Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November 15, 1997
Washington, D.C.

She manages to step out of the doctor’s office and into the hallway without anyone noticing that she has learned the life Dana Scully had envisioned for herself will never fully come true. In a daze, she presses the button that will bring an elevator to get her out of here, out of this building in which her dreams were shattered. Her legs don’t stand quite firm on her four-inch black pumps, her hands feel sweaty against the black pencil skirt over her thighs and her mind feels blank. The only thought that comes to her is that she will never hear the joyful first cry of a baby born out of her.

She is barren.

It was supposed to be a routine appointment, just a follow-up to get the results on her Pap smear and transvaginal ultrasound after her cancer went into remission. On her last appointment, her doctor had told her he saw no reason for her to have been diagnosed as infertile during her cancer treatment, since her hormonal levels looked okay and her reproductive system was pristine. Considering her last Pap smear had been after her abduction and she hadn’t done the ultrasound back then, Dr. Parenti had suggested the additional exams to double-check. She got her hopes up, unable to deny that she should be granted positive news after her ordeal. It was only supposed to be a check-up. And then she confirmed that for some unexplainable reason she was unable to ovulate, unable to bring a child into this world.

She is barren.

As the elevator doors open and she steps into the vacant car, she fingers the cross hanging on her neck and stares at herself in the mirror. Her G-woman armor, completed by the black suit jacket buttoned over her white silk blouse primly tucked into her skirt and the long, elegant black trench coat laid on her shoulders, feels oddly appropriate right now. She is mourning that which she will never be allowed to have; that she will never be able to offer to any significant other.

She is barren.

How can she still have faith in God after every bad thing that she has seen in the world? Not only in the world, but everything that she’s gone through in the past four years alone? Her father’s death, her abduction, her sister’s murder, her cancer… and now this. How can she believe in God’s justice when she has always tried to do good and ended up feeling like she is perpetually being punished by Him? She is aware that in the past she has made some choices her family wouldn’t condone, still if she tallies all those bad things in the punishment category of her life it feels unfair to her. Kind of overkill.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and she makes her escape, grateful to being unbothered during the ride and on her way out.

She took a cab to the doctor’s in order to eat the salad she bought on her way out of the Bureau, trying to spend as little of her lunch hour to compensate for having a two-o’clock in Adams Morgan. Now, she should take a cab back to the office, but the weather is surprisingly comforting for this time in November, the cool wind making her feel something even if there is a void in her, and she still wants to mull over her infertility, so she decides to walk for a while. It makes no sense to her now to hurry back, not when something of this magnitude has been dropped on her like an atomic bomb.

She is barren.

Almost an hour later, she realizes she walked the entire way back to the FBI, all of those two plus miles, and she sighs. She’s been repeating over and over to herself the hard facts, and though she has grown accustomed to the idea of never being able to create a life with half of her biological material, it still hurts nevertheless.

So, she makes her way into the building mechanically, past the security checkpoint - where the amicable guard tries to make regular small talk with her, but she’s just not her usual self -, and not giving it much thought steps in onto an elevator on its way up and not down to the basement. She ends up going all the way up to the sixth floor, dropping some curious agents along the ride, before making her way down, with a few additional stops, back to the basement. Once she reaches the office, she notices Mulder is not on his desk and can’t even bring herself to speculate to his whereabouts. She just aimlessly sheds her coat and hangs it by the door and makes her way to his desk to try and focus on her work.

She notices the genetic results she needs for their five o’clock meeting with Skinner have still not been delivered, so she decides to go up to the lab, even if she cannot take her mind out of her latest medical news. She is so preoccupied she doesn’t even notice when the elevator car reaches the fourth floor – past the second floor she was supposed to go to – and the doors open to reveal Mulder just standing there, in relieved surprise.

“There you are, I've been looking all over for you,” he greets her, getting on the elevator with her and letting the doors close again.

“Hi,” she manages, distractedly. “I'm sorry. I had a doctor's appointment and, um, I don't know, I guess time just got away from me,” she finishes, looking abashed.

She is not exactly meeting his eyes, he notices, which makes him half concerned, half nervous. “Is anything the matter?”

“Nothing, no,” she tries to appease him immediately. “I just, uh, I went for a walk.”

He tries for a nonchalant murmur and adds non-threateningly, albeit uneasily, “Then what's wrong?”

She sighs, knowing there is no point in hiding this from him. She may have kept the cards close to her chest in the past, but she refuses to keep him out after her remission. “I'm,” she tries on her tongue. “I'm sorry I haven't told you. I don't know why I haven't,” she admits, mostly to herself, before adding “I mean, you were always there for me during my illness but...”

The words don’t come so easily when she needs to say them out loud to someone else, even if that someone is Mulder. She is having a hard time trying to understand why she still feels the need to hide from him after all he has done for her, after all they have been through together.

Anxious about the number of possibilities of what could be wrong with her but trying to neutralize the fear on his appearance as much as possible, he leans into her and, after a beat, he speaks quietly, with the softest of smiles, “Don't make me guess.”

She fixes her gaze on nothing in particular and lets the words out, “I was left unable to conceive with whatever test that they did on me,” she ventures a look at him, frozen by her side, and continues for the hardest of admissions, “and I am not ready to accept that I will never have children.”

I am barren.

The elevator reaches the basement floor and Mulder is still looking at his feet. He’s battling an internal fight with himself as he walks out, knowing that he cannot keep this from her, even if he rationalized why he hadn’t said anything before, even if he made himself believe he wasn’t only acting cowardly but also protecting her from further pain. He knows he needs to say something now. So, he turns back to the elevator and faces her. “Scully, there's, um, there's something I haven't told you either and I hope you… forgive me and understand why I would have kept it from you.”

Of all the ways she expected him to react to her news, this wasn’t it. She is wary, she realizes. “What?”

Now he is the one who needs to stare at nothing to start speaking. “During my investigation into your illness, I found out the reason why you were left barren.” He meets her eyes, then closes his to gather strength to get through with what he knows he should, must tell her. “Your ova were taken from you and stored in a government lab.” His eyes are anchored to hers by the time he finishes, doing his best to offer his apologies and support all at once.

“What?” She asks, but now her tone is one of shock, which is also evidenced by her trembling lips and emotional look in her eyes. The elevator doors begin to close, but she puts her hands up to stop them. “You found them?”

“I,” he falters, “I took them directly to a specialist who would tell me if they were okay.”

She stands there shell-shocked. “I don't believe this,” she manages. She is so disturbed she fails to notice how his voice lowered on that last part, how he couldn’t meet her eyes again.

He tries to defend himself immediately, to make her understand how this was breaking his heart as well. “Scully, you were deathly ill, and I,” he shrugs and looks straight into her eyes as he continues, “I couldn't bear to give you another piece of bad news.”

Her shock seems to deflate a little as his words sink in. “Is that what it was, it was bad news?”

He lightly nods, a pout on his lips as if it was hurting him to admit this as much as it would hurt her to hear it. “Well, the doctor said that… the ova weren't viable.”

Her emotions change again and this time she turns her hurt into determination. She presses the button on the elevator that will take her upstairs – to where, Mulder doesn’t know – and declares, “I want a second opinion.”

Her words sound more like denial than purposefulness to him and he reaches out with both hands to keep the doors from closing, to try and reason with her, to offer comfort or anything he could do to make her not go through this. What could she do right now, they had a meeting in less than an hour, she didn’t know where the ova were, and even if she did, would she just drive around with them in the backseat…? She’s being irrational, he grasps. But as they look at each other and she stares at him with a steely "Well?" imprinted on her face, he knows this is not the time to press her. He needs to respect her decisions and give her time to get through this.

He thinks he can do that. He can talk to Skinner and reschedule the meeting, give her time to cool off. And then he will be there for her if and when she asks for his help – when she needs information, if she needs help to make arrangements to transfer her ova to her doctor’s lab, when she is ready to accept the unfortunate, irreparable truth of her infertility.

So, reluctantly, he lets the doors close.

*************************************************

A month goes by, and she still hasn’t broached the subject of her ova to him again ever since she called him the Saturday following their elevator conversation and he told her about the medical facility where he stored the material. He had tried to talk to her then, but she had just asked for the name of lab and hung up on him with a formal “thank you”. She hadn’t even asked him why he was still storing her eggs if he had been told they were not viable – and he had no answer for her on that other than he had been hoping at some point they would prove science wrong.

He checks in regularly with the Gunmen, but no one has checked the vial out nor requested an additional analysis so far. He had expected her to go there immediately on the Monday following their call, but she had spent the entire day at Quantico slicing and dicing as he called it, and then they had spent the rest of that week still focused on work and ignoring the elephant in the room.

It feels weird to him that she’s been avoiding this matter this long. Even if they had to go out of state for three cases, he would have expected her to try and deal with this head on, but instead she seems… static. In any case, he doesn’t want to push her.

He just keeps paying the fees to store the material in the lab – which he is sure she isn’t even aware of – for as long as she needs him to.

Chapter Text

December 19, 1997
FBI Basement

Mulder is already at his desk when she walks in the office at eight o’clock sharp. “Good morning”, she says calmly as she hangs her coat in the rack.

He looks up and notices her armor is in place. She is impeccable, as usual, a fortitude he’s come to think of something only she can pull off. He still spends his evenings waiting for her call, but it never comes; he spends restless nights thinking of calling her but refrains from reaching out to her every time.

Scully takes a seat in front of his desk, crossing her left leg over her right one. “So, I’m leaving tomorrow evening–”

“I remember”, he interrupts immediately, making it sound suspiciously like he is defending himself.

She looks at him funny through her lashes, and he flounders a little. He just didn’t want her to think he didn’t pay attention to her schedule – as if she had any reason to think so, considering he never ignored any of the medical appointments she had told him of in the months during her cancer.

As if she would believe he hadn’t committed to memory when she was leaving to spend Christmas with her family on the other side of the country.

She tries to hide her smile at his manners, and it feels like a comfort to him, like they have overcome the hard topics of her infertility and his secrecy even if they had done so by ignoring them like any other difficult subjects.

“Do you need a ride to the airport?” he ventures.

“No, that’s okay,” she lets him down gently. “My mother is coming over and then we’ll just take a cab there.”

He feels she is still a little distant and sobers, rasping out an “of course” while gazing gently into her eyes. They haven’t actually gone back to normal, but he understands that she would need more time to rationalize her way through it all. The week she will spend in San Diego will probably be a good thing for them then, even if he’s going to be miserable the whole time she is gone.

“I thought we could just finish up our reports this morning on the last case and then after lunch we have the quarterly meeting with Skinner”, he says with care.

“That seems okay. We could grab some sandwiches for lunch at the Deli over on 12th Street if time is pressing.”

He settles back in his chair and presses his lips together in a tight smile, a little more relaxed than a minute ago. They will eventually go back to normal, he repeats to himself like a mantra. They always do.

*****************************************************************************

December 21, 1997
Alexandria, VA

It’s been two days since he’s last seen her and Mulder already misses her, even though it’s Sunday and they don’t see each other anyway during most weekends, unless they’re working – they seem to be trying to change that ever since her cancer but it’s too soon to tell, he tries to convince himself. So he tries to keep busy, to ignore the worried thoughts that keep barging in his mind. He goes for a run in the morning, then does his laundry and prepares a quick lunch for himself. He spends his afternoon on internet forums looking for any reports of paranormal activities interesting enough to warrant an investigation during next week, but sets aside everything that is interesting enough to investigate with her once she is back to work after the holidays. He’s been struggling with himself for a long time now, trying to understand how is it that he still acts as if he were on a one-man quest while at the same time expecting her to be with him at all times.

That’s one other subject he doesn’t want to confront right now, so he just shuts off his computer, puts on his athletic gear and goes for an evening run.

*****************************************************************************

December 21, 1997
San Diego, CA

She tries to call him on her first evening out in San Diego, when normal is all around her and she’s feeling left out and bothered by the voice that sounded just like Melissa on the phone earlier that day and this eerie sensation is still running through in her spine. But once she hears Mulder’s voice, all panting as if he came running to answer the phone, she changes her mind. She doesn’t want to give in to these strange happenings, she wants to be able to sit through a family meal and be normal. Dana Scully is cancer-free and she got a chance for a do-over. She should feel happy to be here and let sleeping dogs lie.

But once she rejoins the dinner table, the happiness around her feels stifling and her sister-in-law is unknowingly making her feel like she doesn’t belong in this world, and she is reminded of the pain of facing that her eggs could possibly indeed not be viable and that the final nail would then be put in this particular coffin. That’s why she can’t bring herself yet to go to her doctor again.

She feels out of place no matter where she goes. Her mother understands her pain, Dana can feel that in the post-dinner hug her mother gives her after she admits she cannot have children, but she knows Maggie is not capable of grasping what really happened to her daughter with her abduction, or the perils of the work, or what her life has become, even if she at least respects Dana’s choices. And Mulder understands her work, and even well understands its impacts on her personal life, but he’s been mistreated by the world for so long he doesn’t remember what it’s like to have normal in his own life. He’s gone over the line of driven and at times steps into the obsessed side, so it’s not even expected of him to crave normal. To miss normal.

She feels alone and she doesn’t know how to change it. She feels a void in her life that she can’t quite fill, she is missing something, she feels… barren.

She is barren, her brain reminds her.

*****************************************************************************

December 26, 1997
Alexandria, VA

“Mulder,” he answers the phone sleepily and glances at the clock. 4:42am.

“Mulder, it’s me,” says her smooth voice on the line.

He sits up gingerly, a little more alert and, if he’s being honest, content. “Hey, Scully… Merry Christmas.”

He notices it takes a beat longer than he would have expected for her wishes of happy holidays to be voiced, and knows instantly she didn’t call him in the middle of the night just because of the holiday season. So, he just waits for her to speak again.

“I…” she starts and huffs out a breath with a chuckle. “I don’t even know how to tell you this.”

“Start however you feel like you can, Scully,” he assures her delicately.

“I…” she tries again. “There is this girl, a three-year-old, Emily Sim. Her adoptive mother was found dead on Sunday.” Starting at the beginning makes the most sense to her, even if nothing in this story is making a lot of sense to her in any case. “There was a call to my brother’s house phone, and when I picked it up this female voice just told me this little girl needed help, so I asked the San Diego office to trace the call and went to the address. It was an apparent suicide. Over the past few days, I’ve been assisting the local police with the investigation, and we found out the mother was murdered and the adoptive father was a suspect, so he was arrested and then he was also found dead, in his cell, in another staged suicide the day before last.” She takes a breath, hoping that his voice will come and interrupt her, and she’s sorry to find out this is the one time he decided not to jump to any conclusions.

Of all the times for him to shut his mouth up and just listen.

“Go on,” he gently speaks, urging her on.

She could cry only by hearing his supportive voice, but she steels herself. “The girl was taken by Social Services and, during the course of the investigation, I ordered a DNA exam of her.”

This got him intrigued. “Scully?”

He knows she will understand his question just by his tone, speak of what he’s really asking underneath his words, and she doesn’t disappoint. “I noticed that Emily, she, um, she has a striking resemblance to my sister,” she falters a little but finishes quietly, “and the voice on the call I answered on Sunday sounded just like Melissa.”

“She’s Melissa’s daughter?” he finally asks, completely awake and already trying to figure out how he can be of help to Scully.

“No,” she wolfs down what could be a laugh or a sob. “She’s mine.”

The air leaves his lungs completely. He immediately recalls her ova he found in the government lab and puts two and two together. She needs him. “I’ll get the first flight out I can.”

“Mulder, you –”

“I’ll let you know when I’ll be there as soon as I know,” he doesn’t even let her finish, he’s already up and picking up his suitcase and going through his wardrobe to pack.

He thinks he can hear a relieved hush out of her, but she’s not finished. “The social worker called me earlier today. I’ve filed a request for adoption and the judge has agreed to a hearing tomorrow - well, today for you - at five o’clock.”

At this, he stops. He doesn’t even know what to say to that. He feels the ground slipping from under him and he understands she would do this, she needs to do this, he’s sure, he knows she has the right to her own decisions. Still, he doesn’t know what to do or say when faced with this information, with what it can mean to their partnership. To their relationship in general.

She hears his silence and presses on. “I need you to be a character witness for me.”

