Chapter Text
Part One: Conditioned Phenomena
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True love has four elements—what Buddhism calls the Four Immeasurables— loving-kindness (give happiness), compassion (alleviate suffering), joy (joy for other’s happiness), and equanimity (calmness and strength).
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Prologue
1993
(MUSIC: “SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT” — NIRVANA)
If there was ever going to be a secret between the two of them, this would be it.
But Mulder can’t really be sure. And in his mind, if he can’t be sure—one-hundred-percent sure and absolutely certain about it—then he’s never going to tell Scully.
So, a secret it will remain. A would-be secret, anyway.
It was a few months after Diana left abruptly for her new assignment in the Foreign Counter-Terrorism Unit in Europe. He was still stunned, upset, confused, and worried as to where she had gone. She just left, didn’t come into work, said nothing, left no note. She didn’t even turn in the receipts for the expense report on their final case together.
Their final case, which was unsolved, because the FBI had decided that they were getting too close to the truth.
Mulder had always wondered about that case, and wondered why someone didn’t want them to finish it.
He felt abandoned. But it wasn’t like there was never a sign for her leaving. He had always known that if Diana was offered something better, she would take it in a heartbeat, and he would let her. Heck, he would even encourage her to go for it. After all, they were just partners. They just worked together.
He just expected a face-to-face goodbye.
Maybe he didn’t know as much about Diana as he believed he did.
Diana’s reassignment gave him a lot to think about. Most of all, it gave him doubts.
Doubts about his ability as a capable agent and a good friend, doubts about his work and the X-Files Division. Doubts about his charm, his humor, and his ability to put trust in people he trusted. Doubts about whether people really liked him.
He liked working with Diana because she was always amazed at his theories. She didn’t make fun of him, and she took the cases seriously, like he did.
Mulder grew moody because he was annoyed. He had expected more from her. He had expected more than an explanation offered by AD Skinner.
“I know you’re upset, Mulder.” The AD sat in his big leather chair, his posture hard, and he looked uncomfortable. Overbearing. Cold. “We’re actively looking for a new partner for you. Of course, we’re having some difficulties, but that’s expected, due to the nature of your division. You understand.”
Mulder frowned at his supervisor’s words.
“I’m fine on my own, Sir. The past months were great.”
“A partner can watch your back. It's someone to offer different points of view, maybe point out certain... weaknesses in your theories.”
“My solve rate ain’t bad.” Mulder protested.
“You’re right, Agent Mulder. But you’re a field agent, so you’ll have a partner.”
Skinner rubbed his chin with his hand. “Now, what about Agent Jonathon Michel?”
Mulder pressed his lips into a thin line. “Isn’t Michel about to retire in two years?”
Skinner confirmed with a light nod. “Alright. Agent Moransky?”
“Moransky? Are you kidding? He...” Mulder licked his lips, trying to not insult his fellow agents—God knows who else was listening, he thought. “He lacks people skills. The X-Files investigates very sensitive... cases; Moransky will just fuck it up with the way he barges into a room demanding attention and respect from everyone.”
Skinner’s brows knotted. “Fine.”
He paused for a few seconds, and Mulder wondered if Skinner actually had more candidates in mind.
“You okay with new recruits, or are you going to tell me they’re too green?”
“No. New recruits are fine. Fine and dandy, Sir. However, I do hope for someone with some work experience under his belt. You know how the X-Files is demanding, and I am, after all, a workaholic. Young kids these days... they’ll be asking for reassignments in no time if they’re fresh out of the academy.”
Mulder tried not to smile too triumphantly. He knew that assigning a new agent to his division wasn’t easy. No, sir. He felt like he could expect a few more months alone in his basement. Maybe there would be some brave souls to come and go, but essentially, it’s gonna be just him and his X-Files. No one wants this spooky business.
The conversation went on for another twenty minutes or so, with Skinner suggesting possible candidates and asking for desired characteristics, and Mulder shooting them all down. It was fun, Mulder thought.
It felt like a cold slap in the face when he heard from Chuck that they had picked someone. A doctor this time. A woman who was a newbie at the FBI but taught at Quantico. She’s a medical doctor, for God’s sake.
It was like he had played Guess Who? With Skinner and had managed to shut every little plastic door, leaving Dana Scully as the only possibility in the end.
She looked great on paper. She looked good and normal when he stalked her—of course, not suspecting she was being followed; that might be a big problem.
