Chapter Text
She had met him at the bowling alley, unsure of just why he was so interested in what was clearly the business of the local police. She was happy to spend time with him, the first outside of the office since their whirlwind marriage and short honeymoon in Niagara Falls.
She had gone from being guarded about her space and free time, wanting nothing to significantly change, to wondering if he really wanted to be with her as more-than-partners, the days spent with a thoughtful, loving version of Mulder seeming like a dream.
She watched him pour soda on the floor, revealing the words She is Me, realizing that this case had him in his element, investigating connections only he could see.
This was confirmed as she stood stoically beside him at the police station, as they visited the care home, where he questioned the residents. He was all his brand of professionalism, nothing would suggest that they had become a married couple.
It was only when blood dripped from her nose onto Harold's file that she heard concern for her in his voice. Mortified that he had seen this evidence of her weakness, she hurried to the washroom, running cold water to wipe away the evidence of her disease, only to be shocked at the vision of the young woman, the words She is Me, written in blood.
When she saw that same woman's body at the crime scene, she felt a wave of panic. She knew she should tell Mulder, but she didn't know how.
She had to get away from him, she couldn't bear being near him and not telling him. She had to be Fine, she wasn't ready not to be, it would mean no more working together.
She remembered the last case they had worked together before their first separation, when the X-Files had been closed, both of them reassigned.
She had acknowledged to him that he was right, ready to accept the evidence, but it had been gone. She had met the mysterious Deep Throat-like contact, had stolen a distorted fetus, and had bargained it against the life of her partner, costing Mulder's informant his life.
She had been so relieved to have him back, she had put him into the car and driven aimlessly, much as she found herself doing now.
Then, she had stopped for supplies, medical and otherwise, and consulted a map, before driving him to a campground that rented cottages.
They'd spent the weekend there, hiding from those who would do them harm. She had treated his abrasions, told him of what she had seen, what had been done to save him. His grief shattered him, the way she had been shattered by his disappearance, witnessing the murder, the knowledge of just how dangerous their work had become.
They had clung to each other, for those two days, sharing a bed even though their Rules discouraged it. She had instigated the sex they had then, for the first time in their partners-with-benefits arrangement.
She couldn't keep him from the outside world for long, however. Two days later she had dropped him at his apartment, only to hear from him that night, telling her They'd been shut down and reassigned.
She had wondered then if they'd ever have sex again, without the cases, without the partnership giving them the framework and excuses to get together that way.
Now, they were married, connected beyond the work, but still through it. She was scared, not wanting him to see weakness in her, another feeling she'd had before, and she realized who she needed to talk to. Karen Kossoff had helped her before, and she hoped she would again.
xxx
Some time later..
Mulder leaned against the wall, angry and worried, and beginning to hate himself a bit. He remembered blithely going on to her about death omens, in her apartment, unaware of what she had seen, not registering then the worry on her face, or taking it in mind that she had a terminal illness. He should have stayed with her, questioned her more, when she had been agitated and left the investigation to get checked out, it was unlike her, to drop things in the middle of a case, for personal reasons, without needing an ambulance to haul her away.
But, She had come to him, told him, when she was ready, and he had practically yelled at her. She was out there now, hurting, probably scared, alone...possibly dying...
He wouldn't, he couldn't leave her to deal with this on her own. He had given her enough space.
It had killed him to stay away from her, for the past couple of weeks. He had promised her, that nothing had to change, and He was determined not to push her. But tonight, she needed her partner, her husband, and he would go to her.
He spotted her car, as he left the building, and jogged over to it, tapping on the window, she looked up, startled, and he motioned for her to get out.
He saw the telltale signs of tears, and shock, on her face.
"I just...I think I saw Harold in the backseat"
His gut sank, and he put an arm around her, "You're tired, Scully, and this case...this case was a lot...let me drive you home"
She allowed him to walk her to the passenger side and help her in. He drove her home, parked her car, and followed her upstairs. She was quiet.
"Do you want to take my car home, take me to pick up yours tomorrow?"
"We can pick up mine tomorrow, but I'm staying here tonight"
He saw her begin to protest, and interrupted, "I'm here as your husband, not just as your asshole partner"
Her shoulders slumped, "I never called you that"
"I called myself that. Thank you for telling me, after the fact, you didn't have to. Can I get you anything?"
"A peppermint & chamomile tea sounds nice, I'm going to wash up"
He busied himself did the kettle, finding her herbal teabags, putting out mugs for both of them. He checked the contents of her fridge, her cupboards, and found a quart of Mrs. Scully's homemade pumpkin soup in the freezer. He put it in a glass bowl, in the microwave, and buttered some crusty bread, setting the table with bowls and spoons, glasses of water. The kettle whistled and he poured the water over the teabags, leaving the tea to steep, while he stirred the soup, which was thawing nicely. Popping it back in, he checked on Scully.
She was just coming from her bathroom, wrapped in a towel, on her way to the bedroom.
"I'm heating some soup," he told her,not knowing what else to say at her curious gaze.
She smiled wanly, "Sounds good, I'll be right there"
Was it only two weeks ago they'd spent days naked together? Maybe he had let too much space come between them.
Some time later, soup eaten, dishes rinsed and loaded in the dishwasher, he sat with her on her couch. She was wearing a pair of her satin pyjamas, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.
He wrapped an arm around her, "I'm sorry, Scully. I got too caught up in the case, and forgot my own priorities, in spinning my theories. I don't...I don't believe you are dying, not anytime soon"
"I was just thinking that you...might be right. Like you said, who would be most able to see a death omen, than someone who is..."
"You are not dying, Scully" he spoke fiercely, needed her to believe it with him. He pulled her more closely to him, kissing the crown of her head, and then stood.
"Let's go to bed"
He held her hand, as they moved to her bedroom. It was lit by a lamp next to her bed. He undressed, as she turned back the duvet, and set her alarm clock for the morning. She got into the bed, and he joined her, reaching over to snap off the light.
He gathered her into his arms, kissing her face, moving his lips over her forehead, cheeks, and chin before finding her mouth. He deepened the kiss, his hand in her hair, sliding his tongue into her mouth.
"You're alive, we're both alive, and I want you so badly" He told her, between kisses, and she was moaning softly under him, as he undid her buttons. She was so thin, but her breasts still filled his palms as he grazed her nipples, which were hardening into peaks.
"I want you too, Mulder," he heard her soft voice in his ear, and he kissed and sucked her breasts as he tugged her bottoms down, exploring her pussy with his fingers. She was wet for him. She turned onto her side, pushing her ass against him, and he got the message.
He lined up his cock with her dripping cunt and was inside her with a thrust that had her gasping and moaning. His hips smacked into her behind as he drove into her in a steady rhythm, not pounding but deeply, in even strokes.
She bent her leg, giving him deeper access, his hand around her, fingers teasing her clitoris. Her soft moans filled the room, as her pussy fluttered around him, then clamped more heavily as she came, falling over onto her belly.
He followed her, putting his weight on his arms as he thrust from behind, a bit faster than before. They were both gasping and moaning, as he chased his orgasm, a few more hard thrusts sent him over the edge, and he collapsed against her back, than rolled them onto their sides, spooning up.
He kissed her neck, below her ear, "The only death allowed here is the little one, la petite mort"
She grasped his forearm, where it lay across her, and squeezed, "I'll do my best; I won't give up"
"We should go visit my mother this weekend, maybe spend a few days away," he suggested, yawning. It was late and the last couple of days had been busy.
"I'd like that," she answered drowsily, and then they spoke no more that night.