#pre-iwtb

The night had started out fine. She hadn’t really wanted to attend the Our Lady Of Sorrows Doctor’s Gala, but she had been not-so-politely reminded that her attendance would go a long way in gaining sponsors and donations that will, ultimately, allow them to better treat their patients. So, putting her best foot forward, she had dressed in her nicest little-black-dress, curled her ever-lengthening red hair, put on some of her better jewelry (though, most things in her jewelry box were cheap knockoffs these days; they had sold most of her good jewelry while on the run), and dabbed on a little more makeup than she usually wore around her eyes. Mulder had smiled at her and kissed her cheek as she left, joking about pumpkins and glass slippers. 

And then the Gala had begun. Scully had snagged some hors d’oeuvres and put on her best smile as one of the priests led her around for introductions. She had shaken hands and laughed at cheap jokes and politely declined dances with overly-confident men.

It was wearing on her, but she was fine. Until one of the nurses commented on Scully turning down so many dance partners. 

“It’s not like you brought a fella with you, and you don’t have a husband to go home to; why not give the dance floor a little spin?” 

Cecelia meant well, Scully knew, but the comment stung. No, it didn’t just sting – it burned. It sizzled and bubbled into the core of her heart and sat there, stinging and burning and hurting until Scully turned away with the intent of finding a quiet bathroom stall to collect herself in. 

She hurried across the dance floor, trying to ignore her coworkers dancing with their partners and spouses. The space just behind her shoulder felt empty; there should be a tall presence there, muttering inside jokes in her ear and making snarky comments to rude patrons. One of the dancers laughed as she walked by, their laughter echoed by their companion. Scully’s chest tightened and the void over her shoulder felt even more vast.

Before she could make it to the bathroom, one of the priests caught her arm and, without warning, she was being introduced to some other politician or another and her tears had to be choked back, even as a smile failed to reach her lips. 

“What’s wrong with you, Dr. Scully?” The priest asked gruffly as the couple walked away.

Scully simply looked at him, blinked, and walked away.

She was done.

Her feet hurt. 

Her feet hurt.

Her feet hurt, her feet hurt, her feet hurt, her-

She found her car and slipped inside, keeping her heels on even though she had brought sandals for the drive back.

Her feet hurt .

She drove and drove until she turned onto their road. The road to their home.

Her feet hurt.

She turned into the driveway, the golden glow of the kitchen windows standing out like a beacon in the darkness.

Her feet hurt.

And now, she’s standing on the porch, opening the door to find Mulder sitting at the kitchen table, smiling at her.

“Hey, Scully! How was the-”

She slides her heels off and steps into his startled embrace.

“-Gala?” He holds her close, even though his confusion is evident. At her lack of response, she can feel his breath catch and he hugs her even more tightly. “That bad?” he asks, the question whispered into her still-styled hair.

She nods against his chest and opens her mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a broken sob.

He rocks with her as she cries. She can feel his breath hitch a few times – the heart he wears on his sleeve is catching the sadness hers is leaking from all of its cracks and chips. 

Finally, she looks up at him and searches, for a moment, for some explanation, some way to express why she’s getting mascara all over his shirt.

In the end, all she can say is: “I missed you.”

And – gosh – those words really aren't enough. Or, at least, they shouldn’t be enough; not to explain all of the deep hurt she feels towards the people that have forced Mulder to hide, to keep them from being together in the open. The people who have made it so they may never publicly be a couple, be married, be dance partners at a stupid gala with insensitive coworkers and crummy hors d’oeuvres.

And yet, Mulder seems to see it all in her eyes or hear it in her voice or feel it radiating from her skin, because his gaze fills with understanding and he holds her cheek, placing a tender kiss on her forehead.

“I missed you, too.”

Her lip quivers and he holds her close again.

And then, slowly, he takes her hand in his, placing an arm around her waist, and begins to move with her in a slow, sweet dance.

She breathes deeply of his scent – laundry detergent and sandalwood – and finds herself calming down, coming back to earth. After a few steps, Mulder directs her to stand on his feet, easing her off of the hard floor so she can simply lean into him and let him rock her away.

She sighs and he seems to relax, too, swaying to some beat that only he seems to hear but she understands. 

Suddenly, he’s spinning her and, despite herself, she’s laughing.

He’s smiling, too. As soon as she’s facing him again, he takes both of her hands in his and looks her over in that way of his, the smile still on his lips.

“You look beautiful.”

She looks down at the floor. “My makeup is running everywhere.”

“You still look beautiful.”

“Mulder-”

“Scully.”

His tone is so serious that she looks back up again, finding nothing but earnestness in his face.

He presses a kiss to her knuckles. “C’mon. Let’s get you into something more comfortable, huh?”

She nods, allowing him to lead her to the bathroom. 

He helps pull pins from her curls as she takes out her earrings. She’s pleased to find the cheap metal hasn’t made her earlobes itch. He warms up some water and wets a washcloth with her face scrub on it. As she wipes away her makeup he turns on the bath, heating it up and throwing in a handful of scented salts. 

