Fic: Epiphany
Title: Epiphany
Fandom: The X-Files
Author: rachg82
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Moose & Squirrel, but of course.
Word Count: 3,180 words
Spoilers: The 7th, 8th, & 9th seasons, respectively, but specifically Per Manum, Sein Und Zeit, All Things, Requiem, and an implied spoiler for what the Shadow Man told Scully in Trust No 1.
Disclaimer: You and I both know that I don't own this show or these characters, FOX, and you know I'm not making any profit off this. COME AT ME, BRO. I've got two dollars in my savings account; you can have 'em.
Summary: This is my personal canon for all the behind-the-scenes sexytimez that apparently occurred between our beloved heroes in season 7. I didn't intend to write it as fanfic poetry, but my brain likes to do what it wants. I pretty much just had to give in & go with the flow. Heh.
Note: Thanks goes to tempertemper for reviewing my fic early on & giving me the encouragement needed to continue. This is the only story I've ever written for The X-Files, and I found it extremely intimidating for some reason upon starting it. Nevertheless, once I got into the swing of things, I also really enjoyed it. I hope to write more stories for the show in the future, but it might depend on the response I get for this one. (So please feel totally free to share this with others around the 'net. I love feedback, and I'm not really in the loop of fandom anymore, so I'm not sure of the best places to post this.)
P.S. The fic is best in my opinion when read slowly, so take your time.
Before we begin, I have a song to share to set the mood (just like I've always done with my Bones & Battlestar Galactica fics). Enjoy:
(Kissing You, Des'ree)
***
It's been so long since she's been kissed
and never like this.
The sensation fills up her whole awareness of being, both foreign & revelatory.
The long-shuttered depths of her desire can't help but squint
against the rising light in his eyes.
It is holy --
blinding
with intensity.
For just this once, she can't bear to look away.
(He is the sun; she is the moon. Their universe is expanding.)
They've been patiently denying this,
aching for this,
every morning, every day, every night, every year.
Mulder, it's me.
Scully, it's me.
(I love you)
His tongue is sweeping recklessly, gently into her mouth
with the same quiet drive usually devoted to uncovering the truth.
Is this their truth?
He is trying, as always, to catch the sky
as it falls to the ground.
His arms aren't big enough,
but that's not going to stop him.
She can feel his hands cradling her face so delicately,
not shaking
so much as vibrating
with pent-up emotion,
stroking her hair in wide, irregular orbits,
unable to stay in one place.
He is tentative, yet brave,
pulling her closer, then
pulling back
to check & re-check her gaze;
his vestibular sense is spinning,
the status quo falling
amidst an earthquake of unbound devotion.
(Their fault lines are slowly shifting,
hot lava pooling beneath their feet.)
Her shoulders can no longer carry the weight of this world alone,
not tonight;
as strong as she is,
as strong as she's always been
and always will be,
she is impossibly sure that, if he were to stop holding her now,
she would at once collapse into nothing.
That said,
there is still an electrical charge running past her polished fingertips,
caressing his heart when it stalls or skips,
keeping him alive as well.
This is how it always & never is.
She is not the only one braced against the wind these days,
hanging on by a thread.
This, the two of them together, is the only thing
left that's right,
but it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
They're not ready. The world isn't ready. She has no idea what any of this means for either of them.
But her womb wails out to her in outraged grief: empty, pointless, & betrayed.
Violated.
The final straw in her battle against fate.
Tonight was supposed to be their well-earned taste of justice --
a perfectly-placed comma in their epic tale, not another full stop.
Agent Scully can't help but feel
flattened, defeated,
and lost in the dark,
her trusty compass & suit of armor abandoned by the door.
Tonight there is only Dana, her soul stripped naked & raw --
heart bleeding, exposed to the elements,
mighty castle walls turned
inside-out.
Mulder knows there is nothing he can do to make it right.
Nonetheless, he is determined to give her back her many
shattered rosary beads,
to shelter her from the odds,
if only for one night.
One miracle for another.
He can believe enough for the both of them,
hollow & desperate as his own faith may be.
(She loves him for trying.)
There is no use attempting to turn back now; they are too far gone.
They are far too close.
