Chapter 1: Room 6
Chapter Text
Prologue
(Post-Episode s02 e13 Irresistible)
The moment Pfaster was in the custody of other agents, Mulder’s attention was entirely on the one person who mattered most. He needed Scully, needed to stand before her, see with his own eyes that she was alive and whole. As he untied her wrists and counted all her fingers, he wanted to get her far away from there.
He never expected her to wrap her arms tightly around him. The pain and sorrow and fear radiated from her and went straight into his chest as he tried to bear some of the burden so she didn’t have to carry the weight of it all on her own. He fought to hold back his own tears.
When agents asked her to walk them through what had happened and allow them to document the scene and collect evidence, Scully pulled away from Mulder, her eyes avoiding his as she returned to her self-protective mode. She walled herself up so quickly and efficiently, no one could tell only moments ago she’d sobbed in her partner’s embrace. Placing her hand on his forearm to reassure him, she said, “I need to do this. We have to be sure every last charge sticks.” She sounded not like a victim, but like the dutiful, professional Special Agent Scully.
She squeezed his forearm as he covered her hand with his before she retreated.
He called after her, “Do you need–”
“Clean clothes. Anything is fine. When I’m done, I want to get as far away from here as I can, as fast as I can. So if you can find a flight tonight–”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He took the request like a divine order.
A few hours later, they arrived at a rural airport about two hours drive from DC where a rental car awaited them. When Mulder attempted to apologize for the less than direct route home, she only replied, “At least we’re headed in the right direction.”
She didn’t sleep at all as they traveled, her eyes red and surrounded by dark circles. He wasn’t quite certain yet if the dark color was the result of exhaustion or bruising. She was injured enough that people in the airport and on the plane had taken notice, so perhaps the privacy of a car was preferable.
Scully offered to drive, but Mulder whispered softly, “Get some rest. I’ll drive.”
The suggestion seemed to annoy her, but she settled into the passenger seat, drowning in his sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants he managed to buy for her.
Once they were on the road, she continuously checked the passenger's side mirror. She pulled down the vanity mirror on the visor but angled it to watch the road behind them instead of to look at herself. Headlights in the mirrors put her immediately on edge as he remembered that she had been run off the road. He reassured, “If I see anything, anything at all of concern, I promise I’ll wake you. Can you try to sleep?”
“Mulder, I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again for more than a few minutes at a time," she replied, her voice heavy and strained.
Their journey from that small airport toward the highway and civilization led them through miles of fields and forest. The monotony was broken on the rare moments when they passed a gas station, an unlit local diner, or a sleepy home. It was still dark, but dawn was fast approaching when the orange, white and purple flickering neon sign of the Modern Gateway Motel in all its garish glory gave Mulder an idea.
“Since we’re the whole way out here,” he mentioned, “I’d like to take a few minutes to check this place out.”
He was already pulling into the lot. Her eyes lifted to the front of the motel. Perhaps the “Modern” in the name was meant to be ironic. Some of the overhead lights above the doors were out completely, some sputtered on and off. One room at the far end of the motel was cordoned off with boards nailed over the door. The windows were ancient, with horizontal glass slats instead of panes that could be cranked open but never seemed to allow any real ventilation to pass through. The motel itself must have once been painted white, although it had become a dingy yellow, the doors more recently painted crimson. Even the vacancy sign didn’t seem terribly dedicated to announcing the availability of rooms. There was only one other car in the parking lot, so it seemed like a pretty good bet they’d be able to find a room.
He added, “Just a quick follow up on a lead.”
“An X-file?” she asked, her head tilted, more confused than annoyed.
He nodded equivocally. He waited for her to yell at him and call him crazy for dragging her there, but she lacked the fight at the moment and replied with only a half-hearted eye roll.
“Some sort of rift in space and time, a gateway, hence the name,” he explained, pointing at the motel sign. “In one of the rooms, I’ve heard there’s a portal to another dimension.”
She nodded slowly only once. “As evidenced by…”
“Eyewitness accounts. Strange things happen in that room.”
“Which one?” she asked out of obligation alone, clearly wondering what in the hell he was wasting their time with and why.
“I’ll need to confirm that.”
She didn’t seem interested in waiting in the car, so she followed him to the office door and waited just outside. A woman sat behind the counter watching TV, surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke.
When he returned from booking the room, he displayed the key for Scully as he announced, “Room six. That’s the one. I checked my notes.”
“Your notes?”
“Yeah. Come on, Scully.”
He hurried back to the car, grabbing his luggage and the handled paper bag of things he’d purchased on her behalf.
“We’re staying?” she asked incredulously as she nodded at their belongings.
“If we get stuck in another dimension, don’t you want a toothbrush?” Feeling her incredulity, he dipped his head a little closer, and whispered, “Trust me. Give me an hour. After that, if you really want to leave, we’ll go.”
“Fine,” she replied, walking gingerly through the door after he fought the uncooperative knob. Watching the stiffness that seemed to be growing in her, he worried over the true severity of her injuries.
She stood in the center of the room, next to the only bed, and turned slowly around.
Prepared for her questions about the gateway, Mulder said, “Apparently the rift only opens once the door is closed.” He was careful to leave it slightly ajar.
“One room? When you write your report—"
“We have to be in one room, this room. This is where the anomaly can be found,” Mulder interrupted. “I think it’s best if we keep this investigation off the books anyway. If information like this falls into the wrong hands…" He exaggeratedly shuddered at the thought. "Besides, what's the point in traveling to another dimension for a break from reality if there’s a paper trail documenting your every move?”
“Right.”
Scully jumped when someone came to the door and knocked. The woman from the front desk brought an armful of supplies and bags of ice. “Good enough?” she questioned brusquely, holding out her hand for a tip.
Mulder asked as he looked through the offerings, “Is this all you have?”
“Take it or leave it.” Her hand was still palm up in front of him. “Look, this isn’t some five-star hotel. The only food we have is from the machines. But our sheets are clean and the water is hot. We don’t do room service.”
“That’s a shame, you really have a way with guests.” He pulled out his wallet and placed money in her open hand as he muttered, “Thanks,” and the woman could be heard griping as she walked back to her office.
Once they were alone, Mulder turned to Scully and asked with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” she asked tiredly.
“To see this gateway in action…to travel to a world we've never seen, to explore the unknown.”
“Go for it, Mulder.” Scully’s tone was decidedly less than enthusiastic.
He closed the door and locked it, his face gazing around with a hint of wonder and awe. "Did you feel that?"
Scully slowly turned until she’d viewed the entire room and dryly commented, “Wow. That was really worth it.”
Before she could argue, he added, “This is amazing. Interdimensional travel, Scully! This changes everything, proves beyond doubt the existence of multiple and perhaps infinite universes. We’re far from everything and everyone we’ve ever known. Far from our work. There’s so much here to learn. We may be the sole inhabitants of this particular plane of existence.”
Her head tilted, her expression one of gratitude. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Mulder, I really do, but—"
He stepped relatively close to her, his voice that intimate whisper he used whenever they spoke privately, “A–and if by some nearly unimaginable circumstance I’m incorrect about this rift…I’ll sit in that chair and watch the door, make sure no one else tries to come through. You can sleep and—"
“Mulder, I’m fine.”
“Fine?”
She tilted her head and shook it, the soreness in her neck presenting itself, clarifying, “I really am doing okay.”
“Still…a little break from reality couldn’t hurt, could it? And looking at the place, I don’t see how we haven’t gone to some dimension or plane of existence very, very far away.” Realizing he was losing this argument, he added, “Come on, Scully.”
“I have to treat these wounds to avoid infection,” she answered like she was speaking about someone else’s body.
“We can do that first. Look, I know I can’t change what’s happened. But you can trust me.”
“Of course I trust you.”
“I can keep an eye out while you sleep. Let me do that. Let me do something.”
She smiled slowly, a reluctant, obligatory sort of smile, and then she acquiesced. Looking through the bag of things he’d purchased for her, she said, “You've already done something. Thank you for—”
“No thanks are needed. Want anything else? Chocolate bar? Manly scented deodorant? Seeds?"
“This is great.”
She stood backlit by the yellowed light of the bathroom, trying to pull off her sweatshirt. She wore the tee he’d given her beneath, but as she tried to remove the sweatshirt, the tee lifted and revealed already emerging bruises all down her side. He’d heard she had fallen down the steps from one of the agents who’d encouraged her to be evaluated by a medical professional, and this seemed to confirm it. As he saw her struggling to raise her arms to pull off the sweatshirt, he weighed whether or not he should attempt to help.
“Is it okay if I just…” he asked, gesturing toward her arm to offer help. Sensing the impending rejection, he added, “we’re in a different dimension…as far as our reality is concerned, none of this is happening.” He offered a gentle smile, and she returned one as best as she could before she agreed.
He reached out, very carefully releasing her arm from the sleeve and pulling the bulk of the sweatshirt over her head as he held the tee shirt in place so it continued to cover her completely. After all she’d been through, he didn’t want her to feel any more exposed than necessary.
“Thanks,” she whispered, her expression telling him she wanted to handle the rest alone. He watched as she disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Although the shower couldn't erase the last twenty-four hours from Scully's mind, at least it removed the smell of Pfaster and his home and that fucking mothball-scented closet. When she emerged wearing Mulder’s tee again, she saw his eyes study her, focusing on the ligature marks on her wrists. She reached for the antibacterial cream and bandages he’d purchased, working on peeling away what seemed like excessive packaging.
Mulder took one of the items, opening it for her and gathering the boxes and garbage and tossing them in the trash. He pointed at her wrists and said, “Let me." Then he smiled and added softly, "I may not be a doctor, but I've learned a few things here and there."
She agreed, unsure why she chose to accept help. She wanted to be wholly self-sufficient, and yet couldn’t deny the part of her that appreciated his assistance.
This whole gateway idea of Mulder’s was utter ridiculousness. Neither of them had any misconceptions about that. There was no rift, no doorway to another dimension, no suspension of reality here. Scully knew he must have been exhausted, too, or he could have come up with a far more convincing lie. And yet she couldn’t have been more grateful for the attempt. The man spent every moment of his life trying to prove the validity of the X-files and find truths, and yet he was willing to fabricate this very in-valid case for her, using a crusade that was sacred to him to ease her pain. The significance of that was not lost on her.
She was overwhelmed by the feeling of being understood by him, cared for in a way that transcended categorizations such as 'partner' or 'friend.'
In truth, she didn’t want to sit in her apartment alone just yet, or anywhere for that matter. But she certainly wouldn't have told him (or anyone) that.
She’d considered calling her mother for company, but her mom would only fret and worry, seeing the dangers of the job too clearly all over her daughter’s body. And then her mom would call Bill, as she so often did when she was worried about her daughter, and they’d all try to convince her this job was a mistake, that she could practice medicine or even find a safer job within the FBI. But she wouldn’t leave. She felt more loyal to Mulder and the X-files than ever, and wouldn't be scared off by anyone.
She was brought out of her thoughts when his fingers touched hers and she startled a bit. “Sorry,” he said, withdrawing his hands.
“It’s not you,” she clarified immediately, subtly tapping his fingers with her own to let him know she wasn’t upset by his touch.
“Anything else we can do to make it more comfortable here?”
Her eyes glanced at the door, checking that the bolt was latched as well as the sliding chain. Following her gaze, he took a heavy chair and wedged it beneath the doorknob. Before she could even look at the window, he pushed the freestanding wardrobe in front of that. “Just in case someone wants to try to join us in this dimension,” he explained.
He washed his hands and returned to her, taking the medicine and gesturing for her to sit on the bed. He slid a hideously upholstered chair in front of her and took a seat. Of her own will she moved toward him, her knees between his.
He squeezed the medicine onto his fingertips. Mulder braced the palm of one of her hands in his, and carefully spread the cream over her skin. It was cool and soothing, and his touch caring and devoted. His fingers felt ridiculously soft, healing in a way medical science alone could not. He carefully wrapped a cloth bandage around it to keep it covered and clean. When he was finished, he set her forearm on her knee and treated the other wrist with the same care.
Then he placed little dabs of the medicine on the pad of his thumb, raised his hand closer to her face, and his eyes asked if he could continue. She bobbed her head so slightly that perhaps he was the only person who could have sensed it. He lightly drew his thumb over the marks on her chin and cheek and forehead. His tenderness touched her through her protective walls, and a few tears welled slightly, not from the pain of the wounds, but from the stark contrast between the comfort of his touch compared to the evil that had surrounded and threatened her all too recently.
Scully could see the emotion written all over his face, unable to be ignored or disguised. She let her eyes drift closed, trusting implicitly, letting go of vigilance and readiness for the first time since this case began, or maybe longer. One tear slipped from her eye. Her fingertip covered the tear, and she flicked it away, acting as though there had been an errant hair tickling her cheek, and she was only scratching the itch. Maybe he didn’t notice.
Scully opened her eyes and saw the tears in his, pain and empathy and sadness shared. “I’m sorry,” he said, but she couldn't think of anything he should apologize for at all. She shook her head no, feeling his regret at showing any weakness. But the chinks in his armor made her feel less vulnerable about the chinks in her own.
She closed her eyes again, her hand coming to the back of his head and pulling him close until his forehead rested against hers. The gentle puffs of breath from each mingled between them, palpable signs that they were in fact still alive.
The comfort began to overwhelm her. When she pulled back, her hand came to his face, her palm resting against his cheek as she breathed the words, “Thank you,” before looking away.
He slid his chair back, knowing that she wanted space, she needed space, immediately.
“Some ice?” Mulder asked, having already covered plastic bags of ice with towels so it wouldn’t be too harsh against her. He had some pillows mounded on the bed for her, standing before her, looking all too eager to do anything within his power to ease her pain.
“I could use some for my side.” She knew he wanted to know everything, wanted to know all she’d faced, but he didn’t press for details. She wasn’t certain if the details would bring him relief or upset him further. She confessed, “I fell down the stairs so my ribs and shoulder are a bit sore.”
“If you want to talk about—”
Scully shook her head, her stare telling him that she didn’t not want to talk about it, perhaps could not talk about it. He quickly gathered the ice and brought it to her.
She settled back in the bed against the pillows. Although they were all somewhat thin and formless, there were enough of them to feel comfortable. She sighed as the ice radiated cold relief into her side and shoulder.
Mulder sat on a chair nearby, but not too close, turning on the television and propping his feet up on the table.
After disposing of the rapidly melting bags of ice and settling back into bed, she nibbled at a cracker from the vending machine and sipped a diet soda like she had to ration the contents for the next two weeks. But at least she was eating something. The room dimmed when she turned off the light beside her. He tried not to look at her, hoping she’d sleep.
She was quiet for quite some time while he stared at the flickering old movie on the screen with the sound turned down to one notch above imperceptible.
Suddenly she spoke, and he turned toward the sound as she said, “Mulder…I know I owe you–”
“Nothing,” he interrupted, turning further and slinging his arm over the back of the chair to face her. “This is a completely different dimension. What happens here has no bearing on our lives back in our own world.”
He smiled at her as she nodded in response. She went silent again, so he to tried to get comfortable in his chair.
Finally she broke the silence again. “This bed is huge. You can sleep on that side. I don’t take up that much space.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she pointed at the bed and said, “After all that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, sharing the same bed with you is probably the least uncomfortable thing I’ll do.”
He got up, practically tiptoeing to the bed like some spell might be broken. He lowered himself on the edge of the mattress, bringing his own blanket and lying over the covers that she was under.
When she rolled to face him, he faced her as well. She reached out her hand, resting her fingers on top of his forearm before her eyes closed. It seemed less about affection or the need for contact, and more about her need to confirm he was right there. His face partially smashed in the pillow, he mumbled, “You need anything… anything…you wake me.”
When he woke in the early afternoon, Scully was already up and readying herself for the day. By looking at her, he could see she’d had at least a few moments of sleep. In fact, for a person wearing borrowed clothes and items hastily purchased from an inexpensive twenty-four hour store, she looked remarkably put together. Clothes aside, she appeared to be perfectly ready for the day.
She could fool just about anyone, although he wasn’t as easily misled. They may not have known each other that long, but the time they had together had been intense (physically, professionally, emotionally and in terms of the sheer percentage of their waking hours spent together). Of course some of the physical signs of her ordeal were still plainly visible, and she had no make up with which to disguise them. Beneath her calm exterior, he knew the pain and turmoil she must have felt, but Scully would deal with that in her own time and in her own way, and he doubted he could do anything to change that. It was hard enough to convince her to rest for a few hours.
“Did you sleep alright?” she asked him.
“Decently well, actually. You?”
“Better than I’d expected.”
She was gathering their belongings from around the room like she was eager to leave.
“Somewhere you need to be?” he questioned.
“I have a meeting first thing tomorrow.”
“After what’s happened, you don’t have a few days off to–"
“Mandatory visit with a Bureau counselor. If I want to resume work, I have to have her signature. So unless you want to find yourself a new partner…”
“Never.”
“Good.”
As they left the motel behind them, neither had any idea of the significance of room 6 or the moments they would one day share there.
Chapter 2: Everest
Notes:
Thank you all so much for the welcome! I thoroughly appreciate all of your comments, likes and bookmarks! I hope you enjoy the next piece. I know it's a bit long for a single chapter.
Chapter Text
Everest
(Post-Episode S04 e22 Elegy)
Scully had given Mulder an address with a time and a vague message and nothing more in a sealed envelope slipped under the door to his apartment. Ever since their tense conversation following the arrest of Nurse Innes, he felt raw. He was desperate for openness and honesty from her, holding hope that somehow she’d lower her protective walls and let him in. His mind called attention to the fact that he wasn’t exactly a Nobel Prize winner in the art of personal disclosures either, but he silenced those thoughts. He desperately wanted her to rely on him, to really trust him to help her through this. Of course he also hadn’t won any awards in the field of personal relationships either, so maybe he was as much of a problem as she was. He considered calling her to talk, but knew he’d use some excuse rather than try to discuss what was actually going on, which only proved the point that he wasn’t good at the very things he expected her to be good at.
He couldn’t help but think of the men he’d been jealous of before, men she’d chosen to be close to instead of him. Although not physical, he liked to think the connection he had with Scully was closer than any she could share with someone else, but he’d started to question that as well. And while he made a resolute decision not to allow those other men’s names into his mind, he couldn’t fully block their existence from his thoughts. Then another thought presented itself, one that made him wonder if she’d found someone else to confide in as well.
He held the envelope in his hand as he sat back and considered the situation. He was going to go, there was never any question about that, but he couldn’t help but ponder why she'd requested this meeting in this particular place. He used a map to figure out where he needed to go, hoping the location would give him some clue about her motives. After finding the approximate spot, he had more questions about this meeting than before.
It was much more his style to demand a rendezvous at a strange location in the middle of nowhere than hers. Scheduling a meeting with little information or explanation was his MO, and more often than not, she showed up wherever he asked, whenever he asked. He muttered to himself something about the possibility that she’d finally had enough and was bringing him out to the middle of nowhere to dispose of his body.
The least he could do was show up on one of the rare occasions when she asked for his presence without a clearly stated purpose.
As he drove, he found something familiar about this place and this route, but thought he must have been mistaken since Scully wouldn’t want to meet in the place where it seemed they were going. He went through miles of fields and the occasional barn, coming upon a really questionable looking diner and finally…the Modern Gateway Motel. Memories started rushing back through his mind as he recalled the last time they were here and the circumstances under which they came.
It had been nearly two years, two years since they'd been here. Neither ever mentioned the place.
He turned into the shallow lot, seeing Scully sitting on one of the green resin chairs that were placed in front of each room. She appeared to be dressed more casually than she typically would for work, sitting back and taking a sip from a bottle of beer with its neck pinched tightly between her forefinger and thumb. She had a look…defiance, possibly?...that led him to further question this meeting’s purpose. Maybe she's leaving, going far, far away without a forwarding address. Perhaps leaving the FBI, or she’s given up on cures or …he tried to silence his racing thoughts once again.
The gravel crunched beneath his tires as he pulled into the spot directly beside her vehicle. In the time it took to shut off the headlights, turn the key and step out of the car, a million other possibilities shot through his head. He searched for some wry or witty comment to make, but his brain and his words failed him. Scully’s eyes lifted to his as she noted, “Wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
Mulder stepped onto the porch, leaning against one of the posts that held up the roof. “Why wouldn't I come?”
“I don’t know. Because you have your own plans?” she replied, taking another sip before adding, “because you have other things to do, cases to pursue, leads to follow?” She certainly didn’t sound intoxicated, although she took a deep breath, one that betrayed anxieties below the surface. Lifting her face to look right into him, she continued, “Or…because you are irritated with me. Annoyed. Frustrated.”
“Concerned and annoyed aren’t the same thing.”
“You sounded pretty annoyed to me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but shrugged, taking long, slow steps to the chair on the other side of a matching, dingy resin table. Taking a seat, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, staring at his folded hands.
“Want one?” she offered, opening a heavy paper bag on the table and pulling out another bottle of beer from a six pack carton.
“Thanks,” he responded, accepting less because he wanted it and more so because she was offering. He watched her twist open the lid and hand it to him. His finger intentionally brushed hers when he took it, verifying that she was real and not some figment of his imagination.
She made small talk about the case, asked him about his day and the drive, talking of anything except whatever brought them to this place.
The longer she withheld the true reason for this meeting, the more his concerns about her true intent grew. Worry filling his chest, he pushed, “You know I’d like to sit and talk to you all night, but–”
“We both know that isn’t true,” she chuckled disappointedly.
