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Language:
English
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Published:
2025-07-11
Words:
713
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
38
Kudos:
93
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A Good Night for Starlight

Summary:

After the batting cage. After the laughter. After the hands that lingered too long. Mulder doesn’t take Scully home right away — and the night unfolds under stars, soft grass, and everything they haven’t said. It might be stargazing, or it might be the beginning of the rest of their story.

Notes:

Yes, it’s 2025, and yes, I’m posting a post-Unnatural fic like it’s 1999 — because in my heart, it still kind of is. The Unnatural aired on April 25, 1999, but I first watched it on a summer night in June 1994 when I was almost eighteen, and these two FBI agents permanently rewired my brain chemistry. Mulder and Scully have lived rent-free in my heart, soul, and creative hard drive ever since.

I know I’m contributing to what is probably the millionth fic inspired by this episode (stargazing! flirting! baseball innuendo! the bat grip!!!), but it’s been echoing in my head for literal decades. This is my love letter to that blanket in the park, to Scully’s shoulder hurting just a little, and to the idea that this is where their secret season began — not with a bang, but with a kiss under the stars.

Thanks for reading. Leave a kudos or tell me how long you’ve been shipper trash. We’re all among friends here.

Work Text:

The ballpark had gone quiet, but Scully could still feel the vibration of the bat through her arms. Mulder’s hands had lingered just a moment too long on her waist, and his laugh — genuine, breathless — still echoed somewhere behind her ribs.

He should have taken her home. Instead, he drove.

Scully didn’t ask where. She sat with her hand curled against the open window, the late spring breeze lifting loose strands of her hair. The city was soft tonight — streetlamps humming, the hum of cars distant, like the world had been gently turned down.

She watched him in profile as he drove: jaw tight in thought, sleeves pushed to the elbow. There was a tenderness in the line of his mouth he didn’t know he wore.

When he pulled up to a small, mostly dark park on the edge of Georgetown, she still said nothing. It didn’t feel like a detour. It felt like a continuation.

Mulder threw the car into park and reached behind his seat. “Lucky I’m a man who anticipates the impractical,” he said, producing a blanket like a magician. “Spontaneous stargazing kit, courtesy of lifelong alien obsessions and too many solo stakeouts.”

Scully raised an eyebrow, but the corners of her mouth softened. “Is this your idea of romance?”

His eyes met hers, steady. “Would it work if it was?”

She looked away before she could smile too much. “Spread the blanket, Mulder. Let’s see if the stars are on your side tonight.”

The grass was damp and cool through the blanket, the smell of earth rising like steam. Scully pulled her knees up under her chin, arms folded loosely around them. She was more tired than she wanted to admit. Her muscles ached in new places. But there was a peace settling in her chest that she didn’t trust, but didn’t reject.

Mulder lay beside her, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the stars. “You know, I really thought I could’ve been great.”

“At baseball?” she asked.

He nodded. “Triple-A at least. Maybe even The Show. But I got distracted.”

“By the truth?”

He turned his head, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t name. “By the idea of someone finding it with me.”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. His voice was quiet. No deflection. No punchline. Just that terrible, beautiful sincerity she’d never been prepared for.

The wind brushed against them, cool and gentle.

Scully looked up at the stars instead, her voice low. “When I was little, I used to believe stars were windows.”

“To what?”

“Something better. Somewhere quieter. I don’t know. I’d lie in the yard and imagine I could hear the wind from the other side.”

Mulder didn’t speak right away. “Maybe tonight’s one of those windows.”

She glanced at him.

His eyes were on her, not the sky.

Her pulse picked up.

It started with a touch. Just his pinky brushing hers. Then a shift. A breath.

When she didn’t move, he let his fingers find hers properly, their hands tangling, warm and tentative.

Mulder swallowed. “Can I…?”

She nodded.

He leaned in.

The kiss was almost nothing at first. Just lips barely brushing. A hum of yes. But she leaned into it. Stepped through the window she’d never thought she’d find.

Her hand found his jaw, thumb grazing his cheekbone. His mouth opened to hers like a secret. Like a breath he’d been holding for years.

When they pulled apart, the world had shifted — not dramatically, but irrevocably.

She kept her forehead against his. “Well,” she said, “that was… unexpected.”

“Was it?” he whispered.

“No,” she admitted. “Not really.”

They lay back again, this time closer, her head resting against his shoulder, their hands still twined together on the blanket. The stars above blinked softly. Not watching. Just… there.

Mulder’s voice was drowsy. “You ever wonder if we’re allowed to be happy?”

Scully turned her face against the fabric of his shirt. “I wonder if we’re allowed to try.”

And maybe that was the beginning. Not of fireworks or fanfare — but of something steadier. Something that had waited, patient, under every shared look, every almost-touch.

The stars kept their silence.

But Mulder and Scully? They started to speak a new language — one heartbeat at a time.