alex krycek’s #1 fan

"She asked him, 'Tell me something nice!' He answered her, '(∂ + m) ps = 0' This is the equation of Dirac, the most beautiful equation in physics. It describes the phenomenon of quantum connection, which alleges that if two separate systems interact with each other over a certain period of time and then separate, we can describe them as two different systems, but they will already exist as one unique system. What happens to one will continue to affect the other, regardless of the distance between them. Two particles that were at some point connected remain connected forever, even if they are light-years apart. This is what happens to two people when they are connected by what we humans call Love."

A popular shared post on FaceBook and such, this X-File can be disproven and debunked because the Dirac equation models individual relativistic quantum particles and has nothing to do with describing 'quantum connection'.

Where was he?

Feet on the pedals, hands on the wheel. The car. He checked. His car. The same hamburger wrapper in the back seat. The clinking keys were chained to the Roswell keychain Frohike had gotten him some year.

The red light stared into his soul. His was stained, soiled, torn, guilty, guilty, guilty.

What was he doing?

Green light go. His feet understood what to do.

Where was he going?

He had been talking to his father. They never talked. He had been talking to his father and then his father had excused himself and then. Blood. Broken glass. The shriek of tires on asphalt as his father’s murder sped away. The high whine in his head, the tinnitus of grief. The shadows of trees lined the road, swaying like ghosts.

They had been so close to something that mattered. Mulder couldn’t remember what it was, only the blood. Only the spatters on the clean white tile of the bathroom. Blood on his coat, blood on his hands.

Orange light on the dashboard. White lights of the gas station. He flinched from the brightness and the reek of gasoline. It smelled hot, like blood.

He dunked his hands in the filthy slosh of windshield cleaner, wiped them with a paper towel from the dispenser. There was blood under his nails. The cleaner stung his skin. The paper towel was rough and it clumped and tore as he scrubbed at his nails.

He’d tried to hold his father with these hands. He had put his father on the couch, as if he were sleeping. But there was no father left, only a body.

He had called Scully. His fingers did the walking. Scully was the weight on the line that tethered him. He had left his body, like his father. He was a ghost, except. There was blood on his hands. On his hands on his shirt on his pants. Was there blood left for his heart?

Scully had told him to come back. He’d gotten in the car.

That was the order of things: highway body Scully car highway. Gas station. Where was he? Not in New Jersey. No attendant at the gas pump.

Had he eaten? He wasn’t hungry.

The dispenser clunked. Full tank. His hands tidied away the hose, capped the gas tank, sealed the door. He left the gas station. The dark pressed in around him. Red lights ahead, pulling away. White lights approaching as cars flung themselves past him.

Some rational part of his mind was vaguely aware of a shift from one altered state to another. The trees stilled, but his mind still drifted in weary circles.

An ambulance had taken the body away. Red and white. The siren pitched like the wail of a fleeing engine. He had watched from his car, parked a few houses down. He had to get back to Scully. He couldn’t go to the hospital.

He couldn’t go to the police station.

He couldn’t stay. Scully had told him so.

The police would take him, if he went to the hospital to see the body on the cold metal table in the morgue. They would ask him questions for which he had no answers. Why the blood in the bathroom. Why the body on the sofa. Why the blood. On his hands, on the floor. Why the gun. Where and when and who and how. There were no words left. There was no reason. There was no father. No. No no no.

He had to get to Scully. He couldn’t go home.

They’d brought the body that was his father out on a stretcher. White sheet over his face. Red meant stop. White meant stopped. Like the sheet. Like the gas station.

He wanted to stop.

He went on through the dark. Red white red white red white and the yellow stripes on the road. They shone in the beams of the headlights. Mica glittered in the paint. He wanted to stop, to stretch out on the warm asphalt, to run his fingers over the texture of the paint, but his body went on driving.

He had to get to Scully. Her urgency drew him on, a line hooked in his gut.

His ears were still ringing. He heard the gunshot again and again.

