dr. scully

I remember seeing Empedocles and being like “wow Scully, that’s really poor placement for your Bromeliad”.

It doesn’t look like that plant is gonna get enough light next to that big armoire near your windowless front door. 

Anyway, flash forward a few episodes to Existence and….


I get that she’s busy like… having a baby and running away from SuperSoldiers™ but…

I was right.

TL;DR: Scully may be a medical doctor and a scientist, but she ain’t no green thumb.

anonymous asked:

You wrote something set after paper clip which was one of my fave ever msr cuddle fics. Could you please write them cuddling in another scenario? I love them platonically sleeping together and you tap into the emotions so well ❤️

Sorry it took me so long to answer this one. Here’s a cuddle fic set in season 2. Hope you enjoy.

Her first thought is that she’s crazy, paranoid like her partner. Lack of sleep Dana, she assures herself nipping at the glass of water she just poured herself. Cars park in front of your building all the time, she continues her internal monologue. This only bothers you because it’s 2 am and you can’t sleep. She nods to herself, but the feeling gnaws at her steadily. Her lights are off so she moves to the window, peeks outside. The car across the street is still there, unmoving but slightly askew as if ready to flee at any given moment. There’s a shadow inside, moving slowly, and Scully’s heartbeat picks up. This is not real, she tells herself taking a deep breath. That’s what her therapist keeps telling her: breathe in deeply, breathe out, repeat. Scully reiterates these words, mouths them silently, breathes in between. She wills herself to relax and thinks of Mulder. Her partner, who’s been nothing but forthcoming since she’s come back from… from whatever she’s come back from. Her mother refers to it as the time Dana went missing. As if it were a cute story you tell your children and grandchildren. Mulder calls it an abduction, his voice harsh when he says it, breaking guiltily on the last syllable. Unless he is looking at her. Scully doesn’t want him to see her like that, like a vulnerable bird out in the cold that needs to be taken inside, needs to be taken care of. But right now, she wants to call him anyway, tell him all about the car outside. Most of all she wants him to reassure her that she’s safe, that this is a figment of her overactive imagination. Not real. Her hand reaches out to grab the phone. But she can’t call him. He’ll come over and then he’ll glance at her, maybe not even say a word, and he’ll feel like he needs to protect her. No. She takes the phone with her, her gun too, and puts them on the nightstand. Just in case, she tells herself, before she tries, and fails, to fall asleep.

The next night, after she’s rubbed off the make-up she used to hide her exhaustion, Scully switches off all the lights and checks that the door is locked. Twice. Only then does she allow herself to peek outside. No car. She sighs in relief, laughs. She shuffles off to bed, praying she’ll get some decent sleep tonight.

As so often these days, luck is not on her side. Two hours later, she can no longer stay in bed, feels the desperate need to move. Without turning on the lights, Scully walks into the kitchen to boil tea water. A while ago her mother brought her this herbal tea claiming it would relax her. Tonight, she is willing to try. Everyone keeps telling her to relax, to enjoy life. As if her disappearance is nothing to worry herself with now that she’s back. The water gurgles softly in its kettle and Scully is too restless, too curious to stay there. She tiptoes to the window in her living room. She rolls her eyes at herself; there’s no reason to be quiet. But as soon as she looks outside, she sees it. The car. It is the same one, the shadow clearly visible inside. Her heart beats faster as sweat breaks out on her forehead. When is this going to end? In the kitchen, the kettle whistles angrily, startling her. Scully’s hand trembles as she pours the boiling water over the prepared tea bag, but the soft lavender scent is unable to calm her nerves. Safe for leaving her apartment, there is only thing she can do. Her hands curled around the hot mug, her eyes flicker to the cell phone on her kitchen table. She may not see it in the darkness, but she knows it’s there. She takes a sip from the scalding hot beverage before she puts it down, knowing it won’t help. There’s only one thing that will.

“Mulder, it’s me. I hope I didn’t wake you.” Her voice sounds robotic in her own ears. How often have they done this? Nighttime calls hoping the other one wouldn’t be angry. Usually it’s Mulder who calls her and she has to assure him that she doesn’t mind.  

“Scully, are you all right?” Unlike her, Mulder sounds alert. And, just like she suspected, terrified.

“I’m fine, Mulder. I just- I’m probably overreacting but…,” she takes a deep breath and hears Mulder hold his, “there’s a car in front of my building. It’s the second time I see it and I’m sure I’m overreacting, but…”

“I’ll be right there, Scully.”

“You don’t have to come over, Mulder. I just needed to… talk to someone, I guess.”

“Scully? I’ll be right there. I’m uhm, in the neighborhood anyway. See you soon. Just stay put.” He hangs up without a goodbye or explanation. That’s nothing out of the ordinary. In her neighborhood at this time of the night? That certainly is.

Not ten minutes later there is a knock at her door. She knows it’s Mulder, but she stares through the peephole, asks anyway. Just in case. These days she can’t be careful enough. Her furiously beating heart agrees.

“Hi.” It’s pure relief when Scully ushers Mulder inside. He lets himself be dragged to the window, trusting her to navigate through her pitch-dark apartment. “Look.” She tells him. He’s standing behind her, his chest gently pressing against her back. His head is over her shoulder, staring outside. Puffs of gentle breath brush her cheek and this, she realizes, is so much better than any herbal tea. She hasn’t felt this relaxed in days, weeks maybe. Thank you Mulder, she thinks, wishing the words were easier to say.

“Tonight is the second time I saw it, but who knows how long it’s been there and why.”

“A week.”


“That car has been there a week.” Mulder, still close to her, tells her evenly. Her blood runs cold with a sudden, inexplicable sense of betrayal. Goose bumps cover her arms as the feeling disappears and makes room for something else, something new.  

