To celebrate the 30th Anniversary of The X Files, I am going to post some of my all-time fave classic XF fics from back in the day. While there is still, even now, fantastic work being done by tireless fanfic writers in this fandom, let's not forget that we have a HUGE back catalogue to delve into as well.
The X Files was my first fandom experience and first experience of fanfic. These experiences would inspire me to write 250+ stories for 8+ fandoms. I learned A LOT from XF fanfic writers (and unrepentantly borrowed from them too, importing OneBed! fics wherever possible!). But I was NOT a good fangirl. I was young and without home internet access. So I did not email authors or review fics (easy review options were not yet in place). In promoting these fics now, I wish to pay homage to some of the writers who inspired me and enriched my fandom experience so much.
Rec #1:
MSR NC-17
Nobody did Mulder Angst like the classics
An example of how 2nd person narration can work well
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Words of Love 6/27 One of my favorites [Scully gets her period at the office and Mulder tries his best to help her.]
Femininity: (noun) the quality or nature of the female sex
There was not a day that went by in their partnership where Mulder did not recognize Scully wholeheartedly as his equal. Unlike his colleagues at the Bureau, this was not a conscious choice that took effort. She was a woman, and she was by far the best agent he had ever worked with, bar none. Even though it was the nineties, it seemed many men they came in contact with were still a bit archaic in their thinking.
He was aware that every comment aimed at her that pissed him off was only a glimpse at what she must deal with on a daily basis, and it infuriated him. Whether it be a male agent’s appreciative glance that lasted too long or someone on a crime scene refusing to address her, he felt his blood boil. There was no reason that her womanhood made her any less capable as an agent than his manhood did.
He had to be honest, even though he found her outrageously attractive, he was so worried about making sure to conceal his admiration so that she didn’t lump him in with the misogynistic pigs around the office, that he sometimes ignored the importance of regarding her as a woman.
In his mind, she was the definition of femininity. She was stunningly beautiful, ferociously witty, unwaveringly intelligent, and, most importantly, incredibly independent and strong. He loved her with every fiber of his being.
Back in the day he used to hide his appreciation of her behind a guise of humor, “I think it’s remotely possible that someone might think you’re hot.” Only within the past few years, now that he felt comfortable in her trust in him, that he felt okay with openly flirting with her.
Though, it wasn’t until recently that he realized the importance of recognizing her, not only as a partner, but as a female, and that recognition came in the most usual of circumstances.
It was on a normal Thursday that had consisted of nothing but paperwork. They had sat in their respective areas, typing in companionable silence for essentially the entire work day. It was nearing five, and for the past half-hour, Scully had started shifting uncomfortably in her seat, a noticeable grimace on her face. He didn’t fully understand why, but she took off her short jacket and draped it on the seat underneath her. When he had asked her what was wrong, she insisted she was fine and he took her for her word. It was only when he announced their shifts were over, but she made no attempt to move, that he realized something might be wrong.
“Scully, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked from over his desk.
She looked like she was contemplating something before meeting his gaze, he noticed a slight blush had spread on her cheeks. His worry and confusion were increased by what left her mouth. “Mulder, you know I trust you right?”
“Yeah, Scully you’re scaring me. Is something wrong?”
She nodded her head vigorously to assuage his worries. “N-no, I’m fine. I just-,” she paused before muttering quietly under her breath, “This is so embarrassing.”
Now that he knew she was okay, his curiosity was piqued. Embarrassing? “Scully, you can tell me anything. I promise I won’t tease you if it will make you feel better.”
She regarded him for a moment before continuing. “Okay. I might need your help, but I need you to be mature about this.”
He simply nodded, having no idea where this could be going. Scully let out a long sigh before standing up and smoothing out her ivory-white skirt. “I’m pretty sure I got my period, and I need you to tell me if I bled through my skirt,” she mumbled it so fast, he wasn’t sure if he heard her right. When she turned around, he had no doubts that was what she asked.
On most occasions, he definitely would have teased her about asking him to check her out. But right now all he could focus on was the blood-red stain blossoming out around the middle of her skirt. It was significantly large, and now the seat-shifting and grimacing made sense. She must’ve laid her jacket down so she didn’t bleed on the fabric of the chair.
“I’m sorry, Scully. You definitely did. Do you need to sit down? Are you sure you’re okay? That means you bled through your underwear, your tights, and your skirt. That just seems like so much blood, is that normal?” He knew he was rambling, and even though he knew what it was, he would never be comfortable with seeing blood on her. He stood up and made his way to stand closer to her.
He was glad to see, even though she was still embarrassed, she was clearly amused by him. When she answered, she couldn’t keep the coy smile off her face. “Yes, Mulder. I promise this is normal. I was just so engrossed in typing up the reports that I didn’t notice until… it became obvious to me,” she broke off not wanting to get to graphic.
“Were you just sitting in pain? Why didn’t you say anything?” He was worried she had been afraid he would judge her and had been waiting for him to leave before dealing with it.
“I figured I’d just wait until we left for the day, but I don’t know how to leave right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want anyone upstairs to see this Mulder!” she exclaimed. “I’m already made fun of enough for being a ‘bitch.’ If they saw this, it would be five steps back for women in the office. Anytime a woman is assertive, the guys will make ‘on the rag’ jokes.”
Mulder appreciated her honesty, and his heart broke for her. This was a circumstance that he had never even imagined and would never have to go through himself. He was kind of at a loss for what to do. “Scully, I don’t think anyone thinks you’re a bitch.” She shot him an amused, knowing glance and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay, well I know you’re not a bitch.”
“Thank you, Mulder,” she laughed, appreciating the fact he was lightning the mood for her.
A light bulb went off and he was pleased with his idea. “Scully, why don’t you wear my jacket? That would probably go low enough to cover your predicament.”
She looked like she was considering his offer before a small frown graced her face. “I appreciate your offer, but I think being seen in your jacket would cause just as many rumors as someone seeing the stain.”
He realized her point immediately. They had just been called into Skinner’s office last month after some rumors upstairs got a little too out of hand. Unbeknownst to them, apparently they were having an illicit affair and had been ‘seen’ at nearly twenty different romantic hot-spots around D.C. by various members of the secretary pool. Skinner had confronted them, much to their embarrassment, and they had to dissuade the rumors and reassure him that their relationship was nothing beyond platonic. Much to Mulder’s despair. He wished the rumors were true, but he would never risk what they had by making a move.
“Do you have your coat or maybe a change of clothes in your car? I could run and go get them for you?” he offered.
“I really appreciate that, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything.” She paused a minute before sighing again. “Do you think you could do me a favor? Could you just walk behind me and hide the stain with your body?” She wasn’t making eye contact anymore and he knew this was taking a lot for her to ask.
“Of course, Scully. Absolutely anything you need. I’ll drape my jacket around my arm to help look inconspicuous.” That earned him a hearty smile of appreciation and she gathered her stuff up, including her lightly bloodstained top she had been sitting on, shoving everything in her purse before they started to the door.