He unzips the back of her dress. She helps him out of his shirt. Soon, they are both comfortably settled in the water, Scully’s feet sitting in his lap. Gently, he lifts one into his hands and begins rubbing the arch. With a smile, Scully leans her head back against the side of the tub, savoring the relief augmented by the salts and relaxing lavender scent.

After a moment, she looks up to find Mulder already looking at her, presumably to judge either the efficacy of his massage or her emotional state. Or both.

“Thank you,” she says, feeling the words throughout her entire chest.

He gives her a soft look. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Mulder started stripping off all his clothes as they walked inside, unconcerned by his nudity, and Scully couldn’t help but admire his toned physique. Mulder was definitely aging well, his body had filled out and became more muscular than when they first met. Scully’s appreciative leer was not missed by Mulder who gave her a smug grin.

“I’m going to take a shower, wanna join me?”

“Mulder the type of shower you need right now requires total focus to get rid of that unholy funk.”

“Suit yourself!”

With the leftovers reheated and put on plates Scully let herself enjoy the feeling of domestication and stability. Mulder appeared just in time to eat, hair still wet from the shower, shirtless and sporting a pair of sweatpants. His mood was suspiciously jovial and Scully was still waiting to find out what he was up to.

“Okay, spill it Mulder.”

Her decree caught Mulder off guard and his face looked like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Attempting to feign innocence Mulder’s ‘what’, was met with an arched eyebrow and an unrelenting Scully stare.

Mulder sheepishly pulled out a ziplock bag with two rolled joints in it and handed it to Scully.

“Mulder is that pot?” Scully’s amusement put Mulder at ease as he explained himself.

“For a minute there I felt like I was in an afterschool special. It was a gift from Andrews for helping with the fence. I thought after dinner we could smoke on the front porch and you could show me how stoned sex is supposed to work.”

“I can’t believe you remembered! That was years ago Mulder, I haven’t gotten high in decades.”

“Of course I remembered, it was the first time we slept in the same bed.”

“Mulder, I’m game to try it but I may have oversold high sex a little bit. I was coming onto you- but you didn’t make a move.”

“WHAT! I was such a dumbass. Here I am so fond of the fact that we held hands and slept together that night, and you’re telling me we could have had crazy monkey sex!”

“I don’t know about crazy monkey sex, but yeah. I thought I was going to get fired so I figured, why not.”

“Man, I have no game. Thank god you jumped me or I’d still be pining for you.”

“Thank god,” Scully said, and pulled Mulder down for a kiss.

Nuzzling her neck affectionately Mulder whispered in her ear, “for the record, holding hands and sleeping with you was still pretty great.”

“I think so-”

Standing back and giving Scully an appreciative once over, Mulder declared, “but sex with you is incredible, so the dumbass verdict remains.”

After finishing the dishes, Mulder sauntered onto their front porch to find Scully sitting cross legged on her chair, her glass of ice water resting on the little table in between their chairs. Bewitched, Mulder watched her take a slow sip and capture an ice cube, rolling it around in her mouth until she decided to crunch it. Scully knew it was one of her habits that drove him crazy, their silent game of seduction was on. Handing her the bag of joints and a lighter, Mulder reached up and stretched his back in a way that was mostly performative for Scully. Still shirtless, his muscles rippled as he flexed, giving out a groan of relief and pretending to be oblivious to the effect he was having on her.

Long before they became lovers they would each delight in teasing one another. Touches that lasted a little too long, close whispers, a tongue slowly gliding over a lip, clothing revealing slithers of flesh normally concealed to the outside world. Years later, in their rustic house, these covert seductive behaviors were hardly necessary. But it was if the excitement of these elicit displays had morphed into their own private love language. Perhaps it was their way of ensuring their keen focus on one another, noticing gestures others would overlook, enjoying the game of never needing to acknowledge them aloud.

Scully captured his gaze as it was her turn to dance, she moistened her lips before taking the joint in her mouth and lighting it. The low grown Mulder emitted as he relaxed further into his chair was all the encouragement Scully needed to continue her show. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, Scully exhaled her first hit of the joint, moving her mouth to form perfect smoke rings. Scully passed the joint over to Mulder, his eyes already dark with desire and an amused grin.

“Such a bad girl Scully; I love it.”

Knowing she’d won this round, Scully affectionately watched Mulder inspect the joint before taking a deep inhale. His face went red as he coughed and choked the smoke out, with tears in his eyes he looked up to Scully with his sheepish smile as she encouraged him to take a sip of her water. Taking the joint off Mulder, Scully repositioned herself on his lap and took another hit. Once she was sure his airways had calmed down she instructed him to hold still as she exhaled the smoke into his mouth, shot-gunning the joint.

Mulder’s face lit up with approval, taking in the pot much easier than the first time. Kissing her cheek Mulder said “that is way better than smoking a joint.”

