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Mulder’s flat on his back, eyes on the ceiling, his hand gently stroking Scully’s hair. Her left cheek rests on his right shoulder, their naked bodies tangled together under the warmth of his duvet. His chest rises and falls under her head and she nuzzles her temple into him, blissfully enshrined in the safety of his presence. Scully presses a smile into his shoulder, content in a way she never imagined possible. She thinks she could stay this way forever, if not for whatever damn thing is stabbing her left scapula beneath her. She shifts her body as subtly as she can manage.
“What’s wrong?”
Mulder’s voice is muffled, his mouth pressed against her forehead. Scully smiles, apologetic.
“Nothing… I didn’t want you to move. Something’s poking me—that’s all.” Scully turns toward him, shifting her right hand from his chest to reach beneath her. “Ah.”
Scully holds up her hand, the light reflecting sharply off the tiny golden cross and into their eyes as it spins in the air between them. The chain dangles limply over her hand, broken clasp catching in the light. Mulder shifts himself up slightly and glances at Scully’s bare neck.
“Guess I should’ve been more careful.” Mulder leans over to plant a soft kiss on her left collarbone. Scully’s cheeks flush and she smiles reflexively. “I was a bit distracted.”
“So was I.” Scully laughs, remembering their frenzied tryst. He was only gone a couple of days, but it was a couple days too long. She shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. How they managed to resist for nearly seven years was a mystery to them both; after all, they were practically inseparable from the moment they met. But now that they’re sleeping together? Seconds stretch into hours whenever they’re apart, their reunions desperate attempts to eradicate any memory of their separation.
“Mulder?” Scully pauses, her thoughts interrupted by the sudden awareness that Mulder is unusually quiet. She turns toward him, her blue eyes fixing him with a quizzical expression. He can sense the faint concern she’s carefully concealing. Mulder offers her a distracted smile, eyes trailing his fingers as he traces them down her right arm, a placeholder for the words he hasn’t quite found the courage to say.
“Mulder, what is it?” Scully asks. Her tone is gentle, but the directness cuts into his thoughts and his eyes snap up to meet hers. Her face softens as she searches his eyes, surprised by the apprehension she sees him trying to hide. “It’s okay, Mulder. I just have to find a new chain for it. Really,” she says, kissing his shoulder, “it’s fine.”
She knows it’s not about the necklace, but she also knows he needs her to say something. Scully fixes her eyes on his. She’s especially mindful of her expression as she waits, trying her best to convey a sense of safety. As she searches herself for a familiar sense of alarm, she’s surprised by her own calm. In the past, the fact that she knows Mulder so well but still cannot for the life of her figure out what’s happening right now would be reason enough to run. But as well as she knows him, she trusts him even more. So she waits.
Neither of them know how long it is before Scully discerns a subtle shift in Mulder’s expression. She can tell he’s talked himself into something. Scully grabs his hand and brings it to her lips, eyes locked on his as he overcomes the last of his reluctance. She sees him allow the faintest of smiles to escape before he turns away, reaching for the drawer in his bedside table.
“What are you doing?”
Mulder doesn’t answer. His attention is focused on whatever’s in his hand. She hears him exhale shakily and notices him tentatively stroking something in his hand before gently closing his drawer and turning back to her.
“What is it?” Scully asks, the slightest hint of apprehension clouding her smile. Mulder offers her his hand. A tiny golden box chain just thin enough for her pendant rests in his palm.
“I know it’s not the same,” Mulder says, sliding the cross onto the new chain, “but this way you don’t have to be without it.” He fastens the clasp behind her neck, running his fingers down the length of the chain to the pendant before allowing it to drop, the tiny golden cross resting delicately on her sternum. Scully blushes at the warmth of his fingers on her neck, touched by his thoughtfulness. She wonders when he got it. She knows it’s not his—she’s certain she would have noticed a necklace peeking out from one of his low-cut crewnecks or slightly-too-low button-ups. Maybe he bought it for her as a gift before deciding it was too intimate. At that, Scully feels her heart drop, and she looks up to find that Mulder’s already looking at her.
“It’s not,” he says quickly, her unasked question hanging heavily in the air between them. “It’s mine.” Scully arches an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “I never wear it anymore. But I’ve had it for five years… since Skyland Mountain.”
Scully’s eyes snap back to his face, and Mulder pauses, his gaze dropping to settle firmly on his fidgeting hands. They never talk about this. Scully places a steady hand over his, hoping to infuse some calm. Mulder watches her intertwine her fingers with his, her thumb rhythmically stroking his, steadily reassuring him. He draws a shaky breath and continues, hoping she’s not upset that he brought this up.
