-one-though counterbalance, so it’s almost an...exhilerating sadness rather than a depressing one, as she listens to Nick say Lucifer’s lines about wanting them to be happy together, for them to make their home together here, talking about building a new world with her, being with her, loving her, and wanting her to rule beside him as his Queen. These were definitely the promises and sweet nothings Lucifer spoke to her, and you can’t help but understand why Lilith fell in love with him, why she was so dedicated to him, why she joined him in hell, became a demoness to be beside him, because this was all she had ever wanted; someone to treat her as equal, to see her as she sees them, with wonder and promise. Someone to share power with instead of being ruled by it. At this point in her life, Lilith no doubt thought her story was going to be a romance of legends, a great romance culminating in a great power, a Queen beside her King.
And then Sabrina says ‘would that I were worthy of such a station’
And this seems to be Lilith’s breaking point. I, personally, don’t think Lilith would have said that and feel this is Blackwood’s version of events, as someone in love, who wants to be equal, doesn’t tend to think that way. So my logic for this being the moment that upsets Lilith the most, to the point that we seem to actually physically see her heart break, is that since this time, since the beginning, in all the centuries passed, she now does wish she was worthy. She is desperate to be worthy of the crown, of Lucifer, whereas in the beginning she presumed she would be, that all it would take was hard work and his love for her would always see her as worthy in the end.
This play might not be accurate for what happened in the past, but it’s being hella accurate for what’s happening now...and that, entwined with the tales of the past, of those perceived ‘happier’ times, are causing Lilith to look back with retrospect, and realise how much has been lost, how much hasn’t happened, and how much has changed, how much of what was planned and promised then, never came to be.
There is something so painfully sad and just hauntingly awful about the whole scene where Nick says ‘give yourself to me and I will make you worthy’ and he and Sabrina kiss as romantic music plays and Lilith watches with sadness and pain in her eyes, because it just makes you see Lucifer from Lilith’s perspective for a moment, we see this universe through Lilith’s eyes, and we see the tragedy of a love story, something that should have been two lovers determined to make the world different, to make it equal, has become twisted and dark and left one lover with a broken, damaged heart. We see here what could have been and the way Lilith was, the way she could possibly still be now, if life and Lucifer hadn’t broken her piece by piece. She had hope here in the beginning and we feel the tragedy of that loss in this scene.
Lilith literally can’t hold herself together anymore when Sabrina bends the knee to Nick and makes her oath. It’s a harsh truth being shown blantantly, that Lilith gave herself, and the man didn’t given himself in return. Therefore it wasn’t an exchange, but submitting; she had done to Lucifer what she refused to do to Adam, because she had been blinded by hope and love and promises. And her life became nothing like she had imagined. Lilith seems to be almost weeping for her past self here, her old self who made this choice, who gave herself and lost her soul and spirit to something that never came to be.
Lilith is literally crying so much at this point, she has to cover her face with her hand; she is being broken by this play and the story it tells. It seems to me that in this moment, even if she resumes her denial in part once more afterward, here her guard is completely down. Here she is accepting what her life, and her relationship with Lucifer is; a lie. A cruel lie delivered by a cruel deceiver. She sees the mistakes she made, the loss of herself that she suffered. Lilith is being shown a very harsh mirror via this play, and it is utterly breaking her into pieces. She is literally crying her eyes out and trying her hardest to hold it in; this is not only heartbreakingly sad, but it also proves that Lilith might be a demoness, but she’s not all demoness, and she’s not all witch either. That is her humanity crying, and it tells us that Lilith can be vulnerable and can be redeemed. We’re being shown very clearly at this point that she is the villain only because she is the victim.
Lilith is literally drowning in her own sorrow, realisation and tragedy and human emotion at this point, and she only snaps herself out of it when everyone claps for the end of the play and she remembers where she is, and she pulls herself out of the past and tries to gather herself once more, remember ‘who and what she really is’ and that is not someone who cries over lost love and past memories. Or so she tries to convince herself.
Yet, as she turns away, and tries to pull herself together, knowing she is going to have to face Lucifer since she lost her bet with him (another piece of evidence and reminder that she’s ‘unworthy’ of him), she is literally shaking. She is finding it incredibly difficult to pull herself back; a dam has been broken here and she doesn’t know how to stop the flood. As she leaves, she looks very much a broken woman who has finally realised just what her life is and her true circumstances.
I hate to finish this on another reference, but the way she walks away, is the same vibe Buffy has when she realises she has to kill Angel, because he’s not Angel anymore. It’s that brokeness, the loss of a great love, of realising the person you loved is not who you thought he was. Lilith just looks like she is determined to be strong, even as her heart breaks all over again, because being strong is the only way to survive. But she is shaken, and I do think this moment, painfully sad as it was, is something that plays a significant part in her eventually working against Lucifer.
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An angsty pirate and mermaid tale based on 7x21.
Alcoholism is a strong theme so beware if you might be bothered by it.
Over time the poison had done its damage. Attempting to visit Alice, to even approach the tower that held her prisoner was impossible without a searing pain in his chest. For years he watched her window through his spyglass, hoping to see her pass or look out at the sky. But those moments were few; he knew it was so difficult for her to to enjoy a sunny day that she would never fully experience. She was without him because of his foolish pride and this was his greatest failure.
He had always been fond of a nip or two throughout the day, but he had stopped drinking entirely when Alice came into his life.
His love.
His daughter.
It started again as a way to cope with her loss, and a method to assuage his own guilt. Only a sip here and there when he felt an anguished pang, the burn of the liquid a blessing and a curse. He searched endlessly for the answer that would free her, but at each disappointment the pulls from his flask more generous and more often until one morning he realized a long swallow was needed to get out of bed, to stop the shaking in his hand and ease the nausea from the night before.
Drinking from dawn to dusk was no longer merely a way to deal with the trauma in his life, it was necessary to function, and his pursuit of more rum sometimes equaled his desire to save his own daughter. The choice to consume was replaced by a physical need. His funds exhausted, he panhandled on the street for coin, developing a schtick and an amusing persona to increase the donations by passers-by… ‘I am Captain Hook’ he would say with buffoonish charm, ‘the most fearsome pirate on the seven seas!’ He sang sea shanties while juggling fruit and performing one-handed card tricks until he had enough gold to feed his addiction.
He no longer cared about his appearance; sometimes catching a glimpse of himself in a shop window, he could not recognize the unkempt man who looked back. His blustery facade only an act to hide the devastation he felt. He would take his money to the pub and drown his sorrows until even they did not want him, thrown out and banned from most he slept in alleyways and on the forest floor, watching her window from afar until the light was extinguished each night.
While wandering the streets of the city he found a lost pouch of gold and looked furtively left and right as he secreted it into his coat pocket, not believing his good fortune. This would provide for a time. He stockpiled bottles at the small platform by the sea that he had recently made into his home, and soon it became his entire world.
He had tried everything and failed, he hated himself and this miserable life. Alice was better off without him he convinced himself. And thus he began his final descent, it was not a conscious decision to drink until he was dead mind you, he was not lucid enough on most days to consider that eventuality, he just drank until he blacked out into blissful oblivion.
One evening while navigating the small cluttered space in which he existed he tripped and fell forward over the low wall and into the water. Though he was too inebriated to save himself, he passed out before he could try and lay face down inhaling the sea.
He opened his eyes again the next day in a fever and saw an angel with red hair smiling back at him, her cool fingers stroked his face and held him while he shivered and shook. His stash of rum disposed of and too ill to seek more he railed at her and at the Gods, asking why he still lives. But she stayed with him regardless night and day, venturing away only for food then coaxing him to swallow the broth she procured.
She chanted softly as he tossed and turned on the pallet of blankets that were his bed… ‘You matter and you are loved. You are strong and needed and you will endure.’
Days later when his fever broke and the worst of his tremors passed, he wept and poured out his story to the kind mermaid, and she listened with sympathy, knowing the agony of separation from the one you love only too well, but she would not give in to his pleas for drink, talking him through his cravings instead. ‘When you are well, that will be up to you. I will not aid you in poisoning yourself further.’
Eventually his mind cleared and though the desire remained, he resisted the urge to indulge. What seemed an insurmountable task at first became easier with the help of Ariel, his friend. She stayed by his side through it all, talked with him for hours on end… and saved him from the worst version of himself.
She gradually left him to his own devices as his self-confidence grew until one morning she handed him a conch shell and said goodbye. ’Sound this and I will come to you my friend, until then farewell. You will be reunited with Alice, I know it in my heart.’ And she was gone.
#tw: alcoholism#a cautionary tale#Wish!Hook#Ariel#ouat spoilers#hookriel#whookriel#7x21#it's dark and un-cute because I've had to much experience#you're very far gone when the next step is death#poor love#it breaks my heart honestly that he would feel such despair#and hopelessness
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Mine and @gingerstorm101‘s new fic is finally finished! Buckle up, guys. It’s a long one.
Rated T: for the couple of swear words littered throughout the fic.
Summary: A new case connecting to Jackson is handed to Mulder after years of him being on the run. Post MSIV. Cross posted on Ao3 and FF.net
A couple years have passed since that night on the docks and little has changed since then. Mulder still has his job with the X-Files, though he was given a month of unpaid suspension when Kersh got a hold of him for that apparently controversial Tad O’Mally story, where he was claimed as the source. He knew the truth, but he wasn’t telling his boss that.
But that wasn’t a problem with him at the time because Scully was pregnant. While this was truly a second miracle for them, it was still a huge risk, both medically and emotionally. In hindsight, Mulder was glad for that month of unpaid suspension because it meant he got to see firsthand what he missed out on all those years ago: Pregnant Scully.
But time has passed and their daughter, Samantha Arielle Mulder was born in the early hours of a snowy January morning via cesarean. She is just over a year old now. Mulder smiles at the framed picture of his partner and child. Seeing their smiles is contagious and he can’t help but smile as well. His second child with her — he didn’t dare agree with what she had said that night. Jackson was his son and he loved him just as much as any father would love their child, even if he wasn’t around for a most of his life, though not by choice. She had just been in shock to hear what Skinner had told her combined with finding out that she had been pregnant again. And finding out what Jackson had been up to.
His phone ringing breaks him out of his musings.
“Mulder.” He answers and waits for the response on the other end. He responds with a quick “On it, sir”, the line going out just as he says the last syllable.
He stands up, feeling his spine crack as it straightens. He takes a moment to feel insulted with every pop of joints that follows suit before making his way out of the basement. At 59, he refuses to indulge in the idea that he’s getting old.
Stepping into the AD’s office, the aging man nods to his superior. “Skinner.”
“Agent Mulder,” the salt and pepper-bearded man pauses, “I have a case for you. From the images alone, it resembles an X-File that we have on record. I need you to look into it and come up with a profile on this criminal as soon as you can.”
He nods, looking down at the file in hand not even bothering to open it. Ever since Samantha was born, Skinner has been ordering more and more profiles instead of shipping the man off to hunt down the criminals.
Sometimes it was for the best.
And sometimes it was not.
Those are the nights when Scully puts her foot down, takes the file in hand, and hits him over the head with it before pulling him into a hug and whispering to him everything he needs to hear at that moment.
Back in his office, Mulder collapses back into his chair, lifts his feet onto the desk with a small groan, and stared at the closed file in front of him. Could he get this one done before 5pm and get home to his family, or should he wait?
Glancing up at the clock and taking note of the time, he ponders again. I have over an hour before Scully expects me home. Tossing the file onto his desk, he decides to wait until the morning before starting a new case. It’s an X-File— it can wait another day. He dropped his feet to the floor and pulled his chair closer to his desk. Mulder begins to reach for another case file he was working on when something caught his eye. One of the photos had come loose and slipped out onto the desk.
It was a body that looked like it imploded and considering his line of work, there’s a good chance it did.
Instantly Mulder thinks back to that motel room, watching as four bodies around him become soup on the ground.
Jackson.
William.
Whether his hands are shaking due to old age or the information he just found out, he may never know. Either way, Mulder snatches the file from the desk and opens it to the crime scene photos.
It was the same thing that he had seen just two years ago. Entire bodies gone. Splattered everywhere.
Flipping through the file, he notices that the states where the bodies were found varies, scattered across the country and no body was found in the same state twice. That is, until the final two. Washington DC.
Mulder picks up his desk phone and he dials a number that has been imprinted in his brain for 25 years.
“Scully, it’s me. He’s here. He’s come home.”
***
Equipped with his briefcase, Mulder makes his way to the front porch of their home early that evening. He unlocks the door quietly and makes his way inside the house. “Will you ever leave the door unlocked for me?” He calls out, placing his work on the coffee table.
“I will when I can trust people to not come kill us at all hours of the day.” Scully’s voice calls from the other room. Following the sound of her voice to the kitchen, Mulder finds his what-would-be-wife in the kitchen, roast in front of her and Samantha clutching her leg like a lifesaver. “Besides the obvious, how was your day?” Her head tilted towards him, a soft smile on her face.
He smiles back, walking up close to her to lay a kiss on her cheek. “It was as expected until the last little bit.”
“Da!” Samantha’s toothless smile greets him. Squatting down, he lifts the baby into his arms and gives her, too, a kiss on the cheek. “How’s my baby girl been today?”
“Cranky.” Her mother replied, her tone implying that she is not necessarily talking about their one year old daughter.
“Well you don’t look so cranky now, do ya Sammie?” He cuddles her close, oblivious to her suggestive tone, resting his head on his daughters wispy, soft baby hair.
Scully scoffs, grabbing the vegetables from the stove. “You weren’t here for her breakdowns over her missing binky.” Mulder laughs, earning a small glare from his partner. “And now that you’re home, you can finish dinner.” She drops the utensil she’s holding onto the counter and stalks off toward the bathroom for a much needed shower.
The night passed in an uneventful fashion, and putting Samantha down was easier than it had been in the past couple weeks. She had been sick for the past week or so and she stayed up most of the night crying to make sure her parents didn’t forget.
One thing about Samantha is that at night, she is usually quick to put down and they seem to be getting back on track with that tonight. She uses up all her energy during the day, tiring her mother out.
Scully drops onto the couch in a huff, handing Mulder his beer. “Ok G-Man, show me this case file.”
Mulder clicks open his briefcase and pulls out two files, an X followed by a six-digit number printed on the front of each one. “Skinner has gathered a bunch of cases from across the country and compiled them into the single file that he handed me today. This one,” he hands her the first file, “is the file they opened two years ago when I went to go see Jackson myself.”
Scully is silent for a couple moments as she looks over the two files. “In my professional opinion, these are done by the same person.”
“The only problem is, I’ve been told to profile the case.” She sighs. “You have to get inside his head.” He didn’t say a word for what it felt like an hour, but when he went to take a swig of his beer, it was still cold. “We don’t know much about our son, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t ways we can find out.”
“Without Skinner and Kersh knowing?” Scully sighs. “We know that he hasn’t been taking his prescription for almost 3 years now-“
“Which makes getting inside his head all the more fun-“
“So I can find some way to get you the information from his records. For medical reasons, of course.”
The two leaf through the files in hand, marking down information on two notepads, trying to block out the information they already knew about the teen. One was for information they were to keep to themselves about Jackson, and one was to go to the higher-ups. Mulder doesn’t want Kersh to know that he knows who the suspect was. He didn’t want to ruin what little hope he had of reuniting with his son on good terms. If Kersh ever found out that he was trying to protect the suspect, their son, then he’ll have to kiss his job goodbye. Completely finished.
Glancing up at the clock, Mulder sighs when he sees it is only 11pm. Four hours and we hardly got anything, Mulder thought to himself bitterly. Taking in the information he and Scully had put together, he noticed that the notepad that was to stay at home had only the information that they already knew. I want to believe that he didn’t do it, He covers his eyes, but there is no denying the truth. Jackson did this.
“Our son is a criminal.” Scully whispers out loud. Mulder grunts in response, his mind replaying the scene from that night. “Will he ever be happy? Will he ever be at peace?”
Mulder freezes. Be at peace?
“Scully! We’ve been looking at this all wrong.”
“Pardon?”
“These case files have been calling these attacks targets on innocent people!” He stands up from the plaid couch. “When I watched him use this power, we were the ones being attacked. I was already on the ground, and we were outnumbered. He was using it in purely self defense.”
“The next morning a car was found with a body of the name case on the side of the road...” Scully remembered. “You think that man had attacked him?” He paced around the room, his thoughts coming out rapidly. “That trucker said that Jackson attacked him, thoroughly frightening him to the point he will likely need therapy, with the images of Ghouli inside the cabin.” He spun a 180, facing his partner. “I had my doubts too, I thought he was doing this on purpose.”
“But you think people are still going after him?”
“Sarah told me that his fear was being locked up and experimented on.” He was struggling to keep his voice level. The last thing he needs is to wake up their daughter. “Fuck!” He hisses, kicking the edge of the table.
Scully jumps, to her feet. “Mulder, calm down!” She whispered, her voice cracking.
Mulder tries to convince himself to sit back down, but he has too much energy to stay still. “I need The Lone Gunmen right now. I need someone to pull up all his information so I know exactly what went on in his life.”
“The Lone Gunmen aren’t just a phone call away anymore, Mulder!”
“They are the only ones who can help us right now.” He said sullenly. “They can get us the information. Might even be able to track our son down.”
She moves closer to him, lifting her hand to rest on his arm. “Pack your bags while I get Samantha ready. If we are going to look for our son, we are doing it as a family.”
***
On the road, highway I95 specifically, the small family drives to their old friends.
The car ride was short compared to how long they were used to driving, and with Samantha fast asleep in her car seat, the ride was smooth. It wasn’t until midnight when the little girl wakes up that Mulder finally pulls over at a rest stop to fill up the tank and to get a cup of coffee for him and Scully. And just in case, he grabs a bag of sunflower seeds.
With everything paid for, he makes his way back towards the car where Scully is hopping into the backseat with their daughter to give the baby her midnight bottle.
Instead of handing Scully her coffee, he places both cups in the holders in the front seat, well within her reach. “Ok Madam, where would you like to go next?” He jokes, starting the engine and buckling his seatbelt.
“Wherever is fine, maybe a nice island adventure tonight?” She says airily, placing the bottle at Samantha’s lips, who greedily gulps it down.
Mulder smirks into the rear view mirror. “As you wish.” And with that, they are back on the road.
It is 1:30am when they arrived to dock. Feeling around for the hidden button, Mulder makes his arrival known to the three men before sitting back in the car with the girls. He knows it’s going to be quite a wait.
A half an hour has passed by the time a motor boat arrives at the wooden dock.
“Anyone ask for a lift?” Langley asks, tying the boat down.
Mulder grabs Samantha and both his and Scully’s overnight bags to load into the boat, letting her lead the way. Scully climbs into the wobbly boat and takes Samantha from Mulder while he sets the bags down.
“My my, the little duchess has gotten big.” The blond man comments.
Scully smiled fondly at her daughter. “I know. Some days I wish she would stop growing. But others, not so much.” Mulder silently laughs, knowing those days. It’s the ones where he comes home from work and she hands his daughter over before collapsing on the couch face first, leaving him to fix dinner and calm their restless daughter.
“Next stop, home!” Langley shouted as he started the boat.
The last part of their trip was uneventful. Langley doesn’t ask any questions as to why they have suddenly shown up at their proverbial door in the middle of the night. But they made small talk to pass the time. Samantha slept the rest of the trip, the calm waters soothing her into a peaceful sleep.
It was nearing 3am when the family and friend finally make their way to the front door of the house. A retina, hand, and voice scan later, the door unlocked and they were welcomed in.
“New tech?”
“Got to keep up with the times.” Frohike’s voice came from inside the house. “And how is the lovely Ms. Scully today?” The elder asked, greeting the new comers. “As well as anyone with no sleep and a year and a half old baby would be.” She answers, taking her coat off and hanging it beside Byers. “How have you boys been?” She returned.
Byers spoke up, a grin on his face. “As well as the average dead guy.” She snorts, taking Samantha from her father before turning back to their old friends.
“Is there somewhere I can get some rest before we start as to what we are here to do?” Byers nods, escorting her to the spare guest room Mulder had used the last time he was visiting. “I try to keep it clean, but we don’t get many visitors.”
“We would visit more, but Sammie has been keeping us home more often than not. It’s hard to be our age and keeping up with a baby on a daily basis.” She sighed, setting the carrier down on the floor. Byers left the two in peace as Scully took Samantha out for the rest of her bed time, and to Scully, a well needed nap.
Out in the living room, Mulder takes out his briefcase and starts on explaining what has become of his son.
“No wonder the kid is running.”
“He’s not a kid anymore. If they find him, he will likely be tried as an adult.”
Mulder grunts, “It’s the worse part he’s running from.” Handing the other men the case files. “Scully and I believe he’s been doing this in self defence. Two years ago I had the privilege to witness Jackson to implode four people who were after him. And now he’s shown up again in DC.”
The guys gave each other odd expressions, commenting on the gruesome images before them.
“I want to know more about his childhood. About these abilities of his, without the government knowing. I was told to profile the person doing this, I refuse to let them know it’s William.”
Langley was the first to jump into action. “I knew that boy of yours was special.”
“He’s tall too.” Mulder throws out offhandedly.
“So what name are we searching for?” The blond asked, his fingers at the ready.
“Jackson Van de Kamp.”
“Searching… Searching… Okay, we got 5 names for the US. All with Drivers Licenses.”
Frohike leans forward. “Photo ID; got him.” Mulder stands straight, his back tense. “I need you to get me everything on him.” Running his hands threw his hair is started to walk away. “I need coffee.” And with that, he was out of the room.
The three nod, taking a double glance at the photo of the teen, before they each got to work on their separate computers.
Mulder took some time to himself while brewing the coffee. He stepped in on the girls, checking to see how they were fairing. Fast asleep, the pair of them. He stood there watching as they slept, taking in their deeps breaths. He wished he could fall asleep like that at this moment. Maybe sleep for a good 10 hours if the baby even allowed him. Getting old sucks. He admits to himself. He didn’t blame Scully for getting pregnant at such a late stage in her life, but after 20 years of being barren, it was a miracle. Even if Samantha wore them out faster than the average parent.
The ding from the coffee maker brought his attention back to the present day. Mulder straightened from his position against the door frame, and walked away from the room.
The coffee was strong; black, just as he needed it after the last few weeks of not getting much sleep. The first cup he gulped down quickly burning his throat, not even moving from his spot in the kitchen, poured himself a second cup, then made his way back to the living room. “Whatcha ya got?”
“What do you want first?” Frohike asked. “We got a medical records, school records, sealed police records, even found his birth records that were sealed by the adoption agency.”
Taking a sip of his beverage, Mulder looked over the files before him. “I’ll leave the medical records for Scully to look over. From the looks of them, they are going to be interesting, as she’s already spoken with his psychologist. But print off everything, this is going to take a while.”
“Not to mention your eyes hurts after you stare at the screen too long.”
Scully’s voice made him jump, nearly spilling the coffee on his shirt. “I thought you were asleep?”
She strolls over to him, her hand under Samantha as she held her close. The little girl’s eyes were wide as she looked around the computer filled room. “Well I was, until someone started poking my face.” Her eyes stay on the child, a small smile appearing on her face. She glanced over to him, not meeting his face, her eyes somewhere else. She walked forward. “Is that coffee?” He nodded, lifting the mug to his lips. She intersected, pulling the mug towards her, and taking a refreshing gulp of the bitter drink. Mulder thought about taking the cup away from her, telling her to get her own, but he decided against it, and handed the hot cup over to her. She needs it more.
“I’ll get another one.” Was his response of her downing the beverage. “Make that two, please.”
***
The group sat around in a circle of the dining room table, each holding their own notepad to make quick observations, while Samantha playing in a circle of toys. In the centre of the table laid the crime scene photos of the past two years.
Peeking over at what Scully was writing down, noticing a column to the side with check marks in a couple places, Mulder looked down at his own notepad. What is fact and what is fiction? He wonders, looking over the notes made by the psychologist that Jackson had seen in his teenage years. He was only twelve when he started seeing help. The same age I was when I needed to see help because of my sister’s disappearance. He remembers that age. Part of him wanted to tell exactly what he saw, but there were times when he had made up what he saw cause it’s what he thought he saw. But everything I saw was true. Every version of it.