“I thought you might like it,” Scully replied before she exhaled more smoke directly into his mouth.

They had managed to smoke the entire joint in that fashion, getting lost in their own world until Scully stubbed out the butt and gave a big yawn.

“How are you feeling Honey?” Mulder asked, examining her closely.

“I’m just very relaxed Mulder. How are you doing?” Scully asked, punctuating her question with a peck on his lips.

“I feel really floaty, Scully. Like if you got off my lap, I might be so light that I’d float away.”

The absurdity of Mulder’s serious statement made Scully giggle, and her giggling got Mulder giggling until they were both laughing for no reason.

“Mulder, I think it’s safe to say we’re stoned.”

“Empirical evidence would have to agree with you.”

“Wait, so you just need to get stoned to care about evidence?!”

“You live you learn-“ Mulder said as his focus shifted to kissing Scully’s neck while his hands made their way under her shirt.

His dramatic mood change immediately affected Scully, who leant back into his chest, encouraging him to continue his exploration of her body. As Mulder kissed and caressed her, Scully gave herself over to heightened sensations and let them feed her arousal. When she couldn’t take it anymore she turned around on Mulder’s lap, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss while her hands roamed down the plains of his chest finding his hard cock. Her touch set Mulder’s skin on fire as he lifted his pelvis, grinding his erection into her hand. They broke from their deep kisses and panted, time had contracted and somehow their foreplay had concluded, both of them more than ready for the main event. Mulder reached to unzip Scully’s pants, only to have his hands meet air as she pulled away from him and stood up from his lap.

“No Mulder, we can’t have sex on the porch again. Last time we did I had a sore neck for a week.”

“Right, and I got a splinter in my butt!”

They both laughed at the memory, while Scully pulled Mulder up from his chair, guiding him through the house and into their bedroom.

Without ceremony they both removed their clothes and took their habitual positions on their bed. Before Scully could kiss him again, Mulder held her back and stopped her, making a show at inspecting her body as if he had never seen her naked before. After a few too many minutes of Mulder’s appreciative stare, Scully grabbed his head in her hands and kissed him.

“Are you going to stare at me Mulder or are we going to have sex.”

“Sorry, I just got carried away looking at you. You’re so beautiful Scully, I adore every single inch of you.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Scully said and resumed their kiss.

Their love making continued in a familiar sequence of touches and caresses, halting progress as Mulder reached Scully’s chest. It was normal for Mulder to adorn attention on Scully’s breasts, his admiration of them was well known, but his current display seemed to be hyperfixed on them. Scully pulled Mulder’s head away from her chest and laughed at his forlorn expression.

“Mulder, I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Sorry Honey, but you have amazing boobs. I just want to touch and play with them all day.” Mulder reached his hand out to Scully’s breast so he could resume fondling her, only to be gently slapped away.

“Ohmygod Mulder, you can’t be trusted with my breasts anymore.”

Moving away from him, Scully squeezed out a small amount of lube from the nightstand and glided it across Mulder’s cock, rubbing the excess off on Mulder’s belly with a laugh. Scully got on all fours and turned around to Mulder, instructing him to get into position. Mulder draped his entire body over Scully as he entered her from behind and nuzzled her neck. One of Mulder’s hands glided up her torso and made their way to her breasts.

“Okay, they’re still there,” Mulder mumbled in her ear as he glided himself inside her. Wrapped in his embrace, Scully giggled at the thought of her wearing a Mulder coat, loving the way his body heat permeated her being and the feel of his cock buried deep inside her. It wasn’t long until she felt her orgasm rise as Mulder rhythmically circled her clit and maintained strong consistent strokes. The intense thrum in her body was all too much for her, as her orgasm engulfed her Scully felt her arms collapse and her upper body came to rest on the bed. Mulder continued to piston into her, never stopping his sturdy rhythm, his hand gently guiding her back into a comfortable position.

Scully was lost in a haze, the post orgasm endorphins combined with her high had overwhelmed her body. No longer capable of conscious thought she moaned in pleasure as her body continued to be stimulated by Mulder’s powerful thrusts.

Mulder’s thoughts were equally blank as he focused on the sensations, the contractions of Scully’s pussy guiding his pace and letting him know she was close again. Moving both his hands to her hips, Mulder gripped Scully tightly and pounded as hard as he could trying to push her over the edge again. Without her face or body near him Mulder’s rhythmic thrusting started to feel robotic to him, as if he was no longer in control, unable to stop himself and overwhelmed by the feeling. Scully’s orgasmic scream seemed to bring his vigorous pace to a slow halt, his body softly pulsed, bringing her down gently. Pulling out from Scully, Mulder sat himself up against the headboard and found himself once again overwhelmed and now inundated with fear.

Unsure how long her body had been incapacitated post orgasm, Scully’s hand reached out around her looking for Mulder. His absence sobered her up, and she instantly realized something was wrong.

