mulder on the phone


Cute Things from Stephen King’s original script for “Chinga (Before Chris Carter’s re-write):

1. Scully herself is a victim of the grocery store frenzy caused by the doll; she ends up hitting herself in the head, but later lies to Mulder over the phone, saying she’s fine, because she doesn’t want him to worry. 

2. Mulder is NOT completely helpless in this version of the script; in fact, he is preparing to go make a speech at a university, but bails to go see Scully when an officer faxes him a picture of Scully hurting herself in the grocery store (more on this below).

3. Actual lines from the original script:

*After Scully suggests ergot poisoning may have caused the grocery store attack, Mulder goes into graphic detail about the effects it has on people, and Scully responds, “I love it when you talk dirty.”

*A minute later, Scully declines Mulder’s offer to come help her, and when he then wonders why she called him, she responds, “I guess I just missed the sound of your voice.”

4. The ending scene, as written by King, is amazing. (One final note before you read it: in the original script it is even more obvious that Sheriff Jack Bonsaint has a crush on Scully. And at the end of the episode he asks for her number, implying that he would maybe come to see her in Washington D.C. Then, this happens):

BONSAINT: Maybe we could—
He stops, realizing that she’s stopped paying attention to him. He sees where she’s looking, over at a man in a topcoat who is sitting on the bench outside. There’s a briefcase between his knees. It’s MULDER. Scully is out of the car almost before it stops, and hurrying over to him, her face amazed and intense. Behind them, Bonsaint gets out and stands watching. Maybe he won’t find any business to do in Washington, after all. Maybe there wouldn’t be much point.
SCULLY: What are you doing here, Mulder? How did you get here?
MULDER: Hitched a ride from Andrews to Portsmouth Naval Air Station in an F-111. Those Navy kids drive fast. You okay, Scully?
SCULLY: Fine. Why did you come?
MULDER: (shrugs; smiles) I thought you needed help. Call it woman’s intuition.
SCULLY: What about your speech? Weren’t you supposed to give a speech at George Washington University tonight?
MULDER: The world’s not short of speeches, Scully. It’ll get along without mine.
They reach the top of the steps and face each other. This is a classic lovers’ shot, profiles like you’d see on a Valentine’s heart, lit by one radiant overhead globe.
SCULLY: This is the second time I’ve seen you tonight, Mulder.
MULDER: Really? Want to tell me about it?
SCULLY: It might hurt my credibility.
MULDER: (identical delivery) Really? Want to tell me about it?
CAMERA moves in on Scully as she thinks. 
SCULLY: I might. I believe I just might.


SCULLY: (in the black, and with a touch of reverb, perhaps) I believe—


A “Millenium” post-ep fluff piece that randomly popped into my head. Didn’t fit with any of my prompts, unfortunately. But here you go. 

“Scully, where are you?”

Having blindly answered the phone, barely awake, Scully swallows. Her mouth is dry, her eyes refuse to open, and why is Mulder calling her at this hour anyway? Whatever hour it is. Didn’t she just take him home after the hospital? After that kiss? Oh, that kiss.

“Scully?” His voice gets louder, sounds impatient.  

“I’m here.” She mumbles into her pillow before she turns her head to look at the time: 4.42 am. Oh, Mulder, why.

“You’re not here,” he sounds strangely accusatory, she thinks still trying to wake up; he might be fine with just two or three hours of sleep, even drugged up, but she’s not. “You left.” He finishes.

“I went home, Mulder. Like I said I would.” Her brain refuses to come up with the exact dialogue, but she knows she told him she’d be back tomorrow. Considering the time then and now she might have used the words ‘later today’. She never said she’d stay with him. She knows because she had to make herself leave.

“You said you’d stay.” She can practically hear him pout on the other end of the line.

“Mulder,” Scully sighs, “I drove you home and I said I’d be back later.” There’s a pause on his side and Scully’s eyes, which she just managed to open somewhat, are in danger of falling shut again. This is the reason she wanted to go home, why she didn’t stay with Mulder. That and the fact that she thought he’d be out for a couple of hours. She had given him the good, strong stuff. Even that was no match for his determination, it seems. He didn’t want her to leave of course (and part of her really wanted to stay, too). His hands took liberties after they left the hospital. After another push forward – the world didn’t end, no it didn’t – a first, tentative kiss. Now touching. They were doing this slowly, without words, just testing the waters. Except Mulder, on painkillers or not, tended to jump in. She didn’t stop him when he planted his hand on her thigh in the car. Or when he leaned heavily against her when she followed him upstairs. She even gave him another gentle peck right before she left. But she knew she couldn’t stay. Because of this. Before this could go further, and there was no doubt that it would, she needed to think about it. She couldn’t do it when Mulder stared at her like a puppy, when his hands roamed over her body; when his whole presence fogged up the reasonable part of her brain.

“It’s later now, Scully.” His voice, still pouting (she hears it, she truly does), jolts her back to the present moment.

“Mulder, it’s the middle of the night. Why don’t you take another dose of painkillers and sleep? I’ll be there in the morning-”

“It’s morning.”

“Later in the morning.”

“I could drive over to your apartment.”

“Mulder, your arm is in a sling. You can’t drive.” Scully pinches her nose. She can barely move; her own body, without the aid of painkillers, reminds her that she’s not getting any younger.

“I can drive with one arm, Scully. I told you.”

“You can’t, Mulder. Or you shouldn’t. Just stay where you are, all right? I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He’s quiet again and as much as Scully longs for him to hang up the phone so she can go back to sleep, she knows the silence is not a good sign.

“I shouldn’t have done it, huh?” His voice is barely above a whisper, breaks and Scully sits up in bed, awake now.

“What are you talking about?”

“Kissing you. I shouldn’t have done it. It was too soon.”

