Chapter Text
What he’s forgotten, of course, is that there are risks to leaving the apartment.
A startling gathering of people greets him in the hall, waiting for his appearance. There are some leaning against the walls, some sitting cross-legged on the ground, some pacing back and forth.
The group collectively perks up when they see him, and individuals start walking up to him. Quickly he tries to inventory who he sees—several neighbors he does not know, his regular Chinese food delivery man, Mrs. Fratesi and her granddaughter, and two young women who appear to be … missionaries, he thinks?
“Good evening, Mr. Mulder,” one of the neighbors says.
It’s immediately echoed by a chorus of discordant and enthusiastic greetings. The effect is eerie. He braces himself in the door frame, effectively shielding Scully, who is standing right behind him.
“Uh, hello,” he says nervously, speaking to the group. “Is there something I can … help you all with?”
“Yes,” one of the missionaries replies eagerly with a shiny-toothed smile. She thrusts a Bible into his face. “Have you heard about Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior?”
Mulder responds with considerably more courtesy than he normally would a missionary at his door. “Actually, I don’t have much time to talk about religion today—”
“Oh, hi,” one of the neighbors, a middle-aged woman, breaks in earnestly. “I was just wondering if you wanted to come play cards with us tonight. We would love you to join us. I made dip.”
He’s bewildered by the sudden, seemingly unmotivated interruption. “I’m sorry—Ms. Katz, isn’t it? Susan? I—can’t tonight, but thanks for—”
“Hey man.” The delivery man steps forward with a serious, intense expression, also speaking like no one else has recently spoken. “Listen. How come you haven’t ordered anything lately? You good?”
“What?” Mulder replies, slightly offended. “I don’t order that much—”
He breaks off when Mrs. Fratesi grabs his forearm. “You like my pound cake. You should save room, because you can expect a fresh loaf by evening.” She wags her finger. “Don’t you dare spoil your appetite, Mr. Mulder.”
Scully has wedged in next to him in the doorway, her attention bouncing from speaker to speaker. “This is no good,” she mutters to him. “There’s a level of irrationality here I don’t like. We need to get you out of here.”
“Why don’t you come to the movie with me tonight?” says another neighbor, her hands on her hips. “You’ll have fun. You work too much. Come unwind and I’ll buy you Milk Duds.”
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Mrs. Fratesi’s granddaughter calls out mournfully, revealing a mouth full of braces. “You’re supposed to be with me. Stop listening to all these people.”
“I’m into fitness,” one of the neighbors, a man in his forties, offers conversationally. “We should run together. I belong to a very nice gym. It’s no trouble to come lift with me.”
“Hey,” Mulder says loudly, feeling genuinely alarmed. “I just need to… move past …” He gestures expansively towards the elevator, but no one moves.
In fact, the group slowly crowds closer to him, penning in the doorway.
“If we could just take a moment to talk to you about the Holy Bible–”
“I’m a massage therapist. I could help you relax.”
“Did you say you have a fish tank? I love fish.”
“Kung pao chicken on the house?”
“Jesus,” Scully says, under her breath.
The elevator door dings open, and Mulder’s hit with a wave of fear. What if the hallway floods with more people? How can he protect himself if everyone attracted to men in the whole world is determined to come after him?
“Let me rub your back.”
“What are your fish’s names?”
“Hey,” calls Krycek loudly, striding swiftly out of the elevator down the hall. “Mulder. You dumbass. Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?”
“We should go inside where it’s quiet,” agrees a neighbor.
“Mind if I come in a while?”
“Let’s go into your apartment and pray this over.”
“Let’s don’t,” Krycek says, pushing past the missionary who just spoke. He aggressively shoves Mulder and Scully back into the apartment, and he slams the door shut behind him. “Lock that, Mulder.”
Scully, stumbling from the impact of Krycek’s manhandling, makes a huffy noise of protest. Mulder, agreeing with Krycek at least this much, turns and locks the door.
There is abrupt pounding on the door, accompanied by indistinct voices. They sound agitated, presumably over his sudden disappearance. It’s unsettling, and it sends little cold prickles down his spine.
“You see how this could be dangerous now?” Krycek turns on Mulder. “That’s just the hallway of one building.”
“Yeah,” Mulder says weakly.
“Imagine bigger crowds. Imagine the whole city.”
Scully whirls on him. “Yes, thank you, we get it. Now what do you want?”
Krycek takes her in, as if noticing her for the first time. He offers her a smirk. “Oh. Hey, Scully.”
“What do you want?” she repeats, overenunciating.
“Still unaffected by the love whammy?” he asks lightly.
“Yes,” she answers sharply. “Tell us why you’re here or get out.”