“How do you know that, Mulder? Why didn’t you tell me?” Scully barely registers the squeaky quality of her voice. She turns around, pushes Mulder away. She misses his warmth immediately and it makes her angry; with him, the situation and worst of all herself.

“Because it’s me, Scully. It’s me.”

“You…” She tears at the drapes, stares at the car. It’s a black Sedan. Mulder likes to rent a Ford or a Taurus. In her mind his words don’t add up, don’t make sense. Where did he get that car? Her mind screams, unable to look at the bigger picture. Why is he watching her from a car in the middle of the night? The question, though, never comes.

“I uhm, I didn’t tell you because well, you keep telling me you’re fine. But Scully, I’m not.” Slowly, she turns to him. “I’m not fine. Most of the time when I’m not with you I stare at my phone. Waiting for it to ring and someone to tell me that… one night last week, I couldn’t sleep. So I drove here. I just wanted to make sure everything was in order. I didn’t want to wake you so I stayed in my car. I figured if anything were to happen, I’d be here. This time I’d be here.”

“Oh Mulder.” Scully doesn’t fight her tears, no longer fights the need to hold him close. His arms open and she falls into them. The anger she felt moments ago dissipates into nothingness.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I wasn’t thinking, I was just…”

“I’m not angry, Mulder.” She mumbles against his shirt. It’s warm, it smells fresh, and so much like him; she feels safe. When he huffs against her hair, she smiles. “Fine, I might be a bit angry. I wish you’d just said something but… I didn’t tell you either.” Communication 101, and they both flunked it. She wants to promise him, and have him promise her, that next time they’ll talk. Say what is real, speak their feelings. She knows it would be a lie. An empty promise made in the comfort of the darkness and each other’s arms. So she stays quiet, just hold him tighter.

“I should probably leave. Go home.”

“Did you sleep in your car, Mulder? That last week.”

“I… you know I don’t sleep much.”

“You need sleep, Mulder. It’s not healthy.”

“Thank you, Dr. Scully. It’s 2 am and look who else is awake.”

“You’re not leaving,” Scully decides, glancing up at him. Her eyes have gotten used to the darkness and she sees the exhaustion on his face, unmasked. “I want to make sure you sleep.”

“That sounds like a proposition.” His grin is so much more beautiful than the deep sorrow, the fearful lines all around his eyes and lips.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Scully admits, ignoring his remark, “and you haven’t been sleeping at all. So, come on.” She takes his hand and drags him towards her bedroom. He stops, glances at her.


“Just to sleep, Mulder,” she whispers, glad that he can’t see her blush, “Just to sleep.” Mulder undresses slowly once they’re in the bedroom. Scully considers switching on a light, but she needs the darkness; pretend this is a dream, she tells herself. Dana Scully doesn’t indulge in moments like this. Just for one night, she repeats mentally, just tonight. She hears the rustle of Mulder’s jeans then footsteps. He stands there, a big, large shadow, but she is not afraid.

They don’t speak once he’s settled. There are no questions, no fears. Mulder is on his back, warm next to her. Scully moves closer, needs to be as close as possible. This is what is real, she thinks. I’m Dana Scully, I’m his partner and he is mine. She takes his hand in hers, touches each finger as if examining them one by one. She laces them with hers before she carefully turns on her side. Mulder has no choice but to follow her until he is behind her again, the big spoon to her little one. She holds his hand, puts it under her chin. Mulder buries his face in her hair, her neck, breathing softly. This is the first, the only thing, that feels right.

“Thank you, Mulder.” This time the words come easily, fill the room. Her eyelids begin to droop as her heartbeat slows down. She doesn’t know if there will be nightmares. Mulder is not a miracle worker. Though he would do everything in his power to convince her otherwise, she is certain of that. The thought puts a smile on her face and it remains there as sleep captures her, catches her as she falls.

“All you have to do is ask, Scully,” dream Mulder tells her, or maybe he is the real one holding her; it does not matter, “and I’ll hold you every night for the rest of our lives.” What a wonderful dream, she marvels, before all other thoughts leave her be.

Happy Birthday to the brilliant Gillian Anderson

Originally posted by spookypassepartout

You came into our lives as a young and beautiful Special Agent Dr. Scully.  From that moment on, you left a mark on our hearts.

Originally posted by hotgaze

Time after time, you have show us what a brilliant actor you are.  You give us so many emotions and tell so many stories with just your expressions.

Originally posted by doctorwhogeneration

You gave us 2 brilliant Xfiles movies.

Originally posted by gillovny1013

You have given us so many other characters before, during, and after the Xfiles.

Originally posted by mulderscullyinthetardis

We have laughed with you.

Originally posted by daynascully

We have cried (sobbed) watching your incredible performances.

Originally posted by the-pink-posse

You have helped bring to light so many issues that need our help, need our focus. You have definitely opened my mind to feminism and equality.

Originally posted by the-pink-posse

You can turn on the human race with just a bite of a burger.

Originally posted by gillianlesbian

I love your humor and your sarcasm!

Originally posted by livingthegifs

You have shown your brilliance and depth in the characters you portray. You deserve all of the awards! You especially deserve all awards for playing Lucy, Marilyn, David, and Judy so brilliantly, all in one season. You are truly amazing.

Originally posted by ccoble

You are our dancing Queen.

Originally posted by ccoble

I could praise you on and on and on about your acting and all of the fantastic characters you have given us.  But, the reasons we love you (the reasons I love you), are so much more. Your activism, inspires us all. You care about so much more than just your life and your family’s life.  You truly want to make this world a better place.  You are beautiful inside and out.  You are a wonderful mother. Your kids are your world. That alone fills my heart with joy. You continue to inspire me in so many ways. Thank you.

@gillianaofficial I wish you love, joy, and happiness and the best birthday ever!!!