He asked for sociable, and she was sociable. He asked for skilled, and she was skilled. He asked for a good shooter, and oh my lord look at her shooting scores.
It was almost as if he had handed out a wish list to Skinner, and Skinner had actually found him someone.
Scully was exactly what he had asked for in that meeting. She fit every description.
Years later, when Scully would tease him by saying, “You didn’t think I’d last three months” or “You thought I was sent to spy on you,” he would always want to tell her, “I chose you.”
Not in the way like he had read the profiles of all the candidates—Mulder wasn’t even sure that there were many candidates to choose from, but he had chosen her. She was exactly what he had wanted and described to Skinner.
Scully never understood that it was always her choice whether she wanted to stay; Mulder had already made his choice.
It was a wish granted.
Season 1:
Little Spy, Navy Brat, New Partner, Best Friend
1. The Old Man and the Sea of Files
(MUSIC: “JUDY IS A PUNK” — THE RAMONES )
He’s always been a man of rituals. Always.
He’s been doing this ritual for months. Ever since they’ve shown him her file, he’s been thinking about her. Not all the time, and not in the way one thinks about women. But he thinks of her with his first cigarette every morning.
She reminds him of a fox. Agile, clever, eager, and energetic. And her red hair is spot on—just like a fox, a fox with a defiant jaw and a tactful mind. They have done well in selecting her.
He’s always wanted daughters, always. And if he allows himself to dream, he’ll dream of an empire built for her, his red-haired princess. No, there’s nothing sexual about his feelings for her, but he’ll be delighted to say, you like it? I will get it for you.
In this empire, there will be no partner, no spouse, no children to distract her from her brilliant work. She’ll concern herself with ruling the dynasty rather than cutting corpses open or treating the half-dead. Wasted, he thinks, how she’s wasted her smarts on the useless notion of helping people.
She could have been so much more.
Nevertheless, this is only a dream, and his dream is not a part of the agenda.
“Yes, her.” He barks his order, the final seal of the decision, and lights a cigarette just to take a puff. It’s about time that Fox gets a fox.
“Carl, are you sure?”
He walked out of the room without saying a word.
Of course he’s sure; ‘tis human nature to want our kids to have what we didn't have.
Nine Missing Minutes, Mosquito Bites, & Night in the Cemetery
(PILOT)
2.
(MUSIC: “BUST A MOVE” — YOUNG MC)
Dana Scully is by no means a morning person. And she tries not to hate those who are.
Looks like her new partner is indeed one. A big one.
“How'd you sleep?” He asks so politely, as if nothing strange had happened the night before. Aside from the other craziness, Mulder came knocking on her door last night, inviting her to go on a run. Atypical partner behavior, she had assessed.
Even though this man is the first partner she’s ever had. She knows that much, at least.
There is nothing typical about Fox Mulder.
“That bad, huh?” He takes her lack of response with a frown. “How 'bout some breakfast? I’ll get it for ya. Coffee? Tea? Danish?”
“Bagel with cream cheese?” She wishes out loud. “Coffee, one cream, no sugar.”
“I’ll remember that.”
He promises, and she wonders why he says that.
==
He saw how she cringed on their flight to Oregon, and on their return flight to DC, when in a sense they were no longer the same people that had gone to Oregon, he thrust his Walkman into her hand right before boarding the plane.
“This might help,” Mulder said, before pioneering their way into the aircraft.
She was a little taken by his thoughtfulness and his taste in music. They were ‘80s dance hits, a mixtape made by God knows who, with songs like “Bust a Move” and “Kiss.”
“Space Age Love Song” was on it twice.
She didn’t listen to the whole tape, just during takeoff and landing, but it helped, and she was appreciative. It briefly put her mind off the stranger things she had seen for the past few days.
After the baggage claim and the long-term parking and the drop-off, Scully was already home when she discovered his Walkman in her briefcase.
“We’ll share it, partner,” he told her like it was no big deal. “I’m glad it helped.”
It was no big deal.
She never told him that the music helped. She couldn’t be sure whether it was the music or his hand grasping hers like they were little kids on their first roller coaster ride.
It wasn’t until much later when she realized that the handwriting on that mixtape was Mulder’s very own.
==
His headphones reminded her of a stethoscope, even more so as they were without the little sponge covers. When Mulder was acting childish and pouty, she would think of him complaining about catching her cooties as they shared the headphones and would secretly laugh about it. They were not the most comfortable pair of headphones, and she was glad when he replaced them with earphones.
The replaced headphones were still quite new when he got those earphones.