“W–what do you mean?”
“It isn’t. Experience has shown all too well that a contact will rustle through the fields and emerge with a tip that sounds like the key to everything you’ve ever wanted to know and it simply must be acted on immediately. Or…a call will come through to the hotel front desk, someone needing our help who just happened to figure out where you are and called here–”
“Here?”
Her eyes cast down toward her lap, she added, “Or out of the blue a thought that’s been rolling around in your head will come to the forefront, and your mind will focus in and obsess on that one thought alone, completely disregarding anything else.”
Finding himself lacking a good response and unwilling to wait much longer to hear whatever dire news she had to share, he said, “I think I know why we’re here, Scully.” His heart ached enough to slightly choke his words.
“Oh yea? Why’s that, in your estimation?”
“Is this goodbye?” he firmed his expression, trying not to look desperate or sad. “You’re leaving the FBI? Or the X-files or…maybe just me?”
“You’re wrong.”
“Then…” he shook his head, and a far worse possibility dawned, “The cancer…it’s–”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Nothing’s changed,” she reassured. “I don’t have forever, but that's true of everyone.”
“So why are we here?”
“Do you remember this place?”
He nodded. “I’m surprised you wanted to come back here. I figured you’d rather not, given the circumstances that brought us here the first time.”
“This place doesn’t remind me of Pfaster,” she said succinctly. He hadn’t heard her speak that name since the trial. “No, this place reminds me of you. Of your ridiculous suggestion that we could somehow disappear to another world for a few hours.” She paused for a thoughtful moment, then added, “It was one of the best and kindest things anyone has ever done for me.” She chuckled softly. “Didn’t really matter that we both knew it was bullshit, and you’d invented that X-file.”
“I can’t believe this.” Mulder feigned shock. “You saw it with your own eyes, Scully. You were there, you yourself traveled to this new world. And still you can’t believe?” The tiniest smirk played on his lips.
“You’re right. I did see it,” she conceded with a similar smirk. “What I meant to say was…I appreciated the fact that you took me on such an imporant ‘investigation’ and gave me the opportunity to get the hell out of this world for a moment.”
“That’s better.”
The teasing quality left her voice and her jaw firmed as she became serious. “It was exactly what I needed that night. It’s exactly what I need tonight,” she looked at him, meeting his eyes, showing her certainty. “I didn’t come here to say goodbye or give you bad news. I came here because I needed to escape for a bit. I thought about coming here alone, but I knew there was someone I wanted here with me.”
“Skinner?” Mulder joked, waiting for her to shoot him a look that arrived as expected. “I’m glad you called. That you wanted me here. You can talk to me about anything.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s true, as long as I want to talk to you about cancer, conspiracies and aliens and apparitions….sometimes it would be nice to talk about other things. Normal things. I appreciate you indulging me.”
“I’m not indulging you,” he said with some notable irritation.
“I just…this job…can be isolating. Sometimes I walk past people in restaurants or in line at the store, and I overhear their conversations, and I’m jealous. I miss going to lunch and talking about stuff, ordinary stuff. I miss feeling like a person.” She saw him place his empty beer bottle on the table and she opened another and handed it to him.
“It’s a long drive back,” he said, hesitating.
“I don’t have to leave for a while. Don’t you want to disappear for a few hours? Get away from…all this. I see the sadness in your eyes when you look at me…like you're waiting for me to–”
“Don’t… That’s not true.”
“It is true. Look, can we just forget all that for a little while? Let’s go somewhere else for an evening. Have a drink. Be who we are without all of…” she flicked her fingers against the night air, “all this darkness that’s always around us.”
Maybe she really didn’t want to be lonely for a moment. Maybe she needed a place where she could let her guard down. Perhaps he did, too.
With a look of serious intent, he said, “You were right…I have trouble ignoring those investigative impulses when something interesting comes along.”
“I understand,” she replied too quickly, fully expecting him to leave.
“Lead the way.”
“What?”
“We’re going back into the gateway, are we not? Researching the mysteries of Room 6? I can’t just let it go, Scully. I need to know. I need to investigate that room right now.” The corner of his lip curled into a slight smile, but his eyes conveyed his playfulness.
“It’s probably more than a little suspicious that of all the things I’m skeptical of, this isn’t one of them.”
“You’ve seen the mystical properties of this room firsthand before. And I have to admit, I’m a fan of any of those moments where there are the slightest cracks in your fortress of skepticism.”
He picked up their bag of beer as she grabbed a small duffle and the key to room six from the table. She unlocked the door, and he hurried to step through first, like he couldn’t wait another moment. “Did you feel that?” he asked once the door closed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sensation. Like it takes a minute for your organs to catch up to the rest of your body when we're pulled through.”
She shook her head at the joke as she kicked off her heels and dropped her personal belongings on a chair. She stood right before him, gazing up into his eyes. “Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you for being the one to drag me on a ridiculous investigation for once.”
After a brief but ardent session of “researching” the room, Mulder peeked into the cache of snacks she’d brought and chose one. They sat around the little table and chairs inside the room, drinks in hand, and she asked, “Do you remember your first beer?”
Surprised by the question, he smiled and sat back, slouching in his seat. “My father would give me sips of his… But the first time I ever really had my own was when a kid I knew, one I used to run around with in the summer, took some from his garage. Unfortunately they sat in his backpack on a very hot summer’s day until we rode our bikes to a good spot to stop and drink them. Tasted pretty much like you’d expect.”
“Ugh.” She laughed softly, but a true, genuine laugh followed by a smile. She questioned, “How much of it did you drink?”
“All if it. At the time, one was enough to make my ride home less than perfectly steady.”
“Did your parents notice?”
“I like to think I would have gotten away with it, but I sure as hell didn’t feel great by the time I got home. Heat and dehydration and alcohol didn’t sit well. Samantha kept asking what was wrong…” his smile faded a bit at the mention of his sister’s name.
“Sorry,” Scully replied, “I shouldn’t have–”
“No, no…” He shook his head adamantly, hoping to keep her smiling just a moment or two longer, “W–what about you?”
“Oh, I…was twelve or thirteen. We were at a huge party, some summer barbecue with other families on base. They had these big tubs, metal ones filled with ice and beer. My friend Travis, he could run faster than anyone I knew…he snuck up there and grabbed a couple and took off, adults none the wiser, or so we had thought. One of the houses on base had been empty for a while so we went in—”
“Breaking and entering at such a young age?”
“Trespassing at best. The lock on the back door was already broken,” she defended. “We sat on the steps between the first and second floor. I probably finished about half before–”
Mulder interrupted, “Wait, let me guess…Travis was more interested in spending some one-on-one alone time with you than in drinking? I have a sneaking suspicion that the majority of the boys you went to school with had some massive crushes on you,” he gently flirted.
She disregarded it like his other flirtations, countering, “I don’t think so, Mulder.” Before he could argue, she added, “But I think my mother thought the same thing. She stormed into that house, the door slapped against the wall so hard I couldn't believe the window didn’t break. I don’t think she ever stomped so loudly. I was scared, definitely…but Travis looked like he was going to wet himself.”
“Poor guy.”
“Yea. He was a really nice kid. Mom came around that corner and grabbed the back of Travis’ shirt and me by the elbow and dragged us out of that house. Felt like every pair of eyes on base were on us.” Scully laughed.
“I was expecting your father.”
“Mom had a much more watchful eye on us. And that day…she was definitely more terrifying.”
“Did you get in a lot of trouble?”
“I got those lectures about girls who spend time alone with boys, even though I swore up and down that we weren’t doing anything inappropriate, except for the beer. In retrospect, she seemed more concerned with that than the alcohol.” She laughed as she took another drink.
“And yet, you learned nothing,” he teased, “dragging strange men into even stranger motels into dimentions that are even stranger still…What would she say if she knew we were here?”
Scully gave it some thought, then answered as her mother would, “Oh, you’re with Fox …? That’s nice. How is he?” His given name sounded strange from her lips, even in this context.
Mulder chuckled. “Is she as suspicious of me as she was of Travis?”
Scully shook her head, and he could see things rolling in there, unspoken thoughts and comments that he wished like hell he could hear. He tilted his head in anticipation, encouraging her to share them aloud. She slightly shook her head, less to say no and more like she was attempting to rid her mind of whatever was in it.
Then, as she often did, she ignored the question and carried on like it was never spoken, instead asking, “So were you one of those kids that got up on a summer's morning and just took off on his bike, showed up for lunch and dinner but otherwise ran wild?”
They sat and talked like that for quite some time. Mulder suspected she had a cache of potential questions to ask already prepared for him, but soon the conversation began to flow so organically it was as if they did this kind of thing all the time. His curiosity prompted questions of his own. Each nursed the drinks patiently, opting for camaraderie over inebriation.
They settled on the bed with their backs propped on pillows, watching a horror movie on a grainy set with a signal that wasn’t quite clear. They shared comments and little stories as they watched. He wondered about a life where evenings spent like this were normal, when talking to her like this felt like the most natural thing in the world. It made him think of how many times they’d been in each other’s motel rooms and homes and personal space over the years. Was it hundreds? Thousands? And yet they never sat like this, as companions instead of coworkers?
It was new to him, but he realized perhaps it felt familiar to her…he wondered if she was secretly wishing he was Eddie van Blundht in a Mulder costume, or if his true company was preferable. He didn’t ask, of course, some part of him fearing the answer.
His arm was against hers, he could feel when she jumped from a scare in the movie, or moved with a giggle, or breathed. He thought if he really concentrated, he could feel her heartbeat reverberate through her body and into his. The thought that that very heart may stop beating sent a cold sweat through him. She noticed (of course) and said, “That part wasn’t scary! You okay, Mulder?”
He looked around like he feared someone may overhear, leaned a little closer and whispered, “We should plan a future investigation of this room. See what properties change over time…how our circumstances may impact our experience here…”
“Oh yea?” she nearly grinned.
“I think you and I should sit right here again some time in the not so distant future. When your cancer is just a memory. See if that changes your experience of interdimensional travel. It’s a legitimate line of scientific inquiry, don’t you think?” Something about the evening made him feel hopeful, made him hold onto the belief that maybe there was a cure somewhere and with the right application of effort and belief, they could find it. The expression on her face showed she didn’t harbor much hope of that anymore, that she found such a thing doubtful. It made him want to hold on all the more.
“Tonight isn’t about cancer or sickness or death,” she interrupted. “It’s about life. Living a full life while we can, whether through big bucket list moments or ordinary pleasures like sharing a beer with the person you’re closest to and telling stories while watching an otherwise terrible movie.”
He absorbed all she had said and was left with too many questions to ask all at once. So instead of choosing, he said, “I have questions about all that. Deep, burning, existential questions.”
“Go for it,” she replied, folding her hands in her lap and tilting her head toward him to await whatever he had to ask, no hesitation apparent in her. Perhaps he could have asked anything. Perhaps she would have answered.
After a deep breath, one that surely gave her time to anticipate whatever was to come, he joked, “Do you really think that movie was terrible?”
He was rewarded with yet another smile and a disbelieving shake of her head.
“The person you’re closest to? Did you really mean that?” he murmurred softly, uncertain if she’d even heard.
She faced forward, focus glued to her hands before she nodded. “Sorry.”
“Why? Why would you be sorry for that?”
“I’m not sorry for that. I didn’t…want the mood to get too serious.”
“I’m always in the mood to hear I’m your favorite,” he answered, lifting his elbow to jab her arm. He further teased, “I wish I could reciprocate, but I have… so many …in my close circle. Throngs of people I trust. So many, all vying for the much covetted spot of closest.”
He scooped her hand up in his own, threading her fingers through his while he studied them. “In case you didn’t pick up on my almost overwhelming tone of sarcasm, you’re my favorite, too.”
Scully sat there like she was simply living in the moment, accessible in a way she typically wasn't.
“Do you really have a bucket list?” he wondered as the tip of his finger traced her knuckle and continued outlining her hand.
Her voice took on a softer quality. “Sort of, I guess. I mean, I didn’t write a list out on paper. But there are things I’d like to do before I’m gone. Doesn’t everyone have that? Don’t you have things like that?”
“Besides finding the ultimate truths about the existence of extraterrestrial life, government conspiracies and all monsters great and small?”
“Besides those things.”
He gave the question deep consideration, still letting his finger trace her hand, slightly mesmerized by the contact. “In some ways I think I’ve become so focused on those things that I’ve lost focus on the types of things that would typically fill such lists.”
“That doesn’t suprise me. You once told me that your work was all that mattered to you.”
“Yea. I did. And it’s still true, in part. But it hasn’t been the whole truth for quite some time.”
He held her gaze, kept it, almost like they were challenging each other to make even greater confessions. When he finally needed a break from the tension of the moment, he broke the stare and his eyes settled on the screen as he commented, “It’s a shame in some regards, that I’ve lost touch with those sorts of joys and experiences that we have such a limited time to seek out.”
“If you chose to get in touch with those ordinary joys and experiences again, what sorts of things do you think would be on your list?” she gently asked.
“I’m not exactly sure right now. I’d need to consider this carefully before determining which things are truly list worthy.”
“List worthy? I’m a woman of science, but not all things have to be catalogued and methodically researched and ranked in the order of urgency. Some things are just things you’d like to experience, ranging from the hugely significant or profound to the sort of average wants and desires a person may have.”
“Maybe you can help me.”
“Sure,” she replied, her fingers still entwined with his.
“What sorts of things are on yours?”
“Like I said, they aren’t all profound.”
“That’s okay, lay it on me.”
“Well…I’d like to study neuroscience, to compare the brains of some of those we’ve encountered with more neurotypical–”
Mulder scoffed and sort of gagged in interruption. “That’s the sciency-Scullly-version of wanting to chase aliens and monsters. Next on the list.”
“Okay. I’d like to take a vacation somewhere tropical one day. Warm, crystal blue waters and lazy days spent floating in them. Staying in a little hut by the ocean, tiptoeing across pale sandy beaches, forgetting every obligation and regret for a few days.”
“Nice. You’d do this on your own?”
“I don’t know. In an ideal world, passionate nights seem built into the itinerary.”
Her suggestion provoked a mixture of excitement at the prospect and concern about who she may deem worthy of inviting. Fearing she’d mention a potential candidate (other than himself) or she might suggest meeting someone new, he shifted a bit, “So it’s…trips and things like that? Climbing Everest?”
“I think we’ve climbed enough metaphorical ‘Everests’ don’t you? Some travel, sure, but most of the things on my list are more ordinary, maybe boring, to you.”
“Go on…”
“Tonight, actually,” she stated defiantly, like she was prepared for criticism.
“Tonight?”
“Yea. Sitting here like normal people, watching a movie, drinking a couple of beers, talking about things that aren’t work.” A realization dawned on her, and she commented, “You know, Mulder, I say it’s ‘ordinary,’ but since we have to physically travel to a new dimension to do it, maybe it isn’t so ordinary after all. Maybe this is an Everest. At least for us.”
“You think we have to come here to do something like this?”
She turned, chin raised, staring right into him. “I do. Or else we would have done it before. But we haven't. We spend most of our time together, know so much about each other in some regards and absolutely nothing about each other in other regards. We can read each other, work really well together, but it’s not personal.”
He prepared an argument but began to think that perhaps she was right. He countered, “Alright, if we’ve managed to do something so seemingly impossible this evening, what’s stopping you from doing every single thing on that list?”
“Work is a factor. I cling to my work to give me a sense of purpose.”
“A factor. What else?”
“I dunno. The possibility that maybe some ideas are better as thoughts than as actions.”
“Isn't the whole idea of that kind of list to stop worrying about the details and dive in?”
“What I meant was what if some of those items on my list would be a mistake? Would ruin…things.”
“Are you considering a life of crime? Some terrible act that might cost you your freedom? And if you’re considering murder, I hope it’s not of your brilliant partner.”
“I’m not thinking of murdering my brilliant partner.” She took a beat, then smirked as she added, “Or you for that matter.”
He mimed being struck through the heart as she smiled.
“In all seriousness, Scully,” he continued, “I can’t imagine that the things on your list are the types of things that would ruin anything.”
“Some bells can’t be unrung.”
“But we have this room, this dimension all our own. We’re in a completely different world here, which as far as I’m concerned means this space is relatively consequence free, murder aside, which seems pretty hard to come back from regardless of what the rules of interdimensional travel and existence are.”
With only a subtle chuckle from her in response, he continued, “So what do you want? ‘Shrooms? One of those massive ice cream sundaes tickling your repressed gluttonous impulses? Squatching? Because I can deliver squatching in this or any dimension. I can’t bring the islands here, but I could turn the heat way up, get a big inflatble pool and paste pictures of palm trees over the windows and doors, bring that to this dimension."
"Can you imagine the owner's face when she would see the water bill? Or ours when we have to figure out how to dump out all the water?"
"You have to stop thinking like that. Your obsession with consequences is going to ruin your fun. Give me the rest of this list. What wishes lurk in the heart of Dana Scully that have the power to ruin everything?”
He smiled at her, a warm, friendly smile that had his adoration written all over it. He couldn’t quite unencrypt the look on her face, but he watched as she only just barely tapped her tongue to her bottom lip as she processed thoughts. Scully turned toward him, looking at him, into him. Curiosity filling his very self, he tilted his head and waited for some form of response.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth for just a second before she leaned closer. He had time to back away, but he didn’t move a muscle, didn’t breathe, hell maybe his heart paused for a few beats. Truthfully, he assumed he was misinterpreting the whole thing until her eyes fluttered closed and her lips softly pressed against his. It was like a shot of ecstacy through him, an unprecedented jolt through his body, amplified further just before she began to pull away when the tip of her tongue just slightly grazed his lip. An unauthorized heavy breath that bordered on a moan came from him, the kind of sound that would make lying about his reaction difficult. Before he had a chance to respond, she pulled away and ended the moment.
For a few seconds, he was stunned, both from the pounding of his excited heart and the surprise of what had just occured. He hadn’t seen that coming, not at all, not ever. She faced front, her cheeks flushed, closing her eyes and dropping her chin and appearing far more embarrassed than she should have been. It took a moment for her to open her eyes again, and she said, “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” He started shaking his head, not to deny the kiss but to tell her to stop apologizing, but she read it all wrong, replying, “Hopefully you stand by your assessment that this place is relatively consequence free–”
"Won’t leave this room," he reassured. He reached across her, his hand sliding along her face, turning her toward him again so she couldn’t withdraw and hide. He rasped, “You want to forget it because it isn’t what you want, or because you think it isn’t what I want?” Her eyes lowered to his lips again, her face flushed and pulse fluttering against his one finger that was low enough on her neck to feel it. She made no reply.
He returned to her slowly, giving her plenty of time to deny him. She closed the last remaining gap between them as his lips met hers again. They held that way for a bit, getting used to such uncharted closeness. They parted enough to take a breath before their mouths met again, this time with more certainty. Her tongue slipped tentatively against the space between his lips, and he all too eagerly granted her access, and then sought and was granted the same access in return. This kiss was slow, sensual, intimate in a way that was deeper than the actions themselves. Definitely not one easily categorized as ‘friendly.’
Breaking contact as little as possible, holding his face in her hands, Scully turned her body, tucking her knees beneath her as his arm slid behind her back and pulled her closer. The boundaries between them were seemingly melting away. Every fiber of his being hoped she'd climb into his lap instead of kneeling on the bed by his hip.
He felt like he was young again, making out with the girl he’d had a crush on forever, back when encounters often progressed no further, when a kiss alone was something exciting and new. The ache was furious, every bit as furious as in youth, but this wasn't just some girl. This was Scully.
She pulled back, face flushed and eyes dancing, looking so alive in spite of everything she was going through. Her thumb brushed over his lips before she bestowed one final (far more innocent) kiss, and then returned to her seated position by his side, her shoulder coming to rest against his chest as he kept one arm around her. She still leaned into him, not only allowing the contact but welcoming it.
Heavy breaths filled the room, skin flushed, bodies aroused even as both were somewhat stunned by the power of what they’d just shared. He was lost in thought, trying to commit every single detail of what had just happened to memory as they sat in companionable silence.
“Was that…was that on your bucket list?” he asked tenderly, his fingers brushing the hair back from her face and hoping like hell she wasn’t going to run away from him.
“You never thought about it? Never wondered?”
“O–oh, me? Yea, of course I did. But I didn’t suspect you did.”
“I can die a happy woman,” she dramatically teased.
That comment certainly dulled his excitment, turning one ache into another entirely. The joy drained instantly from him as the color left his face. “Scully–”
“It was a joke.” Her hand patted his to soothe the sting, a fine enough gesture but not nearly enough to combat the sinking feeling that was threatening to swallow him whole.
She held the side of his face, placing a very gentle kiss on his cheek before she leaned back against him again.
“You never said anything,” he stated.
“You never said anything either,” she parried.
"I have."
“Playful innuendos don’t count.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t tell if you were serious or—”
He interrupted, "I meant why didn’t you say anything?”
“Out there?” she nodded toward the door. Avoiding eye contact, she took time to consider her response. “Too much of a risk. What if someone found out and decided it was a conflict of interest for us to work together? We might be reassigned, put on separate cases. Or what if we became distracted? Or worse, if you didn’t feel the same and things became awkward. Or we both felt the same but it didn’t work out? We could lose what we have, you may not want to work with me,” just as it seemed she might go on forever, she added, “In short…the world might end.” She faced him fleetingly, offering a quick smile.
Pressing his lips to her temple, he flirted, “Travis would be so jealous of me. For the record, that wasn’t a joke.”
