xf emily

Fourth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

First ChristmasSecond Christmas … Third Christmas

———————–

She hadn’t decorated that year. She’d flown out to California with her mother several days before Christmas and wasn’t supposed to return until just before New Year’s so she made the executive decision to leave her decorations in the closet.

Mulder had also refrained from decking her place out in her absence.

It was fairly difficult for him.

But then he got the phone call, had to fly out to her and all manner of holiday cheer was forgotten, shoved to the wayside in the wake of news he never expected to turn out anything but bad.

Now, they were just leaving the airport, January 3rd and the world depressed around them. They rang in the New Year piecing together a funeral, Scully holding him at arms’ length while she pushed her mother away completely, choosing to sit idly in his hotel room rather than face champagne, fireworks and Dick Clark. He’d cracked open the mini-bar in the room and paid an exorbitant amount to help Scully drink her sorrows down, drowning them for a few precious minutes in cheap whiskey and off-brand gin.

They’d left for their plane right from the church, Scully having once again told her mother that she was fine traveling home without her. Maggie had been not-so-subtly hinting about staying a few extra days with her new grandson and given Scully couldn’t picture being trapped on a plane beside her mother for six hours minimum, she paid extra, informed her mother she was leaving with Mulder and walked away, trying not to think about the funeral they would have to attend first.

The flight was quiet but not awkward, surprising given the last two weeks of their lives. Mulder, to his astonishment, felt a small, cold hand slide over his arm, her fingers fitting between his like they were meant to be there, as they took off. He didn’t react, thought, except to twist his hand upside-down, palm to palm, weaving knuckles, warming bone.

Disembarking the plane, they entered the insanity of National Airport and Mulder all but curled himself around her, blocking her from running passengers, shopping bags, backpacks, rogue rolling luggage, that mumbling guy that seems to be in every airport they’ve ever been in, just wearing a different hat. Guiding her to baggage claim, he grabbed their bags, clearing a path she trailed close behind in as they aimed towards his car.

Finally, eventually, they were on the road, Scully small in her seat, Mulder quiet in his, until, “is it strange that it feels like it was never Christmas?”

Worrying his cheek between his teeth, he shook his head, “not really. I mean, you got out there and the world went weird, then surprising then completely terrible and now you’re back home in January and you never had time to stop and realize it was Christmas.”

Head back against the seat, she let her face fall towards the window, away from her partner, “I don’t want to go home, Mulder.”

“Then we won’t.” Instead, he took them to his apartment, opening her door for her, taking her hand as she stepped up the curb. Soon, they were in his place, door safely locked behind them, Mulder gently guiding her towards the bedroom, “go take a nap. I’ll go back out and get some food for this place and when I get back, we’ll have dinner and watched Christmas movies until March.”

She had a protest crawling up her throat but it never saw the light of day as she nodded, defeated by the world and uncomfortable in her own skin. Walking first out of her shoes, then pulling off her sweater to reveal Mulder’s Care Bear t-shirt she had stolen, loaned back and commandeered once again, she made it under the covers before she began to cry. Watching her from the doorframe, he gave her a minute while he pulled his own shoes off, relinquished his overhead, closed the blinds to the falling twilight as well as the soon-to-be-glowing streetlights. Finding the box of Kleenex in the living room, he set it beside her on the nightstand, then leaned into her, hand on the mattress, “do you want some company or would you like me to go find some food?”

Her non-committal, soggy, shoulder shrug gave him his answer and without another syllable, he climbed up and crawled right over her, jostling her, accidently-on-purpose rolling her onto her back, t-shirt chest smushing her nose, blankets all bunched by the time he went horizontal beside her. She was still crying but her lips were curled up instead of down and that was progress in his book.

Once he’d gotten under the covers, straightened them, made sure they were tucked around her opposite shoulder tightly, he manhandled her lightly, rolling her the rest of the way towards him, tucking her head against his shoulder, “hit me if you want me to go away.”

Then he cried with her.

&&&&&&&&&&&

It seemed hours until she finally fell asleep, the last bottled up 11 days pouring forth in an ugly catharsis of Kleenex, sobbing hiccups and soaking wet cotton until she finally passed out, mouth open, nose congested, eyes so puffy he’d be surprised if she could see anything the next morning.

He wouldn’t trade her for a damn thing.