Suddenly, he doesn’t care what it means to him, to them, if he knows he can do this for her. “I’ll see what I can gather and then I’ll let you know my flight information.”

Now he is sure what he hears is a quiet sob. “Thank you.”

And the line goes dead.

Chapter Text

December 26, 1997
Alexandria, VA

He spent the better part of the morning after her call putting together everything he had learned on her abduction and on her eggs being harvested, as well as any other similar cases, for evidence. He had the Gunmen hack into the California Social Services adoption database to find Emily Sim’s adoption records, but he didn’t explain to them what this girl meant for Scully, nor the impacts that could have on his life as well. He wasn’t even sure himself.

This little girl was born in November, 1994. Scully was abducted in August of that year. Mulder didn’t know how her birth may have happened, but he knew this was no ordinary pregnancy. And when Frohike called back with details on Emily Sim, including her birth mother’s name of record, Anna Fugazzi, he was sure this was no ordinary pregnancy, even if he was holding out for a miraculous scientific explanation, an express IVF proceeding approved by medical authorities he had been unaware of up until then. But he knew what this was even before then. This was Them, the men conspiring with the alien colonization plan. And he knew what Scully would be up against. What he would be up against.

He bought a direct flight to San Diego out of Dulles for 12:30pm. He called Scully on his way to the airport to know where he would be able to meet her, and then called the rental agency to secure a car for him in San Diego. Once he boarded, there was nothing else he could do but mull over what would happen with Scully and this Emily girl.

He needed to be there.

*****************************************************************************

December 26, 1997
San Diego, CA

When he arrived at the San Diego County Children’s Center around 3pm local time, he had been doing his best to prepare himself to meet Scully and the girl. Emily, he had been repeatedly emphasizing in his mind. Scully’s daughter. However, nothing he could have thought, said or done would have better prepared him for the sight of them, of Scully sitting on the ground with Emily, coloring books between the two, a loving gaze in her eyes as she watched over the girl. She was already a mother, and his heart was already breaking because he knew this would never have a happy ending.

When Scully’s eyes met his across the room, he immediately schooled his features into a nonchalant look and walked over to the girls. He was introduced to Emily, he goofed around with her and he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that this could have a positive outcome after all. He needed the wishful thinking. But he couldn’t lie to Scully. He had to alert her of the risks involved in adopting this little girl, of the dangers they would undoubtedly face at the hands of powerful men who would stop at nothing to make sure this miracle child did not grow up to be a threat to their plans. He needed Scully to reach her own conclusions on this. Yet Mulder knew from the start he would never be able to deny her anything.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” he finally gets out, when nothing else is getting through to her. Why did she wait four days to call him?

“Because I couldn’t believe it,” she replies in a daze. “But I need you now to be a witness on my behalf in this hearing.”

“And I should have declined,” he retorts firmly, “if I never want to see you hurt or harmed in any way.”

She feels his pain, the pain she knows can only come from deeper feelings, and feels bad to put him through this with her. At the end of the day, even if she is trying to open her heart and learn to lean on the people in her life, to truly allow herself to love someone, her entire life has been built on shutting herself to others, on fearing the moment they would eventually leave. So, she can only ask dejectedly, “Then why are you here?”

“Because I know something that they’ll use against you to jeopardize your custody of Emily,” he explains to her and she’s fearful at last. He dreads to tell her the rest, but he knows honesty and trust are the foundation for their relationship. “No matter how much you love this little girl, she’s a miracle that was never meant to be, Scully.”

Her eyes water, but before she manages to say anything, he pulls her into his arms. “But I’m here for whatever you need, Scully. I will always be here.”

She looks up at him as he runs both of his hands over her smooth hair.

The social worker’s voice coming from the other side of the room interrupts them. “Ms. Scully?”

“Yes?” she calls, blinking her tears away and feeling Mulder’s hands slip from her head in frustration. They both turn to look at the social worker who had made her way into the room unannounced and also find Emily staring at them with curiosity in her eyes.

“I’ll take Emily now back to her room. Do you want to say goodbye before we leave?” the woman asks, eyeing Mulder by Scully’s side.

“Yes, of course,” she affirms, already making her way back to the little girl. “This is my partner, Fox Mulder,” she introduces him to the older woman.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mulder,” she greets as she shakes his hand. “Will he be filing for joint custody?” she asks in turn to Scully.

Mulder is surprised but not panicked. He’s got a who, me? look on his face that Scully actually finds endearing before she promptly amends, “My partner in the FBI.”

“Oh, I see,” the social worker embarrassedly responds. Her eyes seem as if she is not completely convinced that their relationship is purely platonic, though.

Scully doesn’t care to deal with this at this point. She needs to prioritize Emily right now. “Emily, Mulder and I need to go right now, okay, sweetie?” she uses her sweet, comfort voice and gives the little girl a kiss on the top of her head as she goes down bending her legs. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

“It was very nice to meet you, Emily,” Mulder adds, crouching down by Scully’s side to best reach the girl’s eye level. “I’ll bring you a Mr. Potato Head next time.”

Emily snickers and speaks shyly, “Bye.” She even adds a wave at them both to make her point.

The adults are all pleased, and the social worker takes Emily’s hand in parting. “Good luck with your hearing, Ms. Scully,” she adds over her shoulders on her way out.

Scully just nods and turns to Mulder, uncharacteristically dropping her head on his chest and taking a long, deep breath. He takes advantage of the situation to press his left hand on the back of her head and press her into him, bringing her into a comforting hug with his right arm going around her shoulders. “I can’t promise you we’ll win, Scully, but I can promise you we’ll damn try.”

She looks up at him, the second time in so many minutes in this same room, and smiles tiredly, albeit in gratitude. “Come on, we need to be at the courthouse before five and I haven’t eaten yet.”

They don’t share much conversation as they make their way outside and walk to a nearby café to get something to eat. Mulder keeps trying to come up with topics that don’t have to do with Emily, but eventually he knows this is something they need to properly address.

“Have you thought about living arrangements with Emily when the adoption gets approved?” he starts with the practical questions, even if they’re not easy to go through.

It doesn’t slip her attention that he said “when” and not “if”, but she knows he probably doesn’t share her faith in this. Still, she appreciates that he’s always got her back, even when he doesn’t fully agree with her. “I haven’t thought out all the details yet, but I’m sure I’d eventually bring her to D.C. with me. We can keep my own apartment, work out a pre-school for her and in the meantime I can use the Bureau’s day care at Quantico whenever I’m there, or hire a babysitter. My mom has also offered me to look over her when I’m out of town.”

“You’d keep field assignments?” he sounds hopeful even to his own ears.

“We’d have to work something out, Mulder. I won’t be able to leave at a moment’s notice, but a lot of women manage being moms and travelling on the job.”

“Of course, your life comes first, Scully.”

“It’s not ‘my life’, Mulder,” she even adds the air quotes. “Our work is a part of my life as well. It’s important to me. I just have to include another priority. Kind of like you had to get used to having me around and refrain from ditching me all the time,” she jokes. “Now you only do it every other month,” she makes it sound like a punchline and he can’t help but laugh a little. “Anyway, it’s your life too. We will talk about it when the time comes.”

He doesn’t know how to describe his feelings or appreciation of her right now, so he just moves on. “How is your family dealing with this situation?”

Scully gently places her spoon down onto her soup bowl and faces him. “As good as can be expected, considering up until this morning they didn’t know of any Dana Scully offspring running around.”

He nods in sympathy, “I’m sure they’re glad for the wonders you bring into their lives.”

She scoffs, “Oh, I’m sure.”

“Seriously, though, Scully,” he adds as he reaches for her hand over the table, quickly loosening his fingers around her palm and gently dropping it back on the wooden surface with a caress, afraid of overstepping, “I know this is something important to you. Something no one in your family should feel the need to comment on or not.”

She smiles in derision but accepts his words. “My mother is trying to be supportive. I told her about being unable to conceive after my abduction and, as usual, she is doing her best to respect my wishes, even if she doesn’t agree with my decisions.”

He looks at her through his lashes as he pretends to pay attention to the food in front of him. “And your brother?”

She sighs before continuing, “Bill is… well, he has a hard time wrapping his head around something that doesn’t fit in a box.”

“Sounds like a Scully theme,” he deadpans.

“Ha ha.”

He just grins.

“Seriously though,” she moves on, “I think my brother still thinks he should be allowed to tell me what I should and should not do. I don’t believe anyone really approved of my choices, except for Melissa. And that’s probably because she was the most misunderstood of us all.”

“You don’t need their approval, Scully. You can just relish in the comfort that they love you very much.”

The way he says this… it makes her ache for him that his family most likely didn’t show him the love he needed or deserved, but it also makes her notice there is something he is not telling her about her own family. “How did Bill treat you in D.C.?” she ventures.

“What do you mean?” He tries to be coy.

“Don’t try to fool me.”

He smirks. “Anyone ever tell you you have a knack for investigation, Scully? You should be an FBI agent,” he says in a playful tone, before taking a bite of one of his side fries.

“What did he do?” she reformulates.

“He’s just protective of you, Scully,” he replies in a dismissive tone. “Of his family. Don’t worry about it.”

“What did he say?” she insists.

“Seriously, he only had your best interests at heart,” he assures her.

“He can be controlling and condescending, Mulder. That’s not about me, that’s about him.”

“Controlling or not, he was just looking out for his baby sister, Scully. Her spookily obsessed, albeit brilliant, partner could be considered a threat to her life.”

“You saved my life, Mulder,” she says in a completely humbling tone. “I don’t care if he understands that or not, but I hope you do.”

He smiles, entranced by her, and then reverts to humor. “Hey, Scully, is there any chance we could find a sleeping bag out here in San Diego?”

She huffs out a laugh at his very obvious nod to their recent case in Florida. “I’ll leave that up to you, Mulder. I have a daughter to care for in the meantime.”

He smiles at her again, unfamiliar with the feeling of her flirting back, and focuses on finishing his burger before they have to leave. She smiles back at him while she starts eating her soup again, and mentally congratulates herself for being able to let her armor down, even if for a brief time.

“I’m sorry for whatever Bill did or said to you, Mulder. You don’t deserve it.”

He looks up at her again and nods. “Just so you know, he didn’t really do or say anything bad. He was only a little… acid,” he downplays.

“Well, don’t mind him. His opinion is not important to me.”

His eyes are shining. He is in awe of this strong woman before him. “Will he be at the courthouse?” he redirects the subject.

“Yes,” she says, touching her napkin to her lips. “He’s driving my mother and sister-in-law there. And we should get going if we’re going to make it there in time.”

Once they’re done with their food and she’s paid for their meal as a thank you for his support, they make their way to their own rentals and drive separately to the courthouse for the adoption hearing.

Chapter Text

December 26, 1997
San Diego, CA

The Scullys are already sitting outside the hearing room at the courthouse when Dana and her partner arrive with a few minutes to spare, her head held high with the strength she gathers by having his support, a determined look poised on both of their faces.

Maggie is the first to get up to greet them, a warm tired smile on her lips as she meets the male agent first with a hug. “Hi Fox, I didn’t know you were coming,” she says as she lets go of the hug but keeps both of her hands on his forearms and glances at her daughter. “But then, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Dana would have asked you to come.”

“Hi, Mrs. Scully,” he greets her with his usual timid, earnest smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Scully is not sure if her mother’s words are meant as a romantic tease or if this is her way of jabbing at the fact that she is envious of their close bond. Either way, she feels out of sorts while her mom returns Mulder’s season greetings.

Bill is standing a couple of steps behind the matriarch and walks up to Mulder with his hand stretched out and a bitter look on his face. “Mr. Mulder.”

Mulder just shakes the man’s hand with a tight-lipped smile.

“This is my wife, Tara Scully,” Bill introduces.

Tara is all smiles in acceptance of Mulder as she takes his hand and greets him, which makes him end up letting a genuine smile come to his lips. Then, they all stand there a little awkwardly and Scully is the one to break the silence, commenting they should be called in soon.

As if summoned, a courthouse clerk appears and calls Scully into the hearing room. Her family tails behind her, but Mulder decides to stay outside, taking a seat on one of the antique wooden chairs in the hall and waits for his turn.

He is munching on sunflower seeds when Scully’s relatives come out of the room looking worn-out and apprehensive about forty minutes later. Once Bill alerts him the judge is ready for him, animosity seeping through his pores, the agent stands and makes his way around the family without so much a word and steps inside the room.

Scully needs him.

He formally greets the magistrate and takes a seat across from him, glancing at the papers he had faxed over to the court before he left D.C. and knowing this will be a tense hearing. He’s not mistaken when twenty minutes into his attendance he needs to recount his partner’s abduction, the four weeks she had been missing for, her ova extraction, cancer, and the similar stories of other women in Allentown, Pennsylvania. He tries to sound the least ludicrous possible, doesn’t really speak of the government conspiracies like he normally would and confronts the judge with the fact that there is no legal precedent for this case, that even if there is no logical explanation as to why someone would abduct Scully, collect her eggs, conceive Emily and then put the girl up for adoption, in the end Dana Scully is the biological mother of Emily Sim and no one should have the right to stand in the way of her opportunity to adopt her own child.

All over again, she feels the pain of over a month ago, when he confessed this information to her in an FBI elevator, and is reminded that he had actually found some of those eggs, that he had been told they were not viable and that, even that is true, she can at least try to get a second opinion on those. Her eyes brim with tears as she watches him challenge the judge, but not only due to the ache caused by her entire torment in the past few years. Her heart and mind are also filled with pride in him for standing up for her, always by her side no matter what, like a lion. Her true respectable, imposing partner.

The judge informs them that he will need until the following Monday to decide on her petition and finally they leave, feeling exhausted and anxious at the same time, only taking a moment to pause when they reach the stairs of the courthouse, the sun already down.

“Your family already leave?”

“Yes, it would be too taxing on Tara to stay here. I told them to leave before you started your testimony.”

He fingers the keys to his rental on his right pocket as he nods.

“Come with me to my brother’s. You need food and we have a ton of leftovers.”

How can she make it sound like an invitation and a sentencing at the same time baffles him, and he hesitates. “I need to find a motel –”

“Come.” It’s a request and so much more, all wrapped in one little word.

So he nods once and there is a smile in her eyes as she descends the stairs, with him in tow, to make their way to their cars. He follows her out of the parking lot and into the San Diego traffic, lighter than he would have expected on a Friday, and even though they settle on a low speed to the San Diego Naval Complex, it still only takes them about fifteen minutes to get to the Scully residence. He supposes many people are enjoying their Christmas day-after with their loved ones and not out and about throughout the city.

She is waiting for him by the house’s front door and, once he reaches her, she squeezes his forearm for a second before unlocking the door. Maggie and Tara are happily chatting as they set the dinner table and the older woman’s eyes gleam once she spots her daughter and her partner.

“Oh! I’m so glad to see you’re back”, her sister-in-law greets as she puts the gravy bowl down on the table next to the bottle of red wine. At 42 weeks of pregnancy, that’s the most she can manage to carry. “Do you have any news, Dana?” she asks, seemingly at ease with Mulder’s presence in the middle of her living room.

“No… Monday,” Scully explains the deadline in between a sigh and a polite smile.

“Oh, well, I’m sure the law is on your side,” Tara decides positively, smiling up at Mulder as if he would be the one to back her up on this.

“Well,” Maggie interrupts this line of conversation as she puts her hands on her daughter’s biceps and smiles like a good hostess at their guest, “we’ll set one more place at the dinner table for you, Fox. I’m glad you could join us.”

Both Scully and Mulder express their thank-yous at the same time and Tara is happy to direct the partners to the sofa and bring out some refreshments for them. They sit there idly, not engaging in any deep conversation in order to avoid being put under scrutiny while the women rearrange the seatings. She mentions she will have to reschedule her flight back to D.C. to be here for the adoption court ruling and is marginally surprised to hear that he hasn’t scheduled his return flight home yet, not being sure how long he would be needed in California. They have the weekend to work over those details, so they simply let the conversation die and sip on their iced flavoured water.

Not five minutes later, Bill makes his way down the stairs and halts at the bottom step at the sight of Mulder sitting by his sister’s side. “I didn’t know we would have company,” he says attempting to be tactful.

