Visitor (13/13) by leiascully Email: leiascully@gmail.com Distribution: Ask, please Rating: T for non-explicit sexual situations and some swearing Categories: SRA Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Spoilers: XF Revival speculation (spoilers through series and IWTB) Summary: Mulder tries to put his life back together after Scully leaves him. Disclaimer: The X-Files and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this and no infringement is intended. Author's Notes: Stories from all fandoms are archived at http://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully. + + + + 13 - Home The first time he sees her apartment is when he's helping her move out of it. It's early March. He comes by after lunch. Taking a whole day off work seemed like too much, like he was too eager to pry her out of her solitary space. The movers look at him and grunt, younger men all, casting sidelong looks at the fossil in the suit. Scully squeezes his bicep as she goes past and he thinks of how he took her out to dinner for her birthday and she looked at him very seriously over the candles and the wine glasses and told him she wanted to live together again. "I'll clean out a drawer for you," he joked, as if she hadn't been moving back in by inches over the last few months. First a toothbrush and a few changes of clothes, then her vitamins in the cabinet again, her shampoo in the shower, the shape of her warm against him in the morning while Kismet whined for his run. She gave him that level stare, the one that said, "Mulder, be serious" without any words at all. He reached across the table and took her hand. "I really didn't know if you would ever want to be with me again." "Neither did I," she said. "But it feels right, Mulder. I've been happy with you, the last few months. We've been happy together." "That's all I could ever want," he told her. "We can move, if you'd rather have someplace that feels like neutral ground." "No," she said. "Mulder, I want to come home." She called the movers the next day. Now he's standing in her living room, marveling at how she could live somewhere and not infuse it with any of her personality. He remembers her old apartment in Maryland with fondness: light wood and that overstuffed couch with the stripes, furnished by a much younger Scully who hadn't yet developed an aesthetic. What's left in here has clean stark lines, all too modern for his taste. There are no signs that she had any art up. He can't imagine a coffee cup sitting in the sink for more than a few hours. It could be anybody's apartment, just a waystation en route to somewhere else. After all those months on the road, he's both surprised and unsurprised she would live somewhere with the feel of a hotel. He carries a few boxes of fragile things out to the car. Scully is directing the movers, her feet planted and her chin lifted. They meekly do her bidding, handling the boxes with the utmost care. People come by to take away the furniture. Scully counts her cash and tucks it into the glovebox. "Your Craigslist furniture business seems profitable," he quips when they stop for a break. "You're not quitting the FBI, are you?" "My pieces didn't work with yours," she tells him. "That's not what you said last night," he teases. She blushes, absurdly. Everything has been new between them since October, a second honeymoon of sorts to replace the tension of their first weeks together. He would say he doesn't know what they did to deserve this sort of grace, but he remembers living most of it, and she's told him the rest when his memory has failed. Hell and high water, fire and brimstone, dust to dust. They have earned this easy sweetness, and he relishes it. "I'm glad you like my furnishings," he says with a wink. "Well," she murmurs, "we might need a new mattress. I'm not sure the old one's up to the challenge." "Hey, Scully," he says, "we never made out in your apartment." "Now that's a shame," she says, and lets him press her against the kitchen counter. Her mouth is sweet and hungry and he wants to let her devour him. Only the whistling of the returning movers reminds them that they're not alone. "To be continued," she whispers, and makes good on her promise later, as they lie in their bed. "Scully, you live here," he marvels. "I feel like this is where you would say 'Honey, I'm home'," she says, with a smile. She's still smiling when he kisses her. She fits her body against his, lining up all the right places, and if the world were going to end, he thinks, let it be now, when they have found their rapture. They undress each other with reverence and kiss each other like worshipers. Her tongue is in his mouth and he gives her all of himself. They are on their sides, wrapped up entirely in each other, moving in such blissful synchronicity that he could imagine they have never disagreed. Their bodies, at least, have never been at odds. She shifts her hips and laces her fingers into his as she moves his hand