“Gee, so weird that it would affect everyone but you,” he says with a bright smile. She meets his gaze stonily.
Although Mulder privately has the same question, he roughly seizes Krycek’s arm. “All right then. Time to go.”
“Ow, ow, I have information for you,” Krycek cries out in exasperation. “Answers.”
Mulder does not relax his painfully tight grip.
“Come on,” insists Krycek. “I’ll explain.”
Mulder shoves him towards the couch. “Fine,” he says shortly. “Sit. Tell us.”
Krycek massages his arm, sitting down on the couch, shooting Mulder sulky looks. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
“Do you know what’s causing this?” Scully snaps.
“Yeah,” Krycek says. He glares at Mulder. “I was right, kind of.”
“It’s a high frequency sound?” Mulder sits down across from the other man.
“No,” Krycek says, “It’s some kind of substance, a compound derived from the Colonists. Something they secrete in communication with each other. In this case, something they secrete when they are looking to bond … or bang, I’m not sure.”
“Like a pheromone?” Scully says.
“Yeah,” Krycek says. “More or less, but not like a human pheromone. Because with us the effect of a pheromone is subtle, and with this, it’s …”
“Unsubtle?” Scully says.
“Right,” Krycek says. “So somehow in the old men’s experiments, they were able to distill the substance into some kind of powder that could be absorbed by human beings. And when their subjects absorbed it, they were … completely irresistible, I guess. The man of the hour, so to speak.”
Scully narrows her eyes. “How did that work? The substance causes human beings to emit the same kind of pheromone as these supposed… Colonists?”
“I guess.” Krycek makes an offhand gesture. “You’re the scientist. I go with what they tell me.”
Scully sits next to Krycek on the couch, her demeanor icy. “What happened to the subjects?”
“Considering this all happened in the 60s, I think they probably had uninhibited sex with a bunch of horny people.” Krycek casts his eyes in Mulder's direction. “You know, extravagant orgies. Like any reasonable person would.”
“So you don’t know,” Scully snaps impatiently.
“Well … actually, I know some of the subjects died,” Krycek says in a more somber tone.
“Died?” Scully grows tense.
“Because people’s affection can become… violent,” Krycek says. “Which is why you were supposed to stay in the apartment, Mulder.”
There is a pause as Mulder, remembering Tatiana’s sudden rage, wonders if his affairs are in order.
“Only some died?” A muscle on Scully’s jawline twitches.
“Only some, because they soon developed an antidote,” Krycek says. “Also derived from the Grays. So they could stop the effects.”
“Ah.” She exhales and swallows. “All right. How do we get that antidote?”
“Well now, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Krycek turns his whole body towards her and lets his face transform into a leer. “What would you do to get it?” Her mouth drops open. Krycek turns the leer towards Mulder. “What about you? What’s it worth to you?”
Both agents stare at him, their horror keeping them from fully reacting.
“Now you’re realizing you have to be nice to me.” Krycek nods, sprawling back comfortably on the couch. “Don’t worry. Just a few little favors. And tell you what, I’ll let you work together. I know how you prefer to work as a team.”
Mulder’s entire skeleton begins to vibrate with anger. His heart rate spikes. He leaps from his seat. “I will kill you, you son of a bitch.”
But Krycek, to his fury, is laughing.
“All right, all right, all right, Mulder, I’m only kidding,” Krycek says, holding his palm up in mock defense.
“Do. You. Have. The. Antidote,” comes Scully’s precise, arctic voice.
Krycek reaches into his jacket pocket, still chuckling. “Don’t get me wrong, if you two ever wanted to … I’m in. But I’d prefer to be myself, not to be vulnerable to this little soft spot I have for Mulder right now. That’s the problem this antidote is supposed to take care of.” He reveals a tiny vial of amber liquid.
Scully stares at it, blinking fast. “That’s it? The antidote?”
Krycek holds it out to her, then pretends to pull it back at the last moment, smirking. He places it carefully in her open palm.
Scully’s face is flushed dark with what can only be restrained fury, and Mulder wonders if Krycek realizes that his life is in serious danger.
“Now before he sucks that down,” the man warns, “it’s probably smart to figure out how the substance got in his system to begin with. So he isn’t, you know, reinfected.”
“How did the substance get into his system?” Scully says tightly, holding the vial between her fingers.
“That’s what I’m asking you,” Krycek says. “I don’t know. It must have come from my bosses, but it wasn’t an official operation. Probably someone’s side project, maybe an experiment.”
“An experiment,” Mulder says in disgust, beginning to pace.