“I invited him,” Scully says as she puts her glass down on a coaster and sits up, ready for a confrontation, if needed.

Her older brother just nods and pads towards the kitchen with an artificial grin, stating “Not a problem. Excuse me.”

Scully relaxes back onto the couch and Mulder tries not to chuckle, even though he still feels a bit uneasy. He checks his watch and takes a look around the place. “Maybe I should leave. I don’t want to intrude on your time with your family.”

“Mulder, I wouldn’t have asked you over if I didn’t want you to be here,” she reassures him. “The truth is, I…” she sighs. It’s on the tip of her tongue to use the word need, but she settles on “I appreciate your support at this time. I know my family doesn’t really understand why I’ve made the choice to adopt Emily and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t feel comfortable here with them otherwise.”

There. She made it through this admission intact, she thinks. And it earns her a caress as Mulder’s hand reaches for her and holds it between their thighs with a smile and a glance into her eyes, so it makes her believe it pays off in the end to open up a little.

She hears steps behind them and her first instinct is to drop Mulder’s hand, but he is unaffected by their possible audience. He just raises their entwined hands to his lips and kisses the back of her hand, similarly to the way he acted when she was last hospitalized due to her cancer. It calms her. She’s not one for public displays of affection, even if they’re technically not of the romantic kind, but this feels okay right now.

“Dinner is ready,” Maggie announces as she makes her way back to the dining area with a hefty platter of sliced turkey, Bill in tow carrying a large bowl with mashed potatoes on one hand and a side of honey-glazed spiral ham on the other, and Tara at the tail-end of the food parade carrying a basket of bread rolls and a medium plate of salad.

Mulder pulls Scully up by her hand as he stands and finally lets go as he gently pushes her in front of him toward the dining table. She directs them to two adjoining seats on the side closer to the sofa, envisioning that her mother and Tara will take the other side and Bill the head of the table.

“Thank you for having me over,” Mulder says to the room as he holds out the chair for his partner and then takes his seat. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”

Even if dinner is not completely free of tension, with Bill doing his best to appear polite and match Mulder’s upscale New England breeding, it's the first time since Scully arrived in San Diego that she feels good about being here.

For a moment, she feels normal.

Once dinner is finished and praises are voiced all around, Bill makes his way to assist his exhausted wife in going up to their bedroom and Mulder offers to clear out the table while Scully is already on her way to put away the leftovers and then do the dishes.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Maggie offers, politely, for the third time. She’s been standing close to her daughter and watching her and Fox in the kitchen, aware that they would probably be more comfortable alone.

“We’re fine, Mom,” Scully says as she finishes rinsing the last plate and moves on to the remaining dishes, at the same time turning her head to the older woman and giving her a light kiss to the left cheek. “Go rest.”

“I’ll turn in, then,” her mother relents and turns toward Mulder, who at this point is resting his hip against the kitchen counter waiting for instructions. “I will see you tomorrow, Fox…?”

He gives her an uncommitted nod. “Have a good night, Mrs. Scully.”

Finally alone in the room, the pair remains in silence as Scully puts away the last of the dishes under Mulder’s watchful eyes. He can see she is not nervous, but she is not exactly relaxed either.

“Dana?” Bill’s voice floats near the stairway, coming from the above floor. “Can you come up for a minute?”

“I’ll be there,” she calls louder so that her brother can hear her. “Can you wait for me back in the living room?” she directs at her partner.

“I’ll be here,” he replies on his way to the sofa as she ascends the stairs.

About ten minutes later, Scully comes back downstairs, looking like the day is finally catching up with her. She settles on the couch as she explains her brother’s need of her assistance and comments on Tara’s due date and finally, finally, can speak her mind to Mulder.

He diligently waits for her to open up, anticipating that they need to discuss all that is happening head on.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Mulder?” She says quietly, looking resigned and demanding at the same time.

He knows immediately what she’s referring to, this the question she’s been meaning to ask for over a month now. Even so, he still doesn’t think he can explain it all to her. “I never expected this,” he says, at a loss for words. “I thought I was protecting you,” he tries to make her understand.

She was expecting this, so it’s not difficult for her to judge this as the truth. She needs to move on and brainstorm with him then over this nevertheless. “Why would they do this to me?”

“I only know that genetic experiments were being done. That children were being created.”

“Children were being created for who?” She sounds like she’s gently interrogating him.

“For who, for what, I don’t know.”

There is an undercurrent of apprehension in the air, but he trusts that she knows that he would never lie to her about this, that he would never hurt her on purpose. He tries to convey all that is in his heart with just one look, and she is doing her best to piece together the facts of the tragedies in her life. And then this time it’s the sound of the phone ringing that interrupts them. Time seems of the essence once they understand that Emily could be in danger in the County Children’s Center and they leave immediately to make sure she’s okay.

She’s not okay.

Chapter Text

December 26, 1997
San Diego, CA

It’s close to 10pm when Scully and Mulder reach the San Diego Children’s Center and find Emily burning up with fever. The Center supervisor hurries to call 911 and Scully reaches out to relieve the little girl of her bed covers, but Mulder doesn’t hesitate for a second before picking her up in his arms to follow Scully out of the room. There’s no doubt in his mind they are partners in this, like in everything else.

The cist they find on the back of Emily’s neck is enough to turn Scully into doctor-mode and she decides they will drive the girl themselves to the hospital, rather than wait even five minutes for the ambulance. Mulder keeps Emily on his arms all the way to his car, where he gently deposits her on the back seat and waits for Scully to slide in by her side before closing the door and getting in the car to drive them as fast as he can to the nearest hospital.

In there, Scully reverts back to mother-mode, unable of being practical when it comes to her own recently discovered flesh and blood while Mulder is by her side. Once again, it falls on him to be the level-headed one, to call the social worker to try and locate doctor who is treating the child’s disease, to be there by Scully’s side when she needs him to. They’re so in sync on this that the attending physician asks them both if they are Emily’s parents, and they glance at each other then, at a loss of what to say. She might be the girl’s biological mother, but in the eyes of the law there is a whole discussion on the matter, one they don’t even know how to start to explain at this point. Mulder feels even less inclined to address what Emily’s existence might mean to the two of them – professional partners who are the most important people in each other’s personal lives –, so he just looks down and slightly moves away, deferring to Scully to lead this as she best sees fit.

She looks conflicted when she decides how to address the Doctor’s question. “I’m her mother.”

Okay, then, Mulder accepts. He goes back to his post as the faithful, supporting child’s mother’s partner and keeps watch over Emily, who is getting examined by another physician while Dr. Vinet discusses the girl’s medical prognosis with Scully.

*****************************************************************************

In the end, it doesn’t really matter if Scully would be able or not to adopt her own child, care for her and protect her. It doesn’t matter that Mulder went to Dr. Calderon first thing in the morning and assaulted Emily’s doctor of record on a quest to get answers about her treatment, going above and beyond any rational effort to save the life of his partner’s three-year-old daughter. It doesn’t matter that Scully and the ER doctors currently in charge of the child’s medical treatment did everything in their power to get her better throughout the day. It doesn’t matter that, by evening time, Mulder found Anna Fugazzi, Emily’s mother of record, in a nursing home turned into a twisted form of maternity ward of the elderly, alongside fetuses in jars that had most likely come from abducted women, including Scully, and vials of a possible treatment for the girl. It doesn’t even matter at this point how Emily was created, if she’s infected with some sort of virus or if she’s a type of human-alien hybrid. Emily has a neoplastic mass around her central nervous system, growing rapidly inside her, spreading through her limbs and essentially shutting her body down.

When Mulder comes back into the hospital in the middle of the night and finds Scully once again, her biological child has been put into a coma. She is certain Emily was not brought into the world with the purpose of being loved, just like he had assured her when he arrived in San Diego, and she’s thus adamant the girl should not suffer any longer. So Mulder refrains from telling her about the possible treatment, which would assuredly improve the little girl’s condition and keep her stable, but at a cost so high to her none of the agents are willing to make her pay. He simply resigns himself to the only possible outcome, to the fate Scully has already accepted, even if her heart is shattered.

He wants to stay by Dana’s side, to give her all of his strength, to support her in this ultimate trial, but this is something she wants to do alone and she tells him so. There is only so much she can put him through and she’s not really ready to let him see her in shambles. Respecting her wishes, he leaves her be, but remains in the hallway outside, waiting for the time when she’s ready to face him and accept his caring for her.

By morning time, Emily Sim finally gets to rest for eternity, and Scully is there by her side.

*****************************************************************************

December 28, 1997
San Diego, CA

It’s a painful process, to watch this child – a daughter she didn’t even know she had – get unplugged from a number of medical machinery and taken away on a gurney. Scully is tired from the sleepless nights, hurting with the justice of it all and overall jaded by life.

She steps out of the ICU room at 6:35am and is overwhelmed with the sight of Mulder, sitting in one of the uncomfortable waiting chairs in the hallway, head tilted upwards against the wall, eyes closed and a handful of sunflowers seeds in his left hand. She is in awe of this man.

“Have you been here all night?” she whispers as she kindly touches his shoulder and he startles a little.

He straightens himself in his seat and stifles a yawn. “I wanted to give you the privacy you asked for, but I didn’t want you to be alone here when...” He doesn’t need to finish. “Is she…?”

Scully muffles the sounds of a cry, but her eyes are breaming with tears as she nods, and he gets up immediately and engulfs her in a comforting hug. “This is just too much, Mulder,” she says in a strangled sob, moving her head on his chest and moving her arms around his waist to rest her hands on his back.

He can feel his eyes burning with tears himself, but it seems to him as if his spirit is floating out of his body, as if all of his energy has been transferred to her and he just crushes her closer to him. “You’re the strongest person I know, Scully,” he murmurs into her hair. “You’ll get through this. And I’m here if you need me,” he finishes and kisses her hair.

She squeezes his back with her hands and arms and looks up at him. “Thank you for staying.”

He kisses her forehead. “I’ll always be here.”

She breathes into his chest, basking in the comfort of his embrace, and slowly untangles herself from his arms after a few moments in silence. “I need to tell my family. My mother…”

“I’ll drive you back to your brother’s, come on.”

He starts gently steering her towards the exit but she stops, turning around. “No, I need to wait for the death certificate. I want to organize a funeral for her, and –”

“Hey, Scully,” he interrupts softly, putting one of his hands on her cheek and the other on her shoulder. “Why don’t you let me deal with the administrative proceedings and just rest for a while? You can reschedule your flight once you’re feeling a bit more refreshed, maybe talk to Skinner to get a couple more days off…”

“I don’t want to stay out here.”

“Then you can take those extra days off back in D.C., but I think maybe you should be off work at least until New Year’s,” he soothes her.

He takes her silence as agreement and starts steering her again to get her out of the hospital and into his car. “Come on. I’ll talk to the social worker, I’ll get the certificate and make the funeral arrangements. I also want to check of the police detective in the hospital –“

“Detective Kresge?” She startles and halts.

He tells her about what happened to the detective in the nursing home, managing to get her to walk again with him until they reach his rental car. He lets her rest in the passenger seat as he drives back to the Naval Complex, this time taking over half an hour to get there. He accompanies her through the door and her mother is the only one there, immediately coming to her side the moment she walks in. Dana tells her about Emily’s demise and the older woman is very sympathetic, embracing her and comforting her to the best of her abilities, as Mulder stands back in a corner. Scully asks about her brother and sister-in-law and learns that Tara’s water broke overnight.

One life ends and another begins, Scully thinks to herself, uncomfortable.

She informs them she will rest her eyes for a while and tells her partner he’s welcome to stay here and use the phone and her computer if he needs to – he doesn’t want her to worry about any of it, but she just wants to make sure she appreciates his help once again. Maggie realizes her daughter relies more on her partner with this than in her own mother and excuses herself, announcing she will busy herself in the kitchen while she waits for Bill’s call to inform her of the birth of her grandchild.

Scully sighs with fresh tears in her eyes, avoiding Mulder’s look, and makes her way up the stairs.

He busies himself for over an hour with calls to the social worker, to the hospital where Detective Kresge has been admitted to, to the morgue to get information of Emily’s death certificate and to arrange for the transfer of her small body to the funeral home and finally to the local church Maggie informed him to be the preferred choice of the Scully family for attendance. When she questions him on his well-being and he lets slip to her that he hasn’t even gotten a hotel room in the city for him, the matriarch offers him the main bathroom to take a shower and assures him he should at least take a nap on the couch before her daughter awakens. He reluctantly agrees.

It's a quarter past noon when Scully makes her way down to the living room again and sees Mulder sleeping on the sofa. She’s showered and changed into more comfortable clothes, and notices he did too. She looks around the room and finds a note from her mother on the side table informing them of Matthew’s birth, that she’s gone to the hospital to visit and that she should be back around lunchtime.

Dana only sighs.

Mulder stirs on the couch and opens his eyes tiredly. “Hey,” he says in a sleepy voice.

She turns to him and makes her way to the couch, sitting on the spot he vacates after moving into a sitting position and sporting a tender look on her face. “Hey. Did you manage to get some sleep?”

“I should ask you the same question.”

She looks down to her hands on her lap. “I tossed and turned a little, but I managed to rest a bit.”

“Good… I kinda crashed,” he admits abashedly and she smiles, closing her eyes. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” she acknowledges. “Are you hungy? I can put something together for the both of us.”

He stretches himself with a yawn. “Sounds good.”

She pats his right leg by her side and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

As she makes her way to the kitchen, he stands to follow her and calls out, “I…” then, when he reaches the kitchen doorway he resumes in a lower voice, “I scheduled the funeral for later at five. They’ll, um, prep her and it was the only time available today at the church.”

She’s a little taken aback. “You secured a church?”

“Yeah, well, I thought you would prefer it,” He’s suddenly not sure of himself. “St. Anne’s…” he adds. “Your mother said that was your family’s pick, so I asked for the chapel there.”

To say that she’s amazed by him would be an understatement. “It is, yes.” She looks down, pleased but seemingly uneasy with her own feelings. “Thank you,” she lets out without meeting his eyes at first.

He feels better by her gratitude. “Hey, don’t mention it.”

There’s a silence that stretches between them then as she goes about the kitchen heating up the food and preparing a couple of turkey sandwiches for them. It’s not uncomfortable, so they let it continue as they make their way to the dining room, Mulder carrying a jug of iced tea her mother probably left for them and a pair of tall glasses, and then they start eating.

After finishing their meal with little conversation between them and cleaning up, they discuss Mulder’s flight arrangements – he decides to take the red-eye later that same day – and Scully prefers to go with him than to stay in San Diego, crowded by her family. And then he’s out the door, to get the hardcopy of Emily’s death certificate and then check on Detective Kresge before going to the funeral, a kiss to her temple being all that he leaves behind.

*****************************************************************************

The service is small and unembellished, but heartfelt. Scully is the first to arrive with her mother, a few other people – families from Emily’s preschool and the social worker in charge of her care – arriving all punctually before five o’clock. She briefly sees Mulder by the chapel’s doors, but he refrains from approaching her, probably to afford her some privacy in her time of grievance. Her brother and Tara are also there, baby Matthew fresh out of the hospital and sleeping for most of the service. She gets to touch the baby for the first time once the service is over, in his mother’s protective arms, and smiles in congratulations to the new parents. It felt bittersweet at first, to see her brother’s son at her own daughter’s funeral, but her kind heart makes it easier for her to be happier for their addition than sad for the chance she missed.

Finally, when everyone has left, Mulder makes his way inside, a bouquet of white flowers in his hand, one he gently lays over on the coffin in honor of Emily Sim. Scully questions who would create a life whose only hope was to die, and even though he doesn’t have the answer for that, he points out that the fact that she found the little girl and had a chance to love her was maybe also meant to be. She’s comforted by that, even if all evidence linking the men who did this to her and to possibly other children has vanished, even when she sees that all that's in the coffin is sand and the cross necklace she had given to Emily. She shuts her eyes in acceptance.

At least her baby is free of pain.

Chapter Text

January 3, 1998
Lorton, VA

Scully spots them outside the main building before she even parks her car. Their boss called her a little before 7am this morning, formally apologizing for asking her to cut her personal leave short but informing her that he needed her at her earliest convenience at Lorton Penitentiary to assist on a case involving an escaped prisoner. He didn’t need to mention who it was.