He kept his sigh to himself, and looks over his notes again. ‘Pain and loneliness.’ Well, he's not surprised. He was still a child when his powers were growing, and a preteen when, according to his notes, they started to get stronger.
‘Jackson claims that he has always had this part of him that was different, that was the underlying cause for him to act out. But in the last year is when it’s gotten worse. Puberty?’ The notes read.
Mulder isn't surprised to learn that his son was getting out of control even at such an early age.
‘Jackson tells us that he put another boy in the hospital, says that the boy deserved it for bullying younger students. When asked about it, he just said he made the boy bleed in front of everyone.’
He thought back to that night, he’s been doing that a lot since he was handed the case file. Was that the start of it all?
‘His parents are sending him to WinGate Wilderness Therapy Program, a boarding school for the troubled kids to help him. Jackson doesn’t want to disappoint his parents, but he doesn’t want to go. He hopes this is the last school he goes to; he’s been moved around too much, he says.’
Boarding school? He takes a sip of his now cold coffee, and starred his note to cross reference with the school records Byers and Frohike were tag-teaming. His adoptive parents were troopers dealing with him.
‘Jackson claims that he started a pile-up in the middle of the intersection near his house by just using his mind. I’m baffled as to how this could happen, but he sounds serious. I hope this new medication will start working soon for his own safety, now that we have taken a PET of his brain activity. His rather high brain activity.’
Now that is something I believe he could do. Mulder quickly jots down his notes on the high brain activity, something he’s known for quite a while, and looks up to see his partner look at colourful images in her hand. He slid the doctor’s notes towards her, silently pointing to the paragraph, and had her read the connection between the two.
Her eyes only widen silently, hardly even noticeable to the average observer. But he could read her like a book. She jotted down notes of her on, only glancing at the page once more before nodding, letting him take the notes back to his side of the table.
‘Jackson changed since the men from the government showed up. He’s not as open as he use to be.’
“Byers, Frohike, which one of you has the information for WinGate Wilderness?” Mulder questioned, writing down another not he had.
“I do,” Frohike answered, “Compared to the other schools, he didn’t get in as much trouble, but he still caused a racket.” He tossed his notebook over to the centre of the table for the group to read.
‘Fights with other trouble kids.’
‘Sneaking into the Dean’s office and automating the P.A. System and bell.’
‘Destruction to school property.’
Hacking into the school’s database.
Changing half the students’ grades.
Claims all those kids had cheated on their exams.
‘Four cases of questionable and unknown situations:
Found a way to the roof with the door still locked and no ladder.
Suspected with tampering with brakes on a teacher's car. No evidence found.
A second case of fighting on school property, leads to another student hospitalized for excessive internal bleeding.
A teacher hospitalized after a disagreement with Jackson, teacher’s headache turned serious.
“These are some of the things he had done while at the school for the troubled. There was far more at his middle school before he went here.”
Mulder watched Scully’s facial expression as they listen to the man speak. “He had been seeing his psychologist since he was was twelve.” He takes notice of the way her eyes crinkle. She made the connection too. “He hasn’t seen her in years, all documentation stops when he’s 17.”
Byers spoke up. “He must have started seeing her after he started getting into fights at school. Says here, he put another kid in the hospital by fighting in the school yard.”
Mulder nodded. “I got that same got over here from the psychologist. I presume it was the start of where he learned how to do this.” He states, pointing to pictures in the middle.
“I have notes here,” Scully started, “That Jackson was seeking help because of multiple violent episodes as a child. His parents were worried because he broke several windows during a temper tantrum.”
The woman sighs. Mulder reaches over and grabs a hold of her hand. “We wouldn’t have been able to stop it.” He reminds her. She gets up and leaves the table, picking up the happily playing child. He takes this moment to look at her note book. At the top of the single column on the side of her page was written one word: Me.
My name should be on there too. He laughs to himself.
“So what we have is a boy who was a loner and has been having behavioural problems since childhood, getting progressively worse once he hit puberty. Talking to a therapist did little to stop his behavior or help with his mental problems. He was went to a school for the troubled, where he still caused problems for the head of the school.” Mulder summarized. “And now we have a teenager out there with a body count.”
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Langley snarks.
Mulder glares at the blond man, “Now’s not the time, Ringo.” Dropping his notes to the table-top, he walked on of the room. He could feel the tension in his shoulders ready to get loose and hit something. But he wouldn’t dare to do that in front of Samantha. He made a promise to not get angry in front of her, and he doesn’t want to break it so early in her life.
He doesn’t even have the full story, but heis already putting the pieces together of his son’s life. He knows Jackson Van de Kamp was a loner. Someone who was pushed aside from his fellow classmates because he was different than them, and he knew it. He started to use these abilities to cause harm to others because he’s angry.
‘...quiet ever since those men from the government showed up.’ The psychologist had written. Maybe he knew who those men really were, and whether it was fact or fiction he was telling her, he stopped because of them.
And then shit truly hit the fan for him.
Well, I hope Skinner is happy. I got my profile. Speaking of which, he headed back inside. “Byers, can I use your phone?” With a quick call to the A.D.’s office, Mulder explained to his supervisor that he won’t be in that day, and possibly the next day. “Thanks.”
“You okay, Mulder?” Scully asked, pulling out some food for the baby.
Grunting, he nods. “I just, I got my profile for Skinner. I think I deserve a nap.”
Frohike walks passed him. “No one’s stopping you, I was thinking the same thing myself.”
“Go on, I’m going to give Samantha her mid-morning snack before the two of us head to have a nap ourselves. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, now we just got to find out who is hunting our son.” Mulder says sullenly.
***
Mulder wakes up to a small body sitting on his hip instead of between her parents. Her tiny fingers play with his nose, and the sweetest giggles coming from her lips. Moving his arm from around Scully’s waist, he uses it to pull his daughter to his chest. “And what do you think you’re doing, baby?”
“Da!” She giggles, her single word streamed by a line of baby talk and gibberish he bet even Scully doesn’t know. He peers over at his partner, taking in her features as she sleeps on, not hearing their daughter. Odd. “Let’s let Mama sleep.” He tells the small child, taking her with him as he leaves the room quietly. “What time is it?” He asks, tickling Samantha’s tummy.
“Almost noon.” Byers answers, a sandwich on the table in front of him, a tablet in his hands. His stomach growls reminding himself that he hasn’t eaten something proper since he got home from work the night before.
“I was asking the baby.” He laughs, a chain reaction as Samantha laughs with him.
“Oh.” Placing the child on the floor to go play with her toys, Mulder picks up his notepad, and glances back at the sandwich. “Where can I get one of those?”
Stopping before taking a bite, he answers. “Help yourself, supply are in the fridge. Darin just delivered our groceries yesterday, we’re freshly stocked up!”
After making his own sandwich, Mulder sits back down at the table to eat and start a rough draft of what he is going to hand in to Skinner when he gets back to work. Whenever he gets there, that is.
Thankfully Samantha lets him continue his work as she played with her toys. He was able to get the draft notes written up before the little girl walked up to him, pointing at the rest of the food. “Hungry, Sammie?” She nodded, her large blue eyes gazing up at him. Without a second wasted, Mulder pulled out the rice-puffs and the unspillable bowl, handing her the snack. She happily took her snack and went back to her toys.
“She looks a lot like her, you know.” Byers stated, his distracted gaze on the small redhead.
Mulder watched his young daughter. “I’m thankful for that. I wanted my child to always look like Scully. One out of two ain’t bad.”
“Jackson looks a lot like you, too.” “Yeah, I know. At first Scully tried to play it off as if he was only an experiment, but there are so many characteristics that he has that just screams Fox Mulder.” He sighed, looking to the man across from him. “If Emily can be Scully’s daughter, Jackson can be my son. I can’t give up on him.”
The other man nods along with him. There was a pregnant pause as the two went back to watching the tiny redhead munch on her snack. “We’re going to find him.”
I know.
Mulder makes a fresh pot of coffee for himself when Scully slips into the room, her feet barely dragging on the floor. “I don’t know how we did this 20 years ago Mulder. I’m dead on my feet.” She mumbled, accepting the large mug of coffee.
“I could tell, Samantha didn’t even wake you up.” He smiled, pressing his lips to her forehead. “But then again, she was content with waking me up instead.” She looked dead on her feet this morning – afternoon, did Byers say? – but he knew that she did most mornings now. “Are you ready to find our son?”
“Mmhmm.” Was her response behind the mug.
“Well you two were getting some sleep, we took turns in searching down Jackson.” The other man said, a cup of coffee in his own hand. “We looked at security cameras in the areas surrounding where the bodies were found.” He paused, handing the tablet to them, the screen showing face recognition of Jackson on multiple surveillance cameras, speeding through time.
“What if he hides from the cameras?” Scully asks, taking in her son’s face. Byers moved around the kitchen, putting the plates away. “He would look very suspicious to the average eye if he did. We have three views of the office of the motel alone.” Mulder looked over Scully’s shoulder, watching the screen. Suddenly, each of the motel cameras glitches, the time had jumped ahead. “Wait, what was that?” Byers was back in front of them in an instant, taking the tablet back in hand, selecting one of the cameras, and rewinding it. “There, it skipped.”
He said. Byers took to the living room, leaving the couple to grab their daughter and follow him.
“Did you know about this?”
“Does it look like we know about this?” Mulder claims, his temper starting to rise. “We’ve spent more time watching him over a camera than we have in person.”
“No,” Scully answered calmly. “We didn’t know. He probably erased them after he left.” Resting her hand on Mulder’s arm, she urged him to calm himself. “Is there a chance we can look farther out?” She asked, her eyes meeting Byers.
He nodded, pulling up the cameras on the large screen in the living room. He typed something on the keyboard, something that she didn’t catch. “We might be able to track him down from lost time.”
“You’re a genius.” Scully smiled, the light in her eyes showing up for the first time that day.
“Who’s a genius?” Frohike walked into the room. “It can’t be this guy.” He threw his thumb in Byers’ direction.
The taller of the two Lone Gunmen laughs, “Har har Melvin. But we may have found a way to track which areas of DC Jackson might be hiding.”
“The sooner we know where to look, sooner we can go looking for him.” Scully butts in.
“You mean, the sooner I can go looking for him.” Mulder stares her down.
“Mulder-”
“No. Not with Samantha. If this was before she was here, I wouldn’t have a problem. You are capable to look after yourself. But she can’t. Not with those men after Jackson.” Scully lowered her gaze, she didn’t argue any further.
She met his eyes again a moment later. “Fine, but I want to be able to have contact with you the entire time. I don’t want you going in dark, and neither will I.”
Mulder started to argue that the men that were going after their son could easily track him down with his own cell phone, but Frohike caught him beforehand. “We got just the thing. We’ve had these bad boys hanging around here for the last couple of months just waiting to be used.”
The couple gave the two men a questioning look.
“Decked out burn phones. I don’t know how we haven’t used them before. But they are untraceable, even have a feature that you can download video and image files from a few feet. No connection necessary.”
“It was my idea.” Mulder looked up to Langley walking into the room with a large mug of coffee in his hand. “You guys wouldn’t of thought about it until next year when Android came out with it.”
“That’s not important right now,” Scully spoke, “What could we possibly use that for?”
“Loads of things!” Langley defends.
“Name five.” The women demanded, switching her daughter to her other hip. The little girl nibbled on her puffs as she watched the adults talk, not even a little bit interested.
“Well, uh, I, uh, can’t name them right now. But it can do it!” He crossed his arms, balancing his mug. “We haven’t been able to do a proper test run yet. Now’s the perfect time.”
Mulder sat back and watched the women he would marry any day of the year and his long time friends argue over the new tech.
“You mean you haven’t tested it yet?” He knows Scully wants to yell at them, but she keeps her composure. “Yes we have! We have, trust me. But we haven’t went out to the city to test it. Too many eyes.” Frohike and Byers both nod along.
The room was silent for a few moments, Samantha took this time to try and free herself from her mother’s grip, slipping to the floor. Mulder watched his daughter as she walked around the room, exploring the area, but mostly keeping her hands to herself. He barely heard Scully as whispered, “Just, please find him” before collapsing into the chair nearest to her.
The day went pretty quickly for Mulder as they searched for their son. With it already being the year 2019, the Lone Gunmen were able to get most of the video surveillance footage from the comfort of their home. They were able to track Jackson’s movement, using the lost footage trail, up to the doors of the Hoover building.
It wasn’t until there was found footage of Jackson, untampered with and walking into the basement office of the X-Files with a paper badge taped to his chest that Mulder gulped. His mind went back to that unforgettable case with the Pusher. “Pull that footage. I want that erased from the system. Better yet, put it straight on the phones you’re giving us. I need this.” He was firm, strict. He didn’t want every to know he was scared shitless for his son.
From her seat with the baby falling asleep in her lap, Scully asks, “Anyway we can track where he went from there?”
Byers shakes his head. “He started avoiding cameras, erasing what he was on, and just left.”
“Honestly, I’d say your best bet is to go back to DC and we’ll guide you from here.” Langley commented. “Hate to see you go after this, but we want you to find your son.” Mulder nods without saying a word. “We have time to stay for dinner.” Scully suggested, trying to tangle herself from Samantha’s limbs, failing miserably when they ended up back where they started. “We don’t have to leave right this second. It’s still going to take us three hours to get back home.”
The four men smile. “Of course.”
***
It was nice, just sitting down and having dinner with old friends. No computers involved and no cases to work on. Just friends and stories. And of course a tiny redhead who refuses to eat her own dinner, but will gladly ask for her parents plates of food, even though it was the exact same food.
At 6pm, Mulder and Byers load the boat up to head back to the mainland, with one extra bag than when they arrived. The Gunmen hand off three phones and a laptop to the couple, explaining that anyone who tried to pinpoint their signal would get scrambled and sent to multiple locations across the world. It will never tell the tracer where the computer is.
Their goodbyes took longer than planned, the couple promising to visit once they are able to, hopefully with Jackson in tow.
This time, it was Byers who drove the motor boat to the mainland, dropping the small family off before heading back to his house with the guys. Mulder doesn’t say much as he loads the car up as Scully loads the Samantha into her carseat. When the engine roars awake, she leans herself back as far as she cad with the car seat behind her, and closes her eyes. He takes off. Next stop: home.
***
The ride home is quicker than the ride there was. But isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? At quarter after ten in the evening, Mulder pulled into their driveway, the girls still fast asleep.
He carefully lifts his sleeping daughter into his arm, resting her head on his shoulder and doing his best to let her sleep just a little bit longer than to rudely wake her up. Moving to the passengers seat, he knelt down, softly waking up his partner.
He doesn’t have to say a word. She wakes with a start, panic in her eyes for only a moment. Getting out and stretching, Mulder watched as she made herself comfortable before following her to the from door of their unremarkable house.
“I’ll unpack the car,” is all he says, handing the sleeping baby over. With everything in the house, Mulder left their luggage in the living room. He can put it away in the morning, after he’s had some shut eye. He walks into the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water, only to see his partner already had the filtered water jug in her hand, pouring a glass for herself while she heated up some formula for Samantha. Her body halted her supply long ago.
“She awake?” Mulder asked as he grabs a glass and poured some water for himself. She answers with the shake of her head. “But she will be soon.”
Finishing his drink, Mulder placed his cup in sink, kissing his partner on the head, and made his way to their bed. His head barely hit the pillow when the realm of unconsciousness overcame him. In the middle of the night, he barely registers Scully crawl into bed with him, nor did he realize his arms circling the petite woman and pulling her to his chest.
Hours later, he unconsciously hits his alarm clock, effectively stopping that awful racket.
The following morning, Mulder woke up to an empty bed and the sun shining in his eyes. Looking over to Scully’s bedside table, he read the clock: 9:25 am. Fuck I slept in. He threw the covers off, his body instantly missing the warmth, and started to get ready for the day.
With each step towards the bathroom, Mulder winced in pain. His aging body could no longer handle the all-nighters anymore, unlike it could when he was in his 30s. A lot has changed in 28 years. Sooner or later, there will be no more X-Files for him to work on. He needs a hot shower, badly.
The bathroom is filled with steam by the time he steps out of the bathtub, his skin red from the touch of the water. His morning routine pretty much over, hours later than it should of have been, but he can’t do anything after sleeping through his alarm clock.
“Morning!” Scully commented cheerfully, the bags that were under her eyes the previous day were long gone and the women he’s use to seeing everyday was once again before him. She walks up to him, pushing herself onto the tops of toes to give Mulder a kiss. He looked around the room, noticing The Wiggles were on the television and the luggage no longer where he left it the night before. He gave his partner a questioning look. “Oh, I put it all away when I got up this morning, seeing as I slept in the car on the way home last night. Besides, I was up before Samantha for the first time in forever.”
“Ah, that explains why I didn’t hear Samantha cry this morning like I usually do.”
“Are you going into work today?” She asks, her attention on the TV where The Wiggles team were dancing to an older song she recognized from when she watched the show as regularly as Samantha does now.
“Nah,” he stated, “I’ve already told Skinner that I wouldn’t be in today. I’ll just work on the write up here and when I go out, I’ll drop it off at his office.” He finishes with a yawn. “But first, coffee.” Watching his daughter bounce along to the music on the screen, laughing, Mulder took to the kitchen. The coffee pot was already full when he went to go fill it, he tested the temperature with the back of his hand. Still hot. He smiled. Now only if Scully would agree to marry him then his life would be perfect. But no matter how many times he brought up the topic, she insists that her life is almost perfect the way it is, and she wouldn’t change a thing if she could. They were partners for nearly 30 years; a marriage certificate wouldn’t change the fact that they are committed to each other.
It must have been around noon when Scully walks in on Mulder at his laptop, typing away with his index fingers. “Soup is on the stove.” Was her only comment, her upper body leaning on the door frame. He responses with a grunt, his hands taking a break from his typing to rub his eyes.
“I’m almost done, I’ll finish this before I come down.” He stretches his back, his spine popping in several places. It was about 45 minutes later when he finally made his way into the kitchen. Scully and Samantha were done eating, the little redhead playing with her toys in the living room as her mother cleaned up the mess she made. “Sorry,” He apologizes, “I didn’t mean to take that long. The profile took longer than expected.”
“You are finished, I take it.” He nodded as he placed the printed case file on the table, he went to make himself a sandwich to go along with his lunch. “I was going to take Samantha on another run to the park as it’s such a nice day out. But I won’t leave until after her nap.”
“I don’t know how you run nearly a quarter mile there and back nearly everyday, Scully. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up with you anymore.” He chuckled, taking another bite of his sandwich.
She finished cleaning up the kitchen, the clean dishes being left to air dry. “I gotta to keep fit to keep with any child of yours, Mulder.” She laughed as she left the kitchen. Mulder didn’t have to watch to know that she was getting her mini me ready for her afternoon nap, the man debating on if he should have a nap as well. But he decided against it. He can sleep when he’s dead. Or at least retired.
That’s something he doesn’t want to think about. He opens the file in front of him, looking over the notes he made that he was going to hand into Skinner before he went on his search. He itches to shred the file, but he knows that he can’t get out of it. He put as much information that he cad put together for the profile, leaving out anything that is connected to his son.
He finishes his soup quicker than thought he would, sighing when his procrastination technique failed, forcing him to go into the office earlier than he would like. The house was quiet when he locked the door. Scully was in the shower, allowing herself a few moments to herself that he knows she needs, and Samantha slept on. He took his car to DC, leaving the Buick to Scully in case she decided to take their daughter to the city.
The drive from Triangle, VA to Washington was like any other day. He rocked to Prince in the car, something he does almost every day. He tried listening to new music, but he couldn’t always get into it. I must be getting old. This is something likes to Scully remind him of on a daily basis. The clear day made the drive pleasant enough to enjoy. He didn’t have to worry about anyone tailing him. Not today at least, He told himself. But nevertheless, he was thankful when he pulled into the government parking lot.
He wasted little time in stopping in on Skinner, not waiting for the Secretary to call the A.D. before barging in on the man. “Your profile.” He commented, handing the folder to the bald man.
The man in question raises his brow. “It took a bit to get inside this guy’s head, and it wasn’t pretty when I did.” He lies. Skinner opens the folder to start to read the notes, noticing a few of them. “You figure the suspect in inexperienced?” Mulder nods. “I’ll have this handed out to the teams this evening when the lead agent is done going over it.” He closed the folder, smacking it on his palm, then rested it on the desk behind him. He leaned against the desk, his arms crossed and stares the younger man down. “Care to explain where you were yesterday, Agent?”
“With all due respect, no. I had gotten in this killer’s head, and by the time I got out, I went to clear my head. But I won’t tell you where I was.” Mulder stared back, his arms, too, crossed over his chest. He moves to leave, stopping in his tracks when the other man made a sound. “I still have a life outside of this office, Walter. I need to clear my head before it hurts my family, just like any parent would do.” And with that, he left. Relieved to be done with his boss, Mulder quickly made his way to the basement to scout out anything Jackson may have taken or left behind in his office. The room was seemed untouched to the untrained eye. But Mulder has spent the last year and a half alone in this office. He knew what he left and where it was, thanks to his photographic memory.
Moving around to his chair, he got a better view of his desk, noticing instantly what had been touched.
The picture frame of Scully and Samantha.
He can’t stop the smile that grows on his face. His son got to see what his baby sister looks like. He shakes his head to remind himself what he was doing. Mulder looks around his desk to see what else was disturbed, nothing much really. The drawer to his desk was slightly opened which is usually where he keeps some of his mail from work.
With his home address on it.
He really should take it home to be filed, but he would most likely lose it that way, no matter what Scully said.
***
Scully smiles along with her baby as she loads her into the stoller. “We are going to have so much fun at the park, aren’t we Sammie?” The little girl looked up at her mother, her heavy jacket, too warm for the nice early spring weather. “We are going to have a nice jog through the park and spend some time on the swings before Dada comes home for dinner.” She says hopefully. “Yeah? Yeah.”
In Scully’s opinion, the run through the park was lovely. She saw the other, much younger mothers, walking through the park with their own children. She tried to make nice with the other women, but she found they always criticized her for having such a late pregnancy. And, of course, Mulder didn’t help when he tried to talk to the children about aliens. The lovable goof.
As she approaches the park, she notices a lonely dark figure in the shadows of a tree. Her doctor instinct told her to help the person while her FBI instinct screamed at her to investigate the person. Fearing the worst, she approached the person.
“Excuse me? Excuse me, are you okay?” When the person didn’t respond, she stepped closer, placing herself between the stranger and the stroller and crouching down to their level. The mother in her tells her to protect the helpless infant. “Excus-” Her words caught in her throat when the stranger looked up.
Jackson.
But how?
“Sc-... Mo-” The words weren’t complete, but she recognizes her name falling from his lips.
“Jackson,” She sighs his name. “What are you doing out here? In the middle of nowhere?” When he didn’t answer, she pressed on. “Yo- you live here, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t call it living, exactly.” He mumbles, his gaze shifting from her to the stroller. He doesn’t move to get up, but shifts in place.
“How long have you been out here?” She asks, as she moves to sit back on her hind legs. The teen shrugged, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two redheads.
“Not long I guess. I’ve spent longer periods of time in other places worse than this.”
The pause was long, Scully fears of saying the wrong thing, fears of chasing him away. “You could have called?”
“And what? Get you all killed too?” He snarled, mostly to himself than to her. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dana. That includes Mulder and Sammie. She likes to be called ‘Sammie, by the way. None of that ‘Samantha’ stuff.”
Her name on his lips shocked her, but she shouldn’t be surprised. However, it still hurt. “I can look after myself, thank you very much.” She spoke, confidence in her words. But something he said shocked her. “How do you know her name?” She whispers, almost scared of the answer.
“She told me.”
Scully looks over to her daughter, the young blue eyes on the teen. The girl looked more curious and bored than anything. She was content to play with her surroundings, which included Scully’s hair because she was kneeling a little too close to the stroller. After extracting her long hair from her daughter’s firm grasp, she looks back at her eldest.
“Please come home with me, we can protect you.” “I’ll just be putting Sammie in danger!” He stared at her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Those eyes, the same as his father’s, with the same intensity she is so used to staring her down.
She softens her gaze, knowing that if he’s anything like his parents, he was just as bullheaded. “Jackson, your father and I have experience with running away from the government. We even have experience hiding from them. He was a criminal once too.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
Scully raises to her feet, moving around to the back of the stroller, missing the flash of abandonment fear in his eyes. She pulls out the diaper bag from the bottom, revealing the backpack behind it. “Yesterday we went to see some friends who will do what they can to protect us. All of us.” She emphasizes.