Inching out of the bed, he got his shoes back on and disappeared out the door, food and other things on his to-do list.

&&&&&&&&&&

It was well after midnight before he fell asleep on the couch and after 3am before he felt the softest of kisses on his cheek, then the heavier of kisses on his mouth. The quiet ‘thank you’ made him open his eyes, deciding he would be a terrible person if he followed her mouth for another kiss but the debate was there, the contemplation, then, her lips on his again, just the corner of his mouth but it held warmth and promise and tasted a little like Almond Chicken sauce.

“You found dinner.”

“I did find dinner.” Sitting on the coffee table, she leaned forward, elbows on knees, “and I found Christmas.”

Smiling so wide his eyes disappeared in crinkles, “I couldn’t let you not have Christmas.”

Scully pointed over her shoulder, “you broke into my house again. That is not the reason you have a key.”

Behind her, her tree was twinkling beside Mulder’s desk, lights, ornaments, stockings, candy canes all stolen from her hall closet and apparently transferred, while she was dead asleep, from her place to his and set up, spewing forth Christmas joy where there hadn’t been any when she went to sleep.

“I do that.”

“I see you added garland. Where in the world did you get garland after Christmas?”

“Magical elves and post-holiday blow-out sales. I could have also bought 1.2 miles of Christmas lights for $.60.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Where the hell would I hang 1.2 miles of Christmas lights?”

“We could have made it work.”

Sitting up, he patted the couch beside him, “come here.” She scooted to him before he continued, “how’s your head?”

“Throbbing. How do my eyes look?”

“Squinty.”

Her barriers were still down, as they tended to be more and more around him and without pretense, she shifted her legs over his lap and leaned into his upper arm, “I found the new ornament.”

It was a glittery snow globe of Santa on a beach, feet up, reindeer lolling on his back in the sand.

“Bought it a few weeks back and was just gonna slip it in your box when I was over next and then, well, this seemed better.”

Hugging his arm next, “I love it. Thank you very much.”

Once his arm started moving, he wasn’t about to stop it and soon, it was around her shoulders, his feet on the coffee table, his other hand on her knee. Giving it a small squeeze, “I think we should pretend that we are couch potatoes whose world extends no further than this apartment.”

“Can it extend into tomorrow maybe?” Looking at her watch, “we only have 3 hours until we are supposed to leave for work.”

“Are you suggesting Christmas hooky?” Simply nodding her ‘yes’, he ‘hmm’d’ his agreement in his throat, then rested his head against the top of hers, “any of that Chinese food left?”

Muscles tightening to stand, he held her in place instead, “that wasn’t a hint to go get me food. I’ll get something later. Right now, I like you here and me here and … I like us … right here.”

&&&&&&&&&

He was almost back asleep, head heavy on hers, when he heard her say something. Not opening his eyes, “what?”

“How can I miss her? I knew her for less than two weeks.”

“But she was your daughter. Doesn’t matter how long you knew her.”

“How do I know if I miss her as a person or as an idea?” He could hear the waver in her voice, “what am I supposed to do now?”

“Right now,” turning her in a twisty, contorted, shifting, sliding kind of way, he managed to get them both lying on the couch without either falling on the floor, “I think you should stop thinking and close your eyes,” gripping her and turning her a few degrees until her hip wasn’t digging in his parts, “and listen to my voice while I tell you,” now running his finger lightly over her eyebrows and forehead, “a story,” moving his finger over her cheek and chin, “about how Santa is really an alien.”

“Mulder.

“Yeah?”

“I really wanted to keep her.”

Squeezing her tightly to him, he mumbled into her hair, “I know you did.”

christmas 1999 /// emily au

so this is the first in a series of christmas themed ficlets set in the unspeakable fear of things au. (although you don’t necessarily have to have read ufot to understand this story.) kind of spoilers for per manum. 

“I want to have a baby,” she says suddenly.

Mulder looks up at her in shock, and immediately looks down to check on Emily, see if she’s still asleep. Newly five and having grown exponentially in the past year, she looks considerably less small than the last time they were on a plane - on the way back from New York - with her limbs tossed carelessly across the airplane seat and red-gold hair strewn over her face in sleep. He pushes some hair behind her ear mindlessly, and Scully is reminded of why she wants him to be the father of her children.