Robert Modell.

She readied herself, straightening her hair, applying her designated work makeup, putting on one of her newer pantsuits, dark blue-gray colored, slipped into her favorite pumps and came straight to the penitentiary without even having breakfast. She made it here one hour and four minutes after getting the call.

Before even arriving, she was already queasy about what this case would mean to them, to her partner especially – Modell had been caught in the middle of a Russian-roulette match with Mulder after all. Now, as she walks the parking lot pavement in the direction of where A.D. Skinner is standing with him, it feels like her stomach is jumping up and down on a trampoline. She is genuinely afraid she is going to lose him, and she knows he will be able to see it the second he looks into her eyes.

After Emily’s service had been over, Mulder had driven her to her brother’s house, where they had gushed over baby Matthew and made polite conversation with her family until Tara had been practically falling asleep on the sofa and it had been time for them to go the airport. Her family had mostly been successful to cover their disappointment with her not staying for New Year’s, except for Bill, but even Mulder couldn’t have faulted the guy. He had been exceptionally cordial throughout the evening, had even managed to act something that could have been construed as nice, so it had been fair to let the evidence of a little of his discontent slide.

Their flight back to D.C. had been uneventful, both partners too mentally and physically exhausted to stay awake, so they had just slipped into the land of sleep after takeoff, Scully almost immediately, Mulder some minutes following. He had offered her a ride once they had reached Dulles, but she had politely declined, with the excuse that the extra time he would need to drop her off would make him late for work. She had at least allowed Mulder to escort her to the taxi stop and reminded him as they strolled that she would be on personal leave for the whole week, and he had joked that it would be good for her to spend some time away from him. They had both stood awkwardly before the cab once the time had come to part, no idea how to act once they had been back in their home territory, and Mulder had simply squeezed her shoulder with one of his hands, with a “take care” and a tired smile, before helping her into the car that would take her safely home.

This time more than others, Scully had felt her stomach somewhat flutter as the driver put more distance between her and her partner. It had felt like things between them might be changing, but she hadn’t been able to be honest with herself about that meant.

Unbeknown to her, standing on the sidewalk watching her leave, he had been feeling exactly the same way.

He had called her twice – the first time, that same Monday morning, just to check if she had made it home okay, and the second on New Year’s Eve, babbling about an interesting case he found and smoothy turning that conversation somehow into What are you doing for New Year’s? She had told him she had nothing special planned, that she would just stay home, maybe read a book, watch the ball drop and more importantly relax, and when she had questioned him back, he had admitted that he didn’t have any particular plans either. It had felt like he might have suggested to come over to her place, or for her to come over to his place, for them to relax and watch the ball drop and do all of that “nothing special” together if she had given him any sort of opening.

And so, she hadn’t.

It’s hard for her to admit that she might have been avoiding him ever since they got back to Washington, even harder to admit why she might have been doing it. She still hasn’t allowed herself to think too much about how Mulder’s role in her life might be changing, or at least about how she’s not exactly peeved by his invasion of her space at times, or by all of his playful flirting – at least she thinks it's playful, refuses to let herself believe he would so forwardly hit on his partner like that. Anyway, she has become accustomed to their banter, to his testing the limits of their professional relationship; in fact, she has welcomed the fact that they have truly become good friends, the best of friends. They have a very special, unique relationship, and she’s just fearful that she’s confusing his signals, that her vulnerabilities caused by learning about her infertility and then finding out she had a child only for her to die a few days later are messing with her heart’s compass. She needs time and distance to put all the evidence together, analyze the contexts, dissect all of it to bits and pieces and then reach a conclusion. She’s not a romantic, she’s a woman of science.

She’s also drawing closer to her boss and her partner now, and she cannot let these thoughts take over her. She needs to be professional. Scully steels herself to meet them just as they notice her presence. Mulder’s eyes meet hers, and rather than anything else she might have been thinking, she sees he’s already slipped into obsessive-mode.

She really needs coffee.

*****************************************************************************

The case has not been going exactly as she expected when she first arrived in Virginia. When they were called to a crime scene where the body of Mr. Nathan Bowman, the prosecutor who had tried Modell in 1996 was found covered (and filled) with cerulean blue paint, in a house with fox hunt painted in Japanese everywhere, Mulder was the one to notice that the victim was married, which led them to find a commercial property in Falls Church and in turn resulted not only in them encountering Mrs. Bowman but also in Mulder actually finding Robert Modell – before the pusher convinced the agent to let him go. Her partner’s tenacity had been anticipated by her, of course, but she was puzzled by his reasoning that, even though Modell is somehow related to this case, the convicted man is not the author of Mr. Bowman’s murder. Scully feels at a loss, can’t follow his brilliant mind and leaps of logic, and frankly is concerned that he might be going under this time, that Modell got to him. It scares her that he might end up jeopardizing this whole case because of faulty convictions – the last time she saw him act like this, he broke John Lee Roche out of prison, and it almost cost a little girl’s life.

By the end of the day, they don’t have any clues, are at odds over what to make of the evidence they have so far and the only thing they seem to agree on is to talk to Mrs. Bowman again once she’s settled at the safe house. Skinner reasons that it’s best for them all to go home and rest so they can start with fresh eyes on the following day.

She tries to talk to him once they’re alone. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just want to find who did this, Scully,” he replies tiredly.

“We know who did this, Mulder,” she tells him. “It was Modell.”

“I’m telling you, Scully, something feels weird about it.” He’s agitated now. “It’s not him, I just have to figure out who is behind this and why.”

“Why are you so adamant that he’s not the one behind this?”

“Look, I can’t explain it, I just know it doesn’t make sense,” he insists, frustrated with this case, with her. He runs his hands over his face.

“Mulder,” se tries in an intimate tone, taking one of his hands in her. “I’m worried about you. For you,” she amends, trying to get through to him. “I’m concerned Modell is playing you here, that he –”

“Is controlling my mind?” he finishes for her, sardonically.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. She just wants to protect him.

He’s upset that she doesn’t believe in him and sharply takes his hand out of her grasp. “You don’t have to worry about me, Scully,” he bites out. “I’m fine,” he adds pointedly and walks out of the building.

Scully is used to them disagreeing when it comes to discussing theories, but it’s different on cases like this, when Mulder feels taunted and defensive. He becomes single-minded, and it brings out a certain self-assuredness in him, a posture of cavalier disregard for her opinions and even belligerence at times.

As she makes her way home, she is terrified that his obstinacy, which is what made her admire him so much in the first place, is what is making him keep his distance from her now.

They all reconvene in Annandale, VA, on Saturday morning – law enforcement work knows not the difference between business days and weekends – and interview Linda Bowman at the safehouse. Scully had been hoping Mulder would have changed his mind about Modell’s lack of participation in the crime, but he is stuck on this idea, and in fact points the finger at Mr. Bowman’s wife as the culprit. He is making no sense to her, and even though he is the best agent she’s even seen in action, he’s not immune to being wrong, which is why she ends up siding with Skinner when their boss decides to suspend Mulder from the investigation. She can see it in his unbelieving eyes the second he stares into hers that she hurt him. No matter what she’s thought of his theories in the past, she has always sided with him, and now he feels betrayed by her, it’s plain as day. He storms out of the safehouse, yelling that he will prove he’s right, and that scares her, because she knows he will not drop this investigation, knows that he has a tendency of going rogue when he feels dismissed, and going rogue when it comes to Modell might very well cost him his life. That’s a risk she’s not willing to take.

She still has a chance to help him if she does her job and finds Modell, so she decides to focus all of her energy on the case, following Skinner’s instructions to go to the Chain Bridge Mall, where a questionable suicide has taken place. As she is there investigating, she gets a phone call from her partner, informing her Modell’s therapist at the penitentiary, who he is sure would have verified that Linda Bowman had visited the man in prison, electrocuted herself while on the phone. He is now more certain than ever that Mrs. Bowman is responsible for the murders in this case, and he wants Scully to at least trace the call and cut off any access the woman has to a phone. She knows she needs to go back to the safehouse even if she still doesn’t believe in his conjectures, because Mulder might be wrong about Linda, but at the very least she is a sitting duck for Modell right now. So, she orders the entire team back to Annandale after disconnecting their phone call without any attempts to make up for not defending him to their boss. She can make amends once Modell is caught.

And he is caught, after somehow making his way into Linda’s room at the safehouse and getting shot by Skinner, who was pushed into believing the other man had a gun. Scully is there when Modell is being wheeled out of the room on a stretcher, and suddenly Mulder is also there, telling her the pusher made Skinner shot him to protect someone, to protect Linda Bowman. She is tired of his insistence that the wife of the murdered prosecutor is behind the crimes they’re looking into, so she defies him with sarcasm, wanting to be just as haughty as she knows he can be.

He has had enough of her doubt, and just wants to prove what he knows to be true, that Linda Bowman is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, that she is another pusher. She tries to stop him, because when all is said and done, she is still concerned about him, and she doesn’t want to push him further away. She cannot fail him.

“You do me a favor, Scully,” he says exasperated as he makes his way out the door, “you give me a call when you think I’ve come to my senses.”

And it’s in that moment, when she knows he doesn’t understand she’s on his side, that she sees she’s already failed him.

Chapter Text

January 4, 1998
Annandale, VA

He is infuriated as he drives away to the Annandale Community Medical Center where Modell is being treated. Mulder knows that ninety-nine percent of the time Scully’s skepticism and need to provide scientific explanations for everything actually makes their job better, that her existence in the X-Files is fundamental for the validity of their work, and more than that he likes her, likes working with her and being in her company. She has always heard him, always backed him up before the FBI, the local police – heck, the world – even when she hasn’t agreed with him. She has always allowed him the freedom to explore one line of investigation while she worked on a different angle. But, this time, she is wrong. This time, she is treating him like a crazed man (well, like he’s a clinically crazed man, which he most definitely is not), and that feels like backstabbing, because he would never have expected her to work against him.

For the better part of the drive he keeps on hating her. He remembers her face this morning back at the safehouse, when she told him apologetically that he was wrong about Linda Bowman and agreed with Skinner that he should be removed, even if temporarily, from the case. He remembers how he roamed aimlessly for a while, angry with her betrayal, until he thought of going to the penitentiary and talking to the staff there to see if he could gather any evidence of Mrs. Bowman ever visiting Modell. He remembers her voice over the phone when he called her by the end of the afternoon, how she was cautious at first and how by the end of the call he knew she was going to do as he had asked and cut Linda’s access to the phone. Realistically, he knows Scully is not working against him, otherwise she would have ignored his request, but still. He at last remembers her face when he left the safehouse half an hour ago, how distraught she seemed when he cynically spat at her to call him once she believes him. He understands her concerns that Modell might be influencing him are not unfounded, and if he’s being honest with himself it does feel in character for her to doubt his speculations that the man is not the killer in this case. It should not surprise him, in fact. She’s being Scully, and he’s being Mulder and it’s this abhorrent case that is getting in the way of them being them.

Nevertheless, it still causes him to feel pain inside him that she doubts him. That’s right, Mr. Physchologist, he tells himself, you are not irate, you are frustrated and hurt. If he were merely angry, a straightforward “you were right, Mulder” after he saves the day and arrests Linda Bowman would be sufficient. But no, he wanted her to believe in him there more than she believes in science, in rational thought, in whatever she believes. He wanted her to trust him more than her knowledge, her instincts. He wants her unconditional loyalty.

Mulder reaches the medical facility and learns that Modell is in surgery, which should take at least another two hours, so he settles himself in one of the chairs in the emergency room and waits. Maybe he can use the time to have a quick chat with himself about why he demands so much of his FBI partner, so much so that he cannot even allow her to have her own professional convictions.

Yeah, like that’s going to happen right now.

Once Modell is transferred to his room in the ICU in the middle of the night, Mulder keeps watch of the serial killer even if there is already a U.S. Marshall out in the hallway. He refuses to leave the room for even a second, until a nurse comes in close to dawn and tells him that she needs to change the patient’s dressing, and then he has to go. He is away for no more than ten minutes when he notices a commotion at the nurses’ station and follows one to Modell’s room – he notices on the way in that the Marshall that was stationed nearby is also nowhere to be found, and he knows immediately what is going on. Once he steps into the room, his suspicions are confirmed. Robert Modell is no longer alive.

Looking around the room, the agent finds a piece of paper with the word nurse written on it on the bedside table, the address of the commercial property where they first stumbled upon Linda Bowman on the back, and realizes he has been tricked by the woman into leaving so she could kill Modell. He doesn’t even feel humiliated that she fooled him, nor does he feel vindicated that he had been right all along. He knows he needs to go to her, even if Modell warned him not to play the game, and he also knows he doesn’t have the time to call his boss or his partner and convince them that he is right; cannot take the chance that they will try to stop him again. Even so, he wants to extend an olive branch of sorts to Scully, so he texts her where he’s going to confront Linda Bowman and to be there if she wants to join him. After doing his part, he just gets out of the hospital and into his car to make his way to Falls Church, absolutely hell-bent on finding Linda Bowman and taking her down.

He barely walks inside and he immediately hears his partner’s voice, strained, calling to him. A shiver runs up his spine, and suddenly he’s running, desperate to find her, to protect her from the female pusher. He rounds a corner and sees Scully, standing some steps away, looking conflicted. His heart barely has the time to calm down before it’s speeding up again, this time at the sight of her raising a gun at him. He’s confused, worried and terrified, all at once. He wants to help her, but she tells him she is under Bowman’s influence, turns her gun to her own temple, begs Mulder with tears in her eyes to make Linda stop.

She also looks confused, worried and terrified, all at once.

Nothing goes through Mulder’s mind other than running forward to save her, and he does sprint to her, but he’s too late; he hears the gun going off at the same time he sees Scully falling to the floor. He only knows that he’s still alive because his legs are still carrying him forward, but he can no longer hear anything, can’t feel anything other than numbness in his body. It’s as if his blood was no longer running through his veins and arteries; he is not even sure if he is still breathing. He falls to his knees next to his partner’s body – it feels like he is still falling even after his body reaches the ground – and he mechanically, desperately, checks for a pulse that just isn’t there.

He is bawling inside, but no tears come out of his eyes, no sounds come out of his mouth. His body is failing him, the life rushed out of him. He is absolutely devastated. Broken.

She is dead.

Unexpectedly, noises start making their way back into his ears again and he can hear footsteps coming from behind him. Linda Bowman, the woman responsible for ending Dana’s life, is walking towards him, gun drawn in her hand, and he sees red. There is no way he’s letting her get out of here alive. “I'm gonna kill you!” he screams after picking up Scully’s gun lying on the ground.

The blonde woman is trying to reason with him, calmly trying to assure him that she is actually his partner, that she is Scully, that Linda is pushing him into believing she is dead when in fact she is right here, and he’s too overwhelmed to assimilate what she’s saying, all he can see is Linda Bowman in front of him and the body of Dana Scully, his Scully, lying in a pool of blood behind him. He is blinded by fury.

“You killed her!” he cries, dangerously close to executing her in cold blood, because what does it matter if he kills her, she’s a criminal who doesn’t deserve his compassion, she’s a criminal who murdered Scully, and in murdering Scully she also ended his life.

Linda keeps saying that she is Scully, that she is not dead, that the other woman wants him to shoot this Bowman-I-am-Scully person in front of him because the Bowman-I-look-like-Scully lying on the floor knows he will never forgive himself, and it’s just too much all at once and –

“Shut up!” he shouts.

But Mrs. Bowman carries on in a loud yet restrained tone trying to convince Mulder that she is the Scully he knows, and she recites a few of his personal information out loud as if they–

“Shut up!” he shouts again, louder.

“Listen to me!” she does a pretty good job of trying to out-shout him.

“Shut up!” he is desperately louder.

His head is spinning, and he just needs a few moments of quiet to gather himself, to organize his thoughts, his feelings, his –

Bowman’s gun is fired at something behind him and the popping sound suddenly puts an end to all the madness inside him. Air rushes back in and he holds his gun up in surrender as he turns back to look down at the body on the floor, and he feels in a daze, he can’t really trust his eyes because it doesn’t make any sense, it just can’t be, and he turns back toward the shooter and yes, it’s Scully before him, it was Scully who fired the shot, it is Scully who is alive and Linda Bowman who is on the floor.