Looking around the bed, Scully found Mulder sitting up by the headboard with a terrified look on his face. It was clear he’d been battling with a panic attack, too overwrought to speak. Rushing to him, Scully ran her hands through Mulder’s hair in an effort to calm him down. Relief suddenly flashed through his eyes as Mulder recognized her, and his breathing started to return to normal.

“Mulder, are you ok? What happened?”

“I don’t know Scully. We were having sex and suddenly I felt lost, like you weren’t there. The next thing I knew I was alone and I couldn’t find you, I was so afraid.”

Straddling Mulder’s lap Scully rested her forehead against his and took deep calming breaths. Without a word Mulder followed her lead until their breathing was synchronized. Staring into her eyes Mulder felt a deep wave of calm wash over him and enter into every fiber of his being.

“No more pot for you Mulder, okay?”

“Okay Doc.”

As Scully moved to lift herself off Mulder, she felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her closer. His mouth sought hers out and his kiss felt like he was pulling her into him.

“I don’t feel lost when I can see you,” Mulder said against her lips. Scully grabbed on to Mulder’s hand, feeling the full power of their connection, their bodies coming together once more. Without any conscious action Mulder was once again inside her, the rocking of their bodies in perfect unison, an expression of deep unabiding love. The crest of their orgasms occurred in perfect synchronicity, their gaze locked into each other’s eyes as they began to unravel. A reverent silence filled the air as they both came down from their transcendental experience.

Finally breaking the silence Mulder looked over at a bedraggled Scully with a sense of pride. “So, was stoned sex as good as you remembered it Scully?”

“It was different. But sex with you is always on another level, our connection makes it phenomenal.”

Mulder mouthed the word phenomenal, letting his ego enjoy the feedback.

“I guess we’ve never really needed anything to make sex more amazing between us. But I’m glad I got to try high sex with you,” Mulder said as he moved them into a spooning position.

Scully’s eyes had started to close when Mulder whispered into her ear, “Scully, I’m going to get up for a while. Don’t be alarmed if I come back smelling of Doritos.”

Before he could get out of bed Scully grabbed onto his hand.

“You better bring the packet with you if you expect to be let back in bed.”

“We can eat in bed?!”

“One time exception, Mulder.”

Mulder looked down at her tiny hand in his and felt his heart constrict the same way as it had the first time she held his hand in bed all those years ago. With a quick kiss Mulder made his way down to the kitchen to get their snacks and thanked his lucky stars for his badass Partner.

She furrows her brows, adjusting her glasses before lifting it for examination.

As she scans over the words, her eyes widen, and she looks back at Quinn, now understanding his surprise at finding this in their mailbox.

"It's been years!" she says, flipping open the front cover of the magazine eagerly. It looks a little different, but the title on the front is unmistakable.

Quinn circles the table to look at it over her shoulder, obviously intrigued that this defunct publication had resurfaced out of nowhere.

"Wait," he says, reaching over her shoulder to turn back to the front cover. "That's different, right?"

His finger points to the title, and she squints at it, trying to picture the old magazines they'd stopped receiving about four or five years ago.

He's right to be suspicious. They don't give out their mailing address to just anybody, but this magazine had been pivotal in shaping their view of the world.

In fact, it was sort of how they met and became friends, probably more than a decade ago, at this point. It's not like it was a popular publication, like Time or People or National Geographic. When you see someone out and about with the same fringe interests as you, you can't help but gravitate toward them.

"The Lone Gunman," she reads aloud. "Wait, yeah, I think you're right. Wasn't it the Lone Gunmen?"

He nods.

"I wonder what happened. Maybe They got to them."

Georgie rolls her eyes. "Or they could have just parted ways. It has been almost five years, you know. Not everything has to be so dramatic."

"The editors of a conspiracy magazine?" he says, a disbelieving look in his eye.

"You never know," Georgie says. She'd always been the more rational one between the two of them. But, he has a point.

She opens to the front page again, and notes a number of differences between this and the old design from the late 90s.

The table of contents is there, just like it had always been. But instead of having a number of contributors listed (aliases, of course), each article appears to have been written by the same author.

M. F. Luder.

Well, hey, that's a name they recognize.

So, this is legit, after all.

The page is pretty sparse, other than that, but her eyes are drawn to a note at the bottom of the page, small and unassuming.

For the Gunmen. Miss you, guys.

Signed, your friend

"Man," Quinn says, letting out a breath. "See? What did I tell you?"

She's still not sure she's completely convinced, but she nods anyway, leafing through the remaining pages of the magazine.

"I wonder if I could send in that article I've been writing on the military use of extraterrestrial technology," Georgie says thoughtfully. "You think they still have that P.O. box for submissions?"

"Can't hurt to try," he shrugs.

She smiles, enjoying the feel of the freshly printed magazine in her hands.

"Now I just need to think of a good pen-name."

