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She’s unsure exactly when their relationship had evolved into what it is now, but she suspects it doesn’t matter now. What is she sure of though, is that it must have happened after that fateful night in his apartment.
One year ago…
She and the lone-gunman had just drug his lifeless body from the ocean almost three days prior to that night, and she still remembers the way his hand brushed against hers as he propped himself up on the mattress.
And before she knows it, her face is close to his, the air is heavy between them. That’s when he says it.
“I love you.” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. And despite the frantic rhythm her heart is in, she remains calm. The rational part of her brain deduces that it’s the traumatic experience he’s just been through, or maybe even the medications. But there’s no denying that he’s alert and awake as can be, and very much the same man she remembers before they found him face first in the ocean.
“Oh, brother.” It’s a coping technique, she realizes; not exactly wanting to have this type of conversation in the middle of a generic hospital room, where anyone could interrupt at any moment.
She thought that maybe she could just… forget about it, forget that he had ever uttered those three words to her. But she found herself obsessing over it, wondering how long he had been holding those words in. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat… and after three days, she needed to know.
She calls him, to make sure he’s home; chalks it up as a well-visit to make sure he’s still recovering from his… experience. And throws in, ‘Besides… there’s something I need to talk to you about, anyway’.
But now, standing in front of his door with her hand poised to knock, she suddenly has those same butterflies in her stomach. This talk, that she so desperately wants to have, could potentially change everything.
“Mulder, it’s me,” she says, after knocking a few times. He opens the door to her, revealing his apartment, and smiles at her. He’s dressed casually, in the only clothes she’s convinced he has that aren’t business suits; a dark gray shirt and jeans.
“Come in.”
“Thanks.” He takes the coat from her and hangs it up, noticing how she nervously wrings her hands together; the universal ‘Scully’ sign that there’s something heavy weighing on her conscious.
“Look, I’m all better. No need for an examination. See?” He’s holding up his hands, turning in a full circle. He notices that she’s somewhat distant, not straying too far from his apartment door. “Scully?”
“Why did you say it?” She asks suddenly, her eyes refusing to meet his own.
He knows exactly what she’s talking about, and tilts his head. He never thought that she’d confront him about it. But there they stood.
He opens his mouth to begin to explain, but she cuts him off.
“Because if… you just can’t say things like that to me, Mulder.” She sighs, letting her hands fall to her sides in a defeated manner. “Especially when you don’t mean it.”
“You think I didn’t mean it?” He moves closer to her, reaches out for her, but she’s hesitant and it nearly breaks him. Feelings be damned, he decides to spill everything. There was no point in hiding anything from her… not anymore. “Scully, I meant it. Every word. And I remember it clear as day, incase you think I don’t.”
“Mulder,” she says, his name leaving her lips breathlessly. She’s not sure if she was prepared to hear him admit it.
She shakes her head.
She remembered what came next. The welcome assault of his lips against hers, him pushing her up against the door, the way her arms snaked around his neck.
And watching him move about his kitchen early on this Friday morning, she can’t help but feel at home; at peace.
She’s perched at his kitchen table, a half-empty cup of coffee snuggly between her hands. She’s been ready to leave for work for a few minutes now, and watches over the rim of her mug as he shuffles in, his tie draped over his shoulders and a few buttons of his white Oxford shirt undone.
She catches the glimpse of his upper chest, his toned pecs, and reminds herself that she’s got approximately nine more hours until she can undo the rest of those buttons.
“What’s the hurry, Mulder? We’re not even close to being late,” she says, her voice still rasp with tiredness.
“Ah, I just wanted to finish up with the last bits of the Roberts case,” he says, pouring himself his own cup of coffee. Scully stands from her spot at the table, and sets her own mug next to his on the counter.
“Do you think Rinehart knew about Rob the entire time? Or suspected, at least?”
“I think that’s why she confronted him before we had got there.”
Scully doesn’t care much about the case. It was over, their ‘monster of the week’ was dead. She just loved to pick Mulder’s brain.
Reaching out, she grabs ahold of his tie with either hand. It stops him effectively long enough for her to lean up on her toes, bringing her lips dangerously close to his.
