This story covers a time span from 2nd season through 6th season, with slight spoilers for Irresistible, Pusher, How The Ghosts Stole Christmas, Milagro and The Unnatural, although I doubt you would need to watch those episodes to understand what is happening.

Rated M because I don't seem to write anything else these days, but it's not too graphic. Borrowed from Chris Carter, who only loaned them to me for the last few hours, so if you spot lots of errors, that's my excuse.

Extraordinarily Ordinary

by Mooncombo

It really should not have been a surprise, the way some things just...happened. Things 'just happened' in their world all the time, as if preordained. Or manipulated by those that make decisions in dark smokey rooms behind closed doors, depending on who you asked. Their lives had become anything but ordinary, so the only thing extraordinary about this situation was just how ordinary it truly was.

There was never any talking or discussing. They could argue hypothetical situations of the most outlandish nature all day long, but anything simplistic like a feeling was always deemed off limits by mutual agreement. Not a verbalized mutual agreement, of course, but a tacit understanding.

She supposed that there was something fairly unhealthy about the way they conducted their relationship, but given the types of situations that appeared on her agenda every day, analyzing her relationship with Mulder fell pretty low on her priority list of problems to tackle.

As for Mulder, well, he knew they were playing with fire, but he didn't care. They were always playing with fire. Nothing was normal about them, and at the rate with which he burned bridges across multiple government agencies, this fire seemed tame in comparison. Not that Scully was tame, but at her worst, he felt pretty confident that she'd only maim him if she got angry enough, not kill him. He didn't have the same confidence in his employer.

The professional boundaries between them had blurred early on. Considering the fact that Mulder's sole driving purpose in life was to find answers to the extraterrestrial abduction of his sister, he had long given up worrying about decorum. Scully, on the other hand, had maintained her stoic, professional demeanor right up until the night Mulder had found her, wrists bound together, at the mercy of Donnie Pfaster. It was the first time that he had really seen her cry.

And the first time she had shared his bed.

He hadn't even bothered to pretend that it would be otherwise. It certainly didn't take a degree in psychology to recognize that Scully was a mess. It wasn't the crying, that ebbed nearly as quickly as it started, and it wasn't the repeated claims that she was fine, stated with a shaky voice that proved otherwise.

It was the naked fear that showed plainly in her eyes as they outright refused to meet his. She had managed to answer a few questions by the officers in the room, but in the end, he had cut the questioning short, took her elbow, and led her away from the dark, old house that would have better served as a set for an horror movie.

He had found the nearest motel and rented a single room, paid for by his personal credit card rather than his FBI issued card, lest it become necessary to explain later why he booked only one and not two rooms.

She didn't say a word about the single room with the single bed. She didn't say a word when he pulled her suit jacket from her shoulders or unbuttoned her pants and slid the beige fabric down her legs. She didn't say a word when he gently ushered her toward the bathroom, clad only in her shirt and underwear to wash up. And she most certainly didn't say a word, when he tucked her in beneath the quilt and wrapped his body around hers.

Likewise, he hadn't said a word when her lips found his sometime in the middle of the night, seeking comfort and reassurance from his warmth. They had kissed slowly under the black cloak of night. All things considered, the night had been fairly chaste, but the line couldn't be uncrossed. Mulder accepted it for what it was, a need for comfort and reassurance. And so it simply went undiscussed.

She sighed and stroked her fingertips along the strong arm that held her possessively. His breath was deep and easy, flowing over her naked shoulder and neck like blanket. The first stirrings of anxiety and doubt began the snake through her mind, however. Just when she thought she understood the game, he had changed the rules on her.

In the early days of their partnership, she could never have imagined the depths to which they would sink in their quest for the truth. The future had been stretched out before her, with promises of a family and all the trimmings that went with such dreams. But the more she saw and the more she experienced, the more those dreams evaporated like a mirage.

So after she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun during a coerced game of Russian Rouelette with Mulder and Robert Modell, it didn't feel out of line that Mulder had clung to her afterward, pulling her clothes from her body and sinking himself deeply and desperately within her, fueled by fear and adrenaline. And neither questioned themselves afterward. Nor did they speak of it.

In those early years, she still had a lifetime ahead of her. In her mind, the transgressions that transpired between them were few and far between; a rare occurrence born out of fear and trauma, each of them using the other. But as time passed, it had become more and more clear that she was too far gone to ever have hope for a normal life with a husband and children.

This notion became glaringly clear in the aftermath of the events in the small town of Comity. Planets aligned just so and caused two teen girls to wreak havoc on the entire town, including two very special agents that bickered like children until it culminated in the two of them fucking in the back seat of the car before they had even reached the city limits on their way back out of town. Scully knew then that her life had taken a turn when the alignment of planets was a plausible explanation for finding herself half naked and panting in the back of a rental car with fogged windows. She chose not to delve too deeply into analyzing their behavior while in Comity.