-.-.-

The house is still sparse, all scratched wood floors and peeling wallpaper behind its creaky doors. But it's beginning to feel like home, he thinks. Stacks of magazines line the walls where furniture should probably be, but they'll get around to that eventually.

For now, he's just enjoying not having to pack up and move every few days while constantly looking over his shoulder.

There's a small desk and a computer in the study, but that's about it. It's enough to keep him occupied while Scully is away. The place feels too empty when she's gone, but he knows it's a good thing. She needs to be around people, and now with her new job at the hospital, they've got a reliable source of income to work with, too.

His work is... more of a hobby, but he thinks it could bring in a little extra cash if people even bother with magazines anymore. A lot has changed since he was last an active member of civilization, so he really doesn't know.

The sound of gravel crunching on the driveway breaks the heavy silence that he's grown used to, and he decides to call it a day. The front room seems to light up with warm sunlight when she walks in, balancing a bag of groceries on her hip and a stack of papers in her hand. Her juggling act makes it difficult to pull the keys out of the front door lock, but she manages.

"Hi, Mulder," she says cheerily. She flicks on a lamp as she passes, and he watches her with the characteristic look of awe on his face that he always has when he's around her.

"I missed you," he says truthfully, entering her space to grab the groceries from her. He presses a kiss to her lips while he's at it, never one to pass up the opportunity.

Her free hand lands on his chest, its weight a familiar comfort to him, but he can feel the prickly edges of whatever else she's carrying against his stomach.

"What'cha got there?" he asks, glancing down at the papers. Envelopes, he realizes.

A playful smirk tugs at her lips, and she pulls away from him. Brandishing the envelopes in front of him like an offering, she watches intently for his reaction.

"It seems you have fan mail, Mr. Luder," she says, pride beaming from her face despite the raised eyebrow she levels on him.

His eyes widen, and he looks down again in surprise at the substantial stack of letters she carries.

"Really?" he asks, his voice cracking a little against his wishes.

She nods, and he thinks he detects a hint of tears gathering in her eyes, too.

"I stopped by the old P.O. box on my way home," she says. "I had a hunch."

"You?" he says teasingly, unable to restrain himself.

"I only opened one, but it seems your readers are thrilled to have you back, and they send their best wishes."

He chokes back an unexpected knot of emotion and feels a breathy laugh escape him.

"I can't believe it," he says, overwhelmed by the response to his attempt to keep his friends' memory alive.

She must find his disbelief amusing, because he recognizes her smile as one he's seen more times than he can count. "You're surprised?" she asks.

"Well... yeah." To put it mildly.

Scully shakes her head and sets her bag down on the threadbare couch, and he follows.

"I've read your case reports, Mulder. I think—and Skinner would probably agree with me here—you've found your calling."

He stands in stunned silence, for the first time in a while feeling that spark of passion reignite in his chest.

"Now if only we could get them to send me money," he jokes.

Scully tilts her head, flipping through the stack of letters to find the one she'd opened.

"They have," she says casually, as she withdraws a hundred dollar bill with all the air of a magician performing a trick.

His eyes widen comically again.

"You think there's more?" he asks, grabbing a few envelopes from her hands.

"Some of these are pretty thick, Mulder," she says, a knowing glint in her eye.

The tension in his shoulders evaporates, and he tosses the letters aside to pull her into his embrace. Any worry that he'd have nothing to do, no way to contribute to this life that he's all but trapped her in, goes away in an instant. Relief overtakes him, and Scully holds him tight around the middle, smiling proudly over his shoulder.

"They'd be so happy that you're continuing their work," she says, her voice unable to muster anything more than a whisper.

Words fail him, so he presses a kiss to her forehead instead, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

"I hope so," he says, glancing heavanward as if he might see the three of them flying around like little cherubs on his water-stained ceiling.

"I hope so."

-.-.-

Mr. Luder,

I'm terribly sorry for your loss. My friend and I are longtime subscribers of The Lone Gunmen, and we feared the worst when they stopped publishing years ago.

Receiving the copy you sent in the mail was a wonderful surprise. I'm sure we will be writing again soon to pick your brain on some of the details in your articles (is there really confirmation of a flukeworm-human hybrid in New Jersey?).

I didn't see a form to renew our subscription, but if you include it in your next edition (I do hope you'll continue!), we will happily send along payment with it, as securely as possible.

I hope this letter reaches you. Thank you for carrying on with this important work. We (your subscribers) truly appreciate it!

Sincerely,

Queen George (and Sir Quincy)

(P.S. I've attached a draft of an article I've been working on. You're welcome to include it in a future publication, if it meets your standards of approval. I'd happily welcome feedback, as well! If I recall, you're the expert on this particular subject.)

