An. For the Scully to my Mulder, the Mulder to my Scully (interchangeable really, in our case XD) and the "road runner to my Wile E. Coyote", whatever the hell that means, thank you Scully. My love, this is for you. Happy birthday, Sophie. -Ri

Clarabelle Bear: An X-File in Herself

The emptiness seemed contrived somehow. It was almost as though, rather than having been genuinely caught up elsewhere, each of the regular inhabitants of that street had made a conscious decision not to be around that night. She walked forward with an air of something akin to anticipation –trepidation?- about her person- a small child who was waiting for a friend to yell "SURPRISE" and jump out from behind a corner. Only that the sorts of people who inhabited this street weren't quite the type to yell "GOTCHA!" and back off after having jumped someone- nor were they her friends.

"Mulder! Mulderr!!"

Where was he, dammit? She'd seen him run down this way, she was sure of it! …Goddammit, Mulder!!

Why did he always have to take things onto himself? Why did he keep closing her out? Why wouldn't he let her help him??

"Scully."

She wheeled around hopefully at the sound of her name cutting through the hostile silence of the night and found herself staring into the face of death itself- gaunt and miserable.

"Let's go home, Scully."

"Mulder, what happened to you??"

"It's over, Scully. Let's go home."

-

How many times had his pursuit of the truth put him in this position, she wondered meekly as she changed the bandages on his torn arm once again.

When Mulder had refused to be taken to hospital over his wounds, Scully had done the next best thing and taken him home with her. Now she wondered if it would be enough. Her partner was covered in deep cuts and gashes and tender contusions that made him moan and shift uncomfortable even in his sleep. There was also scarring on his arm where a bullet had grazed the skin in passing, amongst a mass of older, more painful scars that would never leave him.

As she watched him sadly, he shifted again and, in a hoarse voice, spoke her name, then a request.

"Scully… The pillow-"

He wasn't really asking her to fluff his pillows was he? Scully frowned, but just as the thin, neatly plucked eyebrow began to rise, realisation dawned and out from beneath the pillow came the small pink and white bear that had been digging into his neck.

"Th'nk y'…"

Scully found herself smiling softly as he drifted back to sleep and, on a whim, she decided to tuck the little bear into his arms- smiling even more widely as he latched on and held it to his cheek possessively.

"Night, Mulder," she said quietly, giving his bandaged arm a little rub as she stood and gathered her pyjamas.

"Night, mom."

Whether or not he was consciously joking, she looked back and smiled again before leaning down to whisper, "Sleep now," in his ear in the soothing way that her own mother always had when she was sick, and to place a soft, chaste kiss on his forehead as she gently wiped away the sweat that had started to bead there. "All will be well in the morning."

As she turned, she thought she saw his eyes flicker open –just for a moment- to look at her, but she swept the thought aside. She needed the sleep almost as badly as he did, and everything could be dealt with in the morning.

"Why do I get the feeling that you knew it was going to rain?" Mulder teased lightly as Scully held the door to her apartment open for him once again, three weeks later. It was pouring with rain and storming terribly outside- a fact that had been broadcast on the morning news every day for the past week.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, moving toward the kitchen easily with the remains of their picnic.

Curiously, he followed her. "What are you doing?"

"Putting the kettle on."

Mulder turned around then, and moved to sit on her couch, where he immediately spotted a familiar presence. Picking up the little bear, he touched her to his cheek again and smiled at the familiar feeling. "What are you doing here?" he asked, seemingly to the bear. "Doesn't your mommy usually hide you away when she has guests over."

Scully, who had moved from the kitchen and into the doorway in order to see what it was that he was talking about, stared in confusion, then blushed darkly as he held up the bear for her to see.

"Where did you-??"

"-On the couch."

"…Oh." Unable to think of anything better to say, Scully moved forward and held her hand out expectantly. Mulder's face then was the picture of innocence- as though he had absolutely no idea what she meant by the gesture. "Mulder, give me the bear," she told him sternly, when he resisted.

"No."

The tension in the room was tangible by that point. Scully, still with her hand held out to him, was fuming inwardly at his refusal, whilst Mulder merely sat back and held the bear secure him his arms, seemingly at complete ease. In their eyes, a silent war was waged.

"I think she's cute," he said as he face fell in defeat and she let her arms drop to her sides, trying not to smile. "In fact, I've been hoping for an introduction for some time now."

Scully sighed loudly –irritably- but said nothing.

"Shy, is she?" Mulder didn't bother to hide his smirk now. "I'll start then."

Though she couldn't stand the patronising manner in which he was speaking to her, Scully took a seat next to Mulder and waited silently- a sort of bemused almost-smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched him.

"Hello," he said airily. "My name is Fox Mulder. You know, that's a very pretty dress you've got there, Miss…?"

"Clarabelle Bear," Scully offered, and at Mulder's persistently raised eyebrow, a dark, angry flush spread to her roots. "Good evening, Mr Mulder" she said in such a tone that suggested that, even in her appeasement of him, she was in deep inner conflict, and with a flame in her eyes that confirmed this. "My name is Clarabelle Bear, and it's very nice to meet you, Mr Mulder."

The irony was not lost on Mulder, but he only smiled charmingly. "Enchante, Miss Bear," he said, and he kissed the furry little hand of the bear tenderly.

Scully was forced to smile at that, so taken by the cuteness of the scene all of a sudden that she did not even register him moving toward her until he had taken her hand in exactly the same way.

"Mulder-"

"Enchante," he said again, and the smirk was back now as he raised their joined hands to his mouth. "…Miss Scully."

Scully breathes in deeply here as his lips close around the knuckles of her right hand, and it is almost a sigh as her eyes flutter shut of their own accord. "Mulder, what are you doing." It is not even a question- simply something that must be said. She prays for him to move further- keep going. Please. His lips make a soft trail upwards then and come to rest respectfully at her chin, and still, she cannot bring herself to open her eyes and end it as she knows she must- at least, she should. Her lips part ever so slightly in anticipation as he comes closer, as he squeezes her hand a little tighter- but then they are interrupted by the shrill cry of the kettle coming to boil in the next room.

She has to open her eyes then, because she can feel him staring at her- waiting for her to make the next move. In the kitchen, the kettle continues to wail in intervals, but neither Mulder nor Scully so much as flinch in response. She can see now how close he really is- leaning over her so that his body almost covers hers, the rain from his cheeks and hair running down the sides of his face to collect at the spot where his lips meet her chin. She smiles up at him wanly and he grins in response.

The kettle is forgotten.

And so is Clarabelle Bear.