best friend extraordinaire

Rating: Mature / PG-13 through NC-17
TImeline: Season 7
Summary:  Fresh off a particularly brutal case, Mulder tries to finally make good on his promise to take Scully on a nice trip to the forest, only to stumble onto evidence that there may be more to a local urban legend than just rumor and superstition.

A/N: Special thank yous to @kateyes224​ for being the best friend and beta extraordinaire for this beast, @2momsmakearight​ for the non-stop brainstorming, and @gilliansboobs​ for the unwavering support through my late night meltdowns while writing this and the amazing gif and banner.  I couldn’t have done this without you guys xo




PART 1

Her shoulder muscles screamed at the tension that had twisted into them, the hours of hunching over the paperwork of the case and his profile notes etched out sloppily across lined sheets.  The rolling of her neck did little to pacify the muscles, instead they coiled tighter and burned like fire up to base of her skull.

The keypad above the doorknob beeped twice and flashed a green light as Mulder swiped the card and unlocked the door to their motel room, then stepped aside, allowing her to cross the threshold first.

“I’m exhausted,” she said as she dropped her coat onto the chair.  Neither of them made a move towards the lamp, content in the quiet that the darkness offered.   Instead, he pressed his chest to her back, his arms wrapping around her waist, and a deep sigh reverberated through her signaling to him that her eyes had drifted closed and she was finally allowing herself to relax.  The past few days had gotten to her just as much as him, though she’d never admit that to him.  Always the strong one.  Always ‘fine.’

“I’m sorry you got as wrapped up in this case as you did,” he whispered in her ear, his arms tightened around her.  “As much as I appreciate that you were there, I hate that you had to see me that way.”

She turned in his arms, running her hands up the length of them to the back of his neck, pulling his face close enough so that she could press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

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PART II / FINAL CHAPTER

Read Part 1 here

Rating: Mature / R
TImeline: Season 7
Summary:  Fresh off a particularly brutal case, Mulder tries to finally make good on his promise to take Scully on a nice trip to the forest, only to stumble onto evidence that there may be more to a local urban legend than just rumor and superstition.

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, PHILES!  Special thank yous to @kateyes224​ for being the best friend and beta extraordinaire for this beast, @2momsmakearight​ for the non-stop brainstorming, and @gilliansboobs​ for the unwavering support through my late night meltdowns while writing this and the amazing gif and banner.  I couldn’t have done this without you guys xo



Again, please read Part 1 or you’ll be more lost than Mulder and Scully in this story.

He could feel its weighty presence on the other side, sitting there just waiting for him to move, and his heart quickened as he watched four fingernail impressions press into the thin fabric just inches from his face, scraping painfully slow down the length of it to the ground.  The long, vibrating sound it produced was nearly deafening in the quiet of the night, followed by a staccato clicking, like stone tapping against stone, repetitively.

They were outnumbered.  Greatly.  His eyes flicked to the location of the gun, as he mentally calculated the length of time it would take for him to get to it, and dig it out of the bag.  It would create too much commotion, probably take too long, and he’d risk Scully getting hurt or attacked in the process.

The clicking grew louder as it got closer to the tent wall.

Careful to keep still, he shifted his eyes towards a still sleeping Scully, his eyes pleading with her to stay asleep, to keep quiet.  He’d wait it out, he decided. The animals would lose interest eventually, he reasoned to himself.  They had to.

And suddenly all he could hear was receding footsteps, growing quieter and quieter, then nothing but the crackle of the fire outside.

With a sigh of relief and one last look in the direction of the gun, he turned towards Scully and pulled her close.  It would be a long night.

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Three Words More

Author’s Note: Mulder’s behavior in Three Words is…well, he’s an asshole, for lack of a better description. I’ve always felt that there was a lot of potential there to explore the feelings of isolation, depression, and betrayal Mulder must have been dealing with, but the way he was portrayed in that episode, he really just came off as a jerk to a very pregnant Scully.  It was sloppy writing, and the fact that TPTB still wanted to play coy with who the baby’s father was asinine. So here’s some much-needed context.  As always, a million hugs and smoochies to my best friend and beta-extraordinaire, @piecesofscully.


Scully shifted Mulder’s half-empty duffel bag to her other shoulder and turned the key, the lock sliding away like the sound of a guillotine.  Mulder slipped by her, not bothering to take the bag from her.  She tried to ignore the pang of annoyance that flared within her as he brushed past.  The bag wasn’t heavy, but the fact that he didn’t take it from her, had allowed her to carry it up from the car, irked her.  He’d been so solicitous of her before…before.  From the outset of their partnership, Mulder had treated her as an equal, had trusted her to hold her own as an agent and as his partner, but his rigid New England-bred gallantry had always managed to shine through in small, charming ways.  She was so used to him holding the door open for her, guiding her gently with a hand rooted to the small of her back, hoisting both of their bags from the baggage carousel, that for him not to perform this small act of chivalry stung her more deeply than she cared to admit.  Just last week he was dead and buried, she silently chastised herself. She could carry his damn bag for him for once. The baby kicked at her ribs, and she grimaced.  Mulder didn’t notice.

Watching Mulder walk through his living room, the planes and angles of his body at once so familiar and so unexpected, she swallowed past her irritation, convincing herself that her frustration was just a surge of hormonal irrationality. She strode past him and set his bag down just inside his bedroom door.  The smell of Pine-Sol hung cloyingly in the air, and the dark wood of his furniture glowed in the mid-afternoon sun that shone through the open blinds, a few dust motes swirling in the wake of his careful inventory.  

“Must feel good to be home,” she said softly, when his silence was suddenly too much.  

“Mmm,” he hummed noncommittally, spinning in a slow circle, his eyes raking over his earthly possessions. “Something looks different.”  He still hadn’t met her eyes.

Scully chuffed, willing herself not to cry, and squeezed her eyes shut as tears pricked them.  It’s exactly the same, Mulder, she thought. It’s exactly the same as when you walked out that door six months ago. Your suits are still hanging in the closet.  The same stupid movie we were too busy making love to be watching is still in the VCR. Your rent is paid through the end of this year.  Your credit cards are still sending you statements, despite zero balances, because I paid them off and couldn’t bring myself to cancel them.  Your wallet is still sitting on the coffee table, for God’s sake.  I didn’t give up on you.  Can’t you see that?  “It’s clean,” she said instead. 

“Ah…that’s it.”  He walked over to the fish tank and peered in. “Missing a molly.” 

She felt her heart start to hammer.  “Yeah. She wasn’t as lucky as you.” Sensing her mounting despair, the baby shifted within her.  Scully studied him intently as he turned towards her, finally, and perched nonchalantly on the edge of his desk.  He folded his arms, looking at her expectantly, his eyes sweeping over her quickly from head to toe, pausing for a split-second on her stomach before he looked down at the ground again quickly.  

He hadn’t touched her once since he’d finally wrenched himself unsteadily from his hospital bed with the help of the occupational therapist.  After he’d been discharged from the hospital, he’d visibly flinched and pulled his hand away from hers when she’d tried to interlace their fingers as they walked out to the car.  He’d barely strung more than three words together during the five-hour drive back from North Carolina, except to remark that the Thai place on 14th Street was gone, and then again to vehemently and vocally resist her gentle prodding to stop by one of his favorite old delis for a Rueben and an iced tea for lunch.  

He hadn’t said one word about the baby, studiously avoiding her midsection when he did actually look at her.  She wondered briefly if he hadn’t done the math.  Surely, he knew…he must know.

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