“They don’t know anything about me.” The teen mumbles as he watches her.
She meets his gaze again. “We know quite a bit about you, actually.” He scoffs. “We know that you were sent to see help for high brain activity since you were twelve. We also know that you sent away to a school for the troubled after getting into multiple fights. We also know that you’re a hacker. Something the boys take pride in.”
He looks away from her, his eyes somewhere in the field to his left. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m just saying, yesterday we spent a whole lot of time looking to protect you from someone tracing your steps. We were able to pull up your history, including sealed police records.” She says as she walks back in front of her son, placing the backpack on the ground before him, then taking a step back. “In the bag you will find two things: A laptop that no one will be able to trace, not even our friends, and a cellphone which is just as untraceable as the computer.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jackson questions, still not fully sure of her intentions.
“Because no matter what anyone says, we still love you.” She answered, meaning every word. “Take it, use them however you want, but use them with the knowledge that we love you and your safety is always our first priority.”
Jackson pulls the backpack closer to him, his fingers barely touching the fabric. “I’ll think about it.” He finally says after a few moments silence.
Scully nods, relieved that he’s not pushing her away again.
“That’s all I ask.” She looked at her watch on her wrist, noticing the time, she made to her feet. “Our door is open to you, for if you want to come home.”
He grunts, suspicious of the bag still, examining it for anything that could get him killed.
“Listen, I have to get Saman- Sammie home. It’s almost time for dinner, and you don’t want to see the attitude she develops when she’s hungry.” Scully smiled to him. Jackson didn’t say a word to her, his attention focused on finding a tracer on the black bag before him. “I’ll see you around.” She says, the hope evident in her voice as she grasps the handles of the stroller.
As she turns to leave, she misses the young man look up at her longing for her to turn back around and force him to come with her, and the broken heart he felt when she didn’t.
The walk home was longer than what she was used to, but the talk she just had with her son took more energy out of her than the run itself did. The single car in the driveway told her that Mulder still hasn’t arrived home, giving her time to think of what to make for dinner. In the meantime, she could figure out just what to say to her partner about her trip to the park. Scully drew a blank on what she wanted to make for dinner. She thought about ordering Chinese, but thought against it when she remembered that it’s what they had last time she didn’t want to cook and left the decision up to Mulder while he was on his way home from work.
After a few minutes of pondering, she pulls out a small family lasagna form the freezer and throws it in the oven to cook. She had an hour to sort out her head. Turning on her heels, she headed straight to the living room where she left her burner phone on top of the fireplace, out of reach of her daughter’s grabby hands.
She calls the first person she could think of. “Mulder, it’s me.” She pause to take a breath. “He is here, at the park.”
***
Mulder made it home in record time after he ended the call with his partner. Jackson had went to their small town, he went and talked to his mother. He couldn’t believe it.
When Scully had told him that she had handed off her burner phone to their son, along with the laptop that was meant for them to use, he was flabbergasted. The laptop that was meant for tracking down the agents that were after Jackson is now in the hands of a teen they love but hardly know.
Over dinner, Mulder kept asking questions about what had happened, wanting to know more.
“I don’t know, Mulder. He doesn’t seem to fully trust us yet.” She scooped the warm pasta and cheese into her daughter’s mouth, encouraging her to eat her dinner. “But he’s scared that being in contact with us with cause us harm. He mostly feared for Sammie’s safety.”
“Scully, you never call her Sammie, that’s my thing.” He stated, pointing his empty fork at her.
“Jackson told me she likes it more than ‘Samantha’.” She said, not looking away from the tiny girl, not giving him the satisfaction of her admitting that he was right for once.
Mulder gives his daughter a sideways glance, questioning his partner’s sanity. So many questions, but questions he learned to stop asking a long time ago. He shakes his head, taking the last few bites of his dinner. He cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen, using the time to spend wondering about his son. He was in the town, basically just down the street. Scully walked there. He couldn’t believe how close his son was. But he held himself back from going after them.
Instead, he calls The Lone Gunmen.
***
Jackson sits in his small tent under the canopy of the Virginia woods. The backpack he got from his birth mother sits in the middle of his makeshift bed. He has every right not to trust her, she had worked for the government, the same people who were after him.
But there was that part that hung onto every word she spoke.
He opens the bag, peeking inside. He sees no wires, and he still can’t locate a tracer chip. Either it is hidden well, or it's not there at all. He pulls out the cellphone first. It looks like any regular smartphone, doesn’t even come with a case. Cautiously, he turns it on.
The phone boots up like any regular phone, he almost believed he was holding the phone he got from his parents for his 16th birthday. But when it loaded, there was no family picture and no cute password his mom made: the day he was adopted. In fact, this phone didn’t have a password. It didn’t have anything on it. Almost everything was shut off on it. He can’t believe it. She was telling the truth, it seems. At least for the moment.
Setting the phone beside him, Jackson pulls out the laptop and the chargers for the two electronics. Unlike the phone, the computer had one piece of decoration on it: a sticker. Jackson wanted to laugh when he saw it. It was old and worn down, but it looks just like the one he had on his notebooks at school.
The same sticker that he was picked on for during elementary school. I Want to Believe, it says. Booting up the computer, he oges to investigate the older electronic, only to find that it too had been recently wiped clean. But he's not out of the woods yet; he has to test this stuff out.
He turned off the computer, having juice where he could, and went to pick up the phone when it went off. Reading the message, he read a familiar name that hasn’t popped up in recent history. In the past 18 years to be exact. ‘Welcome, Jackson, to The Lone Gunmen.’
***
Scully was taking Samantha, Sammie, she reminds herself, up to bed when Mulder declared that he was going to call the Lone Gunmen. The baby was quick to put to sleep, using their newly acquired ninja skills to leave the room without waking her up. Arriving back on the main floor, she listens to what is being said.
“What do you mean you’ve already contacted him?” Mulder asks, pacing the room. “He’s only had the phone for five hours.”
Scully can’t hear what was being said on the other end, but when she called them after she had originally called Mulder, she explained that the teen now had the burner phone that was intended for her. Because of this, she has an idea of the conversation that is currently happening.
“We are trying to get him to trust us, stalking him isn’t going to help. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches the stuff instantly.” He is upset, and she knows it, he was scared to lose his son again. And honestly, so was she.
She places her hand on his arm, stopping him in his place. She doesn’t have to say a word to him to get her meaning across.
“Just… just don’t blow this for us.”
Being this close, the closest they’ve been in 17 years, only to have it all ripped away from them at the last moment would quite possibly destroy them. Scully walks into Mulder’s arms and leans her head on his chest, comforting him. One of his arms made its way around her shoulders, pulling her her closer to him, his chin resting on the top of her head.
After a long silence, she hears the beep of the phone as he hangs up. “They are waiting to see if he’ll respond to their message.”
“I heard.” She mumbles into him. “I think they were too early though. Should have waited.” Her insides were crying for their son, begging him to not lose trust in them. But she knew it was no use. Jackson was pretty much an adult now, a person who is fully capable of making his own decisions, the most recent of which is being to be on the run from the government.
“We’ll just have to wait.” He says, his other hand resting on the small of her back, encircling her small form. She closes her eyes, nodding against him.
***
The wait for Jackson to message The Lone Gunmen was a long one, and Scully was growing impatient. Two weeks had passed by the time Mulder had gotten the long awaited for phone call, and she was right there with him that Wednesday evening when he answers the phone.
Abandoning her daughter to play with her toys alone, she follows Mulder to the kitchen. He doesn’t say much, just listens to what they have to say. The call is over in less than five minutes. “He wants to meet you.” Is the first thing he says. “Alone.” He ran his hands through his hair, stepping closer to the counter where he leaned against it with a heavy sigh. “I want to be there, I don’t want you to go alone.”
“Mulder, he won’t hurt me. If he wanted to, he would have done it already. Besides, he seemed scared more than anything when I met him in the park.” They has discussed this a lot over the past couple of weeks, going over the meet repeatedly.
“I’ve seen what he could do, Scully. I know what he does when he’s scared.”
She peeks into the living room, watching their daughter play for a moment before coming up behind her partner, pressing her back against his back and wrapping her around around his waist. “You won’t lose me, I promise.” She pressed her lips to his clothed back before resting her forehead on him. “I’ve dealt with your temper for all these year, I’m sure I can handle his.” She smiles, thinking of how much of her partner she sees in her son.
Mulder doesn’t move from his spot, his head down. “He wants to meet you tonight, back at the park.”
“You’ll have to stay here with Sammie, I’m going to leave after we put her to bed.” She whispers. “I’m not taking the chance with you coming.” Knowing him, he’d try to find a way in tagging alone, even it means sneaking out of the house. Giving him their daughter to watch while she was asleep was a solid way to keep him home. She hopes, at least.
“Just… be careful. I can’t lose you, not now. Not ever. Not again.” She nods again, her forehead rubbing against his back.
With hesitation, Scully breaks from her spot against her partner, returning to their daughter. “Hiya baby, are you ready for beddy-bye time?” She asks, swinging Sammie in her arms with her landing her on her hip. The baby babbles happily, looking a little bit tired. “I bet you are!” Scully coos. “Cause Mama is tired too, you wore me out real quick tonight, my sweetpea.”
It took Scully 15 minutes to get Sammie ready for bed with her bathtime routine. By the time she places her on her back in her crib, her eyes began to droop. Three… Two… One… And out like a light.
When she descended to the main floor, she notices that Mulder was sitting on the old couch, his phone in his hand. “I’m just about ready to go.” She says, heading to the front door to pull on her runners.
“I think this is a bad idea, Scully. It’s too dark.” He didn’t look up at her as she approaches him.
“Mulder, we’ve faced worst monsters in the dark. Jackson is not a monster, just a scared boy. You have to try to trust him.” Part of her was frustrated with him being so skeptical, but could she really blame him? In the last 28 years, he’s nearly lost her multiple times. And a couple of those times, he almost lost her completely cause of something she went head first on a case.
“It’s not that I don’t trust him, I want to trust him. I want to believe in him. But he’s only 19 and has a body count, and I can’t have you be one of them.” She rests her hand on his shoulder, bringing her other hand around to his jaw, she squats down, turning his head towards her. “Please come home.”
The broken look on his face breaks her heart. “I promise. You’re not going to lose me that easily.” He pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering there for a moment before parting from him. And with that, she grabs her burner phone and walks out the front.
The jog to the park was quick; she barely felt the early spring air chill on her skin. The sky was pitch black when she arrived to the park. She almost completely passed Jackson sitting under the tree where he was when she left him two weeks ago, until he rose from his spot. The look in his eyes told her he caught her flinching.
“Are you alone?” Was the first thing he asks, looking behind her and around the empty park.
She nods her head. “Your father is watching your sister.”
“I didn’t think you’d come.” He says, pulling out to look at the time on his burn phone. She could tell he was nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his worn out t-shirt. She was too, honestly. She had to stop herself from doing the same. Must be a genetic thing.
“What did you want to talk about?” She speaks up after the silence becomes unbearable.
“I don’t know. A lot of things.” He looks away from her again, watching a stray car drive down the street. “I did some research on you over the last couple of weeks. Now that I had a secured computer to do it on.” She smiled, her little hacker son wanted to know about his parents. “You… your job was to really do all of that?” He looked down to her. “
Yeah… yeah it was. Our job was...is to solve cases that cannot be explained through conventional means.”
“Like… me, you mean?” He asked, not sure if he wanted the answer. She nods, not meeting his gaze. Definitely someone like him.
“Was there really a flukeman?”
“There was. Man, that thing was creepy.” Scully laughs, remembering Mulder’s reaction to the entire thing.
Jackson took the first step forward before stopping again. “There were many cases that ended with you two in the hospital.” He frowned. Scully couldn’t help but remember how many times they were admitted back then compared to how little they were now with Sammie in their lives.
“Our job is dangerous. There’s no way around that. It always has been.” She states, watching as he took another step towards her. The several feet between then were torture.
“And the time you were missing? The report said you were abducted from your home, gone for several weeks.” An ache his her heart at the lost memory.
“Like I said, our job is dangerous.” She pauses for a minute, taking a few deep breaths of the chilled air. “Jackson, was there a reason you called me out here in the middle of the night?”
He nods, watching another car drive pass them on the street. “I want to stop running.” He says quietly.
His words shock her. Already? “Then come home.” She says before she can stop herself. The teen shakes his head.
“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t lose my birth mother so soon after losing my parents.” Scully nods in understanding. “The Lone Gunmen are doing their best to clear anything of me from the government’s systems. But it’s not enough. I am a danger to those around me.”
Her body shivers against her will; she should have brought a heavier coat. “You don’t have to stay for long, you can stay for just a little while.”
He shook his head. “No, not tonight.” Scully’s eyes widened, Not tonight, there is hope after all. Though she kept her thoughts to herself. “I just wanted you to know that no matter what happens, of all those I don’t trust. I trust you.” He shortened the distance between them with a few long strides, stopping right in front of her.
Then the unexpected happened. Scully finds herself engulfed in a hug. One that is so incredibly familiar. Pressed up against a hard chest, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and chin resting on the top of her head.
“No matter what happens, I don’t want to put you guys in danger.” He whispers, holding on to her for a few more moments. However, Scully notices a change. The boy suddenly became tense, letting go of her. She turns around to see a familiar car sitting in the parking lot.
“I’m going to shoot that man.” She mutters, the murder plan already forming in her head.
“I- I gotta go.” And just like that, Jackson was gone. She looks back to her car, her hands on her hips as she taps her foot at the man behind the wheel. Stalking to the car, she notices Sammie asleep in the back seat of the vehicle. “You couldn’t listen to what I had to say, and came anyways?” She whispers harshly at him.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was worried about you?” She glares even more at him as she sits into the passenger seat. “I brought your coat?”
“Fine, you get to live tonight. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“Scully, you were gone for over an hour!” He pulls the car out of the parking lot and heads towards their little unremarkable house. “When you didn’t come home, I had to come looking for you. I didn’t know if anything happened to you.” He defends himself.
She gives him a hard look. “I can take care of myself-”
“Against a supernatural powered teenage boy?” He butts in.
“And I don’t need you coming to my rescue. I had asked you to keep an eye on Sammie, so if she woke up before I got home, you could put her back to sleep. Not take her for a joyride.”
“I wouldn’t call this a ‘joyride’.” He mutters, his hands squeezing the steering wheel. “My car is a joyride. Anyways,” He starts. “Sammie did wake up. She couldn’t get back to sleep, so I loaded her in the car and went for a spin around the block. You know how car rides knock her out.”
“Your argument for coming here still isn’t valid, Mulder.” She rubbed her fingers over her eyes. She was getting more tired as the night went on, and she wanted to do nothing more than to curl up in her bed. “Besides, I was able to get somewhere with Jackson tonight. Not far, but I have gained his trust. The four of us have.”
“Four?”
“The Lone Gunmen and I.” She answers, feeling the jealousy radiate from him. “You’ll find a way to prove to him that you can be trusted too.”
“Haven’t I done enough? I killed that smoking bastard!”
“Only after he had shot Jackson. Look,” She starts. “I’m not saying you didn’t do enough, but he needs to know that you can be trusted too.” In their driveway, Scully gets out of the car and unlocks the front door, leaving it open for the rest of her family to walk in. “I’ll put a good word in for you next time I see him, okay?”
“Next time? When is this next time?”
Scully shrugs, kicking off her shoes. “Whenever he asks to meet.” She takes their daughter from him, holding the sleeping girl against her chest. “I’m going to bed, if you’re done brooding, you can come join me.”
When she finally lays down in her bed after putting Sammie back to sleep, her mind replays the conversations she had with her son, lulling her to sleep with them. She barely registers the dip the bed makes as Mulder climbs on, wrapping his arms around her middle, whispering in her ear before her world goes dark.
“I want nothing more than to trust him, my love.”
***
Jackson watches the unremarkable house from a nearby tree. He can see bodies moving through the window, mostly the tall figure of his biological father as he waits for him to leave.
He wants to talk to her, and her alone. Keeping in contact with The Lone Gunmen, they’ve been telling him stories from when his biological parents were younger, before he was born. He was skeptical in trusting either of them, but the more he talked with her the more he started to trust her. His father, on the other hand, he could tell the man was tense around him. He could feel it, making it harder to trust the man.
He didn’t expect to trust a government agent, but here he is.
When he stepped into his father’s office a couple weeks ago, he was surprised to see what looked like a mess of an office. There were files everywhere, and the wall was covered in photos and news clippings of strange events from all over North America, red yarn connecting them all. Was this really what the man’s mind was like?
On the desk in his father’s office was a picture of his mother and a baby. Jackson didn’t know who she was, but he felt an immediate connection with her. He had never felt a connection like that before, but suddenly he knew exactly who she was; his baby sister. It was erie in a way. He had pictured the girl to look more like him than like their mother. But now, knowing what the baby looks like, he couldn’t picture her any other way.
But he had gotten what he need, and left. Now he was in the little town of Triangle, waiting up a tree to make his move.
“Say bye-bye Dada.” Jackson hears with his mind, watching as the older mother takes Sammie’s hand into hers and waves goodbye. The sports car starts its engine and within seconds, his father drives away. He watched for a moment as his mother and sister walked back into the house, listening to her baby babble.
With them back in the house, he concentrates on the area, pinpointing where anyone might be watching, and created himself invisible to their mind. With his body at ease, he hops out of the tree and made his way to the house. Thinking better to go around to the back, he easily hops the fence and approaches the door. Willing his heart to slow down, he knocks.
The noise inside the house stops, and his heart rate starts to pick up again. He uses all his senses to look for the woman on the other side of the door, finding her quickly shuffling toward the door, her right arm points straight to the ground with her finger at the ready to pull the trigger of a gun. Jackson swallows, maybe he should have taken the front door.
The curtain beside the door moved, and Jackson could guess what she was doing, he had watched enough TV with his parents to fathom a guess. The door opened a touch, but he didn’t move. He didn’t feel like getting shot again, especially with his baby sister in the house.
His birth mother reveals half of her face through the open part of the window. “Jackson, what are you doing here?”
“Can I come in? Please? I don’t want to be seen.” He asks, looking over his shoulder to see no one behind him, but that didn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, feeling that he was being watched.
“Yes, yes, of course.” She opened the door wider, her hand still secured around the glock. He watches as she watched the backyard, he suspects she expects someone to come out of the bushes. Instead she closes the door and locks it. “Now, why are you here? Why didn’t you contact me to say you were on your way?”
He can’t stop the small smile on his lips; she was worried about him. “Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast. I’m sure your father left some bacon in the fridge from last weekend. Do you want eggs with that? Toast?”
He can’t keep up with her, she was already in the kitchen, her gun was locked and placed on the table. “Dana... Dana, you don’t have to do this. I just wanted to see you. I want to know more about you and my father. I want to know I can trust you both.”
She stopped her fretting and smiles up at him. She takes his hand in her and leads him to the kitchen table. “We’ll eat first, then we’ll talk.” Turning back to the fridge, she asks, “So, whatcha want to have?” The corners of his lips tugged upwards, but it pulled at his heart strings, he missed this feeling of being fretted over by his mom, the mom that raised him for most of his life.
“I’ll just have the bacon, and a couple pieces of toast, please and thank you.” He said, not wanting to sound impolite.
The woman hummed in approval, her head sticking inside the refrigerator. “Can you do me a favor and check on Sammie? She’s usually pretty good, but she’s still only a year old. Not the most trustworthy at that age.” Jackson nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t see him, and walked back into the living room. His baby sister was surrounded by colorful toys of different shapes and sizes. He watches her play for a few moments, his heart swelling at the thought of this little girl being related to him. He turns to leave the room when he notices a couple yellow notepads laying on the table. He walks towards them, his curiosity getting the better of him.
They were notes on the school he went to. He felt his heart squeezing together in his chest. He picks up all the notepads and takes them to the kitchen with him. His mother was standing at the stove, the burner on when he walked up behind her. “What are these?”
She jumps. “Jesus, Jackson! Didn’t your mother ever teach you to never sneak up on people?” She held her hand over her chest. “Good thing I don’t have a heart condition.” She mumbles to herself, though he could hear her.
Scully turns around, leaving the bacon on low heat so it doesn’t burn while she’s away. “These,” He hands her the notes. “What are they? Why were they on the table?” He could feel his temper starting to rise.
She glances at the notes for just a moment before she answers him. “Your father, under orders from our boss, was to create a profile for the murders of multiple men across the country who were imploded. It is his job to do this.”
“But why is my school on here? I’m sure you didn’t need that kind of information for this profile!” He didn’t shout, but he was damn near close to it.
She shakes her head. “None of this information went into the actual file that was handed to our boss. Your father did all that research on his own, because he wanted to find you. He truly cares about you, even if you don’t see or understand it yet.” She locks her gaze onto him. “He wanted to make sure none of the information about you made it into the final profile. He was trying to protect you.”
“But they will know that you opened my files.” He breathed through his nose, his breath hot on his own lips. “I know how these people work, I’ve been hunted by them for so long.” She huffs, setting the notes on counter beside the stove. “We had help from the Lone Gunmen. No one will know we looked into your files.” She pauses. “Everything we’ve ever done was to protect you. Both when you were a baby and still to this day."
Jackson turns away from her, thoughts running wild in his mind. He struggles to continue to trust her. “Then why is he so tense when it comes to me?” He needs to know what was going on in his father’s head.
“That’s something only he would be able to answer; what he’s told me wasn’t enough to give you a solid answer. In my opinion, he only got to spend a couple days with you when you were a baby and he’s still in that mindset; he doesn’t know how to act around you.” Scully explains.
Jackson struggles to process her words. Only a couple days? He remembers reading the case where one Fox Mulder had gone missing for six months, only to show up dead one night. When he remembers the dates he appeared and was found to be alive, he gasps as he realizes the dates coincide with the months just before he was born.
“I struggled a lot, ya know. Between being a single parent and with people trying to get to you, I had no choice.” He heard her sigh. “And I regretted that decision ever since.” She turned back to the stove, flipping the teen’s breakfast before putting bread in the toaster. “By the time I had your father back, it was too late. He was hiding from the government, and you were with your new parents.”
Jackson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His father had been on the run from the same men that he was running from. When he pictured his biological parents after being informed that he was, in fact, adopted into the Van de Kamp family, he imagined that his parents were just innocent people, too young or too broke to take care of a baby. But then he learns that they were closing in on their 40’s when he was born, with a good paying job to boot too. But now he learns that his father had also been a criminal, and most importantly, he had always been a target.
“I guess some things just never change.” He mutters to himself, backing away from his mother who has turned back to the stove to finish up the bacon. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Hah! You never gave me the chance.” The toast pops and he moves to grab it, getting his breakfast together, the bacon now free of the grease it was cooked in.
Making a sandwich out of his food, Jackson ate in silence, his mother sitting across from him, her eyes fixed on her daughter in the living room. “You shouldn’t be eating that, it’s not healthy.” She comments.
“I’m 19, Dana. A little cholesterol will not kill me. Besides, this is how my Dad ate his bacon.”
“Your dad also slept on his couch for at least 10 years, despite the fact that he had a perfectly good bed. He is not the person you should look to for healthy eating and self care habits.”
“No, not my father. My Dad, the man who raised me.” Jackson comments, taking another bite of his sandwich. He watches her flinch at his words and he frowns. He wants to remind her that his parents are still dead because of him but that they were the ones who raised him and helped develop his behavior. Or some of it at least. “Every Sunday, my Mom would make sure we had bacon in the house so we could have a special brunch. For as long as I can remember, my Dad would make an egg and bacon sandwich, dip it in ketchup and everything.” He smiles at the memory, his heart aching for his parents back.
His mother looks at him with a strange look on her face. She doesn’t say much, just listening to what he was saying. He can’t see a smile on her face, but he suspects that she might have been hurt by his words. His parents were still his parents; this woman was his mother. It was different.
“As long as you were happy with them.” He smiles at her. Even with all the shit he had caused, he had been happy with his parents.
***
Mulder barely has the chance to sit down beforehis phone rings. “Yes, I’ll be right up.” Skinner wants to talk to him, it could be about anything, but he just hopes it has nothing to do with the profile to handed in a couple weeks ago. Out of anything it could be, he wishes for a new case to focus on. And with that final thought, he makes his way back out of the basement and to the office of the Assistant Director’s office.