Scully laughed audibly, replying, “Maybe,” as her laughter faded.
“Definitely.”
“Why didn’t you say something…something direct?"
His heart beat so loudly he could feel it through his whole body, wondering if she could feel it, too. When he’d asked her the question, he didn’t imagine her asking it back. He cleared his throat and said, “I think you made a pretty compelling argument. It’s a lot of responsibility placed on us, knowing that our words and deeds have the power to end the world.” He said it lightly enough.
In time their words faded, attention returning to the movie. They were side-by-side with his left against her right. Having tested boundaries, the tension swelled and thickened, their actions doing nothing to reduce the pull between them.
She loosely folded her arms as they watched the fuzzy screen, her fingertips playing on his arm. It seemed as if she just wanted to keep contact, a move in some ways so innocent while in other ways oddly inflammatory. In truth, he’d imagined kissing her more times than he could count. He’d also imagined much, much more.
He couldn’t tell if she’d ever thought of such things, if she imagined them entwined, the fumblings of hands in the dark, the sensations of mouths exploring, or those shared moments of ecstasy as their sweaty bodies collided. Maybe she hadn’t thought about those things at all…maybe she just wanted to kiss someone who wouldn’t try to kill her in the morning, someone she could trust.
But that kiss sure as hell felt like it meant something. It wasn’t just a kiss.
On one hand, he wanted her more than he thought he’d ever wanted anything, and on the other hand, he wondered if caving to his desires would be a mistake. Was the risk too great? He wasn’t about to stop his fight for her, wasn’t willing to accept even the possibility that she may perish any sooner than a lifetime from then, so maybe it was good to hold onto that desire between them, to draw strength and urgency from it to keep fighting against the odds.
In her eyes, he thought he saw flashes of the same temptations, the same wants and desires and imaginings. And he wondered if he was seeing what he wanted to see instead of what was truly there. Objectivity seemed foreign and impossible in that moment. He knew for certain that he saw exhaustion in her eyes, the tiredness of a body fighting an invader that threatened to steal her very life.
“Want to get some sleep?” he asked when she yawned.
If she would have made even the slightest overture, he knew he did not possess the strength to deny her. When she finally responded, she said, “Honestly, I don’t want to, not at all.” She yawned again, her body winning, and she confessed, “But I am tired.”
“I can sleep on the chair,” Mulder offered as he began to swing his legs over the edge of the bed to get up.
She shook her head, her hand firmly grabbing his forearm and holding him in place. “You’ll be more comfortable here. We can sleep like we did before.”
He didn’t argue, saw no need to as there was no sign of hesitation or uncertainty in her.
This time, he slipped beneath the covers with her. When they were finally settled, they were close but not too close, concerned that their sleeping bodies would incite temptations that more cautious conscious minds may not agree to. They faced each other, his hand reaching out and resting on her wrist, keeping one polite point of contact just as they had a couple of years earlier.
It wasn’t long before she began to sleep, and he listened to the sounds of her breath and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart as it bellowed out its love for her. No argument, no challenge, no obstacle managed to lessen his feelings for her, even if (for the time being) the depth of those feelings should remain hidden.
Eventually sleep claimed him as well.
Whenever he stirred during the night, they were always touching in some subtle way, his hand against her shoulder or hers on his forearm or their fingers threaded. As difficult as sleep typically was for him, next to her, he slept comfortably.
In the morning, he woke when she sat up in bed next to him. He reached for her, putting an arm around her waist, his hand latching onto her hip in a near-hug. He hoped she’d stay, she’d curl back up beside him for a few minutes more. Maybe he could really hold her, even if only for a short while. After all, if it took years to get to this point, who knew how long it would take them to return again.
She extricated herself and began preparations to leave, closing the bathroom door behind her.
When she returned, her voice lacked the warmth and intimacy it had had the night before. “Checkout isn’t until noon. You’re welcome to stay and sleep a while if you want. I have to go.”
The heart that had soared the night before suddenly plunged as he imagined her feeling regret or disappointment or whatever she was feeling that she would not articulate.
“Look, Scully…” he began, speaking slowly while he tried to think of what to say to ease any concerns that may have been floating through her head.
She could see that though, knowing him too damn well, and shook her head, “It’s not… … I have a doctor’s appointment I can’t miss. That’s why I need to go.”
“Oh,” he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face with his hands, “I can drive you.”
“Well, you could…but that would mean leaving one of our cars out here. It’s a long drive back and forth.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s okay. I feel good.”
The fact that she didn’t say ‘fine’ felt significant.
“Does your mom go with you?” he asked.
“With me?”
“To your appointments.”
“No.”
“Who goes with–”
“I go on my own, Mulder. I’m a doctor, I’m familiar with these things.”
“It’s different when you're the patient, isn't it?”
“I like going on my own.”
Feeling worried and vulnerable, he nearly asked if she preferred to go alone because then no one else could know the truth of the details of her condition, but he didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to destroy what they’d shared together the night before. He worried daily that things were dire, and she simply refused to tell anyone. Even after all they’d shared the night before, she didn’t volunteer any clarifying details about her health.
“I really had a nice evening. It was fun pretending to be normal,” she said, hints of fondness showing momentarily.
“I liked it. We don’t have to come here to spend an evening together or watch a terrible movie,” he offered.
She didn’t answer, standing and looking at him with an affection that warmed him through, but she never really answered. He thought she either didn’t believe they could ever play at such normalcy in the real world, or she didn’t think they should. He couldn’t deciper which.
With a little wave of her fingers as she looked back at him over her shoulder, she set out for the door. Just as she reached the doorknob, his palm slapped against the door, holding it closed.
She turned beneath his outstretched arm, her back against the door, his hand anchored next to her head. He came in carefully, slowly, seeking her permission. She granted it by grabbing a handful of his shirt and pulling him to her forcefully, her actions fueling a longing in him more powerful than he'd even realized. Her lips warmly welcomed his return.
Their mouths were instantly together, the kiss hungry and desperate and deep. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush against him. She lifted onto her toes, and he held her up, bracing her weight between his body and the door as her arms wound around his shoulders. She pressed the length of her body against his, certainly noting the effect she had on him. His palm slid up her side, possessively holding her as his thumb only slightly brushed the side of her breast, and she pushed her knee between his thighs encouragingly. Her tongue eased his worries, her lips dulled the pain in his heart, the fingers that stroked the back of his head made him feel at home for the first time in ages. Desire flooded him so powerfully he very nearly lost himself.
With great effort, he put her back down until her feet were firmly placed on the ground. His forehead rested against hers as they panted. Her fingers held onto his shirt and the back of his head, and his clung so tightly to her hips it seemed he may not be able to let go. “Don’t want you to miss your appointment,” he murmurred.
She held his face between her palms, chastely kissing his cheek as she whispered goodbye and left him standing in the room alone with his thoughts.
Chapter Text
The Do-Over (Pt 1)
(Post-Episode S05 E04 Detour)
They never mentioned their forrays through the portal in Room 6. They said nothing when they thought cancer may claim her life, or when she thought he may spend the rest of his days in prison, or on the day they learned that neither death nor incarceration would keep them apart.
They never discussed the way they’d kissed or the intensity of what had occurred between them in that room. There were no hints. No jokes. No innuendos. Only silence. They handled Room 6 like their own Pandora’s box, something they knew couldn’t be opened lest they risk their own futures.
In fact, of all the hints and innuendos and playful teasing that Mulder offered, he seemed to understand perfectly well not to say anything about Room 6. Sometimes Scully feared (and some rebellious part of her hoped) that he might bring it up, might make a passing comment or subtle suggestion that pointed more directly to what had occurred. And yet he said nothing. Not a word. Not a hint. He was perfectly respectful.
It was very much like it had never happened.
The silence fueled the tension between them. There was a clear need for careful separation between them, order and rules employed to maintain safe distances and avoid crossing lines they’d learned could all too easily be crossed. And she remembered exactly how good it had felt to cross those lines.
Even though they maintained safe distances between them, she knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew exactly what had occurred between them. They could avoid acknowledging it, but that didn’t make it any less true.
When she’d been on her death bed in that hospital, pleading with him to let her take the blame for the shooting in his apartment, it took every last bit of restraint to stop herself from confessing her love. She felt it, knew it, understood it. She supposed she did say it, in her own way, as she’d pleaded with him to save himself. Surely he knew the offer was one borne of great love. And he’d made his own confessions, too, as he refused to let her take the blame even in the event of her death.
She’d nearly said it, though, just so he’d hear it at least once and know the Truth without question or doubt. When she thought she was going to die, she worried that such confessions were cruel, to tell him something like that only to leave him behind shortly thereafter. Her mind had reasoned that such words were best left unsaid.
Then she knew she wasn’t going to die, at least not from cancer. So perhaps it was good that she hadn’t said anything because if she had said it out in the real world, they’d have to deal with all the ramifications of such a confession. It seemed best to put those thoughts and feelings back in their boxes.
When he ran out on her the one time she tried to break down the barriers between them in the real world with a bit of wine and cheese, she reminded herself it was for the best. She’d made a miscalculation, a horrible one at that. It had been Mulder who’d held the line, who had made sure they didn’t make a terrible mistake. One day she’d thank him for walking away from her that night, whether he did so out of obliviousness or obsessiveness or intentionally to prevent them from breaking their own rules.
And it would have been a mistake. She fully acknowledged that.
In truth, even though it was the right thing to do, it hurt. It felt like a larger rejection than it probably should have. Maybe they’d missed their time, their chance. Maybe the night they’d made out on the bed and again against the door in that shitty motel would be the only time they’d ever express their feelings in such an overtly physical way.
And damn how that night filled her thoughts and fueled her fantasies (just from a few kisses).
The day after returning from the mothmen hunt in Florida, she ran to the grocery store after delivering their report to Skinner, and by the time she was home, there was a blinking light on her answering machine. She was ready to relax and unwind, and already Mulder wanted to embark on another investigation. He explained that he would pick her up at her place, practically crooning, ‘Don’t put away those hiking boots just yet, Scully, because we’re headed right back into the great outdoors.’
He sounded really, truly excited.
She looked at her watch and saw she had a little over an hour before he’d be there, pounding on her door, ready to go. His message conveyed a plan already made rather than a request. She considered telling him no, drawing lines of demarcation between work and personal lives, but she had nothing she’d rather do at that moment. After all, she’d been given a new lease on life, and sitting in her apartment alone seemed like a waste.
After grabbing a shower, she sighed, choosing her hiking boots (her own from her closet instead of the pair she had to buy last minute in Florida), thick jeans, and a warm sweatshirt to wear beneath her coat. She grabbed her best backpack for hiking, sighed again, and placed the rest of her things within.
When she got in the car, he handed her autopsy results, a burgeoning folder full, and asked her to look them over. She did so as they drove, reviewing page after page, victim after victim, seeing no similarity from one to the next. A few deaths seemed rather mundane, by X-files standards. When she finished reading, she put the files down on her lap, her hands atop them, and said, “Only one of these takes place in or near the ‘great outdoors’, as you put it, so I don’t see how these autopsies relate to this case. Additionally, I’m at a complete loss to find any connection between these deaths whatsoever. The only connection I can possibly make is that they all seem to be unrelated to each other and unrelated to any other X-File…at least those that I'm familiar with. In fact…they don’t really seem like X-files at all.”
“I’m impressed, Scully.”
“By?”
“That in the absence of any connection, you found one,” he bobbed his head enthusiastically, glancing at her from the road as Scully’s eyes rolled.
“So what am I missing?”
“Nothing. Just some random autopsies for your reading pleasure.”
“What the hell did you have me do that for?” she questioned, frustration nearing rage.
“Give you something to do during the drive.”
“You made me read through a stack of autopsies…for fun? You didn’t consider listening to music? Conversing about the weather? Discussing the details of the actual case we’re on?”
“Well, the pertinent facts of this case are ones you’re already acutely familiar with, so I saw no need to brief you on facts you already know.”
“What case?”
“Mothmen.”
“Mothmen? What, they took a bus here from Florida?”
“Any found here would be Mid-Atlantic mothmen, Scully,” he countered, like that fact was blatantly obvious.
“Would you care to fill me in on the salient differences?”
“I’m not sure that it matters, because we’re not exactly looking for those types of mothmen either.” He parked the car in a dirt patch next to the road and said, “We’re here.”
“Here?” They were surrounded by thick trees and brush and seemingly endless darkness. “We’re starting our investigation in the middle of the night in the pitch black forest in near freezing temperatures without a guide?”
Hopping out of the car, Mulder hurried to the trunk and grabbed a hiking pack that he slung over his shoulders. Scully took her own and the flashlight he offered and began following him. While the first stretch was rather treacherous, they soon reached the edge of the woods by a corn field. The corn had long since turned brown and crispy, standing in dry, tan rows. Scully pulled her coat tighter around her neck, the night’s chill becoming bitter. They walked along the edge, finding a somewhat clear path separating the woods from the field. The wind whipped the dried corn leaves, making sounds that could easily be mistaken for footsteps, keeping Scully on high alert.
“One hell of a way to spend my new lease on life,” she muttered to herself.
“What?” he asked over his shoulder as he led them.
“These mothmen like dessicated corn?” she asked at a heightened volume, suspicion growing by the minute.
“It is a well-known delicacy at mothmen festivities.”
“Mulder,” she called, stopping in her tracks stubbornly. “What are we doing out here?”
Her face was pink from the wind and cold. “It’s not much further. Come on,” he encouraged. “When we were traveling back to DC after our Floridian adventures, it occurred to me that there may have been certain…missed opportunities…during that investigation.”
“Let me guess, you want to trap one alive. If they come charging at me, I’m going to shoot, I’m not—"
“Interesting idea, but that’s not what I was thinking of. Maybe next time.”
Scully’s voice didn’t carry the annoyance her posture attempted to convey. “Then what are you thinking of?”
“Sometimes I get carried away, so invested in chasing down whatever we’re hunting, that I fail to observe things not directly related to the case.”
“No!?” she feigned shock with exactly the amount of emphasis she felt was necessary.
He paused, turning to face her, narrowing his eyes in response before continuing, “And sometimes I’m presented with an opportunity, and when I consider the possible risks, it seems like too much of a chance to take.”
Without giving her time to respond, he turned away and kept walking.
“What sorts of risks? I’ve seen you take some pretty big risks.”
“Some risks are worth taking. Some things are too important to risk. We’ve established this before.”
Scully didn’t answer, following behind as she tried to decide if he was talking about what she thought he was talking about.
“In short…we’re here because I thought maybe we could have a do-over,” he forged a path through the corn, beckoning her to follow, “in a more risk-free environment.”
“A do-over? I’m relatively certain those are limited to children’s games on playgrounds and not an option available to adults in the real world.”
“Maybe in this dimension.” He grinned at her as he stepped through the last few rows of corn, swinging his arm like he was opening a curtain for her to step through.
“Here?” she asked when she saw the side of the Modern Gateway Motel.
“Yea.” He appeared quite pleased with himself, excited really, until he looked at her face to judge her reaction and his confidence started to falter. “I–is that okay?”
“Mul–”
“If you aren't feeling up to interdimensional travel and primitive creature hunting tonight just say so.” He tried to sound easy going, but he looked as if he were braced for rejection.
“No. It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
“Why didn’t you pull into the motel parking lot?” she asked, not angrily but certainly with confusion.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He stepped in front of her, so close that the tips of his shoes almost touched hers. He whispered covertly, “Your cancer is in remission, and I felt this was the time to celebrate. Remember what I said before…that we should come back here one day when you were cured? And maybe while we're here, I can try to make up for some of the moments when my actions may have seemed a bit…insensitive. But I completely understand if you don’t want to be here.”
“I do,” she said, stepping around him to continue walking toward the motel. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Good surprised or bad surprised?”
“Good. I think. I’m certainly interested in celebrating our continued existence.”
He caught up to her, putting his hand on the back of her pack and guiding her to the front of the motel. Mulder already had a key, and she stood behind him as she waited for him to open the door. “How do you already have a key?” she asked.
“I made arrangements.”
“What sort of arrangements?”
He flashed a grin, one of those flirty schoolboy grins that found his face on occasion, choosing not to answer.
When he turned a lantern on and held it up, she could see someone had already been in the room.
“Watch your step, this is uncharted territory,” Mulder cautioned, looking around like he really needed to sell the ruse.
There were camouflage blankets over the windows, and the bed and other furniture were pushed against the edges of the room to create space at the center. Near the middle, pillows sat around a small electric grill. Lanterns were placed strategically for them to use. He looked, in a word, anxious, as he awaited her response to what she saw. She smiled subtly, taking it all in, turning back to him and asking, “You did this?”
“In retrospect it may seem a bit childish.”
“No. It’s…fun.”
“Like I said, maybe we can have a do-over, revisit things I wish may have gone a little differently.” He put his heavy pack down on the table and opened it, pulling out two cooler bags as they each shucked off their heavy coats and gear. She removed her gun and set it safely to the side, enjoying the fact that they weren’t going to be in any mortal danger.
Scully smiled and stated knowingly (as if she were certain of the answer), “So… …is there wine and cheese in that cooler bag?”
He paused, his eyes searching for an answer before he said somewhat ruefully, “Not quite.” He gathered things from the bag in each hand and added, “I went in another direction, thought that maybe in this dimension, it really does rain weenies and marshmallows.” He lifted packs of each high in the air and dropped them onto the bed’s edge. “Surprise.”
Scully chuckled and shook her head. “So much to learn about this place.”
With a pleased look on his face, he went about pulling things from his bag with renewed enthusiasm. He plugged in the small electric grill and turned it up on high. “So I thought an actual fire may get us into trouble without adequate ventilation. Hopefully this little grill won’t do any damage.”
She looked for the smoke detector and pulled a chair under it. She climbed up to check for a battery, and he came over and stood next to her. She looked down at him, finding some part of her wishing that he’d wrap his arms around her. The cautious part of her tried to rein in those impulses that seemed to awaken all too easily.
As she opened the detector, she saw the battery had already been removed.
“Apparently in this dimension, they aren’t too concerned with fire safety,” he noted.
“Not sure if I should be concerned or relieved.”
“I think we knew what we were getting here.”
She smiled subtly at him. He lifted his hand and offered it to her to help her hop down. “Thanks,” she said as she stepped off the chair.
They were hardly separated by any distance at all. He winced. “Admittedly, wine and cheese was probably a better way to go.”
“How many opportunities will there be in life to try to get the perfect toast on a marshmallow with an electric grill?” She got lost in her thoughts for a minute, and he searched her for clues, uninhibitedly assessing her reaction. “You know, Mulder, I really should thank you for running out on me.”
“Running out on you?” he scoffed as if the very thought were ridiculous.
“Yes. In Florida.” Feeling a flush of embarrassment that she’d brought it up along with a strong sense of lingering rejection, she added, “You had the foresight to see that consorting was crossing a line.”
“No. I–I had a feeling that that house and that family should be watched, like something was going to happen. My sudden need to depart wasn’t really about anything or anyone in that room, it was a hunch. And I was right, I might add.”
She patted his upper arm like she didn’t believe a word he’d said, “You’re a good partner. A good friend. I appreciate that you made sure we maintained our boundaries.”
“They went after that boy! This isn’t about boundaries.” He was beginning to sound like he was running defense.
“I was the one who broke our established protocol. It was my mistake, and I am sorry. We talked about it last time we were here, remember?”
Mulder’s lips closed as he nodded, then he murmured, “And we haven’t said so much as a word about it since.”
“Wasn’t that the point? That we had to make sure to keep certain professional lines because–”
“Yea, yea. The world might end.”
She chuckled. “In a manner of speaking.”
After Mulder opened drinks for each of them, they took seats on pillows around the fake “fire.” Their conversation from moments before had left him uncertain about where they stood and whether he’d made a terrible miscalculation. In all honesty, he had no expectation of anything physical happening between them on their trip. Okay, he had hope, but hope and expectation were not the same thing. He wanted to spend time with her, time away from the noise and distraction that seemed to surround them constantly. Something about being in that place helped him leave the rest of the world behind. Maybe there really was something strange at work in that room. Maybe this place truly deserved its own X-file.
He was happy enough just to enjoy an evening on a ridiculous mothman hunt, taking a break to pretend to be ordinary people again. Since she had kissed him when she thought she was dying, maybe she would kiss him now to celebrate that she wasn’t.
“You okay, Mulder?” Scully asked, studying him like he were on her autopsy slab before the slicing and dicing began.
“Yea, I’m…” he was silently wondering if he'd lost his chance with her. “I can’t get this package open.” He held up the pack of hot dogs.
She took it from him and pulled the plastic sides apart with frightening ease before returning it to him. Sometimes it seemed that she could do absolutely anything well. He pulled two hot dogs from the package, putting one on each fork and then handing one loaded fork to her.
“Thank you,” she said with a little smile, playing along with the game. He shoved a paper towel with a hot dog roll wrapped in it to her. With suspicion, she looked at the mangled and flattened bread that hadn’t fared too well traveling in his bag.
They chatted about nothing of consequence as they heated their dinner, talking about the agents they’d both ditched on the way to that conference, and memories of watching the Invisible Man as children. He continued to defend the fact that they learned plenty about collaboration, cooperation and communication each and every day they spent together, and he stood by his belief that they didn't require any training at all to improve their partnership.
Sitting across from her, he could watch her as much or more than his food. She seemed at ease there with him.
After placing her hot dog in that sad excuse for a roll, she took her first bite, and he declared, “Nothing like eating food cooked over an open flame like a real man.”