Originally posted by tvneon

Walking the Tightrope

Scully and Ethan are together. But for how long? Post Deep Throat.

Tagging @today-in-fic. Need to catch up? Read Part One 

Part Two 

 He looked a whole lot better than he had when he got into the car. She’d been scared. Her heart thumping and bleeding a little for this little-boy-lost. He had no idea what had happened to him at Ellens Airbase and it had frightened him. For a man who’d spent so many years trying to remember leading up to the disappearance of his sister, losing more memories would have to be a cut too deep. The worst part was that he knew he had been close. She knew he’d been close. Not that her report would reflect that. It couldn’t. For her sake and for his.

                She found him running circuits of the track. The sun was high and he was sweaty in his ratty gear, but the bewildered expression and fearful voice had gone.

                “Joining me for a work out, Scully? I’ve always wondered how you learned to run in high heels.”

                She followed his gaze down her legs to her feet and felt her skin flush slightly.

“You men don’t know you’re born,” she replied. “You try fitting a weapon and flashlight in the suits they cut for the female form. Most of them don’t even have pockets. Then you add a handbag and high heels to the equation and it’s no wonder most female agents are fitter and more resourceful than their male counterparts.”

               He smirked. “On what do you base that finding, Dr Scully?”


                His eyebrows raised. “Is that all you got?”

                She folded her arms. “You mean I need more? You don’t seem to require any evidence to hang your theories off.”

                His jaw flexed and he straightened up. She held her ground. He looked around, eyeing off the stand in the distance. He turned back to her. She’d overstepped the mark. She clenched her fists.

Then he grinned and put his hands on her shoulders. “Two cases in, Scully, and you’ve already got me cracked.”

              She rocked back on her heels and smiled. She missed the weight of his hands on her shoulders as soon as he removed them. She loved this softer side of him. He was so intense, so committed to the job most of the time, that seeing him as a human being with a sense of humour, was easy to overlook.  He pulled his foot up behind him, stretching his quads and she watched the beads of sweat drip down his face. She really should do more running but the case load had been full on and Ethan had been demanding all of her downtime. Still, her body tingled with the need to let off the nervous energy those cases had filled her with and she resolved to give Ethan a call and cancel their plans for the weekend. She would indulge in two days of jogging and gym work.

“Who was that you were talking to?” she asked as Mulder walked to where he’d slung his bag. He pulled a water bottle from the depths and swigged it. Fascinated by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, she realised she was staring, only when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave her a look.

“The older man, grey curly hair. Suit.” She was scurrying behind him and that nervous energy was now building into a bubble of anger. Why was he denying the meeting?

“I was running, Scully.”

“I saw you, Mulder,” she said, finally getting level with him.

He looked down at her, eyes narrow. “Is that all you got?”

She rang Ethan and agreed to a dinner on Saturday night. He got drunk on the house red and she drove him home. He insisted she come in for coffee but she wasn’t in the mood to listen to his whining about how the female producers got all the best jobs because the industry was looking to equality.

              “It’s hardly equality when there’s a quota to fill,” he said, slurring and lunging towards her. “I mean, you don’t see this sort of thing in the FBI, do you?”

              “You mean giving women a chance to prove that they’re just as capable as men despite never even getting to the interview in this boy’s club world we still live in?”


              “What?” she said, pouring him another coffee. “It’s true, Ethan. Women have to fight every inch of the way just stay even while men call up their buddies and walk into a job they have no business being doing. There are men at the Bureau who should have been put out to pasture decades ago. There were plenty of capable women at the Academy. At least with quotas there’s a strong chance that future generations of women will simply be able to take up the opportunities presented to them, they’ll be inspired by those of us already paving the way.”

              He laughed. Not like Mulder, whose gentle chuckles were often a signal that he agreed with her sentiments. Ethan actually laughed as though what she was saying was funny. “Dana, you sound like some radical feminist.”

              She poured the rest of her coffee down the sink.  “I’m tired, “ she said. “I’m going home.”

              He lunged at her, grabbing her arm and pulling him to her. “Stay, Dana. It’s been weeks since you’ve…”

              She shifted in his grasp. “I’ve been busy, Ethan. And I said I’m tired. I’ll call you.”

              He pulled her closer and kissed her, and all she could taste was bitter coffee and stale alcohol. She pushed him away and wiped her mouth.

              “What is wrong with you, Dana?”

              She picked up her jacket and went to leave. “Maybe I’m just tired of being taken for granted.”

              He rushed after her, putting himself between her and the door. “I don’t take you for granted, Dana. I love you. I thought you loved me too.”

His voice cracked and she thought for one helpless moment that he was going to cry. She thought of Mulder’s bewilderment, his utter confusion outside that base and felt a pang of guilt that her own boyfriend’s emotional outpouring left her cold, while her new partner’s wilfully inflicted situation had her welling with sympathy.

“I’ve got to go, Ethan,” she said and gave him a peck on the cheek.

              “I do love you, Dana.” He held onto her hand, gripping it until her fingers turned white.

              “I know,” she said.

She tossed and turned and fell asleep as a grey dawn cracked open the sky. Sunday morning lie-ins surrounded by the papers and toast crumbs seemed a world away as the irritating buzz of her cell phone woke her.

              “Mulder? What’s the matter?”

              He arrived less than forty minutes later, a bag of bagels in his hand. “I owe you an apology, Scully.”

              She pulled the tie of her robe tighter and flicked on the jug. “Why? What have you done this time?”

              He chuckled. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. And that’s not fair. You’re my partner and you are entitled to be treated as an equal.”

              Turning round to face him, she saw that familiar expression he had, the one where he bared himself, opened himself up. She’d seen it in Bellefleur, at the motel. And again on the way back from Ellens Airbase. Fox Mulder might be capable of hiding things away, but when he wanted to let them out, you couldn’t resist listening.