Deep down, burdened
by decades of heavy shame,
hiding
behind his quest and her honor--
7 years of somedays and maybes and what-ifs?--
part of him had always felt this was inevitable,
but there's a difference between a hunch
and a fact.
She taught him that.
When she came to him before,
eyes downcast
& tone uncharacteristically timid,
fragile words
clearly scripted & rehearsed,
he'd thought for a moment that he'd lost his mind.
I'd like you to be the donor.
She'd given him time to think it over,
and for days that was all he could do.
He'd long since given up on ever being a father,
but there she was,
offering him a future beyond the basement,
beyond the stars.
She was choosing to be connected to him
forever.
To say that he was flattered was the understatement of a century.
He wanted more than anything to do this for her,
to give her back just one of the many things she'd lost
by taking his side.
Of course that wasn't all he wanted,
but then again, she deserved more.
Until he finds his sister, he knows
there will always be a piece of him missing.
She deserves nothing short
of everything.
However,
by that same logic,
to reply with anything less than
yes, yes,
would've been utterly out of the question.
It was going to change everything.
He realized that.
And everything
depended on them.
He realized that, too.
He knew he had to weigh the scales,
both personally & professionally,
but no matter how he set them up,
nothing held even remotely the same gravity
as even one of her smiles.
Perhaps
in the end they could still have it all,
he'd thought--
yin & yang,
two perfect complements
forming a whole--
albeit assembled slightly
out of order.
Following instructions,
after all,
had never really been his style
anyway.
So for a few wild moments,
he'd dared to let himself imagine
what it would be like.
Their baby. A family.
The perfect excuse
to show up on Sundays
with a palm-sized basketball
and a bouquet of flowers.
She'd roll her eyes, obviously,
but he could already see
the secret smirk she would try
unsuccessfully
to hide.
And someday --
someday,
when his past was finally laid to rest,
he could imagine what he would whisper
in her ear each morning.
You. are. my. everything.
He couldn't give up that dream so easily, now.
He couldn't let her give it up either.
He'd seen it too clearly.
It was hanging in the air all around them as they kissed,
clothes being tossed this way & that,
feet shuffling as one
back towards her bedroom.
Words were unnecessary;
still, as he entered her,
his mouth couldn't stop its outpouring.
An embarrassing avalanche
of I love yous
slipped past his full bottom lip,
surrounding her like a cocoon.
His cup was overrun.
There was no point trying to hide it
anymore.
Afterwards,
they didn't mention it,
but her hand lingered the next morning
as she passed him his shirt & tie.
She wanted to find the right language,
to tell him how she felt,
to acknowledge the reality
of what they were to one another,
but too much was already out of her control.
The whole world felt different now,
closer & more immediate.
She still didn't know what he wanted
and was afraid
to ask.
She needed to make sense of it all
and re-center
her equilibrium.
Something in his gaze told her
it was okay.
He would always be there,
regardless.
What that meant for their future,
she didn't know yet.
But they still had their mission,
and she was more determined than ever
to see it through.
Her suit of armor
may have cracked,
but it still fit just fine.
***
Your mother killed herself, Mulder.
No.
That was all he could think.
Just no.
As if he could hold his breath until the fates gave in
and acquiesced to his demands.
She was *trying to tell him something*,
and they killed her for it.
It was plain as day.
The truth staring him in the face was wrong,
and he was going to bend over backwards
if needed
to see it set right again.
It couldn't possibly end like this
after everything.
All the pain, all the struggle --
there was no way
this could be the last word
on what was once his living, breathing family.
I conducted the autopsy myself
No.
No, no, no.
His happily-ever-after
was lying
tagged & bagged
inside a cold morgue,
voice forever silenced.
No more answers,
only questions.
All those years,
those late nights & early mornings--
hidden prayers sent up to a god he wasn't sure he could believe in--
tumbling down now like a towering
house of cards.
Was this the moral of the story?
Was his life meant to be nothing but a tragedy?
He should've caught on sooner.
(He was the common factor here. He was patient zero.)
He'd had plans, you know.
One day
he was going to find his sister
and bring her home,
returning the long-lost spark
to his mother's perpetually haunted,
ingrown stare.
His father was already gone,
of course;
there was nothing he could do about that.