“Like a real man?” she lifted her eyebrow. “I guess crossing into this dimension had some effects on me that I hadn’t anticipated.”
He laughed, shaking his head, “I can assure you, your wo-man-ness still appears to be perfectly intact.”
But he wasn’t the only one affected by this place. Scully, too, seemed to leave the rest of the world behind, even if only for a few hours. She was relaxed, almost playful. She pulled her shirt collar forward to look down the front and noted, “Everything seems in place from this angle. I’ll check the rest later.”
He kind of chuckled as he cleared his throat. But the desire to say something else, something that may incite, was too much to resist. “Know, Scully, that I am here for you. If, in the name of genuine scientific and paranormal research, you need me to hold a lantern while you conduct further testing…I’ll do that for you.”
“For me?” she said with a look that shot right through him. He nodded, feeling himself blush a bit and waiting for her to point that out. Maybe she couldn’t tell in the relative darkness of the room. Her eyes held his, and just as he was certain she was about to say something so thrilling he’d barely be able to stand it, her tongue touched her upper lip and her eyes dropped away. She took a deep breath, refusing any greater response, de-escalating as she always seemed to when he tried to flirt with her. So close.
“Toss me those marshmallows?” she asked instead.
Scully was so good at cooling them off. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or disappointed. And then he realized he was disappointed. Very disappointed. But he choked down the sense of defeat and threw the bag to her.
The overhead lights were out, the room around them lit only by lanterns. Scully put her hands a small distance over the grill to warm her fingers. “Heat broken?” she asked.
“What heat? Even in this dimension, there’s no heat in the great outdoors.
“Right.”
He stood, grabbed his heavier jacket and draped it over her shoulders, waiting for her to mention the fact that he’d magically found electricity to power the grill, but she didn't mention that.
“Thanks,” she said, looking up at him from her place on the ground, giving a smile, a true smile, as he took his place once again.
Mulder watched as Scully toasted a marshmallow in her full fastidious glory. She had it carefully balanced on a fork just over the flat surface, occasionally picking it up and gently poking the sides to test its readiness.
When she finally had it exactly as she wanted it, she held it between her thumb and forefinger and smiled at it.
“That was a lot of work for something that tastes pretty damn good without any effort at all,” Mulder commented, flipping his that he’d simply let sit on the surface. It was partially burnt on one side, but he popped it in his mouth and commented, “Mine may not look as good as yours, but it tastes perfect.”
“Perfect?” She countered with disbelief. “How would you know it tastes perfect unless you’ve already tasted perfection?”
He swallowed the comment that sat on the tip of his tongue begging to be spoken, a comment that sounded a lot like I may not have tasted perfection yet, but I’d really like to. And no…the perfection he was referring to was no marshmallow. But they flirted, and she retreated, and he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or have any desire to leave, so he decided to keep his comments to himself.
“Try it,” she offered, holding her marshmallow out for him. She could have been holding a fucking brussels sprout or an ibuprofen and he would have gladly eaten it out of her hand, so he leaned forward to take what was offered. At the last minute, she withdrew her hand slightly and ordered, “Save half for me.” He bobbed his head as she held it toward him again. He bit off one side, and a string of goo from within dropped onto his lip. He hadn’t withdrawn yet, watching her as she took the other half and brought it toward her own lips. Before she could taste it, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand toward his mouth, quickly snatching the other half for himself, his lips sliding along the tips of her fingers to get every last piece.
His coat dropped from her shoulders to the floor from their tussling.
Her mouth opened in surprise as she laughed, “Mulder? Seriously? After all that work?”
“I can admit when you’re right. And this time, you are right. It is better,” he chuckled. Her eyes dropped to the marshmallow on his lip, and for a moment he thought she may lick the remnants herself. She definitely seemed to be considering it. At the last second, she broke the stare and grabbed the bag and placed a marshmallow on her fork. With some disappointment, he licked the remaining treat from his own lip.
He held his hand out and gestured for her to give it to him. “This one’s mine,” she argued.
“I’ll make you one.”
“I saw how you do it. No, thank you.”
He tossed the pillow he’d been sitting on over next to hers, taking a spot close by, so close his arm was against hers.
“I am your devoted student,” he declared.
“What?”
“Show me how to toast it your way, and I’ll make you a replacement.”
“You’re too impatient.”
He shook his head, feeling her watching him. “Am not.”
Her eyes surveyed his face, although what she was looking for he wasn’t quite certain. “Alright,” she said, returning her attention to the task at hand but leaning in so her shoulder was squarely against his. “First of all, this is much easier with an actual fire, but the grill’s even heat has its advantages.”
“Even heat. Got it.”
“Now you can hurry, rush through, and you can get it done well enough, but if you really want it to be delicious, you have to take your time. Exercise patience.”
Mulder’s lips were slightly parted as he leaned in and listened. She may not have meant them to be, but her words took on more pleasurable connotations in his mind. “Patience,” he repeated.
“So you want to get close, but not directly against the heat source. If you put it directly against the heat, the outside will burn before the inside is ready. See what makes it really good isn’t so much the even toasting as it is warming it up slowly, letting the heat penetrate through to the inside so it gets soft. If you just shove it against the heat, you’ll scorch the outside, but the inside won’t be so delicious and melty.”
His eyes couldn’t leave her lips as she spoke, except to occasionally search her eyes. He was certain he was reading into this, hearing innuendos that she wasn’t intending, but he could feel the effects of her words.
She pulled hers away from the fire, poking it softly with her finger while he as her student did the same. “Almost there,” she said before she put the marshmallow back over the heat.
She turned toward him, leaning on her palm that she braced on the ground behind them and between their bodies. Her lips seemed close enough to kiss. She practically purred in the most seductive way, “It's better when you take your time with it…isn’t it?”
He nodded, speaking although his lips moved as little as possible, “It is.” He didn’t realize he’d lowered the marshmallow onto the surface until he began to smell burning sugar. He pulled it back so quickly, griped, “Shit!” and in his haste dropped it from the fork completely. He reached out and picked it up, his thumb and finger breaking through the outside and into the center. “Sorry, Scully. I’ll try again.”
He sounded more dejected than he wanted to.
She took his hand and said, “I think it looks pretty good. I don’t mind a little char.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and bit off part of the snack. Her lips grazed along his finger, eliciting a little moan that he hoped to hell she didn’t hear, but she probably did. “It’s fantastic.”
He ate the bit she left for him, then took her hand and once again stole some of hers. “Yours still tastes better,” he noted.
“I don’t know,” she was right there again, so close, “I liked yours.”
Mulder saw a glint in her eye, a mischievousness that he’d seen glimpses of before but never to this extent, never on such brazen display. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” His voice rumbled low.
She tilted her head, replying innocently, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tucking her bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth slowly released it back out as she leaned even closer to him. Then her lips touched his, softly, an exploratory testing of contact. Her tongue tasted his, humming, “Mmm,” like she found another taste she liked. He froze for only a moment before he realized what was actually happening and decided to taste her lip, too. There was a hint of sugar atop her full bow-shaped lips, lips that were perfectly soft and welcoming and warm.
“You know what’s really good?” she asked as she brushed her lips to his.
“Tell me.”
“The way mine tastes on your lips.”
He groaned at the innuendo before he could stop himself. “What are you doing, Scully?”
“What are you doing, Mulder?”
“Me? I’m not doing anything. But you? I don’t get it, because you gave me that whole speech about how grateful you were that we didn’t ‘consort’ in Florida and now it really feels like you’re suggesting some pretty heavy consorting —”
“What if I am?” she answered defiantly, without shame or apology.
“So when you thanked me for walking out of that room, that was—”
She interrupted, any sense of playfulness gone, “The truth. You were right. Out there…at work, at home, in the real world…we can’t do that. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. That hasn’t changed. You know that just as well as I do.”
He nodded, trying to consider too many things at once.
“I thought you wanted a do-over from the other night,” she reminded him. A hint of sadness or disappointment was in her tone, and it hurt his heart. “Have I misinterpreted your intentions?” Scully asked softly.
His only reply was a kiss, a little deeper than before, reassuring, unsure what the hell he had to say. Because even though the whole portal excuse was complete crap, they both appeared to be ready, willing and able to use that loophole.
Scully fucking knew how to kiss, how to escalate, how to allow her tongue to do things that sent his mind racing, how to suck on his lower lip in just the right way… And even better, she let him kiss her, she took pleasure in it, let him explore, let him demonstrate his own oral dexterity. If they could make love half as adeptly as they kissed, he’d never be able to stop.
Neither seemed interested in stopping any time soon, taking sips of air between kisses so they didn't have to completely break away. Her fingertips stroked the back of his neck, her other hand moved to his chest and rested against it, and it sure as hell seemed like this time was a preamble, a beginning.
A previous thought returned, the very thought of her tasting herself on his lips, and he reached for her hip and pulled her body toward his because if she was willing, he needed to make that happen.
Her fingers found the bandaged space beneath his shirt, though, and she withdrew a little, her face donning a look of concerned empathy. “How’s that healing?” she asked tenderly.
“Just fine.”
“Have you changed the dressing?”
“I don’t care—I–I don’t know,” he corrected. At that moment, this conversation was completely unimportant to him. It seemed that once again they would come so close before the inevitable retreat.
“It’s late. I’m going to change for bed before it gets much colder. Take off your shirt and I’ll check that out for you," she offered.
She gathered her bag and disappeared into the bathroom. Seconds prior, he thought he was well on his way to burying his face between her legs, and feasting on her until she screamed his name, and then she was gone. He realized this might be like last time, when they kissed and held each other and afterwards went to sleep close (but not too close) by each other’s sides.
And it wasn’t that he didn’t want that intimacy, too, but his desire for her this time was so much greater, so much more urgent.
He hurriedly sat down, fighting the uncooperative laces on his hiking boots. As Mulder heard her washing up, he teased, “You know, there aren’t any bathrooms in the woods, Scully.”
She opened the bathroom door a crack, but she was against the sink so he couldn't quite see her yet, and the lantern she had with her offered little illumination. “Mulder…my interest in this game of ours will severely diminish without running water,” she countered.
He took a deep breath, quickly shucking off his jeans and slipping on his sweats, hoping the darkness was enough to cloak his growing excitement. He confessed, “It really is interesting, the strategically placed bathrooms this dimension has, isn’t it?”
He heard her chuckle before she stepped into the doorway, leaving her lantern in the bathroom. He could see she was wearing an oversized tee, unable to discern what else may be under it, but from where he stood, it didn’t look like much else. He also knew it was too damn cold in that room for the way she was dressed, and he bit back the desire to offer to warm her.
He swallowed so hard he thought she might be able to hear, then hurried past her to brush his teeth and calm his racing thoughts in the bathroom.
When he emerged, she walked toward him, not in an intentionally seductive way, but seeing her legs bared with just that shirt was so damn sexy. She took his hand, leading him to the table. She patted the surface, and he sat on the edge.
Remembering she’d told him to remove his shirt, he lifted the bottom edge of it, but he felt her fingers at the hem as she pulled off his sweater and the tee beneath.
She stood close, carefully peeled back the bandage and disposed of it. Lifting his lantern to inspect him, she softly whispered, “Hmm.”
“Hmm? What hmm?”
“You’re healing nicely. But probably should have waited before taking another case out in the woods.” She flashed a smirk at him.
“Yea,” he agreed, “this case is pretty dangerous."
She retreated to her bag and returned with fresh bandages. “Sit back,” she ordered.
He leaned back, his palms behind him holding up his torso. “Brought a first aid kit?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure after the last case. Every time I think I don’t need one, I do, so better to have one and not need it than the other way around.”
Scully stood between his legs, her hip against his knee and part of his thigh. It seemed impossible to imagine that she didn’t notice his state of arousal. After all their previous flirting, such subtle touches felt amplified, and he could feel the heat of her body, and it only served to make him that much more excited. Her fingers walked across his chest around the outer perimeter of his wound and slid down his side. He almost wished it would have tickled rather than tempted, because those little brushes of fingertips and the subtle scratching of her manicured nails were driving him to distraction.
He cleared his throat and sat upright, inaction becoming nearly impossible, pulling back when he felt her breath on his nipple, which prompted thoughts of her mouth on his body.
“I’m not done yet,” she chastened, her fingers reaching under each of his knees to pull him back closer to the edge of the table. How he wished he were the one standing between her legs, pulling her body toward his.
“I can get it,” he argued, reaching for the tape.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Scully moved the supplies away from him and cast a stern look until he relented.
She came in close, giving him far too much of her attention, meticulously bandaging him with the utmost care. Her face was close, so close, and he leaned in a little, tilting his head and hoping she’d take the opportunity (and the hint) and kiss him again. He already missed the contact between them terribly, trying to figure out how to rewind the tape back a few minutes to when they'd kissed on the floor.
She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled an inviting smile before she finished. Her palm pressed against the tape, pushing it in place as she asked, “Feel okay?”
“Never better."
“We better be careful. You need rest, and you need to keep warm.”
He was certain her next request would be to cut the charade and turn on the heat (and he was about to argue back that there was no damn way he was still in shock from that attack), but instead she stated (in a completely matter-of-fact tone), “You know the one thing I noticed during our investigation here tonight?”
“No mothmen?” he ventured a guess.
“That. And…not only does it rain weenies and marshmallows here…but apparently it rains sleeping bags, too.”
Notes:
This chapter was getting far too long, so I broke it into 2 separate chapters. Sometimes when they get too long, I feel they’re a bit unwieldy. Next installment is coming soon. Thank you again so very much to those who take the time to read and comment or favorite...I appreciate it so much
Chapter 4: The Do-Over (Pt 2)
Notes:
I'm so sorry this has taken so long! It was a tough week all around and I was short on time to finish revisions. Anyway, here's the next.
It is the second half of the previous chapter. Thanks so much to all readers out there!
Chapter Text
The Do-Over (Pt 2)
His ears hummed as his pulse picked up while he tried to decide if he really heard what he thought he’d heard. She stepped away, picking up two rolled sleeping bags from their gear and placing them on the bed.
“Learn something new about this place every time,” he mumbled back.
“You’ll probably be alright if you climb in this one,” she patted a single empty sleeping bag.
“Probably?”
“Hopefully. Unless you’re already really cold.”
“I am so fucking cold.”
He could hear her breathe a little laugh at his response. “Well, this guy I know once told me that the best way to warm back up is for two people to share the same sleeping bag.”
“Clearly a very wise man.”
“He has his moments. So, it’s up to you. Do we need one…or two?”
“Is this one of those infamous camping pranks?” he asked.
“Shock is no laughing matter,” she interrupted, and then waited patiently. She was going to make him choose, make him say it aloud instead of skirting around the edges with innuendos.
He was tempted to tell her that she knew damn well shock wasn’t a concern anymore, but he summoned his courage and replied, “We’ll be warmest if we share. If that's alright with you.”
He was simultaneously proud of the nuanced answer and disappointed that he wasn’t bolder about it.
She nodded in a very Dr. Scully way, replying, "It's alright with me," tossing one sleeping bag aside and unzipping the other. She took the same floppy, sad motel pillows they always had here and put two at the end for them to use. She held the bag open and gestured for him to get in.
If closeness was what he’d hoped for, he was surely about to receive it. He obeyed, slipping his legs in first as he got into position. He lay partially on his back and partially on his side, sort of facing away from her.
She extinguished the lantern nearest them with a click, leaving only one lantern in the bathroom still lit and offering little illumination for the rest of the room. His brain scrambled when the edge of the sleeping bag lifted up, letting colder air invade, and the bed shifted as she crawled in beside him.
Her legs brushed his as she moved in, adjusting until she landed where she wanted to be. Her hip was against him, and he started to wish he’d positioned himself the other way so he could hold her. Of course given his state of arousal, that seemed like pressing his luck.
She squirmed to close the zipper, every move she made only furthering his longing. She felt like a glass of perfectly clear water being held before a parched man, a man who was insane enough to turn away from it when it was before him.
They were close, so very close, and she settled behind him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He could feel the heat of her penetrating his very soul.
She wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him further into an embrace. “Feeling better?” she asked.
“Much better,” he answered, his voice low.
Her knees were against the backs of his legs, her chest pressed against his back. Her lips brushed his neck. He could have sworn he felt a subtle kiss being placed there.
She held him tightly, breath tickling his skin, her breasts pressing into his back as she inhaled. He wished like hell she’d order him to flip over so he could hold her in his arms. But then she’d know for certain…she’d know that with those indirect touches he was already hard.
It was an overreaction, and just as before when they were here and Scully had kissed him and it ended there, he chastised himself for assuming this was anything more than the two of them huddling for warmth and comfort. But surely she knew they could turn on the heat. It was possible. And he wasn’t in any danger, he wasn’t in shock or in need of body heat, the most imminent risk from his injuries had passed days ago.
For a second, he thought she was asleep, but her fingers opened, splaying across his stomach, reaching over his body and exploring the expanse of muscle and skin between his ribs and mid-stomach. He tried to control his breath, but had no greater luck with that than he had controlling his now rampant erection. His chest rose and fell roughly, excitement growing, heart thrumming.
Her palm slid up his chest, over his heart, and he waited for her to make a comment that never seemed to come. Then he asked, “Are you comfortable, Scully?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I just…you’re an awfully tiny spoon to have to be the big spoon. You usually prefer doing the holding over being held?”
He looked over his shoulder at her, rolling just a little further onto his back to see her better.
Her eyes met his, and she gave his question consideration. “I don’t know anymore,” she replied.
“You don’t know?”
“I mean…”
“You don't like being the holder or the one being held?”
“No. I do actually, at times. It’s just…not something I really do anymore.”
He turned to face her completely, pulling his hips back as far as he could away from her.
“I would hold you, here or out in the real world,” he offered, his eyes sliding all over her face and hoping for feedback.
“Thanks. I may take you up on that some time.”
“But not this time?”
“Well, it's my responsibility to keep you warm,” she replied as her fingers landed on his chest in a loose fist.
Mulder weighed the pros and cons of the words he desperately wanted to reply with. Just as his brain decided not to push it, his mouth disobediently added, “You know…if that guy who told you about the sleeping bags really was so intelligent, he would have told you that to really get warm, the occupants of the aforementioned sleeping bag should be naked.” He said it lightly, flippantly, even chuckling at the end.
Silence hung in the air long enough to make him nervous. Finally, without a giggle or chuckle or disapproving sneer, she replied, “If you want to be that warm, you’re gonna have to work for it.”
That was a dare if he’d ever heard one.
His fingers reached beneath the covers, his hand coming to rest on her thigh at the very end of her long shirt. He curled his index finger under the hem, pausing before his other fingers followed suit. He began lifting the shirt.
Scully's eyes seemed a little surprised but not resistant, the excitement of the moment perhaps invading her as well. He waited for her to slap his hand away or maybe climb out the sleeping bag and leave him cold and wanting. But she stayed, raising her arms to assist him as the shirt was pulled off completely. He stretched out one arm for her to use as a pillow, his other hand reaching for her waist and sliding around to touch the smooth, inviting skin all across her back. When he confirmed she wasn't wearing a bra, he had to stifle a low groan.
Her nose brushed his. Commenting on the suddenly stalled progress, she asked, “Is that warm enough then?”
He shook his head, words failing him, his hand smoothing down her ribs, her side, over her hip, finding the top elastic band of her underwear before opening his hand and reaching down her thigh. Her lips parted as she began to breathe a little more heavily, too.
In her eyes he saw desire, finding in her a mirror of his own feelings.
Her parted lips were too great an invitation to decline, so he kissed her, feeling the way she practically melted into him, toward him, the kiss instantly deep although slightly tentative, awaiting the moment when she pulled away and disappeared. But still she stayed. Her hands between them, she smoothed over his chest and up over his shoulders before resting at the back of his neck. His hand opened, his thumb curling under her waistband and pushing her underwear down her legs. Once he was willing to initiate this next step, she took over, wriggling within the confines of the sleeping bag to divest herself of them.
When she came to rest again, right against him, she put her leg over his hips and hand on his waist and drew him in as she kissed him again. She didn’t stop until their bodies were so near, his erection trapped between them.
“If you’re still cold now, you only have yourself to blame,” she commented breathlessly, her voice so eroticaly charged he made note to try to talk her into phone sex one day.
But as far as the meaning behind her words, his brain couldn’t comprehend. “What?”
“The sweats.” Her fingers reached down his hips, just barely crawling under the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers to make her point. Her touch was firm and insistent, sliding around to his ass and pulling him against her even tighter. She moaned, she fucking moaned from pressing her body against his. Her eyes stared into his, the excitement on her face plain to see, even in the dimly lit room.
With a flash of a grin at the corner of her mouth, she pushed his sweats down from his hips as he lifted to help, her feet climbing down his legs to help shove his remaining clothes to the bottom of the bag. Rolling onto his back, he reached into the sleeping bag and finished pulling them off. Dragging the balled up mass of discarded clothing, he tossed it off the bed.
He returned to his place, faced her and instantly her mouth was on his. Hesitation and caution quickly felt like a thing of the past. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and rolled back, bringing her on top of him, and he relished the pressure of her resting entirely on him. He swallowed hard, sitting on what felt like the precipice of either devastation or the moment when a dream became reality.
Her sex was against his and it wouldn’t have taken much for the two to move and adjust and merge into one. She moaned again, a luxurious, throaty sound, as she pressed down against his body. He palmed her ass, pulling her against him in steady pulses, noting the fact that in that moment, he was hers and she was his, the lines of what actions were forbidden between them growing increasingly invisible.