The trek to the parking garage wasn’t too far, but it probably felt like miles to her. When she opened up their office door, she poked her head around to make sure the coast was clear. It was a quarter after five, and most agents liked to leave as soon as possible. She nodded at him that they were good to go, and he followed her after locking the door behind them.
They walked in tandem to the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. Why they couldn’t have an elevator leading from the basement to the parking garage was lost on him, and was currently the source of a lot of stress for Scully. Those few hallways distancing one elevator from the other was going to be the stretch with the most people.
She sighed as the elevator doors opened and she made swift strides to get out. Mulder didn’t know if it would be better for him to stand directly behind her like she asked, or go the less creepy route and place his hand on the small of her back, allowing his jacket to drape down and hide her. Thinking the latter would be less suspicious, he gently placed a hand on where he knew her tattoo was and walked down the hall with her.
He knew some of the secretaries were turning and staring, but honestly, it’s not like the rumors would be any different than what they already were. He could feel Scully slightly tense under the attention, but they were able to make it to her car without a hitch. She smiled up at him, but he could see her brow was furrowed in pain and she was trying to subtly grab her side.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” He didn’t want to sound condescending, he knew full well she could take care of herself and had dealt with this for god knows how long, but, call him ridiculous, but he could only focus on the fact his petite partner was freely bleeding out right now.
She laughed and he grinned at the sweet sound. “Yes Mulder, I’ll survive. Thank you for making this less humiliating for me than it could have been.” She opened up her car door, re-setting down her stained top on her seat. She turned to him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, well really his jaw since that’s about all she could reach, even on her tip-toes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He couldn’t help the grin that made its way to his face at the gesture and waved her off as she drove away. He got into his car and started on his normal route back home.
It wasn’t as if he was oblivious to the intricacies of the female reproductive system, he even knew more details about Scully’s than what could have possibly been anticipated, but he had genuinely never considered the fact she had to deal with this every month. He felt his heart sink when he realized what a period might represent for Scully. Normally blood represented fertility and healthy ovulation. Things that Scully didn’t have. Was this monthly occurrence a source of great pain for for her? Blood of life that would never provide. A slight twinge of guilt started gnawing at him when he started to really think about it. How many times have I pushed her and made her run around chasing monsters and serial killers when she was in pain and bleeding?
He knew she was tough and it’s not like she would ever opt out on a case just because of this, she obviously had never made a big deal out of it, but the fact he had never taken it into consideration bothered him. He tried to remember what they were doing a month ago from today, and let out an exasperated sigh when he realized it was the case that he had snapped at her. She had done two autopsies back to back and had protested when he asked that she do a third.
“Mulder, I’ve been on my feet for eight hours. The lab will probably be so swamped with what I just sent in, that it wouldn’t make a difference if this body’s samples were sent in tonight or tomorrow morning.” He remembered she had been laying on her bed awkwardly and looked truly exhausted.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” He had snottily regurgitated those charged words back at her before storming off. Retrospectively, regardless of her predicament, he was still totally out of line and was being a total dick. But with the new knowledge that she had probably been having cramps and soreness all day while on her feet, added to his building guilt.
Running a hand through his hair, he pulled over to the side of the road to the nearest convenience store. He just wanted to do something nice for her. Scanning the aisles, he realized he was a little out of his element. He never really had been close enough with a woman before to hear her talk about her menstrual cycle, so he was at a loss as to what would help. He tried to summon all the knowledge he had accumulated from television shows and readings and found himself frowning at how grossly underrepresented this normal-bodily function was in the media.
Deciding he didn’t need to start a women’s rights rally in the middle of the store, he stuck with what was obvious, and what he knew Scully liked. He left the store with Midol, a heating pad, red and white wine, that weird chili flavored chocolate she raved about, and a bouquet of flowers. He couldn’t help the embarrassed blush that broke out on his face at the older store clerk's praises, “What a wonderful young man you are! Taking care of your woman like this. The world needs more fellows like you!”
He made his way to Scully’s apartment and felt slight worry blossom in the pit of his stomach. Is this too much? Will she be offended? Deciding it was too late to worry, he jogged up to her apartment, lightly knocking on the door with his offerings behind his back.
She opened the door after a moment and met him with surprised eyes, “Mulder, what’s up?” He smiled down at her choice of pyjamas; what he recognized to be an old Yale sweater he thought he had lost with polka dotted silk shorts. Her eyes followed his gaze and an embarrassed grin spread across her face.
He loved it and didn’t want her to think she had to give it back, so he brought the flowers and the bag of goodies from behind his back, earning him a soft gasp. “Mulder, what is all this?” She asked, taking the bouquet and bag from his hands, ushering him inside. He closed the door behind him as she made her way to the kitchen counter, opening the bag.
All the sudden feeling shy, he rubbed the back of his neck while explaining himself. “Well, I still felt bad that you had to deal with that today, and then on my way home, I realized that I never took your well being into consideration while we were on cases. Well, I mean, I cared about your well being, but not in regards to your time of the month. And while I know you would never make a big deal out of it, and I promise I won’t either, but I just felt like a dick for being so hard on you, and I wanted to make you feel better.” During his speech he got a bit more confident at the beaming smile she had while unpacking her gifts.
She looked up at him and surprise him when he saw tears in her eyes. “Mulder, this is so sweet, thank you so much.” She walked around the table and gave him a big hug, which he relished every second of.
After a moment, she looked up at him with an embarrassed chuckle and broke the hug, wiping away the tears she had shed. “Um, I just finished making soup. You can have some if you want to stay and watch a movie with me?” she offered.
“I would love that,” he beamed. She would never cease to amaze him.
Anon prompt: Mulder is suspicious of Scully cheating.
**May or may not continue with this.
Suspicions
They sat on opposite ends of the couch. Scully was curled up on one corner cushion huddled over her now cold bowl of Mulder’s homemade tomato soup in her hands; she hadn’t taken a single bite. She only looked up to glance at the old Jeopardy episode playing on the television. Mulder sat opposite from her, leaned over the arm of the couch, his bowl of soup empty on the table next to him precariously perched on a stack of unopened mail that was months old. He only looked away from the TV to glance at Scully. They hadn’t spoken all day and yesterday wasn’t much better. Scully had fallen asleep on the couch and he hadn’t bothered to wake her when he went to bed. Sometimes it was her turn to sleep on the couch.
Scully was still in her work clothes, her black slacks and maroon silk shirt covered in grey cat hair from the stray Mulder had adopted last year. Mulder named him Gray Man. Which was ironic, given his fascination with Scully and his complete lack of interest in Mulder. Scully had protested the cat but after a few days she was hand feeding him treats and carrying him to bed. Gray Man had replaced Mulder; at least someone had. Scully was working long shifts at the hospital, which wasn’t very unusual; she was known for her strong work ethic and drive. She never left her work unfinished and when your work was curing terminally ill children, well, it was never ever finished. Her days got longer and her nights got shorter. Mulder tried to wait for her, keeping dinner in the oven until he thought his stomach would eat his backbone, but after awhile, Scully would come home smelling of takeout and cigarette smoke. So he stopped bothering to wait for her. She didn’t seem to mind.