But the biggest holes in their hearts
would finally be filled.
They could each throw away
their lonely collection
of fractured memories
and begin together
anew.
He could still be the hero.
It wasn't too late.
Except
it was. He realized that now.
It had been too late the night his parents arrived home
to find him crouched down alone
in their blackened living room,
frightened eyes frozen & unresponsive, pointed up at the sky.
She was just trying to take away your pain
The rage, despair, and confusion building in his chest
are almost frightening
in their power.
He wants to light this world on fire
and watch it burn --
a long over-due funeral pyre
for all the stolen lives they could've led.
Everything around & within him seems chaotic,
distant, and unreal,
but one single thing remains steady.
One person, specifically.
Scully
His touchstone.
Mulder is slowly becoming aware
that he is soaking her shirt with his tears,
arms wound tightly around her small form like thick vines,
unwilling to let go.
Her legs are cramping
from their locked position,
but he needs her now.
He needs to be reminded
that he is loved, and
that he is not
alone.
He is not a tragedy.
He is not a contagion.
He's allowed himself to be the whipping boy
for far too long.
That's what his mother was really trying to tell him.
To stop.
To live his life.
For all of them.
Someday,
he'll see that.
Right now,
he can't see anything
but flames.
His legacy
and everything he's touched --
scorched earth
and a path of cinders.
Mulder can feel Scully trying
to lift him up
in body & mind,
leading him carefully to his bed.
She doesn't bother asking
before crawling under the sheets beside him.
Her left hand is twined through his hair;
his right is snaking under her blouse,
clumsily unhooking her bra.
They are running on adrenaline,
pure instinct.
They don't have it in them now
to fight this.
His breath is coming out in short bursts,
panic held just at bay
by the balm of her lips trailing across his forehead,
marking her territory up & down his neck.
He can't believe this is happening again.
He can't believe it didn't happen sooner.
The feeling is mutual.
Tonight,
words are necessary,
but their tongues are tied
in knots.
Their bodies have to speak for them.
When he walks up behind her
the next morning,
she can feel his presence before it arrives --
hair-raising static charging the air,
a dense cloud of lightning hovering just between them.
She can only meet his weighted gaze
out of the corner of one eye.
She's afraid
of revealing her hand too quickly.
Her poker face is the only thing left
that stands between them
and the unknown.
Even Skinner knows something is up.
He also knows better
than to ask.
With these two, it was smarter
to maintain some level
of plausible deniability.
You'd better make it for three
This was her journey now too.
If he couldn't see anymore
through all the smoke
& mirrors,
then she would be his guide.
The answers were still there, after all;
they just had to know where to look.
(Some things never changed)
***
What if there was only one choice, and all the other ones were wrong?
And there were signs along the way to pay attention to...
Sometimes, Mulder could swear
that Scully had the most perfect timing.
Who else would drop a bomb like that,
and then drift gently off to sleep
amidst a fall-out cloud the size of Tokyo?
He knows that The Right Thing
to do is to tuck her in,
leave her there,
& pick this back up another time.
Even so, he can't help
holding his breath & clenching his jaw
as he studies her familiar face
in a new light --
brushing a few stray hairs behind her ear
& yearning
from the top of his head to the tips of his toes
to carry her off with him to bed.
His bed. Where she belonged.
The fact that she trusted him enough
to be at such peace with him --
to open her heart
and let go of the results,
moved him beyond words.
Her story, meanwhile, astounded him.
Even now, after all the years he's known her,
and all the cases he's worked on as a profiler,
she never fails to keep him guessing.
What would this new-found openness of hers mean for them?
Their relationship
had certainly been undergoing a makeover
of revolutionary proportions,
but it hasn't come easily.
(Were they finally on the same page at the same time?)
He's already said his goodbyes
to his mother,
his father,
and, at last,
even his sister.
He was free.
They still had their work, of course,
but could they really continue using that as an excuse?
They had both claimed to be searching for the truth
these past seven years,
but they'd been denying what was right in front of them
from the start.
It was the gamble of a lifetime -- there was no denying that.
The very fate of the world rested on their shoulders.
Talk about pressure.
He couldn't bear to risk losing her,
not as his partner,
and not as his friend.