“You said it was a powder in the 1960s. Is it still a powder?” Scully says. “It couldn’t be something liquid or aerosol?”
“Still solid, I’m told,” Krycek says. “Still powder. It can be absorbed through the skin. Through touch. Could have been on your mail or something.”
Mulder furrows his brow. “I picked up my mail after work yesterday,” he says. “I had no mysterious admirers last night. Although I didn’t really see anyone.”
“It would start to take effect on anyone in your proximity the moment you had it on your skin,” Krycek says. “If you’d been infected last night, your neighbors would have been knocking down your door.”
“So it would have to be this morning,” Mulder muses. He resumes pacing, mentally taking himself through his morning. He massages his temple. “I don’t know… I mean, I took a shower. I had some coffee here.”
“You didn’t talk to anyone?” Krycek says.
“No,” Mulder insists. “Not until I saw Scully in the parking deck.”
Scully stands and circles the room, her eyes scanning it from top to bottom. She runs her fingers through her hair in agitation. “You didn’t eat any breakfast?”
“No,” he admits. “I skipped it.” She nods and steps into the dining room.
“Seriously?” Krycek says in mock horror. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”
Mulder doesn’t acknowledge this.
From the other room, he hears Scully make a muffled gasp.
“What?” He stands. “What’s wrong?”
She walks back into the room and towards the couch with bright, excited eyes. “Mulder. The article about the chicken pox vaccine,” she emphasizes. “The one you told me about. You read it this morning? While you had your coffee?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I did.”
All at once, he understands.
“The newspaper,” they say together.
“I read it in The Washington Post.”
“It’s still sitting on your dining room table.”
Mulder strides over to the doorway and looks for himself.
It’s there, even now, sitting innocently on the far edge of the table where he had coffee this morning, miraculously undisturbed from when he and Tatiana crawled across it earlier. It’s still folded back carefully to the article he’d been reading, still accompanied by his dirty coffee cup.
“It was right next to us when we went through your mail,” Scully groans. “Why didn’t we think of it?”
“Good thing no one picked it up,” Krycek says wryly.
Mulder slowly rotates towards his front door. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I … forgot. Mrs. Fratesi’s granddaughter,” Mulder says, flopping his hand on top of his head. “She handed me my newspaper this morning.”
The good news is that Mrs. Fratesi’s granddaughter—whose name, it turns out, is Victoria—admits what happened right away. Flat out, without any denial.
Only Mulder and Scully stick around to speak to her. Less than a minute after Mulder drank the antidote, they’d looked up to see Krycek beating a hasty, unheroic retreat out Mulder’s front door. He didn’t spare so much as a backward glance.
“Apparently the love is gone,” Mulder had commented to Scully. Really he’d been delighted, because Krycek’s new apathy towards him seems like a good portent that the antidote was working.
When they opened the front door, this was further further: the crowd had largely dispersed.
His neighbor Ms. Katz stood with her hand on her cheek in the middle of the hallway, like she was trying to account for why she was there. When she saw Mulder in the open door, she raised her hand in a dazed greeting and wandered away towards the elevator.
Once Ms. Katz was gone, they noticed Victoria. Arms crossed over her knees, she sat hunched on the floor staring at Mulder’s door, her features shuttered and sullen.
Scully guided her inside to question her about what happened, and Mulder expected the girl to break down and cry. Which was, he soon realizes, an inaccurate expectation based on faulty preconceptions he has about teenage girls.
He would describe Victoria’s reaction more as … full of righteous fury.
“He told me it was a love powder,” Victoria grits out in a low voice to Scully. “He said it would bring out, like, intense feelings. He didn’t tell me that it would bring out intense feelings in everyone but Fox. He didn’t tell me that my grandma would be out here acting like a skank.”
“I’m sorry …” Scully seems torn between reacting with sympathy and disapproval. “Who told you that, exactly?”
“The old man in the dark suit,” Victoria mutters. “The man who said he worked for the government.”
“Do you know his name?”
Victoria shakes her head. “It should be Mr. Fucking Liar. Because that’s what he was.”
Scully nods, pursing her lips. “Right.”
“I say that because he lied. To me. About everything. Like a piece of shit.”
“Yes, I get it.” Scully sighs deeply, looking across the room at Mulder. “So you had interest in … Fox?”
“Yeah,” Victoria says. She, too, glances at Mulder, who sits slumped on his couch, trying to make himself small and invisible. “I mean, I just wanted him to talk to me. He doesn’t date, I’ve noticed, and I’m mature for my age. I thought if I could get him to pay attention, I could make it obvious that he and I might work out together. He’s really good-looking, you know?” Mulder instinctively glances over at Scully’s face, but her expression is entirely neutral. “I don’t like him anymore, though,” Victoria continues. “No offense,” she calls over to Mulder. Turning back to Scully, she lowers her voice. “He acted kind of crazy when everyone liked him. It was a turn-off. Like I said, maturity is important to me.”
