Titian tendrils of red hair – longer than it had been for a long while – blew like cherry blossoms in the wind. Moonlight poured through the full-length window of the upscale Maryland penthouse. The soft white light casted baby powder beams on alabaster skin, making her seem porcelain – fragile. The dips and swells of her body, so familiar to him, were almost an ache. How he missed her. Did she miss him? He did not ask. There are some things best left unsaid; speaking would ruin the moment.
She turned slightly towards him and cast her gaze in his direction. No longer was she lost in the cityscape below them. Yes, it had been far too long.
They shared a look, although decades of partnering and life's burdens made for deeper gazes in lieu of transparent regards. Mulder was sure that in some past life she was a siren made to lure him to his demise. They would repeat this pattern every life cycle until the end of time – a belief that calmed him. He was no longer the impulsive youth who disregarded warnings as simple precaution. Fox Mulder had learned some of life's hardest lessons as time went on.
No longer did he jump to conclusion or leap into an unfamiliar bed. No, those days were long past. He now spent his days crafting a novel and sleeping in a twin bed in a sleeping room he rented downtown for forty-five dollars a week.
This bed was unfamiliar, but the body sitting on the edge of it was not. She was his history, medical and professional. Their lives intertwined so beautifully and sweet; a peppermint stick on Christmas Day. How had they gone separate directions?
She sighed, a melodic exhale sprinkled with disappointment and shame. Not in him, no she rarely spoke to him in anything other than partial goodbyes and the occasional "Happy Birthday". When they came together for their unions - mostly desperation and the need to be vulnerable – they spoke only in hushed whispers of "faster" and "harder". Sometimes she slipped with a "My Mulder" and he would combat it with a "I'd be yours if you would be mine" and it would haunt them for the rest of their night.
It killed him a little every time; to disrespect their history with something and meaningless as casual sex. They had not spoken over lukewarm cups of coffee at a local diner in almost ten years. It had been even longer since they shared a bed in one of the motels they'd landed at over the course of their federal employment. Was it really casual sex for them though?
It warmed his heart to see her each time; even if it chipped away at his resolve each time she stood in the moonlight, still as Venus but buzzing like Mars. He could tell by the way she exhaled with purpose and inhaled with shame that the words were there, lingering on the tip of her tongue. But, he was almost comforted by her silence. As selfish as it was, he did not want to ruin this makeshift relationship they had.
Not relationship as in courtship or marriage. No, they were long past those social expectations. How could one label had-been lovers, parents to a children unknown, and cosmic anomalies? No word in the English language or any language he knew could describe the fragile scrap of connection they shared. So, the only way to keep it from ripping was to leave it be.
Every time they met, she would lure him to sleep with her wiles and sing a siren's song. He would wake up alone but alive. It would take at least a fortnight to get his sense of self back each time. Sometimes he could not wait until she took him and he did not wake. It may have seemed emotive or immature but a life without Dana Scully was bleak and mediocre. She obviously loved him enough to rent out an apartment for them to share on the weekends when she was on "rotation"
Sometimes they went to dinner and chatted about unimportant things like how his novel was shaping up and how her practice was doing.
He never asked about her husband.
She never offered.
He knew she was wed, the too-big diamond on her finger proved it. Whoever he was, he had no idea how little Dana Scully wore extravagant things. How would she speak lovingly to children with broken arms, caress their tear stained faces, with a ring that large. No, he did not know her at all.
But Mulder did.
This is why the first time he saw the ring, he only had to look at her once to know that Dana Katherine Scully was abandoning the morality she had carried her entire life to dance with the devil. No longer was the tiny framed cherub who ate BBQ at a local spot, laughing until tears came when Mulder told stories of his youth. Now, there was a steely woman that time had tried one too many times. She had seemingly given in to her family's pleas to settle down but refused to cut off her main and sometimes solitary source of happiness.
How bad was the devil compared to bloodthirsty consortiums with no regard to safety and security on planet earth?
She moved to him, her robe bellowing behind her as she floated ethereal to him. She sat him down on the bed and faced him. Even though they'd been doing this dance for almost twenty years, it still surprised him how small she actually was. For someone as formidable and resilient as Scully, it was amazing how she could shed her armor when in bed with him.
She straddled him and squeezed his torso with her knees. Goodness, looking up at her, drenching in pale light made her purely angelic. The halo she carried for the children she had long. O' Lord, she was magnificent. He had and would continue to thank any deity for her existence, especially on days like today. Deft, skilled hands threaded through his hair. Just last week had his roots started turning gray. She claimed to be attracted to the regality of it. He assumed she was just being nice.
She laid her forehead against his and brushed their noses together. The faint scent of her perfume flooded his senses, bringing back memories. She kissed his cheeks, leaving small trails of lipstick as she went. When she arrived at his lips, she went in for the kill. After a moment, she hovered in hesitation.
"Skinner called me." She whispered against Mulder's swollen mouth. "He's trying to get a hold of you."
He nodded too emotional for words. If he spoke, the damn he usually saved for Father's Day and Christmas Eve would spill prematurely. He knew this time would eventually come. Where they'd either be split traumatically by something or partnered again. Either way their relationship would cease.
Mulder lay back down on the bed, bringing the small, tense woman with him "What did he say?"
She sighed and slipped off the side of him. Eventually she relaxed and curled into him, "They want us to meet with a man, a man that has information pertaining to the X-Files."
"Who is this man?"
"Tad O'Malley. He's-"
"Another man assigned to lead us around on a leash while parading for the Government!" Mulder whined.
"Mulder, no, that's not what I was going to say."
He looked at her expectantly and waited for the big reveal.
"He is my husband. "