Out of five billion people,
he only wanted her.
But he'd already won the lottery
the moment she knocked on his office door so long ago.
Should he really be so greedy
as to attempt raising the stakes now?
More importantly,
was she even ready to call his bluff?
The last thing he would ever want to do is push her.
And yet,
if he's truly being honest with himself,
Mulder has to admit
that Scully is no fragile flower when it comes to risks.
She owns all her actions
and doesn't let anything
or anyone get in her way,
not even him.
...and all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and we wouldn't be sitting here together.
It said a lot --
(a lot, a lot)
like perhaps
the odds weren't all stacked against them,
and maybe
this really had been inevitable
all along.
Sometimes the biggest pay-offs
come as a reward
for those who dare to dream.
Hope can be a frightening thing;
hopelessness can be much worse.
Either way,
they would be taking a risk.
(Someone call the bookie.)
Mulder was more than ready to place his bet.
***
The first thing Scully notices
upon opening her eyes
is how safe she feels.
Mulder has wrapped her in his blanket,
and his scent has enveloped her whole.
Not so long ago,
such intimacy & consideration
probably would've sent her
into a spiraling cyclone of silent,
secret fears.
She loved him with all her heart --
of that there was no doubt,
but she'd been afraid for so long
of losing herself in him.
She had been afraid to show him her heart
without holding anything back;
she didn't want to appear weak.
She didn't want to need
anyone.
As it was, he already permeated every other aspect of her life;
what would be left of her if she took it one step further?
That being said,
the past few days had shown her
all too clearly
what can become of those who deny their feelings
and refuse to share them with others.
Scully doesn't want to end up like that,
lying in a hospital bed, trying to make up for years
of waiting for the right time.
What if now was the right time?
She'd implied as much only a short while ago.
Not long before that,
she'd chosen him
to be the father of her baby.
It didn't get much more intimate than that.
She couldn't imagine a life without him,
let alone with anyone else.
What exactly was she still waiting on?
There was no question of rejection;
she knew that by now
and had for a long time.
Truth was, he had already consumed her,
but that didn't mean
she was lost.
Part of her would always belong to him,
and part of him would always belong to her.
yin & yang -- the perfect complements
Scully finds herself
almost wanting to laugh
at the simplicity of it.
Humans have to complicate everything.
She can hear the steady drip
of water coming from his kitchen sink --
marking time.
The years are passing her by;
she could be dead tomorrow.
She could never have met him.
But she did.
It would appear once again
that all things pointed
to this very moment.
(What would her next step be?)
Scully stood up and walked
into Mulder's bedroom,
stripping as she went
and setting her clothes upon his bed.
Mulder, it's me.
I love you.
She is more than transformed.
She is awake.
***
Are you aware that you're pregnant?
The words hung in the air
after the doctor spoke them
as if time itself had stopped for them.
He might as well have been speaking Greek
for all the sense it made.
Mulder was missing.
Scully was in the hospital.
And she was pregnant.
She'd been feeling out of sorts for weeks now,
but never once considered pregnancy
as a possibility.
Even curled up in Mulder's arms in that motel,
shivering & sick,
she hadn't given it a second thought.
He'd spoken to her
of missed opportunities
and costs that were too high,
all the while unaware
that a miracle was within their reach.
A new life was being created.
He'd told her to never give up,
but neither of them had known how prophetic
those words would turn out to be.
She couldn't begin to imagine
how she was going to get through this
without him.
It simply wasn't an option.
She was going to find him.
She had to.
This was his dream too.
A dream come true,
and a waking nightmare,
all wrapped up in one.
This time,
it was her turn to keep the faith.
After all, he'd saved her;
she would save him.
That's what partners did.
And then
they could start a new chapter
together.
Their very own
happily-ever-after.
She wanted to believe
this wasn't the end.
It had to be a beginning.
Where's the writer? I want to speak with the writer.
She no longer worried
about losing herself in him.
Truth was,
she was lost without him.
But she still had her trusty compass, and,
even in the dark,
could always spot her north star.
She would follow it
straight into his arms.
Mulder may be lost,
but Scully
was finally,
finally found.
Fin.
***
Thanks for reading, guys! Please let me know if you enjoyed it.