Mulder shrugs to himself. Sure. It figures that the teenager wound up thinking he was too immature for a relationship.
“Victoria, did you ask yourself why the man from the government wanted to help you with your crush?” Scully asks. “That didn’t seem … weird to you?”
“It was more than a crush,” Victoria explains in a tone of condescending exasperation. “This has been going on a long time. I’ve just been managing my feelings discreetly so they don’t interfere with my day to day life.”
“Fine,” Scully says, and Mulder can tell she is struggling for control of her facial expression. “I’m sorry. Did you wonder why he would want to help you with your … feelings?”
“He said they were testing love powder for the government,” Victoria says. “He said all I had to do was sprinkle a little on the newspaper. No harm done. I don’t know what to tell you. I wanted it to be true, I guess? I wouldn’t normally do something like that.” She waves her hand around dramatically. “I guess love makes you do desperate things.”
“Right,” Scully says. Again she looks over at Mulder, and he can practically hear her thinking, This is an impossible case to pursue any further, and I’m not sure we should try anyway.
“Anyway, it’s all over now, right?” Victoria says. “Nonna isn’t baking like crazy or hanging out outside this apartment any more, so I figured the … spell was broken. Or potion, whatever it was.”
“There was an antidote, yes,” Scully says, “and we don’t anticipate any more trouble.” She produces her card from her purse and hands it to Victoria. “But if you should speak to anyone who claims to be from the government again, asking you to do anything…”
“Besides you?”
“Besides me, yes,” Scully says resignedly.
“Okay,” Victoria says. “But just for the record, I definitely am done with love powders.”
“Probably wise,” Scully says.
Victoria yawns. “My friend Crystal just wears tight shirts. I thought maybe I would try that next time.”
The muscle in Scully’s jaw twitches again. “It sounds like we’ve all learned some valuable lessons today.”
When Victoria leaves, Scully collapses on the couch, her arms flopping to her sides and her legs extending out in front of her. She stares at the ceiling.
“You all right, partner?” Mulder says, lowering himself onto the other end.
“I feel wrung out … in every possible sense,” she says. She rolls her head over to look at him. “But you’re free from your fan club, and Victoria is moving on. So all’s well that ends well, I guess?”
He nods, his eyes rapidly moving over her. “We still don’t know why it didn’t affect you,” he says.
She says nothing.
“I can’t think of any reason why,” he adds. “I was thinking proximity to me, maybe, preexisting relationship, but I don’t know why that would—”
“I know why it didn’t affect me,” she interrupts quietly, her eyes on the ceiling.
“You do?”
“I have a theory, anyway.”
“Okay,” he says, somewhat taken aback that she hasn’t mentioned this before. “What’s the theory?”
“Well,” she says slowly. She licks her lips. “You know how when you want to immunize a population of children, say, for chicken pox, you know you will have an impact on … most children who receive the vaccination.”
He blinks. “Okay…”
A tiny crease appears between her eyebrows. She sits up. “But there will always be some percentage of the population who already had chicken pox. They already got sick and got better. So they already have a preexisting immunity. When you vaccinate those patients against chicken pox, nothing changes. They are the same as they were. They already had the antibodies. No clinically meaningful effect.”
He rubs the bridge of his nose. “So … wait, I don’t follow. You’re saying that you were … there was already some kind of preexisting love charm you’d previously been vaccinated with? So this one had no effect? You had love charm immunity?”
Her shoulders slowly rise and then slowly fall. There is a long accompanying exhale sound.
“Something along those lines,” she says wearily.
There is a pause. Mulder scratches the back of his head, considering.
“Do you want to get something to eat? Now that you’re not the target of mass adoration?” she says, twisting suddenly to look at him. “I never had lunch and I’m hungry. We could go to that burrito place you like. The one that gives you all the baskets of chips?”
He hasn’t moved.
“Nothing would change,” he repeats to himself, thinking it through. “Because they already had chicken pox. So they would be … the same as they were.”
She juts out her chin and nods fatalistically, like she’s waiting for the dominoes to fall.
“So you’re comparing feelings for me to … having chicken pox?” he says.
“Having immunity to chicken pox,” she corrects. She shrugs. “It’s not a perfect analogy.”
“You’re saying that the charm had no effect on you…”
“Mulder,” she says, her eyes rolling and her cheeks flushing. “Are you seriously this obtuse?”
