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Hello there, El Jay-width. I dunno where I've been. Basic life maintenance has been...challenging. I have this bad feeling that there are some comments here and there that I've replied to, but only in my head.

Anyhoo, lately I've been rather captivated by the subset of crossovers that are really "fusions" and started writing an X-Files/Doctor Who fic in which Mulder & Scully take the place of Amy and Rory respectively in the Who-verse.

Here's a re-imagining of the infamous "iced tea" scene with junior high!Mulder & Scully hanging out in a tree fort that's probably not going to make it into that since the story's developed plot that will invalidate this, maybe.

So this is pretty much just 1000 words of AU X-Files gen.  

*

 

Mulder has pretty much always hated his given names, for fairly obvious reasons, both aesthetic and Oedipal.

 

Of course, in typical parental fashion, his mother always recited the embarrassing moniker in its entirety whenever he was in trouble as a kid. If she had an airtight case, you could just about hear the emphatic over-punctuation when she scolded “Fox. William. Mulder.” But the times when Teena Mulder knew but couldn't prove (or even comprehend) what kind of mischief her wayward son had gotten up to, the whole thing tended to come out in an exasperated mush of consonants and syllables.

 

One of his favorite early memories of Scully actually took place just after she witnessed the latter variety of scolding. “Foxwilliam Mulder,” she teased, trilling the Is and Ls together in a high-pitched Britishy falsetto that sounded absolutely nothing like the upper-crust New England accent his mother wore over Oma and Opa Kuipers' New York-Jewish lilt. “Like Fitzwilliam Darcy—only instead of ten thousand pounds a year and a manor house, you've got five dollars a week in allowance and a double-decker tree fort,” she babbled, swinging her sneakered ten-year-old feet over the plywood edge of the aforementioned clubhouse's deck.

 

It was near the end of the first Quonochontaug summer without Sam, and Fox was incredibly grateful to fate and/or the Navy for stationing Captain Scully & family at nearby Newport Naval Station—or more pertinently, in the house next door to the old Mulder summer place. In no time, habitual new kid Dana and suddenly sisterless Fox were thick as thieves, despite a three year age gap, the townie/summer folk divide, and all his guilty grief. Fox knew everyone thought he was using her as a replacement little sister and though that wasn't strictly true, he didn't correct the misapprehension, lest anyone come to creepier conclusions. Dana wasn't like Samantha at all—or any other pre-teen girl he'd met—she was serious and smart and skeptical, and very, very secretly silly. She was good to have around and even when she was “no fun,” she put up with him, minus pity.

 

At the moment, however, he had no idea what she was talking about.

 

“...and instead of the strong, silent type, you talk and talk...”

 

“Dana, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

 

Pride & Prejudice, by Jane Austen.”

 

“Is that a girl book?”

 

She pursed her lips and he waited, equally prepared for scornful silence or a sermon. Dana refused the bait and simply replied, “I suppose so, since it's the progenitor of the Regency Romance, but you'll probably have to read it for Honors English at some point.”

 

He tried again. “And you think I'm like this Mr. Darcy dude? Lemme guess, he's tall, dark and handsome.”

 

Dana gave him a speaking look, but still answered the question(s) out loud. “No, but yes. Weren't you listening?” Then she flipped an thick orange braid over her skinny shoulder, and reached into a brown paper bag filled with contraband snacks—as non-mealtime sustenance was currently off limits to all Mulders, comma Fox (William).

 

Semi-flummoxed and fully thirsty, Fox gave up. “You got any iced tea in there?” he asked casually. “If you do, I'll be your best friend.” For good measure, he added puppy dog eyes to the offer, a tactic he'd learned was surprisingly effective at accomplishing certain objectives while also obscuring any icky, raw emotions bound up in his motives.

 

Dana rolled her eyes automatically. “You already are my best friend, Fox.”

 

He squirmed, happy and uncomfortable. “You might want to rethink that, if you wanna have too many other friends. Kids at school have another name for me. Spooky.”

 

She squinted thoughtfully, and handed him a can of fridge-cold root beer from the bag. “You don't scare me. Besides, you don't go to school here.”

 

“Yeah, well.” He fiddled with the pull tab intently for a few seconds before opening his soda and taking a gulp big enough to fuel a particularly loud, prolonged belch just for her benefit.

 

Neither impressed nor disgusted, Dana chose that moment to ask why his parents had named him Fox. He honestly didn't know, so that's what he told her.

 

“But your father's name is really William, right? Like my dad.”

 

“Right.”

 

It was a weird coincidence, but Fox had almost forgotten that Captain Scully had a first name, while his own father engendered a different brand of formality; “Bill Mulder” was an entity, a concept, a phrase not to be parsed, just as he himself was “Bill Mulder's boy.” Fox didn't say any of that to her then, though many years later Mulder would.

 

“Hey, don't forget Billy-boy. God, your brother's a putz.”

 

Loyal to the bone, Dana didn't dignify his snarky comment with words, though he caught a wisp of a smile dimple her face for a second.

 

“Dana means 'wise and intelligent,'” she informed him.

 

“Yep,” he agreed, pretending not to notice the wash of pink flooding the freckles on her face. “You know, the guys just call 'Mulder.'”

 

“The guys?”

 

“Frohike, Langly, and Byers. We have, uh, a club.”

 

“A club,” she said flatly, giving him suspicious side-eye. “No girls allowed?”

 

Fox laughed and punched her on the shoulder. “On the contrary, girls would be not only allowed, but welcomed. Thoroughly.” He tilted his head and grinned just imagining it. “Probably too thoroughly in Frohike's case, which is probably why none have applied.”

 

“What.” Dana looked torn between confusion and alarm, and resentful about it. She never liked feeling out of the loop.

 

“Sorry. It's just this game we play. It's called Dungeons & Dragons. It's a fantasy thing. Like playing make believe with Lords of the Rings, and there are dice...”

 

“Oh,” Dana said slowly. “And it's fun?”

 

“Yeah,” he assured her. “It's fun, for a bunch of geeks hanging out in a basement.”

 

“You're not a geek, Fox,” she said earnestly, and he could have hugged her.

 

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I am, Danes, but it's cool.” He was also the freak who thought his sister had been swallowed by some dry-wall, which really wasn't cool, but also not the relevant issue. “My point was that you can call me Mulder too if you want. Just Mulder.”

 

“Okay, Just Mulder,” she assented. Cheeky. “But then you have to call me Scully.”

 

“It's a deal.” He put down his soda can so they could shake on it. She had a hell of a firm grip for a sixth-grader.

 

“I'm gonna miss you, Scully.”

 

Fox hoped she'd still be here next summer, but didn't ask for any promises. He didn't do that any more.

 

*

 

 

.

 

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