Scully.

Someone had tried to shoot her. Was there red blood on her white skin? Was there a white sheet covering her red hair? He’d spoken to her, hadn’t he? Or was it just the connection they had, her mind to his?

He would know if Scully’s heart had stopped beating. His own would stutter, falter, still. The absence of her pulse would be a cold table in the gleaming grey morgue.

He was parked in front of Scully’s apartment. His hands and feet had brought him here. His body moved through the world, though his heart and mind had stopped. Someone had drawn a white sheet over them. The landscape around him was a hot blank blur.

He knocked on Scully’s door. He fell on Scully’s door and made a thud. He fell again as she opened the door. She caught him, took the weight of him, bracing him up like Atlas bearing the world.

Fox, she said, the word startled out of her.

His name. The name his father had given him.

His eyes burned. He couldn’t cry. Her blue eyes were the only cool thing. He wanted to strip off all his clothes so that she could look at him all over, pouring out her eyes over the hot of him.

She was talking. He was talking. What was he saying?

She eased him down in her bed. Her pillowcases were stark white; a white sheet folded crisply over the top of her striped duvet. No, he wanted to tell her. It was all wrong. The sheets. His clothes. The blood. But her bed cradled him and his eyes were closing. He caught his breath in panic, a sob catching in his throat. She put a cool washcloth on his forehead.

There was nobody like Scully.

He wanted to tell her.

But the body, the body, the red blood and the white sheet. The air was smeared with color. Scully’s forehead was smudged with blood. She was white as a sheet, leaning over him. She would cover his face.

There was a cold thermometer under his tongue. It tasted of alcohol. And then it was gone, and there was Scully, sitting him up, pressing tablets between his lips. There was the rim of a glass, there was the water brimming against his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed until the glass yielded no more. The tablets went down into the sloshing emptiness inside him.

How had he gotten here? The car? His feet, his hands. His body had brought him to Scully.

Sleep slammed into him like a car peeling out. He was gone, too deep to dream.

He woke. Where was he? Warm wood and clean sheets. Mismatched lamps on the bedside tables. Scully’s bedroom, Scully’s bed. And there was Scully. He’d thrashed, tangled himself in the covers. She unwound him, murmuring comfort. Her cool hands undressed him, one button at a time. She took his shirt with the blood that was all he had left of his father. She took his jeans and his socks. She smoothed the blanket over his hips.

Everything was out of focus, but she was clear, clear, clear as water. Cool as water. He wanted to sink into her. She blushed a warm pink. Had he said it out loud? He couldn’t hear himself. The echo of the gunshot was too loud.

Pink was all right. Pink was alive. Scully was alive and she would find the body that had been his father and make arrangements. Scully understood how to deal with the dead. And Scully had no father, so they shared that.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t think he did, anyway. She could show him how to live in a fatherless world, even though she had loved her father and he had only wanted to love his father, for years now. He didn’t say that either. Scully had known her father’s heart. He wasn’t sure an autopsy would find his father’s heart. It had wasted away after Samantha, shriveled and desiccated, buried underneath the neat arch of the ribs that were like branches on a strong tree.

Trees fell. Ribs cracked. Hearts bled and sobbed and stopped and so did fathers.

What had his father been saying, before the bathroom and the glass and the blood?

But there was no glass in Scully’s bed. There was no blood. Everything was smooth and soft in Scully’s bed.

Go to sleep, she said. Her fingers smoothed his brow. The ache in his head eased. The ringing in his ears quieted.

Please, he wanted to say, but there was nothing more. His need was inarticulate. But she heard him, wordless. She sat beside him. Her body was so compact. How did it contain her soul? The essence of her was enormous. She was a universe to him.

What are we going to do?, she asked the air.

She held his hand between both of hers. Peace flooded him, a current between their bodies. He slept, and woke, and slept, and woke, and she was still holding his hand, her thigh pressed to his, her knee against his hip.

Dana Scully had always thought of herself as a tough and resilient woman. Hell, she grew up with two brothers and a military father. She knew how to play rough with the boys as a kid. She even could hold her own in a room full of intimidating men. She never backed down in a debate. The last year had tested her over and over again. She had very few memories of the last few months and the ones she had were vague. She was in her apartment, she was in a hospital bed. She was in a rental car, she was tied up in a stranger’s house. She was fighting him off, she was in Fox Mulder’s arms, crying all of the tears she had been holding back for years. Everything else was a huge blur.

———-

“Mulder, can we… can we leave?” Scully asked as she pulled away from his arms. After a few seconds away, she fell right back in. It felt like a safe place to be.

He pulled her closer to him. He was about to cry as well, but did everything he could to refrain. He knew this wasn’t about him but if he had lost her, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. Mulder just knew that forgiving himself would be impossible.

She hadn’t felt like she needed to be around another person all the time in years. Growing up as a middle child in a house full of siblings, she had found her newfound freedom after moving into her first solo apartment to be an incredible feeling. Even during her relationships, she liked her own space even if she still enjoyed having somebody to cuddle up with at night.

“Yeah, I’ll get you out of here” Mulder said as he brushed a few random hairs away from her eyes. He noticed the cuts on her face and that made him feel a new kind of anger. He knew for sure that they needed to keep him away from Donnie Pfaster or else he’d be facing his own set of assault charges. “Asshole” he thought to himself. The case had made him uneasy and he felt immeasurable guilt for bringing Scully into this in the first place. He wondered if she would come to blame him too eventually, which led to even more feelings of shame. Should he have quit while he was ahead? Should she have left the X-Files the moment she found herself in the forest waking up on the cold ground after being knocked out? Were they both in too deep? They had both lost so much in their lives. Mulder felt selfish at times knowing that if Scully had been assigned to any other department in the FBI, she wouldn’t have woken up in a hospital with no idea how she even ended up there and no one who could even fully explain it to her.

“She’s been through hell and back. I can’t let this happen to her again.” he thought. Scully was a badass and while he knew she didn’t need a protector and the thought of Mulder insisting on “babysitting” her would likely piss her off, he still felt semi-responsible. And like he failed her.

———

Mulder held Scully’s hand tightly (but avoided grabbing it too tightly as not to scare her again) as he walked her to the car. He brought her to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Her hands were still shaking as was her whole body. He wanted to keep an eye on her even just walking. She seemed a bit wobbly and was still wearing her heels. Mulder almost considered carrying her but figured that would be too much even. She didn’t need any more injuries. He reached across her to put her seatbelt on when she looked at him again.

“Mulder, you don’t need to do all of this” she finally said. “I’m okay”

Even though those words came from her mouth, Mulder knew they were far from the truth.

After he got in the car and started it in order to get some heat going, he leaned over the console to talk to her. “Where would you like to go?” He asked.

“I want to go home… I think.” she replied after a few moments. She honestly didn’t know. Was her apartment still safe? The place she had been taken from unexpectedly one night? She suddenly felt reluctant to go there. But where else would she go? Scully felt torn.

“We’ll get the next flight, I promise” Mulder said, reassuringly. Somehow even throughout all of this, he could calm her down faster than anybody else probably could. Even her mother and sister wouldn’t be likely to have that same effect. Perhaps it was because Mulder was the one that had every detail of their cases, she still didn’t know exactly how you would be able to bring up the time you and your partner had to inspect each other’s bodies because of a dangerous worm in Alaska to Melissa. She surely wouldn’t want to tell her mother about that one.

Scully realized she had zoned out again and was getting lost in her own thoughts. “Okay”. She didn’t make the flight schedules and neither did Mulder. There really wasn’t anybody to blame here. A motel would have to work for now. Maybe it was even safer, she sometimes still had issues in her apartment and trying to get comfortable at night. She double and triple checked her door locks every night before bed and never left doors or windows open after the Tooms incident. Curtains had to be closed at all times. Loud noises even could make her jump and she had even developed a new fear of being abducted every time she went to take a shower.

“Will you… stay though?” Scully asked. She hadn’t planned on saying those words and even surprised herself. She thought she would just be “sucking it up” tonight honestly even if she would have preferred something else.

Mulder nodded. “Yeah, I can” he said, somewhat softly. Tiny tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. Mulder kept one hand on the wheel and patted her shoulder with the other.

———-

The room was about as basic as it gets. One queen-size bed with a maroon bedspread, matching curtains, tan walls, and just one brown dresser with a small TV on it. She wanted to scope out the bathroom because she was hoping to at least get the blood, closet dust, and every last bit of Pfaster off of her. Mulder set her suitcase on the bed on one side. He dropped his on a chair in the corner of the room. Scully sat on the end of the bed looking at the door to the bathroom and found herself unable to move. She stared blankly at the door.

Mulder noticed her frozen state. “Scully? You okay?” He asked but then immediately began kicking himself mentally for saying that. “She’s been through hell, she’s not okay” he thought. Who could be?

“Um… she replied in a high-pitched whisper. “I want… I need…” she was searching for the words. “to clean up” she eventually squeaked. Neither one of them had ever heard that sound come out of her mouth.

“Do you want a shower?” Mulder asked, realizing what she was likely attempting to vocalize.

“Yeah” Scully said, looking down at her feet “I want to wash up before bed”

“Okay. Would you like me to find your pajamas?” Mulder asked. He dared not go through her suitcase without explicit permission.

“Yes”

He opened it up. Everything was neatly folded. He found a pair of blue satin pajamas. He wasn’t sure he should go looking for the rest. Even the quick glimpse he got of a pale pink bra made him feel like a pervert, which was the last thing she needed, even though he needed to move it aside to grab the pajamas.

“What else do you need?” Mulder asked.

Scully finally managed to stand up. She had kicked off her heels and was standing barefoot now. He noticed just how tiny she was. Yet she had fought off an adult man while having her hands tied together. Small but mighty indeed. He admired that but wasn’t sure a compliment was fitting at this time and a joke surely wasn’t.

She didn’t stay up for long before deciding to sit again. She felt like her body was still shaking and she could jump out of her skin again. More tears started to come.

“Scully?” Mulder asked, dropping the pajamas on the bed before running to her side. He kneeled down to be at eye level with her sitting. She wanted to look at him but was frozen and staring at her shaking hands resting on her lap.

“Mulder” she finally managed to say. “Is that the only word I know right now?” she thought to herself.

“Yeah?” he lightly placed his left hand on hers

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she began to stumble with her words again. “Is there a window in the bathroom?” she finally whispered.

Mulder looked over his shoulder. There wasn’t. Thank God.

“I need to go” she said. Then she unintentionally paused. She was shaking again. “What the hell?” Scully thought to herself “of all the times to freeze”. Her embarrassment amplified once more. She wasn’t sure if she felt more humiliated in her life. Having Bill Jr. walk in the second her crush back in the day kissed her for the first time didn’t have her face quite this scarlet red.

“Where do you need to go?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“No, no, no…” she managed again. “I need to go to the bathroom. I’m scared that there may be a window, I don’t want anyone watching me”

“Now, I sound paranoid here” Scully cursed her brain yet again.

“There won’t be, I promise” he reassured her. “Would you like a hand getting there though?”

He stood up and she took his arm. She didn’t even need to say a word. He led her there, she clicked the door though to lock it and checked it three times before actually using the bathroom and it was a miracle to her that the lock even existed. As she was washing her hands, she noticed the marks on her wrist from being tied up. Now she was crying and struggling to breathe.

Mulder was trying his hardest to give her as much privacy as possible. She definitely did not need to feel violated again but the sobs now were too loud to ignore. “Scully?” He asked “are you crying?”