Mulder spent his days wandering the house, writing random thoughts on scraps of paper and he recently started cooking. The problem with the cooking was that he really was not supposed to leave the house, so he had to rely on Scully for his ingredients when she went grocery shopping which was becoming less and less frequent. He had left the house 3 times in the last two weeks to buy toilet paper and groceries at the Costco in town. Then another time, he went on a beer run. Everyone had their vices, his was now craft beer and Scully, apparently, was smoking. But he didn’t know for sure, he didn’t ask. And, he really didn’t care. He would have cared, if Scully kissed him, or if she even hugged him, let alone touched him. But those small physical intimacies were long gone. He had tried to engage Scully a few months ago, he gave her all of his best moves. But she simply waved him away and said she was tired. She was always tired. So Mulder took a walk on the back of the property. He had been taking a few more night walks now.
Scully yawned and plopped her bowl and spoon on the coffee table then leaned over to pick up a sleeping Gray Man off of the floor and curled him into her lap. Mulder seethed. My cat. My wife. He picked at his lip. It had been over 5 months since he made love to his wife, 3 months since they cuddled or touched in any sort of affectionate way and almost a month of hardly any conversation. He couldn’t take it.
“Scully?”
“Hmm?” She looked across the couch at him, his cat pawing at the sleeve of her shirt.
“Can we talk?” He was suddenly nervous, his palms got clammy and his mouth went dry.
Scully’s attention was back on the cat, “what do you want to talk about?”
Mulder got up and stood in front of Scully, she looked up at him and then protested when he grabbed the cat and gently tossed him on the floor. “Hey! Mulder, what the hell?” She watched with genuine forlorn as Gray Man slinked out of the living room with an annoyed twitch of his tail.
Mulder sat next to Scully and felt her shift uncomfortably at his closeness. “That!”
“What?”
“When I sat next to you, your whole body tensed.”
“No I didn’t.”
He stared at her, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Scully averted her eyes from his. He felt his stomach drop. “Scully…” his voice was a low whisper.
She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, and then her eyes made a pass at his, and then landed on the hair on her shirt. She picked at it. “Work as been taking a lot of my time, I know that. I’m sorry.”
Mulder scoffed, “time, really? You think that is what this is about? Or is it just a façade?”
“Mulder!”
“Scully, you can’t touch me, hell, you haven’t touched me in months. You can barely look at me, let alone talk to me. That’s not work stress, that’s not your time.” He watched as her and neck flushed a deep red and for a moment he felt a tiny bit of vindication. But the feeling slowly passed as he realized Scully didn’t have a retort; she didn’t have an argument. She knew he was right. “Are you seeing someone?”
“What?” She looked at him in horror and jumped up from the couch and stalked across the room then turned to him, arms tightly crossed in front of her chest.
Her hair swirled around her shoulder and her jaw was tight. Mulder had forgotten how sexy she was when she was mad. Goddamnit, now it not the time! “Is that so surprising? Is it so surprising that I would have that fear?”
“Yes, and it is completely unjustified-“
He cut her off, “unjustified? Bullshit, Scully. You haven’t been here in months. You have checked out. Gone.”
“My work Mulder, my work takes everything out of me!”
“It has for the past 7 years, and now it’s taking its toll on you? On us?”
“No…”
“Then tell me the fucking truth!” He was yelling now and Scully flinched.
“I am not seeing anyone.”
“Okay, not seeing anyone. Fucking anyone?”
She shook her head and dropped her arms to her side in defeat. “No, there is no one, there has been no one but you.”
“I am no one, Scully.”
“Mulder, no. I am just, there is a lot going on and I just can’t focus. Work and this house, and just everything.” She stopped herself from rambling.
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?” Her eyes were wide and shown with new quivering tears.
“I do not believe you.” He turned from her and walked out of the living room and headed to his office, making an extra attempt at slamming the door behind him. His life was gone. He no longer served a purpose. His work, his family, and now Scully and that fucking cat. He had nothing. He sat heavily in his chair and closed his eyes. He decided that he really shouldn’t be surprised. He was washed up, useless and a burden to Scully. She was beautiful, and smart and had her whole live ahead of her; of course she would find someone new, probably a doctor from the hospital. He allowed himself a few minutes to picture Scully with a faceless man, his hands on her body as she melted into him. A few minutes later he heard the front door slam shut and Scully’s small SUV start up then crunch the gravel as she drove down the long driveway. She fucking left me. He was suddenly furious that she had the ability to leave, and he had no choice but to stay and sit in the dark and wait for her.
A few hours later, Mulder awoke, stiff in his chair to headlights shining through the window and the slam of the car door. After a few minutes of not hearing the door open, he decided to investigate. He found Scully sitting on the steps of the front porch smoking a cigarette.
“What are you doing?” He asked from the doorway.
“Smoking a cigarette,” she said dryly.
“But I mean, for real. What are you doing?”
“Lying to my husband.”
Mulder jerked involuntarily, “about what?”
She turned to look at him as she snubbed the cigarette out on the step and put the butt in her pocket. She let out a shuddering breath and patted the step next to her, “we have a lot to talk about.”
Desire: (noun) a strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen. [Scully and Mulder get caught in a tight place.]
According to Mulder, they had been chasing a paranormal entity into an abandoned house. In actuality, they had been chasing a coked-out drug dealer who led them astray. As soon as she and Mulder had taken one step into the building, they were greeted with a gun in their face.
“The fuck you guys want?”the man shouted.
Mulder had already gotten his gun out during the chase, but she hadn’t. So while Mulder has his gun trained on the suspect, the suspect had his own pistol trained on her. She raised her hands up in submission, but it did nothing to ease the tension in the room. “FBI, Agents Mulder and Scully. We’re here regarding the death of Emma Vanover. Do you happen to know anything about that?” Mulder asked in a cool tone.
“Never heard of her. Now get that gun outta my face or I’ll fucking blow her head off,” he spat, thrusting the gun in Scully’s direction. To the untrained eye, Mulder was being calm and professional. From Scully’s perspective, he was absolutely terrified. He took one glance at her before lowering his weapon to the floor.
“Kick it over.” Without any resistance, Mulder did what was asked of him and the man grabbed it from off of the ground, stuffing it into his pants. “What about lil red? Does she have a weapon on her?”
“My gun is holstered at my waist.” Her voice remained even and reverberated in the room.
“Take it off her and slide it over.” He apparently wasn’t interested in interactions with her, because he instructed Mulder to do this. Mulder walked over with an intensity in his stare. He gently pulled back her jacket, unholstered her weapon, and slid it to the antsy man. Mulder remained by Scully’s side in solidarity, it was a small gesture, but an immense comfort to her.
They stood there unmoving as the man looked around the room frantically. He locked eyes on something in the corner before motioning to them. “Go through that door.”
They walked in tandem to the aforementioned door. Mulder opened it and immediately turned around. “It’s a closet.”
She felt the cold barrel of the gun press to the back of her head while the man aggressively responded, “I know that. Get in.” Mulder took two steps in and was already at the back of the closet, he turned around at the same time Scully felt a hand in the middle of her back shove her violently forewords, sending her tumbling into the closet and into Mulder’s outstretched arms.