Arriving at the secretary's office, he knocks on the door. “Good morning, Agent Mulder. A.D. Skinner is ready to see you.” He nods to the woman, walking past her and straight into the next room.
“Agent,” The grey man greets him. “Close the door behind you please, we have much to discuss.” Complying to the man’s wishes, he shuts the door. “I’ve read your profile. You could have come to me.”
“And then do what? Have them find him when they came to the same conclusion you did?” He was calmer than he expected. “I couldn’t do that to him. He’s just beginning to trust us.”
“I knew it was him the day I handed you the file, I was there, I saw what happened to those people in the hotel room. I could have given the case to anyone else, but I decided to give it to you. I had to let you in on what was happening with that case file.” Skinner’s eyes lock onto the other man down. “I know what that boy means to the two of you, I won’t become between you three. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Then what?” Mulder asks, his arms crossing over his chest.
“The results.” His boss pauses, walking around to stand in front of his desk, a file in his hand. “The agents we have working on pulled up a couple possible suspects. And your son is one of them.”
“Then why-?” He didn’t get the chance to finish.
“The federal records claim him as deceased, Agent Mulder.” His heart skips a beat hearing it. “Died over two years ago; suicide. The same M.O. from when you first found him.”
“That’s it? That’s the only thing saving him?” He asks, grabbing the file from his boss and flipping to the page with his son’s face. “Then why is he still being hunted? This is how these other cases have popped up.” He was starting to lose himself.
“Whoever is hunting him down, doesn’t work with us. There is another team out there, and we have no control over them.” The grey man sighs. “So far the agents are pushing this other boy, 24 years old Aiden Strept. There is little hope that he’s done anything, and the case ends up in your X-Files cabinet for the rest of time.”
He looks over at the picture of the other boy and his records, showing similarities between the two, noticeably, both going to the same school, just years apart from one another. Like his boss, he doesn’t want an innocent boy going to jail because of him protecting his son. His criminal son.
Mulder gets up and starts to walk towards the door, but pauses, turns back towards Skinner and says, “Thank you sir, for everything you’ve done for him.” And with that, he walks out and closes the door behind him.
***
Jackson watches from a distance as his mother plays with his baby sister. He was never around babies much while he was growing up, so he didn’t know exactly how to play with them. As he watches them, he begins to process the information he’s recently learned about his family.
Both of his parents have been criminals at one point in their lives --- does he think that makes them cool and makes him feel a little closer to them or does he think “I will never be free from this prison”
He has always been hunted, most likely to be experimented on or killed because of his powers and his connection to the invasion.
His father did tons of research on him to find him. His father is doing everything in his power to keep him away from being caught.
“I’ll be right back, I’m just going to put Sammie down for her morning nap.” Jackson was brought out of his musing by his mother’s words. He nods silently, watching as the woman swings the small girl up and balances her on her hip. “I’ll be down soon.” And with that, she left him alone.
He takes the time to scan out the front window, suspicious of anyone that could be in the area. With no one in sight, or on his radar, he walks back to the living room and sits down on the couch. Before him, the TV is still playing. He thinks he recognizes the show, but he’s not sure. He debates whether to turn it off, but he feels an uncomfortable shiver as he reaches for the remote. As if someone was telling him not to touch the TV. For a moment he thought it was Sammie who wants the television to stay on. But she’s supposed to be asleep. He stares hard at the remote, reaching for the remote again and feels the same resistance he felt before, but this time it’s accompanied by a strong “NO” in the voice of his sister. Well that settles that, he thinks as he sets the remote on the couch.
He checks his watch fifteen minutes later when his mother hasn’t returned to the main level. He got up and walks to the stairs when he hears a movement, looking up he sees his mother turn to the stairs and come down.
“Apologies, Sammie didn’t seem to want to get any sleep today. Every time I turned to leave, she’d start whimpering. I don’t know what’s up with her today. She’s usually pretty good at going down.” He nods, turning back towards the living room to sit down. The older woman grabs the remote in her hand, turning off the TV herself. She didn’t seem to get the same message he had. And if she did, she ignored it. “Are there any questions you have?” She asks once she settles herself on the couch. “Anything you’d like to know?”
“Yeah,” He looks up at her. “I want to know how it all happened.”
She smiles at him, pulling her feet up onto the couch and wrapping her arms around them. She rests her chin on her knees and starts to tell a story she’s told so many times before. “Well, it all started in 1993 when I, fresh out of medical school and one of the greenest agents on the force, was assigned to the X-Files to debunk your father’s work…”
“You mean spy on him?”
Scully just smiles.
***
Hours pass like minutes and soon enough, Mulder walks through the door to see Scully with her head in the refrigerator, apparently looking for something. When he turns to the living room to check on Sammie, he almost gasps because there on the ground playing peek a boo with his daughter in his lap is the son he hasn’t seen in two years.
He watches the moment between the siblings fondly, not daring to disturb them, before walking back into the kitchen to his is partner deciding on dinner. “I’m all up for the hamburgers if that’s what you’re stuck on.” He comments on the two meals in her hands.
“I don’t know, does Jackson even like burgers? Maybe he’s a vegetarian.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I don’t know, let’s ask him. HEY JACKSON, DO YOU LIKE BURGERS?”
“YES!” Was the response from the living room.
“See how easy that was?” Scully rolls her eyes at him and smacks his arm. “You didn’t have to do that in my ear, ya know.”
He laughs, his hand resting on the small of her back, then plants a kiss on her head. “I know.”
Scully sets the burgers down on the counter and heads to the living room. “Hey Jackson, can you put the TV on for Sammie? She usually watches some before dinner to calm her down.”
“Sure” The teen says, reaching for the remote, catching the attention of his sister. He turns it on and flips through the channels. “Oh look Sammie, Barney’s on!”
“NO!” His parents yell from the kitchen, startling him and causing him to fumble and drop the remote.
He spins around to question them. “What? I used to watch it all the time!”
“Didn’t your parents ever research what went on with the actors in this show?” “
No, doxxing the hell out of children’s show wasn’t one of their past times.”
“Sammie is never watching Barney; he’s not allowed in this house for reasons that I’ll explain when younger ears” he looks pointedly at Sammie, “aren’t around. Let’s try some Sesame Street instead.” Mulder explains. He exits the room and heads to the backyard to warm up the barbecue for dinner. He may not be the best cook, but he does make some mean burgers.
When he walks back into the house, Jackson was sitting on the floor with Sammie still in his lap, watching the show he suggested. He walks into the kitchen to find his partner in tears. “Scully,” Mulder says concerned, “What’s wrong?”
“Mulder,” She sniffles, “Do you realize that this will be the first time in 19 years that we’ve had sat down to have dinner with out son, as a family?” A fresh tear rolls down her face. He steps closer to her, his hand placed on her cheek, his thumb whipping away the tear.
“And do you realize he couldn’t exactly sit down for dinner, as he was three days old?” He quips. She laughs, leaning into his touch. “But I get what you mean; our family is together again.” He pulls her into a hug, burying his face into her long locks.
“I just hope that he can stay.” He lets out a silent prayer to whatever God would listen to him.
“He seems to be getting pretty attached to Sammie and she seems to be the same way with him. Maybe if he won’t stay for us, he’ll stay for her.” Scully observes. “I don’t care what makes him stay; I just want him back in our lives for good.” A fresh round of tears falls from her eyes and Mulder wipes them away with the pad of his thumb.
“Oh Dana.” He whispers, her first name rare on his lips as he pulls her into his arms. Neither of them notice the siblings standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Sammie in the arms of the teen. He watches them in awe, the passion and care they still have for each other after all these years makes him want to believe in something he hasn’t in a long time: love. Sammie is content to chew on her fist. He doesn’t say a word for many moments, leaving his mother and father to have their moment together.
A couple minutes had passed by the time two part because they feel like they are being watched. Sure enough they look over to the entryway to see their son standing against the wall. “Oh, Jackson, sorry. We didn’t see you there.” Scully says, trying to hide the fact that she had been crying not more than 30 seconds ago.
“Do you really mean that?” He asks, fearing the worst.
The woman nods, wrapping her arms around her middle. He let out a sign of relief. “We’ve wanted this for so long, but never had the chance to do so. Not until tonight.” He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his sister in his arms.
The family of four stood around the kitchen in silence, coming to terms with the emotions in the room.
“This isn’t going to get dinner cooked.” Mulder was the first one to speak up. “I don’t need to waste any more propane.” With that, he grabs the plate of hamburgers and walks out the back door.
Jackson watches his father leave before looking over to his looking over to his mother who was quiet. With Sammie still on his hip, he walks up to her and pulls the woman into an unexpected hug, his chin resting on her head. “I want to stay. If it’s safe, I’ll stay.” He whispers to her, holding back his own tears.
Scully relaxes into her son’s touch, her head resting against his chest. Sammie reaches over and pats her hand against her Mama’s cheek, babbling. She smiles at the little girl, content in her world. Jackson was the first to pull away from the hug, letting go of his mother’s shoulders. “Do you need help with anything? S
he shakes her head, a small smile on her face. “No, it’s ok. You can go spend some time with your sister.”
Mulder walks back into the kitchen. “I forgot the cheese. Jackson, do you like cheese on your burger?”
The teen nods eagerly. “I’m not a barbarian.” Mulder chuckles at the statement, thinking of all those people in his life who doesn’t eat cheeseburgers. Namely his ex partner, Diana. Now armed with three cheese slices, he heads back outside.
“Barbarian?” Scully asks, a smirk on her face as she pulls out the bag of french fries. Jackson just smirks in return before walking back into the living room with his sister in tow.
When Mulder walks in with the hamburgers, Jackson gets Sammie ready for dinner with his mother’s help, the girl didn’t seem to want to leave Jackson’s side. Safely secured in her highchair, the baby bangs on her tray, demanding her food. Jackson helps to quickly set the table for the three of them, pouring everyone a glass of water, along with setting the utensils beside each one of the plates.
After washing up, he sits down with his biological parents for dinner. The first of many, he promises himself. The meal is filled with laughs as Scully and Mulder regale Jackson with tales of some of their more interesting cases.
“You killed a teenager cause you thought he was a vampire?” He laughs, not believe what he was hearing.
Pointing his fork at the boy, he defends himself. “Ronnie came back to life after the M.E. took the steak out of his chest, validating my point that he was, in fact, a vampire.”
The conversations end long after their dinner had finished. No one suggests to change the topic, even when the couple starts to argue that their version of the story is the truth. Jackson couldn’t ask for better parents. His heart strings tugs when he thought about his parents, the ones that raised him. They did this too in their own way, of course it wasn’t usually about alien invasions and monster hunting. It was more on how to put something together, or his Dad telling the story of how his team won the baseball game. His mom was always there to remind him that it didn’t go like that, or that his Dad was exaggerating.
Aliens and monsters were more his kind of thing, anyways. Something he must have gotten from his father. The love of the unknown. His parents, the ones who raised him, always supported his love of space, buying him his first telescope. But when he talked about it, then were never fully into the conversation. But now, he has a father who he can talk about his interests with.
Maybe they will be able to trust each other after all.
***
Mulder gets up to pull out the pint of ice cream that his partner had stashed away in the freezer, knowing she hides it from him on purpose. “All is us being together again calls for a special treat.” He said knowing Scully can’t argue with his reasoning.
“Fine, but you’re cleaning up your daughter. You know how much of a mess she makes with that stuff.”
“Deal.” Pulling out the bowls, Mulder prepares their dessert. “We even got the good stuff today, none of that fat-free tofu stuff your mom likes.” Mulder smirks at the look of disgust on his son’s face.
“He didn’t complain whenever he would sneak some.” Scully whispers to her son, eyeing her partner. Pretending he didn’t hear her, Mulder passes out the filled dishes. This is how he pictured his nights to go 20 years ago when he found out that Scully was pregnant with his child. William. Jackson. He’ll call his son whatever he wants to be called. If he’s more comfortable with Jackson, that’s what he’ll call him. The small smiles that have been on his face throughout the night are enough to let out the tension he held in his shoulders while he is around the teen.
After dinner he’ll talk to the boy about it.
“Thank you.” Jackson and Scully say in unison. At least he has his mother’s manners, he said to himself as he sits down in his chair. He watches as Scully shares her dessert with the mini redhead, the little girl grabbing the spoon and pulling the utensil towards her face, spreading the ice cream from cheek to cheek and missing her mouth entirely.
“You’re such a sticky baby, Sammie, yes you are.” Scully coos and lightly tickles her sides. Mulder’s heart melts as he watches the interaction. He glances over to Jackson, noticing that the boy was staring at the two beside him. When the teen notices that he is being watched, he averts his gaze and looks down to his bowl in the table, a blush spreading across his fair cheeks.
“You know, your mom use to do the same thing with you.” Mulder comments on it.
“She did?”
“Mhm, Scully, and most likely your adoptive parents too.”
The blush on the boy’s face deepens, his eyes glazing over in thought. Mulder remembers when Maggie had mentioned long ago that she use to do it with all her children, and the same deep red blush that had appeared across Scully’s cheeks immediately after. His own probably did the same with him and Samantha, but after his sister’s disappearance, him and his parents grew apart and little things like that was never mentioned again.
Scully’s bowl was the first one to be finished, even with the distraction of trying to feed a one year old with an affinity for everything messy. Mulder swore that most of the ice cream had ended up on the little girl’s face and clothing rather than in her tummy, which is exactly what Scully had been warning him about earlier. He finds it rather cute. Quickly, Mulder eats the last two spoonfuls of his dessert before holding out his hand to grab hers. Looking over to Jackson, he takes notice that he was slowly working on his own.
Placing the two bowls in the sink, he wets a face cloth and goes to clean up his daughter. Scully is already taking the girl out of the high chair and hands her over to his waiting arms.
“Your job, G-Man.” She laughs, taking the tray to the sink to wash. “I’m going to take Sammie for a quick run when you’re done.” She says aloud, with a silent, to let you two talk, tailing the end of her sentence. He nods, taking the small girl up to her room to clean up and change.
He expects the girl to be much more messy than she is. Once they allow her to use her own spoon, he expects to have to give the girl a bath several baths per night. If Sammie was going to be anything like Scully as a toddler, there will be food in her hair… and other places. Unlike today. Ice cream may be messy, but it’s easier to clean off a wiggly toddler than the spaghetti they had the night before. Mulder laughs at the memory, Sammie had a saucy handprint on the side of her face. They had to skip the face cloth and pretty much drop her in the bathtub right after their meal.
Cleaned and dressed in a pair of stretchy denim leggings, an Ariel-themed t shirt, and a pair of pink fur lined boots, Mulder deems her ready to go out. He lifts the girl into his arms and blows a raspberry onto her rosy cheek, smiling when he gets a high pitched squeal in return. If everyday was like this, his life would be almost perfect.
Working the X Files without Scully is so mundane these days that he needs a truly strange case to make him interested. Other than that, his day was perfect. Descending the stairs to the main floor, he takes the girl back to the kitchen where the table was cleared and the dishes were done. I wasn’t up there that long, was I?
“Can I?” Jackson asks as he walks up to the two newcomers, his hands held out. The older man nods, handing his daughter over to her brother. Neither say anything, but Mulder needs to figure out a way to tell the boy now that he wants to talk to him without coming on too strong and scaring him away.
The little girl rests her head on the boy’s shoulder, her small hand coming around to grasp onto his shirt, and lets out a big yawn. After all these touching moments between the siblings continues, Mulder doesn’t know if his heart can take it.
“Okay,” Scully pulls him back to reality, wiping her hands on her jeans. “The dishes just need to dry, so when you get the chance, can you two put them away?” He nods, walking to dry them by hand, a habit he had picked up when he was deep in thought. As he picks up the first plate, he averts his ears to the conversation behind him. “I’m going to take her with me, are you ok watching her while I go grab a hoodie?”
He hears the bottom stair creek as she goes to put on the sweater that she has hanging on the back of their bedroom door, right where she had put it the night before.
Behind him, he could hear Jackson humming along to a familiar tune. It’s the same one that he hears when Scully is sick and she wants nothing more than to curl up with a movie that she had watched with her own dad. It’s the same one she long ago told him was the last movie she saw with him. And now, here he was, listening to his son hum Part of You World to his daughter. He wonders if Jackson even knows that Sammie’s middle name is Arielle or the intricate part that movie plays in their lives. Her bright red hair was a factor as well.
“I didn’t take you for a fan of Disney music, Jackson.” He says, not turning around from his chore.
Stopping his humming, the boy looks up from his sister. “My mom loved Disney movies, and it was something we watched together all the time. Seeing as I didn’t have any siblings, I spent a lot of time doing activities with her and my Dad, even if it was just camping out in the living room for a movie night and a bowl of popcorn.” He cuddles his drowsy sister closer to him. “Every once in a while, I’d put on a movie as a guilty pleasure. I still know most of the songs.”
Mulder opens his mouth to ask where he got the idea from to sing that particular song from, but he doesn’t get the chance. “Her shirt reminded me of the song and I couldn’t help but remember watching it some days I was kept home from school sick.” They didn’t see each other’s smiles, but the atmosphere in the room lightens.
“The only reason I bought that shirt for her was cause your mom decided that it’s what her middle name was going to be.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Scully says as she walks back into the kitchen, Mulder turns around, placing the dry plate in its cupboard. “It was the first name that came to mind the moment I saw her hair.” The woman says with a smile. “Now, I have to go before the sun starts to set.” She reaches for the little girl who buries her face into her brothers shoulder. He gives her a weird look before he tries to hand his sister over, resulting in a loud whine coming from the small girl.
“Come on Sammie, go to Mama.” Jackson encourages, shifting his body closer to his mother. Scully reaches to grab for the small girl, causing the girl to erupt in a loud scream and tighten her death grip on Jackson's shirt. Mulder and Scully give each other a questioning gaze, both wondering why their daughter refuses to go to her mother, the person she usually clings onto the most. “I can just put her in the stroller, if it makes things any easier?” The boy asks, his eyes wide. Scully nods giving her daughter a questioning glance, leading him to the back door where she kept the stroller. Jackson places his sister into it, with little difficulty and help from his mother on how to strap her in.
Mulder couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Usually his daughter didn’t like other people to be holding her, hell, even having anyone but her parents place her in the stroller has been a struggle in the past. Skinner had received an earful from the baby when he had went to put her back into her stroller one day when she was visiting FBI Headquarters to do an emergency autopsy. But here she was, holding on to her older brother, someone she’s just met, and refusing to let go. His children would have such a connection so fast baffles him.
“There, all set and ready for a run.” Jackson coos, unaware that his parents were watching with a smile on their face. Rising from his knelt position, he asks, “Do you need any help getting her outside?”
The older redhead shakes her head. "I’ve seemed to manage in the past. I’ll be back in a bit - it seems that salad wasn’t enough to fight off the cheeseburgers your father insist we have for dinner.” And with that, the two were off.
“Jackson?” Mulder ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know where to start. Or how to start. “I- uh… We need to talk.” God, those words hurt. It’s the same words that Scully has use on him in the past, the same words that his past relationships had used on him. But here he was, using them with his own child. Just as long as it’s not the birds and the bees, he reminds himself. He shudders at the thought.
Jackson didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to; the look on his face said it all.
When Mulder sees his face, he quickly adds, “Oh no! It’s nothing bad. I just want to talk to you for a couple minutes.” Jackson visibly relaxes and then looks to Mulder for a sign of what they’re doing next.
Mulder takes a seat on the couch then pats the cushion beside him. The boy hesitates for a moment before taking a deep breath and walking to the vacant part of the couch. “Is this about why you’re so tense… Around me that is?” He asks.
Mulder wasn’t surprised that the boy knew already why he wanted to talk, nor was he surprised that he came willingly to have this talk with him. But he was still at a loss for what to say. Eventually he decides to abandon the script he laid out in his head and spoke from the heart. “I can’t lose them.” He pauses, maybe it was for him to gather his thoughts, or maybe it was for that dramatic effect Scully always insists he does. Either way, it gave him an opportunity to slow his racing heart. “Your mom and sister, I mean. Everything I do, I do for them. Everyday I do everything within my power to keep them safe.”
Jackson stares blankly at him, and he wonders if what he’s saying is getting through to the boy at all. He just hopes so.
“And you, I can’t lose you again. There have been two times in the past couple years that I’ve seen your body in front of me, dead. One of those times it was you disguised as me, but the point still stands. I still get nightmares from that.” He drops his head into his hands, the images from that night flashing through his head at rapid speed.
“But-”
His head shot up, his eyes bore into the teen’s. “I can’t watch you die again, Jackson. I can’t lose my only son again.”
“Mulder…” He starts. “I’m a rapid healer. That’s how I survived that old fart shooting me in the head.” His face shows how serious he is, and Mulder can hardly believe him. He wanted to believe, but he couldn’t. “I’ll prove it if I have to.” The boy stands up and looks around the room.
“I swear, if you shoot yourself, I’ll kill you.” Mulder says deadpan, his brows furrowed. Jackson marches to the kitchen and comes back a minute later with a knife in his hand. “Don’t you dare!” Too late. The idiot boy- which says something about him and Scully that he’d rather not think about- has already ran the knife across the palm of his hand. Mulder’s instinct shot through him and he quickly grabs the blanket that they kept on the back of the couch before rushing to Jackson’s side. He grabs the boy’s hand and starts patting at the open wound, the material absorbing the blood.
Before he has a chance to reprimand his son for doing something so stupid and thoughtless, the wound starts to heal. Mulder swallows. It was true. The boy can heal himself. He looks from the healing cut to the boy’s eyes, and then back again.
“How?”
Jackson shrugs. “Must be a result of the experimenting they did on me.” Taking his hand out of his father’s grasp, he continues. “However it happened, it has saved my life multiple times. That’s why I knew I had to take that shot for you and in doing so, set him up to be shot. It was the only way.”
“You scared your mother and I to death that night.” He wants to yell, but he didn’t.
“I’ll do everything in my power to keep you guys safe. I won’t let any harm to Sammie, I swear on my life.” Mulder has a hard time believing him. He’s already risked it on multiple occasions, but could a boy who couldn’t die, keep him promise? But he’s only 19 and he’s their son; they shouldn’t be relying on their son to keep their family safe.
He and Scully should be able to protect their family, including their supernatural son. And they have - they’ve done an amazing job so far.
“We should be the ones protecting you. You’re still a kid.”
“I’m not a kid.” The teen raises his brow, a familiar look his mother gives him.
“Legally, you may not be a kid, but you’ll always be our kid. And that means that we will do everything within our power to keep both you and your sister safe. Especially if it means that you don’t have to go through what’s happened in the last two years again.”
“But what if I bring those people here?” Mulder can hear the panic rise in his voice. “How could they? You’ve been declared dead two years ago! Who would be tracking down a dead kid?” Mulder raises his voice, shocking the boy enough to flinch. “I’ve already been doing my best to get the FBI off your tail. They are now focused on another boy in the area who is five years older than you. And unless you are a prominent part of his memory, I don’t believe he’ll snitch on you.” The man was pacing now. His heart calms a little bit with every step.
“No one should be able to remember me. I’ve erased the memory of me from those who saw me after I died.” He said quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. “Including my girlfriends and Maddy.”
The man nods, reminding himself to take notes later when he talks to Scully about this. He also makes a mental note to talk to his son about how having multiple girlfriends at the same time is not the best idea for many reasons. But that’s a conversation for when their lives aren’t in danger. “How long have you been able to do that?” He whispers, similar questions flying through his skull.
The boy starts to rock back and forth from his heel to the ball of his foot as he thinks. “About a year, I think? I lost track of time for a bit while I was on the run. I went to visit them while their parents were out. I just willed it to happen and it did. They were in a daze, and then I disguised myself to ask them about myself, they declared I was dead. Had been since 2018; suicide.” The boy frowns at the memory. “I did that with all of them, and then kept myself hidden from everyone since then. No one has seen my real face in over a year. But I don’t know how they keep finding me.”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s the trail of bodies you’ve left behind?” Mulder says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Right…” The boy shakes his head. “I should have known better, but the fuckers were going to capture me like I was some kind of pokemon!”