He turns back to face her and takes her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his index fingers. “You want to have a baby,” he repeats, more in acknowledgment then anything else. She can’t read his reaction.

She nods, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean, it’s not… you know I love Emily more than anything. And I’m more than happy for this, our chance to raise her; I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world… but I hate that we missed those first few years of her growing up.”

He laughs quietly. “Em told me she was asking Santa for a sister this year.”

“A sister, huh.” Scully smiles to herself. “Why didn’t she mention it to me?”

“She thought you’d say no, like you did to the guinea pig.”

“A baby is a little different from a guinea pig, Mulder.”

“I know that. I’m just saying that you saying no to the guinea pig made no sense from my perspective. You want another dog, and what I don’t understand is how one little furry thing is different from another.”

“A dog is very different from a rat that I would probably end up taking care of…” she starts, the beginning of a speech she is tired of giving.

He chuckles, holds up his hands in a surrendering motion. “Hey, I’m not arguing with you, Scully.” He takes her hand again earnestly. “My point was that Emily wants this.”

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where the love light gleams

so this is part of a larger five things fic (the part that stuck with me the most, idk if i’ll ever finish the other four things.) is it au from my own damn au or au from the show? …a little of both i guess

this is also my die hard of christmas fics (it takes place at christmas, but isn’t very christmas-y?). i would be lying if i said parts of this weren’t partially inspired by stranger things

There is a sidewalk in the place where they live, with two handprints, and the names Samantha and Jeffrey, carved into the cement. William is fascinated by them, fitting his hand into the prints. “That’s your aunt,” the smoker says to him, pointing to Samantha’s name and ignoring Emily completely. She ignores him right back, and gets a rock to scratch their names into the pavement - William and Emily in scrawly white lines so light they look like they might fade. The smoker gets mad and shuffles them back inside, but she notes with satisfaction later that their names are still there. Some small proof of their existence. That seems like enough.

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the unspeakable fear of things (1/4)

emily au /// wc:  7510

this is slightly related to my other emily story, the long and winding road, so there are probably some similarities in scenes here. (although if i continue in this au past this story, i’ll probably take it in a different direction.)

warning for the events of the episodes kitsunegari, schizogeny, chinga, and kill switch, as well as emily’s grief over the death of her parents and discussion of those events. also i characterized marshall sim as being a decent guy who was framed by the syndicate, but that’s just my interpretation.

thanks to @moonprincess92nz for helping me out with emily’s characterization

1998

Emily Sim is cured by mysterious circumstances, deemed a miracle by the doctors. Mulder knows better. He checks the hospital cameras but the one outside of Emily’s room goes fuzzy for a few minutes around midnight.  

///

Emily sits on the couch, looking small against the bulk of the cushions. She folds her hands in her lap, and looks to Scully for approval. She’s been quiet ever since they’ve met, quiet on the flight, quiet on the ride home except for a couple of softly-worded questions about memorials.

Scully turns a chair to face the couch, and sits in it. She leans forward, as if to touch her daughter, and stops at the last minute. She doesn’t want to scare her. Emily has already been shy and quiet, fading into the background, gazing at everything with wide eyes.

“You know,” Scully says in what she prays is a gentle and welcoming voice. “You can call me whatever you want.” She’s not sure exactly where this came from, but she doesn’t want her to feel like she is obligated to call her “Mommy”. Not when her mother died a matter of weeks ago.

(She wants Emily to call her “Mommy” more than anything in the world.)

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the unspeakable fear of things (3/4)

emily au /// wc: 10,399

part two /// part one 

warning for spoilers for the beginning, triangle, s.r. 189 and the beginning of tithonus. slight spoilers/altered events for drive and how the ghosts stole christmas. it gets slightly angstier in this part (although there’s still plenty of fluffy parts) and there’s some confrontational moments. if my characterization sucks for diana fowley, i apologize. one of my goals was to present her as somewhat sympathetic. 

i didn’t actually realize that mulder had the cure for emily until i actually rewatched emily, in the middle of this chapter. (ugh, that would’ve saved me a lot of time.) assume this takes place in an au where mulder never found emily’s cure. 

the resemblance between the christmas scene here and another emily au i wrote (the long and winding road, which i do consider au from this story) is intentional. i literally stole some of that scene. 

thanks to @krolikalert for permission to use her comic as inspiration for the christmas scene!! her art is so amazing and i’m in love with it.