She righted herself, but it was too late. The door had been shut. They stood like that, both of them gripping each other’s forearms, for a few moments, intently listening to the sounds outside the door.
They heard a scraping noise, but they didn’t realize until it thudded against the door what it was. The man barricaded them in the closet with furniture. They remained still, the only sounds were that of their own heavy breathing sounding deafening in the silence. After a heated phone call, they heard the sounds of him leaving, locking the door, and a car going away.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, and Mulder did the same. “Fuck.”
She pulled out her cellphone and saw she had one bar, and luckily it was enough to place a phone call to the police department they had been working with on this case. During the phone call, in an attempt to get better signals, she shifted around a little and stood on her top toes at times while Mulder watched.
“What did they say?” He asked when she put her phone away.
“Well, they aren’t positive of our exact location, but it sounded like they had an idea of where we may be,” she sighed.
Now that they were out of danger, and help was on the way, she realized the position they were truly in at the moment. There was relatively no space in the closet. If they put their backs flushed against either side, they would still be pretty much flush against one another. She pivoted around in her spot and she heard, what sounded like, Mulder sighing. He must be stressed. She jiggled the handle but it wouldn’t turn. She tried to thrust against it to see if there was any give, but to no avail.
After doing that twice, Mulder’s hand clamped down around her shoulder, leaned down, and in an exasperated voice told her, “I don’t think that’s going to be working.”
She shifted to pivot around again when she felt something hard in Mulder’s pocket rub against her hip. “Why didn’t you use your backup gun?”
“What?” He asked, brow furrowed.
“If you had your backup on you, how come you didn’t bring it out when you had the chance?”
“I didn’t bring my backup?” He answered, voice still laced with confusion.
“Yeah you did, Mulder. I can feel it- oh .” To help him understand, she reached down to grab his weapon. Only to realize that what she had thought was Mulder’s weapon was actually his very hard erection. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
She was a doctor, she understood the biology of it, being in such an enclosed space with the added element of friction could easily cause arousal in a healthy male. She was just taken aback at how hard he was. It felt like they had only been in there for a few minutes, but he felt like a rock. Was he this affected because of her?
Through gritted teeth he almost painfully told her, “Scully-that’s not my weapon.”
She hadn’t even realized she was still holding it until his voice broke her trance. She immediately released her grasp like she was struck by lightning, but there was nowhere to give him space, so she could still feel it lightly pressing against her hip bone and abdomen. She felt him try to lean his hips away from her, but it was a fruitless effort.
“I-I’m so sorry, Mulder. I didn’t mean to-” she started, completely embarrassed by the fact she just unabashedly groped him.
“N-no, Scully, I’m sorry. It’s just. You’re so close to me right now, a-and you were moving around so much. I’m so sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” based on his babbling and blushing, he was clearly worried that she was offended by his reaction to her proximity. In all honesty, it thrilled her. He could have blamed it solely on biology, solely on friction, but his explanation was solely about the fact he was close to her.
“Mulder,” she prodded gently to get his attention. “You’re fine. I promise you’re not offending me. I’m flattered, if anything.” He looked relieved by her admission, but their predicament was still present. “Is there anything I could make it less awkward for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would it be better for you if I turned around?” She blushed immediately when she saw his eyebrow cock up suggestively.
“I never thought I’d hear that come from your mouth,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes before continuing, “I was merely suggesting that maybe the proximity wouldn’t affect you as much if we weren’t front-to-front,” she laughed as she turned around.
Looking back, that was not her most well thought out plan. As soon as she started turning around, she knew she was just causing more friction against his straining hard on, and this was confirmed by his sharp intake of breath.
She stood facing the door and realized that all she had accomplished was inadvertently wedging his erection into the flesh of her ass. “Okay-not my smartest plan. I admit that.” They both started laughing, but after a moment the shaking from laughing must have been a little too much because his chuckles were cut off by a soft groan and he grabbed her hips with a force he usually never used with her.
It was such a turn on.
Figuring it would only be fair, there’s not way he could judge her when he was doing the same thing himself, she lifted her arms to the sides of the doorframe and gently backed up against him slightly, her back arching downwards.
“Oh fuck, Scully” He moaned softly, and she felt him buck against her inadvertently. She honestly could have sworn she could hear their heartbeats in sync pounding in the room.
Keeping her arms slightly elevated, she turned around so she could look at him, giving her arms a new home around his neck.
He was drunk with lust and it was evident in the way his eyes were raking over her face with unbridled desire. She met his gaze with an equal intensity and lightly pressed the mound of her crotch onto his.
That was all the sign he needed.
His mouth descended and captivated her own in a fervent kiss. One benefit of the close quarters was that when he lifted her up, it was beyond easy for him to pin her to the wall with his body, creating a sinful friction against their arousals. They kept kissing for she doesn’t even know how long, but she was the first to break it. She had more territory she wanted to explore. She moved her mouth down to his neck and started nipping and sucking intermittently, earning a mixture of pants and moans from her overstimulated partner.
He started pressing her even harder into the wall and began grinding into her heat, making her stop her own ministrations so she could groan, “Oh, fuck. Mulder.”
He chuckled lightly before freezing at the sound of movement on the other side of the door. He quickly set her down and moved so he was in front of her. Their hearts were pounding, for a multitude of reasons.
When the door opened, they were temporarily blinded while their eyes adjusted to the much brighter room. When they did, they were relieved to see it was A.D. Skinner with a few other officers behind him.
“It’s them!” He called over his shoulder and the other agents dispersed presumably to inform the other search teams.
“Thank you for finding us sir,” she called out from behind Mulder. For a moment, the relief of being found had made her forget exactly what it was they had just been caught doing, from the way Skinner was eyeing the two of them, there was no time to cover it up, literally.
He looked like he was conflicted between being amused and frustrated. He spoke in a commanding voice that, when overheard by the rest would sound thoughtful and considerate, but to them held an entire different meaning, “I think it would be in both of your best interest if you calmed down a little bit after all you’ve been through.” He turned around and went to talk with the rest of the squad.
She raised up on her tiptoes so that she could whisper in Mulder’s ear, patting him on the back as she did so, “Don’t be sad, Mulder. I see plenty of tight places in your future”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: The X-Files
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Relationships: msr - Relationship
Characters: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner
Additional Tags: Post-Colonization (X-Files), post ITWB, AU, Angst, Violence, Super Soldiers, Torture, angst fest
Summary:
Tumblr prompt from frangipanidownunder: Post-col searching for William but instead of finding him, Mulder and Scully are separated and have to find each other too. Angst. Torture. The works.
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The second part of the series for anon prompt- established MSR, this time, post IWTB. Scully is sick and Mulder tries to help. Pretty angsty. Sorry.
The alarm blared and Mulder groaned and rolled over, “Scully.” Nothing. “Scully!” He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, “Scully, the alarm.”
Scully threw an arm out and swiped at the clock, it crashed to the floor still blaring. She shoved her head under her pillow, ignoring the incessant beeping and Mulder’s droning.
