Title: Things That Make Mulder Wonder or The Enigma That Is Dana Scully
Category: X-Files (MSR)
Summary: A whole pile of post-eps for episodes in season 6 and 7 (not necessarily every episode), revolving around Mulder's thoughts, particularly about Scully.
Rating: PG (some sexual situations) - this might change per chapter
Spoilers: Spoilers up to seasons 6 and 7. You'll know if you read the title of each chapter which episode it pertains to.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own these characters.
Another installment. I don't know about this one, so I'll let you judge. I only half liked the episodes as well. Anyway, here it is!
Once again and like always, I very much appreciate feedback, and I encourage any and all to leave whatever comment you feel this fic warrants. Thank you in advance :)
Sein und Zeit and Closure
Mulder's on his way to Scully's apartment late in the night – or early in the morning – when he hears on the radio the story of Amber Lynne LaPierre. The circumstances are what catch his attention: parents home, doors locked, and a missing child. He turns the car around and heads for the Hoover Building. On his way, he flips open his phone.
"Hello?"
"Scully?"
"Hey, Mulder, are you almost here?"
"Uh, no, Scully, something came up. I'm heading to work. I have to talk to Skinner about something."
"Skinner? On a Friday night? Is there something I should be aware of?"
"No, not yet. I'll let you know."
"Do you want me to join you?"
"Not right now. I'll call you later."
He knows getting Scully involved right now is not a good idea. She knows him too well. She would see right though him, through any bluff he attempted to make. This case was too much like his sister's. This could be the break he'd been looking for.
While he isn't foolish enough to leave his hotel room door unlocked thinking that his neighbours are particularly friendly, but he hasn't spoken to Scully all day and but he's sure Skinner has. Knowing her as well as he does – or as well as he hopes – he's sure she'll be by to check on him.
He wonders why she does it. Is it because Skinner ordered her to? It's not really in her job description to hunt down her partner from across the country. Is it because she cares for him, maybe even loves him, that she doesn't want to see him self-destruct in the way that he knows he can, in the way that he might if he can't solve this mystery, if he can't save this one little girl?
XxX
"Mulder, your mom's dead."
He can't hear her. He's not sure what words she's spoken, but he is sure it wasn't the ones his brain registered. He's staring at her, he wants to question her, but he can't seem to do it.
"Mulder," she says, shutting the door behind her and walking to him. She crouches in front of him, her hands on his thighs. Her hands are so small, he thinks. He wonders how someone so strong has such small, delicate hands.
"Did you hear me, Mulder," she asks, searching his face with her eyes. He shakes his head. "I said your mom's dead, Mulder. She was found in her apartment a short while ago. When her landlord couldn't get a hold of you, he called me."
"Yeah, you… um… I put you as an emergency contact, in case they couldn't reach me."
His mother was in an old age home, not a nursing home per se, but a very exclusive apartment building that allowed elderly persons to live autonomously with the benefit of a 24 hour nurse and a full service concierge. His mother even had friends in the building. How could she be...
"My mom's not dead, Scully. I just spoke to her. You heard me, I spoke to her in California, remember? She's waiting for me to call her back."
"I'm sorry, Mulder."
"Mulder, I think you have enough to deal with beyond the LaPeirre case," Skinner says, but Mulder can barely hear him. He can only concentrate on Scully's hands on his thighs otherwise he may fall apart.
"I think we need to go to Connecticut, Mulder."
He can't stop thinking about it. He spoke with his mother, she said she was fine, she wanted to speak to him… it must have been about the case, it must have been important enough for her to call not just once, but twice, leaving a message on his machine. If he'd only called back… if he'd only taken the time.
He wraps himself around Scully as he cries. The guilt overwhelms him. His sister was taken because he couldn't help her. His family fell apart because he wasn't good enough to keep his parents together. His father died in his arms; his mother died waiting for his call. He can't give Scully a baby; he can't even give her the security of a sane man and a normal relationship.
He wonders if she realizes that this is it. This is the last of the Mulders as he knows them. They are all dead or gone, and he will have no children to pass on the family name. He has one person, only one, and if she leaves him then surely he has nothing left.
"Come on, Mulder," she says after he cries for a long time wrapped awkwardly in her arms. "Let's get you to bed."
She leads him to his room, and turns down the bed as he undresses, smoothing out his sheets and fluffing the pillows.
"You'll feel better after a rest, Mulder. We can talk more then."
"I can't be alone right now, Scully."
"I won't leave," she says, stroking his hair and wiping his cheeks of tears.
"Lie down with me."
She kicks off her boots and complies, lying with him fully clothed under the blanket. He immediately pulls her close.
"I need you, Scully. I need to forget this. I think I'm going crazy." He kisses her deeply. He wonders if she feels it too, the desperate need to connect with him as he has to connect with her. He has to be close to her, he has to feel her naked skin from head to toe. He has to bury himself inside of her. He needs this. He will shatter if he doesn't have it.
He pushes her back onto the mattress and lays his weight on top of her, kissing her and letting his hands roam. Her body is soft and perfect, she feels so good….
Forget, forget, forget, forget… but his mind won't listen. Even as he squeezes Scully's breast and grinds his groin against her, he can't forget.
Forget, forget, forget, he continues to chant in his mind.
"You don't have to forget," he hears her say softly in his ear. He realizes he's been saying it out loud, and he cries for how foolish he is. How could he use Scully in such a trivial way? He's thought of this moment from the very start; this isn't how he wants them to begin: a pity fuck, an act of desperation, something that's sure to be over in a matter of seconds, if he can get it up at all.