Mulder tosses the blood-soaked blanket in the general direction of the laundry room. “You should have come to us sooner. We could have helped you.”
“I doubt that you could have stopped this from happening.” Jackson sighs loudly.
“We’ve been dealing with them a long time.” Mulder states, his hands gripping his biceps. “I barely had the help from The Lone Gunmen when I went into hiding the second time.”
The boy scoffs. “It was 19 years ago, it was easier to hide back then. Back in the old days.”
He did not just call 2002 ‘the old days.’ Mulder’s eyes narrow. “If your mother heard that, she’d find a way to kill you and won’t stop till she does.”
Raising his hands in defence, Jackson takes a step back. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He says quickly. “I just meant that technology has advanced rapidly in the last 20 years.”
Mulder nods, understanding his meaning. Nevertheless, he changes the topic. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“In an enclosed space by the park; I have my tent set up.”
A tent? His mouth gapes wide open. How could his son be surviving in a tent? How is he eating? Bathing? “Can’t you stay here tonight?” He pleas, hearing the back door open.
His son shakes his head sorrowfully. “Sorry, I can’t. Staying here any longer would just put you guys in danger.”
“You’re part of this family!” Mulder calls as his son heads for the back door.
“No Mulder, I’m not. Not yet.” Jackson says as he looks over his shoulder.
Scully looks up at her son as she brings a sleeping Sammie and the stroller through the door. “You’re leaving?” The boy nods, his fingers brushing Sammie’s cheek as she dozed on her mother’s shoulder. “Please return to us, we’ll find a way to protect you.” She says softly.
“I will Dana.” He pulls her into a hug and rests his chin atop of her head, listening to the soft breathing of his sister. “Take care of Sammie for me, she doesn’t want to leave your side tonight.” And with that, he leaves before either of them can convince him to stay.
***
“Come on baby, it’s time to sleep.” Scully pleads with her daughter as she tries for the tenth time to put her to bed. Each time the girl screams bloody murder the moment she’s placed into her crib. Jackson’s words echos in her head. Well, too bad. She’s not sleeping with me tonight. She needs to learn to let go, she thinks, tired of fighting with her.
Behind her, Mulder opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by Scully’s tired voice.
“Not a word. I know what you’re going to say, and I know I’ve said it to you many times, but I can’t just walk away when she’s like this.” Last time she had to walk away from her child screaming their head off, she had left William with Monica, they day she had said her goodbye to him after adopting him out. “I can’t do it again.”
She feels Mulder getting closer to her, his hand rubbing her bicep. He knows what she’s thinking of and it pains him greatly that she let’s that experience run her life. “Honey, we’ll only be in the next room. We’re not giving her up for adoption. This time you have me here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
“Mulder…” She barely whispers, her voice drowned out by the baby’s cries. He guides her out of the room. She stops at the door and looks back watching as Sammie screams her little lungs out, her little hands reaching for anyone who will hold her. An internal war takes place in her head as she fightst to not go back to the infant and hold her close until her sobs cease, but Mulder kept a tight hold of her and ushers her to back to their bedroom. From there she can hear the baby’s hiccoughs as she screams seem to get louder. Her heart aches, wants to do nothing but push her partner away and run to her baby. “Mulder…” She says again. The man shushes her, guiding her to their large bed.
“She’s not going to get any sleep if we coddle her.”
“Mulder, she’s going to go get any sleep if we leave her continue to cry like this!” She shoots back at him. “And neither will we!”
“She will eventually wear herself out enough to fall asleep and in time she grow accustomed to doing so without crying. My sister did it all the time when she was a baby. I grew used to it after a while and soon after my parents started doing this, she stopped.”
“I was too young to remember Charlie ever doing this.” She murmurs. “But I could never leave William on his own when he was like this. I always tried to be there for him.” When she had tried to listen to her mom’s advice for getting her son to sleep, she usually ignored it because it physically pained her to leave him like that. She usually ended up falling asleep in the rocking chair with the child. She didn’t have someone to contradict her the last time around, but she finds a different point of view refreshing, if a little painful.
He guides her to the bed and she sits down on the edge. A quick look keeps her there, but the need to bolt out of the room and into their daughters is the most prominent thought in her mind right now. As he moves around the room, she listens on to her little Sammie in the other room. What could have possibly caused this reaction from her? She’s never done this before. William was like this more often than she was.
Around her, Mulder turns on the baby monitor, throws a pair of her favorite silk pyjamas in her direction, before stripping down to his own boxers and white T-Shirt. He didn’t stop getting ready for bed, but he tries to encourage Scully to do so as well, the baby’s cries rang through the bedroom from the small device. “Scully, you have to leave her be.” He presses his lips to the crown of her head, her eyes closing at the contact. “She’ll fall asleep on her own, I promise.”
She rises to her feet, fighting down her instinct to run back into her daughter’s room. But she needs to get her daughter’s screams off her mind, so she forces herself to take a shower instead. Mulder is there to listen for Sammie if she needs anything anyways. Grabbing her night clothes, she heads to the bathroom for a well deserved shower.
Water runs down her long hair and shoulders. The thoughts running through head occupy her combined with the running water allow her to block out the outside world. She worries about Sammie, her sudden attachment to her brother, someone she has barely met yet played with as if he has been in her life from the beginning.
She leans back and rests her head on the tiles behind her, eyes closing almost reflexively. Her daughter confuses her. She’s been around a few of the agents at the FBI and each time the mini redhead would reach over to her, whimpering to be back in her mother’s or father’s arms. Today, she had not done that once.
She doesn’t want to leave your side, her son’s voice reminds her. He has this connection with her, one that neither she nor Mulder has. Something stronger. Something alien.
No. She didn’t want to believe it. Yes, she was injected with alien DNA when she was abducted all those years ago. Yes, Jackson started off as an alien-human hybrid experiment of that smoking bastard. But Sammie had been conceived out of trust and compassion, bringing the couple back together after so many years apart.
Nonetheless, her daughter was no experiment. She wasn’t alien. Her fears were coming true, that her daughter was not truly her own. Her heart is racing, refusing to see what is in front of her.
She needs to find out.
Mulder welcomes her to their bed when she finally steps out of the shower, the room filled with quiet whimpers from the baby monitor. “Mulder,” She says after many minutes of silence. “How did your talk with Jackson go?” For now she focuses the conversation on him, keeping her fears to herself until she can sort out her thoughts.
He breathes into her hair, pulling her body flush against his. “It went better than expected.” He pauses, burying his face into her neck. “I explained to him why I was so willing to trust him being here, along with vowing to protect him.” She felt him legs curl around her own, intertwining them. “What I didn’t expect was an encore performance of what happened on the docks. Oh that reminds me,” He said suddenly. “Can you show me how to clean blood out of a blanket again?”
“What did you two do?” Her eyes narrow dangerously. “I did nothing, I promise!” He laughs, kissing her cheek. “Jackson, on the other hand, decided to cut open his palm with a kitchen knife. Also, don’t use the knife in the sink until I can clean it properly; it has blood on it too.”
“HE DID WHAT?!” She exclaims, shooting up in bed and hitting her head off of his chin.
“Ow, that’s what I was saying.” He sits up with her, rubbing his chin. “He proved it to me, he can heal. Rapidly. That’s how he survived the whole thing at the docks.”
“That’s imposs- Just how rapidly are you talking about?” She interrupts herself, her curiosity getting the better of her. The man smirks, still rubbing his sore spot.
“He we healed within minutes, but my heart still hasn’t recovered from it.”
“Oh, oh wow.” She didn’t meet his eyes, as she continues to rub her head, “Well, that does explain a lot, doesn’t it?” She’s referring to the night on that night at the docks. He had told her repeatedly on how the night went after he had gone after their, of how that smoking bastard was already there. How Jackson pretended to be his father, and how his father had to watch himself get executed. It will never happen again. “I can’t believe it.” She said with a huff, lying back down in, her eyes on the ceiling.
“Neither could I… Until he showed me, that is.” He lays back down beside her, resting his head in the palm of his hand as looks down to his partner. “It was out of this world, Scully. He is truly remarkable. I know parents say this all the time about their kids, but our son is truly one of a kind.”
“Do… Do you think Sammie will be one of a kind too? Like Jackson?” She asks, her earlier worries coming back.
His hand comes up, touching her face, pulling her gaze towards him. “What do you mean?” He’s concerned, and why the hell not? This was his little girl she was talking about. She knew Sammie meant the world to him. “Scully, did she do something?”
“Oh, no no no, not at all.” She whispers, reassuring him. “It just, she’s been different today, and after what Jackson said this evening, I just have a few concerns.” She listens to the baby monitor, Sammie’s whimpers becoming few and far between as their conversation continues. “Jackson speaks as if he knows what’s on her mind.”
She could tell he was thinking back, he had that look on his face. “Is that where you got the idea that she likes to be called ‘Sammie’?” He asks, his eyes searching hers. The woman nods, raising her hand to rest a top of his. “I didn’t ask; I had figured that it was a connection between you and her, like you have with Jackson.” He tells her, interlacing his fingers with hers.
She shakes her head. “No, Jackson and I didn’t have a connection until he was a teenager, and even then, it was just visions. Jackson…” She pauses, inhaling. “Jackson speaks as if they are talking to each other, communicating.”
“Scully, she’s only a year old, she can’t talk.”
“Not verbally, no. But we both know she has other ways to tell us what she wants us to know.” Whimpers and screaming were the key ones for when she didn’t like what they were doing or want what they were giving her. She looks forward to the day her daughter can speak, but if her daughter is anything like her parents, she wouldn’t want to deal with the stubbornness of a Scully-Mulder toddler.
“Can you talk to him?” He asks. “Can you ask how they communicate?”
“I will.”
She kisses the palm of his hand, holding it to her lips for a few moments. She rolls over, facing away from him. He takes the invite, spooning up behind her, his hands resting on her her stomach.
They both fell asleep to the soft snores of their daughter.
***
Saturday morning Mulder was on the phone before he has his cup of coffee. He had woken up in the middle of the night to attend to Sammie, letting his partner to get some well needed rest. But when he had returned to bed, he couldn’t sleep. So he had come up with a plan.
“Boys, we’re hacking into Area 51.” He declares.
“What?” Scully’s voice comes from the kitchen, followed by a pot dropping the the ground, a string of curses following a loud clang.
Over the phone, he can hear someone cracking their knuckles, knowing he was on speaker phone. “Man! We haven’t done that in years!”
Frohike spoke up over the phone, his voice a bit cheery. “What’s the occasion?”
“We are stopping this manhunt at the source.” He is determined to protect his son, even if it was doing it the illegal way.
“How do you know it’s the source?” Byers asks.
“My gut.” It wasn’t the best of a source, but he couldn’t shake this feeling.
“So you have no idea?”
“Not an inkling.” It has never been a good source. “Just go in and see where they are finding information on Jackson, block it, and get out.”
“Don’t you worry Mulder, we’ve got it covered.” The line goes dead and Mulder imagines that The Lone Gunmen are hard at work.
“Mulder, you did not just do that.” Scully was standing before him, her hands resting on her hips, a familiar glare in her eyes. “Area 51 has more clearance than either you or I do! Someone is going to catch them! You’re gonna get caught.” She was stern, and he was slightly turned on by it. He shouldn’t be, but she was feisty when she was angry. “Mulder!” She brought him back to reality.
“They won’t get caught, Scully, trust me.” He smirks, looking her over.
“Says the man who says to trust no one.” She quips, keeping her stance. He walks towards her. “You taught me to trust someone, and there are only four people I trust with my life. And one of them is the love of my life.”
“Frohike?” Mulder can’t keep his laughter in, causing his partner to fall into a fit a giggles before him.
“I don’t think Frohike looks as good in a dress as you do, my love.” Still laughing, he pulls her into a hug, her laughs muffled by his chest. “But I trust those guys with my own life and the lives of my family, and that’s just what I’m doing.”
“I fear for the worst.”
“That’s because you’re a worry-wart.” He presses his lips to the top of her head, a deep sign coming from her body. He glances over to his daughter in her highchair. The little redhead was making a mess of her toast and cheerios as usual. “We will stop these people and we will protect our son.”
“God, I just hope you’re right.” She whispers, leaning into his touch. He rubs his hands along her spine, feeling her shiver against him.
They stood like that in the kitchen for what felt like hours, but it could have only been minutes before Sammie started throwing her cereal at her parents because she wasn’t getting enough attention, effectively pulling Mulder away from Scully’s embrace. He walks over to the baby, disengaging the tray from the chair, and pulling her out of the now messy seat.
“None of that now,” he whispers, pressing his nose against the side of the child’s head to breathe in that sweet baby smell he has grown so fond of in the past year and a half.
He sees Scully smile fondly at him and his baby girl. He vows to make this family whole again just as Sammie’s sweet laughter fills the room, effectively lightening the mood. He’s going to bring home his son for good.
His day had gone on quietly as he waits for the call from The Lone Gunmen. It never came. He wasn’t sure if he was worried or relieved. On one hand, they weren’t calling to say they fucked up, that his family was going to be dead because of their mistake.
But they weren’t calling to say they got in, or that his son was free now either. That’s the part that scares him.
It’s a waiting game, and right now Scully and Mulder are losing.
***
It was two more days of constant worrying, anxious nail biting, and doting on Sammie more than usual to distract themselves from the mission they have convinced themselves is doomed to fail.
That is, until early morning of the third day. It’s just past 5AM when the phone rings an ungodly sound. He answers with a sleepy yet curt “Hello” before scrambling to untangle the mess of legs and sheets him and Scully had somehow managed to work themselves into during the night and bolting out of bed. When he goes to stand up, he fails to notice his feet are still intertwined in some of the sheets and falls flat on his face, hitting his elbow on the way down.
He pushes himself up from the floor in record time, especially for a 60 year old, and finally manages to answer his phone while cradling his sore elbow. “Mulder.”
“We found the source.” It was Byers. Mulder let out a relieved sigh; Byers was by far the most trustworthy of the three men. If he was calling, then they can be assured that the information is solid.
Mulder didn’t say anything as Scully shifts in bed, turning over and snuggles with his pillow, breathing in his lingering scent deeply. He finally frees his feet from the bedding and moves to leave the room, leaving Scully in a deep sleep. “Go on.” He says, closing the bedroom door behind him.
Langley was the one to speak up this time. “It’s from a group in the Arizona desert that does experimental testing on...well let’s say ‘above average’ humans. The reason they’re after Jackson is because someone tipped them off about his unique DNA. We were able to remove all mention of him from their database. Jackson van de Kamp simply does not exist, according to the government.”
Frohike manages to shoehorn himself into the conversation, “Mulder, you’ve gotta find a way to get that alien DNA out of him; it’s how they’re tracking him and knows he’s still alive despite him being legally dead.” Mulder runs his free hand over his face, coming to rest on his forehead where he is starting to develop a splitting headache.
“Okay guys. Thanks for your help. I’ll call when we’re in the clear. Maybe we can do a barbeque or something.” The boys say their goodbyes and hang up. Mulder heads back to the bedroom; he has quite a lot to think about.
But when he re-enters the bedroom, Scully is sitting up on her side of the bed with her glasses on and reading the newest installment of her current favorite series. “Hey,” Mulder whispers, feeling as though his full voice is somehow wrong in this situation. She looks up and smiles in acknowledgement as she puts her book face down so she doesn’t lose her page.
“If you were up, why didn’t you come after me?” Mulder questions. He knows she is just as desperate as he is to put an end to this whole nightmare.
“I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere with that; I’d only hear half the conversation and you’d wave me off until you knew the whole story. I figured I’d save myself the trouble and just wait for you to come back and tell me yourself.” She explains with a grin, clearly happy with her analysis.
“Okay then, Smarty Pants. Try this on for size. The Gunmen found the source and were able to remove any trace of Jackson from all government files. But they also found that the reason these people are after him is because they want to do testing on him due to his… unique DNA. It’s how they’re tracing him and how they know he’s still alive. We need to find a way to get that DNA out of him. It’s the only way. They won’t rest until they have him or he’s dead.” Scully’s eyes fill with unshed tears, nodding her head as if she somehow knew what their endgame was.
“That might mean surgery. I might be operating on our son, Mulder.” She leans into his side, needing to feel his arms around her again. They stay like that for minutes, hours, days, or possibly just seconds. It feels like an eternity either way. Then Scully’s head snaps up to meet his eyes, as if she has figured out the answer to the universe’s most intimate questions. Her eyes widen comically as her brain processes the information. Maybe she has.
“Mulder, remember when you were in Tunguska and they injected you with that vaccine that made you immune to the black oil? There’s no way it was made specifically for the black oil, they were just testing it to see if it worked for the it. Which it did. Which means that if they thought it might bring immunity for those exposed to the black oil, then it must mean that they know it provides immunity for other alien species,” She’s on a roll and there’s no way he’s stopping her flow so he just sits there watching as it works itself out in her brain. “Could it really be as simple as that?” She whispers, almost to herself. “What if injecting him with your blood negates the alien DNA? Even though he has some of your DNA because he’s half yours biologically, he couldn’t have gotten nearly enough to counteract it from birth, just enough to keep it from killing him. But giving him a transfusion of your blood would eliminate it from his body. Mulder, we have to find him, NOW.” She jolts out of bed and begins looking for her shoes, any shoes, not caring that she’s still wearing her silk pyjamas or that she’s not wearing a bra.
“Scully, calm down. It’s only 6 am. We’re barely awake, Sammie’s going to need to be fed soon, and we have no idea where he is. We should at least wait until after Sammie eats before we start a manhunt. That’s something that is best done on a full stomach.” He teases to lighten the mood. Scully has stopped tearing the room apart and instead sits on the edge of the bed to catch her breath, exhausted once again. The adrenaline rush she got from developing that plan left her body immediately and she sags onto her back.
“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” As if on cue, they can hear Sammie babbling to herself thanks to the monitor on the nightstand. They smile at each other and go to start their day.
***
“Okay, right up ahead is where I saw him last.” Scully points to the upcoming park with one hand while simultaneously pushing Sammie’s stroller. Mulder looks to where she’s pointing and nods. They decided to disguise themselves as a cute family going on a nice morning walk together. While that much is true, their motives are not those of two parents walking their toddler through the park on a foggy Tuesday morning.
The park is empty and desolate at 7 am on Tuesday morning. They walk through the entirety of the park to make sure they don’t miss him, but come up empty. That is, until the front wheel of Sammie’s stroller knocks against something solid. Scully looks in front of her to see what the obstacle is, but sees nothing. She looks up at Mulder, who shrugs his shoulders, and then motions to keep going.
Scully backs the stroller up a bit and then moves forward, hitting the same invisible barrier. This time, though, the force of the hit from the stroller reveals Jackson, unconscious and just barely breathing. Scully and Mulder look at each other, a silent conversation passing between their eyes. Seconds later, Mulder bends down, scoops Jackson into his arms bridal style, and starts fast walking towards their home, knowing Scully was directly behind him.
***
When he wakes up, the first thing Jackson notices is a small hand lightly tapping against his face and a light weight on his chest. He opens his eyes and finds that he’s in Scully and Mulder’s guest room. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust but when they do, he sees Sammie sitting on his chest holding her right hand out, obviously ready to tap his face again if he didn’t respond.
He smiles at the sight and hugs her to his chest as he sits up for the first time in what feels like days. The second thing he notices is that he can’t feel Sammie’s thoughts like he could before and immediately begins to panic.
He starts calling for Mulder and Scully, the worry evident in his voice. This power is something he’s had for as long as he can remember; glimpses of fire red hair filled his dreams when he was only a child and his communication with Sammie after he found his parents were much of what filled his brain. The fact that he can’t hear Sammie frightens him.
Scully comes rushing into the room, ready to murder someone with her bare hands if needed. Once she sees that it’s not needed, she sits down next to Jackson on the bed.
“Jackson, what’s wrong?” She combs her fingers through his long dark hair in what she hopes is a calming gesture. “My… My powers… The connection with Sammie… I can’t hear her!” His eyes were wide with panic, shifting from one eye to the other. He couldn’t lose that. Sammie had been his touchstone for over a year now, while he was on the run, waking up every morning to her thoughts had kept him going. She gave him something to fight for. The look in her eyes were grief. “How long have I been here? How did I get here?”
She blinks slowly at him, he wants to know what she was thinking. “Jackson…” She starts, pausing to take a breath. “You’ve been here for at least a week. Your father and I had found you Tuesday morning, unconscious, lying in the park. We wouldn’t have found you if we didn’t run you over with Sammie’s stroller.” The muscles in his lip twitches, wanting to smile, but he didn’t. “You were hardly breathing, we couldn’t leave you there. It was actually easier that way because we had found a way to get those guys off your back and we knew you wouldn’t come willingly.”
“What did you do to me?” The teen growls, his arms becoming tense around his baby sister, his gaze hard on the woman in front of him.
“We did what we had to do to protect our son.” She was forceful, but so was he. “Give me back my powers.” He ground out. “I need her voice in my head, I need my sister back.” The girl in question rests her head on her brother’s shoulder, not at all affected by the tension in the room, her actions were in fact comforting.
“We only did what we thought would protect you. To give you a new life so that you don’t have to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life and so that you can be around us without worrying about putting us in danger.”
“You took away the one thing that kept me fighting.” He glares, his hand resting on the little girl’s back. My sister, he breaks eye contact and looks down to her, his hand brushes her soft red hair. He refuses to let her go. “The one thing I looked forward to every morning since the first time I heard her thoughts. I wouldn’t take that away from you, so why did you take it away from me?”
“Jackson…”
“Just go.” He turns his head away from her, wanting to be left alone with Sammie. With his ground-zero.
The woman stands up, her muscles, moving to take her baby with her, but Sammie’s eyes stop her. With another glance to her children, she backs away, “...I’m sorry.”
She leaves. Jackson looks up as his mother exits the room. His heart aches. How could they do that to him? Experiment on him? Like he was some fucking lab rat, something they promised to protect him from! They took the one thing he had control over in his life, the one thing that kept him sane. A stray tear escapes the corner of his eye, rolling down his cheek and landing in Sammie’s soft hair.
He can’t focus. When he reaches out to search for his sister, everything is silent in his head. It is too quiet and it unnerves him.
He strains his brain to its furthest capacity, blindly hoping that if he tries hard enough, the connection will simply reappear.
At first it was the same; it was silent. But then he hears it. The small voice of the little girl in his arms. At first he thinks it was just the giggle of the girl in front of him, that he it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He hears that giggle again, louder this time and he just knows.
Sammie? His mind reaches out, calling for her. The giggle came again, it was almost there, almost in reach. Sammie, please come here! Come back to me! He thinks loudly, almost screaming to her.
The giggles grow louder with each one, but the girl in on his shoulder is silent. Happiness takes over his body so much that he stands up and swings her up into his arms.
Sammie! You’re back! He mentally shouts with unrestrained glee. With one last swing of his body, holding the girl in a tight hug, he sits down on the bed. Does this mean that whatever they did to me, never worked? He questions. But that can’t be right, why was Sammie’s voice so quiet?
He sits there thinking, watching the baby babble in his arms, before he decides to test out his theory. He concentrates, focusing his mind on the ceiling fan above him. It felt like hours or staring, frustration building within him. Just move, he pleads to the blades above him. Just fucking move! He snaps his head away the object, tears welling up in his eyes. Fu-! His thoughts comes to a halt, tiny hands grabbing hold of his cheeks.
Blue eyes meets hazel. The smile on the baby’s face grows to match his own.
“DANA! MULDER! I didn’t lose it! I can still communicate with Sammie! It must’ve just had to reboot after I woke up.” He rushes down the stairs and into the kitchen with Sammie on his hip, yelling at the top of his lungs. Scully looks at Mulder with wide eyes. That is something she did not expect.
“See? I told you he’d be fine.” Mulder says, coming up behind her, resting his hand on her back while Jackson skids into the kitchen, Sammie on his hip and not at all bothered by the noise.
“Sammie’s voice came back. In my head.” He says calmly, though glee was still prominent in his eyes. “I just had to concentrate; listen more. But she’s back!” The last part came out as a delight whisper, holding his sister close to his chest.
“But I have questions.” He told the couple, suddenly serious. “And I want them all answered.”
***
He was nervous and he didn’t know why. It might have to do with the fact that he was sitting across from his mother and father. It also might have to do with the fact that he’s still seriously upset with the two. They went behind his back. Injected him with something they say was created to block the government from tracking him, but how is that possible?