His palm slipped up her spine, pushing her toward him as neither was willing to stop kissing. When he finally pried his mouth from hers, he nibbled a trail along her jaw, testing and finding spots on her neck that made her gasp in pleasure.
Her fingers slid up the back of his head, holding him to her while he tasted her neck. His hands surrounded her waist, sliding up to her breast, his thumb lightly caressing her nipple as he felt the softness, weight and shape of her in his palm.
He sat up and moved her along with him, still ensconced in the sleeping bag that bent to follow them. He couldn’t resist pulling her flush against him and lifting her higher so he could finally get his lips on her, hungrily tugging her nipple into his mouth. He sucked as his tongue laved, and she arched toward him. He could feel the wetness of her sex against his belly and fought the urge to pull her into his lap and sink into her instantly. Her fingers scratched at his scalp, holding his head against her, and he sucked harder as he tested her boundaries, but she only rocked against him more roughly and gasped more desperately.
His hands moved to her rear, palming her cheeks and massaging them as he held her against his belly, still fighting that almost undeniable urge to get inside her, particularly when she didn't seem to be dissuading him from such actions in any way. His fingers grew brave and touched her hip and thigh, moving with careful precision to the front of her body to touch between her legs, to see if her pussy was every bit as wet as it seemed to feel against his belly, desperate to explore and learn how she liked to be touched. Did she like soft taps or firm presses, quick swirls or lazy circles?
Just as he thought he’d be able to find out, she withdrew, settling on his thighs. She pushed her palms to his chest and sat up, still perched on him. She roughly shoved the sleeping bag from her shoulders and the zipper slid open a bit rather than be broken. He didn't mind the cold for a second.
Her eyes moved down his body, settling on his dick as it stood proudly between them, desperate for contact as she surveyed him. She licked her lips, and he felt it. She looked so alive, absolutely breathtaking as she sat above him looking down.
Her focus moved to his chest, and he suddenly saw something that reminded him of compassion. “Does it hurt?” she questioned as her fingers brushed the edges of the new bandage on him.
“Nothing hurts,” he confessed, his honesty blunt. So he joked as he looked down at his body, “Well some things… ache …but that’s different.”
She smiled before she said, “No strenuous activities. You should really take it easy.”
“No.” He shook his head to demonstrate his point.
Her palms slipped down his torso, intentionally learning shapes and ridges and veins. “Trust me,” she purred, “you’re in capable hands.” As she said the final word, both of her hands surrounded his shaft, offering a gentle squeeze before her thumb swiped over the tip.
“God,” he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment as she learned him. She was not timid in her explorations, hands moving freely over a more than willing subject. With one hand firmly on his shaft, her other wandered lower to cradle his sac, gently massaging.
He opened his eyes because he didn’t want to miss anything, wanted to see this and memorize it to replay later.
She observed him, her eyes moving over his body like she was studying not only his sex, but the way his breath changed or pulse picked up or muscles twitched. And sometimes she looked into his eyes, holding that contact before she went about her studies. She was experimenting on him, collecting knowledge, and it was one of the hottest and most intimidating studies he’d ever witnessed or even heard of. She tested pressure, speed, her fingers dexterous and certain.
Without warning she shimmied back, sitting on the bed between his knees, never pausing in her ministrations. He closed his eyes for a moment again, taking a break to reel in his impulses and find the control that had been slipping away with each touch or stroke she bestowed upon him. He wondered if she’d learned all she needed to and was finished in her exploration, but then she tilted her head, and he felt her mouth on the underside of his dick, sliding open-lipped up his shaft, finding the very spots she’d studied with her talented fingers. Her tongue lapped at the vee below his tip before her lips surrounded it, providing just the right amount of suction as she concentrated her efforts there.
He hadn’t anticipated that, hadn't prepared for her mouth as his fists tightened at the sudden swell of excitement. She seemed to notice this, lessening the pressure and slowing so she could continue her studies. “Mulder?” she whispered, her tone demanding, and when he opened his eyes again, she held his gaze for a moment before her lips swallowed up his erection, sliding down, then back up with hollowed cheeks and a constantly insistent tongue.
“Fuck…” he groaned, knowing already his own fondness for watching, but certainly surprised by her interest in being watched.
As much as he wanted to continue this until he came beneath her, he was bound and determined to stop things before they got to that point.
Her head bobbed in his lap, the tip of him bumping against the back of her throat, using what she’d learned about him along with skills that were absolutely unholy in the best way. Every fiber of him felt hard and tight, the muscles of his thighs and abs and chest and neck all clenched. He reached for her, holding the side of her face as she escalated the tension to the edge of the point of no return.
He wasn’t even sure exactly what she did next that almost hurtled him completely over, probably just the combination of pleasures from lips, tongue, hands, throat and mouth all at once, but the intense thrill of it all hit him so hard and fast that he grunted as he quickly jerked away, grabbing and covering himself while his other hand signaled 'stop' to her so he could pull himself back before it was too late.
“What the hell?” she chuckled.
“Little too close there,” he cautioned.
She climbed up his torso as he reclined in time with her ascent. “Shouldn’t have stopped me.”
“Don’t want to be…umm…disappointing.”
“You aren’t.”
“Almost was.”
She shook her head, her lips gently brushing his, “If you would have let me finish what I started…we would have messed around for a while afterwards…and I am positive we could get you worked up again. In fact, that can be half the fun. Nothing about that would be disappointing to me.”
What she said was kind, sweet really, perhaps the unexpected byproduct of having sex with a partner and closest companion who truly cared about him for years before their physical relationship progressed to such a point. But the only thing he could think of was how others must have disappointed her greatly for her to have adopted such an attitude in preparation for the moment when she was inevitably let down. “Sounds like a well-practiced speech you have there, Scully,” he stated before his brain told him not to. He didn’t want to think about other men she’d been with, and had no intention of being counted as one of those who’d been disappointing.
“What?” she replied, a look of utter and complete confusion on her face.
“How many times have you had to give that speech?”
For a moment he thought she might leave. She sat up again, creating a little distance. “I’ve never said that before because no one else is you. We're not… …we’re different." She shared a flirty look, quickly adding, "I have complete faith in you that I am going to enjoy this. I will certainly try my best to make sure you do.”
“Believe me, I am.”
“Good. So instead of worrying about what should happen or how it should happen, let's try things, learn how to make each other feel really, really good.”
He groaned just a bit, the tone sounding almost unhappy as his brow furrowed.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re so hot. And I’m…so fucking hard it hurts,” he replied, chuckling a bit at the end.
“Oh,” she leaned forward, kissed him, reaching behind her back and very gently stroking his cock as she said, “I can help with that.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, his forearms resting on her thighs, his hands holding her hips firmly in his grasp. He was still so close, his hips lifting slightly to push upward into her hand because he couldn’t help it, then he firmed his resolve, curling his upper body until he was partially upright, hooking his elbows underneath her legs as his hands reached up her lower back to steady her. He pulled back quickly until he was entirely prone, bringing her body along with him until her knees settled on either side of his face.
It was a bit of a bold choice for a sexual position for the very first encounter, and he wasn’t exactly sure how she’d take it. It was truly the one he wanted, one of his favorites, to finally taste the heat between her legs while his hands were free to roam. The sight of her on top of him like that was a fantasy come to life.
She smiled at him, biting her lip in anticipation as she looked down at him from between the valley of her breasts. He saw no hesitation, no resistance, and her sexual confidence stood proudly out against her typically more careful and reserved nature.
He kept his arms wound around her thighs, holding her in place. He turned his head, kissing and biting her thigh as he carefully inched his way closer to her sex. He saw the flash of impatience in her eyes when he gave the same attention to her other leg. His mouth partially covered by her thigh, he whispered, “Told you I can be patient.”
She shot a glare at him that lasted only until he traced the parting of her flesh with the tip of his tongue, finding her wetness slickly and abundantly coating her, absolutely dripping from her body. He might have pointed that out if his tongue hadn’t had better things to do. The taste of her shot right to his dick, his hands sliding over the firm flesh of her ass and her lower back, guiding her toward his lips in metered, rhythmic pulses. He set his touches to the same rhythm, his tongue tracing down to her entrance, barely dipping into her body, precisely drawing a line back up to her clit where he would circle a few times before starting again.
The point wasn’t to get her off as quickly and efficiently as he could…not that it would have probably taken much because Scully’s mind had clearly aroused her before he even had a chance to taste her. He needed to entice her, build her up the way she’d done to him.
She was teetering between enjoyment and annoyance, her body reveling in the sensations while craving satisfaction and resolution, too. So he started using more of his tongue rather than just the tip of it, lingering longer inside her, reaching within a little farther each time, and making the same path northwards, then twirling his tongue around her clit an extra time or two each time before he inevitably continued his explorations.
She was waiting for him each time, anticipating, and that anticipation only heightened her excitement. She whispered and gasped little praises and curses and moans; those sounds didn’t appear to be at all voluntary. No, he was bringing them forth, causing them to emerge.
She followed his lead, flowing along with the pace he set, accepting and receiving pleasure in a way that drove him wild. Her one hand held his head, the fingers of the other rolling her nipple as she was as free as he’d ever seen her.
He wanted to do this to her forever, every fucking day for eternity, hoping to hell she didn’t reach back and stroke him again, because he knew he’d come all over his belly after a few short strokes. At the same time, it took all his power not to reach down and touch himself, his body pleading for friction.
When it seemed she was thoroughly lost in pleasure, his hand moved up her back, pressing her forward a bit so she leaned over more so his hand could join. Without warning he changed his pattern, and the next time his tongue reached for her clit, he wrapped his lips around it and slid back and forth, his flat tongue soothing along the excited flesh. And even as she moaned the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, his finger found her entrance and pushed inside, immediately welcomed with pulses of her tight center. The smooth pad of his finger pressed against the front of her, and still she rewarded him with sounds of approval and wetness that was dripping down his palm and onto his mouth as he moved inside her.
Being inside her was surreal, an experience he’d grown to accept would only exist in his mind. Now that he was here, he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to make sure she came completely undone.
She was close, so close, and he could feel the pulses in her throb a little faster and harder, and just as he decided to press another finger into her body, she abandoned her spot and scooted down until she was seated on his chest. Her hand covered her sex, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips parted as she appeared right on the verge of ecstacy. She breathed high in her chest like her desire was so overrun with need that she ached as he did.
He wondered if he did something wrong or if she was suddenly burdened with hesitation or reservation at the worst time, and this must have been written all over his face, because she shook her head to clear those thoughts from his mind. “Little too close,” she explained, mirroring his early words, and he wanted to scream.
“Not close enough,” he argued. “It’s not the same as—”
She leaned down to kiss him and that silenced his protests, and he sat up to follow her as she moved until she was straddling him. He knew she could taste herself on his lips, this kiss sloppier and more reckless and indulgent than those previous. She moved until he could feel the heat and wetness of her pussy against his cock, so close he was practically inside her.
She lifted on her thighs, positioning so he could breach her body with the slightest thrust. Her eyes asked if it was okay for a reason he couldn’t fathom, and he only nodded in quick little nods as he felt the tip of him enter her body. He knew well the conversations they should have likely had about protection, but if Scully was okay with this, he knew it must be okay. He groaned a long, slow sound as she sunk down onto him, moving steadily until he was fully nestled inside her.
Again he fought his body, feeling the way she squeezed him as she adjusted to his presence. She leaned forward as she paused, her fingers against the back of his neck, her nipples against his chest. He could feel her breath and feel the sounds she made reverberate through him. They shared a slow kiss, one that was so deep and thorough he felt her everywhere, and then she carefully started to lift away and slide back down.
As she moved a little more easily, he sat up a bit, wrapped his arm around her waist to help her, his other hand sliding up to her breast because he had to touch her, had to roll her nipple as he felt her fucking him. He started to lift his hips more, hearing her mewling in response, but when he tried to reach between her legs to circle her clit she shook her head. “Not yet,” she explained.
He moved his hands to her hips, pushing and pulling her body to his as he knew he would fall right behind her.
“Tell me when you’re almost there …” she demanded.
The truth was they were on the brink for so long that both were nearly peaking, desperately ready and teetering on the edge. What some may consider the ‘main event’ was going to last a fraction of the time spent getting to this point, but who the hell could care when everything they were doing felt so good.
She squeezed tighter as she continued to move more furtively, and then he managed to say, “Scully…” in warning. It was the only intelligible word either could speak.
Her hand flew between her legs, and she started to unravel almost the second her fingers began, trying to force herself to keep moving when she was overcome by her own climax. She pulsed down so hard he had no resistance left, emptying himself inside her as their groans and gasps and curses joined in chorus.
Scully collapsed onto him without pulling away, lying like a warm blanket while he was still tucked inside her, feeling the gradually fading pulses her body offered. He couldn't remember coming so hard, so fully, being left with so little strength when finished.
He was still breathing heavily, and she had surrendered so fully that her body rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled. As he started to regain coherent thought, he realized how tightly he was holding her, how firmly his arms pulled her against him. The way she nuzzled against him made his heart do things he wasn’t quite prepared to feel.
When she pressed her hands against his ribs and sat up, he saw a look on her face, one that was all at once sated, pleased, and downright cocky. “You’re fucking amazing, Scully,” he praised, sitting up to follow her, his lips finding hers as they shared a slow and rather amorous kiss.
“What about you?” she praised in return.
“Me?”
“Sex that good requires the skills from all involved.”
“You thought it was good?”
“You didn’t?” she sounded suddenly worried.
"I said you're amazing." He held her close, reassuringly pressing his lips to hers “‘Good’ wasn’t the word that came to mind. ‘Phenomenal’ maybe.” Then he paused, trying to tell his heart to stop controlling his mouth and exercise a little more caution when speaking. After all, he wanted her to know how wonderful it had been, but he didn’t want to say too much and scare her off.
Just as her silence started to really make him nervous, she replied against his lips, “Phenomenal is right,” with a little hum.
One of his hands went to her ass and one caressed and held her face as they got lost in each other for another moment.
She sighed in a regretful sort of way, lifting until he slipped out from inside her, whispering between kisses, “I have to go–”
“Are you serious?” he answered immediately as if some part of him had been prepared for this. He didn’t sound angry, but pain dripped off the words.
“...to the bathroom…” she finished the thought, pointing in that general direction as she stood next to the bed.
Then he felt embarrassed, grateful for the relative darkness. “Oh. Sorry, orgasm brain.”
“Orgasm brain?” she chuckled.
“You’re a doctor. You’ve heard of it.”
She smiled and walked away, gloriously naked as she disappeared.
The sleeping bag was barely even on the surface of the bed anymore, that convenient excuse for closeness flung aside once it impeded their union.
He got up, fixing the sleeping bag and gathering the pillows that they’d pushed off the bed and arranging them nicely, less because he needed it that way and more because he hoped to invite the kind of closeness they could have if they both crawled back in and slept with their limbs entwined. Yea, he thought he was pushing it, but if she was willing to stick around and stay close, he was going to enjoy every second.
He felt so cold without her, wondering if she was in there, silently cursing herself for what they’d done.
The door shut and Scully leaned her hands on the sink as she took a breath. Her heart was achingly alive in her chest, awoken shortly after their wildly fulfilling romp when he held her and kissed her with such post-coital tenderness. What was meant to be fun and wild, an expression of life and connection, was all of those things, but she hadn't really been prepared for the strength of the emotional side of this. In retrospect that sounded foolish. For once she’d let her impulses and wants control her actions.
She claimed a flimsy rag and a towel that was so small it was probably better for drying dishes than a human and quickly washed up.
When she left the house earlier that night, this was not what she imagined would happen; nowhere near. But there was no denying it now. He’d kissed her, held her, lapped at her most intimate places, made her come until every muscle in her body quaked. Hell, he came inside her (something that was typically not her preference). And then he was just the right amount of sweet afterwards, holding her, not disappearing…she often feared that if such a thing ever happened between them, she would be asking, Mulder, where are you going? as he left to go find a truth he couldn't find in her arms, and she remained behind wondering what in the hell was going on.
Maybe here in their own little world, they could do this without disrupting the world outside. Maybe they could compartmentalize.
When ready, she took a deep breath and went back into the room, finding that he wasn’t packed and on his way out the door, but rather had fixed up their bed. Her eyes lingered on the sleeping bag, and he asked, “Can you stay? Or do we have to pack up and hike through the woods at night, making ourselves potential prey of the Mid-Atlantic mothmen that I'm relatively certain do not inhabit these fields and woods.” His voice was playful, and it reassured her.
“I can stay,” she answered, watching him walk past her toward the bathroom, pausing to touch her arm reassuringly (as he would on any other ordinary day).
“You can?”
“I umm…I don't have anything urgent planned tomorrow. So…”
“Really?” he grinned and nodded as he pushed the door mostly closed. “That’s good,” he shouted from the bathroom, his voice echoing off the tiles, “I don’t have anything either.”
While he spoke, she looked at the sleeping bag, noting two pillows and hoping his intention had been for them to share. She pulled up the edge and slipped in, grateful for the warmth since they still hadn’t turned the heat on.
He came out, seemingly pleased when he saw her there, stopping to scoop up two bottles of water for them.
She sipped some, and he set the bottles to the side. “May I?” he asked as he stood next to the bed.
“You better.”
His mouth twitched upward at the corners, but he didn’t hesitate before he slid in next to her. She found she wasn’t exactly sure how to act, because it was easy when they were seducing and driving each other wild with want, but now she wasn’t sure exactly what this was. They knew this space was safe, separate from the rest of their lives, but it wasn’t like they were coupled or dating. What the hell was this?
But the moment he was in that bag, pulling up the zipper, he wrapped his arms around her, and she settled in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She couldn't help but think back to when they were here the last time, when she thought her time on this earth was at an end and that the shared part of their story was nearly over. She suspected that once home, she’d chide herself for making such a decision without more forethought. But she reasoned that they were here…it was different. She was becoming increasingly comfortable with using this excuse.
Her inner voice, the reserved-scientific-method-abiding-Catholic, just began to whisper at the edge of her consciousness that she should pull back and reel things in as she felt his hand on her waist, his fingers stroking delicate lines over her skin. And other voices in her head drowned that first voice out.
The pair said nothing as hands began to roam and bodies moved closer and closer until what little space had separated them was removed. His hand climbed to her breast again, and she suspected he’d thought of touching her many times before (as she had him) since he acted almost reverent, although certainly not gentle. God, how she loved that, loved the rough pinch and roll and firm grip of his hand. She nuzzled against him, kissing his jaw, his neck, finding the spots he liked as she wrapped a leg around him. When she felt his fingers abandon her nipple and brush down her abdomen and lower still, she reached for his sex, pulling her body back just enough to be able to touch him the way she wanted to. Her fingers only glanced over his erection, skin soft and smooth surrounding his already hard, hot flesh. She was going to remind him of what she’d said earlier, back when she told him not to worry so much because she knew he’d be hard again that night. His eyes looked into hers, and she swore she could tell he was thinking the same thing.
But it wasn’t a moment for I-told-you-sos.
He touched her pussy so deliberately, parting her and brushing a finger along her crevice, carefully avoiding the sweet spot where she wanted him.
He rolled toward her, leaning until she was on her back and he settled above her, his knees between hers as she parted them to welcome him. The need was written all over his face, just as powerful as the need for the truths and justices he sought every day, and being the focus of such urges was rather staggering.
The need to feel him pushing into her, invading her senses and heart as well as her body, matched the power of his own desire and perhaps exceeded it. They were tightly locked in the sleeping bag, and she didn’t feel like pulling away from him long enough to free them from it. So she slid the instep of her foot down his leg, curling that leg around his to trap him close to her as she raised her other leg to his hip and wrapped around him higher near his waist. They made the most of what little room they had to work with.
She lifted toward him, her pelvis tilted in invitation. He guided himself into her body, his eyes slowly closing as he pushed deeper and deeper into her body until he could go no further. There they stalled, hearts and minds adjusting as her body accomodated. It was strange how this was new, but already they were developing some familiarity with each other. She didn’t realize how much she wanted to get right back here with him.
He lowered his head, his lips against her temple for a moment as he carefully started to move.
They didn’t lock eyes as they found each other in the dark, bodies melded as best as they could as their fucking quickly became more fevered. The confines of the sleeping bag sealed them together from shoulders to toes, adding to the friction between them. They said nothing, no words to entice or excite, no comments to praise or reassure. Still she never felt so deeply connected to another person.
She could feel his words although he didn’t speak them aloud, the way he marveled at just how soaked she was (and she was positively drenched), and how tightly she held him inside her, and how the softness of her skin astounded him, and how perfect it felt to have her beneath him. Words never fell from her lips to tell him how he consumed her and filled her, how she loved the thick firmness of him, and the power of his body above her. But she knew his thoughts and he knew hers.
As his body massaged hers in just the right ways from within, he took her hand in his and guided it between her legs so she could touch herself. She locked her legs possessively around him. With each and every thrust, she raised her hips to meet him, their bodies crashing in decreasingly elegant but increasingly frantic ways. Her breath emerged in ‘anh’ sounds as his were stuttered groans that may have contained words but none she could decipher, and as her fingers danced against her clit, she was very quickly heading toward another peak. The pair created sinfully wet smacking sounds that joined their voices, the perfect beat increasing and growing erratic. His body wound tighter, so she knew he couldn’t be too far off at this pace. Her fingers moved against her even faster, and he nodded in approval.