“If this means we’re going in early, then I expect to leave early, too,” she whispers, before giving him a sweet peck on the lips. She watches through the corner of her eye as he shivers, and smirks.
————
A week later, and they find themselves in an over crowded bar in Downtown D.C. It’s one of her favorites, normally, but tonight is chaos. She didn’t know what else she was expecting, seeing as it was New Years Eve.
It seemed like everyone from the Bureau had made their way to celebrate their last night of 1999 in this one particular place. And since their relationship had officially been in the intimate stage for better of a year now, she wasn’t so sure if she was ready to broadcast that to the rest of her co-workers.
Not that it mattered… not that everyone they worked with hadn’t already formed an opinion on their relationship, anyway. If half of them had put it together years ago, the other half was about to have their confirmation tonight.
She’s just thankful that her Human Resources trip hadn’t been this awkward.
She’s ahead of him, with his hand claiming the spot of her lower back. She’s always loved it when he does this, but she’ll never tell him. Upon him opening the door for her, she hears ‘1979’ by The Smashing Pumpkins playing over the sound of indistinct chatter from the other patrons.
She figured this would happen, sort of a time-travel through the past years with music. Tomorrow would be a new day, a new time.
Feeling him guide her to the bar, she finds an opening and makes a move for it. There’s no other place for Mulder to stand, except behind her. It makes no difference, as he still towers over her and can see the bar perfectly. She’s aware of how close he is; she can feel his chest firmly against her back, and is thankful that the bar is so crowded when she feels his hand snake around her coat to grip her waist.
“I’ll take two Shiners, please,” she says to the bartender, holding up two fingers. She feels him squeeze her hip and tilts her head back, his own head lowering to whisper in her ear.
“A woman after my own heart,” he whispers, and she can’t help but grin. When the beers are presented to her, she reaches up to touch bottle necks with his, before taking a long-awaited sip.
It doesn’t take long for the other agents to notice them, and when they do, Scully reluctantly follows behind. They come to a high-top table, and one of the male agents gives up his seat when he sees her. She accepts it gracefully, and Mulder takes his place besides her.
“Never thought I’d see you two here,” Agent Sellers, a younger agent, states. He’s nursing his own mixed drink, and is accompanied by two other male counter-parts.
“I didn’t think Mr. and Mrs. Spooky went to these types of deals,” the cocky one says, waiting for a sign of annoyance from Scully, but never getting one. It’s Mulder, who speaks up first, though.
“We thought we’d spend this one out of the basement this year,” he comments dryly, effectively shutting down any more snarky comments.
“In any case, I’m glad you’re both here,” the sweet one, who’s gotten up for Scully, says, and holds out his beer for a ‘Cheer’.
Appropriately enough, the beginning of ‘Buddy Holly’ by Weezer has taken reign upon the bar, and the two of them share a look.
‘What's with these homies dissin' my girl? Why do they gotta front?’
Mulder grins.
They stay a moment longer to chat with the other agents, until Scully’s breaking away to order more drinks.
She’ll need stronger alcohol if she’s going to deal with these assholes all night, she thinks. She orders one vodka tonic for herself and one whiskey, neat. For Mulder. When she turns to head back to the table, he’s standing in front of her and almost makes her spill their drinks.
“Whoa.”
“Sorry.” She presents him with the highball glass as she sips at her own liquor, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Agent Scully. Are you trying to get me drunk?” She snorts into her own drink, and licks her lips.
“Tell me we don’t have to go back there,” she motions towards the table, the other three agents oblivious of their departure.
“We don’t have to go back there,” he repeats, and reaches down for her hand. “There’s actually somewhere else I want to take you.” She lets him lead her through the crowded floor, can feel the eyes of other female agents watching her.
There’s a hidden staircase off to the side of the room, one in all her years of coming here… had no idea was there. Trusting him blindly, she climbs the spiral staircase until they reach the second story of the bar. There’s a small wooden railing that houses a few white string lights, effectively dimming the space.
‘A Long December’ by Counting Crows is what she hears next, and she glances down at all the people below her. None of them notice her and Mulder, and she looks back at him.
“How’d you know this was here,” she asks, bewildered. With his hand still in hers, he effectively twirls her to the beat of the slower song, and she smiles even wider.