Fandom: The X-Files
Author: rachg82
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Moose & Squirrel, but of course.
Word Count: 3,180 words
Spoilers: The 7th, 8th, & 9th seasons, respectively, but specifically Per Manum, Sein Und Zeit, All Things, Requiem, and an implied spoiler for what the Shadow Man told Scully in Trust No 1.
Disclaimer: You and I both know that I don't own this show or these characters, FOX, and you know I'm not making any profit off this. COME AT ME, BRO. I've got two dollars in my savings account; you can have 'em.
Summary: This is my personal canon for all the behind-the-scenes sexytimez that apparently occurred between our beloved heroes in season 7. I didn't intend to write it as fanfic poetry, but my brain likes to do what it wants. I pretty much just had to give in & go with the flow. Heh.
Note: Thanks goes to tempertemper for reviewing my fic early on & giving me the encouragement needed to continue. This is the only story I've ever written for The X-Files, and I found it extremely intimidating for some reason upon starting it. Nevertheless, once I got into the swing of things, I also really enjoyed it. I hope to write more stories for the show in the future, but it might depend on the response I get for this one. (So please feel totally free to share this with others around the 'net. I love feedback, and I'm not really in the loop of fandom anymore, so I'm not sure of the best places to post this.)
P.S. The fic is best in my opinion when read slowly, so take your time.
Before we begin, I have a song to share to set the mood (just like I've always done with my Bones & Battlestar Galactica fics). Enjoy:
Click to view(Kissing You, Des'ree)
***
It's been so long since she's been kissed
and never like this.
The sensation fills up her whole awareness of being, both foreign & revelatory.
The long-shuttered depths of her desire can't help but squint
against the rising light in his eyes.
It is holy --
blinding
with intensity.
For just this once, she can't bear to look away.
(He is the sun; she is the moon. Their universe is expanding.)
They've been patiently denying this,
aching for this,
every morning, every day, every night, every year.
Mulder, it's me.
Scully, it's me.
(I love you)
His tongue is sweeping recklessly, gently into her mouth
with the same quiet drive usually devoted to uncovering the truth.
Is this their truth?
He is trying, as always, to catch the sky
as it falls to the ground.
His arms aren't big enough,
but that's not going to stop him.
She can feel his hands cradling her face so delicately,
not shaking
so much as vibrating
with pent-up emotion,
stroking her hair in wide, irregular orbits,
unable to stay in one place.
He is tentative, yet brave,
pulling her closer, then
pulling back
to check & re-check her gaze;
his vestibular sense is spinning,
the status quo falling
amidst an earthquake of unbound devotion.
(Their fault lines are slowly shifting,
hot lava pooling beneath their feet.)
Her shoulders can no longer carry the weight of this world alone,
not tonight;
as strong as she is,
as strong as she's always been
and always will be,
she is impossibly sure that, if he were to stop holding her now,
she would at once collapse into nothing.
That said,
there is still an electrical charge running past her polished fingertips,
caressing his heart when it stalls or skips,
keeping him alive as well.
This is how it always & never is.
She is not the only one braced against the wind these days,
hanging on by a thread.
This, the two of them together, is the only thing
left that's right,
but it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
They're not ready. The world isn't ready. She has no idea what any of this means for either of them.
But her womb wails out to her in outraged grief: empty, pointless, & betrayed.
Violated.
The final straw in her battle against fate.
Tonight was supposed to be their well-earned taste of justice --
a perfectly-placed comma in their epic tale, not another full stop.
Agent Scully can't help but feel
flattened, defeated,
and lost in the dark,
her trusty compass & suit of armor abandoned by the door.
Tonight there is only Dana, her soul stripped naked & raw --
heart bleeding, exposed to the elements,
mighty castle walls turned
inside-out.
Mulder knows there is nothing he can do to make it right.
Nonetheless, he is determined to give her back her many
shattered rosary beads,
to shelter her from the odds,
if only for one night.
One miracle for another.
He can believe enough for the both of them,
hollow & desperate as his own faith may be.
(She loves him for trying.)
There is no use attempting to turn back now; they are too far gone.
They are far too close.