“I tried to give it back to your mom, but she told me I should keep it. Hold onto it until I could give it back to you.” Mulder swallows hard. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet the emotions seem to have settled right beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm him given the slightest opening. He studies the way their fingers interlock, a tangible reminder of their deep connection. Scully squeezes his hand, encouraging him.
Mulder stays quiet. Scully searches his face for answers, unsure of what’s stopping him. Is he worried about her? Does he think she can’t handle it?
Scully opens her mouth to speak, but the expression on Mulder’s face interrupts her. She can see the moment memories descend upon him; he looks so little, paralyzed by guilt and fear of his own inadequacy. Scully stops herself; instead, she waits for him to continue, an unexpected wave of admiration washing over her, followed immediately by fierce protectiveness. This is the Mulder she glimpsed in that Boston hallway, struggling to catch his breath after his fear knocked him to the ground; the Mulder she heard on tape recounting his sister’s abduction, leveled by feelings of responsibility and guilt so ingrained in him that it colors everything he touches. She is honored by his deep, abiding trust in her, his constant willingness to be vulnerable, offering himself to her in a way no one ever quite has before. She pushes his hair back, tracing his temple with the pads of her fingers, and drapes her right leg over his body, wrapping him up in her tiny frame, pulling him as close as she possibly can; she’ll wait as long as he needs.
“I mean, you know I don’t have a problem with the choking,” Mulder jokes, his sharp chuckle slightly too loud in the quiet room. Scully offers him a gentle smile in response, acknowledging his discomfort but refusing to take the bait. Below her, she feels Mulder shift. She can feel his eyes begging her for an out, but Scully won’t give it to him. She wants him to say it.
More than that, she thinks to herself. She needs him to say it, not just because she wants to hear it—and deserves to hear it—but because he deserves the space to say it. The space to be heard.
“Tell me.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Mulder continues, “I just needed a longer chain. Besides, I was tired of people asking about it. Apparently, they could tell it wasn’t mine.” He meets Scully’s gaze, warm splotches of embarrassment dancing on his cheeks. Suddenly, the words start to spill out of him, picking up speed as he stumbles through his long-held confession. “So I… I put it on my own chain. I didn’t like replacing any part of it, but I kind of liked having it hidden, because this was my thing, you know? You were mine. I mean, I know that you weren’t mine, but it kind of felt that way. Like you were mine, just like I was yours and we were each other’s. And if I had the longer chain, it was just the right length for me to imagine it was your head against my chest, and this was just a placeholder until you could be back with me.”
Mulder exhales, dropping his gaze. He knows his face is flushed, but his relief somehow outweighs his embarrassment; at least, it does until he feels a single tear fall from his right eye. Before he can wonder if Scully saw, he feels her thumb gently brushing the tear from his cheek.
“You never told me you wore it.”
Mulder looks at her, the response he had begun to form melting away as he gazes into her glistening eyes. There’s nothing more to say, and they both know it. The devotion and love in his actions are plain to see, more obvious than if he had blurted out “I love you” on that first day in their basement office. From the very beginning, he needed her to be with him; more than that, he wanted it. Mulder feels a smile spread across Scully’s face as she pulls him closer. He plants a soft kiss on her temple, stroking her hair.
They lie in contented silence, blanketed by the warmth of Mulder’s confession, the magnitude of Mulder’s relief paralleled only by the depth of Scully’s gratitude. They cling to each other, lost in their own individual memories, unified by a thread of unwavering love for one another. Scully marvels silently at his quiet strength and constant devotion, struck by his gentleness in the face of unending loss. She feels her heart squeeze as she thinks about his life since losing Samantha: his search for the truth, fueled by his fierce, unsubsiding love and met with an unending stream of ridicule, mockery, and doubt. As she lies beside him, basking in his devoted affection and steadfast trust, Scully silently renews their vows to one another; she will continue to be his friend—his constant, his touchstone—just as he is hers.
Neither of them know how much time passes before Mulder feels Scully’s eyelids flutter closed against his chest. He kisses her forehead and settles into the bed, wrapping as much of her small frame as he can in his arms.
“Mulder?” Scully whispers up to him.
“Yeah.”
In the dark, Scully’s hand reaches for his, guiding it to her chest and settling it over her necklace. Scully lays her small hand on top of his, intertwining their fingers and locking them into place. She squeezes his hand.
“Thank you for telling me.”