I was inspired by a post on tumblr by agentscullyismyhero. I've actually started writing like 10 of the suggestions/prompts she put out there. I may not have followed her ideas exactly, but the idea is there.

So, obligatory notes:

Title: Gas or Intimate Details Between Agents In Love
Summary: I think the title can speak for itself.
Rating: Let's call this a very minor PG-13 for some mentions of sex.
Spoilers: You really should have watched the whole thing - including both movies - by now, but if you haven't… I think spoilers up to season 8.
Disclaimer: Is it anyone even looking to go after me for this? You know I don't own these two. However, if Chris is reading, feel free to use anything from here in XF3. No credit needed. Just make the damn movie!
Second disclaimer: I'm so sorry for this. If you're squeamish about bodily functions, stop now!

Feedback always welcome, and in fact, encouraged, and as we used to say back in the day of newsgroups, you can take this story anywhere, as long as my name stays with it and you let me know: thexxit at hotmail dot com. On with the show!

I don't know what possessed us to make the 12-hour drive to Washington from Gibsonton instead of just waiting for the next available flight. Maybe it was Mulder's desire to start the next X-File, or my desire to get away from people who ate bugs and swords. It didn't matter at the moment, anyway. I was content, my stomach filled with warm vegetable soup and half a falafel sandwich from the strange diner we'd stopped at for dinner. Mulder had a mystery meat that seemed to have been sitting on a rotator over mild heat all day.

"Uh, Scully?" Mulder said, as I was about to doze off.

"Hmmm?" I answered, sleepily.

"Um, does your, uh, stomach feel okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, you don't feel, I don't know, like a rumbling… in your gut?"

"No, Mulder, I do not feel a rumbling in my gut. Do you feel a rumbling in your gut?"

"Kinda. A little bit. It's not big deal. Just wondering if you felt it too."

"Why would I feel it too?"

"I think it was the food from the diner."

I rolled my eyes. I barely held back an I-told-you-so. "Do you feel okay to drive?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Don't worry about it. Go back to… whatever you were doing."

I gave him one last look, assured myself he wasn't about to vomit all over the car dashboard, and closed my eyes once more.

I must have dozed off again, but something woke me. I twitched my nose, then I reached up a hand to wiggle it a little. Something was off. Something was….

"Mulder?"

"Mhmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Um, sure. Yeah, why do you ask?"

"I ask because I highly doubt there are any cow pastures out here in the woods, and I am fairly certain it's too cold for wild animals to be roaming around, so I don't think it's a skunk I'm smelling…?" I gave him the eyebrow. He took his eyes off the road for just a moment, in time to witness my questioning arch.

"Okay, Scully, you were right, I was wrong. That meat at the diner was past its prime, and even though it tasted perfect, it obviously was not. Are you happy?"

"No. I'm not happy because a) you didn't listen, b) you obviously have some sort of gastro-intestinal distress because of it, and c) I cannot be in a car that smells like this." I rolled down my window in the subfreezing temperature, and not just for effect. The car reeked.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"I can't believe you didn't warn me, or roll down a window, or something."

"Scully, I thought you were asleep. My stomach is not doing well. I took my chances."

"Find a hotel, Mulder. I don't think another five hours of driving is going to help you."

"I won't do it again. I promise."

"I don't think I'm willing to take that risk. We'll stop, I'll get you something for your stomach, and you'll feel comfortable after a few hours of rest. Besides, I don't think I can handle another five hours in a car with you."

"Oh, like you've never farted in your life, Scully. Like you've got perfect digestion with your vegetable soups and falafels and salads and yogurt. Women are just sneakier about it, but it doesn't smell any less."

"At least if I do, Mulder, I don't make you suffer through it. Besides, nothing can smell worse than what you just did. And I'm a doctor, I should know."

He grumbled a bit, but we managed to find a hotel a few miles down the highway. It was one of those dumps where the walls were thin and the carpet and wallpaper hadn't been changed since the 50s. After giving Mulder something to calm an acidic stomach, I went to my own room and straight to the bathroom to take my makeup off.

Thin walls allow sound to carry a bit too well. Poor Mulder was in the bathroom in his room, and it seemed like he was having a bad time of it. I'm pretty sure amid all the other sounds, I heard a few soft cries of "oh, dear God." I suddenly felt very sorry for him. I decided that after the humiliation I put him through in the car, he deserved some privacy. I went back to my room, turned on my television with the sound up, got into my pyjamas, and crawled into bed.

As I drifted off on the lumpy mattress with a threadbare blanket, all I could think of was thank god the thin walls contained the smell.

XxX

I know I've been an asshole. Post traumatic stress disorder will do that to a person. I've been talking to a therapist, finally. I recognize the symptoms. I recognize that I've pushed away the people who care about me the most, those who love me the most. Those whom I love the most. I pushed Scully away because I was angry at what had happened to me. I was angry that she was happy when I was so confused. Her life went on while mine stood still. But, that's not fair to her. Of course her life went on, she had a baby growing inside of her. I get that now. I'm glad that she understands, too.

So, she's pregnant. I haven't gone out and asked her, mainly because I'm afraid that she will consider it a slap in the face that I would even question her fidelity, but by my estimates we must have made a baby the last month we were together. Maybe my parting words to the Jinni held some weight. I'm setting you free as my last wish, I told her. I could ask for so many things, I said. I could ask for Scully's happiness, because that's what I want most in the world, if you ask me for a selfish wish. No, maybe I don't really care about world peace. I don't really need a billion dollars, either. What I do need and want and desire is for Scully to be happy. I want her to have her greatest wish, even at a personal cost to me. That would be my real, selfish wish. But, so as not to risk your wrath or any further misunderstandings, I wish to set you free. That's what I said to her.