“Now we can really share,” Mulder said as he gently inserted an earpiece into her ear. On that flight to Michigan, they listened to interviews on tape. On the return flight, they listened to music. Not ‘80s dance hits this time, but a folksy, alternative rock band she’d never heard before.
“No mixtape this time?” She teased.
“Nope.” He grinned; they were both happy to have solved the case in 3 days.
“Do you make them for yourself?”
Scully regretted asking the question once she said it. What if he had made it for someone? Would she want to know who and why and everything about it like a good friend would?
“You don’t?”
Mulder answered in a surprised tone, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, making mixtapes for yourself.
They looked at each other for a moment, and both burst out laughing at the same time as if they had rehearsed for synchronized laughing. They kept laughing at the sheer silliness of two people having a moment until an apologetic flight attendant came to hush them up.
Mulder is someone who makes mixtapes for himself, she thought. She never foresaw the future where he would burn mixed CDs for her, with his chicken scratch that so proudly proclaimed made me think of you.
3.
2630 Hegal Place, #42, Alexandria, VA
(MUSIC: “SEND ME ON MY WAY” — RUSTED ROOT)
The first time she visited, it wasn’t really a visit. She hadn’t meant to come in, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I have Coke,” Mulder offered, somehow feeling a little flustered. Where did all his confidence go?
He knew he was a little nervous, although he didn’t know why. He thought he was doing what he would have done if Scully were another male agent who worked with him. Agent Lamana had never stepped in his apartment once during their partnership at Violent Crimes, but Mulder had decided that was because it was Jerry, and all his other partners were try-outs only. He would offer all the same to all his partners.
Scully was his partner, and he hoped she would stay a little longer, at least until she had witnessed her first... real-life unicorn.
“I went shopping the last time we had a weekend off,” he added as he swung open his door.
She gave him that urchin look, which, for some reason, always made him so proud of her.
“How do you manage to...” She trailed off, giving up on completing her thought.
Scully was beat, he knew. After a series of strange cases without paranormal causes, he was beat, too, but he wanted to be a good host. After all, she’d driven him home after some jackass slammed into his car and took off in the parking garage.
More paperwork tomorrow, goddammit.
“Have a seat,” he ushered her to his couch, and decided against clearing off his coffee table for now. “Something to drink? Coke? Let me see what else I’ve got...”
Okay, the o.j. had gone bad, the milk had spoiled, and he had no fruits or tea or bread that would make him resemble a functioning adult male. He did have canned soup, but it would be weird to offer that, wouldn’t it?
Hey Scully, how ‘bout some cheesy broccoli soup? Nah.
He came out of his kitchen with two cans of Coke and an apologetic smile.
Scully would have offered him something much better, he thought, more selection, at least; it also wouldn’t be weird if she offered him soup. “I swear I went to the grocery store recently.”
“Mulder,” she pulled the tab back on her coke, “it’s been a busy month; even I’m running low on food myself, I’m sure.”
He didn’t believe her, but he nodded like he did.
Mulder did a quick inventory of the food in his freezer. Frozen peas? Hot Pockets? Would she want some Apple Jacks, maybe? He went back into the kitchen and opened his pantry. Reaching behind the canned soups and what do we have here...
“Air Crisps?”
Scully nodded in approval. He strode back to the couch, ripping open the silver bag of potato snacks, and sitting it between the two of them.
Mulder wondered what she had been looking at and thinking and judging while he was hunting and gathering. His pile of old magazines? Frohike’s videos? Unopened mail stacking up on his desk and cramping his style? Novels that made him look like a big nerd? A lone sock under his chair?
“I wasn’t expecting company.” He quipped.
“No.” Scully said politely. “I should go.”
He grabbed her arm to keep her seated. “Finish your coke. I just opened a bag of sour cream and onion Air Crisps. C’mon Scully, live a little.”
She looked at him, amused and lovely. She kicked back and drank her coke like it was her third beer at a summer BBQ with family, one that seemed to go on into the wee hours. Neither of them spoke.
“Thanks for the coke and chips,” she began, and he lost his nerve to ask if she wanted to grab a bite to eat. They had been just sitting in the dimly lit living room of his apartment, listening to his neighbors coming home and the cars driving by outside.
“Let’s do this again sometime.”
She had said it in a tone that was one hundred percent genuine.
He stood by his window and watched her walk back to her car; he was humming a song that he’d heard on the radio but never learned its name. We should do this again sometime. Her words made him grin, yes, let’s, even though he wasn’t sure what they were doing. But it was a damned good time, with rich company and poor food choices.