“What the hell?” Mulder climbed out of bed, clad only in his boxers and walked around to Scully’s side to crouch down and shut off the alarm. He placed it back on her nightstand and tugged the pillow off of her.
“Mulder!” She groaned and pulled the pillow back over her head.
“Fine, I’ll take a shower first, can you start the coffee?” She didn’t answer as he walked away. Under the hot spray of the shower he wracked his brain about what he could have done to upset her. She was quiet last night, but that wasn’t abnormal for Scully, she was quiet most evenings after a long day at the hospital. They had watched a movie; Scully dozed, curled up on her side of the couch, her glasses slipping down her nose, medical file propped precariously in her lap. Nope, pretty normal night. He thought back further. They had fought that past weekend. Scully was getting antsy in the house, it wasn’t her fault, but he knew it wasn’t his either. He couldn’t risk leaving or exposing himself. They yelled for the better part of the evening and then made love. He shook his head. They had fucked. Hard. They had gone weeks without being intimate, Scully always clad in her pajamas, her back towards him when he finally slipped into bed. But that night, she jumped him and he took advantage of it. Had he hurt her? “Fuck it,” he mumbled as he turned off the water and dried himself off. He wasn’t playing games with her. If she was mad, he would let her be mad. Scully was not shy about voicing her opinions, she would talk when she was ready.
Mulder walked back into the bedroom, naked and toweling off his hair. Scully was still in bed, pillow over her head. He sat on the bed and tentatively lifted the pillow off of her. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Mulder pulled the pillow all the way off and rubbed the hair off of her face. She was burning up and her cheeks were flush. She was sick. And he was an asshole. Scully pushed his hand away, “will you call the hospital for me?” She didn’t open her eyes, but swallowed roughly, covering her face with her hands.
Mulder replaced the pillow over her head and headed to his office. She was really sick if she was calling out of work, if he was calling out of work for her. “Fuck,” he couldn’t call for her, he grabbed her cellphone from her purse and headed back to the bedroom, nearly slamming into her as she made her way, presumably to get her phone.
“You can’t call for me,” she sighed.
He nodded and handed her the phone and she shuffled back into the bedroom. She hid how bad she was feeling, well. Her voice took on the professional tone she reserved for “Dr. Scully” as she asked her nurse manager to page the on call doctor to cover for her. When the call was over she dropped her phone on the table and rolled back into bed. “What’s going on? She opened one questioning eye towards him. “You’re burning up, what else?”
“Just a headache and body aches.” Her eyes closed and then she waved her hand at him, “it’s not that.”
Mulder’s chest tightened painfully, “are you sure?”
“I work with sick kids, catching something is part of the gig.”
He nodded, suddenly self-conscious that he was still naked with the towel around his neck, “do you need anything?”
“No, thanks. I think I am just going to sleep some more.” She rolled over, back towards him as he dug through the dirty clothes on the floor, gabbing his go to sweats and t-shirt. He closed the bedroom door behind him and made his way to the office. He closed that door too.
Mulder pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted at the computer screen. It was passed noon and he had been digging through the Internet all morning. Ultimately, like always, coming up empty handed. His stomach growled and he realized the dull ache was due to lack of caffeine; Scully didn’t make coffee that morning. “Shit, Scully,” he suddenly remembered that she was home, sick in bed. The house was quiet and dark: normal. He pushed their bedroom door open and quietly inched towards the bed and put a hand on Scully’s him. She was shaking. Shit. “Scully?” He peeled the covers off of her; she was hotter than she had been this morning, her body shaking violently. She blinked at him for a moment, her eyes glassy. “Hey, Scully,” he cupped her damp face lightly as he pulled her up to his chest, her body instinctively curling around itself, her hands balled into fists under her chin pressed between them.
She lurched with chills and her skin was warm to the touch even through her pajamas. “S’cold.”
“No, Scully, you’re burning up.” He held her body away from his and she swayed. He held her shoulders until he was certain she wouldn’t fall over and started unbuttoning her pajama top, exposing her breasts and then belly. He slid it down her arms and threw it to the floor then slowly stood her up and pulled off the bottoms and her panties in one swift tug. She looked small, smaller than normal; naked and shivering in front of him, her milky skin flushed pink, eyes glassy. “Let’s get you in the bath okay?” She didn’t answer but walked with him, his arm around her soft body, into the bathroom. Mulder sat Scully on the toilet as he ran the bath, making sure it wasn’t freezing, but cool enough to lower her body temperature. “Come on,” he pulled her up and helped her into the tub; she flinched when her feet hit the cool water and audibly gasped when she lowered her body into it.
“Fuck, Mulder, its freezing,” she cursed him through clenched teeth, her body shuddering.
“No, you’re just very hot.” Then he smirked. She was hot. Scully was pushing 50 but she looked great. Her body had toned up and she wore her age well on he face, small wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and mouth showed that she lived her life hard, but always smiled a lot. His favorite things were those lines by her mouth when she smiled. They were not there now, her mouth was tight, but he couldn’t help himself from brushing two fingers to the corner of her lips. Still so soft. His Scully.
He wet a washcloth and moved it over her hot body, goose bumps broke out over her skin, “I want to get out,” she made a move to stand and Mulder pressed at her shoulders. “Mulder,” she protested, “I want to get out.” Her clouded mind was clearing and she was uncomfortable with Mulder taking care of her. She hated the vulnerability that came with being naked in the bathtub, Mulder’s hands moving over her body like a worried hen.
“You fever hasn’t broken yet, give your body some time to cool off, Scully.” His voice was firm but caring. He did care for her, she knew that, but it seemed like such a long time since she had seen this side of him. It felt foreign. She thought to the past weekend when his hands had been on her body again, but in a different way. He had clawed at her, held on to her so tightly that he left bruises. He threw her on to the bed and ravished her body, making her disappear under him. It had been awhile since she had seen that side of him too. She was sore for days, but it felt good. Now she just wanted away from him, she didn’t want him to see her like this. This wasn’t who they were anymore. Not who she was. “No, Mulder,” she pushed herself up and stood staring at him, her knees shaking. He looked at her and she shifted her eyes to the towel rack behind him. He took the hint and handed her a towel and moved out of the way as she stepped out of the tub but stayed close enough to help her if she needed it. She didn’t.
She wrapped herself in the towel and stalked into the kitchen. Mulder unplugged the drain and then followed her, leaning against the kitchen counter as she dug through the medicine cabinet. “Don’t we have any Tylenol?” She asked without looking at him. He didn’t know, so he didn’t say anything. Finally she found what she was looking for and slung back a few pills then held her mouth under the kitchen faucet. When she was done she wiped her mouth on her towel and looked at Mulder. “Thanks for being there.” She meant it, but the words felt stale in her mouth. She was thankful for him she always had been, but she was tired. She was tired of him, tired of this life. Just tired. “I’m going to go back to bed,” she said as she pushed passed him. He didn’t follow.