              “So I did see you with a man the other day.”

              He nodded. “I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting him. My source. But if I protect him, where does that leave you?”

              She took two teabags from the box and dropped them into two mugs. “On the outside,” she said. That seemed to be her life at the moment. Watching it all unfold from a safe distance.

              “And I don’t want that for you,” he said. “I want us to be equals, in every way.”

              She laughed but shook her head. “I think you need to have a word with my boyfriend.”

              Mulder sank back against the bench top. “Trouble in the Garden of Eden?”

              “Ethan. His name is Ethan.”

              “I’m sorry, Scully. The job can really mess around with relationships.”

              She poured the tea. “Oh, I know that, Mulder. But something tells me it’s not just the job that’s getting in the way.”

              His face relaxed again, offering her the chance to talk.

              “But it’s nothing to do with you, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

              “Hey, partner. I’m here for the details. I love the details. I’m a details man,” he took a sip of tea and she couldn’t help but notice his mouth, his full lips. The way he smiled so easily when he wanted to.

              “Well, details man, why don’t you let me know what the next case is and I’ll figure out what I’m going to do with my Garden of Eden.”

              “I have some advice, if you’re willing to take it?”

              She folded her arms. “Go on.”

              “Don’t give in to temptation.” He grinned at his own joke and she couldn’t help but giggle.

              “Is that all you got?”

              “You want more?”

              “I thought you were a details man, Mulder.” She was laughing now, blowing steam off her mug as she did. She felt her body soften. She loved this bantering.

              “Really, Scully, if you need to sort things out with Ethan, you need to do it. A clean break. Rip off the band-aid.”

              She put the mug down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You seem to know a lot about the state of my relationship, Mulder.”

              He sighed. “I’ve learned a bit about you, Scully, in the time we’ve known each other. And you seem out of sorts. I know you are very single-minded and focussed but if you let something like this fester it can wedge itself in your mind and take away your focus.”

              “Voice of experience?”

              He chuckled again. “Something like that.”

              “But you’re wedded to your work, Mulder. No time for anything else. Me? I want a life.”

              His voice dropped and he stepped closer to her, looming over her until she could smell his cologne. He bent forward and put the mug in the sink, his arm brushing hers. He stayed there as he spoke, almost a whisper. “And I want a partner who’s clear about what she wants.”

              Her throat was so dry the noise of her swallowing filled the space between them. Her arms and legs felt heavy and useless. He was fucking right. And she knew what she had to do.

              “You know what you have to do, Scully. You just need to do it.”

              He finally moved back and there was a brightness invading her space now. She sighed and felt the prickle of tears at her eyes. She wouldn’t give in. Shouldn’t. She turned to the sink and ran the water as she sniffed. She didn’t hear him return. His hands massaged the gristles in her shoulders and she let him for a while.

              “You need to relieve this tension, Scully. You’re holding it all in here.” His knuckles  kneaded a hard knot and she gasped, turning to face him. His face was inches from hers and he was half-smiling. His stubble gave him a harder edge and she pressed herself harder against the bench, the damp soaking into her robe.

              “I just feel like a shit, dumping him so soon after starting a new job. And for no real reason.”

              Mulder shrugged. “You need a reason?”

              She nodded. “It makes things easier.”

              He bent forward, took her face in his large, warm hands and kissed her. Gentle at first, then with more urgency. She couldn’t breathe. His fingers brushed her cheeks and he was so tender, so genuine that she couldn’t think. When he let her go, stepped back and rolled his lips together, like he was enjoying he aftertaste of her, she blushed hot. He waited a beat, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.

              “Is that enough of a reason?” he asked, his voice threaded.

              She flexed her shaking fingers and looked up at him. “Is that all you got?”

Rocking Motion

My entry for this week’s @txf-prompt-box challenge! Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober as well

Prompt: An emergency lifeboat ride

Bonus: Someone suffers from seasickness

Double bonus: Krycek, CSM or Jeffrey Spender makes a cameo

It’s fluff, you guys (everyone helping me decide earlier: thank you! Fluff eventually won out. You angsty people get a story tomorrow). Set in no particular season, but it feels seven-ish to me. 

They have been in all kinds of strange and life-threatening situations. Trapped in a small lifeboat with Mulder and a guy who Scully swears looks like Krycek’s twin in the middle of the ocean is a new one, though. With Mulder hanging off the side puking his guts out, Scully still hopes to wake up and encounter this is all just a silly nightmare. Any moment now, she pleads, as Mulder vomits again.

“You should have let me die in the water, Scully,” Mulder tells her, his voice raw, “That would have been kinder.” The Krycek twin chuckles and Scully narrows her eyes, throws him an angry look. No one but her is allowed to make fun of Mulder; especially not someone who could be their arch enemy’s doppelgänger. He quiets immediately.

“Mulder, you’ll be fine once we’re on land again. I promise. It could have been much worse.” They could, in fact, be dead. It borders on a miracle that they’re alive, healthy, or at least hanging in there in Mulder’s case, and safe. When their boat drove into a rock and tipped them over, they almost recreated the Titanic movie – at least that’s what Mulder told her, his teeth chattering. Except they didn’t even have a door Mulder would insist she lie on and her refusing to do so resulting a fight. There was nothing. Until suddenly the lifeboat sped past them, around them, picked them up and now here they are. For once Scully is not going to question it and just accept it as it is. As unlikely as the scenario is if she allows herself to think about it. But they’ll have to follow up on Mulder’s lead tomorrow. Or not, she thinks as she watches Mulder, his whole upper body hanging over the ship’s rail, his face pale and sweaty, being sick.

“How long until we reach mainland?” Scully asks Krycek’s twin; the name tag on his waterproof jacket says ‘Ron’.