Mulder told himself that he needs to be a better host in the future. For all his partners, of course.
Suckers, Summer, & The Flying Saucer Diner in Idaho
(DEEP THROAT)
4.
(MUSIC: “SPACE AGE LOVE SONG” — A FLOCK OF SEAGULLS)
He’s been sitting in the summer night, watching the peculiar—albeit pretty unbelievable—airshow in front of him. For the first three minutes or so, he didn’t even want to blink. They’re going to disappear anytime, Mulder thought. He trains his eyes to follow the lights gliding through the sky.
This is amazing.
He contemplates waking Scully up for it. The kid can fall asleep anywhere, it seems. He wants to wake her; he doesn’t want her to miss this, but he knows if she sees it, she’ll write about it in her field reports like a dutiful 7th grader. She’s mentioned her damned field report twice already, and though it doesn’t annoy him, it doesn’t please him either.
Mulder gazes at the two lights in the sky. He cannot tell which one is which sometimes. The two lights follow each other, like children on the playground in a game of tag, taking turns running and following. Not chasing, just following.
Closely, dutifully.
Which reminds him of his little spy, who’s sleeping and missing out on the whole show right now.
September is only two weeks away. In three weeks’ time, Scully will have been his partner for half a year already. Six months, that was his estimation of her endurance and stubbornness. Maybe she has also marked it on her calendar, too; maybe she’ll ask for a transfer after she’s hit the six-month mark. Mulder has his doubts still.
He tries not to think about that too much. He admits, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who seems to make a point of never agreeing with him. It’s nice to eat lunch with someone again, to tune his social skills with someone. To make a friend.
They don’t need to be buddies; they don’t even need to be close. Of course, it’s nice to have a kind person as your partner, someone to watch your back, someone to bug just for fun. Scully makes a very cute little sister, he decides.
Every day, Mulder tries to remind himself that she’s here to spy on him. It doesn’t always stick; she’s begun to care about him, he can tell. Heck, he cares about her, too.
He doesn’t get up to move to another seat on airplanes now, no matter how many empty rows there are available, no matter how tired he feels, no matter how much he wants to stretch his legs. He's noticed that when they talk, she doesn’t look so pale when turbulence hits.
One of the lights has been following the other for a while now, and Mulder glances at his watch. Suddenly, the follower drops down, disappears into nothingness, and the runner—as if searching for its friend—scatters in a zigzag pattern. Then it also disappears.
So is that it? Mulder thinks. He’s fully convinced, concluding that it’s time to get back to the car, when one of the lights comes out again. It moves, slowly at first, and his gut tells him that this is the follower from earlier, not the runner. The follower is now looking for the runner.
Mulder doesn’t know why, but he’s rooting for the runner to come out now. Something tells him that it’s gotta come out.
And he’s absolutely right. There are two lights in the sky again, gliding, playing, following and leading. They look like a pair of glowing fish swimming in the ocean of the night sky, never letting the distance between them grow too far. And sometimes, they collide and move as one.
He wants Scully to see this. She’s got to see this. This is too cool to miss; she can sleep later.
When they’re both standing on the embankment, he senses that Scully huddles closer to him. Is she scared? He thinks as he leans against her shoulder, offering her his courage and support. A few seconds go by; Scully crosses her arms.
Mulder feels himself gravitate closer to her. He pulls back a little, just enough.
“That’s unreal. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Scully says. Her eyes are glued to the lights like his were when he first saw them.
“They’ve been going at it like that for almost half an hour.” He tells her proudly, as if he has something to do with the lights being there.
She looks at him the moment he turns to look at her; glances are exchanged before they both look at the lights again.
Mulder’s glad to be sharing this moment with her, though he doesn’t really know why, and he doesn’t ponder why he thinks it’s a good thing she’s here with him right now on this summer evening. Not typing up a report, not out on a date with some guy, not having dinner with her parents, not folding laundry while watching TV, not doing anything that normal people do on Tuesday evenings. This is a special moment, and he wonders how many of these moments they’ll share before she asks for her transfer.
From the look of her eyes, Mulder’s glad that he has woken her up for this little airshow. He doesn’t even care that this will go on in those damned field reports.
5. The Treehouse of Kung Fu
(MUSIC: “PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC” — WILD CHERRY)
“So, how’s that luscious skeptical partner of yours?” Frohike asks with a hopeful smile.