“Mulder...?” his partner’s voice is trembling, and she lowers her gun and walks up to him, caressing his arm before kneeling over the female pusher and checking to see that she’s still alive.

Adrenaline is still running high in both agents’ bodies but Scully steels herself, because she needs to be strong here, needs to be in charge as she calls an ambulance for Linda Bowman. All Mulder can think is that this has been his worst nightmare, that he hasn’t felt so powerless ever since Samantha was taken, maybe he hadn’t even been this powerless in 1973 because he was a kid then and he is a man now and this was an absolute intolerable experience and –

“I’m okay, Mulder,” he hears her sweet, smooth voice trying to assuage his terror, feels her left hand gently touching his cheek.

He looks into her eyes, hypnotized, and for a moment he is finally at peace. She is not dead, she is really here.

And then he breaks down, sobs uncontrollably, all emotions and sensations rushing out of his body all at once. He is horrified at the realization of what he almost did. He almost murdered her, his partner, his advocate and protector, his most important person, his… everything. He chokes on air, because he almost killed Dana Scully, almost lost her intellect, her scientific brilliance, her tenacity, her sense of humor, her rare laughter, her tenderness, her beauty, her deep cornflower blue eyes, her delicate roman nose, her perfect full lips… He claws at her back to get her into his arms, needing to feel her, to assure himself that she is still with him.

Her heart is breaking, tears streaming silently down her cheeks as she lets him hold her, as she buries her face into his chest, as she holds him back because she needs him too, she understands his panic and knows that she would feel the same way had their places been reversed. She doesn’t know what else to do to get him to calm down, so she just keeps repeating softly into his ears, “I’m okay, I’m here,” until she can hear sirens approaching and they need to be professional again.

They collect themselves before the paramedics rush in, and then they part ways with no further words about what happened to busy themselves with building a case against Bowman – Scully follows the ambulance out in her car to conduct medical exams on the blonde woman, calling Skinner to update her boss on the abridged version of events, while Mulder stays behind at the crime scene to oversee the evidence. Throughout the day, they learn Linda also has an advanced tumor in her temporal lobe, which leads Scully to order a PCR test on her blood and discover that she is genetically related to Modell. Mulder, having been officially reinstated as co-Special Agent in Charge of the case, goes over both pushers’ birth records and finds out they are fraternal twins. They are satisfied with their findings, but Mulder still wants to see Linda Bowman one more time today – hoping that it will maybe help him better comprehend his feelings on what happened this morning–, and Scully waits for him at the hospital. She is by his side when he stares at the killer’s sleeping body through the window of her ICU room, and the female agent relays in a soft voice that Bowman is on sedatives and will remain on watch until she is transferred to the women’s block at Lorton Penitentiary to await trial.

“She got me, Scully,” Mulder admits with his head hanging, emotionally drained.

“No, she didn’t,” she replies firmly. “You didn’t shoot me,” she searches for his eyes, and he allows himself to come face to face with her. “In the end, she didn’t prevail,” she concludes.

He nods with a derisive smile. The case is over for the time being.

They make their way to the parking lot quietly, and Scully can see that her partner is still mulling over his encounter with Bowman this morning; his self-criticism knows no limits. She thinks back to San Diego, to when he dropped everything and came without argument to help with Emily, to stand by her when she needed, to share the burden of the discovery of her child and of her subsequent loss. She remembers how supportive he was then, how supportive he always is whenever she allows herself to be minimally vulnerable with him. She recalls the promise she made to herself after her remission to live better; to better balance her mind and feelings, to accept the possibility of emotional attachments.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Scully”, she hears him say as he starts getting in his car.

“Do you want to come over?” it’s out of her mouth before she can censure herself. What better way to invest in her personal growth than by being accessible to her partner who has always been emotionally open to her, she thinks.

Mulder stops, one foot in the car and the other supporting his weight out on the pavement, marginally stunned. Scully is not one to invite him to her home. Whenever he’s been to her place it was always because they had to discuss a case, or because he had weaved his way there, or because a human mutant was pretending to be him and trying to beguile her into having sex – whoa, don’t even go there. Oh well. She didn’t give him any indication as to why she was asking him over, that’s what he means. He schools his features into casualness and asks in his most unassuming voice, “Do you want to go over the case for the briefing with Skinner tomorrow?”

“Not really. I mean, we can, but, um…” she falters, because she knows it’s her own fault that he wouldn’t expect her to simply want to hang out, to be there for him. She seems to be fighting her own reservations as she explains, “I just thought we could, I don’t know… socialize.”

He is definitely baffled, but in a good way, he supposes. Socialize? They don’t do this. Over four years, there have been few occasions in which she permitted them to cross the lines of her professional boundaries. Now here she is, offering to socialize, no pretense. “Socialize?” he repeats, his lips curved upwards in awe.

She is terribly uncomfortable, wanting to recant her invitation, so afraid of what he may think of her, of what it may look like to him. She’s out of her element, but the one comforting sensation she feels in her body is determination. She can power through with it. “Isn’t that what friends do?” she says, feeling a little more confident. “I mean, you’ve been there for me this past week with everything that happened in San Diego, and today was a hard day–”

“Whatever could you possibly mean, I feel oh-so fabulous,” he smirks sarcastically.

She looks down, trying to hide her grin. Despite this hellish case, here he is, bantering with her. “Yes, so,” she continues, looking up at him again more confidently. “Socialize.”

He realizes that that’s the only time they do socialize, in the aftermath of traumatic experiences, usually for her; that’s the only time she manages to let her guard down, when she’s so distressed that she fails to hide from him. Only in this case he’s the one on the receiving end of trauma, and maybe this is her way of giving something back to him, out of duty perhaps. “You feeling sorry for me, Scully?” he asks lightly, making it sound like he’s pulling her leg and not actually terrified that the possibility is actually true.

She sees right through him, his fears so clear to her in the small way the air catches in his throat as he pretends he is stronger than he is right now. “I merely think that, after everything, we could both benefit from spending some time together rather than being alone,” she admits.

Maybe they didn’t do this, he tries to reason with himself. As in, before. Before her cancer, before Emily, before Linda Bowman. Past tense. Maybe they are the kind of partners who do this now, he wants to believe. At least she seems like she’s trying to be, if her invitation is any indication. He is reminded of her coming to his room in Leon County, Florida, with a bottle of white wine and a plate of cheese after they had failed to make it to the FBI team building seminar, when he had been too caught up in his excitement to investigate possible mothmen to notice her efforts to spend time with him. Maybe this is the new and improved version of their relationship.

Well, he’s not letting this opportunity pass him by this time around. He smiles tenderly and replies, “Then, by all means, lead the way.”

Chapter Text

January 5, 1998
Washington, D.C.

“I have some red wine and a six-pack of Blue Moon,” Scully calls out from the kitchen as Mulder watches her from the couch in her living room, covertly taking in her appearance. When they arrived at her apartment, she had told him to make himself comfortable as she went into the bedroom to change, returning some minutes later wearing a teal round neck sweater blouse and faded jeans; no make-up, no shoes. “I also have a bottle of whiskey and some tonics and gin,” she continues speaking, “but I’m not sure hard liquor is the way to go when we have a briefing with Skinner tomorrow at nine in the morning,” she jokes, poker-faced yet with a gleeful glint in her eyes.

He half-listens as he runs his eyes over her exterior, starting at her red toenails, making his way over her chest area, where he can spot the cross necklace she faithfully wears is laid bare on a bed of light freckles, and then her face, sporting a repeat appearance of some small brown dots on her nose and cheeks, finally reaching her moderately disheveled hair, probably from changing clothes. She definitely looks off-the-clock, and he doesn’t think he has ever seen her like this. Even when he’s seen her off hours on the road, or when he’s visited her before, or even recently in San Diego, she has always looked composed. Right now, she looks comfortable, looks… carefree.

“Mulder?” she gently calls to him, concerned as to why he’s silent.

“Sorry. I’ll try the Blue Moon,” he answers and then tries to appear relaxed, folding the sleeves on his shirt negligently – his winter coat and suit jacket were forgotten on a nearby chair the minute he walked through the door –, and settles himself against the arm of the couch to legitimately look back at her. He watches as she grabs a couple of beer bottles from the fridge and grabs the bottle opener in the second drawer on the counter. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who keeps beer on the fridge, Scully.”

“Yeah, well,” she starts as she removes the metallic caps on each of the bottles and stores the opener in its rightful place, “It was on sale the last time I went to the store and I wanted to try this one,” she explains as she makes her way to the back of the couch and hands him one of the bottles. “It’s witbier,” she clarifies as she clinks her bottle to his and takes a sip still standing.

“Fancy beer, now that makes sense,” he mocks her before taking a swing from the bottle and tasting the orangey tang on the liquid. At her fake annoyed look, he chuckles. “Tastes fruity,” he comments on the beer. “So, what’s your verdict?”

“It’s citric,” she remarks, appreciatively. “I like it,” she declares and takes another drink. “Let me get something sophisticated for us to eat to pair with this fancy beer,” she states sarcastically going back to the kitchen.

He chuckles again before adding, “You need help?”

“I’m fine here,” she says easily, pouring some mixed nuts and dried fruit into a bowl. “Why don’t you put on some music?”

“Anything in particular?” he asks making his way to her stereo.

“You choose. I’d only be cautious if I had told you to put on a movie,” she quips as she gets something from the fridge and eyes him sideways.

He barks out a surprised laugh. “Aren’t you funny,” he retorts cynically, residual amusement still on his features as he looks through her CD collection. Suddenly elated at one in particular, he puts the disc on. “I didn’t know you liked him, Scully.”

“Him who?” She asks just as David Bowie’s Space Oddity starts playing. “Oh,” she smiles, shyly, and then she gathers a tray with the food she selected, balancing her beer bottle between the middle and ring fingers on her right hand, and makes her way back to the living room. “Surprised?”

“I’ll say,” he replies going back to the couch and eyeing the food tray with the bowl of nuts, as well as a medium piece of brie cheese with apricot jam and crackers neatly placed on a plate. “You really know how to do socializing, Scully,” he says, impressed, as they both sit down on opposites side of the couch.

She smiles at his compliment and he thanks her for the food before they start eating in companiable silence. She wants a chance to have a nice evening in after everything, to have with him what she thought she was getting when Eddie Van Blundht conned her the year before. She realized then how much she wanted to be normal with Mulder, and here’s her chance to start. “I dressed up as Ziggy Stardust when I was eleven for Halloween,” she shares innocently, trying to make conversation. “I loved the aesthetics.”

“Please tell me you have a picture of that,” he lets out, with an amazed smile.

“I think my mother does,” she laughs. “I remember we took one of my brother and I together. He was dressed as Aladdin Sane – you know, with the red and blue lightning-bolt painted on his face…?”

He looks bewildered. “Bill?”

“No, Charlie,” she explains. “Bill and Melissa thought they were too old to dress up for Halloween by then. He wanted to be like Paul McCartney and I think Missy was going through her Janis Joplin phase at the time.”

“That makes much more sense, about your brother,” he agrees with a quiet laugh. “And I think can picture Melissa as a teen, belting out Piece of My Heart to the world. But,” he stops dramatically, squinting at his partner, “there’s something about you listening to Starman that just intrigues me,” he adds before drinking his beer. “Guess you were always destined to work on the X-Files, huh?”

“Of course you’d want to believe that,” she jests and they both sip their drinks again, enjoying this casualness between them. She’s particularly relieved that he accepted her invitation, that she’s somehow managed to convinced him to maybe feel a little better even if he’s still not exactly ready to forgive himself for falling for Linda Bowman’s elaborate hoax. It feels satisfying to have this camaraderie between them, to allow it to blossom after such a strenuous case.

“What was little Dana Scully like?” He asks as she casually reaches for a cracker and adds a piece of cheese with jam to it. “I bet you were one a goody-goody A-student.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Mulder,” she admits with a smile. “I had great grades, that’s for sure, but I was also a bit of a tomboy. Melissa liked playing with dolls and made friends easily, and I was definitely close to her, but I liked playing with my brothers more. They were always getting themselves in trouble and I was always right there with them, even if most of the time I was trying to stop them from doing anything worse. My mom sure had a handful with us.”

“What kind of trouble?” he asks, interested piqued.

“Oh, you know. Nothing big, just kid stuff. This one time, though, I think I was ten then… they built a bottle bomb and I went with them to put it in one of the garbage cans out in the base.”

A bottle bomb?” he’s pleasantly shocked.

She tries to contain her laughter. “My dad was home on leave at the time… he made us collect all the trash that got spread by the blast, go house to house apologizing to our neighbors and then grounded us for the rest of the month.” She does laugh now. “My father’s disappointed look at me sure made me change my ways after that.”

He snickers. “And then you became a goody-goody.”

“Not exactly. I really looked up to my father, hung on to every story he told me, but I kind of resented him for his work. We traveled a lot, so I was always the new kid at school, the ginger kid, with the different accent and the Navy family.”

“That must have made for some pretty interesting teenage experiences,” he tries to redirect her attention, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, maybe if I were more of a girly girl. Even when I did manage to make friends, I was only that – the friend. I was smart and focused, and thought boys were stupid –”

“Oh, we are,” he agrees.

She smirks. “Before I managed to actually start dating, I rebelled. Nothing overt, just something that would make me feel like I wasn’t the good girl everyone expected of me. I’d steal my mother’s cigarettes and go outside to smoke in the evenings, just for the thrill. I wanted to be like Melissa, she was the girl all the boys wanted, friends with the popular crowd. She got the looks, I got the brain,” she explains, before adding as an afterthought, “You would have fallen for her so hard.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to make a joke about Melissa being maybe the wrong sister but he refrains. “Smart is sexy, Scully,” he tries. “And it’s not like you’re hard on the eyes.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but I doubt you used to think this way when you were sixteen,” she retorts, not thinking much of his bad attempt at a compliment.

“Yeah, no,” he admits, finishing his bottle of beer. “You want another one?” he asks, holding out the empty container in his hand as he gets up.

She checks to see her own beer nearing the end of the bottle and nods. “Eventually,” she continues her story in a louder voice to be heard by him in her kitchen, “my body changed and I finally started being interesting to the opposite sex. Always flirted with the good boys, even if I was more secretly attracted to the bad ones,” she concludes as he arrives back at the couch and she thanks him for the new bottle. “Anyway, what about you?” she asks, finishing her first beer. “What were you like as a kid?”

“As a kid?” he takes a handful of nuts and starts eating some as he speaks, “Oh, that’s easy, I was a very good boy. I was tender, I respected my parents, I was very caring even if I could be a pester to Samantha at times,” he snickers at himself. “I was interested in learning everything I could, very book-smart but athletic, one of those ‘loves school, loves sports, loves people’ kids,” he says it all chastely, no hint of arrogance in his words. After a break to eat some more nuts, he resumes, “I told you I was an Indian Guide with my dad, right?” At her nod, he carries on, “I loved it, made me bond with him. That and our love for the space race. I’ve always loved the stars, was a fan of Star Trek. When Neil Armstrong made it to the moon, I decided I wanted to be an astronaut, see what was out there,” he whispers the last part impishly.

“Fitting,” she murmurs, absorbed by his words, gently lifting her new beer bottle to her lips.

“I could be very mischievous as any other boy, but overall, I was very well-behaved, you know. I did go to etiquette camp.”

“You didn’t,” there’s a mixture of admiration and disbelief in her tone.

“It was the sixties, and my parents were obnoxious, upper-class New Englanders. Of course I did.”

She laughs out loud, unable and unwilling to hide her mirth from him.

“I was also one of the cutest kids in Martha’s Vineyard whole island,” he continues with a twinkle in his eyes, “so my mother was adamant about teaching me how to properly treat girls lest I become a cretin in my teenage years.”

“And did you? Become Dangerous Fox?” she teases him in a tone that toys with sensuality.

He gazes at her features, entranced and unexpectedly awkward. Then his face falls almost imperceptibly as he reminds himself of the meaning of her question and he braces himself. “After Samantha… guess you could say I did not live to the expectations of becoming Chilmark’s most desired prize,” he sneers.