“A while, miss.” Scully stares at him, her face disgusted; it’s not his fault that he looks like Alex Krycek, but it unnerves her. He tips his hat, smirks, and Scully shudders. She opens her mouth ready to ask him if he’s Krycek in disguise taking them somewhere to torture or kill them, but she stops herself just in time.

“Is there a quiet place I can take my partner?” She asks instead.

“Sure. Take him downstairs to my cabin. I’ll stay here.” His grin reveals two missing teeth. Lovely. His voice, she now realizes, sounds nothing like Krycek either. Krycek was missing a hand and this man has two of them. She eyes him anyway, looks him up and down, which he seems to misinterpret as flirting.

“Thank you.” Scully finally says deciding that if he wanted to kill them, he would have done so already. She walks up to Mulder, who looks even more miserable than he did five minutes ago.

“Scully, throw me back into the water please. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have any strength left.”

“Oh Mulder,” She sighs, gently patting his back, “come on. I’ll take care of you.”

“I feel like dying, Scully.” But he follows her on unsteady feet.

“You’re not going to die, Mulder. Not today. I’ll make sure of that.”

The cabin is cool, dark and has a small cot where Scully steers him to. He sits down and glances up at her, sad puppy eyes and all.

“Lie down, Mulder.”

“It’s gonna make it worse, Scully.”

“No, it’s not.” He remains stubborn and upright. Who is the medical doctor here, anyway? Scully gently, then less gently, pushes at his shoulders. He’s got no strength left and finally, albeit with a heavy sigh, lies down on the cot.

“It’s not better.”

“Mulder, give it more than a millisecond, will you? Keep your head as still as possible and close your eyes.”

“Don’t wanna close my eyes.”

“Then look at the ceiling. Find yourself a stable object you can look at.” He turns so that he’s on his side. His eyes are on hers, curious, unblinking. “Mulder?”

“If you don’t move, you’re a stable object.” He tells her.

“Scoot over.”

“My doctor said I should lie still.”

“Scoot over, Mulder.” He does as he’s told. The cot is big enough for the two of them. She hasn’t planned to lie down; one of them should keep an eye on the Krycek twin just in case. But Mulder’s eyes, the misery reflected there, are too compelling and make her forget everything else. Their bodies are not quite touching, but Mulder is radiating warmth, and Scully moves just the tiniest bit closer to him.

“Try to close your eyes, Mulder.”

“I’d rather look at you.” Scully wills herself not to blush, fails, and hopes that here in the dim light, Mulder can’t see it.

“Does it help?”


“You know your sea sickness is caused mostly by your inner ears.” She touches his ear, follows its unique shape.

“Tell me more.”

“Your inner ears control your balance and whenever there’s a conflict in what they sense and what your eyes see, you will get sick.”

“Why don’t you get sick? Why are your ears telling you different things than mine?”

“I don’t know, Mulder.” She chuckles.

“You don’t know? Dr. Dana Scully doesn’t know?”

“No, I don’t. How are you feeling? Any better?”

“I don’t feel like puking my guts out.”

“That’s improvement, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Still rather be dead?”

“No. I feel like I’m in heaven, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I get to unabashedly stare at you.” This time Scully blushes so furiously she’s certain Mulder can’t miss it.

“I’d kiss you right now, Mulder, if you didn’t smell like puke.”

“Keep that thought until we’re off this boat and somewhere I can get a toothbrush and toothpaste.”

“Hm, maybe I’ll do that.” She says and smiles.

Independence Day

A/N: Fourth of July fluff and nonsense, inspired by some anons I’ve gotten recently about whether Mulder is capable of giving Scully a meaningful gift. 

Timeline:  Post-IWTB, Pre-Revival

Mulder knocks on her door and goes to straighten his tie before he remembers he’s not wearing one.  Hasn’t worn one in years.  He tries not to fidget, suspecting she may be eyeing him through her peephole, but he ends up shifting back and forth on his feet the longer it takes her to answer the door.  

He triple-guesses his outfit for the eighteenth time that night, and berates himself for it, feeling ridiculous for feeling ridiculous.

He hears her soft, even footfalls as she approaches the door, then a long moment of silence. She is peeping.

When she opens the door, her apartment seems to exhale at the exact same moment he does.


“Hey, Scully.”  Scully in her angular new suits and jewel-toned scrubs seems a completely separate being from this creature.  This woman’s hair is pulled up and away from her face and off her neck.  She’s wearing a sky-colored sweater that deepens the blue of her eyes to a dark violet in the low light, and jeans that he knows for a fact have been worn in from years of washing in hard water. He’d washed them a few dozen times himself. She’s hardly wearing a stitch of makeup.

Fuck losing nine minutes.  For a moment, he thinks he might have lost a quarter of a century.  “You look good.”

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Someday Your Child May Cry

Previously: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless | Interrupted | Recovering | Irresponsible | Possibility | Devastation

12. Confrontation

Mulder blows straight past Dr. Parenti’s receptionist, with Scully doing her best to ignore the sharp pains in her gut and keep up. In his fury, he’s forgotten her still-healing injury, and from the look he’d had on his face when he’d gotten out of the car, he’s not likely to remember it anytime soon.

She’s never seen him this furious.

Inside Parenti’s office, Mulder doesn’t pause before grabbing the doctor, lifting him bodily from his desk chair, and slamming him against the wall. He brandishes the test results in the terrified man’s face.

“Who do you work for?” Mulder demands. “Whose orders were you following when you did this to my partner? To our child?”

“I’m not working for anyone!” Parenti gasps desperately. “This is my practice! I own it!”

“Then who paid you?” snarls Scully, stepping up to Mulder’s elbow. “How much money was your Hippocratic oath worth to you?”