“I never said she was luscious.” Mulder quips. “Wipe that leer off your face and maybe I’ll bring her next time.”
“Don’t get cocky, Boy,” the older man smirks, “just because you got a girl now—”
“Don’t call her that; she’s got a gun.” Mulder chuckles. He wonders how Scully would think of his friends. They are three of a kind for sure. He predicts that she would start critiquing them even before they get back in the car.
Mulder likes that about Scully. She tells him what she’s thinking, and doesn’t play any mind games at all. This little spy needs a lot of training and experience to be a real spy, and Mulder is slowly beginning to feel that he wants to trust her. Yes, she might be sent by the big boys upstairs to do the dirty job of a spy, but something tells him that this one’s got a heart of gold. She cares about their cases, she’s on the victim’s side, and she cares about him.
It’s been a while since he’s met someone like this, like Scully. Mulder admits that he’s probably said too much to the guys about her. There are so, so many exciting and interesting things happening in the world, yet somehow after this newbie walks into his office, she becomes a new topic of discussion between him and the Gunmen.
“Do you really call her Scully like you’re her PE teacher?” Langly asks.
Mulder grins, “I call you Langly, don’t I? Now, drop and give me twenty!”
“I bet most people call her Dana.” Frohike adds. “We looked her up and we all approve, Mulder.”
“Fuck off.” He laughs, feeling like he’s back in high school every time he steps into this little lair. “Actually...”
“Actually what? Don’t stop now, Fox.”
“Shut up, Langly.” Mulder glares at the young man. “Lately people have started calling her Mrs. Spooky.”
The three men look blankly at him.
“I thought she’d be upset.”
His audience remains quiet, so Mulder keeps going. “... but mostly she just ignores them. Believe it or not, she used to try to explain or reason with them, but I think lately she’s stopped caring and kept her attention on whatever I was saying to her.”
The three Gunmen look at one another funny but say nothing for a while. Finally, Byers speaks up: “Why do you think that is, Mulder?”
Mulder’s mumbling now: “...that she likes me more than anyone else in the whole building? It’s not a hard thing to do.”
“I find that hard to believe, Mulder, how quickly did they forget that— ow!” Langly stops mid-sentence when Frohike’s elbow comes in contact with his ribs.
“Shut up, Langly.” The older man mutters. “It’s nice being liked, isn’t it, Mulder? By the luscious Agent Scully?”
“Fuck off, Frohike.”
Mulder suddenly wishes that one day his little spy would be their friend, too.
6.
(MUSIC: “SONATA AND INTERLUDES FOR PREPARED PIANO: SONATA V" — JOHN CAGE)
Mulder felt something akin to giddiness when Scully got her first FBI-issued phone, with a phone number almost identical to his except for one digit.
He was still becoming familiar with his, and he used it sparingly, for there weren’t many people he called. He laughed at the address book, never bothered to key in any contacts. What’s the use when it’s easier to recall the numbers in his head than to navigate through the digital address book with the tiny up and down buttons?
“How come you got the 64?” He tossed his pen into the pile of receipts and forms.
“I’m sorry?” Scully looked up from her side of the desk; she was not used to how his mind jumped.
“Your cellular number,” he explained. “555-3564. Mine is 3574. How come you get 64? I was here before you.”
“What, you’d rather have 64? We could trade.” She offered.
“Do you know my number by heart?” Mulder asked.
“Yep.” Her lips remained pressed together at the end of her reply.
“Nah, I’ll keep it. You get 64 for now.” He didn’t know why he said that, so he quickly added, “3574 is easier to dial.”
Mulder wondered if she got a transfer, would she get to keep the number? Whoever assigned the phone to her must have made a point of picking a number that’s similar to her partner’s number, he thought.
Mulder had already forgotten that a year ago, he had actually gone down there in person to pick out his new number from a list of numbers. After all, there were things his memory failed to store, too.
At first, he was shy about calling her at home or on her cell. He was always worried that she would be busy. It wasn’t like this when she had the beeper. He could call at ease, expecting her to ring back when she got a chance—of course, Scully always called back within 15 minutes—but it didn’t feel like intruding so much.
Calling her on her cell changed that. He had no idea what she was doing when he called. Maybe she’s with friends? Maybe she’s out with her mother? Maybe she’s in the bath? Maybe she’s napping? Cooking? Reading?
One day, they were at her apartment reviewing some old case files. Mulder called out from her bathroom with wonder and amusement in his voice like Columbus discovering the New World: “Scully, you have a phone in your bathroom?”