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully murmurs, “you did nothing wrong. I loved the kiss.” She flushes when she realizes what she’s just said.

“You did?” Now she can hear him grin. It makes her smile, puts her in a better mood despite the wake-up call and her exhaustion.

“Yeah, Mulder. I did.”

“So I can – we can – do it again?”

“I was counting on it.” Scully admits.

“I’m coming over now, Scully.”

“Mulder, no! You’re not supposed to drive with your arm.”

“But Scully…” The pout makes a comeback. Scully sighs again; it feels like she never stopped sighing once. She gets up, feels her weary bones and stretches.

“You stay where you are, Mulder,” she tells him a voice he knows means business and he’s quiet, “I’ll be there in half an hour, all right?” Without turning on the lights, she grabs random pieces of clothes; it doesn’t matter anyway. She doubts they’ll spend much time outside. Her stomach tingles thinking about it, about what she’s about to do; what they’re about to do soon. So very soon.

“I could be at your place in 20 minutes, Scully.” Mulder’s impatience distracts her, makes her roll her eyes.

“Mulder, if you want a repeat performance of that kiss and if you want to go further than that – ever – you will stay where you are. Understood?” Another pause that gives her enough time to roam through her closet.

“Uhm, Scully…” She knows that tone; he’s guilty. He’s done something stupid.

“Mulder, what?” Scully doesn’t get an answer. Instead she hears a knock on her front door. She startles and pads barefoot to answer. She looks through the peep hole even though she knows. Of course she knows.

“Hi.” Mulder smiles sheepishly, phone still in hand, his other arm in its sling at least.

“Mulder.” Is all she says; she wants to be angry. She wants to yell at him, wants to strangle him even maybe, but instead she drags him in by his good arm, closes the door and pushes him against it. She’s on tiptoe and he still has to lower his head. Not that she cares. Let him suffer some more, she thinks.

“Told you I could drive with one arm.” He whispers against her lips and Scully doesn’t want to argue with him and so she captures his lips with hers and seals their fate. She’s not going to get any sleep any time soon that’s for certain.

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previously: Question

2. Preparations

There are things that must be done, now that Mulder has given Scully his answer, and thanks to the research he’d spent most of the night and the following morning doing after she had left his apartment on Friday night, he’s got a fairly good handle on what all of this will entail.

First, of course, is his meeting with Dr. Parenti. Mulder provides the doctor with a detailed family health history, the finer points of which he obtains after retreating to another room to make a very awkward phone call to his mother. Teena Mulder becomes instantly alarmed at the nature of her son’s questions, and his repeated assurances that he is not in the midst of a health scare do nothing to alleviate her concerns. Rather, this new information only serves to make her even more suspicious, and as Mulder has no intentions whatsoever of telling her the real reason for his needing this information, it takes quite some time to get her off the phone.

(There’s a space, at the bottom of the form, for “additional information,” and he opts to leave out the aforementioned tendency towards alien abduction; he figures that, since the kid’s going to be dealing with the same thing from his mother’s side, that base has already been covered.)

“How did it go?” Scully asks him, when he arrives back in the office after his appointment. She’s doing a reasonably good job of concealing her anxiety.

“Fine, fine,” he tells her. “Dr. Parenti confirmed what I’ve told you before: the Mulder family passes genetic muster.” She chuckles at the memory of that long-ago conversation, those words casually tossed out during a more innocent time, before either of them had had any idea that measures like these would, one day, be necessary.

It strikes Mulder, as he thinks back to what he had told her that day, that this could be an ideal time to broach the topic of what, exactly, they’re going to do if this is successful. But the moment he opens his mouth, Scully, wearing a pretty close facsimile to his own panic face, flips open the folder containing their latest case and launches into a thorough summation of the information they’ve gathered so far.

Okay, message received: she’s not ready to talk about this yet. He supposes, given the chances of success (he’s looked it up, and the possibility is nowhere near as strong as he’d like it to be), it’s a conversation they may never need to have, so if she wants to cross that bridge if and when they come to it, he’ll follow her lead.


The side effects of the progesterone injections take Scully completely by surprise.

None of it should be a shock- she’s a medical doctor, after all, and plus, she’s been brushing up on the topic- but knowing about the mood swings and heightened emotions that can occur and experiencing them are two very different things.

The first time it happens in front of Mulder, it’s because he brings her a decaf latte in the morning. She’d mentioned in passing, days ago, that she’s decided to give up caffeine now, before the embryo transfer, so that if it takes, she’ll already have decreased her dependency on the daily half a pot of coffee that has become the norm for her. She’s so touched that Mulder has remembered this that tears spring to her eyes as he places the cup in her hands. He instantly looks horrified.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is that not right? You said you wanted to give up caffeine early, and I thought- I mean, I can go back and get-”

“No, no, it’s fine!” she tells him, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes. “This is perfect. I just… I was touched that you remembered, that’s all.” Mulder doesn’t look at all reassured by this.

“Geez, am I that thoughtless?” he asks her. “It’s really not a big deal, Scully. It wasn’t a problem to do.”

“You’re not thoughtless,” says Scully, reaching out and taking his hand. “It’s these stupid injections, that’s all. I cried while watching a life insurance commercial last night.” Mulder laughs.

“So I definitely won’t be taking you to see the latest Julia Roberts movie, then,” he says, sitting down at his desk with his own latte and kicking his feet back.

“Probably not a good idea,” she agrees. “Which, I’m sure, is very upsetting to you.”

“I’m devastated,” he says, deadpan. “But I’m thinking I’ll just take you to see Big Daddy, instead. Much more appropriate for us right now.” Scully freezes in the process of opening her briefcase. Does he mean…?

