(Happy birthday, Dana Scully!)

Scully’s hair hadn’t been red for almost a year. He didn’t think it was possible for him to lose count of the towns they’d swept past, trying to put time and distance away from them and the people hunting them down. But he had. There were just too many gas stations, too many roadside diners to count. With the passing of each, she laughed less, smiled less.

Somewhere in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska, while she’s out buying groceries and hair dye, he finds the ribbon of an old gift bag and grins. It is February 23rd and he’s remembered. He makes the bed. 

Scully’s face is set like stone when she lowers her shopping to the floor and looks for the keys of yet another seedy motel room. She thinks of her mom and wonders how’d they would spend today together, if they could see each other again. She shrugs away the tightening in her chest and turns the key.

The door swings opens and she finds Mulder waiting for her naked like the day he was born. He is sprawled face up and spread-eagled on the bed, red ribbon tied around his fully erect penis trying his damnedest to look dead serious, but the almost imperceptible quiver on the corner of his lips gives him away.

She leaves the groceries where they are and walks in, closing the door behind her, poker-faced. She strips off her clothes as she walks towards him and when she sits on the bed and pulls at the end of the ribbon to unravel her present, their eyes meet, gleeful, and they both throw their heads back and laugh and laugh and laugh like they did once under the rain, in a cemetery. They wipe away tears and lock grinning lips and make love every which way that day, until one of them finally remembers the bags outside their door.

Manipulated Memories #Landscape from nowhere 016

Somewhere in Between.