#todayinfic

“ - so yes I’d say this beats even that.”

“But it’s Comic Con Scully! Who doesn’t love Comic Con?”

“I think if you spend even a moment considering the last 30 plus years that you’ve spent with me you’ll realise that the answer to that question is very clear.”

“I have failed in my duty to convert you to the dark side Scully.”

“Never mind Mulder. Three quarters of our family are geeks.”

“Talking of which – where is the little Uber Scully?”

“Will said he’d take her to some Star-something panel.”

“Trek or Wars?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Oh my God woman! Have I taught you nothing?”

“Relax Mulder I’m kidding. Star Trek is the one with Yoda right?”

“That’s it. I’m filing for sole custody of the kids. They are not safe in your hands.”

“Shut up Mulder or I won’t wear your Spock ears next time our daughter is away on a sleep over.”

“Ooh I’m listening!”

“What I don’t get is why we’re here though. I thought Comic Cons were all about superheroes and scantily dressed pre-teen Japanese animation fans. Why would anyone want our signatures?”

“We’re famous Scully! Within an albeit small but highly vocal corner of the geek universe, we’re considered oracles. Modern day prophets. You should be honoured to be so highly regarded.”

“I would be if it was because of our many years of work and deep sacrifices on the X-Files. Or our still unacknowledged role in preventing the 2012 alien apocalypse. Or even our mind-boggling fertility. But the fucking Lazarus Bowl Mulder?”

“It’s the 25th anniversary Scully. That makes it a bonafide classic in the eyes of Gen X. Or Y. I forget which.”

“The movie is a travesty Mulder. An abomination. The greatest X File of all is why we ever agreed to take part. Or why it wasn’t immediately consigned to the reject bin of cinematic history.”

“True but you got to admit we had a very fun evening on the Bureau’s dine after the Premiere.”

“Well yes. But we were young and irresponsible.”

“I’m old and irresponsible. Think we could get the organisers to spring for a motel for tonight?”

“We’re here with our kids Mulder remember?”

“Ah well. You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Anyway, if the movie is so highly regarded why are we here? We weren’t even in it. It should be Gary Shandling and Téa Leoni and sitting here, not us.”

“Well he’s dead and I reckon she’s out of their budget. We’re the next best thing apparently.”

“Remind me what we’re supposed to do again?”

“Smile. Sign anything that gets put in front of you unless it’s a body part in which case call security. Try to pretend you don’t regard everyone here as a sub-intellectual cretin. Think of the kudos it’ll give you with our daughter.”

“First of all, if anyone asks me to sign a body part I will most definitely be leaving. And second of all, our daughter is far too young to have seen the movie. Mulder? Isn’t she?”

“Umm…”

“You didn’t!”

“It wasn’t me! Will apparently let her watch it the last time she stayed at his.”

“Oh God!”

“Relax Scully. I’m almost certain she didn’t understand the more risqué lines. She may have changed her opinion on Skinner though.”

“We are terrible parents. You know that right?”

“Of course love. But as neither of us are planning on sacrificing our children to an alien conspiracy, we’re still doing a hell of a lot better than my parents.”

“Well that’s true. Oh god I think they’re about to open the queue. I was hoping they’d forgotten us.”

“Smile Scully. Think happy thoughts.”

“Like how I want to kill you for getting me into this?”

“Serves you right for agreeing to it during sex.”

“I did not!”

“‘Yes Mulder. Oh God yes. Whatever you want Mulder just don’t stop. Yes yes yes!’”

“Mulder, I swear to God if you don’t shut up right now … Hello. Thank you for coming. Yes of course I’ll sign your program. Oh that’s very kind of you. No actually I’m Dana Scully. The character that Téa Leoni played in the movie. Well no it wasn’t actually a biography. No Téa Leoni isn’t here today. Yes that is a shame I agree. Have a nice day now. Mulder I am going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And without leaving any evidence behind … Hello. Thank you for coming. That’s a very interesting costume. You made it yourself? Well I’d never have guessed. A photo? Of course. Well actually I’m not Téa Leoni. I’m Dana Scully. Yes, from the movie. Yes, I am real. It is a surprise isn’t it. Have you met Fox Mulder? He’d love to tell you about his flashlight … Hello. Nice to meet you. Hello. Hello. Nice to meet you. Yes, I am Téa Leoni. Well thank you, you look great for your age too. It’s your grandparents' favourite film? How wonderful … ”

“Well that was fun.”

“Mulder that was possibly the most painful experience of my entire life. Including childbirth. If I have to sign one more paper mâché Lazarus Bowl I will not be held responsible for my actions. Let’s go find the kids and get out of here. I feel a strong urge to be in the company of people who went on at least one date in High School.”

“Right behind you Scully. That last fan asked me to sign her tattoo and it wasn’t on an easily accessible body part.”

“Prude.”

“Dork.”

“Look there’s Will over by that blue police box and … oh no. Mulder please tell me our daughter is not holding a light sabre!”

There was something about hospital rooms that made Scully feel as if she were removed from reality. In these liminal spaces, time didn’t exist, and neither did the rules of the outside world. Here, Mulder could nudge her over, toe his shoes off, and slip into the bed next to her without a word. Here, Scully could place her head on his shoulder, their hips pressed together. Here, he could put his arm around her, resting his hand on her waist. 

The four gray walls surrounded them in a sort of cocoon. The only spots of color in the room were her knitting project on the bedside table, born of her need to feel useful even while dying, and the bouquet of pink lilies and willow branches her mom had brought. 

Just as she was starting to drift off to sleep, robed in the snowy white of the hospital linens and comforted by the rise and fall of Mulder’s chest, he interrupted the silence. “When you get better, we should get married.”

“What?” she asked, picking her head up from his shoulder so she could see his face. She was shocked to find that his expression contained no traces of mirth. He was completely serious. “But Mulder, we’re not even dating.”

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.”