Chapter Text
It starts with them sitting in their rented car outside of an old abandoned Victorian. The last occupant died in that very house, he’d been told. Over the last three months, four couriers, all from a variety of delivery agencies, have disappeared; all had packages addressed to the house on their route on the dates of their disappearance. So, naturally, he thinks that the dead former occupant of the house is responsible.
They had been in the car for almost three hours, the clock rapidly approaching 1 a.m. when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nodding off.
He knew she felt this stakeout was unnecessary. Mulder, a dead man couldn’t possibly be kidnapping these delivery men, she had said. And for the time being, she was right. Local police had searched the house and found it completely empty.
But she came with him anyway. He suspects she’s still trying to make an impression, to prove herself worthy, after only a handful of cases together. Little does she know, although he was less than thrilled to be partnered with anyone in the first place, after reading her senior thesis, he feels a bit inferior. No, not inferior, but rather finally intellectually matched and challenged. She has nothing to prove to him, he’s already completely fascinated by her.
He realizes that although he knows her skepticism, in spite of said senior thesis, her performance at the academy, and the original intention of her secondary education, the life of Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully (he knows her full name, too) is something of a mystery. A mystery he suddenly has the urge to solve.
“What’s your favorite color?” He gnaws on a seed, keeping the air casual.
It’s an innocent question, but nevertheless, her right eyebrow shoots up (and where did she learn to do that, so perfectly mastering the one-eyebrow raise, he wonders) like he just presented her a pick-up line.
“What’s yours, Mulder?” Her tone is almost accusatory.
“Nope, I asked first. Give a little get a little, Scully.”
There’s a searching look plastered to her face, as if she’s trying to dissect his intentions. They’re honorable, he assures. He’s noticed that they seem to have some sort of simpatico, like their thoughts and actions, especially in the field, are synched. So he tries to communicate his objectives by letting that simpatico take over, adjusting his eyes so that they become perceptive, eagerly awaiting a response, offering a soft smile. And though she presents a smile of her own in return, she turns her head to stare out the front windshield, her profile glowing off the reflection from the moon, avoiding the question.
It takes her more than five minutes to give in, to show a crack in the foundation of the walls he knows she’s built up. Her breathing had become so soft and slow and her eyes had closed, he’d thought maybe she had actually gone to sleep. Her voice is just above a whisper when she finally acquiesces and piques his curiosity.
“Lavender.”
“That’s a very specific shade, a simple ‘purple’ would have sufficed.” But, no, it wouldn’t have, and they both know it. “Why lavender? Boyfriend used to come home with them?”
“Give a little get a little, Mulder.” He eyes are open now and they’re smiling, it seems. She’s teasing him, he realizes, playing along. Her face is tilted slightly in his direction, encouraging his response. He already respects her, but maybe now he even likes her.
“Dark blue. Since we’re getting specific, the color that the ‘Midnight Blue’ Crayola crayon produces.” He smirks, game, set, match.
She begins to offer him an explanation. “Believe it or not, I actually don’t like the smell or the plant itself. And, uh, no time for a boyfriend. You already keep me up at all hours of the night.” She smirks right back at him, and he’s struck at her outright flirting. It’s his game, but she’s definitely come to play.
They’ve both shifted so that their bodies are fully facing each other. “But my father was a Navy Captain, and for a short while he was stationed in Jacksonville. We were there less than a year. I hated Florida, truthfully. But that summer, my mom decided I was old enough to walk to this little ice cream shop not far from base housing. And the entire outside of the shop was painted a lavender color. I visited it probably every other day that summer we were there. Lavender is associated with a happy memory during an unpleasant part of my childhood.” He notices that she talks with her hands, and files the information away in his eidetic memory for safekeeping.
He nods and hums his approval, even more captivated with the enigma that is his partner in front of him. He is now facing the windshield, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and he wonders if this is her way of showing her attentiveness. As if moving her hair out of the way will allow her to hear him better.
“‘Midnight Blue’ is the the last color you see in the sky as the sun sets, before it’s engulfed by black. In fact, it’s actual partially mixed with the black, so believe it or not, the sky is never completely devoid of color.”
“You like sunsets, Mulder?” Her inquisitiveness is genuine, her voice lighthearted but not condescending.
“I like that sunsets remind me that I’ve completed a journey. Because that’s what every day is. I also like the fact that no two sunsets are ever the same. They’re always composed of the same colors, but they’re never an exact repeat of the night before. It’s kind of like all of us, you know? We’re all made up of the same basic components, but we’re all unique. And, whether or not people choose to see it, we all are full of color.”
Contemplative silence fills the car. It’s comfortable. They’re comfortable, he deduces. They’re going to get along just fine.
She looks as if she were about to ask another question, her curiosity regarding his unreserved analysis of the color of a crayon apparently not quite quenched, when the porchlight of the house, the observation of which they’ve neglected, suddenly flicks on.