“Yeah?” She hollered back; Mulder’s not sure if she’s just simply answering him or if she's responding to his question.
He washed his hands, dried them on her hand towels—he’s always on his best behavior when he’s at her apartment—and plopped down next to her on the couch.
“Do tell why you need a phone in the bathroom.” The teasing tone in his voice was unmistakable.
“It was already there when I moved in. I think the previous renters were in their 80s.”
“Well, it’s very convenient.” He complimented the feature. Scully did not dignify his comment with a response.
After a dreadful case in Bellevue, Nebraska, where they were kept apart for most of the investigation, Mulder gave up his hesitation when calling her. They had used the cell phones like walkie-talkies, making small updates and reporting their whereabouts throughout the day.
He realized that he didn’t want to hang up with a goodbye or a talk to you later. It wasn’t like they didn’t bid farewell; he’d begun to care for her and valued someone like Scully being his partner, and at the end of a workday, they did say their see you tomorrows. Whenever he headed back to his motel room on a case, she’d always say, Good night, Mulder. But it’s different to say goodbye to her on the phone. It felt odd saying goodbye, because, thanks to the cell phones, Scully could be physically far away, yet still closely connected to him. So, he never said goodbye to her when they were on the phone.
In another case in Humphreys County, Mississippi, Mulder had gone along the Yazoo River with one of the deputies on the case. He had been without reception for miles, and thus discovered the somewhat primitive recording function of his phone. Granted he could only record messages under 120 seconds, Mulder had spoken into his cell as if Scully was on the other end all afternoon.
He didn’t care how Deputy Finch looked at him funny. He never let things like that stop him from doing what he felt like he needed to do.
Mulder liked how their cell phones sat side-by-side together. He stopped thinking that Scully was going to ask for a transfer. Of course, many things could still happen. They could close down the X-Files. They could transfer her out of the division. They could kill him. The possibilities were unpredictable and endless; he didn’t want to think about it.
It tickled him to see that Scully had figured out all the nifty functions that came with her cell phone. He knew she must have sat down and read the manual from cover to cover. She knew about the record function, the alarm, the timer, the memo, the address book, the whole nine yards. Mulder chuckled to himself at how different they were, yet they worked so well together.
“I need your help,” he went straight ahead and said it, without pretense or cover-ups. “I heard about the speed dial.”
“Oh yeah,” Scully replied without looking up from her computer screen, “you can set it up for up to three people.”
“Can you do it for me?” He asked with the politest tone he could muster.
“Sure.” She grabbed his phone and started setting up the steps. “Mulder, there’s no one in your address book.”
“Yeah. Speed dial one, 202-555-3564.”
Scully dutifully keyed in the number; her nimble fingers danced across the keypad. “Next?”
“Okay, 202-555-6431.” He recited the number easily off the top of his head. It came to him like he knew the answer to “What color is the sky?”
“My home number?” She muttered softly, but her fingers never slowed down.
When she was done, Scully looked up at him, waiting expectantly for the third number.
“Thanks, partner.” Mulder swiftly took his phone out of her hand, ignoring the surprised glint in her eyes. He picked up one of the folders on his desk, and she quietly went back to her task. He stared at the photos of the haunted library, finding it hard to concentrate.
“Scully?”
“Yes?”
“Am I your speed dial number 1?”
He felt like an idiot asking that question, and wondered what kind of relentless tease that was coming his way.
To his surprise, Scully just nodded. “Yep,” she answered, her lips tucked tightly into a slight smile.
Looking down at the photo of the library interior, where the books were piled up to resemble a pyramid, Mulder couldn’t help but let a smile surface onto his face, too.
So we disagree, it's not the first time and it won't be the last.
(CONDUIT)
7.
(MUSIC: “LISTEN WITH YOUR HEART – PT. 2 — LINDA HUNT, BOBBI PAGE )
It’s kind of hard not to notice.
And he notices three things about it. One, that he has somehow formed the habit of leaning against Scully when he does not necessarily need to, and two, that she will lean back against him, too.
Mulder doesn’t know which one is more significant.
They talk about anything and everything, details about their personal lives, childhoods and memories, he tells her all his wild theories without reserve, and she teases him about his form of entertainment with a straight face. Mulder guesses this is what having a best friend feels like.
But they never talked about that. They never talk about this habit of leaning against one another. It’s comforting and reassuring to lean against Scully’s frame, as small and delicate as it is.
No one in his life is this tiny. All his ex-girlfriends were tall and leggy; his ex-partners too, because after all, this was the FBI. Scully has this endearing elfish feeling about her, Mulder decides, but he knows better than to ever tell her that.
Scully is different from anyone he knows. She is soft and tough, she is fierce and gentle, the best paradox, the most brilliant riddle. And he loves riddles.
Mulder knows what some of the agents say about her. If they were to step out of line, he would punch them in the face without thinking twice. It’s a good thing that most of the time, the snickering and the jokes are dropped right when he steps into the men’s room upstairs. He’s briefly suspected if they had set up a sensor notifying the agents that Spooky Mulder had entered.
Of course, that would be paranoid, so he sticks with using the restroom on the basement floor; it’s cleaner anyway. Doing this probably saves his fist from coming into contact with the faces of some morons upstairs. He wouldn’t want Scully to know that he would defend her, and she’d probably be fuming if that really happened.
She would bandage his wounded fist while saying you deserved it, Mulder. Violence doesn’t resolve anything, blah, blah, blah.
This is from the woman who took a hostage for him.
Lately, Mulder’s been thinking a lot about fairy tales. He’s read a lot of fairy tales that go like this: two children, a boy and a girl, set off into the deep forest for some necessary journey. They will encounter a fairy, a leprechaun, a witch, an elf, or some mystical creature, and by working together, they outwit the evil forces and come out of the forest, rich and happy and having gotten what they wanted.
Leaning against Scully makes him feel like he’s in one of those fairy tales, heading into the forest and looking after treasures.
He froze up a little when it happened the first time. They were both crouching low, waiting for something patiently, and he felt her shoulder against his side, almost tucked under his arm. He leaned back against her too, because it was nice to feel like he’s not alone, despite it being broad daylight and them both being armed.
The rock under his hand was cold and mossy, and he leaned against Scully. Little by little, he shifted his weight more and more against her, and felt her pressing back.
This was the exact point when his body declared to his mind that he wanted to trust her.
Trust no one, Scully. He recalled saying it to her like a mantra, like a warning, but he had broken his own rules on their first case. He wanted to trust her, and he wanted her trust.
Mulder’s never claimed that he knows everything, and working with Scully makes him realize that he still has a lot of things to figure out. Things like why she leans on him.
Maybe she is also familiar with the fairy tales, and knows that by sticking together, they’d have a better chance of getting out of the forest alive, and they had been to so, so many forests.
Lying on the bed in his hotel room, Mulder sometimes thinks about those fairy tales, some legends and myths. He also thinks a lot about her. They have already spent the whole day together, interviewing and investigating together, eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, yet when they’re apart, his mind wonders what she is doing. Two out of three times, he will find an excuse to go to her room, and talk until she kicks him out, mumbling nonsense about beauty sleep and a long day tomorrow.
He’s pretty sure that they will never talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about, this business with the leaning, this newly formed habit of invading each other’s personal space. He knows that as the senior agent, she will learn the ropes from him, and suddenly he feels all big-brothery, like how he did when his mother presented him the bundle named Samantha and instructed: Fox, you’re a big brother now.
What a responsibility that was. He was so excited. He had instantly loved that bundle with big brown eyes. He wanted to protect and cherish this new thing in his life.
It’s like that with Scully, too. He recalls that first time she leaned back against him. He wants to be a rock for this elfish creature squatting next to him. Something for her to keep her balance, to keep her grounded. A big rock, steady and solid and strong.
The third thing he notices is that this feeling is far from being big-brotherly at all.
8.
(MUSIC: "SMOOTH CRIMINAL" — MICHAEL JACKSON)
She’s exhausted. So is he, but at least he can still keep his eyes open for a good twenty minutes without dozing off.
Scully is a very forgiving woman. Forgiving, yes, but not at all forgetful. Mulder wonders how many years she will throw this incident back at him and rub his face in it. Decades, for sure, and from the way she still recounts the details of her childhood shenanigans with her sister Melissa, Mulder has a feeling that she’ll use this case to her advantage for the next three decades, at least.
He wonders if he’s being presumptuous to think she will still be with him in thirty years. And if he allowed himself to be a naïve romantic, then she would, she definitely would, but he isn’t brave enough to fantasize about her role in his life in thirty years’ time.
After all, she’s still considered a newbie in the realm of FBI field agents. One that still doesn’t have a desk or a nameplate on their office. Mulder’s been meaning to see to that, but he kind of doesn’t want to jinx it.