over her body. When she comes undone, he is there to hold her together, and vice versa. When he wakes up, she is still tucked under his chin, as if he is the blanket she pulls over herself. He lies quietly and savors the moment. There will be more mornings like this, he thinks, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. She stirs, smiles, and closes her eyes again. He closes his eyes too, and drifts in the warmth of their bed. They take a couple of days off to unpack all her things. Her coat hangs next to his in the closet. Her shoes line up neatly on the rack. Her books fit right back onto the bookshelf next to his. Scully turns on the radio and sings along tunelessly to the greatest hits of the 80s, 90s, and today while Kismet flourishes his toys in an attempt to distract her from reorganizing the shelves. Mulder comes up behind her and sweeps her hair to the side so he can kiss the nape of her neck. She turns into his arms and they sway to "Private Eyes", as aimless as if they're the first couple on the dance floor at a wedding. They haven't talked about getting married in a long time. He's fine with that. No one has ever managed to keep him from her side. Maybe he'll suggest it in a few years, when he can be sure he isn't building another trap for her. She looks fantastic for fifty-two, but neither of them is getting younger, and he wants to be certain that all he has is hers. "Would you go back to the X-Files if they reopened them tomorrow?" she asks, her voice and her eyes dreamy. "Not without you," he says. "And not unless it was your idea. I'd be afraid of myself, Scully." "I wouldn't let you fall into the darkness," she says fiercely. "You shouldn't have to rein me in," he tells her. "It's too much to ask of you." "Are you happy without the work?" she asks, her eyes shadowed. He kisses her forehead. "I still have everything that's important to me," he says. "If you ever want to spend the weekend investigated a haunted hotel, Scully, you let me know. I'll make reservations." "Mulder," she says, and pauses. "Hmm?" he prompts. "Nothing," she says. "You told me once not to give up on a miracle. I thought I'd already gotten my miracle." "Maybe this is mine," he says. "We'll share it, just like we did the last one." The song changes, but it doesn't matter. They're still swaying in their living room as Kismet looks out the window and wags his tail. The weather outside is grey, but the light in their eyes is golden. Before work the next morning, he hands her a box. "What's this?" she asks, arching an eyebrow and setting down her coffee. "It's too early for nicely-wrapped presents, Mulder. My birthday was weeks ago." "Official housewarming present," he says. "Open it." Kismet sits at her feet and begs. Scully smiles at him and then looks back at Mulder. "Should I be worried?" "Just open it," Mulder says. "It's from both of us." Scully pries the lid off the box. "A lint roller," she says with amusement. "You'll need it," Mulder says, and kisses her. Kismet wags and leans against her leg. + + + + It works. They wake up together. They run together, with Kismet galloping beside them, tongue lolling. They drink coffee and take their vitamins. They drive to work together when it's convenient. They drive home together when they can. They work together when they need to. They compare notes on their therapists, who have accepted their reunion with wary resignation. It isn't perfect every day, but long years of tumbling words have worn the rough edges off their silences. They work around each other until they're ready to work together again. Kismet helps, running between them with his favorite stuffed hedgehog, offering it to one and then the other until he's lured them back into the same room. He keeps a space for her in his life. He doesn't bring work home. Each of them understands when the other one has to stay late at the office. They keep the files out of the house. On the weekends, they run to the farmer's market where Kismet found Mulder and buy loaves of fresh bread and the first peas. Scully writes years- delayed monographs on anomalous physiognomy. Mulder works on his book. This, he thinks, is the greatest thing he's ever done, and it isn't the page count that he's proud of. They have carved a haven out of the wilderness of their past. They have found solace in quotidian humanity when he thought they might give their lives to a greater cause, without recompense or acknowledgement. He looks at Scully and still sees the soldier in her, but how far have they come when she doesn't reach for her gun each time Kismet kicks in his sleep or a board creaks. He never thought they would escape their instincts, the harrowed wariness the world taught them. They make dinner, or go out. They split up the chores. Skinner comes over for dinner and they split a bottle of wine and talk about the wilderness years as Kismet gnaws noisily on a bone. "Adulthood suits you," Skinner says as he leaves. "I appreciate