Of course, she berates herself in her mind. “I’m sorry, Mulder.”

“We became the town tragedy,” he starts telling her, opening up. “People were very supportive, but we could tell they all felt bad for us, pitied us. I guess I could still have been a normal teen mostly if it weren’t for the fact that I felt alone with my own family. My parents never talked about her disappearance, and my father buried himself even more in his work – he was away a lot and, even when he was home, he became more distant, spending long hours in his study locked up. I guess my mother feared that something would happen to me as well and ended up… detaching herself from me. They both took up drinking and then divorced less than two years after Sam was gone – that contributed even more to the town gossip,” he adds, sheepishly. “I yearned for their approval, but I just couldn’t get it, no matter how many good grades I got or how well I did in sports. I became recluse, and my mother convinced my father to put me in therapy. I felt guilty for my sister’s disappearance even if I didn’t know how or why back then. I started wishing I was the one taken, maybe then my parents wouldn’t have divorced, maybe then they wouldn’t have felt so disappointed…”

“Oh, Mulder,” she tries to interrupt as she moves closer to him on the couch, devastated.

“I was not an easy kid to love then,” he concludes, redirecting his eyes to carelessly analyze the label on his beer bottle as he feels her hand gently laying on his knee. He takes a swig and then speaks up again, “I had very little friends. Therapy helped enough to get me through my teenage years – a couple of very caring girls who agreed to date me in high school also assisted in easing the pains of adolescent Fox – but when it became time for me to leave for university, I wanted to get as far away as I could. I managed to convince my parents to let me go to Oxford, and that’s where I stayed for my B.A. in Psychology and then got in the PhD program. Ironically, the man dealing with a personal tragedy related to a crime was recruited by the FBI and applied his talents to criminal investigations.”

Scully is at a loss of what to say. She squeezes his thigh right above his knee in an act of comfort. “Thank you for confiding in me,” she says truthfully.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, dejectedly, and takes another drink. “Thank you for listening.”

She feels a need to assure him, to tell him how much he means to her, even if she is not certain herself of what that is. She only knows that he’s become the most important person in her life, the person who supports her, who challenges her, who makes her better. The person she uses as a parameter for measuring everyone else that comes into her life. She drinks her beer, gathering some courage. “You are a much better person than you give yourself credit for, Mulder,” she starts. “I told you back that first year when we were partnered that I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anyone other than you, and I meant it. I meant it then because I admired your qualities as a professional partner, your ability, your mind, dedication, strength, resilience. Your ethics. Over the years, I’ve come to admire you even more – your morals, your kindness, your heart. You are a good man, Mulder, and I consider myself very lucky to have you as my friend.”

It was in moments like these, when she allowed herself to be this kind, compassionate human being so few people got to see, that Mulder felt even more blessed to have her in his life. He is one second away from just taking her face in his hands and touching his lips to hers, but he’s afraid he’d be doing it just out of emotional distress and would end up ruining the only good thing he currently has in his life. He is terrified to risk their relationship, so he reverts to humor, “Are you coming on to me, Agent Scully?”

“You know, maybe getting blackout drunk on whiskey would have not been such a bad idea. It would certainly shut you up,” she deadpans before reaching over to the coffee table for a cracker.

He laughs, relieved. “Plus, it would give us the chance to watch Skinner tomorrow trying to figure out how the respectable Agent Scully ended up at work with a hangover.”

“In my experience, men tend to prefer to be present for the part in which the woman is inebriated just enough to get a little loose but not oblivious, Mulder,” she deadpans.

He is so surprised by her words he literally lets his mouth hang open for a few seconds. “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?” He mocks tenderly.

She giggles, actually giggles, and he’s unable to stop watching her. She looks adorable like this.

“I would pay a lot of money to see you take a walk on the wild side, Scully,” he confesses. “Even more if Skinner was there. A fortune if Frohike were somehow involved – you might give him a heart attack, you know.”

She gives him a small laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe someday you’ll have such luck.”

They sit companionably silent for a few moments, just eating the food before them, when Mulder tries unsuccessfully to avert a yawn.

“Tired?” she asks. Of course she noticed.

“Just a little,” he acknowledges and then checks his watch. “It’s been a long day.”

She looks over her shoulder to check the clock on the VCR – the characters 10:21 p.m. blink back at her. “Do you have to leave?”

She sounds almost remorseful to his ears, but he does his best not to be presumptuous. “I can stay a little longer, if I’m not imposing.”

“I’m fine, I just don’t want you to run yourself down,” she says politely. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I’m used to not sleeping long hours, Scully, I’ll be fine.” He takes a deep breath, trying to hide his nervousness. “I’m actually having a good time.”

“Me too,” she admits, sweetly embarrassed.

“I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me,” he boldly says, although with no malice.

She replies without much of a chance for thought. “Then why don’t you spend the night?”

Chapter Text

Mulder is absolutely petrified. Did she… She just asked me to spend the night with her, right?

It takes Scully all of three seconds to suddenly come to her senses and understand the meaning her words could convene. “I mean, stay the night,” she attempts to amend, not exactly making it any clearer. “In the apartment. You can sleep on the couch if you want,” she finishes, looking down at her hands in an attempt to cover the heated blush on her cheeks. “I only mean, this way you don’t have to drive after drinking or leave your car here and then have to come back for it.” She looks up at him, utterly embarrassed. “Mulder, I’m sor–”

“It’s okay, Scully,” he placates her, finally able to breathe again and honestly relieved and disappointed at the same time. “I didn’t think anything of it, relax,” he lies.

She knows he is lying, and he knows she knows he is lying. They look at each other trying to figure out if any of them will call the other on it. Luckily – and as expected –, no one does.

He is not sure if it’s such a good idea to have a sleepover with his FBI partner who just happens to be a brilliant, gorgeous woman who he is most definitely attracted to and has secured herself a huge place to live in his heart. Yet, he is just as unsure of saying no and making her even more uncomfortable, or maybe even giving her the idea that he wouldn’t like spending the night with her, in the biblical sense, if there was ever a time for that in the future. “Anyway, if it’s not a problem to you, I guess it would be better if I did sleep on the couch. I’m not sure I’d make it safely to my place now that my adrenaline is running low and I have alcohol in my system.”

She smiles at him, glad for his ability to dissipate any uneasiness that could linger between them. “Of course. I’ll get you some bedclothes and a pillow,” she states, leaving her half empty bottle of beer on the coffee table and getting up. “Actually,” she starts over before leaving the room, “there is something I would like to tell you first. I wanted to apologize for not believing you at first about Linda Bowman, Mulder. You were right to suspect her; I just couldn’t see what you were seeing.”

Scully’s body lying on the ground in a pool of blood suddenly flashes back to him. He is aware that picture is now forever ingrained in his mind, alongside all the other terrifying images he has floating around in there. Funny how a little thing like vividly watching her die right before his eyes can do wonders to change his perspective. He doesn’t even care anymore that she didn’t believe him yesterday. He is only thankful she is here with him now, alive. “It’s water under the bridge, Scully. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t make me work hard to prove my theories,” he acknowledges. “So, really, thank you.”

“Sometimes, I wish I could have the same faith you have in your beliefs, Mulder,” she admits to him.

“You do, Scully,” he says, pointing to her necklace and its significance. “Well, you have your own faith in God, for one. I guess it’s just a matter of not trying to sabotage what you feel to be true in your gut despite of the fact you don’t have any evidence to support it,” he tells her kindly. “Plus, I’m not even sure what I believe in anymore. I just know that there is a truth out there, elusive, and I want to believe we will find it together.”

A smile of her own makes its way to her face at the words spoken that convey so many layers of meaning, layers that he so cleverly managed to add to the conversation without making her feel uncomfortable. She nods at him in acquiescence and goes to her bedroom to get everything she needs to make up the couch for him.

*****************************************************************************

February 23, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It’s been well over a month since that night Mulder spent in Scully’s apartment and, even though they have been trying to act as if things are the same between them, both of them have noticed there has been a different energy there, a certain pull that isn’t exactly familiar but that definitely isn’t unwelcome either. While on the clock, they have been nothing but their professional selves – meaning there has been generally the same amount of sexual innuendo and inappropriate physical touching on his part as ever; off hours, however, he has been making unpretentious, albeit perceptible, efforts to develop a more personal bond with her, and she’s been continuously feeling a bit more receptive to his advances.

They have somehow managed to keep in touch nearly every day since Linda Bowman, him being almost always the one to initiate their interactions, and certainly always with a flimsy excuse about any subject possibly related to work – it could be to relay information on a possible new investigation, to discuss a minor detail on a finished case to better write up the report, to criticize the sloppy work (his words) of the local authorities in Zimbabwe (where they have no jurisdiction whatsoever) at dealing with the claims of middle school students about what would constitute a close encounter of the third kind according to J. Allen Hynek’s scale (It technically constitutes an encounter of the fourth kind, Scully; these children communicated telepathically with extraterrestrial beings!). Anything was fair game, really, as long as they both could use it as justification for reaching out to the other. One time he had actually called her to confirm if they had a meeting on Monday or Tuesday because he had forgotten the correct date – even if he’s barely forgotten anything regarding work over the almost five years they’ve been partnered.

This is not to say that she hasn’t been reaching out to him as well. On Martin Luther King’s Day, for instance, she called him to mention a documentary on North American mythical creatures she had noticed at the video store. I thought you would enjoy it, Mulder. He had purely made use of the situation then and told her to rent it and come over to his apartment so they could watch together – even if, unbeknown to her, he had already watched it. She had accepted, to his pleasant surprise – which had been her plan with that phone call all along.

All of these inconspicuous contacts had eventually led to candid conversations about mostly chaste personal experiences and predilections, twice to a few anecdotes about past relationships – when she had failed to tell him about her almost year-long extramarital affair with her Cardiology professor in Stanford, and he had steered clear of his very serious relationship with an FBI agent that shared his passion for the paranormal and unofficially worked with him on the X Files when he first found them. Be that as it may, even if they had refrained from broaching the subjects of Daniel Waterston and Diana Fowley, the fact remained that they had been getting closer and closer, to a point where they now knew more details about each other’s private lives than they had ever thought they would. And still, they seemed to want more.

Actually, she hasn’t been able to figure out what Mulder does want. She finds him infuriatingly confusing. Even if her partner checks her out from time to time when he thinks she’s not looking – she’s an FBI agent and she’s not blind, of course she notices –, even if he comes to her at a moment’s notice when she needs him, even if she feels an undeniable sexual tension when he stands close to her and acts territorial of her, at times he seems so uninterested it makes her question herself. Just a week ago, Mulder had been so gallant and permissive about Sheriff Hartwell in Chaney, Texas, instead of jealous and territorial as she would have expected, it made her worry she had been reading him wrong. And then later that same week, on Friday the 13th, she had been so tired of spending the entire day listening to him talk about how the date was related to a spike in criminal activities throughout the country that she never even saw him place a small heart-shaped box of Hershey Kisses in her trench coat pocket before he left the office. She wouldn’t have even believed it was from him if he hadn’t left a note with it.

Found this in a trash can and figured you might be the type to enjoy some Kisses for Valentine’s. Hope these keep you company over the weekend. See you Monday.

He is maddening. And she definitely wants more of him.

She has come to recognize that Mulder is indeed more than her professional partner and a close friend. He is a man that actually interests her on a romantic level, that is not only handsome but also possesses qualities that she wants in a life partner, despite certain flaws and shortcomings – on occasion, she realizes she may even want him because of such limitations, or at least because of his awareness of these weaknesses. She appreciates the fact that they learn from one another, that they care for each other in a way that strengthens their connection and allows them to grow as individuals. She wants to prove to him that she feels this way now, wishes she could be more impulsive and match his flirtatious comments, except she is concerned of letting him see this side of her, the spontaneous and salacious Dana she remembers she could be at one point in her life, before she had joined the FBI. Her worries are not linked to any idea that he wouldn’t respect her or anything of the sort; she just fears that acting a little friskier than usual without further explanation might cause him to think her behavior is based merely on their mutual physical attraction to each other, and she hasn’t been able to decide on the proper words to tell him she might wish to change their dynamic into something deeper.

The only thing she knows for certain is that if she thinks he is maddening now, a purely physical affair with him is something that will undoubtedly kill her.

In any case, she has been feeling, maybe hoping, that they are taking small steps towards something that could include a romantic relationship, in a pace unhurried enough to make her feel comfortable, even if a little frustrated. It’s a pace she accepts, a pace she likes, because it gives them a chance to each understand their own feelings and needs before jumping into anything they are not really ready to take on. It’s a pace that allows them to assess how an additional physical intimacy might affect their work and the level of their exposure to any particular risks, to maturely address their personal issues and to make any changes to their lives that would be appropriate if they are to evolve their partnership. She has indeed chosen, after her cancer, to be less closed-off and to follow her heart, she knows it, but she still prefers to make informed decisions. She would feel like a remiss Scully if she didn’t do at least some work on the road ahead.

Furthermore, there were other things she needed to address in her life besides her feelings for Mulder – one in particular, the biggest and sorest of all, she had been ignoring for months: her recovered ova. She hadn’t still broached the news with her doctor, out of fear he would also tell her they weren’t viable, but after that conversation with her partner that night in January she had come to face the fact that a negative result on the viability of her eggs would not be any different than what she already had to live with then; she needed to hope for a yes.

And if she was hoping for a positive answer about this, she also needed to prepare herself for what having a baby would entail. Issues like the cost of raising a child, whether to keep her current apartment or move, how to conciliate being a mother with being an FBI agent were all important to plan for. Above it all, timing was also something she had to consider. When would she go through with a possible IVF proceeding if that was the case? She was aware that she was nearing her thirty-fourth birthday, she had been single for the past four years and was nowhere near a committed relationship – not to mention she knew deep down she didn’t want anyone else other than Mulder as a romantic partner, even if she might have been still downplaying her interests in him (she was not stupid; she was just in denial). And even if she lived in a rainbow-colored planet with unicorns and cotton candy clouds, no world-wide conspiracies to enforce alien colonization on Earth and a happy, stable relationship with Fox Mulder, there was always the possibility that he just didn’t want to have children, and…

And she realized then she was overthinking. So, she decided to attend to the matter of a possible IVF as independent of having or not a significant other – she could wait a few months, maybe a year, but, in the end, she did in fact want to have a child regardless of being in a committed relationship, and therefore no romantic ideas should influence her decision. With that in mind, she had negotiated with Mulder for them both to have a weekend off earlier this month, without telling him what she was really hoping for was to understand how being a single parent would impact her life and plan for it before going to her doctor and seeing if the universe would be kind to her for once.

That was the weekend she had gone to Maine and obviously her objective had not come to fruition then as she had expected.

Now, here she is, on her birthday, a little bitter and a lot tired, still planless about the intricacies of having a child, unsure of what to make of her expectations about her life and her partner, just finished with her first day in court as a prosecution witness on Linda Bowman’s speedy trial and bound for an hour long drive in rush hour to meet her mother in Annapolis for a celebratory birthday dinner.

She’s also Mulderless – her partner is in Massachusetts for a conference on extraterrestrial phenomena and won’t be back for another three days.

She sighs, feeling weary. She should be happy it’s her birthday, most of her life it’s been a date she appreciates, but this year in particular she’s not feeling really joyful. It’s been one of those days, and she really just wants to go home.

Her phone rings as she is making her way to her car, and she answers it without checking, “Scully.”

“Hi, honey,” her mother’s voice comes on. “I just wanted to check when you think you’ll be coming.”

“Oh, hi, mom.” She checks her watch – 5:12pm. “I’m just leaving. I should be there just a little past six. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“No, everything’s set. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom. Bye.”

No matter what she tells herself as she hangs up, she is unable to convince herself she hadn’t hoped the call had come from Mulder.

*****************************************************************************

“Hello,” she answers sleepily as she checks the clock on her nightstand later that same night. 11:21pm.

“Hey,” the smooth male voice barely gets out.

“Mulder,” she says, surprised, her heart pounds unbidden. “Is everything okay?”

He lightly chuckles. “What does it tell you, Scully, that whenever I call you, you automatically assume something’s wrong?”