Deep down, burdened
by decades of heavy shame,
hiding
behind his quest and her honor--
7 years of somedays and maybes and what-ifs?--
part of him had always felt this was inevitable,
but there's a difference between a hunch
and a fact.
She taught him that.
When she came to him before,
eyes downcast
& tone uncharacteristically timid,
fragile words
clearly scripted & rehearsed,
he'd thought for a moment that he'd lost his mind.
I'd like you to be the donor.
She'd given him time to think it over,
and for days that was all he could do.
He'd long since given up on ever being a father,
but there she was,
offering him a future beyond the basement,
beyond the stars.
She was choosing to be connected to him
forever.
To say that he was flattered was the understatement of a century.
He wanted more than anything to do this for her,
to give her back just one of the many things she'd lost
by taking his side.
Of course that wasn't all he wanted,
but then again, she deserved more.
Until he finds his sister, he knows
there will always be a piece of him missing.
She deserves nothing short
of everything.
However,
by that same logic,
to reply with anything less than
yes, yes,
would've been utterly out of the question.
It was going to change everything.
He realized that.
And everything
depended on them.
He realized that, too.
He knew he had to weigh the scales,
both personally & professionally,
but no matter how he set them up,
nothing held even remotely the same gravity
as even one of her smiles.
Perhaps
in the end they could still have it all,
he'd thought--
yin & yang,
two perfect complements
forming a whole--
albeit assembled slightly
out of order.
Following instructions,
after all,
had never really been his style
anyway.
So for a few wild moments,
he'd dared to let himself imagine
what it would be like.
Their baby. A family.
The perfect excuse
to show up on Sundays
with a palm-sized basketball
and a bouquet of flowers.
She'd roll her eyes, obviously,
but he could already see
the secret smirk she would try
unsuccessfully
to hide.
And someday --
someday,
when his past was finally laid to rest,
he could imagine what he would whisper
in her ear each morning.
You. are. my. everything.
He couldn't give up that dream so easily, now.
He couldn't let her give it up either.
He'd seen it too clearly.
It was hanging in the air all around them as they kissed,
clothes being tossed this way & that,
feet shuffling as one
back towards her bedroom.
Words were unnecessary;
still, as he entered her,
his mouth couldn't stop its outpouring.
An embarrassing avalanche
of I love yous
slipped past his full bottom lip,
surrounding her like a cocoon.
His cup was overrun.
There was no point trying to hide it
anymore.
Afterwards,
they didn't mention it,
but her hand lingered the next morning
as she passed him his shirt & tie.
She wanted to find the right language,
to tell him how she felt,
to acknowledge the reality
of what they were to one another,
but too much was already out of her control.
The whole world felt different now,
closer & more immediate.
She still didn't know what he wanted
and was afraid
to ask.
She needed to make sense of it all
and re-center
her equilibrium.
Something in his gaze told her
it was okay.
He would always be there,
regardless.
What that meant for their future,
she didn't know yet.
But they still had their mission,
and she was more determined than ever
to see it through.
Her suit of armor
may have cracked,
but it still fit just fine.
***
Your mother killed herself, Mulder.
No.
That was all he could think.
Just no.
As if he could hold his breath until the fates gave in
and acquiesced to his demands.
She was *trying to tell him something*,
and they killed her for it.
It was plain as day.
The truth staring him in the face was wrong,
and he was going to bend over backwards
if needed
to see it set right again.
It couldn't possibly end like this
after everything.
All the pain, all the struggle --
there was no way
this could be the last word
on what was once his living, breathing family.
I conducted the autopsy myself
No.
No, no, no.
His happily-ever-after
was lying
tagged & bagged
inside a cold morgue,
voice forever silenced.
No more answers,
only questions.
All those years,
those late nights & early mornings--
hidden prayers sent up to a god he wasn't sure he could believe in--
tumbling down now like a towering
house of cards.
Was this the moral of the story?
Was his life meant to be nothing but a tragedy?
He should've caught on sooner.
(He was the common factor here. He was patient zero.)
He'd had plans, you know.
One day
he was going to find his sister
and bring her home,
returning the long-lost spark
to his mother's perpetually haunted,
ingrown stare.
His father was already gone,
of course;
there was nothing he could do about that.