“They never paid me anything, I swear!” Sweat rolls down Parentt’s face as he twists in Mulder’s grasp. “You have to understand, they threatened my family! They told me they’d kill my wife and kid if I didn’t do what they told me to!” Mulder releases Parenti abruptly, and he slides down the wall and crumples on the floor.

“What did they make you do?” Scully asks, stepping closer and looming over him. 

“They… they sent someone to take the embryos after insemination, and then they brought them back the morning of the transfer.” He massages his neck where Mulder had grabbed him. “A different man, both times. I don’t know how they altered the embryos. Whatever they did to them, they didn’t do it here.” He looks up at Scully pleadingly. “They swore that nothing they did would hurt you, or the embryo. In fact, they said it might even help your chances of conception.” Parenti struggles slowly to his feet. “Please, you have to believe me, I never would have agreed to it if they hadn’t promised that it wouldn’t hurt you. I would have taken my family and gone to the police instead.” Mulder glares down at Parenti, his lip curling in disgust.

“I’d advise you to go ahead and do that now,” he says coldly. “I know these people. They don’t take failure lightly.” He turns and storms out of the office, and Scully, with one last contemptuous look at Parenti, starts to follow- until something occurs to her, and she turns back.

“My ova,” she says. “Whatever you have left. I want them back immediately.”


Out in the car, they sit silently across from each other. Scully is looking down at the little red and white medical cooler in her lap with an unreadable expression, and Mulder wishes he had some clue about what she’s thinking.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and she nods, slowly, not looking at him.

“I’m just… wondering where we go from here,” she murmurs.

“Well… first, I think we should take your ova back to the cold storage facility where I kept them before,” he suggests. “And then… the rest is up to you, Scully. If you want to keep trying, then so do I.”

“I want to, Mulder,” she says, still not looking at him. He can tell by the way that she’s biting at her lip that she’s trying to hold back tears. “I just don’t know how to go about it.” Now she raises her eyes to his, and he can see that she’s terrified. “How did they find out?” she asks. “ I chose Parenti from a list in a medical journal. How could they have know who we’d go to for treatment? The only people who knew what we’re doing, besides Parenti and his staff, are the two of us and my mother.”

Mulder is actually on the verge of opening his mouth to add “And Diana,” but he stops himself just in time. Scully still doesn’t know about his thoughtless slip-up in June, and given her initial reaction to Diana, he can pretty much guess how Scully would feel about it. And besides, there’s no possible way Parenti could have found out from Diana. She’d been badly wounded by his admission, and unless her personality has changed drastically since their days together, she’s not the sort to vent about her hurts or humiliations to an outside source. She had always been more likely to bottle the hurt up inside, until finally, it would explode outward in the face of whoever had hurt her.

Anyway, who could Diana have told that could have made something like this happen?

“The insurance,” says Scully suddenly, and Mulder looks over at her. “Parenti’s office would have filed insurance claims. If the wrong person at the bureau saw them, and passed on the information….” Mulder nods slowly.

“You’re probably right,” he says. “If we’re going to continue, we’ll have to be more careful.”

“I don’t see how,” Scully sighs, leaning her head back against the headrest. “If the insurance claims are really how they found out, that means I’d have to pay for the next attempt out of my own pocket. I think I might have enough in savings for one more try, but that’s it.”

“Scully,” says Mulder quietly, “I have money.” She smiles sadly at him.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out and taking his hand. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you would even offer, but I can’t ask that of you, not when I’m already asking so much.”

He lets it go, for now. But if this next attempt doesn’t work… well, he’s not taking no for an answer. He’d meant it when he had told her that he is willing to try as many times as she is, and he’s not above writing checks to whatever doctor they try next and forcing him to cash them before Scully finds out, if that’s what it takes to get her to accept his help.

“Whoever we pick next,” Mulder says, “we can’t use our real names. It would be far too easy for someone to access the records of every fertility clinic in D.C. and find us again. So… as much as I’m sure you don’t want anyone else to know about this, we’re going to need a little help.” It takes her only seconds to figure out what he means.

“You want to tell the Gunmen?” she asks, aghast. “You want to share all of this with Frohike? The king of inappropriate innuendo?”

“I think he’ll surprise you, Scully,” Mulder says. “He’ll have nothing but compassion for the entire situation, I promise you that. And if we’re using fake names, we’re going to need documents to back them up.”

“Fine,” Scully sighs. “We’ll go to the cold storage facility first, and then to the Gunmen’s.” Mulder nods and puts the car in gear.

Tonight, he decides, he’ll go back and visit the Gunmen again, alone. He’ll have them set up another bank account under whatever aliases that he and Scully choose, and he’ll have Frohike transfer all of the money Mulder’s father had left him into it.

Just in case.

the purest specimen of truth

this is actually for @leiascully​‘s @xfficchallenges​: the fic you’d never write. normally i don’t write “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt” william fics, let alone fics where he’s a teeeeeen! so i did that, but i was also at the science march in d.c. this weekend and obvi i had to fic an au where scully was there so…also, all the signs mentioned herein were actually witnessed irl haha also, the title of scully’s academic paper is based in real science but to my knowledge doesn’t exist…yet.

“What about I was told there’d be pie — but it’s the symbol for pi?”

Scully sighed without looking up at him, though she did admittedly choke back a smile which she wasn’t about to reward him with.

“That is clever,” she said, tapping the capped end of a Sharpie against her temple, “But I was partial to your original idea.”

He chuckled, “At the start of every disaster movie there’s a scientist being ignored?

She does smile then, peering at him overtop her reading glasses, which have slowly but surely become a permanent fixture atop her head over the last few years.

“Well, it’s true!” He bellows, playfully slapping his hand down atop the dining room table, “The Core, Dante’s Peak, The Day After Tomorrow, Twister —  that one we saw in theaters where they did an autopsy on Gwyneth Paltrow — ?”

