Title: Inevitable
Author: Fyre Melody
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Feedback: I love it, but never seem to get any... please drop me a line to tell me if you enjoyed, or if I should just stop writing!
Summary: It was bound to happen, of course, but how exactly did our two favorite agents come together?
Disclaimer: Although I do own the entire nine seasons on DVD (super dork, me), I do not even claim to own the X-Files. They belong to CC and all the geniuses over at 1013. I am but a poor, X-Files-less owning girl from Ireland who wouldn't mind getting a Mulder for her birthday (August 23. Send me one:D ) And please do not steal the college student frisbee players as they are, in actuality, my beta reader and her friends at Humboldt State University.
Inevitable
It was bound to happen, sooner or later.
If someone knew nothing about either of them, about their jobs or pasts or any tragedies that had happened to them, beyond watching them together for even a moment, they would know that it was only a matter of time before it happened. One only had to see the guarded glances that were more than professional as their eyes met over a casefile, or those subtle touches that were more than friendly when something odd happened. There was no hiding the soft look his eyes would adopt when she entered the room, the hazel liquefying like melting chocolate when she smiled, or the way her hand would almost always reach up to swipe the waves of hair out of his eyes, her hand gently lingering when she thought no one noticed. In fact, it was only the blind or terribly thick that did not, upon first meeting them, make a mental guess as to when the inevitable happened.
The inevitable happened on a November evening in 1997, five years after they first began working together.
It might surprise some to know that the inevitable did not occur after some great tragedy. There had been no kidnapping or abduction for either, not since that one in which she had been gone for three months and he had become close to killing himself as those months dragged by, no rough case that hit close to home for one or both, beyond the everyday run-of-the-mill terror they faced as both FBI and X-Files agents. They weren't angry with the other, or scared of something to come, or sad about the past in any way. All in all, the day leading up to the inevitable was relatively, well, dull.
They had flown to Nevada the week before, to the lake, investigating the years-old claims of a benevolent lake creature who often aided lost boats and children who forgot how to swim, but, aside from five days spent on the beach in lovely winter weather, had found nothing. Well, they had found a cave with an underwater entrance, which Mulder had said was her lair and Scully had said was erosion, and since the locals didn't seem to care either way -- after all, it was a good story, a nice lie, and fun to believe in -- they had let it go and instead spent their last day in the crisp mountain forest, lobbing snowballs like children. Then it was a six-hour flight back to Washington DC, where the winter was the same but seemed colder, harsher, more dirty, and they had driven back to the J. Edgar Hoover building while singing along to the 80's music on the radio.
Scully, better with patience and words, had volunteered to write up the report while Mulder, still fidgeting from the time in the plane, had gone to meet with Skinner. He had parked next to her car, smiling as she groaned to see the layer of ice and snow it had formed in six days, then pressed his forehead against her affectionately in goodbye as she chipped the ice away, muttering that she would see him at home. Three hours later he had unlocked the door and blustered in, stamping free of the snow that coated his boots and shed his bulky outerwear, greeting her warmly and laughing his open laugh as she swept her fingers through his thick hair, dislodging any snowflakes that were beginning to melt there. "Hi, Honey," he smiled, taking her hand and sweeping her towards the couch. "I'm home."
She grinned, settling next to him as they propped their feet up on the table, her reaching for the remote and him handing over the still scalding hot chocolate he had stopped to buy on the way over. Grateful for the time to themselves, she snuggled against his shoulder as he pulled the afghan from where it lay folded on the back of the couch, tucking it beneath her chin and across his chest, cocooning them in it's warmth. The monster movie, one of his favorites, with Kevin Bacon and the giant worms, played softly in the background and the blizzard raged outside, sweeping thick white curtains up to cover the windows. It was, in every aspect of the idea, the perfect way to end a day. Scully was quite content in that moment to sip hot chocolate -- the good kind, she smiled, with the sprinkles of cinnamon coating the whipped cream; just the way she liked it -- and half-watch the movie, her head resting against the broad and excessively nice-smelling shoulder of her partner and friend. Until he opened his mouth, that is.
"So... about that cave we found."
"Fox, that was a product of erosion." He made a face, that perfected 'you're just in denial, Scully' face that she hated oh-so-much, and she lifted her head from its pillow to glare at him, one eyebrow raised. "It's a lake, Mulder. The water moves, and there's a giant rock. Over the years, the water wears away at the rock, making an indentation, and then a cavern."
"Cute," he playfully shoved her away. "I think I know what 'erosion' means." In a moment he was serious again, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and drawing her close. "Honestly though," he took a sip of the cocoa and gestured with the Styrofoam cup. "It doesn't matter. Nothing dangerous or life-threatening lives in that lake, the locals are happy, and we got a vacation." She had to smile at that; they had gotten a vacation out of the case, yes -- a five day vacation in which they had to work four and a half of those days. Why couldn't they ever take a vacation that was just that? A vacation? No work, no monsters, just the two of them, somewhere calm.
They were back to how they had been before, fitting against each other like puzzle pieces. It was the epitome of domestic bliss, she thought with a smile, if only one were able to ignore the explosions and screams from the television. "We've had vacations." She craned her neck to meet his gaze, raising one eyebrow. "Remember going to Arcata?"
A dreamy smile crossed his features, taking ten years or so off of his age. "Yeah..."