that, Walter," Mulder tells him, only half-wry, pinning Kismet with his leg so that the dog doesn't follow Skinner out into the night. "What was all that about?" Scully asks. Mulder shakes his head and smiles. "Nothing." She reaches up and brushes his hair out of his eyes. "I think you're going salt and pepper," she says affectionately. "I've earned it," he tells her, and wraps his arms around her. + + + + In April the phone rings in the middle of the night. Scully fumbles for it, answers it, and goes stiff against him. "What is it?" Mulder mumbles "Mom," Scully says, and they're out the door in whatever clothes they can drag on. A heart attack, the doctor says. She's fine, the doctor says. Scully nods, but her face is pale, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Mulder rests his hand at the small of her back and she leans back almost imperceptibly against his palm. She demands to see her mother's charts. She calls her brothers. She glares at the doctors and holds her mother's hand. "Dana, I'm fine," Maggie says. Her voice is weak, but her will is strong. He always knew where Scully's steel came from. "Mom, you had a heart attack," Scully tells her. "I remember," Maggie says. "But I'm all right now." "I'm going to make sure of that," Scully says. Mulder quietly makes sure she has coffee and something to eat, and sends her home when she needs to sleep. "I'll be here," he tells her. She goes, but only at her mother's urging. She is back in a few hours, nipping at the doctor's heels, glaring at anyone who comes into the room. Maggie protests, but Scully ignores her. "There's nothing she can do," Maggie says as Scully stalks out of the room, on the hunt for a medical professional to whom she can give a piece of her mind. "She's going to do it anyway," Mulder says. "That's my little girl," Maggie sighs, but there's pride in her eyes. They release Maggie a few days later. Mulder and Scully take her home. Mulder helps her into bed as Scully arranges the food in the fridge. Maggie catches his hand. Her fingers are cool. "Thank you, Fox," she says. "It's good to see you," he says. "I wish it were under happier circumstances." "Sometimes that's what family is like," she says. "At least Christmas was nice." "It was," he agrees. "I'm glad you found your way back to each other," Maggie tells him. "Take care of her, Fox." "I will," he promises. "I expect to see you both next Christmas," she says. "We'll be there," he tells her, and she smiles and nestles into her pillows. "I think I'll try to sleep a little," she says, and he squeezes her hand gently and goes to find Scully. Scully is gone. He pulls out his phone. She doesn't answer; he gets her voicemail. "Scully, it's me," he says. "Just let me know where you're going." Maggie sleeps and he paces. Half an hour later, Scully texts him a picture: Sandy Point State Park. He calls Charlie from the number posted next to the landline and borrows Maggie's keys. The drive isn't as bad as it might be, but he drums his fingers on the wheel with impatience. There's no one at the booth; he swipes his card on the box and watches his knuckles turn white as he waits for the transaction to go through. Their car is the only other one in the parking lot. He jogs down to the beach. There is a solitary figure at the waterline. She doesn't turn around as he approaches, but she lets him put his arm around her waist. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's all right," he says. "I was just worried." "Suddenly it hit me," Scully says. "One day she'll be gone, and there won't be anything I can do to save her." "That might be true one day," Mulder says. "But not yet." Scully sighs and leans into him. They watch the waves roll in and out. The breeze off the water ruffles Scully's hair. "They say the person you think of when you're standing by the ocean is the person you should be with," she says. "I think I heard that once," he says. "I probably said it once or twice during my teenage years. If you're trying to get to second base, Scully, the answer is yes." "Mulder," she says. "Sorry," he says. "It's a reflex." "I know," she says, smiling wearily but sweetly up at him. "I've been testing your reflexes for years." "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asks. "I found you," she says. "Let's go home, Mulder." "I've been waiting all my life to hear you say that, Scully," he tells her. "We're not waiting anymore," she says, and takes his hand. They turn their backs on the ocean and walk back to the cars, two hearts yoked together by yearning, two souls building their own quiet peace. + + + + And what do all the great words come to in the end, but that? I love you - I am at rest with you - I have come home. - Lord Peter Wimsey to Lady Harriet Wimsey (Busman's Honeymoon by Dorothy Sayers, 1937) + + + + Feedback is welcome at leiascully@gmail.com. Stories from all fandoms are archived at http://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully.