Sunshinetoday

Mom and dad backstage @allabouteveplay.

Timeline: 2.15 “Fresh Bones” Rating: R (sexual situations) Characters: Mulder/Scully Author’s Note: I got an “unsexy episode” prompt from @contrivedcoincidences6 for the @xfpornbattle, so I turned it (sort of) into a sexy massage (prompt 150).

Paper Hearts (Part 2 of 2)

Roche: And more than that, I…I can’t wait to see your face.

Scully: Oh, God… You’re going to see the inside of your cell instead. You’re going to rot there.

Scully’s, “Oh, God,” reaction, even though it’s off screen, might be my favorite part. She’s always going to protect Mulder—from himself if need be—and from sickos like this, eager to abuse his childhood trauma. Mulder wants the truth so badly that he puts himself in these horrible situations. He’s forever eager to trust those who don’t deserve it. From people who should’ve been good to him (his exes, his parents), to people like Roche. Scully’s the only one showing up as his protector. I love seeing it in action.

A Washington, DC-area couple searches for a home with space, privacy and security; once they settle on a choice, they must contend with unexpected delays, and they argue over his preference for farmhouse style versus her wish for a sleek, modern look while also investigating a series of unexplained murders in a small town. (Reality, 60 min)

(House Hunters Renovation themesong)

(Onscreen legend: Bethesda, Maryland)

(Mulder and Scully are shown in the kitchen of Scully’s apartment from Followers. Scully is cutting a grapefruit. Mulder is getting down coffee mugs.)

MULDER: (voiceover) I’m Fox Mulder, I work for a well-known federal law-enforcement organization, here in the DC area. 

SCULLY: (voiceover) And I’m Dana Scully and I’m a medical doctor. And I consult in law enforcement as well.

(Interview: They are seated on a sleekly upholstered bench in the apartment’s bedroom.)

MULDER: We’ve been together for…wow. 25 years now?

SCULLY: We’ve known each other for 25 years.

MULDER: That’s what I said! We met through work. (smiles)

NARRATOR: Fox and Dana are on the hunt in and around the nation’s capital for new living space. 

SCULLY: Well, we “live” in –

PRODUCER (OFF-CAMERA): Please don’t do visible air quotes. 

SCULLY: We live in this apartment in Bethesda. But it’s too…

MULDER: Ridiculous.

SCULLY: It doesn’t suit our needs at the moment.

MULDER: And evil.

(A robovac zooms by purposefully in the background. Scully jumps.)

MULDER: What’s that thing still doing here?

SCULLY: Plus there was a little…incident not long ago and the house, um, partially exploded.

PRODUCER (OFF-CAMERA): Wait, what?

SCULLY: I mean, it was just the fireplace. It took out most of the living room and the whole uh, back area. We’ve seen worse.

MULDER: A bunch of uppity robots were mad that I didn’t tip them. Can you believe that?

(awkward pause)

SCULLY: So, we need a “new” (fingers twitch in lap) place.

41. “Go back to sleep.”

55. “I don’t mind.”

Post Tithonus:

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice raspy and cracked.

The coughing fit after she was extubated was long and painful, making the wound in her stomach clench and flare. He watched, his face pinched to mirror her discomfort as she struggled to settle herself. The medical team had finally cleared the area when it was assured that she’d not torn her wound closures and she could maintain her oxygen levels. They’ll be moving her from the ICU to a private room in an hour or so. Hooked to all manner of monitors, tubes and drains and the first words from her mouth are to ask after him.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he chuckles as he drops into the chair next to her bed.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” she whispers.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I think I was holding my breath.”

She nods, her eyes fluttering as she thumbs the morphine button.

“Hurting?” he asks.

Nodding, she closes her eyes and swallows hard. No use in putting on a show, she’s gutshot. She can admit that yes, it hurts and yes, she wants heavy doses of narcotics to make it stop.

“How long was I in surgery?” she asks.

“About 5 hours,” he answers.

She frowns a little at that. The surgeon hasn’t been in to tell her what damage was done, if she got to keep all her vital organs or not. The drugs are starting to kick in, so she really doesn’t care that much.

“Time izzit?” she mumbles.

“A little after two,” he says.

“In the morning?” she asks.

“Yeah, in the morning,” he says, a little chuckle in his voice.

“You should go get some sleep,” she sighs. “That chair looks terrible.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, shifting performatively, as if the chair really isn’t that uncomfortable.

“What about Fellig?” she asks, starting to feel light, her head buzzing pleasantly.  

He reaches out, picks up her hand. There’s blood under her fingernails. He smoothes her hair with his other hand, tucks it behind her ear. They’d attempted to clean her up in recovery, but she’d lost nearly half her blood volume between the gunshot and the surgery and there are remnants nearly everywhere he looks, the corner of her mouth, along her jaw and behind her ears.

The surgeon said there was no explanation for why she was alive. The bullet lacerated her renal artery. She should’ve bled out before the ambulance even arrived. She should’ve, but she didn’t. She just didn’t.  

“Don’t worry about that right now,” he says, trying to placate her. Maybe trying to placate himself as well.

She nods, shifts restlessly. Her breathing deepens after a while and he’s certain she’s fallen asleep, pulled under with the anchor of trauma. He feels himself deflate, uncoiling after hours and hours of tension. When the word came that she’d been shot, he reacted to so quickly that he dropped his coffee on the floor of the bullpen and took off at such a sprint that papers on the desks nearby flew up in his wake.

The whole way to New York, two words: stay alive. Stayalivestayalivestayalivestayalive…A cyclical mantra of words strung so close that they became a prayer necklace, a secret radio transmission meant only for her, the Scully emergency channel.

And the signal reached her, somehow. Because here she is, breathing and whole. He feels something like gratitude well up, although he knows it’s not to God. He doesn’t believe in God. So maybe he’s grateful to her, for not dying, even though dying really, really hurts. She would know.

“You should go get some rest,” she murmurs, eyes still closed.

“I will, I’ll ask for a recliner when they get you into a room,” he assures her. He watches a long moment, waiting for her to argue, to tell him that she’s fine.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she sighs.

The surprise pushes the first breath of a laugh out of his nose, but it never fully forms. 

There were a lot of factors playing into how this situation managed to escalate. 

- 2 cold agents seeking warmth.

- 1 large old blanket that needed to be shared.

- 3 movies into a marathon.

- 12 hours of a workday weighing down their inhibitions.

- 8 inches of a longstanding curiosity throbbing against her lower belly.

- 2 unconstrained breasts smashing into his chest, nipples straining.

Take 1 suggestion from Mulder to use his body as a pillow, marinate until they’re melted together, laying flat on the expanse of the sofa.

Throw in a heaping spoonful of unrepentant sexual tension, and the results were Scully letting her full weight rest flush on top of Mulder’s body while they both silently begged the other to make a move.

She could tell he was holding his breath in an attempt not to disturb her, because when he gave in the expansion of his chest lifted her whole body up lightly. Even though no one had touched the remote, the volume of the movie felt muted, as if even the sound particles had paused to see what would happen next.