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“And then I said – can you guess what I said, Dana?” The man sitting opposite her is looking at her with wide eyes and an expectant expression. Has he noticed that she isn’t listening anymore? For that to be true, he’d have to be self-aware and Scully very much doubts that he is. She puts on a fake smile and humors him.
“No, I can’t,” she says, trying to sound interested, her voice high and squeaky.
“This is the best story,” he says. “You’re gonna love it. So, listen, I said…” And Scully zones out. Why did she think this was a good idea? She met George while picking up dry cleaning for her mother. Now, looking back on it, she wonders if her mother had maybe planned the whole thing. George is exactly the kind of man she’d set her up with. A devoted church-goer in his late 30s, who visits his mother once a week, volunteers in the animal shelter and is financially stable as an accountant. On paper, he sounds perfect. Across from her, he’s just plain boring. There’s nothing there. No spark. No interest whatsoever. A few times she’s had to stifle a yawn. This is her first date in… she doesn’t even remember. It must be years. Maybe there are new rules she needs to learn.
But not with George.
He waves his fork around, barely getting a bite in. Scully, who hasn’t said much since they sat down an hour ago, has finished her whole plate. As she watches him, she wonders how rude it would be to fake an emergency call. Or lie that she has to get up early tomorrow. Anything to get her out of here. With how this date is going, she’s not sure she ever wants to go on another one . Maybe next decade.
Scully rests her chin on her hand and pretends to be listening. George just laughed, so she does, too. The fake sound hurts her own ears. Her date doesn’t even notice and just keeps going. Her eyes wander about the restaurant. Most people here look happy, o r at least not miserable. How did this happen? When did she lose interest in dating? Or is it just because George is so boring? She should do a field study on it, date more men. Two dates in the last five or six years don’t exactly make her an expert. She thinks about Mulder, how she once told him that she’d like to have a life besides their work.
Now here she is, wishing he’d call and whisk her away to a crime scene or to hunt a mutant.
“That was funny, wasn’t it?” George asks her with apple-red cheeks.
“Very,” Scully lies, taking a sip from her water.
“Now tell me a funny story from your life.”
“Um,” she says, trying to come up with something. Would he think a man who can control the weather is funny? Or her delivering a baby in a storm while a sea monster was loose? Probably not. “My life isn’t very funny.”
“Too bad,” George says, touching her hand. “I’ll tell you another one of mine then.” While George goes on another monologue, Scully continues her people-watch. At first, she isn’t sure if she’s imagining it, or if it’s real. If he’s real. Over there at the counter, where they give out takeout orders, is a face she knows well.
Mulder.
She watches the man for a moment, moving her head this way and that whenever someone steps into her line of sight. The longer she looks at him, the sure r she is. It’s Mulder. What gives her pause is his body language. He’s leaning against the counter, his eyes cast downward. His hands are in his pockets and he shuffles his feet. Unlike her, he doesn’t look around. Knowing how naturally curious he is, she wonders why that is. Everything about him screams melancholy and her own body answers his silent call, needing to know why he’s here, wanting to be close to him.
“I’m sorry, George,” she says, interrupting him. She’s not really sorry, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I see a friend of mine over there,” she says, pointing to where Mulder is standing at the counter. “I’m just going to say hi, okay? Excuse me.” Before George can say anything, she’s up and walking towards Mulder. Her lips curl upwards into her first real smile today.
“Hey you,” she says when she reaches him, touching his arm. He startles, turning to her. His expression softens, but the wistfulness she caught from her table lingers.
“What are you doing here?” She asks him, trying not to sound too excited about seeing him.
“Picking up food,” he says with a shrug.
“I didn’t know you liked their food.”
“Thought I’d try something new.” Another shrug. “You’re enjoying yourself?” He asks, pressing the words through his teeth with difficulty.
“To be honest,” Scully says, making sure George doesn’t suddenly appear behind her. “I haven’t been this bored since our last budget meeting.”
“Oh, that was so boring,” he says, now grinning at her. “Why did you go on a date with him in the first place?”
“Is that why you’re here? You could have asked me that at work.”
“I’m here to pick up my takeout order,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow. “I swear I am.”
“I hate to ask, but…”
“You can ask me anything, Scully,” Mulder assures her with a soft voice.
“I-,” she starts but is cut off by someone slapping down a brown paper bag on the counter.
“Order for Mudder!” He says, disappearing to the back of the restaurant.
“That’s me,” Mulder says, peeking into the bag. “Looks good. See? My order.”
“Hm, yeah, I see.” What she sees is that Mulder has never been to this restaurant. Unless he’s frequenting places without her. Considering how often they’re on the road, she can’t imagine it. This means that the reason he’s here is that he knew she would be here, too. With George.
“Want to go back to your date? He looks- well, he does look boring.”
“Mulder, I don’t want to go back to that table. I never should have said yes to this date.”
“Why did you?” His voice is soft, downright hurt.
“I thought- I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know if you know this, Mulder, but I haven’t been on a date in a while.”
He nods, saying, “ I know you want a life away from the madness that is our work.”
“I love that madness,” she admits, looking at him. He’s staring back at her, seemingly thinking about something. “Mulder… take me with you.”
“What?” He laughs.
“Take me with you,” she repeats. “I can’t go back there.” Ditching George means she will have to find a new dry cleaner, too. But it’s worth it.
“Are you sure?” Mulder asks her. “You won’t regret it?” There’s an implication in his question she’s not ready to pick up on. Not here, while the whiff of George lingers in the air.
“Yes, I’m sure. No regrets, Mulder.” What she would regret is staying here and letting Mulder go. Her partner who doesn’t bore her, who asks her opinions, and who knows her better than she probably knows herself. Another thought dawns on her as she glances up at Mulder. What was it that she said in Kroner about flicked switches? She doesn’t get to dwell on it, because in the next moment Mulder grabs his takeout, her hand, and then they run outside like a couple of teenagers, laughing.