They haven’t talked about this yet, mostly because she has no idea exactly how to broach the topic. If he were to ask her, right now, how involved she wants him to be if things go the way she’s hoping they will, she would have her answer ready… but it’s not the kind of thing they could really come back from if he decides he’s not okay with it.

She shelves it. No sense in worrying about something that might not even come to pass.

She Tastes like Candlelight 



It starts with, of all things, a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.

Logically, he knows it doesn’t make sense. She comes to work in form-fitted jackets that go tight about her waist. She’s been foregoing the baggy slacks in favor of skirts that stop just below the knees, with nylons clinging to the defined musculature of her calves; he’s pretty sure he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her wear shoes other than heels, excluding the clinical, white shoes she wears with her scrubs during autopsies.

He’s seen the looks she gets. Sometimes, it’s during an interview, when a witness’s gaze will linger just a little too long on her bustline, and her hand will go up and fiddle with her necklace, her arm blocking her chest in subtle defiance. Other times, it’s men on the streets of the city, shouting out obscenities to her, having the audacity to call her “baby,” and “sweetheart,” and he fights the urge to yell right back, brandishing his badge and his gun, wanting to scare the misogyny right out of the bones of anyone who thinks they’re entitled to her body, but he knows that she would find it condescending. “Thank you, but I can handle myself, Mulder,” she’d say, and it’s not that he thinks she can’t—he just doesn’t want her to have to.

And still other times, the looks come not from strangers on the sidewalk, or from people he can reduce to photos in a casefile, but from their peers. Educated, talented men who transform themselves into slobbery, teenage boys when sitting adjacent to her in meetings, eyeing her with an inappropriate hunger while she jots down notes in the margins of her agenda sheet. More than once, Mulder has found himself in the elevator with a man who will look down at Scully, and then catch Mulder’s eye over the top of her head, just so that he can wink, including him in some inside joke he has no interest being a part of.

He supposes that he empirically knows that Scully is attractive—it’s more or less objective fact—but he’s never allowed himself to notice. He’s trained himself to observe her through a filter. He considers her appearance through what he aptly names the Sexual Harassment Video Gaze. He quickly shuts down any thought that could be used as an example in a training tape on inappropriate office behavior.

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Romance, Part Two

An inbox prompt that got way out of hand… Mulder and Scully attempt a little bit of romance. 

Read part one here!

(Buckets of roses to @edierone, @kateyes224, and @piecesofscully for their eyes and ears)

Summary: “It’s really you in there, isn’t it?”
Supplementary Media:
Frank Sinatra - Under My Skin
Nat King Cole - I Love You for Sentimental Reasons
Billie Holiday - I’m a Fool to Want You

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Name Calling

For @leiascully xf writing challenge prompt: lists. It’s not a list, but it’s about a list. I hope that counts? I wrote this in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, so…

Mulder’s chaos. That’s the only way to describe his filing system. Or lack thereof.

Scully wouldn’t have this problem if Mulder were here, or if he were at least answering his phone. The cell is probably either dead or he’s lost it again. He really needs a system, Scully thinks as she tries to understand the connection between haunted beach resorts and possessed guinea pigs. According to Mulder, there seems to be one.

Twenty minutes ago Skinner called their office to let them, or rather Scully, know that he needs the report on their latest case. Immediately. Utmost importance. And more words Scully didn’t hear, already frantically going through Mulder’s desk. She should not have let him write that report. Had she done it herself, she could already be on her way to Skinner’s office. But no. The one time she insists on him doing the paperwork, she regrets it.

So here she sits, among files, reports, several bills, a Playboy magazine from 94 and even more National Geographics. The report, however, is not here. Skinner will call again in five minutes, tops. Since Mulder is not here, she will get yelled at all by herself. Just what she needs today.

Lost in thought, Scully unfolds a piece of paper. At first she thinks it’s merely a scribbled note, nothing important. But it’s a list, a long one. She quickly scans the many names neatly categorized into girls and boys. Samantha and Melissa are at the top and they’re both crossed out. Too much history, she deciphers the scrawled words next to them. Scully reads through all of them; from Abigail and Adam to Xenia and Zachary. Some have comments right next to the entry; Mulder has terrible hand writing and some of it is no longer readable. Scully doesn’t notice her tears until one of them falls down right down at the end. Mulder?, it reads there in black ink, or would she prefer Scully? The names blur together, eventually.

Baby names.

Mulder made a list of baby names. For their child.

“Hey Scully, what’s up with Skinner? He just- Scully?” Mulder barges in, holding two large coffee cups and stops when he sees her slumped over the chaos on his desk.

Scully can’t stop the sob that escapes her and Mulder is by her side in two long strides. He puts the cups down on the desk and crouches in front of her. He gently tips the chair so that she’s facing him. His hands, warm and large, rest on her knees as his eyes finds hers.

“Scully, what happened? Is it because of Skinner?” She shakes her head, her tongue too thick, her throat too tight to talk. Instead she hands him the list.

“Oh.” His voice is as gentle as his hands as he takes the proffered piece of paper. He looks at it for a moment, the ghost of a smile passing over his face.

“I forgot about this.” Mulder’s index finger gently touches one of the names and suddenly nothing matters as much as this to Scully. She needs to know.

“What’s your favorite?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Uhm, I had several favorites depending on, well…” He refuses to look at her, shy now, but she knows exactly what he was thinking about.



“No, I mean… their name, it would have been Mulder.” His eyes light up in surprise for a moment, soften, and he smiles up at her. Scully used to think, when there was still possibility to dream, that their baby would smile exactly like that. Same eyes, same beautiful mouth. The picture shatters in front of her once again, as it always will, but Mulder’s voice, warm and gentle, keeps her here, keeps her sane. It does now as it did then months ago, when their dream, her baby, wasn’t to be.

“Jake for a boy. Jake Mulder. I felt that… it felt like a good name, you know? Or William.” Scully raises her eyebrows and he nods, chuckles.

“I know, I know. Plenty of Williams in our families already.” Mulder stares at the list again, at their lost possibilities. There would be no Jake Mulder. No William Mulder either.

“And for a girl?” The question hurts as she presses it through her constricted throat. She needs to know, though. They never talked about it. Let’s move on, she’d told him the morning after breaking down in his arms. Back then it had seemed like it had been her loss; only hers.

“I thought maybe… Melinda. It’s not Melissa, but it’s close and I thought-” Scully’s painful sob tears through his words and makes him pause. The list slips from his hand as he opens his arms and she falls into them, easily.

Mulder holds her as tightly as possible and she lets him. She let him before when the IVF didn’t work. This, she realizes now, way too late, is their pain. It’s not just hers; he, too, lost something. The phone rings insistently, startling them both, returning them to the here and now.

Scully looks at Mulder and smiles thankfully as he wipes her tears away. His finger traces her lips and she kisses it, softly, like a butterfly’s flap.

With a sigh, and protesting knees, Mulder gets up to pick up the phone. Scully can hear Skinner’s angry booming voice.

“I’m just gonna… go and give Skinner that report before he completely flips out,” his grin is lopsided, “all right?” Scully merely nods and watches as Mulder opens a drawer and after a moment holds the right file in his hands. Mulder’s chaos, she thinks with a sigh. She can no longer feel angry about it.

“Mulder?” He’s already at the door and turns to face her, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“I’d like to keep this list. If it’s all right with you.”

“It’s your list, Scully. It’ll always be your list.”

anonymous asked:

"Scully, please teach me how to use Twitter, nothing makes sense anymore."

“Scully, please teach me how to use Twitter.  Nothing makes sense anymore.”  Scully glances up from her laptop at Mulder, who’s leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the desk, frowning at his phone.

“Mulder,” she sighs, “do you remember what happened when you discovered Pinterest?  All I heard about for days were ‘natural’ cures for everyday ailments that have absolutely no basis in science.  And you still haven’t finished half the repurposing projects you’ve got strewn all over the basement.”

“I’m getting to them, Scully,” he promises.  “It’s just that the people who posted those tutorials make it seem a lot easier than it really is.”

“And how about when you got my nephew to teach you how to use Snapchat?” she continues.  “Skinner couldn’t look either of us in the eye for weeks.”

“In my defense,” Mulder argues, “your names are right next to each other, and I didn’t have my reading glasses.  Just be glad I didn’t accidentally send that picture to your brother instead.”

“And then,” Scully steamrollers on, “there was the Facebook debacle.  How many times did I get up in the middle of the night and find you arguing politics on your computer with some idiot you went to middle school with?  Mulder, you are never going to change someone’s mind in a Facebook debate.”

“I wasn’t arguing to try and change his mind, Scully,” Mulder says.  “I know he’s an idiot.  I was arguing for the benefit of people who might be reading who haven’t made up their minds about the issue yet.”  Scully rolls her eyes.

“One way or another, Mulder,” she sighs, “I am not teaching you how to Tweet.  The last thing I need is Skinner finding out that one of his agents has gotten into a Twitter war with the moron from that ‘Ancient Aliens’ show.”  Mulder opens his mouth to respond, and Scully holds up her hand, forestalling him.  “Let’s face it, Mulder,” she says, turning back to her work.  “Social media just isn’t for you.”

Adventures in Babysitting

So here it is! The sequel to THIS thing which was supposed to be just a prompt answer. I had several people ask me for a sequel and it still baffles me that you guys basically *want* to read my stuff (instead of me throwing it out there, hoping). If you prefer AO3, the second part will be HERE soon.

Now on with the story (more under the cut cause it’s really long)

The phone rings just as Mulder is about to leave his apartment. He stops, looks at his watch: 8.43 a.m. He and Scully never decided on a time last night, but he’s been on the road with her plenty of times. If they don’t have anywhere to be, if there’s no plane waiting, an autopsy or other extraterrestrial tasks, Scully likes to take her time. Mulder figures arriving just after 9 a.m. at her place should neither be too late, nor too early.

The phone keeps ringing, a nagging sound that makes it impossible to leave. What if it’s important? Yet, he doesn’t pick it up. Because what if it’s Scully? Telling him she’s changed her mind and she doesn’t want him to come over. He stares at the book in his hand, “I want to be an astronaut”, a gift for Hannah. The thought of not seeing her, of Scully pushing him away, is unbearable and so he just stands there and waits. Finally, his answering machine springs to life. Mulder braces himself, just in case. If it really is Scully, and who else would call him on a Saturday morning?, then he is just going to pretend he never got the message. It’s sleazy and selfish, but he feels no shame.

“Hello Fox,” Mulder frowns upon hearing the voice on his machine and he is glad he didn’t pick up the phone for entirely different reasons than fear, “It’s Diana. There’s this highly interesting case I found and I thought maybe we could spend the weekend looking it over. Spend some time together. I guess you’re out on a run so just give me a call when you’re back.” Mulder listens to the beep, then he quickly walks over to the answering machine, pushes a button and is on his way.

“Message deleted.” Chimes just as he closes the door behind him.

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day after tomorrow

firewalker post-ep au, second installment in my x files rewatch series. (the two stories i’ve posted insofar are unrelated to each other; there’s no planned connection between these stories.)

summary: She almost died a few weeks ago. But she is here, alive. And her partner has kissed her. 

note: i have little to no knowledge of quarantines, so this is probably horrifically inaccurate. 

Trepkos disappears into the volcano with Jesse O’Neil and Scully waits for the government to arrive in the dark, rubbing her raw wrist. It feels almost normal, after everything that’s happened, and that feels worse than anything.

“You okay?” She jolts at the sound before she realizes it’s just Mulder; they should turn some goddamn lights on. She turns towards him in the shadowy room, still rubbing the sore spots. “Your wrist hurts,” he says quietly.

He’s spoken quieter to her since she was returned, touched her more. She’s not sure whether she likes it or is annoyed by it, but she’d felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder for long minutes after he’d left. Now he touches her wrist gently, turning it over to try and examine it in the nonexistent light. “I’m fine, Mulder,” she says determinedly. “It’s just a little sore. All things considered, I’d say I’m pretty well off.” (They don’t know that they aren’t infected, she thinks. They could be dying right now.)

“C’mon, let’s take a look at this,” he says stubbornly, in that soft, nudging way he’d had since the abduction. Somehow, they both move in opposite directions at the same time and she crashes fully into him. And then the next thing she knows, he is kissing her. His hands soft on her hips, his mouth hot on hers. She kisses him back with something like eagerness, anticipation, until he pulls away.

“We should… find you something,” he says unevenly. “For your wrist.”

“Mulder…” she starts.

“Scully, I’m sorry.” His hand is still cupping her wrist; he lets go and turns to head down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps echo down the empty hall, eerie in the dark like they’re in a haunted house. People have died here, she remembers. She almost died a few weeks ago. But she is here, alive. And her partner has kissed her.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says to the empty room.

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In the dark

Silly semi casefile fic written for several reasons. For @leiascully’s XFWritingChallenge: Exercise and also for the anon on @lyndsaybones  blog who asked for a story about Scully being given an undercover assignment as another agent’s wife. 
I’m looking forward to the other stories that might spring from that particular anon!

The phone skittered across the desk, mocking him with its caller ID and perkiness. He’d fallen asleep in the office and his neck was gristled, his mouth filled with dry Bureau air.

           “Mulder, it’s me.”

           Well, yeah. That’s what the phone said.

           “Mulder, are you there?”

           “I’m here, Scully. Or should I say Mrs Sparks?”

           “That’s Ms Sparks. And you sound like you still haven’t gotten over this assignment, Mulder. It’s been two days and you’re a grown man. You need to get over it.”

           It’s been more than six years and he wasn’t over it, grown man or not.

           “What’s the plan today, Scully?” He forced a little grace into his voice.

           “You know I can’t tell you that, Mulder. I’m undercover,” her voice was buried in a rush of static and muffled voices. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call later.”

           And I’ll still be here. I’ll still be thinking about the smug look Skinner had in his eye when he informed them that Scully had been assigned to this case, going undercover as Danny fucking Conway’s wife, to lure out a serial killer who was ramping up in the DC area. And so close to the Arcadia case. What the hell was that man on? And why the hell did Scully agree to this bullshit? Hadn’t she had enough of being targeted by freaks?  She’d given him the usual line about being independent and doing her job blah blah. Their job was the X-Files, but the last time he’d tried to deliver a message along those lines, she’d gone and fucked that psycho in Philly and blamed the lack of a desk.

Soft, green light billowed out of his fish tank. It was supposed to be calming. That’s why he’d chosen tropicals. Their colour, their shapes, their fluid movements, the warmth of their lives…yet, all he wanted to do was rip the fucking thing off the shelf and stab the little beasts with a pencil. The phone had remained unreasonably quiet. It wasn’t even arguing back when he slammed it down on his coffee table. He stretched his arms up and relished the clunk of his joints. Pain. Fatigue. Being in the fucking dark. Yes. Welcome to the life of Fox Mulder.

           The buzzing of his cell woke him. Where had he thrown it? He scrambled around the couch, sticking his fingers between the cushions and down the back. He found nothing but crumbs and a tack that stuck behind his thumbnail. He cursed and sucked at the blood. Metal and dust. And the phone stopped ringing.

He was outside the house now, hunkered down in the driver’s seat, watching how the climbing rose curled and bowed around the door, mocking him with its elegance. He did not belong here. Not just because Scully would kill him, but because people like Mulder didn’t belong in this suburb.

Danny fucking Conway with his blond hair and frat boy good looks belonged here. Dana Scully with her contained beauty and ferocious intelligence belonged here. She really should live somewhere like this. All the things she personified were displayed in this building – success, style, class, refinement. She should never leave. She should be Ms Sparks, co-creator of GymProMatch, a site for high-end professionals wanting to find an exercise partner. However you span it, Mulder believed it was really a dating site for those who got off on watching women in exercise gear with sweaty cleavage and enough money to opt for surgical intervention should the running machine or the date become surplus to requirements.

GymProMatch also offered tailored personal training programs, online functionality so even less desirables, like Mulder, could get fit in the comfort of their glowing-green living room and be linked with other sad cases, diet plans, seminars and conferences with training professionals. The real people behind it had flown to their Caribbean chalet while Scully and Fucking Conway moved in.

           He shifted in the seat, his knees groaned at the confined space. He picked at the skin on the side of his thumb. He let his head fall against the seat rest and tried to keep his eyes open. The door opened. Scully stepped out, her hair caught in a high ponytail and white headphone wires forming a necklace around her bright pink fitted vest. She wore black yoga pants with a pink swirl around the calves, and bright white runners. She limbered up, stretching her quads and dipping her head side to side. She looked fucking gorgeous, backlit by the light above the door. She jogged up the paved path, edged by topiary bushes, and out on to the sidewalk. Mulder watched the back of her disappear into the murky evening before he opened his door to track her.

           He didn’t even get to the end of the car before she’d doubled back and was running at a pace towards him. She looked fucking angry.

He slunk into the car and she slipped in next to him, huffing out more than just energized breaths. There was fire in those exhalations.

           “I’m sorry, Scully. I needed to know you were okay.”

           “You’ve just jeopardized this whole operation, Mulder. And all because you don’t trust me to do my job.”

           “I do trust you, Scully. It’s Conway I don’t trust. He’s an asshole.”

           “That may be true, Mulder, but he’s a professional asshole. Unlike you, who at this moment, just look like a pathetic, jealous, ridiculous asshole.”

           Now they were getting somewhere. He deserved that. It made him feel better. He always appreciated the truth. Scully always told him the truth.

           “You can finish your run, Scully. I don’t mind waiting.”

           “Waiting for what?” Her voice thinned as her anger level rose. She was flushed anyway, but her chest heaved and her arms were tense and those veins near her wrists were pulsing and she kept licking her lips in that way that both irritated him and turned him on. He could practically smell the smoke coming off her, she was red-hot furious.

           It was now or never. He leant forward and captured her face in his hands, pulling her mouth to his. She was spitting out some curse or another but he swallowed it whole and savoured the taste of her. Her arms were trapped between them but he could feel her shifting against him, her fists bunching, ready to pummel him. He groaned into her mouth, pushed his tongue into the velvet of her, rubbed it against her teeth, let his hands move from under her ears, down her neck and to gently massage her shoulders. She was still fighting but she had opened her mouth wider and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was whimpering. He pulled back.

           She ran her tongue over the lower lip, looked down at her lap, then up at him. He steadied himself for the slap or the punch, but she just turned to open the door.

           “Wait, Scully. Please.”

           “I have to go, Mulder.” There was no intonation, no anger, no life in her words.

He reached out to shut the door. His arm brushed her breasts and she sucked in a breath, pushing herself back into the chair.

“Sorry. But I’m not generally in the habit of kissing you, Scully. There is a reason. And right now, that reason is approaching from the end of the street. Our suspect has been prowling around in the yard of the empty property at 190 for about an hour. Conway has called in back up. I’m wired up. You just need to keep kissing me. Come here.”

He snaked his arm around her and kissed her again. She softened into his arms and he reluctantly released her mouth to whisper into her ear.

“Skinner didn’t want you to know about my part in the assignment. He knew you would back out if I was any part of this job. This psycho loves himself a cheating red-head but he really gets off on torturing the boyfriend. Meet the boyfriend, Scully.” He nibbled her neck and she shuddered. She definitely shuddered.

“This is so fucked-up, Mulder,” her voice had dropped a notch and she was breathing heavily. Mulder let his fingers wander up and down her back as he listened for instructions from the team.

“Suspect is nearly at target point. Keep doing that, Scully.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing you’re doing with your…”


She pulled back and all hell broke loose. The passenger door pulled open, a hand reached around her and covered her mouth with duct tape. At the same time, the suspect lashed out at Mulder with a baseball bat but he managed to avoid most of the swing, so that it hit the steering wheel and let the horn sound. A dozen agents swamped the car, heaving Scully from the suspect’s grasp and pulling Mulder out. The suspect was grappled to the ground and Conway snapped on the handcuffs.

“Darling. I’m so glad you’re okay,” he smirked up at Scully.

Mulder rushed to her side. “Are you sure you want me to pull the tape off, Conway? I’m not sure you’re ready to hear what Scully has to say to you.”

She huffed out something unintelligible and he gently prised the tape off. Her mouth was red and puffy. He liked to think it wasn’t all because of the tape. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and turned away.

“You were good today, Scully.”

“At what? At being kept in the dark? At being manhandled by you and the suspect?”

Skinner swept forward, his hands buried in his overcoat. “Agents. This was a fine result. Good work.” Scully glared at him and then back at Mulder. “I understand you might have some further questions about this case, Agent Scully. Report to me in the morning. I’ll debrief you both.”

The phone skittered across his couch, mocking him with its caller ID and perkiness. The green glow seemed brighter somehow.

           “Mulder, it’s me.”

           Well, yeah. That’s what the phone said.

           “Mulder, are you there?”

           “I’m here, Scully. You sound out of breath. Are you all right?”

           “I’ve been running.”

“I hear exercise is a good for reducing stress and tension.”

“Will your next undercover assignment be as a medical doctor, Mulder? Or perhaps I won’t know until after you’ve performed an emergency tracheotomy or diagnosed someone with diabetes.”

“Touche, Scully. And again, I am sorry. But it wasn’t my decision.”

“Mulder, open your door.”

“You’re outside?”

“Yes, I ran from my car because it’s raining. I’m wet and grumpy so please, open the door.”

She was dripping, red with cold and looked fucking gorgeous. He pulled her in, pushed her to the bathroom and told her to take a shower. When she emerged, she was red less dripping, pink with heat and still looked fucking gorgeous. She took the cup of tea he’d made and sat on his couch.

           “Would it be inappropriate to say that I really enjoyed kissing you, Scully. Even if you were technically married to someone else. And you weren’t technically aware that I was going to do it?”

“Do you always make a habit of kissing married women, Mulder?”

“Only the red-haired, doctor ones.” He tried for a cute smile.

She blushed and sipped her tea.

“That thing you did with your…”


anonymous asked:

How would Henry cope if Scully's cancer returned? And how would Mulder? OR... how would Scully cope if something happened to Mulder, but she isn't free to drop everything and go to him? Would she want to, or would she have closed the door on that reaction? How would Henry deal with that? #TeamHenlly

Henry paces the hallway outside her room, one hand to his forehead, the other holding his phone. “Pick up, pick up,” he mutters.

Mulder does, finally. “Henry?”

“Yes. Yeah. Listen, this isn’t easy, but I’m at the hospital with Dana and I’ve got some, uh, some bad news.” He is proud of his steady voice, his steady hands.

“Is she hurt? Is she sick?” Mulder sounds almost accusatory, as though Henry has been derelict in a simple task.

“She’s sick. They…” he runs his hand through his hair, circles around the vending machine again. “They found a mass in her sinuses, Mulder.”

