Chapter Text
Someone at the door fumbling with a set of keys sets off a chain of thoughts in Scully’s mind. She freezes next to the coffee table in the middle of Mulder’s living room. Still covered with various magazines and papers that Scully couldn’t bring herself to move. She spins to face the door, coat halfway down her arms, dangling off of her like a snake skin.
Her first thought is the most ridiculous. Her first thought is Mulder. Maybe that’s why she always dutifully shows up at his apartment under the guise of feeding his fish. Moving the tank to her own apartment would make the most sense. But she thinks that maybe, one day, when she goes to his apartment to complete the two second task of sprinkling flakes into the tank, that he’ll walk through the door. Which is why after feeding the fish, she usually walks around his empty apartment. Checking under the sink for leaks. Making sure the fridge is still working, even though she emptied it months ago. On more than one occasion, she’s laid down on his bed to rest her feet for a few minutes, only to wake up hours later in the dark. Apartment empty. Fish tank bubbling away in the corner. No Mulder.
The person on the other side of the door drops the keys on the carpet. Her second thought is also ridiculous. Like she’s been caught somewhere that she isn’t supposed to be. She shuts down that thought as quickly as it washes over her. She belongs here. Who else is going to feed the fish?
It’s surprising that her last thought takes the longest to come to her. That she might be in danger. That someone is coming to ransack the apartment and that they’ll be surprised to find her standing there and pull a gun on her in a clumsy panic. The key is jammed into the lock and twisted to open the door.
Scully backs up, her calves collide with the edge of the coffee table, nearly causing her to topple over. One hand splays out on top of the coffee table to steady herself. Her other hand is on her weapon and her heart is in her throat, pounding wildly in her ears.
Before she can free her gun from its holster, the door swings open and John Doggett stands in the frame, keys dangling from his hand. He blinks a few times, clearly as surprised to see her as she is to see him.
“Dana?” He’s already crossed the living room, hand on her elbow to pull her up. She imagines that she looked like a heavily pregnant, uncoordinated Neo from The Matrix.
“Agent Doggett.” She regains her composure. “What are you doing here?”
He gestures to the fish tank behind her. “I’m here to feed the fish. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to feed the fish.”
They stare at each other for a moment in a weird standoff over the custody of Mulder’s fish. Scully doesn’t question Doggett’s devotion to her, or Mulder, for that matter. But she still feels territorial over anything that involves Mulder. A dog protecting its bones buried in the yard.
Doggett chuckles lightly and gives her a smile. “I guess these fish are pretty spoiled.”
Scully places her hand against her chest. Her heart has slowed its erratic rhythm. She huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, they are.”
Doggett folds his arms and leans against the wall. He nods toward the tank. “You better give ‘em their dinner. They’re probably ravenous.”
Scully smiles and pushes a hand through her hair. Retrieving the fish food from the shelf above the tank, she twists it open and taps the side a few times. The fish swim to the surface, greedily fighting over the flakes that float lazily on the surface.
Scully leans forward to watch the fish as they dip back down to the bottom of the tank to weave among the artificial plants and rocks. Colorful flashes against the underwater landscape that Mulder has crafted.
Her heart freezes in her chest when she sees the fish belly up in the corner, pressed against the filter. The color gone from its scales. Its eyes open and unseeing. She presses her fingers against the glass, as if her touch could bring the fish back to life. “No, no, no.”
Doggett pushes himself off the wall and peaks over her shoulder.
“Ah, that’s too bad,” he says, glancing at Scully. Her hand still pressed against the glass of the tank. He digs through the drawers of Mulder’s desk until he finds the small green net. Scully doesn’t take her eyes off the tank as Doggett uses the net to scoop the fish corpse out of the water. The net drips on the carpet. He takes the fish to the bathroom to give it the best burial he can in these circumstances. When he returns to the living room Scully is still frozen in place, gazing into the tank.
“Dana?”
Dana. She squeezes her eyes shut. I’ve become Dana again in Mulder’s absence. She can’t stop the tears that slide down her cheeks. Her legs give out from under her and she sinks into the couch, face buried in her hands, sucking in deep, raggedy breaths between sobs.
Doggett crouches in front of her. He doesn’t touch her. “What’s the matter?”
Scully pulls her hands back to look at him. “I couldn’t protect him.”
Doggett looks slightly bewildered. He looks between her and the fish tank. “The fish? You gotta know that wasn’t your fault. Fish die all the time.”
Scully shakes her head. The dead fish was the last piece on top of an already wobbly jenga tower that sends everything crashing down. “I couldn’t protect Mulder. I couldn’t keep his fish alive. I can’t protect our baby. I can’t do any of it.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” Doggett says, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Feather soft at first to give Scully the chance to pull away if she wants to. She doesn’t. “What happened to Mulder isn’t your fault. The fish…” He pauses. “Well, the fish probably died because we were overfeeding them.”
That earns a watery chuckle from Scully. “We should have coordinated better.”
Doggett smiles and shrugs. “You live and learn.”
Scully weakly returns his smile before turning her gaze down to her fingers that rest in her lap, pale against her black pants.
“And you’re doing a damn good job at protecting your baby. And when we find Mulder, I know he’ll be proud of you. You’re one tough cookie, Scully.”
Scully takes a deep breath. Allowing it to cleanse her lungs. “Thank you, John.”
He gives her shoulder a squeeze. He stands, his knees creaking in protest, and offers a hand to Scully to help her off the couch. She accepts it.
Scully turns away from him and shrugs her coat back onto her shoulders. “Are you busy, John?”
Doggett raises his eyebrows. “Considering my only plans for this Saturday afternoon were feeding those fish, no, I’m not busy. Why? What did you have in mind?”
Making plans with a friend is something that Scully hasn’t done for what feels like ages. Throwing yourself into your work for seven years straight isn’t conducive to having a decent social life. She feels rusty.
She fidgets with the sleeve of her coat. “Do you want to get coffee or something?”
Doggett considers her for a moment. He gives her a soft smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Scully returns his smile. Doggett flicks off the lights, leaving the apartment to be illuminated by the light that filters in through the curtains and the soft green glow of the fishtank in the corner. She locks the door behind them. Tugging on the handle a few times to make sure it’s firmly locked. Keys tucked safely in the pocket of her coat. Mulder was the one who taught her that she doesn’t have to shoulder everything alone. And when he comes back, he can look at his apartment—clean, no leaks, his fish overfed—and know just how loved he is.