But the biggest holes in their hearts
would finally be filled.
They could each throw away
their lonely collection
of fractured memories
and begin together
anew.
He could still be the hero.
It wasn't too late.
Except
it was. He realized that now.
It had been too late the night his parents arrived home
to find him crouched down alone
in their blackened living room,
frightened eyes frozen & unresponsive, pointed up at the sky.
She was just trying to take away your pain
The rage, despair, and confusion building in his chest
are almost frightening
in their power.
He wants to light this world on fire
and watch it burn --
a long over-due funeral pyre
for all the stolen lives they could've led.
Everything around & within him seems chaotic,
distant, and unreal,
but one single thing remains steady.
One person, specifically.
Scully
His touchstone.
Mulder is slowly becoming aware
that he is soaking her shirt with his tears,
arms wound tightly around her small form like thick vines,
unwilling to let go.
Her legs are cramping
from their locked position,
but he needs her now.
He needs to be reminded
that he is loved, and
that he is not
alone.
He is not a tragedy.
He is not a contagion.
He's allowed himself to be the whipping boy
for far too long.
That's what his mother was really trying to tell him.
To stop.
To live his life.
For all of them.
Someday,
he'll see that.
Right now,
he can't see anything
but flames.
His legacy
and everything he's touched --
scorched earth
and a path of cinders.
Mulder can feel Scully trying
to lift him up
in body & mind,
leading him carefully to his bed.
She doesn't bother asking
before crawling under the sheets beside him.
Her left hand is twined through his hair;
his right is snaking under her blouse,
clumsily unhooking her bra.
They are running on adrenaline,
pure instinct.
They don't have it in them now
to fight this.
His breath is coming out in short bursts,
panic held just at bay
by the balm of her lips trailing across his forehead,
marking her territory up & down his neck.
He can't believe this is happening again.
He can't believe it didn't happen sooner.
The feeling is mutual.
Tonight,
words are necessary,
but their tongues are tied
in knots.
Their bodies have to speak for them.
When he walks up behind her
the next morning,
she can feel his presence before it arrives --
hair-raising static charging the air,
a dense cloud of lightning hovering just between them.
She can only meet his weighted gaze
out of the corner of one eye.
She's afraid
of revealing her hand too quickly.
Her poker face is the only thing left
that stands between them
and the unknown.
Even Skinner knows something is up.
He also knows better
than to ask.
With these two, it was smarter
to maintain some level
of plausible deniability.
You'd better make it for three
This was her journey now too.
If he couldn't see anymore
through all the smoke
& mirrors,
then she would be his guide.
The answers were still there, after all;
they just had to know where to look.
(Some things never changed)
***
What if there was only one choice, and all the other ones were wrong?
And there were signs along the way to pay attention to...
Sometimes, Mulder could swear
that Scully had the most perfect timing.
Who else would drop a bomb like that,
and then drift gently off to sleep
amidst a fall-out cloud the size of Tokyo?
He knows that The Right Thing
to do is to tuck her in,
leave her there,
& pick this back up another time.
Even so, he can't help
holding his breath & clenching his jaw
as he studies her familiar face
in a new light --
brushing a few stray hairs behind her ear
& yearning
from the top of his head to the tips of his toes
to carry her off with him to bed.
His bed. Where she belonged.
The fact that she trusted him enough
to be at such peace with him --
to open her heart
and let go of the results,
moved him beyond words.
Her story, meanwhile, astounded him.
Even now, after all the years he's known her,
and all the cases he's worked on as a profiler,
she never fails to keep him guessing.
What would this new-found openness of hers mean for them?
Their relationship
had certainly been undergoing a makeover
of revolutionary proportions,
but it hasn't come easily.
(Were they finally on the same page at the same time?)
He's already said his goodbyes
to his mother,
his father,
and, at last,
even his sister.
He was free.
They still had their work, of course,
but could they really continue using that as an excuse?
They had both claimed to be searching for the truth
these past seven years,
but they'd been denying what was right in front of them
from the start.
It was the gamble of a lifetime -- there was no denying that.
The very fate of the world rested on their shoulders.
Talk about pressure.
He couldn't bear to risk losing her,
not as his partner,
and not as his friend.
