Fic: It All Ends In Blood
Pairing: (mildly) Mulder/Scully
Rating: pg
Word Count: 960 exactly. This is commentfic at its commentfic-iest.
Prompt/Summary: and the blood just spills and spills. A s4 au set sometime after "The Field Where I died," written for the zombie apocalypse ficathon.
Notes: absolutely, completely unbetaed. Written in about fifteen minutes. Mostly being posted here for archiving purposes. You have been warned. Oh, it's also s4 fic, so, you know. Aaaaangst.
Vernon Ephesian had been right about one thing. The end of the world was nigh, just as he’d said, although he hadn't been quite as clairvoyant about the how.
Still, another reason to hate the bastard, Mulder thought, taking careful aim before blowing off a zombie’s head.
“Mulder, down,” Scully yelled, somewhere to his left. He hit the floor without a second thought. A shot rang out over his head, and then blood was seeping towards him along the off-white tile floor of the grocery store as yet another member of the leagues of the undead collapsed in a mess of shattered bones and rotting skin. There was a moment of silence, and then another shot. Practical, conscientious Scully and her undying (heh) need to be certain.
He got to his feet quickly, careful to avoid the blood, and raised his gun to shoulder level.“That all of them?”
Scully nodded, wiping hair out of her face. He grabbed the bag of canned goods, rice, and bottled water he’d discarded at the first sign of Shambly and Crumbly, their two friendly neighborhood zombies, off the floor by the straps. “We all set here?” he asked, as though it was just another day, another crime scene. Like the past four months hadn’t happened. He could almost believe it when Scully rolled her eyes at him, just like old times. She came in close to take the bag from him, her fingers brushing quickly against his and away as she moved behind him. There was the sound of a zipper and then an unfamiliar weight was hanging off his shoulders.
Oh, right.
“Can’t remember my birthday, can’t remember your backpack,” Scully said teasingly, zipping it back up. “How exactly were you planning to shoot with only one hand, Mulder?”
“I’ll have you know that I can do amazing things with just the one hand, Scully. Practice makes perfect, and I have had many lonely years of practice.”
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “And may you live to have many more,” she said, patting his arm condescendingly. Then, turning away, she said, “Okay, you’re set. Just let me grab a sample here and we can go.”
There was a far-off rumble, the distant sound of an engine, and out of the corner of his eye Mulder saw Scully stiffen, glancing about warily. In tandem they re-drew their guns, moving shoulder to shoulder in aisle ten of the ramshackle old grocery store. Mulder counted to ten. When the noise didn’t repeat, didn’t get closer, he said, “Probably just someone passing by on the highway. It’s not like anyone in their right mind would want to come to the happy little zombie town of Nowhere, Maryland.”
“Well, I guess we know why you’re here, Mulder,” Scully murmured, returning her gun to its place in the small of her back and crouching down to the ground. “People have been telling me for years that you’re not in your right mind.”
Mulder chuckled, making his way around the debris and the - other stuff - that lay scattered on the floor, towards the mouth of the aisle. He poked his head out, looking both ways just like his mother used to tell him about crosswalks. Not all that different, really, zombies and lousy drivers. Both are lacking in brains and motor skills. Keeping his gun held easily at shoulder height, facing out, he twisted his neck back to glance at Scully. “What does that make you, then, Agent Scully?” he said, and she looked up to meet his eyes, hands nice and tidy in their sterile white gloves and her gaze as sharp as ever. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to clarify. “I mean, here you are with me. Still. I can’t be the only one who’s a few crayons short of a pack.”
She smiled, ducking her head a little to cover it, and didn’t deny it. Mulder grinned. He turned to face front again, keeping his eyes on the entrances and exits in case any other zombies decided they wanted to play.
Faint footsteps sounded behind him a minute later, and then Scully appeared at his elbow, saying, “Okay, I’ve got it, we’re good.”
“We’re all set?”
“Yeah,” she said, passing him a sealed plastic tube containing a used eye-dropper and thick, semi-coagulated zombie blood with ungloved hands. Then she paused, teetering a little on her feet. “Mulder -“ She reached out to grab his arm, stumbling, her head dropping to sway heavily.
“Scully? Scully,” Mulder said, panicking slightly as he turned to face her fully, gripping her shoulders to steady her. “Hey, hey, Scully, come on, easy -“
She dragged her head up, her eyes flicking across his face like she couldn’t focus and her mouth pursed tight. Her skin was ashen. “Mulder?” she said, a note of confusion in her voice, but Mulder’s throat was too constricted at the sight of the thin trickle of blood falling down to from her nose to her lip to answer her call.
“Mulder,” she repeated, frowning. Then she seemed to realize what he was staring at, and she turned away with a quiet, “damn it.” His hands slid away to dangle uselessly at his side, gun in one and tube’o’blood in the other. When she turned back, face clean and only the slightest hint of red on the faded blue denim of her jeans where she had wiped her fingers off, he had schooled his face into complete neutrality. All he said was, “Ready to go?”
She nodded. And once the tube was safely packed away in a side pocket in his backpack, they drew their guns, and moved in sync towards the back exit. Just two agents, watching each other’s backs in the face of yet another zany X-File.
God, how he wanted to believe that.