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Arcata, the small fishing and logging town on the coast of Northern California, which, beyond the introduction of new technology and new people, had not really changed much since the late seventies. It had a college across the freeway, it's own redwood forest and beach marina, and the rumor of a werewolf prowling the town, as a few cats had gone missing. They had been flown out there, treated as either heroes or 'the Feds' by the townspeople, only to find that the werewolf was nothing more than a very confused, slightly misplaced cougar.
So, they had agreed with a conspiratorial whisper, they were left with a week's reservation at the Arcata Hotel, right along the north edge of the city plaza, on government pay, in one of the most idyllic small towns they had ever seen. It hadn't taken much to convince them to stay, really. Arcata was clean, friendly, and just being there made you feel... better. To two agents so used to the hustle and bustle and smog of the big city, Arcata was Heaven. "Yeah," the homeless man in the park who overheard them answered, grinning a smile of clean, perfect teeth. "Yeah, we get that a lot here."
Heaven.
Just the two of them, two partners, two friends, spending a week in the calm old-feeling tranquility of this town. They hadn't needed to carry any weapons or official badges the entire trip -- not that they didn't, it just wasn't necessary. Some of her fondest memories were of that trip: watching Mulder, carefree and dressed down in a tank top and shorts, playing ultimate Frisbee on the beach with the college students, or of sitting beneath a tree so tall she couldn't even fathom the top, reading on the bench by the tiny waterfall, or even just of the two of them at dinner, eating fresh fish and not having to get up for work the next morning. It was the first real vacation for either of them in years.
They awoke the first morning of their first vacation at around nine AM, for once not thrown from sleep by a ringing phone or a buzzing alarm. No, in fact, Scully awoke to the much missed sound of birds singing, greeting the dawn, and Mulder was dragged awake, kicking and screaming, by the also much-appreciated noise of Scully's voice. "Mulder, move it!" Breakfast was a calm, quiet affair -- something it was rarely, if ever, back in Washington -- and not just a gulped down cup of coffee or a slice of burnt toast. Then they had wandered around the plaza, chatting amicably, until being stopped by a few of the local college students.
"Hey, Feds!" but it was said with such affection and respect that they had smiled rather than scowled, and agreed to drive out to Mad River Beach for a barbeque and frisbee match. A few of the students, juniors and seniors majoring in various sciences, had actually managed to make friends with the usually distant Mulder, especially once one of them, Eric, brought out the frisbee with the little green man on it. They -- the students and Mulder, at any rate; Scully and a few others students had talked about the local area -- had spent the next three hours tossing the disc and roughhousing, and then cooked burgers and hot dogs once the evening rolled around.
"Mulder," Scully had come up behind him with a sly smile, nudging him in the ribs, "Sarah says that there's a Bigfoot and Extra Terrestrial Museum about half an hour down Highway 101." Her grin, and that of the slender student behind her, widened. "What are we doing tomorrow?" The next sounds were the squeals and curses of one Dana Scully as her partner hoisted her over his shoulder and dropping her into the ocean.
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"Yeah," that smile was still there. "I remember."
The movie hadn't ended yet, was really only about halfway through, but Scully was already yawning into her partner's shoulder, jet-lagged and exhausted. Sighing, she untucked herself from the cocoon and smoothed the afghan over Mulder when he looked up in question. 'G'night Fox," she leaned down, sweeping his hair back from his forehead and softly pressing her lips against his. "Don't stay up all night, alright? Like it or not, we do have to get back to work tomorrow." He nodded his agreement as she wandered towards the bedroom, disposing of the hot chocolate cups along the way. Then she headed for the bathroom, changing into warm flannel pajamas, brushing her teeth, and then crawling into bed beneath the thick down comforter her mother had bought for her last Christmas. She had turned out the light and was nearly asleep when it hit her, and she sat up in bed with enough force to nearly knock herself unconscious on the overhead lamp.
"FOX!"
He was by her side in a heartbeat, and he must have realized the same thing that she did, and at about the same moment, because he didn't pause long enough to ask why she had yelled across her apartment at him. His hands went to her cheeks, his thumbs lightly caressing there a moment, before pulling her to him, crushing her lips against his own. She was frozen with shock for a moment, but then her hands were twining themselves around his back and through his hair, drawing him even closer. Playfully, he nipped at her lower lip then laved it gently with his tongue to sooth the area, smiling when she moaned, every so softly. And then, in moments, rationality had kicked in and they drew apart, still wrapped in the other's arms, but foreheads now resting together as they paused to catch a mutual breath. His lips quirked into that sly, half-smile, and he leaned down to kiss her again, this time all soft tenderness, rather than the earlier contact of subconscious routine or catalytic passion.
"Fox," Scully's voice was soft, the emotion hard to read from the almost dreamy tone. "You kissed me."
His grin widened, and that sly look was back when he realized her observation was just that, an observation, and not a complaint or something much angrier. 'Yeah, well," his lips brushed hers again, and she responded in kind. "You kissed me first." Usually, were this a usual, ordinary day, she would have smacked him for a comment like that. He seemed to anticipate, because he instinctively rolled a shoulder inwards to glance the blow off.
Delicate fingers traced inane patterns through his hair and across his skull before those same fingers came to rest on his cheeks, the thumbs lightly fluttering across his lips. "Fox," the thumbs stilled on either side, trapping his face in her grip before being pulled down to meet hers. "You talk too much."