The silence on the other end goes on too long. “Mulder, are you there?”

“Do you know her medical history?” The words are clipped.

“She told me, told the doctors this isn’t new. But she said something about a chip, about that scar on her neck. What the hell is going on here, Mulder? I’ve never pushed her about her past, but I’m seriously in the dark here.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end. “It’s not my story to tell you.”

Henry, his frustration peaking after hours of obfuscation and obliqueness from Dana, slams a fist into the wall. “She’s my wife, goddammit! Whatever you two have, Mulder, whatever it is, I never pried. I trust her and I trust you and I accept it. But you need to tell me, right fucking now, what I don’t know.”

People are staring, but he doesn’t care, he feels righteous and productive.

“Henry, I-”

“You tell me,” he growls, “or I will drive over right now and beat the living shit out of you. I have a lot of impotent rage I’d like to direct somewhere.” He’s not entirely sure he can make good on this, but he thinks adrenaline will give him an advantage.




“It’s medicine,” Mulder says slowly. “The chip in her neck is some kind of medicine that stops her cancer.”

Henry is appalled, “That’s it? That’s the secret you couldn’t share? Am I losing my goddamned mind? Call the fucking manufacturer right now and get another one, for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s not that simple,” Mulder says, his voice soft. “It’s, ah, not on the market.”

“You’re telling me you know of a medicine that treats cancer effectively and you can’t get it? Is it foreign? Illegal?”

“It was a sort of custom design,” Mulder says.

“Give me an answer, a real answer. You two and your doublespeak, I swear to god…” He’s gripping his hair by the roots.

“Fine, Henry. Here it is.” There is anger in Mulder’s voice now, and Henry finds it satisfying. “Her cancer was specifically engineered to manifest if she ever took the chip out. The chip is a tracking device. I don’t know why it stopped working, but before you come over and kick my ass, you have a lot of fucking questions to ask your wife.”

Henry’s mind is reeling. He leans against the wall. “A tracking device?” he repeats. “Engineered cancer? How do you engineer cancer? Why do you engineer cancer?” He can’t process this, not this and Dana asleep in the hospital bed with a demon behind her eyes.

“Shit,” Mulder breathes. “Goddammit, Henry. How bad is she?”

“She’s weak, very thin. She kept saying it was the flu, you know how she is. But she had a few nosebleeds and went in. And here we are.”

“Yeah, I know how she is,” Mulder says, and Henry hears the pain in his words.

“There’s a man,” Mulder says. “Who knows about the chip. He might, uh, he might arrange a deal.”

Henry is baffled, but tries to swim with the current. “A deal? Why would an- never mind. Call him. I’ll pay whatever he wants, no questions asked.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can pay what he’ll want,” Mulder says. The words are measured, heavy. “But I can.”

The line goes dead.

Take a Memo

by: mldrgrl
rated; PG
Summary: For an Anon who asked for a story of little notes to be written back and forth.  Set prior to, and after I Want to Believe.

The worst part of getting herself licensed to practice medicine (again) was the length of her shifts and the short turn-around.  She’d forgotten how grueling that was when she’d been in med school; coming home at 8pm, getting a few hours sleep and then turning around and going back to work at 3am.  She felt like she hardly saw Mulder at all.  After the first two weeks of the schedule, she woke up one morning and stumbled into the bathroom to find a Post-It on the mirror.

Keep reading

a-steady-wish-deactivated201706  asked:

Sappy Prompt 11 please! :)

All right, it’s not really sappy… I just wanted to finally write this and this is what my mind came up with. 

11. “I thought you didn’t want me.“ 

"Scully, you won’t believe what I just-”

But it’s Mulder who, for once, can’t believe. There, in his office, stands a Scully all right. It’s just not Dana Scully; it’s big brother Bill. Mulder watches the smile disappear off the other man’s face.

“Uhm, hello.” Mulder stands frozen in his doorway for a moment, rationalizing that this is his office and that Bill Scully has no right to stop him from entering. But should he shake his hand? He wonders walking in, very aware of every step he’s taking.

“Mr. Mulder.” Bill nods at him, so no hand shake. Relieved, Mulder hangs up his coat and strolls past Bill, whose eyes follow his every movement.

“You’re not the Scully I expected to see,” Mulder knows he should shut up, maybe even leave under some pretense and look for Scully. “I presume you’re here looking for your sister. Unless you here to discuss any kind of unexplained phenomenon. Then I’m your man.” If only his mouth wasn’t so disconnected from his brain.

“I’m here to see Dana,” Bill informs him evenly, “She told me to meet her here.”

“Oh,” is all Mulder has to offer. She didn’t tell him about Bill dropping by. She didn’t even mention he was in town. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. She’s usually on time.”

“I know that,” Bill says through gritted teeth, “she’s my sister. I know her.” I doubt that, Mulder thinks, and bites his tongue to keep his opinions to himself.

“Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill Scully straightens up and Mulder braces himself. He leans his hip against his desk, trying to look calm and cool as a cucumber while feeling like a fish out of water in reality. If there’s one person he doesn’t want to piss off, it’s Bill Scully.

“I merely agreed with you,” Mulder begins and Bill snorts.

“Oh, did you? Don’t pretend you know more about my sister than I do, Mr. Mulder.”

“I’ve worked with her for close to seven years.” If Scully were here, she’d tell him to shut up. Right. Now. Of course she isn’t here and he is not going to shut up.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Bill spits, “you’ve been causing my family nothing but pain for seven years. It’s time to let her move on, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you think that’s her decision?”

“That’s why I’m here actually,” Mulder blinks a few times, quickly, and swallows. Hard. His brain kicks into overdrive immediately; the reason she didn’t tell him Bill was coming is because she didn’t want him to make a scene. Ask her to stay. Who is he kidding? Beg her not to leave him, more like.

