Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means we're inconsolable. Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we'll never get used to it." -Richard Siken

Today has been a shitty day, Mulder thought as he sat on his worn leather couch. He was staring at the X taped on his window, realizing that at some point his life had been consumed by the X-Files. It had happened so insidiously, so naturally, that he didn't even notice the change. And now it has infected every aspect of his life and the lives of the people close to him. He thought about Scully's wistful words a few days back, how his life had become hers. She had sounded so forlorn.

There was a knock on his door. Normally he would expect Scully (even at this late hour) but after their tense stalemate earlier there was no way it would be her. Why didn't get just get her the damn desk, he thought irritably, not for the first time either.

He glanced in the peephole and his eyes widened. It was Scully! He was very surprised and confused but he still opened the door.

She looked up at him expectantly, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the bruises on her face. "Can I come in?" she asked.

He opened the door wider, standing aside so that she could pass. She took off her jacket as she walked in. "I'm sorry to just drop by, but my head hurts and I couldn't sleep," she stated as she sat down on his leather couch, in the same exact spot where he had just been musing about his life choices.

"Can I get you something - ibuprofen or ice?" he asked, feeling a little stupid. Who offers a doctor Advil?

"No, thank you," she said neutrally, though she was rubbing her forehead right between her eyes. This was way different than the icy demeanor he experienced for the rest of the workday today. Maybe she wanted an apology but Mulder wasn't quite sure what to apologize for. I'm sorry that the X-Files are important to me, I'm sorry that I was a jerk, I'm sorry that my life has become your life and your life has become... Well I didn't know how that sentence ended, he thought bitterly. He stood by the couch, waiting for her to say something, maybe go into a little more detail about why she had appeared at his doorstep.

"Do you have anything to drink?" she asked, which surprised him.

"Yeah," he responded, walking to the fridge. "I got Coke, beer..." he trailed off, waiting for her to stop him.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"I have whiskey," he mentioned.

"That works," she said. Mulder raised his eyebrows at her. She normally didn't drink hard liquor, at least not in his presence. He was wary about her motives, but still poured them each two fingers of whiskey into (hopefully) clean tumblers.

He sat down on the couch next to her, assuming he was back in her good graces if she wanted to share a drink with him. He went for a joke.

"Scully, you show up late at night, sit on my couch, ask for alcohol... one might get the wrong idea," he stated, waggling his eyebrows.

Scully didn't crack a smile or even respond at all. Instead, she downed her glass.

Now Mulder was concerned. Scully was acting strange, and had been acting strange since before he left for Graceland. Now she was throwing back whiskey like she was at a frat party. Something was up.

"Scully, what's going on?" he asked.

She turned to look at him more squarely. "Mulder stop talking," she said matter-of-factly as she started moving closer to him.

She surged toward him, arms around his shoulders, her hands in his hair. Her lips were insistent, searching. Mulder was very much caught off guard but his body responded even though his brain was misfiring. He kissed her back, arms wrapping around her slim torso. Scully is only attracted to assholes, was his first thought, his mind going straight to Jerse but also including himself. The sentiment made him sick to his stomach. He grabbed her wrists to push her away. Mulder profiled criminals for a living and he had never been so confused by a person's behavior.

They were both breathing heavy. "Scully, what's going on?" he repeated, like they hadn't just kissed for the first time.

Her face crumpled. Maybe she hadn't expected him to sense that there was something wrong. She looked afraid but looked away and stated, "Mulder, I think there's something wrong with me."

His heart broke. This is all my fault, he thought. Why did he give her such a hard time about Jerse? She wouldn't look at him, her eyes lowered to the floor. He crawled down to the floor so he could kneel in front of her and grabbed her hands. "Oh honey, there's nothing wrong you. I'm the jackass here," he said, the term of endearment just slipping out.

Scully finally looked up at him, her eyes started welling with tears. "No I think there is something really wrong with me." Then she started crying for real. Mulder couldn't really make out what she was blubbering but he heard "nosebleed" and "Betts." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sobbed into his neck. Mulder rubbed her back and had the feeling that something had changed, but not in a good way. She stayed the whole night, eventually falling asleep with her head in his lap while he ran his fingers through her hair.

In a week, to the day, the same scene would play out: her head in his lap after hearing about her cancer diagnosis.

Chapter Text

"So, you kiss him, and he doesn't move, he doesn't pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn't moved, he's frozen, and you've kissed him, and he'll never forgive you, and maybe now he'll leave you alone."
- Richard Siken

Ever since Scully’s diagnosis of cancer, there was an (almost) imperceptible shift in her and Mulder’s relationship. He was less likely to argue with her, but also less likely to joke with her too. He was choosing cases that were closer to home and some that weren’t even X-Files. He had the nerve to suggest that she go back on general assignment, just while she was on chemo he assured, and then she could come back when she was well. Scully was so annoyed with that proposition that she didn’t talk to him for the rest of the day and Mulder never brought it up again.

