Chapter Text
Clandestinely searching for information on a person Scully mentioned in passing was not among Mulder’s finest acts, and he knew that. But he couldn't stop thinking about Jack.
“Just some guy”, she’d answered cooly, when asked about who she intended to send a copy of his poster to-
his poster.
He told himself that he wanted to look into the guy out as a simple matter of professional due diligence. A good practice; basic background on a colleague was not unusual in their line of work.
Can never be too careful- a lot of forces wanted to shut them down, afterall.
…But he had a hard time buying his own bullshit rationalization.
The far less defensible and honest question nagged-
Was it possible that she fell into a steamy love affair with an alien-obsessed member of law enforcement that wasn’t him?
He knew he sounded ridiculous in his own mind, as did he when he called the Gunmen and asked to see what they could dig up.
“Uh, he’s a cop, probably. Maine- small town? You might be able to find him working on some weird case-uh, folks gouging their eyes out in a grocery store? Names’ Jack”.
The three agreed to honor his request, though they warned it could take a while due to the stunningly bad lead.
He didn’t mention what it was for and they didn’t ask, but he could hear a hint of sympathy in Frohike’s voice.
Frohike thinks I’m pathetic.
Mulder glanced across the office to find Scully kneeling in front of a filing cabinet with an expression of utter indifference. She was going through the motions (which fit their current perfunctory administrative slate well enough) but he could sense in her a longing, a regret.
All week he had tried to lighten the mood. He made small talk while they sorted receipts and experienced her as uninterested but polite. He tried to chat with her about the case she worked- even about Jack- but she wasn’t keen to converse.
It wasn’t until he thought to talk with her about the non-work related things in her life that he understood;
there was nothing to talk about.
Mulder knew she had dinner at her mother’s from time to time,she went to church off-and-on (moreso on since cancer, he thinks); he knows she likes to jog (or at least that she does jog), but more meaningful extra-curriculars were severely lacking.
Didn't she have friends when you met her? He asked himself.
Hadn’t she gone on dates and attended parties? When was the last time she mentioned doing anything for fun?
Maine.
And that trip had been interrupted by what sounds to have been a possessed doll, not to mention several calls from him truly.
I do that, he thought. Interrupted her personal time. Which is why she didn't have much of a life. Because he wouldn't give her space, because he-
He heard the pencil fall from the ceiling and picked it up with a rising sense of shame before he heard her voice cut through his unquiet mind.
“At this rate, Mulder, we are going to get audited for our pencil budget alone”.
She was talking to him, of her own accord, and she even seemed a bit amused. He quickly shook off his sad sack posture to volley back; he needed to see her smile again.
He joked that he was committed to finding an explanation for the great pencil-ceiling caper and watched her lips curl into a tight but definite grin.
He was so grateful to see her expression change that he let the truth escape him without hesitating;
“That, or I guess I’m just lost without you, Scully”.
Because he was. He didn’t know if he should be and he didn’t dare imagine she felt the same, but he orbited her.
She was his sun.
The reason he looked forward to road trips through the most desolate of Plains in middle America.
The reason he had discovered that his well-guarded heart’s barricades had crumbled piece by piece, over late night coffees, casefiles, and longing stares.
The reason he couldn't leave her alone, even when he specifically agreed to.
He watched as Scully’s face reddened and slowly fell.
He was unable to adequately respond when she grabbed her coat and beelined for the door.
She was gone before he could catch his breath or attempt to take back his imprudent words.
Fuck. He had made her uncomfortable.
As if she needed a reminder about how attached he was- am albatross of desperation and duty she was too loyal to shake off.
Nailed it again, Mulder.
His morose thoughts were again disrupted, this time by his phone. He was disappointed when he heard Byers’ voice.
“So Mulder, we pulled up what we could on this…guy. Jack Benoit, we think. He works in Ammas Beach, the site of those recent reports you mentioned.
Been in the field almost 25 years, squeaky clean record. Widowed a few years back. Nothing much of interest to report.
We just faxed over the details”.
Mulder heard the fax machine make its noisy introduction as he pulled the office phone along with him. He pulled paper after boring paper off the press; nothing of note, just as Byers’ had promised.
The last page revealed a photo of the 49 year old officer; balding and good-natured looking, but likely not an immediate threat for Scully’s affections.
The ostensibly good news garnered no relief or satisfaction- only piled on the guilt and shame.
“So, Mulder, was there something else we should be looking for? What’s this-”
“No, uh, no. No thanks…. g’night.”. He placed the phone gently on the receiver and slumped into his chair.
Frohike was right.
He has been behaving like a jealous child.
And why shouldn’t Scully get to have fun with a guy?
Whatever he felt for her, Mulder had no claim to his partner.
He spent the rest of the evening rethinking his life and hers- concluding she might be better off without him. He considered showing up at her doorstep to tell her as much, even. But these actions seemed just as impulsive and egotistical as any of the others that had gotten them into this strange dynamic.
One thing he could offer her was a few days of actual peace and quiet.
A mini vacation do-over.
A few days without having to deal with him or monsters or witches.
He set out to plan a Scully-style retreat.
He called a few nearby,cozy-looking lodging options but found that most were booked up so close to the weekend.
Eventually he found a charming B&B in a little town about an hour and a half away, in West Virginia.
The Fairbriar’s website mentioned its proximity to a handful of quaint attractions, and boasted its own rich lore as an historic French-colonial home.
Perfect.
He called the number and was elated there was a cancellation for this weekend- he booked it and got to work on preparing the rest of the necessities. He knew she had the basics packed already, and he added a few t-shirts and sweaters that had found their way to the office and car and his apartment.
He added his own thick, Knicks crew-neck, just in case she got really cold, he told himself.
He picked up her favorite snacks and a few books and puzzles. He was delighted to consider her lounging around and simply enjoying herself.
God, she deserves it.
—----------------------------------------------------
“Thank you- that’s very thoughtful”.
She seemed genuinely pleased.
He watched her walk towards her escape with a sincere smile before he remembered to offer his most generous gift:
“And I promise we won’t talk this time”.
He knew it would be hard not to be in touch, however briefly.
But he owed it to her to honor her time away- to respect her desire to have a life.
He needed to practice letting her go a little.
—----------------------------------------------------
Each time he thought about her he reprimanded himself for being selfish and codependent and forced himself to file another expense log.
The sounds of baseball over the radio helped to drown out his inner dialogue:
Did she get there ok?
Does she like her room?
Was she happy?
The shrill ring of his cell returned him to the present and he picked up the call, figuring the boys were inviting him over.
A pity pizza party, probably.
“Mulder, her voice rang out in fury.
What the fuck?”