Just as she was about to ask him how close he was, he plunged deeply into her with growing urgency, becoming more raw and frenzied. Her body seized his, clenching around him as she came, her voice splitting the air with sharp cries of release. And with that, he was entirely uninhibited, quickly driving in and out of her body as he desperately wanted to follow her as soon as humanly possible.
He was wonderfully consumed, lost to the world like fucking her was the only thing in existence, and he came so hard he froze entirely for a few seconds, weight braced on his hands as he stilled like a statue and couldn’t even continue thrusting like he, too, was overcome by his orgasm. His cock pulsated within her, pushing against her still fluttering walls as he spilled into her.
As the grip of his orgasm relaxed, he seemed to suddenly realize his own stillness, so he moved slowly, with a few lazy thrusts to bring them back to earth and gradually to rest. He looked down toward her, finding only her adoration and the look of a woman well fucked and thoroughly sated. She very nearly let very incriminating words escape her lips.
He lowered his whole body to her, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, her legs still tethering him to her. She could feel his heartbeat against her ribs, her heart pounding back in response.
Each hyperstimulated, he surrendered his place inside her, lowering himself toward her but off to one side so his weight was largely supported by the bed.
He took inventory of her reactions, but she just shook her head and then nodded, lips parted as her breath was still a little heavy. And he did the same, nodding back, curling against her and refusing to let go. He buried his face against her neck, his hands caressing her skin.
Each deserved greater words of praise, but she knew anything that she could say would pale in comparison to the truth.
She knew she should get up quickly, go wash the evidence from between her thighs, but he held her so snugly, his lips against her, and it felt so wonderfully peaceful and cozy. Until she felt their combined fluids seeping and reminded herself it would be far more comfortable to get up and take care of things now, especially when they had little space to relocate.
He must have sensed the rising thoughts, because he lifted his head and said sleepily, “Let me get you a washcloth or…”
“It’s okay,” she replied with a welcoming smile, the sound of his exhausted after sex voice rather endearing. “I should get up anyway.” Before he could even wonder, she added, “But I’ll be back.”
This time she hurried, missing the comfort they were sharing, coming back to find his arm lifted to welcome her back into the warmth of his embrace.
She couldn't suppress a giggle as he yanked her into his arms and pulled her back to his chest and enveloped her.
The thought that he may have trouble sleeping crossed her mind, but mere seconds passed and she felt his arm grow heavy on top of her, his breath evening into a sleepy cadence.
Scully smiled yet again as she settled in, so close to sleep but not quite there.
She thought about the two times they were together, so different, but equally satisfying, and so very 'them.' The first was competitive, investigative, athletic. The second was intimate, connected, hungry. Both encounters were passionately intense, and spine tingling.
"Scully?" he whispered against her ear when he woke for a second.
"Yea?" she responded, looking over her shoulder toward him.
She could feel his smile and a contented sigh as he confirmed her presence, falling back to sleep.
Mulder woke in the early hours, hurrying to the bathroom to pee and quickly setting off the 4-cup coffee maker so Scully could wake to the smells of fresh coffee. Felt like the least he could do.
She’d awoken once a few hours before, disappearing into the bathroom and coming right back. The fact that she was still naked and didn’t seek the cover of clothing seemed reassuring. She wrapped right back around him as soon as he was close, making these adorable little cooing sounds that also seemed to bode well for her state of mind.
“Coffee…” she hummed.
“It’ll be ready soon,” he replied, letting his hands roam and noting again that she didn’t try to stop him.
“If only we had a way to pass the time…” Her palm pressed against his sex, his body responding eagerly to her.
“If only.”
About a half-dozen things to say popped into his mind. Flirty things. Sexy things. Funny things. “So Scully…” he said, his voice playful as he pinned her hands to the bed next to her head.
“Yes, Mulder?” she replied, nipping at his neck.
When he didn’t answer, she paused, her eyes seeking some response. His mouth said one of the things his brain was certain it should withhold, “I refuse to pretend that last night was anything less than the best I’ve had.”
Her eyes widened with surprise, clearly having not braced herself for such a confession. And then she stumbled out the words, “Me too, Mulder.”
“Yea?” he asked, grinning.
“Yea. Yes. Definitely.” She seemed to be giving it adequate thought. “Although neither of us exactly have packed social calendars.”
“True.”
“Still…” she paused, the compliment that followed given only by her eyes.
“My thoughts exactly. So…we’re going to investigate here again?”
“Well, it’s mutually beneficial.”
“Agreed.”
“Releases tension.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Gives us a chance to have….”
“Sex?” he guessed.
“Well, that. But also…contact.” She sounded timid, as if admitting the need for such things showed a weakness.
“I like contact. Last night proved, perhaps, that I need it.”
“Me too.”
“We’d be insane to stop.”
“Agreed.” His hands took possession of her hips, moving her under him, and she responded exactly as he imagined she would. It all almost seemed too perfect.
He hadn’t even really started touching her yet, was just refamiliarizing himself with the fact that this wasn’t forbidden to him, and she was already responding, feet anchored on the bed as she lifted her pelvis so her sex was against his thigh.
When he repositioned, he moved his hand between her legs, pressing two fingers into her while his thumb swirled her clit, and she gasped loudly and then suddenly grabbed his hand and held him still.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he saw the severe look on her face.
“This only happens here. We can’t let it ruin things at home. At work.”
“It won’t,” he shook his head.
“This can’t come between us.”
“Never,” he responded.
She smiled, and then she tucked her concerns away for another day as they found each other again.
They stayed in Room 6 most of the next day. They had sex like people who’d been starving for it, largely because they had been, and the sex was fantastic on top of it. Of course there was the matter of the affection between them, something both chose not to discuss.
They packed up to leave in the late hours, knowing the morning would bring the return to work. Mulder didn’t expect the change to happen as instantly and thoroughly as it did, but the moment they left the room, he could feel the difference in her.
He wasn’t prepared for how entirely and quickly she’d sever the romantic and lusty aspects of their relationship once they stepped out of that room.
They walked through the darkness back to the car in companionable silence, but without a touch of any kind except the usual sort he offered her as they arrived at the car. She said nothing of what happened, and if it wasn’t for the relaxed state of his body and the marks he knew she left on his skin, he might think he’d made it all up.
It wasn’t that she was cold or cruel, not at all, but that intimacy was no longer there. They talked on the ride about cases and work, and even a little bit about her mother and plans with her family and his with the Gunmen. He only once tried to make a more direct reference to what had occurred, and she gave him a look that reminded him that such exchanges were not allowed. When he reached over with the thought of taking her hand, she carefully folded her arms and stared out the window like she hadn’t noticed.
He even walked her to her apartment when they returned home, and he looked inside like maybe she might invite him in. But she stood guard, her hand on the frame and the edge of the open door like she was blocking him. “Drive safely. Let me know when you get home,” she said.
“I will,” he nodded, struggling with the rebellious part of him that wanted so badly to shine the light of truth on what had happened and how wonderful it had been the last couple of days. But that part of him was cautioned by the more rational side that reminded him that Scully may call it all off if she felt their tidy little compartmentalization had any cracks in its walls.
“Good night,” he said determinedly, trying not to lose the pleasant buzz that he’d been feeling lately.
“Good night,” she replied succinctly.
He had just resigned to walking away, trying to stave off his disappointment, when she said, “Mulder?”
“Yes?” He turned back.
“Thank you for involving me in your Mid-Atlantic-slash-interdimensional mothmen investigation. I felt it was…fruitful.” While her tone was steady, she blushed slightly, and he could see the pulse in her neck flutter. Just a few hours earlier, his mouth had covered that very spot.
“You’re welcome. I agree…well worth the drive. I think we have a lot to learn about that place.”
“I agree.”
He thought she was about to say something else, and even though he knew it was a longshot, he hoped she might invite him in. If they could have a safe compartment in Room 6, what was stopping them from having a compartment in her apartment…or his?
But before she could say anything, he leaned his shoulder against the door frame and said, “I’m looking forward to your report on our investigation and—”
With that, she immediately rolled her eyes and turned away, closing the door as she cheerfully warned, “Good night, Mulder.”
He saw a disobedient smirk on her face, though, and that was enough to send him home happy.
“Good night, Scully,” he shouted through the door, grinning the whole way back to his car.
Chapter Text
Habitual
(Post-Episode S05 E05 The Post-Modern Prometheus)
As they danced at a concert, Scully opted to drop her resistance and enjoy the moment after a remarkably brief period of consideration. The look she gave caused a warm, zinging feeling in Mulder's chest. She brought her lips to his ear when the song neared its ending, asking, “What are you doing when we wrap up this case?”
He pulled back only enough to investigate, searching her face before he replied, “Laundry?” as more of a question about his plans than a definitive answer.
“Too bad,” she noted evenly, pulling out of his embrace to applaud as the music faded.
“Why is it too bad?” he asked over the intrusive noises of the crowd. “Scully?”
She ignored him.
Scully put extra distance between them after they danced. She hardly even glanced at him as they wrapped up the case and traveled home. Once back in DC, she practically ran from him the moment she could without a word about the case or their conversation, offering only a short and polite ‘goodnight’ before she was gone. Mulder felt certain he did something to earn such a response from her and wasn’t sure how long she’d avoid him.
He tried to convince himself that he had no idea what he’d done wrong, but he couldn’t exactly forget that he’d broken the rules and danced with her in the real world, far away from Room Six. But was that really breaking the rules? In truth, she didn’t seem to mind at the time. Hell, it wasn’t like he kissed her or tried anything more than a perfectly respectable dance that any two people could share, even coworkers. But then they were more than coworkers.
Scully met Mulder in the hall outside of Skinner’s office that morning, not joining him for coffee in their office prior. Without a word, she straightened and smoothed her skirt as she took a seat at the farthest end of the sofa in the waiting room outside Skinner’s office.
Following her lead, he sat at the far opposite end, and he swore she found a way to actually move a sliver farther away. Skinner’s secretary went into his office, momentarily leaving them alone in the waiting area.
Mulder suppressed his desire to yell, “What in the hell is going on?”
As the urge to say exactly that became very nearly unbearable, she spoke. “How desperate is your laundry situation, Mulder?” Her eyes never left Skinner’s door, not so much as glancing his way.
“What?” he leaned a little closer, but she unwaveringly stared ahead at the door.
“The laundry you are doing. How much of your time is it going to take?”
He shrugged, then had a realization. “Why? You want me to finish those forms for—”
“No forms. No paperwork.”
“You want to give me a hint, Scully, or do I have to —”
They heard the door handle from Skinner’s office begin to turn, and then Scully quickly leaned the slightest bit closer and whispered, “I may go on a little off-the-books investigation…thought you might be interested.” And then she finished and stood as the secretary told them Skinner was ready.
Mulder’s mind was racing already, dying to finish his conversation with Scully regarding her plans rather than sitting and listening to Skinner sigh as he read the report and got through the inevitable questions that would follow.
Mulder didn’t realize he’d been fidgeting until Skinner sharply questioned, “Somewhere else you need to be, Agent Mulder?”
“No, sir,” Mulder replied, the lie obvious.
Skinner returned to the report, asking questions mostly answered by Scully.
Mulder shifted in his seat again, so intently pondering the possibility that Scully’s suggestion was the one he was hoping it was that he didn’t hear Skinner ask him a direct question.
“Mulder?” Skinner barked.
“Sorry, sir, I’m…” Mulder ordered himself to focus, trying to find the correct words to finish the statement he’d started.
“What in the hell is going on?”
“Sir, if I may…” Scully began, awaiting Skinner’s nod of approval before continuing. “This was a difficult case, and we did not arrive back until very late last night—”
“So Agent Mulder needs a nap?” Skinner sniped.
“We were also exposed to dangerous, noxious chemicals meant to anesthetize livestock, as my report clearly states.” Skinner’s face softened slightly as he nodded. Scully continued, “We were advised to rest and stay well hydrated as we both lost consciousness during the experience and little is known about the effects of these drugs on us in such quantities. Of course we understand our duties here to you and to the Bureau, so we appeared today first thing as scheduled with our reports prepared. I am somewhat concerned about any lingering neurological effects on Agent Mulder and myself. It’s difficult to evaluate how much of Agent Mulder’s current state is from the chemicals he was exposed to, and how much is the result of sheer exhaustion. Since we worked through our weekend, I’d certainly hope we would get two days of leave from work, as is commonly accepted practice. I would say our days off have been more than earned. Sir.”
Skinner nodded, pausing with some acceptance. “I’ll finish reviewing this report, and we’ll meet upon your return if I have any further questions. You two can start your R&R, effective immediately.” He gathered other papers and started looking over them as if he’d already forgotten they were there and their presence now was nothing more than an impediment to the completion of his other duties.
“Thank you, sir,” Scully said as she stood, every thread and hair in place and put together.
Mulder murmured the same thanks as he hurried after her.
Scully walked briskly down the hall as Mulder took full strides to catch up. They stepped on the elevator together, and he quickly mashed the button to close the doors before someone else could intrude on the space they needed to share alone.
“Nicely spun, Scully,” Mulder praised.
“It was true enough.”
He asked hopefully, “So what kind of investigation were you thinking about?”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“No!”
“I have. We need rest. Sleep.”
“Scully…” he protested.
“Given your jitteriness today, I feel I should keep you under observation until I’m satisfied that you’re okay.”
His protestations paused as he thought he saw a subtle smile tugging at her lips. He flirted, “You were exposed to those same chemicals.”
“I was.”
“So if you’re keeping an eye on me, I should keep an eye on you.”
“Exactly. We were already cleared, but further evaluation and observation by a medical professional could be considered appropriate in this case—”
“You’re a medical professional.”
“And I think the best course of action is a couple of days off to recover.”
“No argument from me.”
“Our apartments aren’t really the best locations though. We might get pulled into work or whatever conspiracy tickles the Gunmen or encounter mysterious papers slipped beneath our doors. Too many distractions might arise.”
“Agreed.”
The elevator dinged and Scully hurried to the office and went inside.
“We should probably take at least 48 hours on full leave from the FBI,” she stated like this was a normal discussion about their work.
“I can do that.”
“Go deal with your laundry, and I’ll pick you up around noon.”
“Or I’ll buy new stuff, and you can pick me up at ten.”
“I have a few things I need to do first.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things. I’ll handle food this time. See you in a couple of hours.”
With a simple nod, she left. His eyes darted around the office like he was looking for evidence of fraud or delusion, but finding none, he smiled. If this fantasy was the product of those noxious chemicals, drug him any day. Wasting no more time, he grabbed his jacket and was out the door, choosing the route where he was least likely to run into anyone.
The Gunmen left a long message on his machine that he quickly deleted without thoroughly listening to. In all truth, he expected it would be months before he could convince Scully to go back to their motel, so if she was willing to go now, he didn’t want to risk any distractions that may delay their return. At least he hoped that was what she meant. But hell, if she was willing to spend the weekend with him anywhere away from work, he was going.
He didn’t feel like doing laundry, but sitting and throwing a ball against the wall probably wasn’t the best way to pass time, so he gathered every bit of clothing that was dirty and took it to the laundry. He ran out while the machine ran, deciding that he could at least bring a bottle of wine since last time he opted for weenies and marshmallows, and Scully deserved something a little nicer.
Every time he thought of the prospect that she may want a repeat of the last time they were in Room Six, he could feel his body start to respond. Damn, those were some of the best days he’d ever had, and he wasn’t being hyperbolic. He didn’t know what it meant for their relationship, but he knew damn well that Scully wasn’t distant or reserved with him when they were there. He could touch her, kiss her, make her come. He could be inside her again. God, how he wanted to be inside her.
As he bought two bottles of decently pricy wine, he wondered again if maybe he’d misunderstood, and this really was just the two of them resting and relaxing. He hoped to hell he wasn’t being presumptuous, cursing even the thought of separate rooms. He paid for the wine and hurried on his way, looking at his watch at closely spaced intervals.
His errands and laundry took enough time so he wasn’t waiting anxiously in his apartment for an eternity. When he got back, he shaved and took a long, hot shower, making sure he was ready for whatever was to come. The second he wondered if Scully would be willing to shower with him (should things go well), he was already half hard. He thought about closing his eyes, thinking of her and her mouth and her tight cunt and jerking off so hopefully he wouldn't feel so trigger happy once he saw her. But he went back to scrubbing, wanting to save every bit of energy for her. After all, she made it clear last time that she was willing to go more than one round, so hopefully the same rules still applied.
He shoved clothes, wine, and his toiletry bag into a duffle and was ready to go. He sighed when his watch read 11:34. He hoped Scully wasn’t going to be late. He drummed his fingers on his knee and grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV. He thought about hitting play and watching a video, knowing damn well that he left a particularly good tape in the last time he was watching. Just as he reminded himself that he was waiting for Scully to indulge in such pleasures, a sharp knock came at the door.
His watch read 11:38. Too soon to be Scully. He walked to the door, interest piqued and simultaneously concerned about who stood on the other side. He put his hand on the knob and heard Scully say, “Mulder, it’s me.”
“Hey Scully,” he said, opening up the door and smiling at her timeliness.
“I finished up early. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s definitely okay. Come in.”
She walked anxiously through the door, her hands clenched and worrying against each other as she walked in only as far as was necessary. She hadn’t even changed from her work attire. Mulder wondered if hesitation and regret had set in during their hours apart.
“Mulder…” she said nervously.
“What is it?”
Her eyes lifted to his, “I wasn’t sure if…if…I want to be certain you are fully informed before we leave…that you’re comfortable with this.”
“With what?”
“Where we’re going. Or…where I’d like to go.”
He reached out to touch her arm, but she backed away just a bit before he even got close, so he paused.
He ventured, “I thought we were getting away…hopping dimensions so we could have a couple of days to… ….” the cautionary look in her eyes told him to be mindful of the rules, “...to recuperate.”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you were thinking?”
“It was,” she said, chuckling as she breathed out her relief.
The urge to pull her into an embrace and kiss her, to push away any worries was almost unbearable. “Good. I’d be really disappointed if this was a trip to a spa somewhere.”
“No spa,” she coquettishly smiled at him before she shook the look off her face. “I’m ready when you are.”
He stooped to pick up his bag, quickly slapping the button on his TV and confessing, “I’ve been ready since we left there the last time.”
As good as everything sounded and as exciting as the prospects of all that could follow were, Scully had some sort of invisible force field around herself telling him to stay back and keep it professional. Sure, she allowed those typical touches that he offered, as long as they didn’t stray from their commonly accepted norm. He wasn’t sure how she always did it, but she made it all perfectly clear, just like before, that certain behaviors were allowed while others weren’t. He already felt certain that they didn’t need such stringent delineations, but if she thought they needed them, he’d comply for her benefit.
She opened her trunk, and he saw more in it than seemed necessary. He pointed, and she intervened, saying, “Don’t question it.”
He shrugged and put his bag in the empty space, still pondering the volume of items packed. “How many days are we—?”
“I said don’t question it,” she reminded.
They got in the car and started their drive. Scully had her foot firmly planted on the accelerator, always speeding but never to an outright dangerous level. She asked him about an article she’d seen on his desk, one about a spider-human hybrid that even had him flirting with skepticism. But she asked him about it, and he told her, and they discussed it for quite some time. When he admitted that he thought this one was probably outside the realm of even extreme possibilities, she smiled widely and said, “Hearing you say that…”
“What?”
“It’s…oddly exciting.”
“How exciting?” he asked, but as with many questions she didn’t care to hear, she didn’t answer.
When they pulled into a video rental store, he turned toward her with his head cocked to ask why.
“Look…” she explained, “we have a few days to be here. And while I’d say we both have sufficient stamina to carry on a lot of… investigating …even the most dedicated and seasoned agents need a break sometimes.”
“Investigating,” he confirmed, unable to hide the flirtation. How desperately he wanted her to openly admit the truth about the things they did last time.
“Yes.”
Scully got out of the car and went to the video store and Mulder followed. She told him they could each select two, but had to agree to watch each other’s selections. It seemed like an opportunity to peek into her mind.
She was professional and perfunctory about the entire process, and she paid for all the videos, tapping away his hand when he reached for his wallet. “You set up everything last time,” she explained. “This time is my turn.”
The fact that she was insistent on preparing this for them was kind of exciting in and of itself. This was her idea, a plan that required some amount of premeditation and preparation.
They hurried back to the car and again she wasted little time. And since she actually listened so attentively to him about the spider-human, it seemed only fair to ask her about a topic that may interest her. He recalled an article about attraction, hormones, and pheromones, asking her as a matter of scientific interest when really he was interested in hearing her talk about sex.
She spoke with enthusiasm and interest, having just read the same article. He considered telling her that her scientific sex talk was rather ‘exciting’ as well, but saved that tidbit for later.
Their drive felt shorter than it was, both because Scully was driving quickly and because of the conversation.
She hurried to the office when they arrived at the motel, collecting the key, and paying for the room. She went to the door, unlocked it and propped it open, and came back to join him at the trunk. “Does all this go inside?” he asked.
She looked through the things, “Everything but the jack, spare tire, and emergency kit.”
Scully had packed a full suitcase, her typical traveling bag, a small cooler and a cloth bag. Mulder had only his overnight bag, but helped her with the remaining items so they could hurry and get settled.
This time, they didn’t even bother with the pretense of discussing a step into another dimension. Who in the hell had time for that? The moment he put their bags down inside the room, he turned around and found her in front of him, instantly raising up on her toes, her lips rather insistently against his. He moaned (almost a whimper) before he began kissing her back.
Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him toward her as his arms wrapped around her waist. He leaned back against the table, half-sitting so he was closer to her height, and her hands slid down the plane of his torso over his shirt, her fingers hooking into his belt loops and playfully bringing him forward. His palms slid down her sides, momentarily grasping her hips in possession, before moving around her body to grab the globes of her ass. He kneaded, feeling her little moans of approval as he pulled her against his body. Their wants and needs were bluntly exposed, neither playing coy or attempting to mask their intentions, each equally invested in the other.
He was already hard and growing even harder by the second (he was beginning to think just seeing the sign for the motel would soon be enough to get him going), and the way she pressed her body to his and indicated her readiness for consensual contact before they were even three steps into the room only served to stoke his arousal.
He fucking loved this place, loved how Scully was there, and definitely loved that they weren’t even settled in the room yet and she was in his arms like they’d never left.
Her fingers moved between them, her palm pressing against his erection, which simultaneously felt fantastic and punctuated how desperately he needed to be released from his jeans. Like she knew his mind, her fingers started working on the button on his jeans, and carefully lowering his zipper around his swollen member.
She pushed his pants and underwear to his upper thighs, finally freeing his erection, and in the next moment he had her back in his arms. Their kisses were haphazard and wanton as he fumbled for the buttons on her shirt. She reached under her skirt and twisted around a bit until her panties fell to the floor, and she kicked them free along with her heels.
Her arms slung around his neck, she rested her back against the wall as she hiked her skirt and pulled herself upwards toward him. It didn’t take a particularly sharp mind to realize what she wanted, and his arms wrapped around her waist and below her rear as he pulled her up and pinned her between his body and the wall.
Already they were hurtling at a thousand miles an hour, neither seeing fit to pause or delay something that felt gloriously inevitable.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her sex against him in open invitation. He could feel the way she dripped already, and every thought, every atom that comprised him, wanted nothing more than to be inside her again. She was moaning and humming, her nails scraping at the back of his head, pressing against him like she was trying to hurry him along.
Her shirt was open, a stark black bra beneath that he couldn’t quite remove, so he lowered his head to her breast, seeking her turgid nipple and eagerly wrapping his lips around it, his teeth biting as his tongue smoothed over the lacy fabric. She was already calling out little sounds of encouragement.
And while his impulses towards sexual chivalry demanded that he spend some more time enticing and exciting her, she had no such interest. She reached between them, stroking his cock as best as she could from that angle, humming in approval when she found him strained and wanting, and positioning his crown right against her entrance. Before he could even steel himself for the overwhelming rush of pleasure, she pushed against him, allowing the force of her body and gravity to bring them together.
Their sighs and groans were instantaneous, drawn from within as she took him in rather quickly. He gripped tightly on her, clenching his jaw, his head tipping back as he absorbed the feelings that washed over and through him. Once he was fully surrounded by her, she froze, her fingers tightly gripping his neck and shoulders.
“Wait,” she whispered softly, her brows furrowed, her face showing some mix of pleasure and pain.
He froze, bringing his lips to her neck and gently sucking on her flesh.
Her hand palmed the back of his head and held him against her as she added, “Sorry.”
The word took a moment to register, and he lifted his lips to her ear as he asked, “Why in the hell are you sorry?”
“I need a second.”
He thought of telling her to take as long as she wanted or needed, but instead he looked at her, his head tilted as he observed her face. He started to say, “Scully, you are so…” before he paused, smiled and shook his head. His thumbs rubbed soothingly over her skin, comforting as she took her moment.
“So what?” she asked.
“What?”
“You were saying…I’m so…” she waited.
The last time they were here, they didn’t talk too much during their multiple sessions of sex, but she seemed to be encouraging such behavior. He shook his head again like he shouldn't speak, but couldn't stop himself. He replied against her lips, “Soaked.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Out there?” he nodded toward the door.
“Yea. Here. There.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Sure.”
“I thought stuff like this was only supposed to happen in this room.”
“It is. But thinking about what happens here isn’t exactly something I can prevent. Like thinking of something I read once in a book or saw in a movie. It isn’t real.”
“Sure as hell feels real.” He pushed his body toward her so he ground against her clit, and she gasped sharply at the stimulation.
“Here, it is real,” she replied before quickly redirecting. “What else?” she tightened her inner muscles around him until he groaned.
“Hunh?”
“So, we agree that I’m wet,” she reminded.
“Soaked.”
“Fine. Soaked. Drenched. You sounded like you had more to say. What else am I, Mulder?”
She pulsed around him again, moving with careful precision.
He growled softly as he held her hips and moved with her, not escalating too much, but following her lead, taking a moment to shove his pants and boxers lower down his legs until they dropped around his ankles. He preferred to be naked with her, but not enough to stop what they were doing. “You’re ridiculously tight,” he praised, “you feel…unbelievably good, which isn’t enough to really describe how you feel, but I can’t even fucking think right now. And you’re talented, the way you…”
“The way I what?” she asked, goading him further into this conversation.
“Squeeze me like that,” he choked on his words as she did it again. “God that feels good. You…you feel good.”
“You do, too.”
Scully started to move more, controlling the rise and fall of her body by bracing her back on the wall and her arms on his shoulders and legs on his hips. They weren’t really going at it yet, but she was relaxing enough that their movement began to flow.
“And you’re hot,” he added, unbidden. “I think you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever met.”
She disregarded the comment, replying, “You'd say that to any woman you’re inside.”
He shook his head, “Don’t do that. I’m serious.” His one hand raised to the side of her face, his thumb brushing down her neck. “You’re so beautiful like this. I mean…always beautiful, but especially like this.”
She tightened her hold on him, her forehead resting on his shoulder as she started to increase her pace and move more fervently.
He pushed her into the wall, slowing her movement by trapping her there. She smirked at him, this knowing, sexy little smirk.
“I showed you mine,” he suggested.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve seen mine before,” she teased.
“My thoughts. I showed you my thoughts. I told you you’re soaked. And so tight it’s driving me crazy. And hot…so very, very hot.” He kissed her between reminders. “And you’re beautiful,” he added, wanting her to know that such a confession was not a mistake. “Now it’s your turn.”
It appeared that she was about to ignore him, so he ground against her, his hands moving her body only as much as he wanted her to move, enough to try to entice her to answer.
“I was thinking about your size,” she admitted breathlessly.
“Go on,” he rewarded her with a little more friction.
“I like it. You’re big. Long, thick. But I’m sure you already know that."
“Oh yea?” he asked, moving a little more in response to her words.
“Definitely. Size without skill would be a waste, though. If forced to choose between the two, I’d choose skill.”
“Understandable.”
“With you…I’m not forced to choose.”
“Sounds like a compliment.”
“It is,” she moaned as their pace quickened. “You’re right on the edge between the perfect size and just a little too big. Just like you to push the edges of my comfort zone.” She almost chuckled.
“And that’s a good thing?” His control was beginning to slip.
“It’s a great thing,” she gasped as he thrusted harder, tipping her pelvis to find the angle he sought. He did something right because she added, “Fuck it’s a really great thing,” with the next attempt.
His capacity for speech waning, he only nodded, getting down to the business of making her come as he stood right beside the very door that separated the world where they kept polite distances from the world where they fucked with utter abandon.
“And damn you get hard. So very, very hard,” she added, unprompted.
“You’re inspiring,” he managed through stuttered syllables.
“And your mouth,” she continued, her hand moving between them and working feverishly between her thighs as the sweat really started to coat their bodies.
“What about it?” he replied through a clenched jaw, soaking up those words of praise that she’d never confess beyond that room.
“I’ve thought about it every time I’ve…” her head tilted back, her climax so very close.
“You’ve what?”
“Touched my…my God that feels amazing,” and she started to unravel.
How desperately he wanted to hold off, let her come all around him, wait for the heights of her excitement to ease and then chase his own release. But those sounds combined with the confession that she’d pleased herself to thoughts of him, along with the fact that her insides were absolutely pulsating around him were too much to resist. He drove into her willing body like he could find all he needed inside, like fucking her was his reason for being, holding nothing back. He reached his peak in white hot fury, sinking into her as fully as he could as he poured himself into her in hot, sticky spurts and cleaved her to his body with the tight grip of a man desperate not to lose what he’d found.
Her body hung limply on him. He nuzzled against her neck and eventually sought and found her lips. As their grateful, contented kiss ended, her fingertips touched his lip as she said, “You’re beautiful, too.” When he chuckled, she insisted, “You are."
His head felt heavy, his lips slow to form words, but he asked when he could, “Did you really touch yourself and think about the things we do here?”
She pulled away from him, hissing slightly as they parted. When she stepped away, he braced his hand on the wall as he took in the sight of her. Her skirt was around her hips, her blouse opened and wrinkled, still on her but so disheveled it was clear evidence of what they’d done. She fixed her skirt, but let her shirt open, slipping away to the bathroom. He looked down at himself, shirt still on but shoved up, pants around his ankles, boots still laced. He looked thoroughly, wonderfully fucked.
He stepped back, pulling up his pants without buttoning or zipping them and then leaning until he landed in a chair to take off his shoes.
When she returned, Scully didn’t seem all that worn out as she went about unpacking some things. She opened her suitcase, and he found there weren’t piles of clothes within. She pulled out two fluffy pillows and a blanket that looked far more inviting than the slightly too crisp and scruffy blanket on the bed and the floppy, flat cotton balls that were supposed to be pillows. He watched as she pulled the motel-grade versions off the bed and put on her own, including a pillow on his side. “What?” she snapped when she saw he was watching her.
“Nothing,” he replied, amused.
“Look, if we’re going to relax here and be comfortable, I figured we might as well be comfortable.”
“I like it. Thanks for bringing me a Scully-pillow.”
“Sure. You’ll need your rest.
He grinned at her. He really liked the fact that she didn’t plan on leaving during their stay, at least it looked that way if her provisions were any clue. He stood and stretched and walked toward her as she unpacked food into the mini fridge. He remembered what he’d purchased before they left, and went to his duffle to retrieve the two bottles of wine. “That reminds me,” he noted, holding them up as he walked toward her.
She seemed to be impressed, surveying the bottles and then him before she slipped them into the fridge to chill. “Wow,” she assessed.
“Good?”
“Oh yea. You didn’t have to do that. I told you I’d take care of things this time.”
He thought of telling her he enjoyed being taken care of by her, but instead answered, “Thought you might like these. Plus I kind of owe you…weenies and marshmallows aren’t exactly the way to a woman’s heart.”
She chuckled, nearly finished with her preparations as she pulled a VCR from her suitcase and connected it to the TV. Scully sure as hell knew how to plan a mini-vacation. “Well,” she countered, “Worked well enough. And we both know it wasn’t my heart you were looking for a way in to.”
Scully didn’t seem upset by that at all, but it bothered him. This wasn’t just fucking. They cared for each other, they both knew it. Their first trip to this place was grounded in the fact that he cared for her very, very deeply. Part of his mind tried to correct the error, tried to remind him that it wasn’t ‘care’ he felt for her, it was something much more.
So instead he went back to the last question she didn’t answer, “So…did you really touch yourself and think of me?” he pushed.
She unzipped and lowered her skirt, taking off her shirt and bra as well, getting quite comfortable.
“Nap?” she asked, climbing into the bed completely naked.
He followed, quickly stripping off his remaining clothes on his way to join her. He flopped into the bed and pulled the covers up around them, feeling the softness of the blanket she provided, fullness of the pillows, smelling Scully and her detergent all around him. He wondered what it felt like to be held by her in her bed at home and wondered if he’d ever experience her there, or anywhere beyond that room.
She cuddled next to him, not distant once again, the spell of Room Six allowing her to get close and actually enjoy it.
“Why won’t you answer me?” he gently probed, his arms enveloping her.
She sighed. “It’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have said that, I was caught up in the heat of the moment—”
“Shouldn’t be embarrassing.”
“Well, it is.”
“You should be able to say anything to me, especially here,” he insisted.
She closed her eyes as he held her in his embrace.
“Sometimes I touch myself…and sometimes I don’t,” she finally added. “I mean…sometimes I use…gadgets.”
“Gadgets?’
“Toys.”
“Oh.” Just as he was nearly asleep, he perked back up. “Bring any?”
“I didn’t think they’d be necessary.”
“Well…not necessary. But fun.”
She rolled and faced him. “You like stuff like that?”
“I like what you like. Whatever gets you off, Scully.”
“You get me off,” she complimented, her finger brushing against his lips.
“But I’m all for trying new things, new ways.” He waited, adding carefully, “Watching…”
“You want to watch me?”
He nodded somberly. “I might learn something.”
She looked all over his face, replying after considerable thought, “Maybe I’ll bring some next time.”
He smiled at the thought of ‘next time’ as she rolled back over and cuddled in next to him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, and as she skirted the edges of sleep, he felt her fingers gently rubbing his arm, sort of playing against him. It didn’t appear to be intentional touching, rather it seemed autonomic, and that was in and of itself somewhat exciting.
The television wasn’t even on, and he was fine with that, committed to enjoying the feeling of her in his arms, but the comfort took over, and he fell asleep in the middle of the day.
Something about sleeping next to her brought him peace.
When there, it almost felt like they were a couple, uninhibited lovers who shared all. She was his to touch, and he hers and it was somehow easier there.
When he stirred from their nap, he heard her whispering, her breath against his ear, “God you’re hard. I wanna suck you off,” as he only nodded in agreement, realizing that holding her (or something she did as he slept) gave him a raging hard on. She slipped down the bed as he closed his eyes, touching her face as she pleased him. This time he didn’t stop her before he exploded into her mouth. Objectively speaking, it was the best he’d had. Of course that seemed to be how Scully did all things.
She left him there, limp and spent and wondering what it was about her or them together that made the sex sooo good.
She washed up, wrapped herself in a robe, and opened a bottle of the wine that he’d brought like she hadn’t just redefined his understanding of fantastic oral sex.
He stepped up behind her, unable to stay away. As she stood in front of the table with the bottle and two plastic cups, he wrapped his arms around her, tugged at the tie on her robe and encouraged it to fall open. Sliding his hand down her chest and belly, his fingers curled around her sex and pushed her body against him.
“You sure you're up for this?” she asked, looking over her shoulder and meeting his gaze. “Can’t have you passing out on me. Eat first, then we’ll pick back up—”
Her words turned to moans as his fingers pressed against her clit and pushed inside her, her arm reaching back and curling around his neck.
His hands took her hips, spun her around, lifted her, and dropped her on the table. He pulled her against him as he nipped her neck and answered, “I was thinking the same thing.”
She bit her lip as he pulled up a chair, carefully drew her legs around his neck and set about the glorious duty of devouring her. She came once, her whole being shuddering. He stopped sucking her clit before she reached a point of hypersensitivity, and instead he patiently fucked her with his fingers, pressing against her g-spot, dragging that orgasm out in aftershocks. When she seemed ready, his lips wrapped around her nub, and he brought her back up to that peak again before she ever fully finished the first. And he had thoughts of trying for a third, but she yanked him up by the arms, and wrapped herself around him and held him so close, gripping onto him like he might be ripped away.
Her face nuzzled against him.
She shook her head and said, “You…are really good at that.”
“Thank you. But I think I can do better.” He grinned, feeling like he was starting to figure her out, but there was still much more to learn.
“You really do need sustenance.”
He smirked and started kissing down the length of her body again. She stopped his chin with her finger, guiding him back up to her face. She shook her head, cautioning, “I’m relatively low in calories and vital nutrients.”
He laughed, his hands running up and down her back.
She leaned in, quickly kissing his lips before she added, “We’ll go again in a bit.”
“Promise?”
“Definitely.”
The sex was amazing, almost too good, addictive. Equally addictive were all the surrounding moments of laughs, conversation and movies, sleep and those myriad non-sexual touches that excited him in less obvious but equally impactful ways. This was how they were without six feet of concrete-strength emotional barrier walls between them. It seemed like their trips here may become a habit, and he was certain he could get used to that.
He felt cared for by her in a way no one else had ever really cared for him. Those days at their motel, he started to appreciate it so thoroughly he wasn’t sure he wanted to return to a world without it. Of course he also knew his obsessive tendencies and dogged determination for the truth out in the real world probably made him a less appealing partner than he was when they hid away together. Scully wasn’t the only one who was different there.
Very late that last night, they watched a movie after she regretfully confessed she needed a break since she felt ‘a bit achy,’ but it was no less satisfying. In some ways, it was more satisfying, meeting needs other than those they’d voraciously met already during this forray. He felt her chuckling against him at the movie, their bodies still naked beneath the covers. He took her hand, massaging it, noting the strength but also the tininess of it within his. Her leg draped over his, smooth and soft and inviting.
It felt like a perfect series of moments, a few ideal days, and the only real problem with it was the knowledge that in the morning, they’d leave and this contact they so freely shared would be forbidden to him again until the next time.
He braced for the isolated chill of the outside world.
He took a deep breath in and opened his mouth to tell her there was no fucking reason on this earth why they had to stop once they left this room. She turned from the screen at just that moment, smiling at him. Noting his parted lips, she capitalized upon the moment and kissed him tenderly. As he felt her lips, he remembered the stakes of this game.
Notes:
Hello all! Once again, I thank you for your support and interest. I love writing this story, even if life doesn't allow me to write as often as I'd like. I hope this is still an enjoyable read.
Chapter 6: Real
Notes:
I’m so sorry for the delay! I had unexpected travel for work and it set me back. For those still interested, here is the next part.
Chapter Text
Real
(Post-Episode S05 E07 Emily)
Scully considered the general shittiness of being a parent who’d never really had the chance to be a parent burying her child. Or at least burying a bag of sand. The resounding words she’d heard in the preceding days that she was unsuited for parenthood echoed in her mind.
She remembered well the fate of poor Queequeg, evidence, it seemed, supporting her unsuitability.
She thought Mulder had seemed worried, sure for her safety, but probably also about what motherhood would do to their partnership and her availability to roam about the country with him and sneak away for interdimensional travel. And then there were the truths that had been kept from her. She wasn’t even certain how to handle those revelations or the fact that he’d kept them from her. Still, the sight of Mulder carrying the child, testifying on her behalf, fighting for her to have something that surely didn’t benefit him meant so much to her. When she needed him, he was there as only he could be. Being frustrated with him and appreciative of him at the same time seemed a common blend for her as of late.
It all made her wonder why she hadn’t called him earlier. But then again, she knew. They’d gotten closer, whether their trysts were compartmentalized or not. Whatever they were doing couldn’t be seen as a mutually benefifical aspect of their friendship or even just fucking…you can’t have that kind of arrangement with someone you’d do anything for, and either of them would. They’d risked their careers for each other time and again. He’d risked his sister (or the one he’d thought was his sister) for her. The list of sacrifices each had made seemed practically endless. As much as part of her tried to resist, whenever it was necessary, she was with him and stakes didn’t seem to matter.
It occurred to her that perhaps it was their weekends spent in pseudo-couplehood that were more the problem, hence her efforts to pull back and do things on her own. She’d been leaning on him too much. But she eventually caved and called him in. As soon as he could, he joined her. He was at the hospital, chasing down answers, testifying, helping her bury the child, and still she fought furiously to keep up her walls. It was hard to understand how two people could be simultaneously so close and so distant.
They both seemed to need that distance, at least some of the time.
After Emily’s funeral, Scully intended to go home, to surround herself with ample space from everything and everyone.
Their days previously spent in Room Six had been fun, filled with orgasms, togetherness, support and sometimes even laughter. Those days were endlessly safe in some ways and dangerous in ways most of their activities weren’t, involving emotions and connections that neither were willing to really talk about or even name.
Just before they parted ways upon their return post-funeral, Mulder offered, “I’m around, if you want to have a drink or talk or not talk…if you want me around.”
“Thanks, Mulder,” she said dismissively, trying to keep away supportive words that might make her shell crack.
“You know where to find me.”
He held her stare for long enough to convey many thoughts that didn’t emerge as words.
She tightened her lips into a line and bobbed her head and quickly left, yearning for the safety of solitude.
Scully went to a yoga/meditation class, at least in the literal sense. She went to it, stood in the lobby, and upon hearing the soothing sounds of wooden flute and babbling brook emanating from the speakers, decisively turned on her heels and left. Although she may have appeared to be emotionless, she was anything but.
Her thoughts told her to check his apartment first, but she knew where he was as truly as she knew her own location. And she couldn’t seem to stop herself from going there to find him.
When she pulled up to the motel, she saw the light from a flickering TV through the spaces between the curtains. She knocked on the door, and Mulder came to answer it, tossing a sunflower shell in a bowl on the table by the door and brushing his fingertips on his pant leg.
He smiled at her. Although the night was clear, it almost felt like she should be coming to him drenched from a terrible rainstorm. Her heart certainly felt that way. He stepped back, waving her in and saying, “I’m glad you came.”
“I don’t want to talk about any of it,” she said before she even stepped over the threshold, insisting with too much force and volume. She really needed him to understand her limitations, rules she needed him to follow if she was going to stay.
He softly bobbed his head, making room for her as she entered the room and he latched the door behind them. He asked, “Had anything to eat lately?”
Scully blinked, unable to recall the last time she’d done so.
He pried open a plastic container that creaked loudly and brought over a bite of chocolate donut. “I didn’t think you’d show up,” he confessed, “so I didn’t bring much this time. A donut, some seeds, and a quarter can of nearly flat diet soda that’s all yours if you want it.”
“Mulder…” she griped at the donut he offered her, shaking her head. He held the piece up to her face and argued, “Trust me.”