Mulder stood in the kitchen for a moment, listening to the click of the bedroom door and then the small noises of the quiet. He can a hand over his face and pulled a beer from the fridge and sat in his recliner. He missed Scully. She was down the hall, and she was his, but she wasn’t the same. They were not the same. He missed touching her and her hands on him. He took a swig of his beer and pushed himself up and headed towards the bedroom. She was back in bed, but still wrapped in the towel and she was awake. Her eyes followed him as he made his way around then bed. They closed when he moved behind her, his lips at the base of her neck. She could smell the beer on his breath. “I love you, Scully,” he whispered into her damp hair. She shivered but not because of the fever. Mulder wrapped his arm around her tightly and pulled her to his chest. She felt the rhythm of his heart in her back and it pounded in rhythm with her headache. His love was always in sync with her pain.
snow covered suburbia by theemma-button
"If Skinman caught me necking a girl on the couch he'd make me wash the entire bathroom with my toothbrush."
"Don’t think I’ll be necking you quite so soon, Mr. Mulder.”
Mulder invites Scully home for the first time.
college au. oneshot. word count: 1016
The first time he invited her to his home, she wasn't surprised to find his room covered wall to wall in clippings, photos, and documents all connected by a red piece of yarn. Scully could see where he'd added new sections, little knots continuing the path of his investigation into the paranormal (his sister, truthfully, but he doesn't bring that up all that much).
Scully had noticed that her own room at the university was quickly becoming part of it all, the entirety of her bulletin board victim to Mulder's brain. She was almost sad for him, some days, but she knew that she didn't really understand the whole of it. It wasn't her business, anyway.
Beyond the chaos of his room, the rest of the house was relatively utilitarian, with the exception of a few photos and knickknacks here and there. Mulder was in a couple, as a young boy and as he is now. She chuckled at his toothy grin and unkempt hair. Most of the other frames held the face of a bald man with glasses, in navy or government uniforms, badges everywhere.
"Uncle Walt," Mulder explained after she'd raised an eyebrow. "He's been sort of my foster dad since I was fifteen. After I ran away from home enough times, my parents sent me to him. He's close enough to school that they didn't want to pay for me to stay in a dorm. He's FBI; I call him Skinman. Feel free to do the same."
"I'm sure that gets on his nerves," she commented as he flopped onto the leather sofa, feet coming to a rest on the coffee table. Mulder gave her a wink and patted beside him, peering over his glasses suggestively. "I'm sure you get on his nerves."
"No doubt about it, Scully." He elongated the last syllable of her name, something he enjoyed doing. She had seen it as teasing in the beginning, but it was better than 'Doc.'
Instead of sitting where he wanted her to, she sat at the other end of the black sofa, feet curled under her as they both stared at a blank tv screen.
"You going to force me to watch an old horror movie or are we actually going to study, Mulder?" Scully asked, pulling her backpack from the floor and setting it between them. She wasn't one for close quarters (unlike Mulder, who got in her space far too many times) and she definitely wasn't about to cuddle with Mulder on his uncle's couch.
"Told you, got a Psych test Monday that I really shouldn't fail, so you're going to help me stay on track." Scully sighed in relief (she wasn't a movie person) and gave Mulder a small smile. "Plus, if Skinman caught me necking a girl on the couch he'd make me wash the entire bathroom with my toothbrush."
"My father would do the same, believe me." Scully laughed. "And don't think I'll be necking you quite so soon, Mr. Mulder." He put his hand over his heart, feigning a wound and she smirked. "Get your books out, idiot."
They worked for a number of hours, Scully watching the sunset over snow-covered suburbia in her moments of distraction. Despite Mulder's comment about his test, he spent more time throwing paper balls at her than he did studying, and she tried her best to ignore it over her biology notes. While it was all very fascinating to her, Scully could only read about a double helix a handful of times before she wanted to throw her book at the silent tv.
"Mulder I doubt Freud would appreciate you throwing his theories about my forehead." She said, head down toward her studies, only looking at him through her lashes as he laughed silently. "I also doubt your psych prof would enjoy you balling up his lectures."
"Ah, yes, the fruit of his mind, finding itself on my living room floor. How tragic." He then goes off and recites what she can only describe as a meager soliloquy about paper ball graves under the coffee table. Scully decides then that he'll most likely keep talking until her brain overloads, so she puts away the books. At the movement, he smiles, and it clicks that getting her to give up was his plan. "You want anything? A beer?"
"Mulder, your uncle is FBI." She replies cautiously, rolling her eyes. A moment of silence passes and the two hear the door click open, heavy footsteps entering the foyer. "And is right there."
The boy adjusts his glasses and scoots closer to her on the couch, throwing an arm over the back, grinning at her. I hate this kid. I hate him so much, she thinks. It isn't wholly true, but she does often feel the incessant need to punch him in the throat. Scully distracts herself from maiming him by crossing her arms, lifting her head at the sound of Mulder's uncle making an appearance.
"Evening, Skinman," Mulder greets him, kicking a paper ball with his foot.
"Fox," Walter replies tersely. He notices the redhead at his nephew's side and nods a head in her direction. "Walter Skinner."
"Dana Scully, sir." She stretches out a hand toward him and he comes forward to shake it. He reminds her of her father, but not quite as stiff. She notices that he is the only one she's ever met to call Mulder by his first name, but then again he's the only family member Scully's met. "I go to school with Mulder."
"Nice to meet you, Dana. Feel free to call me Walt." She nods and flicks her eyes toward Mulder briefly, a question. "Have you two eaten yet?" The man asks, setting his things on the coffee table, pointedly eyeing the paper at his feet.
Both teens shake their head.
"I'll order a pizza while Fox cleans up." Mulder gives him a mock salute and Scully laughs internally as Walter makes his way to the kitchen.
Scully does end up helping Mulder pick up his mess, just to avoid being pouted at.
tattoos and formaldehyde by theemma-button
They met at an orientation party during frosh week. She criticized his Spooky label and he fingered her caduceus pin and though she thought he was a jerk, they stuck like glue. Her friends don't like him and he doesn't really have friends, but they don't mind. He thinks she cute and likes to bombard her with his daily dose of The Truth.
And he loves her.
college au. oneshot. word count: 3369
They met at an orientation party during frosh week. She criticized his Spooky label, he fingered her caduceus pin, and though she thought he was a jerk, they stuck like glue.
Her friends don't like him and he doesn't really have friends, having went through several roommates before midterms, but they don't mind. He thinks she’s cute and likes to bombard her with his daily dose of "The Truth." Some days she humors his theories but others she just babbles on in her skeptic tone, taking a puff of her cigarette periodically, while they stand under their proclaimed tree. Today he isn't really listening to it all, just staring at her bright red lips that suck on a menthol; she doesn't realize that all he wants to do is stick his tongue down her throat the second she butts out her cigarette on the tree, right next to where he carved their names in a moment of boyish stupidity. Well, considering the crude markings he made in that tree with his pocket blade, maybe she does know.
She's smart; smart in a way he'd never expected and she doesn't think he's crazy despite the fact that she repeats it, her rouged smirk flicked over a shoulder as she starts walking to class.