“It’s not impossible, Jackson. The three of us share similar DNA-”
“Four.”
“Pardon?”
“Four of us; Sammie shares it too.” Scully’s eyes widen. “But unlike us, she was born with it.”
She was silent for a few moments, collecting herself. He could only imagine what was going through her head. She looks over to his father who mumbles a quiet “DNA, Scully” to her. Her mouth makes an “oh” before turning back to him.
“The four of us share a similar genetic makeup, each at different stages. I was able to take the alien gene from both your mine and your father’s blood to develop a vaccine that would counteract the alien DNA in your blood that they were using to track you.” She pauses, running her hand through her hair. “And it worked.” She had a hint of a smile on her face, like she couldn’t quite believe that they had actually done it. “The Lone Gunman called us yesterday. Area 51 has been scrambling to find you. Their satellite is unable to pinpoint your location, and hasn’t been able to for over a week.”
He can’t believe it. He actually doesn’t. He wants to, but he can’t. He’s been running from people who do this kind of thing for so many years that it feels like he doesn’t know how to not be running from them.
He feels betrayed by Mulder and Dana. But they did it for all the good reasons. It was like he is sitting on a fence, looking in both yards, one a junkyard and the other a pool and a patio set. After so long in the junkyard, making the decision to go back to the luxury yard after so long is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. It’s not because he doesn’t want to; he wants to very much. It’s just that after so many years of looking over his shoulder constantly, strategically finding the warmest and safest places to sleep, and avoiding people in general, but specifically people he can get emotionally attached to, he has to learn how to let people in and help him again.
“Are you positive it’s working?” He asks, playing with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t want to place Sammie in anymore danger than I already have.” The little girl who was currently asleep in her crib is always at the forefront of his mind.
“Positive.” Mulder places his hand in his partner’s, interlacing their fingers.
“Then why do I still hear Sammie in my head?” The teen stood up, pacing the before his parents. He doesn’t give them a chance to answer, barreling on with his questions. “Do you know how hard it is to believe you? To believe anyone?”
“My motto was ‘trust no one’ for the longest time, so yeah I have an idea.” The older man smirks, watching the boy pace.
“Whatever happened to that?” He pauses his pacing for just a moment as he looks at the two.
The couple in front of him look deep in each other’s eyes. He fears he is intruding on another private moment. Mulder pries his eyes away from Scully’s to meet his sons. “I met your mother.” The sincerity in his eyes is intense and is ultimately what convinces him that they’re not just fucking with him or only giving him half the truth like some adults like to do.
“You make it sound like it’s some kind of fairytale. This is the real world.” A world where he had to grow up too fast. Why couldn’t of he been like the regular kids in his old school? He starts pacing again, his thoughts running wild.
The older two broke away from their locked gaze. “Fairytale or not, it’s the truth.”
“Get The Lone Gunmen on the phone. I want to see this data for myself.” He stops his pacing, and looks around the floor of the kitchen and then the living room. “Where is my computer? My phone?” Scully is the one who stands up to grab the electronics for him, wherever they had placed it, only to find that it had been in the same room he had left a mere hour before.
Walking back into the kitchen, he finds Mulder on the phone. He quickly plugs the laptop into the closest outlet before sitting at the table. “Uh, what’s the password to the internet?” He asks his mother.
“Queequeg.” She replies, going to the fridge to get a drink.
“What’s a ‘Queequeg’?” He was answered with a gasp.
Scully looks up from the inside of the fridge to stare flabbergast at him. “You’ve never read Moby Dick? The movie?” The teen shook his head. “It’s a character’s name. I named my dog after him.” He gave her a questioning look, thinking it was weird name for a dog. He was able to connect to the internet, finally using a secured network for the first time since his parents were killed.
“Hold up, I’ll put you on speaker.” Mulder finally says after moments of silence.
There was a lot of rustling over the phone as the boys on the other end got settled.
“Do you hear us alright Jackson?” Langley asks, the typing of the keyboard following his voice. The teen voices his confirmation. “I’m going to share my screen with you, we’re going to show you the results that the satellite in Area 51 has been picking up over the last three months.”
The teen works quickly at the computer, setting up the laptop to connect with the men on the island, just like he has done for the last few weeks of speaking with the three older man. “I’m ready.” He says, cracking his knuckles. Behind him, Scully pinches the bridge of her nose, trying not to scold her son for the horrible sounds.
“Alrighty then, let’s get cracking.”
It had only take a moment for the two computers to connect, flashing before his eyes was the list of data entries. “Mulder,” He says to his father, “I’m going to need a fresh map. Best to grab some thumb tacks, in a few different colours preferably. And yarn. I’d rather work with some visuals.”
“What’s your plan, honorary Gunman?” Frohike’s voice came over the phone, talking to the youngest in the room.
He didn’t see Scully throw her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh brother.”
“We are going to map out my route using these cordnations.” He smiles, ready to start doing something productive since he started running.
***
Scully stares at the map before her. It was uncanny seeing the route her son had made throughout the United States. As he places each thumbtack, he explains to them what day it was, what he was doing, even what he had to eat that day, if he even ate at all. It pained her to hear the events that he had went through, to live the lifestyle of dead man, hiding from the world.
It reminds her too much of when Mulder was on the run. Now, she still worries for her boys’ safety as she did back then. Her feelings have not shifted in the slightest.
Behind her, Jackson was talking away with the boys and her partner. About what, she wasn’t sure, but the few laughs here and there were encouragement. Her son was finally relaxing enough around them to actually joke and laugh with them. Was is because they had set him free? Or was it because they were doing something together, as a family? Whatever it was, listening to Jackson enjoy himself made her heart swell.
“How far did you end up going?” The teen asks, typing away at the hardware before him. His fingers moving quickly against the keys. A lot fast than how his father can type.
“Far enough that I didn’t need to leave the continent, but I stayed close enough to your mother, that I could come to her at a moments notice.”
They were talking about how he was on the run, the first time. She didn’t have to listen to know what was being said. She had listened to the tales of his adventure multiple times in the past and no matter how many times she hears it again, it still stabs her in the heart a little bit. It always reminds her of her time without him, alone with their child. And in the end, giving up their child.
“Not to intrude on this discussion,” Frohike says over the phone, “but we are just finishing up here. After this, you’ll be free.”
“Really?”
“Really really.” She covers her mouth, tears threatening to spill. Her baby was nearly free from the horrors, free from having to spend his nights alone out in the cold. Finally free.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you guys, but I need to see for myself.” Scully looks over her shoulder, her eyes meeting her partner’s, a silent conversation passing between their eyes. They agree that it’s only fair. It's the boy’s life after all.
The fast tapping of the keys fills the room, his eyes not leaving the screen as he pulls up the data for the restricted section of the government. After that, she was lost. This wasn’t her forte. She was Mulder’s personal google, not an IT whiz. All she knew is that her son was illegally hacking into Area 51, on his own, to search for himself.
The tapping stops for a moment, a low hmm escaping the teen before it starts again.
“Nothing.” He says, leaning back in his chair. “Not a trace of any of my aliases, my life, my medical records. They erased it all.” He starts the tapping again. “Not a single system in the government agency knows who I am.”
“We just need to give you a new name, and we’ll create a new you.” Langley piped in. “We also need to get a new photo of you, different enough that no one will recognize you.”
“I made sure that everyone who got a look at me was looking at someone different. Older, different features, race, anything to throw them off. I learned from my mistakes.” The teen comments, scrolling through the documents before him.
“You’ll need a haircut.”
The teen freezes, looking up from the screen. His hair had grown rather long, reaching his shoulders in the past two years of him being on the run. Scully could tell that Jackson wasn’t liking the idea, the ridged way he sits in his chair. “No.”
“Jackson,” Her voice was light, but the warning was there, “You just spent a week unconscious in a bed, plus you’ve been without a permanent home for over 2 years now. There’s no way you were able to get a regular haircut or take a shower. You need to clean up.” She commented on his stubble.
“I have nothing to clean up with. I’ve been on the run, or haven’t you heard?” She could hear the bitter in his tone, it was the same tone Mulder has used many times in the past.
“Yes you do.” Scully’s gaze darts from Jackson to Mulder who was sitting backwards in the dining room chair. “I got a new set for Christmas, works like a charm. Go use it. Clean yourself up.”
Jackson doesn’t say anything, he pushes himself away from the computer, the chair scraping against the floor. He walks out out of the kitchen and towards the upstairs.
“And take a shower!” The woman calls after him. She huffs when his only response is a ‘yeah, fine, whatever’ as she listens to his footsteps ascend the stairs.
***
Jackson stares at himself in the mirror.
They are right; he needs to clean up. He leans against the counter, staring into his own eyes, forcing himself to look away to do damage control on his appearance. His hair was greasy and a mess. He feels around his scalp, knowing his hair is matted at some place and grimaces when he finds it behind his left ear. His stubble is patchy and thin, but it still grows quicker than he expects. To put it simply, he looks homeless. Well, to be fair, he was. He lives in a tent in the middle of a wooded area in a small town that can only be described as “the middle of nowhere”.
He looks over to see his father’s razor sitting on the counter beside the toothbrushes. The sight reminds him that he hasn’t brushed his teeth properly in months. The kicked hygienic habit was enough to disgust him. But first, his hair needs to be done. Running his fingers through the knotted mess, he first decides to have a shower.
The water pounds on his back as he stands under the shower head. It was one of those special ones that has a detachable handheld shower head. He guesses his parents are catching up with the times. He fully expected them to have one of those rain showers that reaches all the places they can’t anymore because they’re old, something he would never say to his parents out loud. He’s seen what they can do to anyone who crosses them the wrong way and he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end, ever.
The muscles in the back of his neck start to loosen, the temperature of the water burning his skin. But he doesn’t care; he is properly getting clean for the first time in months.
Picking up the 2-in-1 shampoo that was on the side of the tub, he lathers his hair thoroughly, letting the shampoo set for a moment before rinsing it out. And just to be sure all the grime and grease was out, he washes his hair again. He stands under the shower head, laughing at the fact that he’s so tall that his hair almost brushing against it. And then he begins to process the boatload of information he has learned today.
He is free.
He has seen the proof with his own eyes. They can’t track him anymore. His days of running were over. He can finally breathe again. He steps forward, letting the water hit his back again, calming the twitch in his shoulder, probably from being bedridden for a week. Being in here is helping. He isn’t sure whether it’s the shower itself or being in the house with his parents and sister without a need to bolt, or a combination of the two. Whatever it is, it is greatly helping him to calm down.
When the water starts to get cold he finally turns off the shower and grabs a fresh towel off the rack. His heartbeat quickens as he towel drys his hair and then wraps it around his waist. He pulls back the curtain and steps out of the tub, onto the bath mat. He’s never cut his own hair before; his mom had always sent him to the barbers, each appointment done by the same man since he was 12. But here he was, standing in his parents bathroom, a large fluffy towel wrapped around his waist.
He holds out his hand for the razor, targeting the object with his mind, focusing purely on that what was before him. The vein in his neck throbs as he pushes his mind further, trying to pull the razor out of its stand and into his hand. Beads of sweat, or maybe it’s just water, rolls down his temple as he strains to use his powers once more. He knows he can do it, that injection can’t stop him. He is special. He is, dare he say it, alien.
“Fuck!” He swore, pounding his fist onto the counter. He can’t even move a small object. He hunches over the counter again, taking in deep breaths as he tries to control himself once again. After a few moments, he takes the razor in his hand.
If he is going to do this, he is going to do it right.
He grabs for the large head of the razor, fastens it, and placed a small towel over the sink like his dad use to do when he shaved. And for a safety measure, he places one on the floor at his feet. With the flick of a switch, the handheld starts to buzz. With a nervous glance into his mirrored eyes, he raises the tool and places it at the base of his neck. With a single swoop, a chunk of his hair was falling to his heels.
Jackson’s heart didn’t ease it’s pace as he continues to shear off his long locks, but actually increases. His head looks like a mess with each stroke, long strands of hair sticking out here and there. It was just never perfect. Not yet. He is known to obsess over the little things, but this was his hair, he wasn’t going to mess this up.
He lost track of time by the time he was satisfied with his appearance; his hair was short and he was finally clean shaven again. He was Jackson Van de Kamp again. For now at least. He just has to come up with a new name. A name that wouldn’t seem too suspicious. He has a lot of thinking to do. But that can wait, he has a new identity to learn.
Gathering his dirty clothes from the bathroom floor, he cleans up the mess he made before he makes his way to the bathroom door. With the clothing bundled in his arms, he peeks out the door, looking both ways before walking towards the guest bedroom that he has been inhabiting for the past week. He didn’t expect to find pair of jeans and an old Prince t-shirt laying on the bed, but there they were, with a note sitting beside it.
‘These are an old pair of your father’s clothes, hope they fit.’ - Dana
He read the note a couple times before placing it down again and started getting dressed. The jeans he had on were a little too big, it seems that when his father was younger, he still had bit more weight on him than he did now. But Jackson suspected that it was from his lack of eating for the past couple years rather than genetics. He lets go of the belt loops and the pants drop and hang off his hips, threatening to fall down completely. He looks down at his bare feet, the pants just hitting the floor at his heels. Flexing his toes, he grabs the t-shirt and pulls it on over his head before looking at the mirror in accomplishment. He is finally dressed in clean clothes in what feels like forever.
He sits on the bed to gather his thoughts, absentmindedly running his fingers through his now cropped, wet hair. This was something he's wanted for a while: to be clean, to be with his family, to be free. And here he was, with all of those things. Even though he still doesn’t fully trust Mulder yet, he is starting to feel that connection, however small that spark is.
Finally, he stands up, picking up the dirty laundry from the floor and walks barefoot to the main floor, back to his parents.
Voices could be heard from the kitchen as he made his way down the stairs. He decides to eavesdrop on their conversation as he’s already there anyway. He halts his movements and puts his ear to the wall. “How do we know she’s really ours, Mulder?” Her voice was panicked. “What if this was just another part of his scheme?”
“How? You were never alone with him this time.” He was calmer, more rational.
“I don’t know! We had went years with trying for another miracle, it took us 15 years to have Sammie.”
“Scully,” He paused. “You were barren, but that doesn’t make our children any less of a miracle. We’ve proven Jackson is ours, no matter what experiments that bastard had done to him. They both are ours.” Jackson could hear the stress in his voice, the plea that was wanting to come out.
“Bu-”
“Shh.” Everything goes quiet. The only thing that Jackson could hear was Sammie’s babbles to herself.
That is moment that he decides to make an appearance. “She’s yours.” He says walking around the corner. Mulder was the first one to look up.
“Pardon?” He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he walks into his father’s view. “Sammie was never an experiment. She will never have to go through the same thing I-I did.” His voice broke, remembering what he had went through. “She is more yours than I ever will be.”
Scully stepped out of Mulder’s embrace. “That’s not true, Jackson.” She says, taking a step towards her son. “You are our son, no one else's. But,” She paused taking in his appearance. “How’d you know?”
His smile was soft, barely even there. “Because, I just know. I have known for a long time. I’ve had my fears about that too, but after a while they were put to rest.” And if he had anything to do with it, he would make sure she was untouched for his whole life.
The room was silent for a long time, on the other side of the door, Sammie continues to play. After is felt like forever, Scully broke the silence. “Those clothes look good on you.”
“They, uh… They don’t really fit. Too big.” His mother nods. “I might need a belt, don’t want to lose my pants while just walking.” His smile grew into a smirk, laughing internally at the thought.
“Right.” She leaves the room, leaving the two boys alone.
Jackson shuffles his bare feet on the floor, then rubs him calf with his heel. “I’m surprised they fit.” He looks up to his father at his words. “I’ve had those jeans since before you were born. Kept them in case I needed them again.” He glances back down at the faded pair before flicking his eyes back up to him.
“The only reason they are long, is ‘cause they’re so loose.” A creek in the floor notes Scully’s arrival. They turn to greet her, their eyes drawing to a leather belt in her hand. “I feel it might be a bit big,” She says as she hands over the accessory. “It’s new after all.” He thanks the woman as he grabs it, his fingers brushing hers. He knew he wanted to ask her more, to get as much of this familiar feeling, the feeling of being home, to last as long as possible.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” He begins, “But may I do some laundry?”
***
Mulder watches his boy as he gathere some supplies and shoves them into his backpack. He is still in disbelief. His boy doesn’t say much as he pulls on the socks that he has borrowed, his pant legs an inch too short. That is another thing that he doesn’t believe; his son was taller than him. But he would take his son being taller than him and living with them over his son on the run who knows where anyday. But that also means having to pack up everything in the park.
“We don’t want to be seen.” The boy says, stuffing the laptop charger into the bottom of the bag. “Quick in and out.” He nods in understanding.
Mulder doesn’t say much as the boy flings the bag over his shoulder, walking towards the exit to pull on his shoes. “I’ll drive.”
Scully looks up from the floor where she sits playing with Sammie. She doesn’t have to say anything for him to receive her message. Be safe. He nods to her, grabbing his keys from the bowl at the front of the house.
The trip to the woods was quiet, almost an awkward silence, it made the drive a whole lot longer than it should have been. Finally he said something. “I could hear her since the first moment she cried.” Neither of them say anything after that. What could he say?
He didn’t know much about these powers that his son had. Yes, he had that brief episode of his life where he too could read minds, but it came at a price. “Every morning since then, I’ve woken up to her, cooing, laughing, even her babbles. I hear it all inside my head.” He continues. “She has been and will continue to be the source of my will to fight.” Out of the corner of his eye, he notice the boy turning to face away from him. “She’s my touchstone.”
Mulder understands all too well, as the boy beside him had been his own for a long time. For the longest time, the only things keeping him grounded were Scully and Jackson, knowing he was out there somewhere. Those days when he was alone, when his partner had left him behind, he constantly thought about his family that could have been.
But now, here he was. A father to two. A life partner to one. He wants nothing more than to be a family, a dream he has wanted since he… well, since he fell in love with one Dana Katherine Scully.
They pull into the parking lot closest to the wooded area. The two step out of the car scarily in sync. They take a quick but thorough look around the park to make sure they are alone before starting off toward Jackson’s makeshift home. Jackson took the lead, showing his father where he hid from the government. The tent was set up a good 30 minutes into the woods, truly testing the limits of Mulder’s stamina. How Jackson didn’t get lost is beyond him.
The tent is small, casually camouflaged into the green of the leaves around it. The boy opens it up, unintentionally releasing the stale smell of the outdoors that has been manifesting for a week. The floor is covered in dirty clothes and junk food wrappers. Mulder looks around for the sleeping bag before realizing he’s standing on it; the tent is very small.
“It’s not much, but it was home at some point.” Was the boy’s only comment. “It’s better than what I had started off with.” Jackson pulls the bag off his back and pulls a snack along with a trash bag. He opens the snack and takes a bite of it before focusing on the task at hand. He starts packing up his dirty laundry, marveling at how little of it he has; it definitely seemed like he had more while he was on the run. Beside him, Mulder starts to roll up the sleeping bag.
“I had left the country, was able to cross the border illegally. It’s where I hid for many months after you were born.” He didn’t know where those words came from, he didn’t expect to ever have to explain himself to his son. Where he was when he was still William. He knew he should stop talking but he can’t bring himself to stop the word vomit. “I had only seen you for three days before it happened.” He didn’t look over to the boy, his task was set before him.
“Yeah?” Was Jackson’s only response. He wasn’t sure if he was really interested what he was telling him.
“Your mom’s idea.” He grunted, tying the last strap of the sleeping bag down. “I was imprisoned the moment I got back, after you were adopted out.” He pauses. “I was too late.” Why was he still talking? Why was he opening up now to this boy?
He knows why. At least, he thinks he knows why, he wants to finally show his son his vulnerability. “Mulder…” Jackson says in the same tone as Scully when she is trying to reassure him.
“No, you need to hear this, Jackson. And I’ve been keeping it inside for way too long.” He presses, grabbing the tent bag. “If… If I never left, we would have never given up on you. Together, we could have fought for you to stay with us.” He stares at his son, angry tears threatening to spill. “It is all my fault.”
Jackson sits back on his feet, his hands dropping the t-shirt he had in his hand. “Mulder… I understand where you’re coming from. But,” He pauses, maybe Scully was right and Mulder really did have that dramatic gene. “I grew up with loving parents, and yet, all this still happened.” He stuffed his shirt into his bag. “So no, it’s not your fault. It’s theirs.” He says that last part with a disgusted tone.
Mulder watches the boy in silence, a protest on the tip of his tongue. “Okay, and maybe a little of my own fault.” He get out a huff of laughter, if Jackson was any younger, he would have ruffled his hair in affection. The inside of the tent was fully packed up, leaving the two to only take down the small tent together. They work as a team, putting the shelter away as quickly as they could, working in sync, as if they had done something like this a couple of times before. But they haven’t, something the Mulder has regretted for a long time. During the silence, he feels himself opening up to the boy. He just hopes Jackson feels the same way.
With the tent now put away in its bag, Mulder offers to help carry some of the supplies that Jackson shrugs onto his back. “No no, it’s good. I’ve got it.” The boy insists. Mulder could do nothing but nod, watching him. “I’m ready to go if you are.”
“I’m ready.” He stands up from his seat on a log. “Just one question, how do we get out of here?” Mulder looks around, his photographic memory getting lost in the trees that all look the same.
“This way.” Jackson lead the way out of the woods and back to the car, the 30 minute trip taking longer as the boy had to slow down for his father, whose stamina was failing him. “Hurry up slowpoke!” He laughs. “I bet Dana is wondering where we are about now.” Mulder huffs, gulping in deep breaths as he follows his son’s foot steps. In front of him, Jackson doesn’t flinch as a bird flies from its roost, calling out an alarm as it flew overhead, his steps never weavering. Every once in a while, he makes a comment on how his dad taught him to track. Or how a camping trip with his parents had turned out one rainy weekend when he was nine.
With each story, Jackson shows a little more of himself. And Mulder wonders, did Jackson trust him enough to say so much? Or was he just being polite?
Finally Mulder steps out of the woods and stumbles towards his car. He has never been more grateful to see this hunk of metal. Hunched over, he gathers his bearings, trying to remind himself to breathe through his nose. His son stands over him, his hands on his hips in typical teenage fashion. “Do you need an inhaler?” Mulder took that like a punch to the gut, glaring up at the taller boy in response. Jackson raises his hands in mercy. “It’s a joke.” But the smirk on his face didn’t help his case. “Let’s go home.”
***
“A road trip? To where?” Jackson asks from the floor, Sammie in his lap and he claps her hands along with the music playing from the toy in front of them.
His parents look at each other from their spot on the couch, cuddled up together as they watched their children. “To the Lone Gunmen. We are setting up your new life.” Scully says, her head resting on Mulder’s shoulder. “It’s only a few hours away, but they’ve hidden themselves on an island.” Interesting, now why didn’t he think of that two years ago?
“When are we leaving?” He asks, going back to paying attention to his sister.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He considers if it is truly worth it, going on his first drive with his parents. And it is, he decides, even though being around them is still a little strange and unknown. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Scully claps her hand on Mulder’s knee before pushing herself up and off the couch. “In that case, I’ll go pack Sammie’s diaper bag so we can get out of here.” She walks out of the room, and Jackson cuddles the baby close before moving to get up to go help her, but he pauses.
“Mulder,” He starts, the baby cradled in his arms as she plays with his nose. “You don’t think that me going to the The Lone Gunmen would jeopardize their position?” He presses his lips to the top of her head before handing Sammie over to her father who happily accepts her, tossing her in the air before cuddling her himself as he lays down on the couch.
“You being there won’t put them in any danger, trust me. If they can stop me from getting them found every time I visit their island, they can keep you from bringing unwanted guests.” Mulder says, the baby sitting on his chest as she plays with his own nose, the same nose as his son.
Jackson only nods at him in understanding. He truly doesn’t want to put his new acquaintances in a dangerous situation because of him, especially after they all have done for him. His mom always told him that first impressions were the most important. He never really thought much of this rule in the past but now that she was gone, he feels like he can honor her memory by following some of the lessons she taught him. Better late than never, he muses.
Jackson walks out of the living room and towards the upstairs to find Scully walking quickly out of one room and into another, something was bunched up in her hand. Ascending the stairs, he calls out to her. “Dana? Is there anything I can help with?”
