4. For Better, For Worse
The morgue greeted Mulder with antiseptic chill. He shivered instantly, wondering for the umpteenth time how this environment never seemed to bother her. His eyes scanned the place and he found nothing but an empty autopsy table and his partner at her desk.
"Hey Doc."
"Mulder..."
She kept on writing, and he crossed the distance to her in slow steps, using the opportunity to study her. Red wisps had spilled out of her hair net, and he could tell from her posture that her neck was stiff and sore – the price she payed for a day spent bending over corpses. He stopped behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
"You need a massage," he said.
Scully grunted.
"Tell me. But I'm almost ready to go."
"What did you find?
"Danaus plexippus."
"Oh, are you related?"
An involuntary smile crossed her face.
"Danaus plexippus, better known as the monarch butterfly may be the most common butterfly in North America. It's an iconic pollinator species, famous for its bright orange color and its fall migration. Also, Mulder, did you know that the monarch was transported to the ISS and bred there?"
He wiggled his eyebrows.
"So our butterflies are from outta space?"
"I looked for everything out of the ordinary. I'm still running a few tox tests, but so far, I have to conclude that they're just textbook monarchs."
"So we've got no idea how our victim ended up in front of the ER, vomiting butterflies?"
She shook her head.
"Well, the butterfly is one of the most emblematic totem animals. It's a symbol of change, of transformation and, in early Christianity, it even stood for the soul itself."
Leaning down, he lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering, "What exactly are you implying, Agent Scully?"
His breath caressing her ear evoked goosebumps on her arms. She rolled her eyes, mentally chastising herself for reacting to his proximity like that; always and still.
"I'm not implying anything. Just stating facts, Mulder."
"Sooo... since you brought up transformation, did you doublecheck that our victim is dead?"
She stilled, blinking once, twice.
"After all these years you still manage to surprise me. No heartbeat, full rigor mortis, no sign of a cocoon. I'm following a hunch here, but I think she might be dead."
He grimaced.
"I wouldn't rule out witchcraft."
"And neither did J.K. Rowling."
Turning around in her chair, she looked up at him with a smirk. He gave her an indignant glare.
"Seriously? Even after Eastwood?"
She waved her hand, as if dismissing him.
"You got one case of spontaneous combustion."
"You're close to witnessing a second one. Just giving you a fair warning here."
"Do you want me to check your blood pressure?"
He captured her hand, pulling her to her feet.
"You can check my blood pressure any time. At home."
She nodded, grazing his cheek with her knuckles.
"Just let me change."
"Do you mind if I take a look at our victim?"
She furrowed her brow.
"She is dead, Mulder."
"Transformation, Scully. Transformation."
xxx
For once, the dead remained dead. The radio was playing ZZ Top and Scully steered their car through the hurly-burly of a Washington summer evening. Next to her, Mulder loosened his tie, letting go of the restraints of the day. The scenery changed, as the streets got narrower, eventually turning into country roads. Fewer and fewer cars crossed their path. The gate that used to guard their driveway was open; these days, it was open most of the time.
Scully signaled and turned, as the unremarkable house appeared in the distance.
He watched her with tender amusement.
"You don't have to signal. It's just us here. Always just us."
She cast him a sideways glance.
"Have I ever told you why I came back?"
He turned serious.
"Because you love me? Because you believe in us? At least that's what I hope."
She reached out, her hand finding his blindly, squeezing briefly.
"Yes. But that's not what I was talking about. I mean, have I ever told you why I came back to this house?"
"Well," he stretched the word, "your house was mean. It tried to kill you and then it blew up. I assume something like that kind of messes up your feng shui."
"All practical motives aside, we've been at our happiest here and at our worst. For so long, this house has been like a vault. And, I have to say it, there are neater places on the market."
"Scully, we can move if that's what you want. I've said it before and I mean it."
"It's not what I want. I came here, to the gate. I saw the house, as if it was waiting for me. A little old-fashioned, a little battered, but still out there, braving the weather. Just like us, Mulder. So I made up my mind. Then I signaled, choosing this for a second time. I guess," she shrugged, finally stopping the car in front of the house, "I've just kept on signaling ever since."
His heart clenched unexpectedly at her words, and he moved closer to put a soft kiss on her lips.
"Save something for the vows, Dana," he whispered, and his voice – so sincere yet warm – caressed her like summer wind.
She smiled against his lips.
"We're home."
xxx
The evening unfolded like many others these days. She went for a run, he fixed dinner. They ate on the couch, both agreeing that they should use the kitchen table instead; both of them reveling in their laziness, though. After dinner, he switched on the TV, browsing through the channels, and she read something on her phone.