-.-.-

Hours at the hospital had only increased, and Scully spent more time cat-napping in the on-call room than she did at home, whilst Mulder’s office had become a heat sink, impossible to spend any time in there, so he’d taken to finding any inch of shade he could outside and reading articles on his laptop. Occasionally, he’d stroll through the woods behind the house, where the redwoods cast deep shadows, or he’d plunge himself into the warm pond towards the edge of the property. Each night, he’d make a salad and wait to see if Scully would be joining him. He understood, of course, that she was needed there, and that she was saving lives – hadn’t he once used those same justifications – but it didn’t stop the creeping loneliness from pervading every moment of his day, didn’t stop him from sulking when she did come home, too tired to engage him in the fights he was so often spoiling for.

And Scully could see it, this depression that had sunken over him. Of course, she could. There was no refuting how hard his isolation was on him. Saving lives wasn’t enough when the one person she wanted to save was slipping away.

So, she took an evening off. Left the hospital early and showered whilst he was still out on a walk, surprised him when he climbed up the porch with a tender kiss and a bouquet of roses, a whispered, ‘go on a date with me?’

He gives a bemused nod and allows her to drag him up to the shower, washes away the heat of the day. Her surgeon’s fingers massage shampoo into his hair and ease away the confusion he felt at having her home so early.

She packs the car whilst he’s dressing, blankets and warm coats and the food she’d picked up on her way home. By the time she’s slammed the trunk closed, he’s stood on the porch, all scratchy beard and slicked back hair, a flannel shirt and dark jeans, looking like the scrubbed-clean wild-man he is at heart.

They drive for three hours, across state lines, watching the amber sun set the sky alight with candyfloss pinks and satin purples as it sank below the horizon. Each time he asked where they were headed she evaded his questions, told him to let the mystery wash over his brain, told him patience is a virtue, and each time he murmured about there being enough mysteries in the world, and how he could be virtuous later.

Dusk had settled by the time they pulled into the little car park, and most of the day’s crowd seemed to be packing up and heading home. With the sun dipped beyond view, a chill breeze cooled the air, and Scully was grateful for the forethought to pack coats.

The air was atang with salt and iodine and each gust of the gentle breeze carried scents at once intriguing, inviting and nose-wrinkling. Beyond a low, grassy bluff, waves crashed upon the shore, and just a short trot down a worn path had them sinking their toes into soft sand.

‘Y’know, most people reserve beach dates for the daytime,’ he teased, no bite discernible in his tone.

‘With weather like we had today, that would have been truly stupid. There’s no shade, no fresh water; heat stroke would have only been inevitable.’

‘See, this is why I like you, Scully: you’re the life of the party.’

‘At least I could keep you alive at a party, Mulder. Anyway, we’re not really here for the sea.’

‘Right,’ he murmured sceptically as he helped her lay out the blanket, ‘you know that’s kind of one of the main attractions at the beach? Sun, sea, sand, you in a dinky little two-piece.’

‘That’s a no-go on the two-piece. There’s something else we’re here for.’ She folded herself carefully onto the blanket and smiled as Mulder plonked himself down next to her. A rummage in a carrier bag produced two pre-packaged sandwiches and a pasta salad to share.

‘Gas-station picnic? And I thought romance was dead.’ It was something they’d done whilst travelling on the bureau’s dime when they’d been denied their request for airplane tickets and had instead taken a pool car out on their adventures. They’d find an overlook and whatever gas-station food they could rustle up and watch the world go by as they ate; their way of seeing a little bit of beauty in a life that was so often filled with violence and horror.

Two iced teas – lemon for him and peach for her – were brought out, along with a punnet of strawberries and a jar of Nutella, by the time the brightest stars were studding the velvet darkness.

‘Lay back, Mulder.’

He did so, linking his hand with hers when she followed, ‘what am I looking for?’

‘Is it not enough just to see the stars?’

‘He barked out a laugh, ‘Scully, if you wanted to stargaze, we would have done so in the back garden.’

She hummed, conceding, and murmured, ‘just wait.’

It didn’t take long, a bright streak falling across the sky, leaving behind a trail of glittering stardust that flickered out in its wake. About a minute later another two tumbled through the stars.

‘The Perseid meteor shower. It happens every year between July and September, but it always peaks during early to mid-August. This year, it peaks tonight.’

Another bright trail crossed their vision. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he whispered.

‘Mm. Our little rock, hurtling its way around the sun, is colliding with the tail of the Swift-Tuttle comet. It happens every year. The whole universe is perfectly aligned so we miss the comet and get the light show instead. It makes you think how small we really are, doesn’t it?’

‘Must be fate,’ he smiled, rolling his head to look at her.

‘Physics, Mulder.’

His smile widened and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, ‘so, taking everything we’ve seen into account, and your perfectly timed physics, what do you say? Do you believe in the existence of extra-terrestrials?’

‘Logically,’ she grinned, ‘I’m yet to come to a satisfying conclusion on the matter.’

He chuckled and they lapsed into silence as they watched the stars glitter and the occasional meteor burn up through the atmosphere.

‘Frank Drake,’ she said quietly, voice barely louder than the waves crashing on the sand.

‘Pirate?’