“No, no, wait. You’re saying that the charm had no effect on you … because you already had the feelings to begin with. So there was nothing to change. You were the same as you always were.”
She now has a stoic, long suffering expression on her face. “Yes.”
He’s momentarily speechless. “But … you never ask me out in the parking deck,” he says. “Or flash me. Or try to bring me lunch.”
“I bring you lunch all the time, actually.”
He’s silent, and then he whirls on her. “Scully,” he says, “really?”
“I told you, I’m not in the habit of lying to you.”
“It was a love whammy,” he says, and he knows he’s pushing this unfairly. “The feelings were love. You’re saying you couldn’t be affected by a love whammy because you’re … already love whammied?”
“Mulder, listen,” she says in tired exasperation. She stands up. “Do you want to get burritos or not? Because I’m not going to sit here and be tortured by you all night.”
“Okay,” he says in a strange voice. “I want to get burritos.”
“Great,” she says with a sigh. “Can you drive?”
“I can drive,” he says in the same strange tone. He stands, too.
“Great,” she says again. She looks around for her purse, and as she picks it up, she says, “It doesn’t need to come up again, okay? I told you so you wouldn’t wonder why I wasn’t affected, but it’s not a big deal, or something that needs to be—”
His mouth stops her. He cups her head in his hands and kisses her.
When he pulls away, she looks back at him, her pale blue eyes round with shock.
“Of course it’s a big deal,” he says. “Of course it is, Scully.”
Before she answers, he leans in and kisses her again, this time dragging her flush against him. Her body seems to fall into his.
After a heart-stopping few minutes, she draws back.
“Mulder,” she says breathlessly. “Wait. Wait. You don’t think that...”
“I don’t think what?”
She grimaces. “That …I got some of the powder on me?”
He laughs. “Ohhhh, right. Maybe that’s it.”
He leans in to kiss her again, but she holds her head back.
“Mulder. Seriously.” She looks anguished. “How would we know?”
He bends over and whispers into her ear. “Because I’ve got that sweet whammy immunity, Scully.” He lets his lips nuzzle her earlobe. “Even if we knew you had the powder, I promise … I’d have no clinically significant effects.”
She draws away again and scowls at him, as if considering perplexing evidence.
“Come on,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You can’t possibly be surprised. You had to notice you were the only one whose feelings I really cared about.”
“That was hardly obvious,” she insists. “After all, you were ready to send me away…”
“Because I thought you were being love whammied,” he argues. “Because I thought it wasn’t real.”
She traps her lip between her teeth. “And you’re sure you’re not being love whammied now?”
“Scully,” he says, gently running his hands up and down her spine, the silky fabric of her blouse catching on his fingertips. “I always feel like this.” Again he speaks into the whorls of her ear. “I really always act like a lunatic when it comes to you.”
“You act like a lunatic just for me?” she says. Her words are facetious, but there’s a tiny quaver in her voice.
“Yeah,” he says emphatically, trailing his lips from her jaw to her mouth. “I’m an entirely normal guy around other people.”
“I feel so … honored.”
Their mouths meet again. Her hands cradle his head, her head tilts, and her lips nip at him hungrily, almost frantically.
She’s actually eager for this, he realizes. She’s desperate for it.
That remarkable thought hits him like a potent drug; he’s giddy; he’s stumbling off a carnival ride. He lets out a stupid laugh of wonder, and she looks at him in surprise.
“I started to think today was some kind of curse,” he tells her, still breathing fast, his thumbs moving up her cheeks. “Everyone in the world wanted me but you.”
She smiles back at him, wide and bright. “I never would’ve dreamed women taking off their shirts for you would be so troubling.”
“Jesus,” he says, chuckling ruefully. “Everyone has me all wrong. I seem to have some reputation as a notorious pervert.”
She kisses one soft invitation on his mouth. Then another. His body hums all over with desire.
“Better show me the truth, then,” she whispers.
“Aw, if you kiss me like that, I’ll never be able to beat the pervert allegations.”
She plants another careful kiss, and then hesitates, staring straight at his lips. “I always did, you know. Want you. I mean.”
Her words are simple, but they have a transformative effect on him.
Their mouths crash together, and, Mulder notices, the room drops away.
When they stumble into his bedroom and he lowers her back onto the bed, everything he knows is reduced to pure sensation.
To soft lips crushed hard. To fingers tracing what is curved and beautiful. To mouths wide open with shared cries, to hips moving in common rhythm.
This is a simple kind of magic, he thinks, as he holds his partner’s smooth body afterward. This is the most basic kind of whammy, but something extraordinary nonetheless. Just the everyday wonder of wanting someone and being wanted.
***