“Let’s just say it’s our little secret, now.”
She wants so badly to kiss him, and he senses it too, with the way her eyes flick over his mouth. She’s only slightly disappointed when he twirls her back around, turning her to face the balcony. He pulls until her back is pressed against his chest again, much like earlier that night, and gently sways to the music with her.
The owner of the bar, a close friend of Mulder’s, suddenly steals the show. All you hear over the speakers is his loud voice. “Alright, everyone. Only five minutes left until the new Millennium! Everyone grab a friend, grab a lover, grab your best friend’s sister; it’s about to go down!”
The music resumes, some song she doesn’t recognize. And when she turns in Mulder’s arms, she gives him that undeniable gaze.
“Mulder, what are we doing here?”
“Having a romantic New Years Eve night, like two lovers should do.”
“Is that what we are? Is that what you want? I’ve been trying to figure this… us out for the past year it seems like. What are we doing,” she asks again, wanting confirmation that they were what she thought they were. “I have to know you want this too.”
There’s the unspoken insinuation. Neither one of them have to bring it up, because they both understand it. There’s no going back to what they were if this fails. She’s not as naive to know that they’ll have their fair share of fights and misunderstandings, but she’s willing to work through them.
It’s a scary thought, she realizes. Having the past seven years of your life erased, forgotten because they couldn’t manage to keep their relationship professional.
But she argues that their relationship hasn’t been strictly professional in quite some time.
“You don’t already know?”
Her gaze is locked on him, and suddenly there’s a countdown. Had five minutes really passed that fast? She’s not surprised; time flew when she was with him.
“10… 9… 8… 7…”
She turns to face him fully, their drinks now abandoned on a near by table. And before she can fully appreciate how fucking handsome he looks, wearing his heart on his sleeve with that love-sick expression, his lips descend onto hers just in time for the New Year.
Time ceases to exists and the rest of the world fades away. There’s no one else except Mulder. There’s not a doubt within her that she loves this man with every fiber of her being, so when their mouths part for the kiss to deepen, she’s not surprised in the least. They’ve kissed many times like this before, but there’s something different… something special in the way he takes his time with her, as if willing her to see through this kiss that he’ll do anything, everything to make her happy, for as long as she’ll let him.
————
She wonders if he still has his apartment.
He spends his nights, his weekends, time away from work… all at her place. And not that she’s complaining.
She had been skeptical of the whole ‘moving-in’ ordeal, afraid that their lifestyles would clash. And she’s not sure if he’s trying not to over-step his boundaries, or if he’s really taken the time to learn how she likes things.
He places all of his dirty clothes into his own, separate hamper, which had been his idea. He washes any dish or cup he’s used before placing it into the dishwasher. He even used said cup to pour himself something to drink, instead of taking a swig from the container itself.
The sun had gone down almost an hour ago, when he had left her apartment for his nightly run in the park. He had kissed her cheek gently before pulling a gray hoodie over his head. She preferred to do her running in the well-lit, air conditioned FBI training center.
It’s their first weekend alone together in God knows how long. She’s just happy to be able to relax, to open the bottle of wine in front of her, and to put together something healthy for dinner.
Pouring herself a generous glass of wine, she sets on the task of cooking. Deciding on chicken, she preheats the oven and seasons everything to perfection. Once everything is in its right place, she leans back against the counter and savors the pinot noir.
Her front door jiggles, the key engaging in the lock, and Mulder appears.
She smiles.
“Started without me,” he asks, nodding towards her glass of wine.
“If you hurry to get cleaned up, there might be some left.”
He shuffles around the table, depositing his keys onto the counter. His cold fingers lift her chin, tilting her head back for her to look at him.
She allows one kiss, two even. But when he pushes her against the counter with his body, her glass of wine caught between them, she laughs into his mouth.
“Too sweaty. Go shower,” she says, her lips swollen from his assault and her cheeks flushed from the wine. He leaves her, reluctantly, and heads towards the bathroom. She takes the opportunity to check on the food, and knows the chicken has a few more minutes until it’s completely cooked.
And after changing into something more comfortable, she sets off for the couch, flicking on the television and sorting through the channels to find something to keep her attention.