With each passing year, the world outside of the X-files grew farther and farther away. She was finally beginning to understand what Mulder already knew and accepted. Two roads had diverged in a yellow wood, and not only had she chosen the one less traveled, she had chosen the one that would lead her away from all that she ever thought that she wanted. She doubted that when Robert Frost penned that poem he had any idea just how dark and harrowing the road unknown could be. Of course, he had probably never been hunting for a UFO on that road less traveled, either, so Scully could feel vaguely superior at the notion.

As for Mulder, well, he never had any illusions that his life would be normal. Since the day his sister was taken, he had chosen the road less traveled. He was so far down the rabbit hole, he couldn't even see how abnormal their lives were. All Mulder could ever see was his unrelenting quest for the truth and her, Dana Scully.

She was his everything, and he'd even told her so. She was his beacon, his rock, his constant. Scully knew this was true. She didn't doubt it and she didn't question it.

She just hadn't yet realized that he was her everything, too.

He stirred against her, his thumb lazily brushing across her nipple, causing her breath to catch. He nuzzled her neck, finding the soft sensitive spot behind her ear. Another part of his anatomy was coming to life; she felt him twitch against her ass as she pressed back against him.

Roaming hands ghosted over her skin as he memorized every dip and hollow. This was new territory for them. Rather than the frantic grasping and tangling of limbs in the aftermath of fear, trauma or grief, they moved against each other almost shyly.

His teeth found her ear, scraping and sucking as his free hand slid along her hip in sweeping strokes until he made his way to the junction of her thighs. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath as his finger probed between her legs.

She attempted to roll over in his embrace, but he held her tightly against him, slipping his fingers into her wetness. She stiffened in response, unused to this devoted attention and feeling vaguely embarrassed. He only held her tighter, with a whispered command to relax. He told her all the ways he found her beautiful, inside and out, while his fingers worked their magic upon her skin so achingly slowly. Eventually she melted against him, shifting so that her legs fell open and left her exposed to his exploration.

This was definitely new territory.

Things didn't really began to change emotionally for them until the Christmas Eve that led to them shooting each other. Of course, they didn't really shoot each other. But it was safe to say it was the weirdest and most bizarre Christmas Eve either one of them had ever experienced. Even Scully couldn't deny that something had definitely happened.

She was certainly not one to dwell on that which she could not explain, particularly anything as completely unexplainable as the events in that old house on Christmas Eve. But these events were too much for her to process, so she sought out the one person that would understand: Mulder. She had only been at her apartment for few minutes before she grabbed her car keys and Mulder's Christmas present and showed up at his door in the middle of the night.

They had exchanged gifts and had settled into his couch, laughing and teasing with easy banter, when it dawned on her that she wanted him to be at Christmas dinner. The desire hit her hard; an aching knot in her stomach and a thick lump in her throat. It would be awkward, of course. Her family wasn't overly fond of Fox Mulder, but she didn't care. That was the moment she began to realize that he had become her everything, too.

Mulder was her significant other.

She whimpered and bucked her hips against his hand, quietly pleading. His hand kept a steady rhythm as he pressed his lips against her temple. She rocked against him, the warmth of his body searing her skin. His fingers danced along her nerves and she felt a blush creeping across her cheeks even as her body began to tighten in release. She felt incredibly exposed and somehow, incredibly protected by him.

Slipping his fingers inside of her, his thumb brushed against her clit. She sucked in her breath on a sharp oh! and gripped his hand with her own pressing it even more firmly against her core. He thrust his fingers inside of her once, twice and on the third, she bucked upward and grit her teeth with a hiss.

Her breath came out in little pants as her body quivered around his fingers. He stroked her once more and she gasped as he hit her too sensitive nerves.

As her body calmed, he rolled himself on top of her, settling between her legs, his dick poised at her entrance. He watched her intently, probing at her, while she lay beneath him, her eyes screwed shut in embarrassment.

This wasn't how they did things. This was too much, too intimate, too soul searing. It had never been just fucking between the two of them, but it was often so quick and charged with some adrenaline induced emotion that there was no time to think or process. It just happened.

This was different. She was exposed and vulnerable. Their world had become so condensed that really, was this night anything but inevitable?

He breathed her name, willing her to open her eyes. He was partially inside of her, moving just the tiniest bit until she complied, pinning his eyes with her own. His breath caught and he paused. He waited, never dropping her gaze until he felt her body give and relent. She relaxed and opened her legs even wider. His mouth slanted over hers as he buried himself fully within her.

Mulder had tried to convince himself that he wasn't the jealous type, but Philip Paget brought out the uglier side of his insecurity. He wrote a book about Scully, even stalked her, and yet, he had found her in Paget's bedroom. Granted, nothing was happening, not to mention the guy didn't have any other furniture, but those pesky facts did nothing to prevent Mulder from acting like a jealous boyfriend, which was particularly laughable considering their mutual inability to discuss anything having to do with matters of the heart. And they had certainly never made any claims upon each other.