Contagion,” she said, uncapping a marker with her teeth, “Which was impressively accurate, by the way. Not just the autopsy scene but later, the visual showing the way in which new viruses are formed by the recombination of DNA or RNA from different species of animal hosts?”  

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, watching her squint intently down at her poster board, outlining the letters with a pathologist’s steady hand. He reached for a Sharpie, his finger grazing the back of her hand as he did. “So,” he said, flicking the cap off with his thumb, “Are you nervous?”

Her hand froze and she visibly stiffened. He immediately regretted bringing it up but as was his wont, he couldn’t help himself. 

“Yes,” she said after an agonizingly long moment of silence.“I still don’t understand why they asked me to speak,” she muttered, refusing to look up at him.

Mulder scoffed, “Scully — you fucking cured Tay-Sachs.”

“No,” she snapped, pointing her Sharpie at him, “I did not cure it. Not yet.

Recombiant Adeno-Associated Virus PHP.B Serotype for Cross-Correctional Enzyme Transfer Across the Blood Brain Barrier in Lipid Storage Disorders,” he recited on a single breath, “Sounds like a cure to me.”

She gave him a warm smile, “You memorized the title of my paper?”

“What can I say, I’m your biggest fan,” he grinned. She blushed, which of course only made him grin harder.

“I wish you’d look over my speech…” she said softly, picking up her marker again and retracing a giant letter S.

“I told you, Scully, they don’t want a speech from Fox Mulder: former FBI agent and profiler turned New York Times best-selling, National Book Award-winning author,” he said, though not unkindly, “They want a speech from former FBI agent, medical doctor, professor, surgeon, American Medical Association award-winning, guest-lecture giving, honorary degree-having, enigmatic, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully. Who also happens to be my best friend, the love of my life, and the mother of my child,” he said, “And a damn fine shot, too.”

“Oh, Mulder…” she tutted, shaking her head. As if on cue, they heard booming footfalls on the stairs and a second later Will skidded into the room, brandishing a poster board.

At 16, he was just about Mulder’s height and just as lanky and would probably be taller than him by the end of the summer; if his propensity for eating a week’s worth of groceries in a weekend was any indication of his basic metabolic rate and robust genetic profile.

Will cleared his throat, feigning seriousness, but his eyes sparkled with his father’s particular brand of indolence, “Brace yourselves for the unremitting sheen of my brilliance.”

Scully snorted. Mulder and Will threw her identical, indignant looks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender, “You are your father’s son, Will. No doubt about it.”

Mulder nudged her foot with his under the table, “Was there ever really any doubt, Scully?”

She gave him a long look, which did not get passed Will. Not much did. 

“I detect a rather abrupt change in atmosphere,” Will said, licking his finger and holding it in the air as if to sense a gust of wind.

“Son,” Mulder said gravely, not taking his eyes off Scully, “There’s something we have to tell you.”

Scully frowned, but before she could speak she saw the faintest glimmer in Mulder’s eye and relaxed a bit.

“What?” Will said, slumping down in the chair closest to his father, letting his sign drop to the floor.

“William…Uncle Walter …is your real dad,” Mulder said, his mouth twitching around a grin.

“That explains why I find you and Mom so ridiculous,” Will said, rolling his eyes in with such form that it rivaled even his mother’s practiced art.

“No, that’s just ‘cuz you’re an angsty teen,” Mulder said, ruffling his son’s hair. Will blushed at the childishness of the gesture — more so because, even as a young man, he still craved his father’s approval and affection and was relieved to be in receipt of it.

“Let’s see your sign, Will,” Scully said, capping a nearby Sharpie that was teetering precariously over the edge of the dining room table.

Will reached for the posterboard, brandishing it high above his head. With a flourish, he turned it so they could read its words as he proclaimed them.

SCIENTISTS ARE PRO-TESTING!” He bellowed, and while he expected his father to laugh heartily and give him a high-five, neither of them expected that his mother would laugh. Certainly no so hard.

After a minute or two went by, Will and Mulder both eyed Scully with a kind of nervous fascination, wondering if perhaps they would have to sedate her.

“Have you…have you ever seen her like this?” Will said, his voice low.

Mulder didn’t take his eyes off Scully, who had lowered her head onto the table, collapsed like a pop-tent. Her shoulders still shaking and her muffled giggles getting lost against the polished cherrywood.

“Once,” he said slowly, “But she was drugged.”

This only made Scully laugh harder. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a hot shade of blush-pink and sallow with tear stains.

“I appreciate the encouragement, Mom,” Will said, “But there’s no need to stroke my ego that much. It’s a good sign but it’s not that good.”

Scully reached up to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her faded Quantico sweatshirt — which was older than Will by about a decade. She sighed deeply, then looked at them both through damp eyes and with a warm, almost cherubic smile.

“No, no, it is a good sign, Will. It’s just…” she sighed again, then drew in a long, sobering breath, “After all your father and I have been through, all that we’ve seen, the things that we’ve fought for…” she looked at Mulder, then. “The FBI sent me to your father because of my faith in science. They believed that science and reason would take him down. It didn’t, though. If anything it became an asset to his cause, and somewhere along the line I became — and so did the science I brought with me — the enemy.”

She lowered her eyes to her own sign, which suddenly seemed incapable of capturing everything she wanted — and needed — to say.

“The science helped sometimes,” Mulder said softly, “But you were the real strength, Scully.”

She smiled up at him as he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “I guess I just find it preposterous that we have to protest this at all,” she said, shrugging slightly, “That the persecution we faced as a result of our pursuit of the truth has somehow become so much bigger than just us, than the X-files.”

“This whole political milieu is a freakin’ X-file,” Will grumbled.

“Nice 10-point vocab word there, dude.” Mulder said, clapping his son on the back.