“Yeah” she admitted. She managed to unlock and open the door. If he had needed to kick it down, her embarrassment would have been completely off-the-charts. Who was she kidding?

“I can’t keep this up. I can’t keep lying to my partner. He’s my best friend.” She thought. “I should be able to tell him anything”

While the majority of their non-work conversations during their time together were mostly about mundane topics like favorite books and musical tastes (car radio rules had been firmly established by the end of their case in Iowa. The personal conversations were mostly often about their families, friends, growing up, and occasionally a random college throwback story (they both had some good ones). Scully knew that if she wanted to discuss her emotions and feelings surrounding all of the things she had seen would most likely be understood in the way she would respond to Mulder doing the same. Getting those conversations started however, that was arguably the hardest part.

“Scully, Scully” Mulder said. He hugged her again. He didn’t even know what to say at this point. He knew she was a strong woman and that included being vulnerable at times. The two weren’t mutually exclusive. Anything she had to say, he wanted to hear it. Good or bad.

“I’m here. Please, just tell me what you need and I’ll do what I can.” She looked up at him and he once again noticed her cut up chin. That made him want to cry too.

“Mulder.” She said. Her tears started to stop and he handed her a tissue from the bathroom. “I think I can do this. I can shower. Please. Just make sure no one comes in.”

He gave her a slight smile, trying to make sure he didn’t accidentally appear overjoyed or anything. “Of course” he said as he walked over to get the pajamas and a pair of light purple underpants.

“Thanks” she said, taking the clothes into her arms. “I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time, There’s no rush. I’m here, you’re safe with me” Mulder said. Scully smiled a tiny bit.

She emerged from the shower about 15 minutes later. Thankfully, it had been uneventful and now she also felt that a small portion of the filth from the case had been scrubbed away. It would definitely take a lot more showers and some good baths the exact way she liked, but Scully had to start somewhere. The faint vanilla scent of the motel-provided shampoo and soap was helpful and actually pleasant. She was in her favorite sky blue satin pajama set and the fabric felt great against her skin and not too restrictive.

Mulder looked at her. She looked beautiful with her wet hair, as it was drying, he noticed the slight waves it formed that she usually styled before leaving her apartment each day. She was amazing.

“Mulder” she said again as she sat on the bed. “I really want to thank you,” Scully began. “You’ve been amazing. You really… you’re the best. You’re so supportive and just…” she stammered for a second “thank you”.

“Scully, please don’t thank me. You don’t need to” Mulder said as he sat down next to her. He feared getting too close and scaring her off but she actually scooted over towards him a tiny bit. He took that as a sign that it was okay for him to touch her hand that was resting between them. She looked up with a tiny smile. He was just glad to see it, even though he could still tell that she was struggling. One step at a time. He knew she’d be okay.

“Mulder. You’ve been so patient. I don’t know what happened these last few months. I remember so little and that is terrifying but I know you’ve been there. Melissa told me everything, my mom did too. They both really appreciate you too, you know” Scully said. She had been struggling to look at anything but the ground earlier tonight but right now, she was looking into his big hazel eyes and finding the same comfort in them she did way back in Bellefleur.

She leaned even closer to Mulder and rested her head on his chest. He pushed a couple strands away from her face, not caring one bit that her hair was still damp. That didn’t matter to him. Scully mattered to him. She had become his world and his everything.

Scully’s thoughts had begun to race a little less as she snuggled up to Mulder. She hoped she wasn’t bothering him or making him uncomfortable but he seemed fine. She knew that it was going to take a lot of time to process the events of the last year or two but she had a feeling that having at least a trustworthy partner, literally by her side, there was hope.

And there always would be.

————-

Wowzers. I had been thinking about writing something post-abduction arc and also after Irresistible for years (not an exaggeration either) and this seemed like the perfect time. I really hope you LOVE this @skelethalprism and I hope you are having an amazing summer!

Thanks so much too for reading 💜