They don't exchange farewells because they know they'll be side by side once again after she's organized her notes and referenced her beloved periodic table, and he's changed into his worn out alien sweater for their nightly hunts for the Truth. Sometimes that just means another tattoo for him and another piercing for her, just like tonight's escapade. He jokes to her about matching "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky" tattoos and she rolls her eyes, continuing her quick strides to match his long legged ones, all the while going over what stretch of flesh or cartilage she'll stick a metal hoop through that night.
While she goes on about it, he thinks that she'd taste sweet, contrary to the fact that she constantly smells like formaldehyde due to the biology classes she takes. He doesn't mind, anyway. She had an interesting smell, he'd noticed, between the smokes, the preservative, her drug store shampoo, and the perfume he knew she dabbed on her wrist every morning. It all mixed together into to something he didn't understand why he loved, and he has to hide himself away in a copy of Gunmen to keep from burying his face in her hair daily.
While he's lost in his musings, she asks him what part of his body he's going to attack with ink and he quips back that maybe he should get her given name on his ass cheek, like all the romantics do. She gives him a side glance he doesn't understand and replies that Ahab would flay him alive if he ever found out, and he smiles as they round the corner to their favourite ink shop. He likes that most nights she sits with him for the tattoo and just watches. Sometimes she'll read aloud to him from a conspiracy article he'd tucked into her back pocket to read later, or it'll just be his favourite column from a weathered copy of Gunmen. She thinks the zine is a bag of cats, he knows, but she doesn't mention it because he'll have questions about her faith lined up.
The only intimate touch he's ever been blessed to give her was to finger her shiny gold cross as they sat under their tree one day. She'd looked at him funny afterward, but said nothing. The instance had been akin to the times she'd seen him in his dorm room, a short sleeve shirt exposing the bulk of his tattoos, where she'd dance her fingers across the black ink and smirked at his four favoured words, immortalized on his bicep under a saucer in a picturesque landscape. He had brought the poster to the shop and the artist had thought he was crazy. That had earned another smirk from his companion, but he brushed it off. He knew what he stood for, Scully and a tattoo artist be damned. That was at the beginning of the semester, though, and he had let it go.
After the night was over and his forearm was permanently branded with a caduceus, they start their trek back to campus. She'd acquired a new set of earrings, choosing after to wander around and look at the body art on the walls instead of sitting right next to him, so she was unaware of the new artwork on his arm. When he shows her, she says nothing, an unreadable emotion passing over her face. Her beautiful mouth falls open slightly, but she remains silent as they walk. He wonders quietly if she hates it, but he can't really tell as she adjusts her leather jacket around her, the late October breeze whipping her fire engine hair about her face.
Later, when they're back in their respective dorm rooms, his empty with no prospect for a new roommate, he plans out how he is going to convince her into a skeleton costume the upcoming weekend. She knows he'll dress up like Marty McFly, he even has the costume hanging in his wardrobe, but she isn't fond of the holiday for reasons she'll probably never discuss. Regardless of all she's claimed and despite the fact that she still chooses him over her friends mainly every day, she does think he's kind of spooky, and he knows it, but he doesn't relent his constant shoving of what he believes to be the truth down her throat.
It's all he can do to keep his tongue out of her mouth.
He thinks she's beautiful under the leather and baggy tops, and one day he hopes he will get to see more of her porcelain skin past her neck and her dainty perfumed wrists. He will always stand with her at their tree while she smokes menthols in -30 degree weather. And she'll only be clad in her leather jacket, black skirt, and a pair of tights with so many holes that all he can imagine when he sees them is grabbing them and ripping them off her only to bury his face between her sweet legs. But he doesn't.
He won't because in a way that she respects his search for the Truth, he respects her love and loyalty to what he views as an oppressive deity. He wonders if the priest can look her in the eye with all the piercings she has and the fact that she's technically a chain smoker. And he knows that she harbours some girlhood fantasies of a traditional marriage with a traditional groom (which really blows him out of the picture, the way he sees it) in a big church, and so he respects it all. However, like she will always be ready with her icy skepticism, he will have his own whenever she opens her mouth to deny his sightings and refuse his crazy conspiracies. Sometimes he hates the way she stares defiantly up at him from a foot below, but most days he cherishes their vocal fencing matches.
For all the days she defies him and refuses to accept his beliefs for her own, she will still sneak across campus to hold him as he shakes from a nightmare about his sister. She'll sit cross-legged on the bed, her head resting against the beloved poster, his head in her lap as he shakes and cries his sister’s name into her bare legs. Those are the days where he thinks he'll reach up and kiss her with his tear stained mouth, her face clean of make-up, hair pinned back with two berets. Even when it's winter she'll trek through the snow in a pair of too-short shorts, a baggy cropped shirt with their university's name across her chest, where he knows she isn't wearing a bra, and she will hold him until he goes back to sleep. It makes him want to kiss her so badly it hurts.
Those times it is never the violent kiss he often thinks of, where he wants to press her up against the tree he carved their names into (whether or not they are dating) and kiss her so hard her lips bruise; so that he comes away with red lipstick smeared on his face.
The nights where she presses her bare lips to his sweaty forehead are the ones where he wants to turn his face to meet her soft lips, kiss her slowly and be the one to hold her for once, smiling down at the mole he barely sees through the layers of make up.
During exam week they rarely see each other; she spends her nights buried in textbooks, an eye at the microscope, using the phone in the lounge to call him and recite every bone in the body while he listens with bleary eyes, Elvis playing softly from the forgotten headset around his neck. Though he doesn't know if she's right he gives her noncommittal noises of praise and reassures her over and over again that she'll be fine. She doesn't believe him but she breathlessly thanks him all the same, hanging up and leaving him to cradle the phone against his ear as if she's still on the line.
He realizes he's a lovesick idiot but he doesn't care. He doesn't care because he does love her, even if she's somewhat cold to him and refuses to get inked with something spooky, or that she protested the skeleton costume as hard as she could (she gave up eventually, though), or that she won't tell him why she refuses to call her father anything but Ahab when he's told her his life story. He doesn't care because he is so blinded by his love for his insufferable red head that he lets all of that go.
And when exams are over and winter break hits, she goes home to her military housing to no doubt be chastised by her mother (who refuses to call him anything but Fox) about her piercings, and he goes home to a suffocating house where his parents barely speak full sentences to each other and he reluctantly sits through their Jewish customs. He only does it for his great aunt, who wears her number like armor, who he loves despite the haunting look in her eyes.
When it's all over and they come back to the cold bricks of their scholastic home, he doesn't see her for a while. Psych majors and science geeks usually don't cross paths most days. He finds out his marks and he's at the top half of the class as usual. He's actually quite smart (not that anyone really cares) and his parents shovel their money towards his schooling so that they don't have to see him at home and think it should have been you.
So he finds himself wandering around campus daily, making his way to stand at their tree in hope that she'll be there, smoking menthols and shaking in her skirt and ripped tights. Today it turns out that she isn't, but he stands there for a while anyway. A yearbook junkie with a Polaroid around his neck stares at him quizzically for a couple seconds before turning to take a photo of a group of students.