“What can I say — my dad writes books.” Will shrugged.

Mulder beamed at Scully, who had rested her chin on her hand.

“Mulder,” she said, her voice hoarse from her laughing jag, “You never told me Skinner was a writer.”

“There must be almost 50,000 people out there,” Scully breathed, her nails digging into the skin of Mulder’s left hand. They could hear the roar of the crowd from beyond the stage — or possibly the rain, which was coming down in sheets. Of course, given that it was a crowd of scientists, they were prepared with slickers and umbrellas, upon which many had inscribed: “Science predicted rain today.”

“You’re gonna be great,” he said, kissing the side of her head which was damp with sweat or rain water or both.

“At least you’re not after Bill Nye,” Will offered, “No one wants to follow him.”

Scully groaned and pressed herself into Mulder’s chest.

“That’s true,” Mulder said, rubbing her back, “Plus, if you screw it all up, no one will remember because they’ll just remember Bill Nye and the fact that Thomas Dolby is gonna sing She Blinded Me With Science.”

“Wait, what song is this?” Will said, digging his phone out of his pocket presumably to YouTube it.

“It’s about your mother,” Mulder said, “Especially the lyric: she’s tidied up and I can’t find anything.”

“Mulder, I want a divorce,” Scully said from somewhere under Mulder’s chin.

“We’re not married, Scully.”

She pulled her head back from his coat and looked up at him, “Fox William Mulder, will you marry me?”

“Sure,” he grinned, running his thumb along her chin.

“Ok,” she said, pressing herself back into his chest again. Then, “Mulder—?”

“Yeah, Scully?”

“I want a divorce.”

The gray sky opened up over the undulating crowd.  If anyone looked up, they’d drown.  

“She looks — ” Will said, standing next to his father backstage, watching his mother at the podium.

“Brilliant? Amazing? Powerful? Divine?” Mulder finished.

Will snorted, “I was gonna say scared shitless.

Though her voice was steady and clear, from his vantage point Mulder could see what the audience could not: how Scully was anxiously lifting and lowering her stockinged foot from her sleek high heel, running the front of her toes along the back of her calf.

God, he was proud of her. God, he loved her.

“…to shed light on what has typically been sequestered away to labs and libraries and lecture halls. To put on full display the humanity that has for centuries stoked the fire of scientific inquiry, refined it, rejoiced in its revelations and more often, endured the frustrations of its arcanum.”

She looked up from her notes, then, and not out at the audience — but to her right, to him and to their son. The next words she spoke, he understood, she had not written for the masses, or for history — but for them.

“The truth exists whether we believe it or not. It endures even the most violent scrutiny and ruthless persecution. As we persist in seeking it, may we find solace in knowing that there is no person, no institution, no government, with jurisdiction over it. It can be suppressed, hidden, censored, altered or misappropriated, refuted and denied,” she paused, looking back to her audience who waited on baited breath, “What those who try to manipulate it beyond recognition, who try to eradicate it and replace it with calculated imitations, fail to recognize is that when all of those measures fail – and they will fail — what remains is the purest specimen of truth.”

She looks back at Mulder, then. At their son. And she smiles, “And it is those of us who want to believe such a truth can be revealed to us who will one day find it, and bring it into the light.”

anonymous asked:

Dear Grace, the Polaroid AU is breaking my heart but in a good way. Please continue, I don't expect to get half of the greatness of your fic in season 11... You are so talented and the story is too good! sending love. xx

thank you so much! i have… no idea where this is going but it’s a lot of fun so far!

She and Mulder were experts in not talking about things. Which was probably what had led to problems in the past, but they weren’t talking about that either. (A list of things they didn’t talk about: her sister’s funeral, the way her daughter had looked in a hospital bed, Diana Fowley’s flashing brown eyes, his sister’s diary that he kept closed in his desk, the way he looked in a funeral suit, the three days they’d spent as a family, when she’d let a social worker carry their son away, when she’d packed her bags and left.) They still weren’t talking about the fact that she was sleeping in their bed with him again (the quilts tucked around them and her curled around his back, chin resting on his shoulder). But they were talking about their son.

(It hurt a little bit, in the pit of her chest, to do it. It hurt to see all the sadness in Mulder’s face. But it also felt a little like breathing. Like they should’ve done it years ago.)

He looked like Mulder, their son. There was no denying it; he reminded her of the day she’d first walked into the basement office. Except for his eyes. They were hers, her mother’s and her daughter’s, the way Mulder had said they were the night she’d brought him home. The way she remembered him. She could recognize him from his eyes. He was her baby, all grown up. Except he wasn’t hers. Not anymore.

The house was crowded, with Langly holed up in the basement and Monica in the second bedroom and the Van de Kamps (she couldn’t call them his parents) in the downstairs guest room and William on the cot in Mulder’s office. She and Monica mostly left during the day, working on rebuilding the world, but it was still awkwardness waiting for her at home. She didn’t know how to talk to her son. It had been okay when the Van de Kamps were still recovering, but now that they were better they were popping up around corners, exchanging uncomfortable looks with the person they’d encountered before looking at the floor. She’d run into Lillian Van de Kamp in the kitchen one morning while the coffee brewed and had rushed to offer her a cup. (”We have to play nice,” she’d said into Mulder’s t-shirt the night before, and he’d pulled her closer into the warmth of the middle of the bed and pressed his nose into her hair.) “Thank you,” Lillian mumbled, taking the mug Scully offered. “Dr. Scully. Or… it’s Dana, right?”

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“Did you happen to read the cause of death?” “Exposure. His body was found in the woods after escaping the hospital.” “Missing for only seven hours in July. How does a 20 year old boy die of exposure on a warm, summer night in Oregon, Dr Scully?”

- The X Files (1x01)