And so she was. Free, I mean, and maybe to thank me she gave us a baby. Or, perhaps my sperm is just that good that it was able to seek out the one remaining, hiding, stubborn ovum and penetrate it. After years of being wasted, one little swimmer saw the opportunity and grabbed it. Can't blame the guy. As soon as I got my chance, I penetrated Scully, too. But I digress.

Part of my duty as soon-to-be father was to ensure that the mother of my child and my unborn offspring were safe, well fed and comfortable. I was afraid of what would happen if I openly admitted to fathering the child. I had plenty of enemies and it had crossed my mind more than once that the nature of Scully's pregnancy may not be exactly as we hoped. Was this about hurting us again? Or, more specifically, was it about hurting me again? I think after the cancer scare, and after taking her to Antarctica, *they* know how to get me where it really counts.

However, that couldn't stop me from enjoying Scully's pregnancy as much as I dared. Well, as much as I could while still struggling with PTSD, being rejected by the FBI while still searching for X-Files, and figuring out if Scully and our baby are safe.

So, here I am, outside her door, pizza in hand. It has come to my attention that my lovely partner – not strictly in the business sense anymore – has a baby who loves pizza just like dear old dad, with sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms and green pepper. A pizza the un-pregnant Scully would have balked at.

I knock, because I'm not sure if I'm completely forgiven for my insensitive remarks. She opens the door in the oversized pyjamas and robe I always see her in now.

"Hi."

"Oh, Mulder, thank you. I'm starving!" She grabs the pizza and leaves me standing in the door. I can't help but grin.

When I catch up to her in the kitchen she's got the box open and one plate out. I guess I'm on my own. She digs in, bringing a piece to her mouth instead of the plate. Her moan of pleasure is worth every penny for the overpriced pie – it's because she insists on grain fed, organic meats on her pizza, not the everyday fair, that it's so expensive – and hearing her moan reminds me of the many other times I've heard her moan, and I feel myself getting hard.

Down boy, I chide. We're romancing the mother of our child, not trying to steal home base. Unless, of course, she wants to. But then she'd have to make the first move. To distract myself from my very beautiful, pregnant partner, I grab a plate for myself, shove two pieces of pizza on it, motion for her to do the same, and walk with her to the living room.

We both put our plates on the coffee table, and just as we are about to sit down I hear a noise. A slightly loud, conspicuous noise.

"What was that?" I ask, looking at her. Her cheeks have gone bright pink.

"What?" she asks, not looking at me.

"That noise? What was that?"

"Um, I, um, I have some clothes in the laundry."

"No, didn't sound like that."

"The refrigerator just kicked in."

"No, it sounded like… it sounded…."

And right then I know. Her face goes from pink to red, and she refuses to meet my eyes, instead busying herself with her pizza slices.

"Oh my god, that was you?!" I ask, a bit too loudly. I burst out laughing. I know, it's childish of me, but this is Scully. This is Dana I'm-so-fucking-perfect-I-wear-Donna-Karan-to-a-murder-scene-and-don't-get-a-drop-of-blood-on-me Scully. This is the woman who knows two languages fluently, and about three more enough to get by. She re-wrote Einstein. She can discover a new disease and have it cured all before lunch. She does autopsies while eating yogurt with bee pollen in it and doesn't flinch a bit when organs are exposed. This is the same woman who can run as fast as I can, but in three-inch heels. Men in positions of power are intimidated by her. Professionals everywhere envy her intelligence and confidence, and not only the women.

This Dana Scully just let one rip.

"Mulder," she says calmly, her face still red. She still isn't looking at me either.

"Scully, you just gave us the old left cheek sneak! You let out the loudest fart I have ever heard! You may have broken some sound barriers. I can't believe it."

"Shut up, Mulder."

"No, first I want you to admit it was you. Come on. After all the complaining you've done over the years when I do it, it's your turn. Tell me it was you."

"Mulder, when a woman is pregnant, her body goes through certain changes – "

"And her flatulence becomes super sonic?"

"Mulder – "

"That was amazing, Scully. In seven years… in seven years of working side by side almost every day, in cars and airplanes for hours on end, in cramped offices, at home, in bed… all this time and I have never once heard you do that. I was starting to think you were above the rest of us, but you're not. You're just like me."

"It's a normal human bodily function, Mulder. It's ridiculous for you to think that I wouldn't… pass gas occasionally. It's not worth the discussion or attention you're giving it. Everyone does it."

"Oh really? And all those years of, 'Mulder! That's disgusting!' and 'Mulder, you have a problem,' and 'Mulder, change your diet,' was what?"

"You do need to change your diet, Mulder."

"Oh. Right. Says the pregnant lady eating half an extra large pizza with sausage and pepperoni."

"It's got green pepper."

"Barely." I grin as I bite into my hot slice. "Wow. Dana Scully just cut the cheese."

"Okay, Mulder, I think we're over it now."

I can't help it. I really was starting to think that Scully was a supreme being, capable of performing miracles and never having any of those gross bodily functions the rest of us have. I actually can't stop grinning.

"Mulder, I'm going to make you go home if you don't quit it," she says, grumbling with a mouthful of pizza.

"It just makes me love you more," I try. Score one for Mulder. I get a shy smile and a playful shove. I lean over, give her forehead a greasy kiss, and flick on the television.

"Alright, stinky," I say, "whaddya wanna watch?"