After a few minutes he hears the familiar stomp of her combat boots, but they're quicker than usual, and he turns just in time to see her leap into the air towards him, her short legs wrapping around his torso. All he can do is catch her, a noise of surprise emitting from him before she smacks her lips against his. He doesn't really register what's happening until the flash of the kid's Polaroid goes off, snapping him back to reality. She's still in his arms and hers have wrapped around his neck although her face has pulled away. She's beaming while going off about how he was right and she has the highest marks in all of her classes. He laughs, congratulating her as she disentangles her small form from his tall one.
The kid approaches them and hands over the Polaroid, and gives the pair a wistful "Happy New Year" before walking away.
He looks down at the photo in his hands and they both laugh. She's got her hands on his cheeks and her face pressed against his surprised expression, his glasses slightly askew in the photo. Their tree is in the back and he can just make out his carving and he chuckles at its total cliche.
She drags him along in the direction of his dorm as he adjusts his glasses, rattling on about her holiday and he realizes that this is the most she's ever talked about her personal life so he really listens for once. Later, after she's gone back to her dorm, he pins the photo on his wall and writes the date on its border. They don't ever really speak about the kiss again but they don't dismiss it.
A month later, she gets her first tattoo and he can't wrap his mind around why she would get those four words when he went on thinking that she didn't believe. He got those words because he spoke them in a session about his sister, paid for by his parents in the hopes to shut him up (little did they know that it would only fuel the fire). He thought her faith in God would keep her from what he thinks to be the Truth. He always thought he knew that she didn't believe.
But that's the difference, she tells him as they make the journey to the shop. He already does and she wants to.
He almost kisses her for the millionth time after her forearm is permanently painted with those four words and a picturesque landscape, a saucer floating in the distance. He also wants to cry as she wonders how brutally Ahab is going to murder the both of them when he finds out. For the moment he only puts his arm around her and laughs as they walk back to campus, the sunset washing over the pair.
When he looks down at her, the setting sun's golden hues highlight her beautiful face, and he does kiss her.
After he pulls away she's looking at him seriously and he thinks he's royally fucked everything up, but after a moment she gives him a red smirk and snuggles closer to him.
A week later he buys her her own alien sweater and she crudely sews a UFO patch to her jacket to match the pin on his bag.
The warmer months come and they sit under their tree, atop an old blanket while she leans against him, her periodic table pinned down by a rock while he asks her Jungian questions. They don't acknowledge what they are but it isn't a big deal. The tattoos are enough for him (she only got a couple more but he's still giddy when he thinks of them all) and she decides that reading to him from Gunmen and sometimes the Bible is enough for her. She doesn't care if he's only half listening when she quietly relays a psalm to him, because he knows that when it comes to the important stuff he will listen.
Summer break approaches too quickly and they decide to road trip.
He wants to meet the Gunmen and she wants him to meet her parents, so he feels sick to his stomach. Ahab's overseas but her mother greets him with a warm smile and a hug, calling him Fox despite the fact that he has to keep himself from wincing every time she says it. His tattooed girl gives him a light kiss on the hair as she passes to help wash dinner dishes and he smiles genuinely for the first time in ages.
He sleeps on the couch that night, a judgmental, crucified Lord gazing down at him all the while.
The next morning they're off in his run down station wagon with a sagging roof to what he calls a remote location to meet his heroes. She falls asleep for most of the ride as he blasts Elvis, but when she is awake she rests her hand on the back of his neck, playing with the scruff at the top of his spine and he enjoys it all, crooning along to his musical hero. She only flashes him a tired red smirk, donning a pair of aviators to fight the summer sun. With the leather jacket it makes her look like a cop (minus all the patches and pins) and that makes him chuckle.
It's not really perfect, the car breaks down halfway across the state and she wants to punch him for not bringing any snacks save for a kilogram of sunflower seeds, but she knows that she loves him and doesn't mind starving and sleeping a night or two in the broken car miles from town. She's smart and so is he, they'll figure it out. The Gunmen better be worth it, she tells him and he just smirks, reaching over to kiss her. It's wonderful and stupid all at the same time and she loves it. She loves him. For that she doesn't mind snuggling in a worn out backseat.
And they are worth it, although the pair doesn't appreciate how much the short one tries to look up her skirt as she perches on a desk clear of wires and newspapers. He was surprised to find out that they were only a pale trio of guys a couple years older than the two of them, and they keep in touch. She gets flowers from two people on Valentine's day and she can never tell which bouquet she likes more - the red roses or the tulips bunched together with a mood ring.
He only meets Ahab once and he almost wets himself, but she just smiles and tucks her inked arm around his, the other hand playing with her crucifix.
The next couple of years carry on the same way, and only when they are seniors do the questions about "The Truth" become replaced by "The Future."
She needs her medical degree and he just needs to get off the continent. England always looked nice to him, and he was smart enough for Oxford if he decided to do to go. They don't talk about it as the year comes to an end, but he knows she's applied to places that will take her far away from him and he doesn't let the sadness show.
She can see it in his hazel eyes, however, and it kills her.
Even when he kisses her flesh in the middle of the night in his cold dorm room it kills her how much leaving is going to hurt him. She looks into his eyes and whispers what they silently vowed to never say and he does cry. He cries into her shoulder as he comes and she cradles him against her.
The last week he finds her among the boxes in her dorm, silently crying as she packs up the last of her things. He says nothing as he comes forward to wrap his arms around her, her body fitting so nicely with his as he rests his chin on the crown of her head. He lets her sob into his sweater, smoothing down her fire engine hair, and he kisses her forehead.
He drives her to the airport because she doesn't trust his station wagon to hold up on the drive home, and she leaves him with a broken heart at the gates with empty promises to write or call. They might have stuck like glue all those years ago, but it seemed like someone was trying to peel them apart. Everything inside of him hurt as he got back into his car, driving home to a suffocating home with only one parent. His folks divorced after years of torment and in some ways he was glad for it. Glad he didn't have to see the tight lipped hatred they held for each other anymore.
He does go to England and years later he finds himself at Quantico.
He sees her across a classroom auditorium and at first he thinks he's seeing things again, but deep inside he knows it's her. The nose ring and the plethora of earrings are all gone, but he can see the saucer when she rolls up her sleeves to take notes. He's too distracted when their instructor calls his name, and so he stupidly answers. She looks up towards him as his academy nickname Spooky reverberates around the room. He can see her jaw drop and he smirks at her from across the room. After class is over he finds her standing among the sea of students who rush to their next class, their instructor barking out homework.
He wonders why she isn't a doctor and she's surprised he hadn't joined the Gunmen once and for all.
It isn't the same as it was (and let's face it, it never really will be) but he smiles at the UFO pin on her rucksack and walks beside her for a little while before he has to go to class. He looks down at her face and he can tell she's matured more than he has. He still can't see her mole, but the lipstick is a tamer shade of red, as is her hair. She still smells like formaldehyde, but the perfume is different.
And he realizes after all these years that he still loves her.
He can see the same realization in her eyes when she looks up at him, a quiet goodbye on her lips before leaving him for another class, and he smiles for the first time in years.