“Wha- oh? No, not really.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, following her to Sammie’s room. “Nothing that needs to be put in the car? Nothing to grab from the fridge?” He doesn’t want to feel useless; he is itching to be doing something. “Please, let me help.” Scully stops what she’s doing and looks up into his eyes. She notices the need there and frowns before she gives in.
“Can you make us some sandwiches for the road? We’ll probably drive through lunch.” He lets out a breath of release. Finally something he can do to hopefully ease his twitching muscles that kept trying to tell him to run. To hide and protect himself.
“Thank you.” He whispers, heading back down the stairs, seeing Mulder flying Sammie around from his spot on the couch.
“And tell your father to get some bottles ready!” She yells down to him. He smirks, wondering if the man even heard his partner.
He makes his way to the kitchen rather quickly to get to work before he realizes something. “Um, Mulder?” He calls.
“Hmm?”
“What do I put on these sandwiches?” He can hear the man laughing to himself as he heads to the kitchen. And for a bit longer, his itch to flee disappears.
It takes another 30 minutes before the four of them are all packed up and in the car and heading back to the small island. Scully was right; they did drive through lunch, taking a 20 minute break to eat their sandwiches and stretch their legs.
“Hey, can I talk to you guys for a minute?” Jackson asks after they finish their sandwiches. Mulder and Scully had sitting at a picnic table at a rest stop and discussing the fastest way to get to the Gunmen’s hideout with Jackson sitting on the opposite side of the picnic table. That was put on the back burner when Jackson spoke up.
“Of course, honey. What’s up? Is everything okay?” Scully looks at him with concern, worried he might be sick or hurt.
“Oh, yeah nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to tell you guys something. These past couple years have been long and rough on both of our sides. I know you guys wanted me to have a better life than what you could give me at that time, which I understand and respect now that I have the whole story. I want you to know that I...I love you.” He looks at Mulder this time, his confidence growing with each word, “Both of you. And I want to be a part of this family. If you’ll have me, of course.” He looks down for a moment, scared they’ll reject him, forgetting for a moment that they’re driving three hours to get him a new identity. When he looks up, he sees that both of them have tears in their eyes and are gripping each other’s hands for dear life. Scully’s tears start to stream down her face as she nods, unable to speak.
Though Mulder looks to be right behind Scully in the crying department, he speaks up for the both of them.
“Of course, Jackson. We’d love nothing more than for you to be our son again, officially. And, we love you too. We never stopped.” That’s when Mulder follows Scully’s lead and let his tears fall. Jackson gets up from his seat and walks around to their side with Sammie on his hip. When they embrace him in a hug, that’s when his own tears begin to fall.
***
They’re on the road again before long and make it to The Lone Gunmen’s dock easily. They had called ahead this time and Langley and the boat are waiting for them when they arrive. Introductions are made as Scully and Mulder load their luggage onto the boat. Jackson takes his sister out of her car seat because she’s starting to get a bit fussy after being in the car for so long.
With Sammie on his hip, he brings her over to Langley, a man he’s only talked to on the phone.
“Hi, I’m Jackson.” He sticks out his free hand, thinking a handshake is the best way to introduce himself. He is very surprised when Langley goes in for the full hug instead, almost crushing him and Sammie with the force of it and almost making him lose his balance.
“You have no idea how great it to see you alive.” The man says, holding onto the teen for a few moments longer. “It’s been so long since we last saw you.” Langley lets go of the teen and leans down to Sammie’s level, cooing to her softly before calling to Mulder. “You ready to go?”
Mulder walks to the boat, his arms full, his partner beside him with the diaper bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, the car is empty.”
Jackson follows his parents to the small boat, watching as Scully climbs into the boat, loading it up with the items Mulder hands her. With everyone but himself and Sammie in the boat, Jackson hands his sister over to his mother before climbing in and taking a seat beside the two. The moment he sits down Sammie leans over, asking to be back in his lap. He happily accepts.
The ride to the island was longer than he expects. He keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to sound impatient as he wants to continue to ask “are we there yet?” He laughs to himself every time the question pops into his head; he wouldn’t be surprised if Scully thinks he is crazy.
By the time they arrive at the island, Sammie is fast asleep on his shoulder, her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth. Jackson follows Langley off the boat as Mulder and Scully gather the luggage, knowing he would be no help in carrying anything as his hands are already full. Langley steps in front of him, leading the way to the house hidden on the island. Behind him, Mulder and Scully quietly talk to one another, their voices too low to hear.
Sammie sleeps the entire walk to the house. Jackson takes in every tree as he passes, taking notes on the turns they made. Living on his own and on the run for years has forced him to develop an escape plan
. After winding through the trees and foliage for about 5 minutes they arrive at The Lone Gunmen’s home. Langley unlocks the five different locks on the front door, including a retinal, hand, and voice scan. Jackson is surprised at the amount of security the plain looking house has. His shock doesn’t diminish once inside. He knew these men were geeks before agreeing to go visit them, but the equipment inside the house made him downright giddy. He had begged his parents for this many electronics, but never had gotten them. His laptop, tablet, and phone seem like child’s play compared to the stock they have here. None of his personal electronics were strong enough to do as much hacking as he wished to do, but still enough to cause trouble.
Frohike chuckles to himself, a gesture that Jackson barely caught, as he was too busy walking around the room with his mouth wide open. “Like what you see, kid?”
He nods, his free hand running over the older electronics. “I’ve only seen half of these things in person and they were all in pawn shops and antique stores.” He misses Scully holding in her laughter at the expressions on the men’s faces. He looks around the room one more time, taking in the machinery, a smirk on his face. “Let’s get started.” With his free hand, he pulls his laptop out of the backpack on the floor beside the diaper bag and takes it to the couch.
Mulder notices Jackson’s trouble as he tries to set up the laptop with his sister in his arms, so he walks over to help him out a bit. A small whimper escapes the baby when he tries to pick her up, freezing the two in their spot. Jackson looks at Mulder and tries to convey what he needs him to do. Mulder understands immediately; silent conversations must be a genetic thing. He opens the laptop and places it on the couch. Jackson sits down next to the computer, cuddling his sister close to him and starts to pull up his notes that he made on his way to the island.
“Where do you want to start?” Byers asks cautiously, watching the two siblings.
“Hm?” The teen asks wondering what the man means. “Oh, uh, name I guess? You can’t create a story without having a name.” It feels surreal, talking about this, finally making it a reality.
He takes notice of Scully watching him carefully from the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a mug. He could almost feel her again, there inside his head. But he knew it wasn’t true, that she was no longer there. She can’t be. That part was taken away from him. It was just Sammie now.
“And?”
“And,” He echos, “I… I want to be a Mulder.” He manages to get out, not believing he was actually saying it outloud. Something smashes on the floor and he couldn’t help but lock eyes with his mother. This is it. It was the debate that plagued his mind the entire car ride down. And he made up his decision on the final boat ride to shore, locking it in during the walk through the woods. “Liam Mulder.”
The teary smile that grows on his mother’s face is contagious.
***
Creating a new life is exhausting and Scully knows it. But creating one this way was more taxing on the brain than the body. Having to think of every single detail was taking far too long, and she was so ready to be done. Part of her would rather go through a late-life pregnancy again than create a new person from the bottom up, especially when it means having to clear a teenager of a background check so he can hide from the men in black.
“You’re going to have to get your own passport the traditional way.” She comments on the teens conversation with his father.
“What do you mean? Can’t they make me one?” He points to the trio.
Scully shakes her head, putting her hands on her hips. “These guys don’t have the new technology to create what the passports look like nowadays. If this was 20 years ago, then maybe, but not now.” She remembers her own passport that is sitting in her nightstand beside her birth certificate, the peaked interest that she felt when she flipped through her new one compared to her old one, the difference of 25 years. “Trust me.”
That is all it takes to convince the teen, and it pulls at her heart. Here was her son, starting over from the beginning with a new family that he had never known he had been once apart of, taking her on her word. It’s all she had prayed for for the longest time. To have her son here, within arms reach, trusting her.
“If I promise to take my GED, can I still declare that I’m a high school dropout?” Jackson jokes, watching Byers type in some information into the Saint Paul the Great Catholic High School database. “Hey, give a guy a break! I did not deserve that D- in History!”
“You did if you skipped that class every week.”
Jackson glares at the man before he gives in. “Fair.” His tongue pokes out between his lips for a moment, soothing his dry lips. “So, can I?” He looks up at her, his hazel eyes locking on her blues. She gets caught up, looking into the identical eyes of her partners. “Dana?
She blinks a couple times to bring herself back, reminding herself that this is her son. Her son who just told her that he loves her, that he wants to be part of their family again. “Yes, but only if you promise to do it once you get all your identification: birth certificate, passport, and driver's license.” She was strict and she knows it; that part of her will never change. At least now she had someone else to use it on beside Mulder.
He was quick to agree, a little too quick. She suspects that he is either eager to start his new life, or he really wants his driver’s license. Whatever his reasoning, she is pleased to see him happy with the new rule.
Before her, the four boys were hard at work while Mulder feeds Sammie behind her. In all honesty, she and Mulder are only there for suggestions; it was the life of Liam Mulder that was being created, a 19 year old teenage boy. And it was Jackson’s job to decide what he had done growing up. She drops her head into her hands when a thought crosses her mind. “Please tell me you didn’t drop out to do drugs.” Please, oh please, she pleas to herself.
All her hopes flies through the air when he gives an all knowing smirk. “Trust me Dana, I didn’t drop out because of that. Let’s just claim I dropped out cause I was given a full-time position at my part-time job?” Ok, maybe there is some hope.
“We’re going to need to put in some employment history then.” Langley comments, his fingers already flying across the keyboard.
“You’re going to need to get a job anyway. Might as well get started on your resume.” She raises her brow at him, her arms folded across her chest now.
“Deal.”
***
Many hours have passed since they first sat down to start working on Jackson’s new identity. They lost track of time somewhere around the 5 hour mark. Everyone had been asleep besides Mulder and Frohike, as Mulder rarely sleeps through the night and Frohike isn’t human.
By the time they start to regain their senses, Sammie is passed out on the bed with pillows surrounding her. Spaghetti bowls are littered throughout the living room from their dinner, and they were finally on the last page of his new life.
Jackson is almost shaking with nerves, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches the Gunmen fill out the final pieces of his new life. It is finally coming to an end. A shiver goes down his spine just thinking about it.
He’ll finally be a Mulder for the first time in his life. After learning that he had been born a Scully, he knew that he couldn’t go back to his birth name. There had been a record of him at one point in his life, and he didn’t want to take the chance. But now, he got to be his father’s son, and not just his mother’s like he had been for the first nine months he had been alive. But the beginning life of William Scully didn’t go to waste; it was just the trickle of a stream that was able to turn into the river that is called Liam.
“And that’s that.” Byers says as Langley hits the enter key on the keyboard. “Liam Jackson Mulder is officially born.”
Mulder wraps his arm around Scully, gazing softly at their son. A smile grows on the teen’s face. Every part of his body is screaming at him to run up to his parents and pull them into a hug. He holds back, but just barely.
He feels as though a lifetime’s worth of stress and burden has been lifted from his shoulders. He is completely free.
***
Eight months later…
Now at two years old, Sammie runs like a track star, dodging her big brother as he chases her around the park. Little did the toddler know that Jackson is missing her on purpose. She squeals in delight as she thinks she’s outrunning him. The decibel of her squeals increase the moment he swings her into the air and lands in his arms. “Heya Sammie girl.” He laughs, walking towards his parents who are sitting side by side under a large tree.
“Are you going to spend your entire vacation hiding under the shade?” He asks his mother who watches him from under her sunglasses.
“You are forgetting one thing,” She pulls the glasses up just a little so he can see her eyes. “I’ll burn to a crisp if I stay out in the sun for more than five minutes. Going out into the sun must be a planned event.” She pulls the glasses back down to her eyes, most likely closing them.
“Then Florida was a bad choice for our first vacation as a family.” He laughs, lightly dropping Sammie on the picnic blanket and hands her a PB&J made especially for her.
From his spot on the blanket, his father speaks up for the first time in a while. “Well, we wanted to do something to congratulate you on getting your GED and your license.”
“And a week in the Sunshine State was your answer to that?” He takes a bite out of his own sandwich.
“We can always take you back home with your sister, and Scully and I can come back and enjoy our vacation time.”
Jackson pretends to think about it for a minute before smiling to his family. “Nah, I think I like it here.” Scully falls back and laughs, her head falling back and hitting the tree behind her. It feels good to see his mom fully let go, something he hasn’t seen her do for a few weeks now. He knew her part time position at the FBI took so much out of her last time she went in, something that he had overheard his parents talk about one night when he got up. Everyone knows that Scully’s laugh is contagious so when she starts, Mulder can’t help but join in, followed by Jackson.
And as if this moment isn’t perfect enough, Jackson watches as Sammie starts laughing too. Her laugh sounds like bells and it might just be the most perfect sound he’s ever heard.
This is Family, Liam Jackson Mulder thinks contentedly as he watches his parents role on the grass and holding their guts, laughing for no reason at all.
#txf#the x files#x files#msiv fix it fic#the lone gunmen aren't dead bc that was stupid#fanfiction#txf fic
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March 12+13
Mon. March 12 2018
My friend Sofia left this morning, which was sad. Every Monday morning we have a huge volunteer meeting outside for about an hour. Ever since Danni got here, they’ve been very entertaining. She is very loud and outspoken in a way only northern British people are. The light in our living room is green because there was no normal bulb to put in so we used the only one we could find. At the meeting when Shannon asked if there were any things to call attention to in the houses Danni called out, without raising her hand: “can we change the green light in the living room, because I feel like I’m living in a crack den”. I died laughing, but everyone else was silent because they thought it was kind of disrespectful. If they're so offended by the comment, maybe have basic things around like non-green lightbulbs. Danni isn't wrong, our living room looks straight out of Breaking Bad right now. Currently, there are 70 volunteers on project. I like some of the newbies but some are problematic. Danni is not one to shy away from conflict and she got in a very loud argument with one of the new British girls who was snarky to her. I can’t really describe the way she speaks, but when she’s upset her accent is so heavy that I can barely understand her, even with my strongest listening ears on.
I’ve been reading a lot this week and I have some quotes that I want to share and talk about from the two books I’ve been pouring through. The first is apparently supposed to be a children’s book, but given the decline of the English language and education system in recent years, I doubt kids under 13 would be able to keep up with it. It’s called A Little History of the World. My dad got it for me when I was 7 and there’s a little note in the inside cover from him that was undiscovered until I got to South Africa. Now, that book is one of the most important treasures I brought with me. The quote goes “What I have always loved best about the history of the world is that it is true. That all the extraordinary things we read were no less real than you and I are today.” It’s the opening line of one of the last chapters in the book and I think could be easily overlooked, but that idea is so profound to me and resonates deeply. It is entirely true. Sometimes I wonder what history books will say about our time now, what truths today will become stories later on. What events now or changes are we overlooking that are, in hindsight, going to be looked at a time of great consequence. We can guess. We can point to wars and political shifts. We can point to technology and the Age of Plastic that we have seemingly entered. But the reality of it is, we don’t know until it is no longer reality. Until we have experienced enough of the future to see what parts of the past actually made enough of an impact to be seen as relevant to the future situation. My guess of how this period of time will be looked at is the paradox between the push for constant innovation and new technology, and the regression to the past with populism and tightening of social, racial, and cultural boundaries. How we love new things and stuff, but we can’t tolerate new people and ideas.
Another book I’ve been reading, quite slowly, was given to me by my therapist/life advisor Ariel. Before I came here, she gave me a book of Billy Collins’s poetry, and a book by Pema Chödrön, called “When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times”. It’s brilliant. One of my favorite parts is that there is no fat or pretension. None of it is trying to sound smart or important. It is straightforward and spiritual in the most honest way. It is so realistic and profound at the same time that I spend several minutes with each sentence. The entire book is written by a woman who has mastered the Buddhist mindset of acceptance, non-attachment, and nowness. I am extremely far from that mindset, so some of the ideas can’t really resonate with my extremely preoccupied mind, but I hope I can learn to internalize them. An example of some of the really valuable teachings in the book is: “Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic — this is the spiritual path. Getting the knack of catching ourselves, of gently and compassionately catching ourselves, is the path of the warrior”. This is so important. The idea that gentleness and ability to choose the path of nonfiction, to sit without adjusting that strap that’s slipping off your shoulder, not scratching the mosquito bite, not smoking that cigarette the nicotine in your brain is begging for, sitting with the little parts of your brain that make your stomach tight and make you want to get up and walk around, that’s real strength. That’s finding peace and self control and wisdom and really using it. Indulging in action without really sitting with the decision of that action is a mindless and unconscious way to exist, really. I want to fully exist in my being in the present. To let my consciousness exist as fully in the now as I can. To see the beauty in impermanence and not hold too tight to the metaphorical sand slipping through my hands into the bottom half of the hourglass. Before you write off this entire paragraph as super hippie-dippy and hocus-pocus-y, really think about what it means. How consciously are you living? When’s the last time you weren't thinking about the future or the past for a full 10 minutes? When’s the last time you didn't feel discomfort in acknowledging and releasing an impulse?
Tues. March 13 2018
Today was normal for me. Tutoring was nice for the most part. I’m on my period which is the worst when you need to work with kids. My cramps were terrible and I felt so badly I didn't even go out to play with the kids during break. Besides that, the morning was standard for me. However, for about 20 volunteers today was quite turbulent. There’s been a bit of drama down here in Cape Town. To preface this story, we have rules of living for the volunteer program. Sunday-Thursday we are not allowed to go out past 11pm and are not allowed to show up to project hungover or unrested. The crucial part of all of those rules is the hangover part because in the townships there is a lot of alcohol abuse and so most of the kids associate the smell of alcohol with physical and emotional abuse from mom, dad, or other family members. Thankfully, that rule hasn't been broken as far as anyone can tell. However, a lot of volunteers go out and party and return quite late at night. The hostel has security cameras for obvious security purposes and, until now, have never really been checked to the extent of my knowledge.
Last week, a lot of people missed curfew and were really loud about it, so it woke up the interns and they had to tell the managers. At the morning meeting, the managers asked everyone who violated curfew to stand up. About 6 people did. I know that at least 15 people violated curfew and probably more at the property down the street, Dunbar, because they have no supervision and party a lot more than my house. Everyone who stood up had to spend their Friday washing the cars SAVE owns. Fairly, they were annoyed everyone else didn't stand up. One of them told Shannon it was unfair to enforce it only on the people honest enough to admit they broke the rules. So, today, Shannon looked on the security cameras, which are positioned so you can see everyone’s face super clearly. Tons of people were caught red handed and had lied about it because they didn't stand up. Shannon was livid and posted part of the video of people coming in late to the group chat. It was wild. She’s generally a go-with-the-flow person who also gets things done. But she brought the whip down. Everyone who lied wasn't allowed to go to project today and had to clean the entire hostel and then the other property that’s under construction, that we call 83, and organize the entire storage spaces. It turned out to be pretty beneficial because last night there was a huge fire in Dunoon and because everyone lives in shacks so close together, over 500 people are displaced and homeless. The extra hands from all the people in trouble meant SAVE could make lots of care-packages. Three of the teachers at one of the schools we work at are homeless now. I can’t imagine going through that. Losing everything in one night. On top of that, there’s no way they can just buy things again. There’s no insurance (obviously) and most people live hand-to-mouth, so once you lose everything, that’s that. It’s horrible.
I had rugby this afternoon which was interesting because I have no idea what rugby is and everyone kept telling me it’s basically american football without the pads. Everyone lied. It really isn't anything at all like american football, the balls just look similar. It’s more similar to netball or basketball than football. There weren't that many of us and the boys that did play we kind of had to corral into playing because everyone wanted to play soccer, which was a little sad, but we tried our best to make it fun. Obviously, it was touch-rugby instead of tackle. There was this one 11 year old boy on my team who was tiny. He was clearly malnourished and not growing like the other boys. His name was Melvin. I noticed that he had some kind of burn on his hands, but he was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a sweater over it because it was a bit chilly today, so I couldn't really tell what it was.
When we took a water break, one of the boys came up to me and told me that Melvin had horrible burns over his arms and down his back from boiling water, and that we should only touch his legs during the game. I took and distributed the information and we kept playing, but it was so troubling to think about. The burn was clearly severe, as far as I could see. His skin was entirely discolored in the surrounding are and I noticed there was a similar shaped scar from an incident on his other hand, but it looked like something that had happened maybe even years ago. My immediate thought was that it was domestic abuse. It is not far from the range of possibility for a parent to pour boiling water on their child out of anger or as a punishment. After rugby, I went straight to Shannon to tell her about what I saw. She already knew. She said two weeks ago Melvin had an accident at home and it was an accident. She said that the families live in such close quarters, these incidents aren't as uncommon as they may seem. Moreover, he had to go to the hospital for 2 days because they were 2nd degree burns and was out of school for a week. For some reason, this doesn’t sit right with me. How does that much boiling water go on just his back and arms? I can’t really imagine a situation where an entire pot of boiling water accidentally falls on a child without that child getting at least somewhat out of the way. Further, what about the similar scar on the other hand? Was this a repeated incident?
At the end of the day, even if it is abuse, there’s nothing I can do and that’s extremely upsetting. All I can ensure is that the kids feel safe and happy when they're with me, but when our time is up, I have to send them back to potentially dangerous situations. That’s so heartbreaking to me. These kids are so normal at the project and just happy to be there. They come from entirely different backgrounds and situations than kids who are friends with my own brother in California, and yet they act so similarly and are really just as much of a kid as anybody growing up in a first world country. The hardship they experience seems so incredibly undeserved I just want to swoop them up in my arms and save them from any hurt in their lives. They’re just kids and I wish they had the room to live that way without thinking about it. Around 12 is when that shift towards hardness really takes place and I’m making it my duty lead with love and kindness to delay that hardening of their youth as much as possible.
- Q
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Coming Apart On Top of You : Ch 1
Author: impalafortrenchcoats
Chapter: 1/?
Summary:
Seokjin is trying to piece together a life while tearing down his past one brick at a time. Namjoon is fighting to build his future while struggling to handle the present.
It wasn't a very convenient time to fall in love.
And when the skeletons in the closet are much more literal than most, the challenges of their relationship could prove deadly.
Ships: Namjin, Jikook/Kookmin, Sope/Yoonseok
Categories: Hitmen + Assassins AU, Coffee Shop AU, Non-Linear Storytelling
Chapter Wordcount: 3223
AO3 Link: here
It was late morning in the cafe when the man walked in. The morning swarm had finally cleared, and it was now the quiet before the sad, desperate souls of the afternoon crowd came stumbling in for their pick-me-ups. This was especially true for the pencil-pushers of the surrounding businesses, who came and left in a haze of overworked dead eyes. It really made Hoseok question whether or not to go into business like everyone else. Well, that was a problem for the future.
In the meantime, he was busy killing time, slowly refilling the straw stand one straw at a time, all the while contemplating the next part of his scheme to woo his ever aloof coworker, Yoongi. The first part had gone relatively well. After three months of working together, Yoongi finally knew his name and was no longer fucking it up.
Hoseok indulged in a giant mocha macchiato with coconut milk that day to celebrate.
Now, step two, small talk.
Okay, maybe that was too much. Best not get too greedy. One should always set realistic goals for oneself. Maybe just saying ‘hi’. That sounded good.
As he set about testing out different tones for the procedure, the familiar chime of the door rang and a tall figure ambled into the cafe.
Hoseok brightened when he recognized the man as a regular. He had only been working in the cafe for about five months or so, and he had no idea when the man started coming in for his coffee. But one thing was for sure, the man sure knew how to get the staff’s gossip mill going. A primary contributor to the constant gossip was the fact that, to this day, no one knew the man’s name.
At some point he was just dubbed Tall, Pink, and Handsome by some of the female staff, and the rather apt name stuck.
Nowadays, almost everyone who took his order just scribbled TPH on his cup, and that was the end of that. The man didn't seem to mind, and if the stories were to be believed, had even thrown a ridiculously cute aegyo at the person who had finally explained the meaning to him.
Hoseok was in the minority who decided to have some fun with the nameless one. After some hardcore nosing around and an aggressive application of his sunshiny charm, he had found out that the man had a soft spot for Disney, and the princesses in particular. He now made sure to write down some Disney character’s moniker on the cup, and when possible, he always tried to add a little bit of trivia.