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion... All those moments will be lost in time... like tears in rain.
Mulder followed the movie for a few minutes, but found out that he wasn't really in the mood for sci-fi classics.
"Scully?"
"Hmm?"
He turned his focus to her, but she didn't look up from the screen in her hand.
"I don't wanna watch 'Blade Runner'."
"Watch something else, then."
"No, you don't understand. I'm not in the mood for science fiction," he gasped.
She hummed again, way too absentmindedly for his liking. He pouted, but she failed to notice that as well. Finally, he reached out, simply stealing her phone and hiding it under the cushion beneath him.
"Hey, I was reading an article. I need my phone."
"And I need attention."
Scully opened her mouth and closed it again, annoyance turning into something way softer, as she regarded his lost-little-puppy eyes. She shifted on the sofa until she could face him without twisting her neck.
"Okay. You don't want to watch science fiction."
He nodded fiercely.
"Not even 'Twilight Zone! That's unprecedented."
She bit her lip, trying to muster some sympathy.
"Well, we've got a pretty outlandish case at work right now."
He as good as rolled his eyes at her.
"Yeah, must be Tuesday. Or Wednesday. I could always go home after work and enjoy science fiction. It has never bothered me before. Scully, I think I'm getting old."
Now she had to laugh, but she tried to make up for it by crawling towards him and taking him into her arms.
"I'm sorry, Mulder, I'm not laughing."
He grunted something unintelligible into her neck, and she kissed his temple.
"I'm glad you're getting older."
"Wow, I'm saving that reply for the next time you are bothered by your age."
She stroked his hair, trying to alleviate his irritation.
"I'm glad you're getting older because it's proof of life. Only the dead and lifeless don't age. And I really want to be alive with you."
Scully thought about Barbara Beaumont who, despite staying young and immaculate, had given up the very essence of humanity itself: compassion and the ability to love someone beside yourself.
"I guess we could always attach a teenage groupie to your spine, if you insist, but I'm afraid it might interfere with our relationship."
He chuckled, finally wrapping his arms around her and taking part in the hug.
"You're right, I'm overly dramatic."
His full lips landed on her neck, and she sighed, as his presence enveloped her completely.
"Maybe you just like me better than science fiction. Did you even think of that?"
"Hmm, nah," he joked, and she wriggled in his arms, trying to free herself. He laughed out while tightening his hold on her.
"You- you!" she gasped, and he only stopped laughing, because his mouth descended on hers. She stopped fidgeting eventually, melting against his body instead, as his tongue pushed into her mouth; kissing her thoroughly and in earnest.
Because she was right – he was there, she was there, they were alive. And living, it was fun, so much fun these days.
As his hand snaked under her shirt, feeling the softness of her skin, he thought that maybe, just maybe he might even like her better than "Twilight Zone".
xxx
The alarm rang at six am, cutting into the sweet oblivion of sleep. She poked his ribs, encouraging him to silence his phone; he grunted in response, fishing for the offensive cell on his nightstand.
Last night, they hadn't made love on the couch, but only because they'd fallen to the floor halfway into it. When he'd bumped his head on the couch table as well, Mulder and Scully had moved the party to their bed – not because they were getting old, but because their furniture was.
He remembered with a smile, pulling her close for a few more early morning snuggles.
"Good morning," he murmured, and she burrowed her nose in his chest, smelling the musky scent of sex; remembering as well.
Lifting her head, she tried opening her eyes, meeting him with her bright shade of blue, taking his breath away just like the very first morning.
"Good morning."
Reaching out, he smoothed her tousled hair with his palm, and she leaned into his touch.
"I love you like this," he murmured, before his brain could filter the words, but fortunately there was no need to filter, not anymore.
Turning her head, she kissed his wrist.
"Like what?"
"Warm, unfocused, just here with me."
A smile spread out on her face, as a strong wave of belonging rushed through her.
"Fox Mulder, are you getting sentimental in your old age?"
His lips curved up.
"I was just offering to make breakfast, but now I think it might be your turn."
xxx
Love and banter and laughter.
Kisses and moans and embraces.
Coffee and toast and fruit.
That's how it was, these days. Life so beautiful and ordinary.
Her phone rang when they were in their car, just reaching the outskirts of the big city, and he couldn't help but pay attention. In the passenger seat, she was listening and talking for a few minutes, finally ending the call and looking at him.
"That was Father John. Are you ready to get married next Saturday?"
To be continued...