There’s a documentary on the History Channel about the nuclear reactions from Chernobyl that she settles on, it only taking minutes to engross her. She sips continuously at her wine, and is so captivated by the science and stories, that she doesn’t hear Mulder come out from her bathroom.
“There’s plans to cover the site, you know.”
She jumps at his voice, almost spilling some of the wine. He gives her a sheepish grin, and motions for her to scoot over on the couch. He’s in a clean pair of jogging pants with an undeniably tight t-shirt. It hugs his biceps in a way that drives her crazy.
He settles on the couch and she moves closer to him, swinging her little legs over his thighs. His sock-clad feet are propped up on her glass coffee table. His fingers get to work, trailing up and down her legs.
“With that much radiation, I don’t see how they’ll be able to get close enough. Not for another decade or so, at least.”
He looks at her.
Completely, utterly in love with her.
These types of nights, these moments… were his favorite.
She had changed into more comfortable clothes while he was showering, he notices. A pair of black running shorts and one of his t-shirts. His favorite New York Knicks t-shirt. She’s barefoot, and her hair is swept up into a messy ponytail.
She looks absolutely stunning.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear over the television. She turns her head to look at him. He’s so close, his face mere inches from her’s. “I love you.” His voice is deep, heavy. They never really say those words, at least not often, because they already know. But it’s on a rare occasion like tonight, with her tiny body so close to his, that he has to tell her. His heart will burst if he doesn’t.
“I love you, too.” Her voice lowers in tone to match his, to show him how serious she is. She kisses him first. It’s slow and sensual. She wants to show him how much she loves him. But before she can take things any further, the timer in her kitchen goes off.
She slowly pulls her lips away from him, making him almost pout.
“The chicken, Mulder.”
“Fuck the chicken. Let it burn,” he says, pulling her back down for another kiss, earning a fit of giggles from his choice of words.
————
It hadn’t taken much to convince him to join her for Easter Sunday at her mother’s house. It was a special holiday for her, but one that he hadn’t celebrated since he was a child. And even if it meant spending the day with her older brother, who hated Mulder’s guts, he’d do it to make her happy.
But to his surprise, Bill Scully had been nothing but welcoming. He wonders if the older Scully man had been put in his place by one five-foot-three red head. Nonetheless, it’s a nice day. They go to mass, which Mulder respectfully sits through. He’s a bit awkward with the kneeling, the standing, the reciting back of the prayers, but in that moment, her heart swells.
This man really would do anything for her, she realizes.
Later in the evening, he finds her at her mother’s sink. She’s washing the left over dishes from their early dinner. He checks around, no sign of anyone downstairs. Slowly, he comes up behind her and feels her tense, but soon relax.
“Need some help,” he asks, his breath tickling stray hairs near her neck. She doesn’t hide the shutter that courses her body, and allows herself to lean back into him.
“I think I’ve got it under control.” He presses a kiss to the side of her head.
“Good. Your brother has challenged me to a game of hoops.” His arms are wrapping around her from behind, his fingers finding the sensitive parts of her abdomen and making her drop the dishes back into the sink, trying to suppress her laughter. “And if I win, you’re officially mine.”
“Is that so?”
“Hmm mmm.”
And from the threshold separating the dining room from the kitchen, Margaret Scully smiles.
————
She’s sitting alone, at a small table in the middle of a coffee shop. Some acoustic song is playing as she sips her coffee and shuffles through the case files spread out on her table.
A table ahead of her, are two younger women. She figures college girls by the Georgetown sweatshirts and circles under their eyes.
Her eyes are drawn to the door of the coffee shop when she sees Mulder walk through, and brings her coffee to her lips again.
“Oh my God, look,” the brunette in front of her says, using her pencil to motion towards Mulder. Oblivious to their gawking, he searches around until his own eyes fall on Scully. He throws a grin her way. “Be cool. He’s coming over here,” the younger woman tells her friend, running a hand through her messy, unwashed hair.
Scully can’t hide her widening smile as she watches Mulder pass their table, heading straight for hers.
“Hey,” he says in that low, rich voice of his, the one that drives her crazy.
“Hey yourself,” she says just before his head dips down, capturing her lips in a kiss for everyone in the coffee house to see, including the two disappointed girls in front of them.