He’s awfully superstitious; this, he fully admits.
Take their current situation for example: Haunted school with half a dozen dead or badly injured janitors in the past three months, all found in the school’s gymnasium. After interviewing a handful of the faculty members and two very shy high schoolers and hearing the same story repeated to them six or seven times about the strange death of Coach Meyers, he made the not-so-wise decision to stay at the school after closing hour.
And one miscommunication leading to another, now he and Scully have found themselves stranded in the supposed ground zero of the haunted gymnasium, with nothing to do and not enough things to keep them warm.
“That’s because kids don’t need to shower after PE anymore.” Scully reminds him when he shows up empty-handed after raiding the locker rooms for towels.
Mulder has indeed jinxed the two of them into this situation. Of course, the gentleman he is, he gives her his sports coat and vandalizes the vending machine to bring her a dinner consisting of Combos and Snickers and Chex-Mix. He even picks out all the rye chips because she commented that they’re too salty, and leaves her all the mini breadsticks.
In thirty years he’ll be in his sixties. He wonders if there would be someone who worries about his salt intake and makes him quit his sunflower seeds and bugs him about sleeping on a good mattress with superb lumbar support and buys all his underpants for him like some doting wives do for their husbands.
They are now lying down, side by side, in the middle of the gymnasium, with the glowing emergency exit sign as their only source of lighting. They are far away from the bleachers and the walls, because she heard something moving earlier—might be cats, might be rats, but they want to be on the safe side and stay as far away from the walls as possible.
She’s all wrapped up in his sports coat, and they are lying close; their shoulders and elbows touch every time one of them moves.
Mulder offers his arm as a pillow, and she takes it; she can hardly keep her eyes open. It’s already 12:18, but Mulder is determined to stay up as late as possible; he does not want to put her at any risk at all, not even a rat (or cat) scare.
“Are you cold?” she asks.
“A little.”
She moves a little closer to him. “I should give you your coat back.”
She says that but makes no move at all. He contemplates the need to tell her no, and settles on “no.”
“So,” maybe it’s the gym smell and the waxy floors that are making him want to go somewhere he’s never gone before: “Scully, you’ve never believed in the existence of ghosts, spirits, Bigfoot, unicorn, Santa Claus? Not even when you were little?”
“First of all,” she says sleepily, “what you just listed aren’t even in the same category. And second, when you’ve got two older siblings, and they’ve already made up their minds that those things do not exist, then the chances of you believing those things exist would be quite slim.”
He contemplates her words. This means Samantha would be a believer like he is.
“So you’re telling me all the Scully children are skeptical?”
“No, it’s two against two. Something happened, so my sister switched teams, and she convinced my little brother.”
Mulder does not offer a response right away even though he kind of wants to tease her about not convincing her little brother to see things her way. Instead, he says, “They are in the same category.”
She does not respond for a very long time, and just when he thought that she had fallen asleep, Scully speaks: “And what category is that?”
“The category of things Mulder believes but Scully doesn’t.”
She scoffs, not unhappily.
“Do you think we’ll see anything like that here, tonight?”
He keeps on telling himself that this is the last thing he’ll say to her. It’s not the first time they’ve spent a night together, nor is it the first time they have to sleep in unlikely places, nor is it the first time that she has leaned against him, her little body tucked snugly under his for warmth. But somehow tonight, it feels different.
The silence is a little longer this time.
“We went camping one time, when we were little. Missy and Charlie, that’s my sister and younger brother, kept saying that they saw fireflies. Bill and I kept insisting we didn’t see a thing—even when we looked right where they were pointing. In the end, Missy said, you’re looking, but you don’t see.”
Scully pauses for a few seconds, as if trying to recall more memories from that night. “So maybe that’s what it is. I might know where to look, but I might not know what to see, and vice versa, Mulder. You might see something here, tonight.”
Somehow he feels triumphant to hear that.
“But,” Scully adds, “I’ll write in my report what I saw and what you saw, if we do end up not seeing the same thing.”
“Do you think I’ll ever be able to convince you to switch to my team in, say, thirty years?”
Mulder feels like he’s hearing the echo of his own question.
“I am on your team, Mulder. Even after what you jinxed us into.” She jokes as she knocks on the hardwood floor with her knuckles.
Somehow he’s now a little more certain that in thirty years, Scully will throw this incident of them being trapped in a high school gymnasium right in his face.