“There’s someone I want her to meet,” Bill goes on, oblivious to Mulder’s inner turmoil, “He has something to offer Dana.” He finishes, a smug smile flashing over his face.

Mulder wonders whether or not he could get away with hitting Bill Scully, just a little bit. His fist clenches and unclenches as he searches for the right words to throw at the man instead.

“I’m sorry I’m - Bill? Mulder?” Scully, similiar to Mulder, looks confused when she enters and she glances from her brother to Mulder uncertainly.

“Your brother came for a visit.” Mulder tries to sound enthusiastic.

“She knew I was coming,” Bill reminds him, momentarily ignoring his sister, “Are you ready to leave, Dana?” He asks her.

“Leave? You said you had something to tell me that you didn’t want to talk about over the phone. I have work to do, Bill.” Mulder suppresses his grin as Scully crosses her arms in front of her chest, staring at her brother. Who, at the moment, seems uncertain about what to do with his hands.

“I’d rather not talk here,” Bill clears his throat and gives Mulder a side glance, “I’m sure Mr. Mulder wouldn’t mind if you took a lunch break.” Scully looks at Mulder and he sees the apology in her eyes. The way she bites her bottom lip, the way she considers telling Bill to say his piece and leave them alone, reassures him. She’s not just going to run off without so much as a goodbye. He nods at her and even manages to squeeze out a small smile.

“I have to tell you something, too, Scully.” Both Scullys turn to him, their looks eerily similar, and Mulder decides he’s an idiot. “It can wait until you’re back. It’s not important.”

“I’ll be back in half hour, Mulder. Maybe an hour.” He nods again, waves them off, and pretends to work. He listens to their voices until they’re gone. Mulder knows he’s not going to get anything done until Scully is back and so he waits.

When Scully finally returns, Mulder is engrossed in a game of Sudoko. He looks up and the expression on her face tells him the lunch did not go smoothly.

“So, uhm, what did Bill want?”

“It doesn’t matter. What did you want to tell me earlier?” Her arms are crossed again as she stands before his desk, waiting.

“Bill said he wanted you to meet someone.”

“Mulder, drop it. It’s not important.”

“But he said-”

“Mulder, I said drop it. So what is it?” But Mulder can’t drop it. His earlier doubts return like a speed train and every other thought is pushed aside.

“Are you leaving me, Scully? Bill said that-” Scully’s sigh is so loud it could have been a scream instead. She starts pacing, her heels clicking away on the floor.

“What is it with you and my brother? Why don’t you ask him if it’s so important to you? Now would you please tell me what was so important earlier?”

“It really wasn’t important,” Mulder starts rising from his chair, “Your brother scares me, Scully. Please?” He sits on his desk, his eyes following her partly angry, partly agitated strides.

“If I tell you… will you in turn please tell me whatever it is you were going to say earlier?” Mulder nods eagerly.

“All right… Bill wants to introduce me to one of his Navy buddies, who is not only single, but ready to settle down,” Mulder tries to control his breathing, in and out, in an out, “and he has a sister who works in a hospital which happens to have a position that would be, and I quote ‘the perfect solution to get me out of here’.” Scully rolls her eyes and despite his bouts of fear, Mulder chuckles briefly.

“Do you want to meet this guy? Check out the hospital?” Mulder’s knuckles turn white from gripping the desk way too tightly.

“Mulder, don’t be ridiculous. All I want is for you to tell me what you were going to talk to me about earlier. Is it a new case?”

“What if your brother is right,” Scully groans, “I mean this guy, maybe, you know. He could be Mr. Right.” The words feel like lead on his tongue.

“His name is Mr. I’m-Not-Interested, Mulder. So can we drop it now?” He wants to drop it, of course, but he doesn’t.

“You know, I wouldn’t hold it against you if-”

“Mulder, shut up,” Scully tells him, walking closer, “please.” She adds as an afterthought when she stands before him. He nods, but once again mouth and brain refuse to cooperate and the words are out before he has a chance to think about it, or stop himself.

“What if this guy and this job-”

He doesn’t get to finish this time, because Scully shuts him up. With her lips on this. Mulder needs to moment to register what’s happening and once he does, she draws away again. Rendering him speechless, finally.

“Now Mulder, could you please tell me? Please?” Her hands are on his thighs and he looks down to make sure he’s not imagining things. Did she really just kiss him?

“I thought you didn’t want me,” Mulder marvels, “I thought- when Bill earlier… I thought.”

“I never thought I’d say this, Mulder, but… maybe you should think less.” She smiles up at him and he nods, still reeling from the feel of her lips on his. He wants to feel it again and leans forward slightly. A hand on his chest stops him.

“You’re telling me right now, Mulder.”

“Tell you what?” Everything before the kiss is a hazy memory now. His eyes fixate on her lips and he tries again, his lips seeking hers, only to be stopped by both her hands this time.

“Mulder? You wanted to tell me something earlier?” One of her eyebrows is raised; a clear sign that her patience is wearing thin.

“Oh, right,” Mulder chuckles, “uhm, but don’t be mad, Scully.”

“Mulder, just say it.”

“I just wanted to tell you that… there’s a new espresso machine up in accounting.”

  • Mulder: *on cell phone*
  • Mulder: Scully, it's me. Theoretically speaking, if I decided to hunt for big foot and followed some large footprints into a cave and that cave was inhabited by bears who then chased me until I climbed a tree, what should be my next move?
  • Scully: Well, theoretically speaking, a tree wouldn't be the best move to make in that situation. Bears can climb trees and if it's a mother protecting her cubs-
  • Mulder: Time is a factor here.
  • Scully: ... You're already in the tree aren't you?
  • Mulder: Bears, Scully.