‘Privateer. And no, that was Francis Drake. Frank Drake is an astrophysicist. In 1961 he devised an equation to estimate the potential number of intelligent civilisations in the galaxy.’

‘Yeah? And how many does he say there are out there?’

‘Well, that’s the problem,’ she murmured softly, ‘there isn’t an answer. The equation itself relies upon estimations, so the number can be wildly high or next to nothing.’

‘Not a particularly useful calculation then.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be. He created it as a discussion started for the first SETI meeting. I’m actually somewhat surprised you’ve never heard of it.’

‘That’s why I keep you around, Scully. You teach me all the things I never knew. No need for encyclopaedias or Google with you nearby.’ She gives his hand a squeeze before pointing up at another shooting star. ‘So, why are you thinking about Mr Drake and his equation?’

‘I was thinking it’s a good metaphor for us. Given the same question, we each come up with a different answer, yet neither of them is wrong.’

‘I like that.’

‘Mm. I think it’s why we work so well together. And why, when things go wrong, they go really wrong.’

‘Are you telling me, Scully, that you’re trying to create a formula for our relationship?’

She gives a shy, noncommittal shrug, ‘was just something I was thinking about.’

‘The Scully Equation.’

‘No. No, if it were to be a thing, which it is not, I wouldn’t name it after me.’

‘The Perseid Equation, then.’

She smiled softly at him and brought his hand to her mouth to kiss, ‘I like it. The Perseid Equation: a formulaic understanding of partnership.’

‘Sounds good. Just promise me when you write the thesis you’ll give me naming credits.’

Tagging @today-in-fic​

He'd been lonely here at home. He tried not to let it show, but she knew anyway. It was only recently that they'd finally been able to settle down, purchase a house out in the middle of nowhere while she put her medical degree to good use. But while she was away, he was left alone with his thoughts for hours at a time, nothing but the peaceable silence of the Virginia countryside to keep him company.

There were certainly signs she should have picked up on. Dirt under his fingernails. A splotch of grease on the corner of his sleeve. The smell of gasoline on his hands when she came home from work and was welcomed with a kiss.

He wasn't sitting idly in his office all day, that much she knew.

But it wasn't your run-of-the-mill yard work he was busy with, either.

He seemed happier. She tried not to question it. For the first time since they'd moved in, he seemed more like himself, and she saw a future where they could be happy here, establishing a comfortable routine and finally getting started on living a somewhat normal life.

She came home one day to find Mulder a couple hundred feet from the house, wrestling an overgrown chain link fence with his chosen weapon of a pair of bolt cutters. He waved at her with a smile, and she felt her heart flutter. She wouldn't ask what he was up to, not yet. When he was ready, he'd let her in on his secret.

A week later, he was in the small shed behind the house, drenched in sweat but seemingly gratified at the work he was doing cutting wood planks with a hand saw and sanding them down to perfection.

Some days he wasn't even there when she pulled into the driveway, and though she missed the way he would run up to her like a puppy to welcome her home, she was glad he'd found something to pass the time that made him happy. She secretly appreciated the flush of color on his face and sweat stains on his t-shirts when he finally made his way back to the house in time for dinner, bounding up the stairs for a quick shower before joining her at the table. It was a side to him she didn't see often before, what with his white-collar job and Armani suits. He'd even acquired a thin layer of facial hair in recent days, having forgotten to shave, and she couldn't bring herself to be mad at his new rugged, manly look. In fact, she quite enjoyed it.

Scully was napping on the couch, exhausted from another long day of work, when she felt a hand on her shoulder shaking her awake.

"Scully, wake up," a soft voice spoke, "I wanna show you something."

"What's that?" she slurred, her eyes blinking open blearily. His hands cupped hers and pulled her to her feet, steadying her on her wobbly, half-asleep legs.

"Come on," he said, and he tugged her toward their back porch door.

The first wisps of crisp fall air danced across her face as she stepped into the backyard, following Mulder with her hand clasped comfortably in his.

"Where are we going, Mulder?" she finally asked. They'd passed the boundary of what she traditionally thought of as their backyard, and were now traveling down a trail through the tall, wild grass that filled their sprawling property.

"You'll see," was all he said, but she saw the gleam of enjoyment in his eye and the way the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

The sun had begun its retreat to the horizon, the longer days of summer beginning to fade into the shorter ones of autumn. The sky around them was painted in vivid oranges, yellows, and pinks, the aftermath of a brief storm that had passed through. The earthy, fresh scent of the air filled her lungs, and she was once again in awe of the peace they'd finally been able to find, after all they had been through together. She squeezed his hand tighter.

As they came up over the hill, she saw it.

Freshly turned dirt, darkened with moisture from the rain, in the shape of a diamond. The grass was mown short, weeds removed until it perfectly mirrored the well-manicured outfield of any respectable baseball stadium. There were wooden benches on each side of the field, set up in raised tiers so that hypothetical onlookers could see above the heads of those in front of them. And the chain link fence had been modified and built into a decent impression of a backstop behind home plate, which appeared to be made of a burlap bag of sand. Beyond the outfield, the wild grasses and flowers grew up tall, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Scully felt a tear slip from her eye, and she quickly lifted a finger to wipe it away.