She took a bite, the flavor hitting her tongue and waking her taste buds, and once she did, her stomach reminded her of its hunger.
“That’s so good,” she complained.
“Sorry,” he chuckled back, getting another piece and offering it to her. This time she took it from his fingers to feed herself.
He leaned against the edge of the table, breaking off a bit for himself and licking the pad of his finger and thumb to get every crumb as he waited quietly for her to say anything at all.
She closed the meager distance, her hand coming to rest on his leg as he faced her. She leaned in, kissing him delicately as her hand moved up his thigh.
He dropped his hand on top of hers to stop her progression. He shook his head and explained, “That isn’t why I was waiting here for you.”
Her eyes glanced down to the front of his jeans, knowing the early stages of arousal had already begun as she lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Are you sure about that?”
Squeezing her hand gently, he replied, “I’m in a somewhat perpetual state of wanting you…but that wasn’t the reason why I hoped you’d come. We don’t have to do that right now.”
“What do you want to do then?”
“Be here,” he answered simply enough. “If you recall our investigative history of this place, you will remember that when we first came here, it wasn’t about getting laid. I can be here for you without sex. I want you to know that.”
“I do know that. I don’t need you to prove it.” She sounded more frustrated than she wanted to let on.
“After all that happened, I’m not sure exactly how you feel, but I know—”
“I don’t want to talk about that. I told you already.”
“I know. But—”
“I can’t do it any more. I don’t want to talk or feel anything —”
“You don’t want to feel anything?” he asked, his voice sounding hurt as he stood and put some space between them. “I make you not feel things? That’s why you came here? To not feel anything?”
“No,” she closed her eyes and shook her head and stepped immediately closer. The calm peace of this place seemed to be falling apart, crumbling around them, the structure of their arrangement making the extent of its fragility known.
The hurt evident in his voice, his posture becoming defensive, he argued, “I don’t know about you, Scully, but I feel a lot when we’re here, I like the way I feel here, and I like making you—”
“Would you just stop?” she interrupted, already weighing the pros and cons of walking out the door and ending this conversation without any resolution whatsoever. “Would you shut up and listen to me?”
He loosely folded his arms like a shield, nodding curtly, looking like he was prepared to run the hell away, too. And she knew well that if they walked away, they’d probably never finish this discussion, it would be another unspoken thing hanging around them.
She gathered her limited emotional reserves and tried to clarify before it was too late. “Out there,” she emphasized, her palm gesturing toward the door. “I don’t want to think about or feel anything out there.” Her voice started to crack as emotion bubbled within her. “I can’t take feeling any of that anymore.”
His eyes cast down for a moment like perhaps he regretted his reaction and his words, looking back at her with a gentler stare. But that look was so understanding it made her heart ache.
She clarified, “I came here…I came here because I wanted to feel you instead of everything else. I wanted to feel something that wasn’t loss or sadness. I can take a lot, Mulder…I can handle a hell of a lot—”
“I know that, Scully.”
“But this…this is…”
He came forward, holding his arms out in invitation, apparently prepared for rejection. “Can I just…?”
She nodded, walking into his embrace as her arms held him loosely but he wrapped her up in a tight hug. His overall size felt wonderful, like she could hide for a moment in his shadow away from everything in the world that seemed to be eager to hurt them.
Resting her one hand on his chest, her fingers felt his heart. Their eyes eventually sought and found each other, and he lowered toward her and his lips met hers. The kiss was slow, tender, loving, although she tried to avoid that word in any context that included the two of them. But it felt so affirming and warm and comforting that she couldn’t even think of pulling away. His hand cupped her face, bringing her closer in ways that weren’t physical. When he pulled back, his thumb wiped a tear from her cheek that she hadn’t even realized had fallen.
Her spine tingled with the intensity of the moment, the pull between them strong and overwhelming, but still inadequate to dampen the pain she felt inside.
He pulled away, fumbled for his coat without looking at it, and slung it over his shoulders. Attempting to distract, he suggested, “Let’s run down the road, see what they have to eat at that bar.”
She looked at the door and winced at the thought of ‘outside’ the room.
He chuckled and whispered, “I don’t know if you’ve looked around this town, Scully, but the whole damn place is another dimension. Come on…” Trying to push her decision over the tipping point, he added, “Even if it isn’t, I promise I won’t try to make out with you on top of the bar. It’s just you and me, having dinner like we have plenty of times out there. If you want, we can get a six pack after and come back to our room.”
“Okay,” she agreed as she felt hunger pains. She appreciated the fact that he was willing to forgo discussion and try to occupy her thoughts elsewhere.
They hopped in the car, and he drove her down the way to the closest bar. The bar was dimly lit and musty, 70s orange tinted wood covering every surface from walls to tables to floors. If this wasn’t a different dimension, it certainly was a different era.
There were only three other patrons inside, sitting at tables in corners. One hoped he wouldn't be bothered, trying his best to blend into the paneling. The other pair were so deeply invested in their own conversation, it was like no one else existed.
Mulder and Scully each ordered a burger at the bar, Scully opting for fruit and coleslaw on the side as those were the only options for the two included sides that weren’t fried. The bartender slid a beer for each in front of them along with Scully’s order of fruit. She poked it with a fork, studying a grape that clearly hadn’t fared well in the canning process, cracked, deflated and so pale green it was nearly grey. “We should open an X-file on that,” Mulder commented. Then he tilted his head and asked, “Can I have that cherry?”
She shrugged and nudged the dish toward him, and he poked the vibrant reddish-pink sliver of cherry and quickly ate it. “I used to love those when I was a kid,” he noted.
“Help yourself if you can find another one,” she pushed the bowl closer to him, taking a bite of the ‘grape’ and finding the sweet taste more enjoyable than the appearance led her to anticipate.
“It’s funny, all those parties from when I was a kid, I remember my mom making that green goopy salad with pineapple and marshmallows and whipped topping. She’d never admit to making that now. And this seven-layer salad filled with a pile of bacon, cheese and peas and some kind of thick dressing—should have called it a seven-layer heart attack.”
“Those are salads?”
“…I mean, the term ‘salad’ in this case only meant a conglomeration of various elements into one dish.” Hunger seemed to be taking him over. “So many meatball recipes and so many sauces. We probably could have had a different meatball dish every day for a year without repeating. And tiny little quiche things…”
“Hungry?”
“Starving. What about your family, what did they like?”
“My father enjoyed a basic barbeque. Meat. Lots of meat. Grilled corn. But mom’s potato salad…dear God it was amazing.”
“So apparently not all your Scully-family-salads were lean and green,” he teased.
“I suppose not.”
“Mom can bake, though. God, she can bake. My brother Charlie can too…actually had a flair for decorating cookies and cakes, although our father thought such things were not boy-appropriate activities and discouraged such practices.”
“No more baking for Charlie?”
“Mom still let him, secretly. She didn’t keep many secrets from her husband, but she kept that one. We’d eat the evidence. None of that is healthy either, but well worth the calories.”
They sat facing each other, her knees between his, and as they spoke, his fingers rested along the side of her leg, and she didn’t so much as flinch at the touch, entertained by little stories and questions about favorite childhood foods. Being the focus of all of Mulder’s attention was quite an experience, and although usually all that focus belonged to his quest, he gave every last bit to her that evening.
When their burgers came out, she had a few bites, and quickly felt full. It was a few bites more than what she’d expected she’d take, but she fed off his energy and attention hungrily.
She found herself sharing the touches more than they normally would, tapping her hand on his to make a point, or resting her fingers on his arm or whispering close to his ear. Their discussion of foods, both from home and from their various travels, morphed into collegiate adventures and beyond.
He spoke of home for a moment, and she saw sadness, loss, not just the very literal loss of his sister, but the loss of a life that could have been for all of them, for his sister and parents and for him. Before she could even contemplate her actions, she reached out and took his hand. As she faced him, threading her fingers through his, she asked, “What would you have been had you never lost your sister?”
“What?” he chuckled, momentarily surprised by such a hypothetical question.
“What path would young Mulder have pursued had he not experienced catastrophic loss? Had his sister grown right beside him, finding her own interests and goals, her growth marked on a door jamb that didn’t abruptly stop. Had his mother not withdrawn in her own loss and sorrow, had his father not been consumed by his own loss and depression?”
His face was blank as his fingers tightened on hers, his eyes fixed on her, his lips parting as if to speak. She knew how close to a mark she hit when he finally said, “You know what’s strange, Scully? It consumed us all so much that although I’ve considered that question, I’ve never really come up with a satisfying answer to it. It all seems inevitable or fated if you’ll excuse the term.”
She nodded, the bond between them knitting closer.
He confessed, “I know I can’t change the past no matter what my thoughts or hopes or dreams, but yet…”
“What? What impossible means are you considering to travel back to the past?” she gently asked.
“The answer was here, right in front of me all along. How is it possible that I didn’t see it?”
“What answer?”
“You, Scully.”
“Me?” she chuckled.
“You’re the one who knows Einstein. Maybe I should have asked you rather than spending all these years chasing down every paranormal lead that crosses our paths.”
“Time travel? You think I’m capable of cracking that code?”
“Why not? You could approach it from the realm of science. If anyone could… I think you’re capable of anything.”
“Everything but motherhood,” she said with a wry laugh. The words had spilled from her, slipping past her filters and caution. She regretted the comment instantly and shook her head, and before he could answer, she added, “Forget I said that.”
He wanted to say something, she could feel it. They were at a momentary standstill, each running through thoughts and scenarios. She broke eye contact and glanced in a reflective piece of glass behind the bar and mumbled, “I look like shit,” before she looked back at him.
“Not at all the words I would use,” he countered without a second’s hesitation.
“You okay?” she asked, seeing much behind his eyes.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“You just look…contemplative.”
“I–I am. I am contemplative.”
“About?”
“If your life had taken a different path, if you hadn't come to the FBI, and you did crack the code to travel through time and space, what would that mean for us?”
“A hypothetical question about an impossible scenario?”
“A hypothetical question about an unlikely but as of yet unexplored scenario,” he corrected.
She gave it thought, though, an image of successful work, lauded as a giant in the world of science and technology, experiencing accolades and successes rather than criticism, blame and frustration. “Hmmm…Well, there would be fame, speaking at every conference on—”
“No,” he shook his head, sort of giggling. “That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“If everything changed, perhaps we never would have met.”
“Oh.”
“Things would be different for both of us, wouldn’t they?”
They both paused, tallying up the losses in their lives.
“I suppose so, Mulder,” she admitted. “We don’t know what would have happened in our lives, what challenges we would have faced or losses we would have experienced. It would probably be different, but there are no guarantees it would be better.”
“It’s a complicated, almost impossible choice to make. At least for me. I don’t know…I just…”
“You what?”
“I don’t like…thinking about a life without you in it.”
Scully looked in front of him to see how much alcohol he’d consumed, and found he hadn’t even finished off a quarter of his glass, so she wasn’t able to blame his sentimentality on the drink. They shared timid smiles as their focus drifted to their hands or their dishes…anything but each other.
She finally replied after a long sip of her drink, “Well, I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think I’ll be a world renowned scientist any time soon.”
“But if you were?”
“Okay?”
“In your estimation, would we have met? Would fate or some divine force or luck have brought our lives together?”
“Divine force? God, you mean?”
“If that’s the divine force you prefer, sure.”
Scully sat back at the magnitude of the question. She took another sip of her drink, realizing that she hadn’t had nearly enough to answer this question, but perhaps it was for the best.
“I’d like to think we would have,” she replied resolutely.
“Oh yea?”
“Definitely.”
“How would we have met?”
“How? Ummm….perhaps we would have met because you wanted to travel back in time…Maybe you would have come looking for me. Maybe you’d attend a lecture.”
“I probably would.”
“You’d volunteer to be a test subject, throwing yourself in harm’s way…risking anything to get what you want.”
He chuckled, “Sounds vaguely like me.”
“One thing would have led to another…”
“It would?” He sounded pleasantly surprised.
“We’d collaborate. Maybe my work would become our work,” she clarified.
“Oh…” he answered dejectedly.
“And who knows…maybe after that, one other thing might have led to yet another thing…”
He grinned, then the grin eased slightly as he thought about her words. He ventured, “Another one thing might have led to yet another thing in an interdimensional motel room, or out in the real world?”
Scully’s eyes dropped from his, his fingers gripping more tightly so she couldn’t easily pull away. “Are you unhappy with our current arrangement?” she questioned.
“No,” he answered too quickly, probably because he feared she’d shut it all down. “Just curious about all the hypothetical ramifications of this equally hypothetical situation we’re discussing.” Before she could answer, he added, “Ready to go?”
He had to reach across his body with his left hand to retrieve his wallet, contorting rather than letting go of her hand. He pulled a few bills out carefully and slid them onto the bar, still holding her hand. Only then did she realize how familiar they’d been out in the outside world, how much contact she’d allowed, how thoroughly she’d flirted. And as much as she wanted to blame the drink, she couldn’t blame her behavior on it any more than his. She reached into her jacket to add her own money to the pile as he shook his head and wordlessly told her he had taken care of the bill.
“Let’s get out of here,” he added, pulling her toward the door with him.
As they walked to the door, he held it for her, taking her hand in his again as they walked out to the car and split off to each go to their own side. Before he got in, he thumped his hand on the roof and said, “I forgot that six pack. I can go back in and—”
She paused and looked at him across the roof. “I’m okay. I don’t need it. Unless you want it—”
“I’m good.” He smiled at her as she disappeared down into the car.
Although the ride back was short, he reached across the console and took her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips and then holding them against his chest. They’d touched each other plenty of times over the years, but this was different. This felt like a date. Like a relationship. Like familiarity on a deep personal and perhaps physical level outside of the realm of their safe little room. He teased about this whole town being a different dimension, but it fell outside of the established rules and excuses, rules and excuses she’d somehow become very comfortable with. The woman knew how to rationalize when she wanted to.
She felt dread threatening at the edge of her thoughts, those careful, protective instincts to preserve and ensure stability warning her that this was all getting very out of hand. At that moment, she also didn’t really have the wherewithal to stop it.
They walked to their room and stepped inside, and she kicked off her shoes and as soon as she turned, he was right next to her, dipping down to press his lips gently to hers. “I’m sorry if my current self isn’t the man that hypothetical-Mulder would be.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t think I’d trade real Mulder for a hypothetical Mulder. Maybe he’d be some entitled, condescending asshole.”
“Oh…so nothing would change.”
She shook her head, denying his attempt at self-deprecation. “That’s not true. Real Mulder is pretty great, flaws and all. I, after all, have plenty of flaws of my own for you to contend with.”
“You have not,” he argued with a playful smirk at the end. But he seemed to be pushing his luck tonight, so he brushed his lips to hers and asked, “You like real Mulder in the real world or real Mulder in our interdimensional plane better?”
“Referring to yourself in the third person is—”
“Answer the question,” he mumbled as he kissed her neck and she began to melt.
“Here or there…you’re always real Mulder, this Mulder…you’re…you. It’s the same you no matter where we are.”
He pulled back enough to meet her eyes, his hands firmly on her hips as she rested hers on his chest. The weight of it all seemed to hit them both at once, the pain of their losses, their loneliness, the fact that it always seemed like at the end of every day, they only really had each other.
They’d fucked each other against the wall inside the door before, tore each other’s clothes off, screwed until they’d screamed each other’s names. Sure, there had been more tender moments, those more deeply connected and about so much more than raw passion. But this…
They undressed each other, neither allowing impatience to take over and hurriedly strip themselves. Once her shirt and bra were tossed aside, he kissed every inch of her neck, her chest, quickly sucked at each nipple in a way that let her know he wasn’t quite finished with them yet. And she kissed his chest, his neck, biting at a sensitive spot and feeling him surge toward her without the slightest attempt to stop her from leaving the mark that she’d inevitably leave.
She licked his nipples as she unfastened his belt, dropping to her knees to lower his pants as he toed off his shoes. She kissed his cock through his underwear, finding him already hard, pulling the fabric down his legs as her lips caught him and offered an appreciative kiss. She, too, licked and kissed and enticed without putting him into her mouth and swallowing him up the way he needed. He didn’t seem to mind, fists clenching as he received the foreplay she bestowed.
As soon as she began to stand, he took her hand and helped her up, working on her remaining clothes, struggling to continue the measured pace. He pushed her to the end of the bed, sucking and licking the entire length of each of her legs, leaving marks in his wake that she, too, did not attempt to avoid. In fact, she opened her legs more to him, offered herself up without the slightest self-protection or hesitation. He knelt at the foot of the bed, dragging her down toward him, his lips latching on to her nipple and suckling hard as she pushed her pelvis against his abdomen.
Unable to make up his mind, he held her unsuckled breast in his hand, tugging her nipple between two fingers in a rhythm that matched his lips and tongue. His other hand massaged her ass cheek, pulling her toward him to provide the friction her sex needed. She began to whisper, urging, “Harder,” as she held his head and encouraged him to keep sucking, her hips thrashing against his body as he latched one arm around her waist and brought the other between them, shoving two fingers into her body as his thumb nudged her clit.
Scully cried out, her voice loud and scratchy as she held nothing back, no attempt at decorum or reservation. As she recovered, her mouth crashed to his and his hand slid up her back, wet from inside her.
He stood, picking her up, bringing her with him until he sat against the headboard and pulled her onto his lap. Without waiting, she reached between her legs for the plentiful wetness that coated her and fisted his cock, stroking her own fluids up and down along his shaft as he watched her face. No words could explain away the look she saw in his eyes: one of affection, attachment, adoration. And she knew she gave that same look right back.
He pushed inside her, her wetness gushing around him, her body squeezing as he entered her. While there was a certain reverence between them, it was not at the expense of the passion that coursed through their entire selves.
Her hands pawed at him, her nails leaving red, brilliant marks across his back and shoulders and side. He squeezed her ass to slide her up and down, holding with such force she knew there would be bruises in the shape of his grasp left behind. Hell, he held on so tight he might actually leave fingerprints in her flesh. Each sucked and nipped at their partner, marking and claiming the body of the person who was theirs in so many ways. Each came with a fury, calling out expletives and names and praise that fell from their lips without filter.
He held her to him, slumping down until they were lying breathless on the bed.
Late in the night, they found each other’s embrace again not once but twice more. When he hovered above her, fucking her in just the right way as her fingers strummed between her legs, he reached for her face and found the streaks from tears. He stilled completely. His hand brushed away the dampness as he asked, “You okay?”
“I am. I really am.”
He started to pull out from her, but she tightened her arms and legs around him and pleaded, “Don’t stop. I need you.”
“You need me?” he growled.
“Yes.”
“I need you, Scully,” he confessed. Then he insisted as he started to move more vigorously, “I want you all the time. Every fucking minute.” His mouth latched onto her neck near her shoulder. “Do you?” he gruffly asked.
“Do I what?” she moaned, her grip tightening inside and outside as her movements matched his.
“Want me like I want you, Scully?”
“God, yes,” she confessed as she started to come undone in time with her confession.
“You do?” he asked, his pace increasing because he didn’t want to come close to the moment when she did, he wanted that exact moment.
“Fuck yes,” she cried out, her orgasm gripping her as his did.
They moaned and panted together, chests heaving with attempts at breath, hearts pulsing rapidly beneath their ribs, hands holding on with no plan to release.
It was glorious and connected and orgasmic. It was visceral.
And then it was morning.
While they slept entwined, once they were both fully alert, they rested on their backs next to each other, arms folded across their stomachs, blankets placed for ample modesty. Neither quite touched as they considered an entire world of realities waiting outside their door. His head rolled to look at her and she rolled her head to look at him, and he just nodded because they both knew.
They both knew love was involved, whether they stated it explicitly or not. They knew it existed outside of these walls, that it permeated everything they said or did. And no matter what they may have wanted, she still knew it couldn’t safely exist outside.
“Last night was amazing,” Mulder noted almost clinically, a statement of uncontested fact and truth that stood so irrefutably that arguments to the contrary didn't appear to exist.
She knew, nodding as well.
“Almost world-ending?” he asked, carefully acknowledging the fact that their feelings were seeping out into the real world, dangerously close to manifesting in some terribly uncontrollable way.
All of their previous conversations on this matter came storming back. “Almost,” she mirrored.
They both got up and dressed separately, neither touching or kissing the other, attempting to keep some cautious distance. But she could see clearly the scratch marks across his shoulders and back, raised pink welts with fine red lines through the center. She saw the bite on his shoulder, darkened spots on his clavicle, and a bruise on the back of his upper thigh where she’d dug in her heel. Her body was not devoid of such evidence, her one nipple tinged purple, an emerging bruise on her hip, a sore spot on her ass where he’d grasped at her flesh and desperately held her to him. She chose to cover herself before stepping in front of a mirror, not wanting to see the marks his mouth had left all over her. God damn the sex had been amazing. The kind she should have probably tried to forget, but never would be able to. The marks he’d left on her went far deeper than skin and tissue.
Whatever it was between them was growing into something that could not easily be contained. Whether they wanted to admit it openly or not, the previous night had been a date, one that left their room. She wasn’t exactly sure why. They’d dined out in the world, and touched and driven countless miles side by side. But it was different.
When they’d first discussed this arrangement, she felt their partnership was too important to risk…and that morning, after all they’d shared, the thought of losing him was even more terrifying.
In the months and weeks that followed, sometimes they tried to prove they didn’t want each other. Maybe they thought if they proved it well enough, they could go back to the way things were, meet up for stolen moments that wouldn’t destroy everything.
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