He had always been protective but his protectiveness was now softer. It made her feel weak. Scully had been battling the perception of weak her whole life – because of her stature, because of her gender, because she worked in male dominated fields. She didn't want cancer to ruin all that she had worked so hard for until this point. She pushed back wherever she could: spending evenings at the gun range polishing her already perfect shot, reading the case files until she had them memorized, running after suspects at full-speed and ignoring the looming figure of her mortality. No matter what she did, though, there was Mulder, looking at her as if she were glass. She hated that look.

Scully’s frustration hit a boiling point when she got her latest nosebleed. They were coming more frequently and lasted longer. She and Mulder were in his motel room in Durham, North Carolina working a case that he swore was a Mummy come to life at Duke University. She, of course, did not. They were looking over the files and Scully’s nose started to itch. When she pulled away, the blood was bright red against her pale hand.

Mulder jumped to action right away, getting her a towel, advising her to pinch her nose, rubbing her back. She was feeling smothered and the air was suddenly leaving the room.

“Mulder! Stop!” she yelled to get his attention, her voice slightly muffled by the towel over her face. She pulled it away so she could talk clearly.

“I’m fine. You can stop hovering. Please just leave me alone.”

He rocked back on his heels, where he was kneeling next to her. He looked dumbfounded. She stood up, grabbed her papers and left the room.

Her motel room was a few doors down and she was glad for the distance. She juggled the towel and paperwork while trying to unlock the door, managing not to get blood on anything. She made her way to the bathroom and illuminated the small room by flicking the switch. Scully didn't know if she was actually pale or if it was just the florescent lights washing her out, but she didn't look so good. At least her nose had stopped bleeding. She bent over to wash her face. As she was drying herself with the scratchy motel towel, there was a knock at the door.

"Scully, it's me," she heard from the doorway. Scully felt overwhelmed at the prospect of convincing Mulder to just let her be.

However, she knew that ignoring him would do no good. She made her way to the door and flung it open. Mulder stepped inside and softly shut the door behind him in direct contrast to Scully’s behavior. He spoke as if she was a cornered animal.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he stated simply. He had that look – the one she hated.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said, turning away.

He snorted, "You say that a lot and it usually means the opposite."

He took a step towards her. "Just let me help."

She whirled on him, angry. "You know how you can help? Just leave me alone! I don't need you!"

He looked hurt at her words, but made no move to leave. She knew what would really surprise him.

She could be accused of thinking into it too much or not enough, but Scully knew the only way to be rid of him was to shock him. So she kissed him. It was a hard kiss: she pressed hotly against him, her hands gripped his hair. He was frozen and didn’t move. She was glad that she had stunned him and that his profiler mind would never expect her to do something like this. Scully just fucked up the tenuous tightrope that held their partnership in place. Maybe he would never forgive her and she would never have to see that look from him again.

What she didn't expect was for him to kiss her back. Mulder's arms went around her and he deepened the kiss. Scully wasn't fazed, she had thought he was attractive from the moment she laid eyes on him and she wouldn't deny that she hadn't wondered what it would be like to extend their relationship to the physical realm. Before her cancer diagnosis, she hoped that he might feel the same way.

Scully pulled him back to the bed and he landed on top of her. Desire coiled deep within her. She didn’t think this far ahead when she kissed him but she was desperate, desperate to forget what was happening to her, to pretend she wasn’t weak, to get Mulder off her case.

They were still kissing; Mulder cradling her head like she was something precious but not making moves to go any farther. She decided to speed things up by bringing her hands to his waist and tried to undo his belt. Despite her eagerness, her hands were shaking and she was having trouble unlatching it.

Mulder pulled back and stopped her hands from scrabbling against his waist. "Scully, stop."

Mulder has finally come to his senses, she thought.

Instead, he brought his hand to her face and wiped her face. "Scully, you're crying."

She also reached up and felt the tears on her cheek. She hadn’t realized she was crying and didn’t quite know why. She felt her control slipping and the anger, fear, depression, frustration coming to the surface. She didn’t want Mulder to see her like this, but he still wouldn’t leave goddammit.

Mulder was hovering over her, his concern emanating from him. She covered her face and began crying in earnest. “Please, just go,” she begged, turning away from him, but she wasn’t sure if he heard her over the sobs.

Mulder moved to curl around her, his face at the nape of her neck, his hand against her heartbeat.

"Oh, Scully," he soothed. "I'm not going anywhere."

She let him hold her for the rest of the night.