“It tells me you should avoid calling me repeatedly this late at night with bad news,” her voice announces, amused. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his voice going up as he stretches comfortably. “Do you have a pen with you? I guess I can start off with courtside season tickets for the Knicks and an earlier flight home.”

She yawns. “Bored?”

“I guess it’s just not the same to be here after everything that we’ve learned from Michael Kritschgau,” he broods. “It’s like eating sausages after going on a tour to visit the factory.”

She snorts. “When is your panel?”

“Wednesday afternoon. Another day and a half of torture until I can leave.”

“Cheer up, Mulder. Maybe you’ll get to do a meet and greet with an extraterrestrial entity. It’s highly unlikely, but…” she trails off, in reference to his usual philosophy.

“Not outside the realm of extreme possibility,” he finishes, and she can hear a noise in the background, like he is nonchalantly picking up things at random and then setting them back into place. “Yeah, I still think I’d prefer the season tickets if I’m hoping for improbable things.”

“Are you at your hotel?”

“Yes, I am. They gave me a king-size bed, Scully. In protest, I’m laid back on a chair with my feet propped on the coffee table.”

“Stop sulking, Mulder, and see if you can find something interesting on pay-per-view to watch.”

His voice takes on a conspiratorial tone. “Are you referring to those videos I’ve repeatedly assured you aren’t mine?”

“I was thinking more on the lines of Contact,” she replies, unaffected. “But I’m not here to judge.”

“Scully?”

“Yes?” she half asks, regaled.

“What are you wearing?” he deadpans.

“Satin sheets and nothing more,” she answers coquettishly. She’s just too tired to hold her tongue.

He cackles. “Oh, if only that were true. You’re wearing those sensible pajamas of yours, aren’t you?”

“And a cotton duvet,” she declares proudly.

“Marilyn Monroe had nothing on you, Scully.”

“I’m hanging up now,” she wisecracks.

He holds back a grin and starts over. “Hey, Scully?”

“Yes?”

A beat. “Happy birthday.”

He remembered, she thinks, pleased. She is sure her silence is enough for him to know she’s glad that he called. “Good night, Mulder.”

He can hear the smile on her voice and it makes him relax and smile in return. “G’night, Scully.”

Chapter Text

February 25, 1998
Arlington, VA

Well, that was a bust, Mulder thinks of the Massachusetts Institute Visiting Lecturers' Forum for the gazillionth time this week, now as he makes his way out of Terminal B at Reagan National Airport.

It pains him to realize how he’s been believing in an alien conspiracy for so long, just like those people there, when it’s most likely all a part of a government military program. He didn’t want to be unkind to Dr. Heitz Werber, a man that had wanted to help him years back when he had undergone hypnosis to find out what had happened to his sister – that’s actually the only reason he had agreed to meet this Cassandra Spender tomorrow, before going back to work –, but the doctor is just another sucker for this the-government-is-in-bed-with-extraterrestrials mumbo jumbo, just like he used to be.

Scully is a saint, really, to have put up with his crap for so long.

It’s almost nine p.m. when he drives his car out of the airport’s long-term parking and all he really wants to do is see her, and tell her how sorry he is that he’s roped her into this alien madness, and how thankful he is that she’s been this patient with him all these years, but he doesn’t want to scare her with how much he seeks her approval, how needy he can be for her. He can certainly wait another day to meet her and tell her how much he appreciates her partnership and devotion to the X-Files.

So, he just goes home and thinks of the ways he can show her he’s no longer a traumatized, immature, egotistical crackpot who takes her for granted as he used to be when they had met, but is becoming a grown man who keeps an open mind to improbable possibilities and values her existence even if he still needs to work on his tendencies to lash out and self-isolate due to grave emotional baggage.

No wonder he went into Psychology.

*****************************************************************************

The next morning, after he is done visiting Cassandra Spender at the mental health facility where she has checked herself in and goes to the Bureau, he’s already feeling spent – and it’s barely nine o’clock. He holes himself up in his basement office for hours, not doing any work at all, ignoring phone calls and e-mails, paper doodling to appease his mind of his wishes to undo his sister’s disappearance or at the very least to make his shame at having been manipulated for so long fade away. It’s almost lunch time when he hears the clicks of her high heels in his office, but he only looks up when the copy of The Chronicle she throws his way hits his arms.

Scully seems nonchalant, but he can see the fondness in her eyes, the care in the tone of voice she uses to tease him about making the headline for being skeptical of extraterrestrial life on Earth. Maybe she missed him just as much as he missed her, he thinks. So, he banters with her, tiredly ranting with sarcasm about the misguided beliefs he’s held for the past years – little green men, he notices the quote written on the newspaper; there was a time he would have corrected that to little grey men, he realizes, miffed. He ignores her jab that he doesn’t need her anymore since he apparently has invalidated his own work – of course he needs her, is she out of her mind? – and tries to move the conversation along. Even if she’s here with him, his foul mood sticks with him, because he is now certain that there is no alien conspiracy, is now aware of what the U.S. government is capable of, and yet people still don’t believe him when he tries to convince them of it all.

It's strongly held by believers in UFO phenomena that there is military complicity or involvement in abductions, but what if there is no complicity? What if there is simply just the military, seeking to develop an arsenal against which there is no defense – biological warfare, which justifies, in their eyes, making an ass out of the nation with stories of little green men? A conspiracy wrapped in a plot inside a government agenda.

He had made that argument during the conference in Boston, which he would have expected people to realize is a much more plausible explanation than alien abductions and flying saucers and extraterrestrial invasions, but then people had thought he was the one ignoring facts.

His partner seems proud of him for a moment, telling him he has come a long way, and he feels at least slightly validated by this one person, the only one he is truly grateful for. Then her face changes as she reads the paper and recounts that Cassandra claims to have been taken from Skyland Mountain and to have an implant on the base of her neck, starts making connections to her own abduction and personal experiences… he suddenly feels like this is an episode of The Twilight Zone, in which they both swapped minds and he is the only one who is aware of it.

He tries to appear busy as he gets up to put on his suit jacket and pretend there is somewhere he needs to be. He does need to be some place – anywhere, really, as long as it’s a place away from all of this. And so, he just leaves, forgetting that he had wanted to ask her to lunch when he drove into work earlier, forgetting that he had wanted to tell her they should plan a new era for the X-Files. Forgetting that he had wanted to start a new chapter in his life, to do better.

He just leaves.

When he gets back, he learns from Skinner that Scully has gone to the forum for further testimony on the Linda Bowman case, something that had been scheduled the day before and that he hadn’t been aware of. Because I’ve been brooding, rather than communicating with my partner, he admonishes himself.

There is not much for him to do – actually, there is, but he is not able to focus and wants even less to deal with any of his thoughts right now –, so he spends most of the afternoon in his office, doing his best to pretend he’s getting something, anything, done.

*****************************************************************************

February 27, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Scully is startled awake at dawn by her dream, in a mix of a daze and panic. It’s not even six in the morning, she sees on the clock on the side of her bed, but she has this strange feeling that keeps her from trying to snooze a few minutes more, so she ends up getting up and going to the kitchen to make some coffee before jumping in the shower. Something is off with her, she just knows it.

As she washes her hair, she tries but fails to remember the details of her dream; actually, there is nothing at all she can remember about it. What she can remember suddenly are Cassandra’s words from last night, when she stopped by the mental health facility to warn the older woman about the risks she could be facing if she had the chip on her neck removed.

You wake up at night knowing you need to be somewhere, but you don't know where it is. Like you forgot an appointment you didn't know you had.

Of course she has felt like this before – hasn’t everybody? – but, for this past week, this impression has been more recurrent, more persistent in her mind. At first, she feared it could be as simple and mundane as simply missing Mulder's company, which made her even more adamant to ignore her senses. Now, she is not sure if she’s glad that she’s not going soft and that there might be an ulterior motive for it.

She is blow-drying her hair after her shower when she gets the call from Skinner directing her to Skyland Mountain, where a large number of unidentified carbonized bodies has been found. Her instincts are telling her this is something different than other cases, that this is close to her. But she’s a good trooper, so she steels herself into Special Agent Dana Scully and finishes getting ready to go do her job.

When she gets to the site, she still can’t shake this funny feeling within her. She hasn’t been back here since her abduction – one of the things from that time that she had tried to erase from her mind as she moved on with her life – but still there is a pull she can’t shake. It makes her uneasy, but not unprofessional, never unprofessional. So, she looks around and learns from law enforcement already at the scene all there is to know at that point about what happened the night before, and when Mulder arrives and meets her over burnt corpses, she is at least prepared to discuss the case with him. Except, this time, the discussion is not one she had expected.

“Mulder, why are you tiptoeing around the obvious fact here?” she finally tells him, when she’s had enough of ignoring the subject. “I mean, this is Skyland Mountain. We're right back here on Skyland Mountain.”

“And you think it's related to your abduction from the same place?”

She knows he was acting cynical the day before, but this still baffles her. “Well, you can't deny the connection.”

“You think this is some kind of abduction scenario?” he questions her, and it feels like he’s interrogating her.

“No...” she replies, cautiously. “I'm not saying that.”

“Do you have any evidence of that?” He is on a roll with the inquiry.

She is a mix of bewildered and bothered. “What do you mean by evidence?”

“That's what I'm asking you,” he continues, and he sounds condescending, just like many of the sheriffs in charge of cases they go to investigate for the X-Files when they don’t believe Mulder.

She is most definitely frustrated and annoyed by his attitude. “Well, are you going to give me your theory, then?”

“No,” he tells her simply. “I'm going to give you an explanation,” he informs her and then walks off, leaving her behind.

She suddenly feels alone, like she hasn’t felt in a while.

*****************************************************************************

February 28, 1998
Washington, D.C.

This time, when she wakes up, it’s not even five a.m. – she can tell by the stars still shining bright in the D.C. sky.

Scully feels the same odd sensation she felt when she woke up the previous day, maybe stronger this time, like it’s… closer to her, if that makes any sense. Absentmindedly, she brings her hand to the back of her neck, where the chip that most likely cured her cancer and saved her life had been surgically inserted. Is this little piece of metal responsible for the blankness she is experiencing?

She wishes she could talk to Mulder about it, the old Mulder, she amends in her mind, considering now he has become Mr. Reasonable. After he had left her in Skyland Mountain, they spent the day apart – her joining four pathologists to start the autopsies on the burnt victims while he tried to find plausible explanations for the occurrence. They only saw each other again later in the evening, when they had both met at the mental health facility where Cassandra Spender is staying, and she was surprised to see how unbothered by Cassandra’s anguish he had been acting, how resigned he is to the belief that this is not an event related to alien abduction. Even when they had been accosted by Agent Spender to complain about them visiting his mother, Mulder seemed unfazed and complacent, maybe even aggravated at being sucked into this matter. She doesn’t like this new version of him, all despondent. Still, there is no one else that she feels like she could open up to about this strangeness going through her, so she figures new Mulder will have to do.

She realizes how ironic it is that she’s been trying to get him to see things her way for all the years she’s known him and now that he’s more aligned to her belief system she is hoping he will revert to being a spokesperson for extraterrestrial phenomena.

Scully barely gets ten minutes of her partner’s attention when she gets to the basement office that Saturday morning before he leaves again, this time to meet Marita Covarrubias, the informant she least trusts. She tried to tell him about what she’s been going through, carefully mentioned that he shouldn't be so quick to rule out what Cassandra Spender is saying when he argued that the people at Skyland Mountain had probably been led there by the government through the metal implants they all had in their necks – just like hers –, but he dismissed her concerns, once again cavalier about her opinions.

She feels at a loss, leaves the office to try and find anything that could support her suspicions, but this weird feeling going through her just won’t go away, it rather gets more intense, pulls her in a trance.

When she comes to her senses, she is stunned to see she’s in a hospital bed with first-degree burns on her face and superior limbs and also face-to-face with a relieved Mulder staring at her.

What in God’s name happened to her?

*****************************************************************************

March 1st, 1998
Washington, D.C.

When Mulder gets to his partner’s hospital room, he is comforted by the sight of her sleeping form.

I almost lost her yet once more.

Yesterday, after he had gone to meet Marita Covarrubias and seen evidence of the black oil he knew from his time in Russia, he tried calling Scully to no success – he tried her mobile, the basement office, Skinner’s extension, her house, Cassandra Spender’s hospital room, even her mother, but no one had heard from her. He had hoped maybe she had taken Cassandra to Quantico, so he drove there, but they hadn’t been there all day; he went by her apartment, expectant, but they weren’t there either. He had a bad feeling about it, decided to make the long drive back to Skyland Mountain, but came up empty there as well.

He had driven for hours after that with no specific directions, going anywhere he could think of – he searched the FBI headquarters top to bottom, and then went to the Smithsonian, the National Mall, doublechecking if she could be by the Vietnam Veterans Memorial or Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, even the pub near the Bureau where the agents liked to go to on occasion – but no such luck. He made it to his own apartment late in the evening, close to midnight, with this last spark of optimism that maybe he would see Scully there, but that wasn’t the case either. She was nowhere to be found.

He had started to feel desperate, his instincts telling him something was definitely wrong. Scully was not the type of person to just up and disappear – the only times that that had happened, she had been abducted, either by unknown forces or psychotic assailants. His brain just started unlocking a whole bunch of scenarios for him to be anxious about. No matter the reason, the thought of losing her, being left all alone, had been enough to make him crumble down on his couch in tears to the point he fell asleep out of exhaustion.

Around three in the morning, the sound of ringing roused him out of his slumber, and he immediately grabbed the phone by his side. “Scully?”

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner’s voice announced.

The beating in his heart faltered; it was never good news when his boss called him in the middle of the night. “Where is she?”

“Agent Scully?” the A.D. inquired back, surprised. “I don’t know, I’ve tried reaching her but she’s not answering her phone. I need you both in Pennsylvania – there’s been another mass incineration, this time at the Ruskin Dam.”

And then he knew. “She is there, Sir.”

A pause. “Why do you say that?”

“The bodies at Skyland Mountains had metallic implants in their necks, just like hers. They were summoned there. I haven’t been able to reach Scully all day. She’s there, I know it.”

“Mulder – ” Skinner started, only to be immediately interrupted.

“I’ll be there in about four hours,” he said before hanging up.

He had made it to the Ruskin Dam in under three hours.

When he surveyed the area and spotted all the body bags, his mind immediately conjured up the worst possible thought. He tried his best to appear the least frantic possible as he met A.D. Skinner in the middle of all this chaos, but his adrenaline only came down a little after seeing his partner – Scully, he sighed to himself – being airlifted to the hospital.

She was alive.

He had managed to stay on the scene for a good fifteen minutes before announcing that he was driving back to D.C. to go straight to the hospital to see her – his boss, of course, didn’t even try to stop him; actually gave him a weak excuse by instructing him to go see what she remembers.

So, as he quietly stands here at the hospital and gently brushes a strand of his partner’s hair out of her face, waking her up, he can honestly say this is one of the few times he has actually followed orders.

They don’t get much of a chance to talk at first, with the nurse interrupting them out of concern for Scully’s health, so Mulder leaves and spends the better part of the morning interviewing a few other survivors, none of whom has any recollections of what happened. Eventually, he makes his way back to his partner’s room, shows her the pictures of what happened at Ruskin Dam, tries to convince her that the government is responsible for this event and that they need to figure out a way to prove who manufactured the chip in her neck, argues that the truth they have been looking for is now in her.

She is overwhelmed by all that he is saying, by what has happened to her, by her lack of memories. She usually trusts him blindly, but these past few days have thrown her for a loop, and she needs to stand her ground, no matter how much she wants to please him.

“Mulder,” she starts, looking at him sitting next to her bed, “when I met you five years ago, you told me that your sister had been abducted... by aliens. That that event had marked you so deeply, that nothing else mattered. I didn't believe you,” she admits, “but I followed you – on nothing more than your faith that the truth was out there. Based not on facts, not on science, but on your memories that your sister had been taken from you,” she tells him freely, hoping he understands how much he means to her if she’s been willing to follow him all this time in spite of all her scientific training. “Your memories were all that you had,” she continues, trying to rationalize to him how she’s feeling.

“I don't trust those memories now,” he affirms, not understanding the true meaning of her words.