"Did a ghost tell you to build this, Mulder?" she asked, the hitch in her voice betraying the emotions that laced her joke.

He smiled and pulled her into his side. She hadn't noticed the baseball jersey he wore before, but it brought back fond memories.

"Yeah, actually, but it turns out the Lone Gunmen don't have an ounce of athletic skill to spare, so it got boring pretty quick."

She let out a watery laugh, wiping more forcefully at the moisture on her cheeks before turning back to him.

"Well, are you gonna show me around?"

He grinned and took off, walking backwards toward the field with a spring in his step. As they approached the field, this field that he had built, he paused to grab something out of a dirt-encrusted wheelbarrow that sat adjacent to the tall grass. From behind his back, he produced a baseball glove and a wooden bat, offering both to her.

"You pitching or batting first, Scully?" he asked, the fire of purpose, of passion in his eyes for the first time in a long time.

She smiled and grabbed the bat, which he used to drag her giggling toward the field.

"Up to bat first is Shoeless Dana Scully, coming out of retirement after 5 years for the opening game at this unremarkable field!" Mulder narrated, the playful tone of his voice sending her back in time. She dragged her feet exaggeratedly to home plate, lifting the bat above her shoulders as Mulder took his place on the pitcher’s mound.

"Fire away, poor boy," Scully called, earning a flashing smile from the man with the glove. She had thought that somewhere along the way, between dingy motel rooms and nights spent sleeping in their car, he had lost that boyish look he sometimes had. But there it was, that carefree, life-loving look of wonderment that had only made her fall deeper in love. Her stomach did a flip.

Mulder drew back in a windup before firing a fastball right over the plate. It whooshed past, clanging into the rattling chain link fence before Scully could even blink.

"What was that, Mulder?" Scully protested, raising her palms to the air in question.

Mulder laughed, kicking the dirt with his dirty sneakers before looking back up at her.

"I know your secret, Dana Scully," he said, mischief glinting in his eye. "You were on your brother's little league team as a kid. I found the pictures in that album you keep hidden in the closet."

Scully's jaw dropped and she let out a laugh.

"You've been holding out on me, slugger."

"Well, that was a long time ago," she reasoned, doing an impressive job of hiding the fact that she was guilty as sin.

"Uh huh, I'm sure," he nodded, tossing the ball a couple times in his right hand. "Let's see what you got, babe."

An eyebrow raise.

"Like Babe Ruth."

She rolled her eyes.

Accepting her fate, Scully got in her batting stance and prepared to hit the ball. He whipped one at her, and she made contact with a satisfying crack! sending the ball soaring into the outfield.

Mulder nodded his head up and down, doing a circle around the pitchers mound as he cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth. "Yep, that's what I thought. So you mean to tell me all these years I could have been talking baseball stats with you? Scully, who's your favorite team?"

Scully rolled her eyes and dug the end of the bat in the ground, tracing shapes in the dirt. "I never actually liked baseball, Mulder, I only played cause I refused to let Bill do anything without me."

"Are you hiding any other spectacular skills I should know about? Do I need to build a magical basketball court next?"

"Magical, Mulder?" she said, raising a familiar skeptical eyebrow in his direction.

He shrugged and gestured around him. "What? This feels pretty magical to me," he answered with a wink, all that natural charm he possessed coming out in full force.

She shook her head, laughing softly at this side of him that she had missed.

"I think it's safe to say I'm not hiding any basketball skills," she spoke, gesturing at her 5'3" form.

Mulder reached down to grab another ball from the bucket beside him, idly passing it between his bare hand and his glove.

"Good, because this was a lot of work."

Dusk slowly turned into night, the cool air turning cold as they took turns batting and pitching, until they'd exhausted their stash of baseballs. They'd be lost to the darkened fields until the morning, when the sun would again illuminate the landscape.

As Mulder led her back to the house, flashlight lighting the way before them, the words from the movie echoed in her ears, as if from a disembodied voice. "Ease his pain."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. His hand moved in small circles on her lower back, warming her against the chill that had settled in.

Whatever regrets they had, whatever dreams were broken beyond repair, they had this. They had each other. And even if this is how things always would be, nothing more than the two of them and this unremarkable house, she would be happy. And so would he.

"Is this heaven, Mulder?" she asked, her voice soft and pensive.

Mulder smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I think it just might be."

------

Anyway, the only way Field of Dreams could be more Mulder is if an alien showed up in it. I mean, it has ghosts, time travel, baseball, and difficult father-son relationships. What more could you want? Go watch it if you haven't. Even if you're not a baseball fan. The end literally makes me weep every time.

Now what are you still doing here, go watch the movie!