#ust

The local tavern was a symphony of dark wood, the smell of roasted lamb, and the low, rhythmic hum of Gaelic being spoken at the bar. Mulder, Scully, and Maggie sat in a cozy corner booth, the table laden with heavy plates and a celebratory bottle of champagne the innkeeper had insisted upon.

By all accounts, it was a celebratory dinner, but the air at the table was thick with a strange, magnetic static. Mulder and Scully were being unnervingly polite, constantly deferring to Maggie, asking her endless questions about her tea, the view from her room, as if they were using her as a human buffer to avoid looking directly at the rings on their fingers.

But Maggie Scully was no fool. She watched them over the rim of her glass, feeling the heavy, inescapable gravity of a third wheel. The space between her daughter and her new son-in-law crackled with an energy that made everyone else in the room feel entirely superfluous.

As the shadows outside deepened into a bruised purple, Mulder cleared his throat, leaning forward. “You know, the bartender mentioned a string of unexplained livestock disappearances just a few miles north of here. Or we could drive down to the coast? I was reading an obscure forum post about a suspected Selkie breeding ground, and the tide is supposed to be…”

“Actually,” Maggie interrupted, setting her napkin down with a decisive smile. “I think the jet lag has finally caught up with me. My eyes are practically closing. I’m going to head in early and get some rest before our flight tomorrow.”

“Mom, it’s barely eight o'clock,” Scully protested, a flash of genuine panic in her eyes.

“Mrs. Scully, we can keep it low-key,” Mulder offered quickly.

“Nonsense. I am going to bed,” Maggie said firmly, sliding out of the booth. She gave them both a warm, knowing look. “Goodnight, you two.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Now, Mulder and Scully were alone for the first time as a married couple, and the silence left in Maggie's wake felt staggeringly weighty. The pub chatter faded into white noise.

Scully looked down at her hands, the brilliant cut of the diamonds catching the dim pub lighting. She immediately began to retreat into the safety of logistics.

She desperately wanted to blame her racing pulse on the sheer stress of the day, to diagnose that kiss at the anvil as nothing more than a spike of adrenaline. But her scientific armor felt paper-thin. Every time she caught the faint scent of coal smoke clinging to Mulder's jacket, her treacherous memory summoned the exact, heavy heat of his hand pressed against her lower back. Her mind demanded clinical distance, but her body fundamentally refused to ignore the fact that he was sitting just three feet away, close enough that his knee occasionally brushed hers.

“Mulder, I’m actually feeling really tired myself,” she said, her voice tight and formal. She carefully folded her hands in her lap. “But before we go back, I want to thank you for making this day special. The dress, the pearl necklace, the rings... I mean, I am going to give you half of what I am getting from this inheritance, so that should more than cover the costs.”

Across the table, Mulder pressed his eyes shut.

The clinical reduction of his gestures felt like a physical blow. He had poured every ounce of his unspoken devotion into this day, and she was trying to balance it out on a ledger. But as he sat there in the dark, he took a slow breath. He knew Scully. He knew how the unknown terrified her. If she wasn't ready to admit her feelings, if she never admitted what she felt, it was okay. He had signed up for this just to continue to be in her orbit, to keep her safe, to ensure she got the life she deserved.

He opened his eyes, masking the ache in his chest with a perfectly blank expression. “Well, in that case,” he deadpanned, “I’ll be sure to have an itemized list prepared for your financial advisor by Monday morning. Including the blacksmith’s gratuity.”

Scully’s reaction was a flash of raw surprise, but she quickly masked it with her usual professional stoicism. She took him completely seriously, nodding tightly. “Good. Please do.”

Mulder let out a sudden, breathy laugh. He reached across the scarred wood of the table, wrapping his large hand warmly over hers. “Scully, I’m joking.”

She frowned, pulling back just a fraction. “I know what you make, Mulder. A government salary can't begin to cover the costs of all you’ve spent on me today.”

Mulder smiled, a soft, genuine curve of his lips. He let his thumb brush over her knuckles. “Scully, I don’t need your money. I have my own.”

Her brow furrowed in utter confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The sale of my dad’s house in Quonochontaug,” he explained quietly. “In addition to a very comfortable inheritance, Scully. Without any eccentric conditions attached to it. I can afford to do what I did. I didn't do this for the money.”

Scully stared at him, the logistical foundation of her entire day crumbling beneath her feet. “Mulder, if you have money... then why would you do all of this?”

He just looked at her. The truth was sitting right there, burning on the tip of his tongue. Because I love you. Because I couldn't stand the thought of you marrying anyone else. But looking at her wide, panicked eyes, he realized he couldn't risk it. They had to survive a year of living together under the same roof. If he pushed too hard now, she would bolt, and he couldn't bear to make her uncomfortable in her own home.

He swallowed the truth, offering her a lifeline of familiar, platonic safety instead.

“Because you’re my partner, Scully,” he said, his voice light and even. “You're my best friend. You needed a favor, and you deserve the good that comes with that money. What kind of friend would I be if I let you walk away from four million dollars?”

Scully stared at him for a long moment. Slowly, visibly, she deflated like a balloon.

The word friend landed like a lead weight on the table between them. It was the safe word. It was the boundary line they had drawn a thousand times.  The tension leached out of her shoulders, leaving behind a complex wave of emotion. Part of her, the rational, terrified part, was profoundly relieved that the safe, recognizable boundary of their partnership had been restored. 

But beneath that relief, settling heavy and cold in her stomach, was a sharp, undeniable pang of disappointment. She hadn't realized how desperately she had wanted him to cross the line until he had deliberately stepped back behind it.

“Right,” she whispered, pulling her hand gently from his grasp. “A true friend.”

She picked up her coat, the diamonds feeling suddenly very heavy on her finger. “We should probably get back.”

The walk back to the inn was a study in excruciating proximity.  The Scottish air had turned biting and damp, but the chill was nothing compared to the suffocating, magnetic silence stretching between them. Every time their shoulders brushed on the narrow cobblestone path, Scully flinched inwardly, hyper-aware of the platinum band cooling against her skin and the sudden, vast chasm that had opened up the moment he called her his 'friend.'  She spent the entire walk ruthlessly lecturing herself, building the walls back up brick by brick, punishing herself for mistaking a partner's loyalty for something more.

Beside her, Mulder walked with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his jaw locked, his gaze fixed resolutely on the fog ahead. He was closed off, it was a deliberate and desperate defense mechanism.  He had to protect them both. They were platonic coworkers executing a temporary business arrangement, and he was determined to keep it that way for her peace of mind.  He would never, ever put  Scully in the uncomfortable position of navigating his romantic feelings, especially now that they were contractually obligated to share a home.  His love for her was his issue to manage, and he refused to make it hers. 

When they finally reached the upstairs hallway of the inn, they lingered outside their doors for a fraction of a second too long. The silence was suffocating, thick with words neither of them were brave enough to say. Scully put her hand on the brass knob, her chest tight.

"Scully," Mulder's voice broke the quiet, low and impossibly gentle.

She froze. She didn't turn around, terrified of what her face might betray in the dim light. "Yes, Mulder?"

She heard the damp rustle of his coat as he shifted his weight behind her. "I wouldn't object if you wanted to carry me across the threshold," he drawled, his tone sliding effortlessly into a dry, teasing cadence. "You know, just to keep up appearances for the bellhop."

The sheer absurdity of the image sliced right through the crushing tension. Scully felt the corner of her own mouth tug upward into a soft, exhausted smile, and she finally glanced over her shoulder to meet his eye.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Goodnight, Mulder."