Out of five billion people,
he only wanted her.
But he'd already won the lottery
the moment she knocked on his office door so long ago.
Should he really be so greedy
as to attempt raising the stakes now?
More importantly,
was she even ready to call his bluff?
The last thing he would ever want to do is push her.
And yet,
if he's truly being honest with himself,
Mulder has to admit
that Scully is no fragile flower when it comes to risks.
She owns all her actions
and doesn't let anything
or anyone get in her way,
not even him.
...and all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and we wouldn't be sitting here together.
It said a lot --
(a lot, a lot)
like perhaps
the odds weren't all stacked against them,
and maybe
this really had been inevitable
all along.
Sometimes the biggest pay-offs
come as a reward
for those who dare to dream.
Hope can be a frightening thing;
hopelessness can be much worse.
Either way,
they would be taking a risk.
(Someone call the bookie.)
Mulder was more than ready to place his bet.
***
The first thing Scully notices
upon opening her eyes
is how safe she feels.
Mulder has wrapped her in his blanket,
and his scent has enveloped her whole.
Not so long ago,
such intimacy & consideration
probably would've sent her
into a spiraling cyclone of silent,
secret fears.
She loved him with all her heart --
of that there was no doubt,
but she'd been afraid for so long
of losing herself in him.
She had been afraid to show him her heart
without holding anything back;
she didn't want to appear weak.
She didn't want to need
anyone.
As it was, he already permeated every other aspect of her life;
what would be left of her if she took it one step further?
That being said,
the past few days had shown her
all too clearly
what can become of those who deny their feelings
and refuse to share them with others.
Scully doesn't want to end up like that,
lying in a hospital bed, trying to make up for years
of waiting for the right time.
What if now was the right time?
She'd implied as much only a short while ago.
Not long before that,
she'd chosen him
to be the father of her baby.
It didn't get much more intimate than that.
She couldn't imagine a life without him,
let alone with anyone else.
What exactly was she still waiting on?
There was no question of rejection;
she knew that by now
and had for a long time.
Truth was, he had already consumed her,
but that didn't mean
she was lost.
Part of her would always belong to him,
and part of him would always belong to her.
yin & yang -- the perfect complements
Scully finds herself
almost wanting to laugh
at the simplicity of it.
Humans have to complicate everything.
She can hear the steady drip
of water coming from his kitchen sink --
marking time.
The years are passing her by;
she could be dead tomorrow.
She could never have met him.
But she did.
It would appear once again
that all things pointed
to this very moment.
(What would her next step be?)
Scully stood up and walked
into Mulder's bedroom,
stripping as she went
and setting her clothes upon his bed.
Mulder, it's me.
I love you.
She is more than transformed.
She is awake.
***
Are you aware that you're pregnant?
The words hung in the air
after the doctor spoke them
as if time itself had stopped for them.
He might as well have been speaking Greek
for all the sense it made.
Mulder was missing.
Scully was in the hospital.
And she was pregnant.
She'd been feeling out of sorts for weeks now,
but never once considered pregnancy
as a possibility.
Even curled up in Mulder's arms in that motel,
shivering & sick,
she hadn't given it a second thought.
He'd spoken to her
of missed opportunities
and costs that were too high,
all the while unaware
that a miracle was within their reach.
A new life was being created.
He'd told her to never give up,
but neither of them had known how prophetic
those words would turn out to be.
She couldn't begin to imagine
how she was going to get through this
without him.
It simply wasn't an option.
She was going to find him.
She had to.
This was his dream too.
A dream come true,
and a waking nightmare,
all wrapped up in one.
This time,
it was her turn to keep the faith.
After all, he'd saved her;
she would save him.
That's what partners did.
And then
they could start a new chapter
together.
Their very own
happily-ever-after.
She wanted to believe
this wasn't the end.
It had to be a beginning.
Where's the writer? I want to speak with the writer.
She no longer worried
about losing herself in him.
Truth was,
she was lost without him.
But she still had her trusty compass, and,
even in the dark,
could always spot her north star.
She would follow it
straight into his arms.
Mulder may be lost,
but Scully
was finally,
finally found.
Fin.
***
Thanks for reading, guys! Please let me know if you enjoyed it.