This is generally Amor Fati, but starts post-Hungry (07x03).
How it happened.
The flight home from California was quieter that usual.
A married countenance of shared equanimity seemed to colour their movements. Deep, magnetic truths and shadows lurking between gestures.
"You were my touchstone: my constant."
"And you are mine."
The tidal sway between them was stronger now. Quieter. A sun and moon in a slow, eternal dance. That final frontier: the untold mysteries of man and woman, conquered- unasked questions, silently fulfilled.
He was sat beside her: aisle seat. A few old case files- already scanning for the next job - were loosely clasped in his hand as it rested on his lap. Blue shirt, tie loosened, sleeves- rolled up. His chin was tilted upwards as his head sat back in its rest. Calmly, an almost imperceivable smile teased at his lips. He felt it somewhere deep but it had no obvious trigger. He surveyed the ground beneath them non-committally as it hurled by at 500mph.
Scully: window seat, black cotton-lycra t-shirt under her tailored blazer. Timeless. Controlled. Her eyes were closed in waking as she allowed herself to be bathed, languidly in the lusting, loving glare of the sun. Her featured shone hot gold in its gaze. A smile of her own hid somewhere behind her blossoming mouth. His bicep was gently pressing into the soft round tip of her shoulder. Its calming presence warmed her more than any glowing star could. Through him, she felt gravity's familiar force.
Peace. Perfect, stunningly tense, aching, beautiful peace.
It was dark now. Light from the freeway batted at the window like fluorescent paws. One. Darkness. Two. Darkness. Three. On it went, rhythmically marking their journey from the airport. The roar of the night as it whipped against the car's aluminium frame seemed quiet compared to the pulsating, heavy silence between them.
It was comfortable, in their dark cocoon. The radio was off. He had one hand on the wheel, his left elbow propped up against the window frame as he drove. His right rested on his knee as he gently nibbled on the lower inside of his lip.
Her legs were crossed at the thigh, hips arching forward slightly as she leaned determinately into the back of her seat. A thick bronze lick of hair hid her face as she watching unseeingly at the grey landscape. Her breath was steady and deep. Mulder could see the poised outline of a dark suede high heal slowly undulate with the movement of the car in his peripheral vision.
Subtle and unfathomably sexy.
She was always in the peripheral.
They missed her turning of the freeway. She said nothing. Neither stirred.
The oxygen in his lungs felt cool. His limbs seemed to colour with the most beatific sense of purpose and being. He could feel the blood surging around his capillaries with ever slow, calm beat of his heart. He felt as steady as ancient stones.
She closed her eyes momentarily, a smile spreading softly but only behind her sockets. Unspoken knowledge. Appreciation. A passive joy merged with a sense of normality. So very normal. Natural.
He led. She followed. And she loved him for it.
10.15. They pull up to his building and he switches off the engine. Without a pause she clicks at the handle and reaches up out of the car. She causally looks around, closing the door behind her before resting her hands on her hips. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes and she allows the cool nighttime breeze to tease her hair and neck.
The trunk is closed. The car beeps as it's secured. Mulder hands over her overnight bag, hooking his own across the corner of his long, athletic frame.
Scully follows closely behind -always close- as he moves to the door. With his free hand he removes the keys from his pocket. They arrive. He gently slips the sculpted brass into its lock. The door groans a little as he holds it open for her. His arm is high on the frame.
She steps through and calls the elevator.
This is the first time.