It’s cold in the woods, colder than it really should be in mid-July. Scully buttons a flannel shirt that she found in his suitcase over Emily’s pajamas. The firelight lights up their faces with an orange glow and illuminates Emily’s hair to a color close to her mother’s. (It’s been years since he’s been camping like this [spending horror-filled nights with Scully in the woods doesn’t count] - sometime in 1972, he thinks, him and Samantha on the beach, the ocean at their backs, the moon reflecting off the sand.) Emily’s giggling, and getting bits of melted marshmallow all over her hands. Scully wipes them with wet wipes she’d stowed in her backpack. Mulder smiles at her over the flames.

Samantha didn’t like ghost stories. (Or stories about anything scary, really - he remembers thinking it was unfair that aliens took her, once he’d figured it out, because she always hated aliens. She’d screamed for about five minutes straight one time when he’d read aloud from War of the Worlds to bug her.) Emily asks for ghost stories with excitement. Mulder remembers that Scully had claimed The Exorcist as one of her favorite movies, and wonders if interest in the creepy stuff is a genetic trait. “Hey, Scully, we worked a case with that ghost way back in 93,” he says, piquing Emily’s interest.

“Oh, that was not a ghost.” Scully settles Emily in her lap, smirking over her head.

“What wasn’t a ghost?” Emily demands.

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x files fic: five ways fox mulder was addressed by his children

so this was inspired by the deleted william scene from s10. (what can i say, i’m a follower. but everything posted related to this is about 10x better than my thing) it takes place in the himym au (pt 1 and pt 2) which i love entirely too much, okay.

also the “mudler” in pt 1 is dedicated to @haikyuucentric and @american-p-s-y-c-h-o, who don;t give a shit about txf, but still believe that “mudler” is mulder’s name.


1.

There’s a small girl on the couch, almost engulfed by the Pomeranian in her lap, fingers tangled in his orange fur. Scully pulls him through the door, muttering something about her being shy. He replies with something about how he can go, but Scully tugs him straight to the couch without argument. “Emily,” she says. “This is my… friend, Fox Mulder.” Friend, he supposes, is the best term for what they are.

The little girl stares at him with wide Scully eyes. “Hi,” Mulder says. “Is that your dog?”

Emily shakes her head. “It’s Dana’s dog,” she says in a soft three-year-old voice. “He has a funny name.”

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Emily - Episode 104. I was moved by the opening sequence of this episode so I adapted it into this sort of dreamy, fairy-tale like image - something that evokes the innocence of the doomed Emily along with the pain of Scully’s loss.

Hic Jacet

Title: Hic Jacet

Author: @aloysiavirgata

Rating: PG

Timeline: The months following the events of Emily

Summary: He doesn’t say Emily’s name but Scully sees her ghost in his eyes.

Author’s Notes: Thanks to my squad for letting me bounce ideas off of them and pester them with Latin. Special thanks to @dashakay for her always excellent beta advice. 

***

The bodies are small, the heaviest weighing in at forty-seven pounds. They rest on their gurneys like the glass-eyed dolls she used to admire in store windows, the kinds in ruffles and lace. Pretty maids all in a row.

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x files fic: the long and winding road 

She’s spent years with one foot out and one foot inside the car. Now, it’s all in.


“Did you see anything cool?” Emily asks, swinging her legs.

“Not really.” Mulder is trying to remember how to give William a bottle. “New Mexico is boring.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Mulder shifts the bottle a little, and William starts sucking up the milk. “What about you? What did you do?”

“I helped Mom with William,” she says. “And I worked through a whole homeschool book.”

“Really?” he asks, impressed.

“Yeah. It was really boring without you around.”

“So that makes you a… third grader?”

“ Fourth grader,” Emily corrects him. “Remember? I already did the other ones.”

“Oh, yeah.” He remembers her working on the floor of the office, just out of sight in case someone abruptly walked in, on days Maggie couldn’t babysit. She’d only worked through kindergarten in the time he could remember, but apparently, she’d had a lot of working time in his many absences.

“You’re not gonna leave again, are you?” She rests her head against his arm.

“No,” Mulder says, sure of himself for once. “Never again. I promise.”

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