It wasn't something that he would usually do for someone who was essentially a stranger, but Hoseok was good at reading people.
And something told him that the man was due some harmless joy in life.
It was easy to see when the man noticed Hoseok looking his way as he immediately smiled and waved as he made his way over.
Not to be outdone, he did his patented impression of the sun and returned the smile with interest, “Well, look who decided to show up! I was starting to think you were cheating on us with that new coffee shop down the street.”
The man gave a whinnying bark of a laugh before trying to give Hoseok a stern glare. It was completely ruined by the twitching of his lips as he tried to contain the smile, “How dare you question my loyalty, you uncouth rapscallion. I’ll have you know I was on a business trip and was barely holding it together without my beloved coffee. Your coffee beans were haunting my dreams.”
Hoseok snorted at the honestly cringe-worthy melodrama, “Uh-huh. So what’s it going to be today?”
“The usual. I need to get this body back on its usual regime. Something, something, my body, my temple, you know the drill.” He waggled his eyebrows at Hoseok and leaned on the counter, straddling the lines between social dumbass and creepy uncle masterfully.
Hoseok had to roll his eyes before saying, “you are so freaking lame, dude. This is why you're still single, even with that face.”
“Does your manager know you speak this way to your best customer? And I'll have you know I'm hot shit. Civilizations have crumbled for less beautiful faces than this!”
“Let no one tell you you don't have self-confidence.”
“Who needs self-confidence when you got this face?” He even puckered his lips for emphasis.
Hoseok sighed and just called it quits. It was up for debate whether or not this guy was serious, and despite his people reading skills, he truly couldn't say. Instead, he just grabbed a plastic cup and said, “So, one iced almond latte, right?”
The man hummed his approval before trying to lean over the counter to get a better look at the cup. He asked, “What about you? What's it going to be today?”
Hoseok quickly pulled the cup away from view, “Nuh-uh. No peeking! You'll see it when the coffee's done!”
He then proceeded to scribble on the cup for a bit before scuttling off to make the drink. As he went about his business with heating up the milk, he could see the man loitering rather cheerfully by the pastries. The image of the man’s avid interest in the new batch of lobster-decorated cupcakes gave him the perfect inspiration.
He smiled to himself and added a few more scribbles to the side of the cup.
“How about a hint,” the man called. “The anticipation is just killing me.”
“You never heard of ‘delayed gratification’?”
“Wow. ‘Gratification,’ you say? Aren't you confident today. I'll have you know, I've been spoiled. It'll take more that a sad cat doodle and a barely legible ‘Mufasa’ to please me.”
“That’s it. No more business trips for you. You get too uppity after them for any one’s comfort. And what do you mean barely legible!”
“I'm sorry. Your handwriting is no good.”
“You wound me.”
“I'll leave a nice tip?”
“You heal me.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and when Hoseok finally finished up the latte, he tried to make a heart in the foam, but it ended up looking more like a lopsided pear. Mr. TPH didn't seem to mind and quickly turned the cup around to see his writing.
Ariel
The dress worn at the dinner is a combination of all previous princesses’ dresses.
Hoseok felt the bright smile the man gave him was well worth the effort of trying to fit all that writing onto cup. He took a sip of his latte, before waving his thanks and slipping out the door.
Once again, Hoseok was left alone to wonder about the mysterious TPH. At least, Ruth would be happy to know the man had returned. A significant portion of the staff had been mourning the lack of handsomeness in their work life.
Oh, well. That wasn’t his problem. He really needed to get back to his game plan for Yoongi.
+++
Journal Entry 1
March 21, 2013
Okay, so how am I supposed to do this? This is a journal, just to be clear, not a diary. Fucking Seulji said this shit helps clear thoughts and shit, but I think it's just a girl thing.
Okay, fuck. I don't know. Hi, this is Park Jimin, I'm 21 years old, a dance major, oh, and most importantly, a royal fuck up. So much fucking up to be had, I have sowed and reaped the fruits of my fuckery. My crops of fuck ups is plentiful. Oh my god, this is so stupid. Don't ever listen to Seulji. She's the queen of bad ideas.
HOLY FUCK! This whole thing was her fault; what am I talking about? Okay. You know what?
Summary of my recent fuck up: I may have met the love of my life at the club last night, because shit those legs were to die for, the arms as well, oh my god, his face. Who am I kidding? I met God last night. But I also listened to Seulji, who is the devil, and got fucking wasted. And am pretty sure I told Beautiful that I was flexible as fuck, and I was super down to fuck.
And proceeded to prove my point by kicking my leg up, and basically did a vertical split on the man’s shoulder.
Then, the lovely icing on the cake, I'm pretty sure I barfed all over the poor bastard.
FUCK YOU, SEULJI, THIS IS MAKING THE MEMORY WORSE NOT BETTER!!!!
So, thankfully I don't remember shit after, but according to the she-devil herself, this guy probably really has the patience of God, since he apparently helped her drag my sorry drunk ass home.
And now, I will end my misery with ice-cream because fuck you, Seulji, journals don't fucking help.
Worst part is, I won't ever see Beautiful, again, and I'm hungover and don't even have the sore ass to at least say I got a decent lay for my troubles.
I hate my life.
+++
The entire office building was supposed to be empty by this time of night. It was nearing 2 AM, so the fact a lone glowing computer screen was lit in a sea of black screens was an anomaly in and of itself. However, the eerie cast of the light from the screen as well as the dim glow of the exit signs and secondary lighting system made the figure seated in front of a computer seem otherworldly in appearance.
Given the time, the man seemed unusually alert despite his eyes appearing glued to the screen in front of him. He sat with his back straight, motionless - waiting. The silence and stillness permeated everything in the sprawling emptiness of the office space. And time seemed almost frozen.
Then, in the distance, growing slowly but just as ominously and relentlessly as the sound of an oncoming train, echoes of screams drifted into the room, rising from the floors below.
It kept building, and the closer and louder it became, the muted blasts of gunshots and thuds of falling bodies became easily identifiable to the man’s ears.
Everything reached a crescendo, and as quickly as it came, the noises disappeared and silence rang once more.
The man let out a slightly shaky breath, but his face remained impassive as ever.
It was not until a ding from the hallway behind him alerted him to the arrival of the elevator and the subsequent hissing signaled the opening of said elevator doors, that the man finally moved, although it was just to take off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose.
Without looking, he spoke, “You’ve really gone and made a mess of things, haven’t you.”
Silence answered him, but this time punctuated by the hair-raising feel of eyes on his back.
He sighed and continued, “I've been waiting for you. Figured you would come here first.”
He didn't expect a reply. Instead, with slow and precise motion, he tugged a USB drive from the computer and placed it to the side, away from him, all the while still not turning around.
“I tried to warn you. Headquarters always know; they always find out. If anything, I was surprised you all managed to keep it quiet for as long as you did.”
Just as he finished speaking, a hand came to rest on his shoulder, sitting uncomfortably close to his neck. He was made all the more aware of the dire circumstances by the thumb running slow, easy circles on the back of his neck.
He swallowed again, “For what it's worth, they didn't hear it from me.”
Finally, he received a response. A soft masculine voice answered him at last, speaking in an unnaturally light tone. If anything, he felt he could almost imagine the gentle smile on the other man’s face, “I know.”
It was readily clear that this was the only reason why they were even speaking, and that he wasn't another casualty to the night.
“What are you doing here, Onew?” The man’s tone was still light, almost jovial, as if this was a surprise run-in with an old friend at the grocers.
Onew would have tried to relax more if the tang of fresh blood wasn't clinging to the other man like an overbearing cologne.
“I wanted to give you this,” Onew indicated the USB. “Everything you want is there. Locations of all offices and safe houses, the comprehensive list of everyone employed, everything you would ever need to wipe them from existence.”
There was a pause, then the other man gave a short laugh.
Onew stiffened when the next words out of the man’s mouth were right next to his ear, his breath tickling the side of Onew’s cheek, “Thank you very much. But I can't help but wonder why you're doing this.”
Ignoring the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, Onew tried to keep his voice steady as he answered, “My team. I want you to spare my team. We won't stop you; I'll take them out of this, I swear.”
The man hummed, the sound resonating through Onew from their proximity, “That would be a little incriminating for you, wouldn't it?”
“Then you would just have to be a dear and kill them all for me, if it's not too much trouble.”
He finally backed away with a snort, “Never thought you were the gambling sort.”
“Never thought I was either. Key thinks this is a suicide mission you're on.”
“How did you manage to convince him to go along with this?”
“I figure I would just say sorry later.”
Silence took hold of the room once more, and Onew waited on bated breath for the man’s decision. He almost wept in relief when, from the corner of his eye, he watched a hand take the drive.
“When I come for them, make sure you and your team are gone. If I see any one of you -”
“You won't.”
The hand on his shoulder patted him.
“How long do we have?” He couldn't help but ask.
“Now, now, Onew. That would be telling.”
Onew nodded. He didn't want to push his luck, this had already gone better than he had hoped. He felt the man back away, so he went to pick up his glasses.
“Oh, and sorry about the mess.”
Pausing in confusion for a moment, Onew put on the glasses and glanced to the side, taking in the dark, bloody handprint on his shoulder.
He shrugged, “It was an ugly shirt, anyway.”
As he listened to the man’s retreating footsteps, Onew turned to face him for the first time that night.
“Seokjin-ah,” he called and he waited for the figure to turn. “Please don't fuck this up.”
The man just smiled and nodded before disappearing into the elevator.
Onew sighed. Now he just had to figure out how to break the news to the rest of the guys.
+++
Good evening.
Tonight ten are dead after a fire broke out at a local office building on the outskirts of Seoul, bordering Namyangju. The building is one of many ran by Ayao Industries, a local shipping company owned by founder and CEO Lee Beomsoo.
The incident occurred in the early morning hours, when a skeleton crew had been reworking the building’s wiring in preparation for an upcoming remodel. According to the company spokesman, Cha Hakyeon, the fire had started when faulty wiring combined with materials on scene had resulted in the explosion which killed the men. Mr. Cha made it clear that all company personnel are cooperating with local officials as investigations continue.
Concerns regarding whether or not the building was up to code are central to the investigation.
This tragedy follows in the aftermath of another as Mr. Lee and family are still reeling from the loss of their son, Lee Byunghun, in a tragic car accident just three days prior.
Despite personal hardships, Mr. Lee remains adamant the company’s expansion efforts will continue, and construction on overseas offices in Vietnam will remain on schedule. The new location will be dedicated to his late son upon completion.
+++
Journal Entry 2 (Am I supposed to be numbering these?)
March 25, 2013
TALL, DARK, AND BEAUTIFUL SHOWED UP AT MY WORK TODAY!!!!
Apparently, I drunkenly invited him to the book signing, and Seulji gave him the details when I passed out.
Seulji. I may owe this girl some money. A lifetime of alcohol. My first born child. Nah, too much.
But I fucking owe her. O-W-E!
Can I just say drunk me is lame as fuck, though. A book signing? Really? They're giving out free snacks here, but I'm coming off as a real cheapskate, starving college student status notwithstanding.
Fuck, but the guy is hot as fuck. Like gorgeous. So, I already mentioned the hot bod. Like muy caliente. Burn me with your fire, hot, right? But, come on, I’m a realistic guy, and I know it could have been a combination of the club lighting and my beer goggles.
No. Not at all. Nope. He’s not just hot. He’s ADORABLE. He’s got these giant doe eyes and this boopable nose! Does he know he’s lethal cute! Like, he has this kind of face that should be dopey, but he fucken dodged that with a hard pass and slammed straight into wet dreams territory.
Basically, I don't know what he's doing coming to my crappy little bookstore really. Although, he did seem a bit out of touch. Who in their right mind would be that interested in hearing me talk about stocking books. He was probably just humoring me, honestly. I mean it's not much but it pays, not much I can do about that until I graduate. We can't all be international photographers or whatever.
At least I think that's what he does. We ended up ditching the book signing and he took us to dinner. I noticed some equipment in the backseat of the car and some camera stuff. It had gotten kind of awkwardly quiet, so I decided to break the silence by asking him if he had just come back from a shoot.
I think if there are any future outings, I might just have to suggest public transit because he clearly wasn't one of those guys who could multitask talking and driving. The guy almost missed a turn and drove straight into oncoming traffic. Yeah. I wasn't down for that kind of life. No Fast and Furious for this Jimin.
Also, he seemed kind of mad I asked. Though, A+ for hot side glare. I would put up with inexplicable mood swings, if I got to look at those eyes when things got hot and heavy.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not easy, but a guy’s got to be honest with himself. And I've dated enough art sorts to know they could be moody.
He wanted clarification apparently, so I had to explain the camera and what not. Maybe he really didn't want to be confused with the film sort. Who knows with these art guys.
Dinner was amazing, and he paid. I think I'm in love.
Feed me. That's all I ask.
Aw, shit. I am easy.
Only down side of the evening was the lack of a kiss. I feel like a kiss after getting dropped off would be mandatory after our rocky start.
Considering the disastrous meet cute, there was no point to being coy now. I want my kiss, damn it.
Whatever. I got his number.
Now, I just have to check the bank and see if I could afford something nice for Seulji. She deserves it.
I take back calling her a she-devil.
+++
“Well? What is your plan for the situation?”
“We had our people on clean up. The fire destroyed most of the evidence. Even if something slips, we have some of the investigators in our pocket. The public won’t know the truth.”
“I really don't give a fuck about the public. How do we get rid of our little problem?”
“You say ‘little problem,’ I say ‘critical disaster.’ I don't think you're taking this situation as seriously as should be warranted.”
“He's one man.”
“He's one of our best men.”
“You said he could be trusted.”
“It seems I was wrong.”
“And now you're saying you can handle it.”
“I will.”
“Let's hope you're not wrong, again.”
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
juvi-lockster, dharyism, and allourheroes for cleaning up my mess!
Next Part: here
#bangtan#bts#bts fanfic#namjin#jikook#kookmin#yoonseok#sope#my fanfic#fic: coming apart on top of you#myfanfic
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they say to write what you know so, obviously, I write about teacher gossips and Colin being hot af (for @cinnamonandseasalt who loves hot dad!Killian)
It’s the talk of the entire staff room. Usually, Emma isn’t one for gossiping – Ariel, the primary school teacher, and Belle, the librarian, are better at it than Emma will ever be. Even Ruby and Mulan are into that thing, and Mary Margaret – the school’s principal herself – indulges in gossiping once in a while. Probably a secondary effect of having a staff mostly made of women, Emma ponders as she listens to them sharing the juiciest rumours about this parent and that family. It helps forgetting how stressful their jobs can be, after all, so Emma doesn’t blame them.
She usually stays away from it, especially since she’s the school councillor and knows more than everybody else about the students’ personal lives, but – gosh, the latest gossip is on everybody’s lips.
Single fathers are always a target, if only because they are single fathers. But, in Ruby’s words, this one is ‘so hot you could fry eggs on his abs’ and, yes, it has Emma a little curious. Especially after two weeks of the other women talking about it while she’s yet to see this apparently fine specimen of a man with her own two eyes. It’s just for science, okay? Emma wants to know if this man lives up to the gossips following him around school.
Emma knows him, kind of, through Roland’s file – he’s not Roland’s father but still family, having gotten custody of the child when the father died in a tragic accident, a few years after the mother suffered the same fate. Moved from London to quirky little Storybrooke, Maine, in hope of a few start. Roland doesn’t seem miserable, from what Emma saw during their one and only session together, if a little shy and not that talkative. But Emma knows all too well that grief is a complicated thing.
“Are we talking hotter than Graham here?” she asks one day, smiling in her cup of hot cocoa.
Every year, the fifth graders go camping for an entire week in the woods, and Graham so happens to be the local forest ranger. He’s a piece of eye candy, if Emma says so herself, and a real gentleman – perhaps she would have said yes to a date last year when she went to camp with the kids, in an alternate universe where her life wasn’t such a mess. But Neal was back in her life then, and Henry going through puberty, and everything was complicated.
“Oh, way hotter,” Gwen confirms.
Gwen, who’s so happily married to Lancelot no other man matters, thinks the guy is hot. If that doesn’t say a lot, nothing ever will. So, yeah, Emma is curious, the same way she was curious about how apparently little Grace from grade 7 can lick her elbows – it crosses her mind when other people talk about it, but she doesn’t go out of her way to find the truth. Emma has better things to do that to track down elbow-lickers, or handsome legal guardians, thank you very much.
For a starter, Nicholas and Ava still don’t have lunch boxes, and Emma wonders when exactly she’s supposed to do something about it. Then there’s the problem of Henry missing that one history class every week to kiss Violet under the bleachers (!!!). Not to mention Ingrid, who’s finally coming back from Norway, so the house has to be ready. So, yeah, Emma has other things on her mind.
With November comes the yearly Miner’s Day Festival, and of course David and Mary Margaret manage to convince Emma to help them out. Selling candles in the cold isn’t exactly her idea of a fun Saturday afternoon, but the Blanchards have this way about them that makes it impossible for Emma to say no when they ask something. A great power that they don’t use too loosely, thankfully.
Uneasiness creeps its way between her shoulder blades in a cold shiver when she first has to make small talk with people, as always. It stays that way for an hour or so, before Granny brings them all hot cocoa – hers is spiked, of course – and teases them about the candles. She buys three of them, though, and winks Emma’s way before she goes back to her own booth. The warm pies smell heavenly, and Granny will sell them all out before the sun has set. There is a routine to the Miner’s Day Festival, after all, the familiarity of it both soothing and creepy in its own way – but that’s the thing about little towns like Storybrooke, after all.
Emma sips on her hot cocoa, keeping an eye on Henry even if she promised to let him be – he’s on a date with Violet, of course, and Emma feels old just looking at them walking hand in hand. Her little boy is almost a man now, only a few years shy of leaving for college, and Emma doesn’t know how to cope with that. Sometimes she thinks about how empty and silent the house will be, once he’s gone, and loneliness creeps upon her.
“Emma!”
The call of her name startles Emma, hot cocoa sloshing and burning her fingers. She swallows down a curse as she turns around, eyes traveling down to meet brown ones, along with a dimpled smile. Roland’s face is half-hidden by the beanie he’s wearing, but it doesn’t stop him from beaming up at her with all the happiness of the world.
“Hey, kiddo!”
His gloved hand holds on to an adult one, and Emma’s eyes travel up slowly – hand, arm, disturbingly muscled shoulder – before they settle on the man’s face. She remembers Ruby’s words (“I would climb him like Mount Everest, Ems,” to which Emma had kindly reminded her that she was married) and finds them lacking. Because nothing could have prepared Emma for the blue of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, the way his hair flops on his forehead. Nothing could have prepared her for the way he smiles at her, almost shy and tentative, when their eyes meet. Nothing could have prepared her for the scar on his cheek or the expense of skin revealed by the collar of his loose shirt.
He’s not hot.
He’s way more than that.
Emma finds herself swallowing around her dry throat, at loss for words. She likes to think herself above those kinds of things, likes to believe she isn’t a blushing schoolgirl anymore and that she cares about more than just looks but – but that man looks so. So.
“Hi,” she finds herself croaking, before she clears her throat a little. “I’m Emma Swan, from school.”
Understanding flashes through his eyes, a small ‘ah’ on his lips as he nods at her. “Roland told me about you. Killian Jones, nice to meet you.”
He holds his hand for her to shake, and Emma does so – his fingers are callused, his skin warm, and she curses herself at the thought that she never wants to let go of him ever again. What is she, a horny teenager meeting a boy for the first time? Worse, even, because she damn sure didn’t feel that pathetic when she was a teenager.
“Uncle, look at the candles!”
Roland tugs on his hand, pointing to a red one. Mary Margaret takes it as her cue to step in, gushing about the candles and what a good deed it would be to buy one. Emma manages to step back then, with a sigh on her lips. She meets David’s eyes, and he raises a very unimpressed eyebrow at her, like the almost big brother he is. She rolls her eyes, even if she really doesn’t feel like fighting him on this. He most definitely is right.
She downs her hot chocolate when her phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s a text from Ruby, nothing but a winking emoji poking its tongue at her, and Emma glares in the general direction of Granny’s booth in reply. Her friends really are not helping matter be.
Killian Jones offers her one last glance when he leaves their booth, and Emma forces herself to focus on Roland waving goodbye instead – it’s easier than his too hopeful eyes, or Mary Margaret’s insistent glare, or David snorting into his coffee. Focus on the child, Emma.
Focus on what you know.
It’s another couple of hour before night settles in Storybrooke, before Mary Margaret decides that they made enough money for the year. Emma wraps her scarf around her neck, beanie on her head, before she leaves her friends to try and find her son instead. He must be around there somewhere, sharing a milkshake with Violet or doing something equally adorable. But, after a few minutes of walking around, Henry is nowhere to be seen.
Emma turns around, only to find herself facing a now familiar face. Killian Jones smiles at her, looking equally startled to find her in front of him. He wears a scarf too, but his ears and nose are red with the cold of the night, his bare fingers wrapped around a mug of hot cider.
“Hello again,” he tells her, words rolling on his tongue in a soft accent. “Fancy a drink?”
She should say no, should go find Henry, give him a curfew and go back home. It’s been a long day, exhaustion crawling through her bones. But Killian looks at her the way nobody ever has before, soft and tentative and almost awestruck. Neal never looked at her like that – like she is something precious, beautiful.
Nobody ever looked at her like that.
So she finds herself sharing a drink with him, and a few laughs too. He’s effortlessly funny, teasing her and grinning proudly at her every time he gets a laugh out of her. He tells her about growing up in London, and she tells him about what it’s like to live your teenage years in such a small town. He admits he’s an orphan – she explains the situation with Ingrid.
Emma finally decides to text Henry instead – telling him that she’s going home and he can do the same at one in the morning, and be quiet when he does so – before she accepts Killian’s offer to walk her home. Roland has gone to spend the night with Belle and little Gideon, who’s the same age.
They are quiet on the way back to her place, the festival only a murmur of songs and laughter in the distance. Emma licks her lips, at loss for words – she’s never been comfortable with small talk, and with her own emotions. A mix of the two is more effective than Kryptonite on her.
“How’s Roland doing?” he asks after one more minute of silence.
Emma smiles. “Good. Gwen says he’s making friends in her class, and he’s a bright kid.”
“Good, good.” She glances at him, at the way he smiles to himself, a little sad. “I don’t know how to talk to him about – everything. He doesn’t talk much, and – I don’t know how to help him.”
“Let him take the first step. If he wants to talk, he will talk. Just give him time.”
“Thank you.”
His smile is sincere as he stares at her. They both stop walking, and Emma stares back. He takes a step closer, her mouth opening slightly as he does so. For a moment, Emma believes he’s going to lean forward and kiss her, and – she’s ready for it, her heart racing against her ribcage. But he just tugs on her beanie a little, so it falls on her ears the right way, and she offers him a snort in reply.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers back.
She should start walking again – it’s cold out there, and late, and she’s tired. She should, but she doesn’t want to. Not when Killian still looks at her like that, like he actually sees something in her. So she is the only leaning forward and into his space. His breath is hot against her face before it gets caught in his throat, making her smirk a little.
His lips are cold at first, and so is his nose when it brushes against her cheek, but Emma’s heart is still racing and his arms wrap around her and suddenly all she can feel is the warmth of him. The warmth of his mouth against hers, of his puffs of breath on her cheek, of his body pressed to hers, of his hand when it sneaks beneath her jacket. He’s fire turned man, in that furnace of a kiss that leaves her breathless and craving for more.
“That was…”
He’s at lost for words and so is she, breathing him in, forcing herself not to ravish his mouth once more. His lips are pink and swollen, his cheeks burning, and Emma finds herself proud – knowing she’s the cause of his distress, knowing she’s the one who wrecked him. She’s wrecked too, with just one kiss.
“I…” she starts. Licks her lips. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Do what, love?”
As an answer, she kisses him again, his lips pliant against hers, his groan deep in his throat when he pulls her even closer than she already was.
Henry tiptoes to his room at 2am.
Killian sneaks out at 8am.
#cs ff#captain swan#emma swan#killian jones#beautiful duckling#captain sex#ouat#otl: as you wish#fanfic#ff: ouat
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