"I'm sorry," he sobs.
"Shhh, Mulder."
"How could she do this to me, Scully? How could she do this without telling me why? Didn't she know me at all? Didn't she think about what this would mean to me? I'm her son! Even if she blamed me for Sam, didn't she love me at all?"
"She didn't do this because of you, Mulder. Of course, she loved you. She was confused, she was probably in a lot of pain. Maybe she was depressed after the diagnosis and didn't think to seek treatment for it. She loved you, Mulder. She was your mother."
She was his mother. No more.
"Scully… I…."
"It's okay, Mulder. I'm here. I'm not leaving."
So he finds his safe place with her, his head resting against her heart, her fingers in his hair and holding his face, her thumbs brushing away tears as they fell, and all he can do is cry and grip her waist tight so she can't go. She can't leave.
He isn't sure of when he slept, but when he wakes she isn't there. He feels a momentary panic until he hears soft voices from his door.
There is no way he is giving up on this case. And he knows there is no way Scully will let him go alone.
XxX
In the end he feels an overwhelming sense of loss, however, he feels lighter. His burden is lifted, his sister is content somewhere, forever a 14 year old girl, playing with other children, as she should be. His anger is not gone at those who did this but at least he knows she isn't suffering. And neither is his mother.
Scully has learned a lot more about him than he ever told her, and he's glad for that as well. Despite his frustration with her, his sharp words and accusations, she stood by him during his madness. She cared enough to search for answers while he hunted for ghosts with a delusional man, unwilling to see the truth in front of him. Mulder can't fault him, however. He was once like Harold Piller too.
At night, long after their return to Washington, and after Scully had ensured he was safe in his apartment and prepared to rest, he gets out of bed, grabs his car keys, and drives to her house. He only realizes once he is in the car of the late time.
He lets himself in with his key. Her apartment is dark, but he knows every bit of it by heart; he doesn't need to turn on a light. He goes straight to her bedroom. The moonlight casts a glow over her sleeping form and he stops to just stare. She is beautiful, his partner. Her skin looks even more porcelain in the moonlight, her hair a shock of colour against the pillow. Her eyes are shut and don't flutter with dreams, and her breathing is slow and even. He knows he is in love with her and he is starting to suspect that she is at the very least entertaining the idea of falling in love with him.
He goes into the room quietly, carefully sliding into her bed. He wants her to wake, but he doesn't want to wake her, so he is inwardly very glad when she mumbles and opens her eyes.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah. Sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Are you alright?"
"I think so. I didn't feel like being alone. Is that okay?"
"Of course it is," she says. She turns to face him fully, her hand reaching out to stroke his hair, his cheek.
"Do you know that Sam hated chocolate chip cookies?"
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's strange, but I was just thinking how odd it was that a young girl would hate chocolate chip cookies. She loved cookies otherwise, Oreos and peanut butter and even oatmeal."
"With or without raisins?"
"Without, Scully. With is just a tragic waste of a cookie."
She smiles in the dark and he can feel it without even touching her.
"Samantha was very special, Scully. She could have grown to be something amazing."
"I know."
"She learned to talk early, she walked early. My father used to brag about her to the neighbours," his voice catches, but he won't stop. "She always got her tests and report cards put on the fridge because of her marks. I used to hate that."
"She had a great role model, Mulder."
"What were you doing when you were 14, Scully?"
"Oh, things I shouldn't have. I was getting interested in boys. At 14 I let James O'Conner feel my breasts under my shirt and my crotch over my underwear."
"Wow. Really?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And what?"
"How was it?"
She laughs. "How was it? A 14-year-old overeager, inexperienced, prepubescent boy clawing at my privates? It was less than wonderful. But I got the tingles all over anyway. It was exciting."
"As much as I hate the thought, I wish Sam had gotten to have experiences like that. Getting her heart broken and growing up and learning who she is and what her passions are. I wish she had found her partner, that one person who can understand so much with so little. I never got to say thank you, Scully. I know you were scared for me, and I know you were hesitant during all of this. But I needed you."
"I'll always be there, Mulder. That goes without saying. I was thinking, Mulder, we could have a service for your sister, if you like. Something to give you closure; a way to commemorate her life."
"Yeah. I think that would be great."
"Tell me more about her."
"She used to have this doll when she was little, like around two or three. It was hideous. It had these awful patches of blonde hair, and it was the kind that was supposed to close its eyes when it was laid down, but this one permanently had one eye closed. She'd lost the clothes for it somewhere, so it was forever nude in this androgynous way. It was the worst toy I had ever seen. My mom used to beg her to toss it and would bribe her with any number of toys, but she loved that stupid, ugly doll. I wish I could remember the dolls name. One time it fell in the toilet and she stuck her hand right in after it. I snitched on her for that. I called her poopy hand for the longest time."
Scully laughs, and it is music to his ears. For all his years of self-doubt, of his fear of commitment, his fear that others could never commit to him, that he was too broken, that he was not worthy and that something was missing in him, he thinks now he knows what it was. It was this tiny red-head who is struggling to keep her eyes open despite her rapt attention to his stupid stories. It was his amazing and brilliant partner, who is here now. She has let him into her life and he is forever grateful. She's filling up all the holes in his broken heart, patching it together so it is whole once more.
He strokes her hair and is quiet in his reflections and as he is about to say her name to tell her how much she means, he realizes she has fallen asleep. He laughs to himself a bit and it feels good. Despite all the horrors that have gone on in these few days, he is free. He is free.