Although, ironically, matters of the heart in this case referred to the literal removal of the victim's heart.

Neither Mulder nor Scully flinched at Paget's casual statement that Scully was already in love, both of them opting for voluntary deafness at his remark instead. It was there, of course, bubbling below the surface, waiting for an inopportune time to rear its ugly head later, but for now, the statement went unacknowledged.

He had found her bleeding on his floor, and he saw her really cry for the second time. She had clung to him, loud ugly sobs ripping from her lungs, while he desperately tried to feel for a gaping wound on her chest.

Later when all of the questions had been asked by law enforcement, although few had been actually answered, he had undressed her in his bathroom, pulling at the bloody garments that stuck to her skin. He waited in the bathroom while she showered in water so hot, surely she was being cooked alive. He had tucked her into his bed, naked himself, and curled around her, skin on skin, offering simple warmth and comfort.

It was the most intimate night they had spent together, and it didn't involve sex.

Sometimes Scully thought that their world was full of irony. It was certainly frowned upon for FBI agents to date, but she and Mulder were most definitely not dating. Occasional sex was not the same thing as dating, getting married and then having a family. The idea that she and Mulder would have a white picket fence, two kids and dog was laughable, particularly considering her inability to have children at all. Not to mention Mulder's inability to be a normal human being, in general.

But somewhere in the back of her mind in a place she purposely chose not to dwell, she had realized that her involvement with the X-files had pulled her down into the rabbit hole right along with Mulder, effectively pushing any possibility of a normal future so out of reach, that eventually, she'd have to admit to herself that Mulder was her future.

And that thought was terrifying. Not because she didn't want Mulder in her future but because at some point, he had become everything to her. They truly had no one but each other. With all that they had seen, how could either of them settle down with anyone else? And likewise, could either of them even survive without the other?

Last night, he had taught her how to hit a baseball. They had laughed and played, his body pressing against the back of hers while his hands gripped the bat with her own. They both knew in that moment that something had shifted between them. As per their standing agreement, they didn't discuss it, but accepted the changing tide.

They had gone for a round of drinks afterward, visiting a small, dark dive bar that played good music. Nestled together in the back corner booth, they drank too much and talked about anything and everything, taking the time to learn things about each other that they never had before. It was not long before last call was made, and the lights splashed across them cruelly, signaling the end of one of the best nights she had had in years.

Considering the amount of alcohol they had consumed, Mulder caught a cab for them both. They had arrived at her apartment and Mulder had asked the cab driver to wait while he walked her to her apartment. She glanced at him in confusion. She had fully expected him to stay. But then again, that wasn't really how they did things.

Taking her arm, he led her to the door of her building. He kissed her sweetly and said, "I want to take you to dinner first, Scully."

She blushed, fully reading between the lines of that statement, but nodded her acceptance with a slight smile.

She was impossibly beautiful beneath him as he stroked gently in and out of her. She was soft and pliant, her body open and accepting of each thrust. He kissed her, his tongue gliding along her own.

His pace quickened when he felt her body begin to tighten around his dick. She clutched at his back, a soft cry escaping her lips as she shuddered in release. He drove harder, following her a few strokes later. She wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him as shook above her.

Finally, he dropped his head and panted against her ear, "I'm never going to love anyone like I love you."

She sucked in a sharp breath that sounded more like a sob. "Me either."

He had made good on his dinner promise, even making a reservation at an upscale restaurant. She had worn a black dress and he had worn a suit. It was normal, so ordinary. This was what normal, ordinary people did. Every so often, she'd glance around the restaurant, taken aback once more at just how extraordinarily ordinary this was. Their lives may never be ordinary, but maybe sometimes they could just pretend.

After dinner and after dessert, they sat for a few more minutes sipping the last of their wine.

Mulder cleared his throat and swallowed.

"You know, Scully, our lives are never going to be normal."

"I know," she whispered, apprehension settling in the pit of her stomach.

"But I like.." he glanced at his hands, "us."

She grinned in relief that he wasn't going to drop a bomb on her. "I like us, too."

"And I'd like to have dinner sometimes, "

She grinned even more widely, "I'd like that."

"And maybe go for drinks."

"Of course, Mulder."

"And maybe a movie."

"Now you're just pressing your luck, Mulder. You have terrible taste in movies."

She took a sip of her wine and winked at him.

And that was that, no further discussion was necessary.

A/N I referenced the poem, The Road Not Taken By Robert Frost. The title of this story comes from a line at the end of Irresistible, with Mulder's narrative describing a young Donnie Pfaster as "extraordinary only in his ordinariness." That quote has stuck with me for years, for some reason. So if any of you caught that, kudos!