“Well, whether you trust them or not, they've led you here,” she explains. “And me,” she adds, once again showing him the magnitude of this. “But I have no memories to either trust nor distrust, and if you ask me now to follow you again, to stand behind you in what you now believe, without knowing what happened to me out there, without those memories… I can't,” she admits, chagrined. “I won't,” she adds, decidedly.

He is at a loss. He expected her to get on board with this idea without fuss – she’s been trying to get him to be sensible for years –, but now she is the one questioning a down-to-Earth explanation, even if it involves a conspiracy. He looks out the window, trying to organize his thoughts. “If I could give you those memories,” he speaks up, finally. “If I could prove that I was right and that what I believed for so long was wrong...” he tries to reason with her.

“Is that what you really want?” she asks, the underlying meaning not lost on either of them.

Do you really want to disprove everything you’ve believed to be true for so long?

He wants to look certain, wants to convince her and himself that he has no qualms about it, but she knows him well enough to know that there is still faith lingering in him that he hasn’t been a complete fool all this time to believe in an alien conspiracy. No matter how invested she’s become on this journey, she still dreads the possibility of eventually being the one to tell him he’s been wrong about this.

After the silence grows too long, he sits back down on the chair by her side and confesses, “I need to know the truth, Scully. No matter what that is.”

“Okay,” she tells him as she lifts her hand to him; he takes it immediately. “How do you suggest we go about this?”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Werber to make an appointment for a hypnotherapy session for you,” he says, and he sounds like the Mulder she is used to. “We can start there.”

“Okay,” she agrees with a smile.

Chapter Text

March 1st, 1998
Washington, D.C.

When Scully is released from the hospital by the end of the afternoon, Mulder is there with a change of her clothes that she had previously asked him to get from her apartment – picking out a set of bra and panties in her underwear drawer had almost killed him, but he had managed to survive by repeating to himself over and over that this was a favor for his best friend and not the time for him to be focusing on his sexual fantasies. Before leaving the medical facility, she showers and readies herself for the last-minute appointment with Dr. Werber that Mulder had managed to arrange for her – the doctor had been more than eager to help her once he talked to her over the phone about her lost time and agreed to meet with her immediately, even if it was a Sunday –, and then he drives her to Silver Spring, Maryland, mostly in companionable silence, except for minor conversation about her well-being.

They make their way into Dr. Werber’s office once Scully’s name is called by the doctor’s assistant – her partner joins her at her request, even if he is not expecting anything in particular out of this session, having suggested it only to indulge her need for her memories basically. Scully herself feels a little bit skeptical that hypnosis would work, but, as soon as Dr. Werber directs her to close her eyes and take deep breaths, she is suddenly in a trancelike state, shouting in astonishment at the clear image she sees behind her closed lids. Unbeknown to her, she’s sitting there on the doctor’s leather couch describing her experience from two nights before, her witnessing of an unidentified flying object, of men with no faces setting people on fire, of another unidentified aircraft attacking the faceless men and then taking Cassandra up in the air and aboard the ship. Throughout this experience, her hand searches for her partner, who sits dutifully by her side, in distrusting wonder of the events she is recounting but still concerned for her, and he takes her hand as soon as he notices her movement, knowing that she needs him and that he is there for her, that no matter what he believes he will always be there for her when she needs him.

When she comes out of the hypnogogic trance, she is panting from reliving the experience, and also surprised to see her partner by her side holding her hand. She doesn’t know exactly what happened, but by Mulder’s reaction when he drops her hand, gets up from the couch and walks out of the office, she knows that whatever she said was not something he wanted to hear. She exchanges polite goodbyes with Dr. Werber, takes the audiotape in which he recorded her session and leaves to meet her partner in the building hallway. He is pacing back of forth in front of the elevator doors and when he spots her he stops, presses the button to call the elevator car and keeps his body turned towards the metal doors.

“Mulder –” she begins, staring down at her feet, unsure of what she wants to say.

Without giving her a chance to address whatever it is she wants to say and not even attempting to make eye contact with her, he interrupts, “I’ll take you home, you need to rest.”

She looks up at him, surprised, but he keeps his face steadily away from her. When the elevator car arrives, he steps in and turns around to face forward, yet still refusing to look in her direction, and she can only follow him into the car and stand mutely by his side, ignoring this tension between them that she doesn’t even know the reason for.

Their ride to her apartment is even more silent than the drive to the doctor’s office, but this time there is nothing warm about their quietness; they are strained, each lost in their own thoughts and unable to start a conversation about what happened with Dr. Werber. After thirty minutes of near torture, he parks outside her building but keeps the engine running.

“Try to get some sleep,” Mulder says in the form of a goodbye.

“I will. Skinner told me I could take a sick day tomorrow, but I want to come back to work. I’ll just be in after lunch,” she details, before trying to steer the subject into what she has been practicing the entire time she’s been sitting in this car. “Mulder, what happened in there?”

He looks at her, aware that she’s talking about the hypnosis. “I guess you have to listen to that tape yourself,” he replies, pointing at the cassette in her hands. “I just don’t want you to mistake what you think you saw for what’s actually real,” he explains, staring into her eyes.

She can see his concern and fears and nods once. “Good night,” she announces as she steps out of the car to enter her building, not staying behind to watch him drive away.

After coming inside her apartment, Scully doesn’t do much of anything except take the audiotape she’s holding and put it in her stereo. As the sound comes on, she recognizes her own voice there but not the words she’s hearing. Once the taping of the hypnosis session is over, she rewinds the cassette and plays it again, and again, over and over, no less confused than the first time she played it, until it’s close to one in the morning and she’s tired but still unable to believe the recollections she speaks of in the tape. She wants to discuss it with her partner, needs to be with him or at least hear his voice, but she felt him distant when he dropped her off and she has reservations about what would come out of them discussing her memories in the middle of the night without a chance to organize their thoughts.

It's for this reason alone that she decides to go to sleep with all this uncertainty inside her, and the only thing she truly knows for sure at this point is that she wouldn’t have simply made any of the things she said on that cassette up.

*****************************************************************************

March 2, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Mulder had gone home after dropping Scully off at her place yesterday battling a sea of emotions, feeling irritated by the lengths of this conspiracy and angry at the men behind it, but also aggrieved by what he had been led to believe in the past. There was no doubt in his mind then that Scully had seen what she described during her hypnogogic trance, but he was just as certain that the event had been staged. It made him even more anxious about what these happenings at Skyland Mountain and Ruskin Dam meant for the big picture; if the government had been testing a classified military project or covering one up. That also frustrated him, because he just knew he would have a hard time convincing people of his convictions.

As he had laid down to rest last night, Mulder was aware that he was fearful, not to say downright terrified, for his partner’s safety. He needed to get to the bottom of it all so he could protect her, and he was sure being protected was something his partner would definitely not agree to.

Today, as they both had expected before leaving their own homes, had been a tense day at the office. Scully still couldn’t make sense of what had apparently happened to her on Saturday, and Mulder still couldn’t believe people – maybe even his partner, and certainly his boss – were buying into the alien invasion fabrication. For this reason, he had made himself scarce as much as he could during the day, actually dodging Scully to avoid any conversations he hadn’t been ready to have in a collected manner, and that had freed her up to reconsider if her memories had been a result of too much exposure to extraterrestrial abduction stories (something that Agent Spender had suggested when he approached her in the early afternoon to discuss Dr. Werber’s methods of therapy). That rationalization had certainly made her more comfortable, and it had also pleased her in the sense that Mulder would most likely appreciate that she had reverted to her accepted beliefs and that they would finally see eye-to-eye on this matter. She even went to see him in the FBI basement about an hour ago, only to notice he had already left the office.

That’s why she is currently outside his apartment door, hoping to find him here so they can actually talk now that she has cleared her mind.

After knocking on his door and hearing his come in, Scully lets herself into his apartment and finds him just sitting on his couch leisurely, all the lights off except for barely-there, indirect soft, amber light. “Mulder?” she asks, fazed. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Thinking,” he announces without much ado, watching her sideways as she reaches the living room doorway.

She watches him back, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind by his posture, and then follows up, “Thinking about what?”

“Oh, the usual – destiny, fate… how to throw a curve ball,” he says with dry humor. “The inextricable relationships in our lives that are neither accidental nor somehow in our control, either,” he adds, resigned, averting his eyes from her to stare ahead.

“Well, I've just taken a long walk,” she starts, uncomfortably, “and I've reconsidered that I may have been wrong about what I believed happened to me,” she tells him. Might as well rip the band-aid off if he’s in one of his moods.

He looks at her and then barely curves his lips upwards, in something that could pass for ironic understanding. “I've been doing some reconsidering of my own,” he tells her getting up and handing her a piece of paper as he reaches her side.

“What is this?” she questions as she looks at it, reading the words. Things are looking up is written on the side upwards; Wiekamp Air Force Base on the back.

“Maybe an answer... to a question you and I seem to have been destined to ask,” he replies walking past her.

She turns to follow him as he grabs his keys from the dinner table. “How did you get this?” she keeps on questioning, indicating the piece of paper as she reaches the hallway outside his apartment and waits for him to lock his door.

“Our friend Krycek decided to pay me a visit earlier this evening with tales of a war being waged between alien colonists trying to take over the Earth and alien rebels trying to prevent it,” he explains as they make their way to the elevator, which is already on the fourth floor. “He told me one of these rebels is being held captive at this base, and that he’s our chance for resisting the plans for occupation.”

She keeps silent as they ride down to the ground floor, in thought. “Do you believe him?” she finally asks, as they leave the building going to his car.

“I don’t believe in the pureness of his intentions,” he assures her before getting in the driver’s seat and waiting for her to join him in the passenger side.

“But you expect this to lead to something,” she guesses. At his silent nod, she continues, “Information about the government’s conspiracy and maybe even to evidence of extraterrestrial involvement.”

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth,” he jests.

“Well, I don’t know what we’ll find, but I’m glad to see you back, Mulder,” she smirks at him.

Off to Wiekamp Air Force Base they go, and, unfortunately, in the end, they don’t learn any real information there – Mulder does manage to infiltrate a military truck on its way out of the base while Scully remains in the car at the facility’s gate, but they both end up imprisoned and he doesn’t even have any memories of what happened to speak of when he rejoins her. In any case, the military’s insistence on keeping the pair of agents detained in their custody – it takes Skinner using his position as an Assistant Director of the FBI and a former member of the Marine Corps to get them off any charges – pushes Mulder into deciding to open an X-Files about these events after they get debriefed the next morning by their boss. Something about all of this must be really worth hiding, and he needs to know what that is.

As compensation for spending all night in a military holding cell, both of Mulder and Scully get to leave work early on this cool Tuesday. By mid-afternoon, they are already driving together in his car back to his apartment, both keeping quietly to themselves, acknowledging that their complicity has been paramount for the success of their professional and personal relationships. Throughout the ride, the two of them get a chance to do some soul searching of their own, about numerous different things.

As he turns off the engine on his car outside his building, Mulder turns to Scully companionably. “You coming up?”

“No, I think I’ll just go home, if that’s okay,” she tells him softly. “I think I really need the rest.”

She came with him just to pick up her car that she had left here yesterday, after all.

He watches her with tenderness and notices that, even though she doesn’t look troubled exactly, it seems she is not merely tired from the night’s events either. She looks pensive – too pensive for his liking, really – which prompts him to address her in a quiet, intimate voice, “You okay, Scully?”

She becomes aware of the concerned tone he is using and, to comfort him, replies with softness in hers, “I’m definitely okay, Mulder,” her eyes briefly smiling at him. “I just think these past days made me realize that we don’t have any real control over our lives, except for the choices we make. And that overthinking maybe is just a way to unconsciously postpone some of these choices,” she tells him, using cryptic words as she ponders about her life. Like for instance the fact that she’s been trying to strategize for a perfect scenario to somehow bypass her infertility diagnosis when she could maybe just deal it with one step at a time, starting with simply making an appointment to actually find out if in vitro is indeed a possibility.

He is taken off-guard by her enigmatic speech, his mind in overdrive with the possibilities. Is she talking about our work? Has she finally reached her limit? Is this something about me? About us? He can’t really keep from experiencing a case of nerves, even if he excels at hiding it. “Care to share with the class?” he questions, wishing he sounds nonchalant enough.

She smiles briefly, knowing him well enough to see that even if he does look unburden he is probably tormenting himself over probable and improbable scenarios. “I hope you know that everyday we’re working at our best together I become even more certain that we are meant to do this, to be a part of this quest to answer the questions out there, as you said last night,” she assures him, looking down at her hands. “It’s not about the X-Files; I’m right where I want to be in this regard,” she adds, happy to open up to him but timid nevertheless.

Her words of assurance help him feel less anxious, of course, but not completely relieved as he pays attention to what she’s saying. “But not in others ways?” he ventures.

It takes her about four seconds to decide to be honest with him. “Did you know I still haven’t gotten a second opinion on my ova?” She asks, looking up at him, as means of reasoning. “The eggs you recovered,” she clarifies unnecessarily.

Oh. So that’s what’s bothering her… Yes, I did, he thinks. The Gunmen had kept him apprised of the fact that her eggs had never been re-tested nor checked out of the lab. All of this goes unsaid, though. “Why is that?” he asks back, sympathetic.

“At first I didn’t want to deal with the possibility that the doctor would confirm the eggs are not viable and thus cement the fact that I’d never be able to get pregnant,” she admits. “Then earlier this year I figured it was time to address it, but, um, I don’t know… I wanted to make sure I had everything planned out thoroughly before ever going down this road.”

That’s so very Scully of you, he considers fondly. “And now?” he asks, keeping his voice barely a whisper.

She takes a deep breath before speaking, “And now I guess it’s time for me to face the music. Even if I find out that I can’t indeed bear a child, at least then I’ll know.”

He watches her for a few seconds before smiling tenderly in encouragement. He wants to tell her that he’s happy for her, that she should go through with it, that she certainly deserves a chance to have a joyful, fulfilling, normal life, but at the same time he is dreading the fact that this means they will most likely drift apart, that he won’t be able to be on her side for this part of her life, will never be allowed to give those things to her. So he remains quiet, because if he opens his mouth to give voice to his wishes for her, he might end up letting his fears out as well. He can’t even consider the possibility that she won’t be able to get pregnant, that’s not something that he wants accepts as true, no. He realizes now that another reason for him to have not told her about her eggs before last year is that he desperately wants, needs her to have this, to have a flake of unadulterated joy in the vastness of sorrow storms that has become her life.

She can see a whirlwind of emotions on his features that he’s trying to hide, mostly contentment but also slipping into something like melancholy, and then then she oh-so softly grazes the back of her index finger over his cheek in reassurance, calling him back to her, a warm barely-there smile on her lips. “Good night, Mulder,” she offers, looking blissfully at peace for some reason. And then she opens the car door and gets out, leaving him alone.

Suddenly, it actually becomes clear to him, plain as a sunny day: even if he finds his sister, even if he finds the answers to all mysteries of the universe, his own life will only ever be truly, blissfully fulfilled if he gets some sort of a normal life for him as well. And she is the only one he wants and needs to share this part of himself with. He just needs to learn a way to change his ways to permit this kind of relationship to evolve.

What an odd moment to come to life-changing realizations.

Chapter Text

April 9, 1998
Washington, D.C.

For the first time in a long time, Scully feels optimistic.

Five months ago, she had been told in this exact same building that she was barren, infertile, unable to ever have a child. Today, she is leaving Dr. Parenti’s office with his commitment to analyze her eggs that Mulder had been able to recover from a government lab and revert back to her in her next appointment, two weeks from now. The doctor didn’t want to make any promises, but he assured her that he would consult with other doctors who are involved in advanced in vitro fertilization research and have had success with a lot of women who had also been told would never be able to bear children. With any luck, she just might be one of them.

As Scully drives back home, she muses about the ups and downs she has faced the past weeks. After the case a little over a month ago involving Cassandra Spender (who is still missing, unfortunately) and her own incomprehensible memories of UFOs and rebels fighting an alien occupation plan, she and Mulder had to deal with a couple of other cases, including a bombing of the crypt of Christ’s Church in D.C., where the body of a man identified as Micah Hoffman had been found dead – only it turned out later that the victim had been misidentified by the agents and that Mr. Hoffman was still alive. Because of such mistake, A.D. Skinner promptly put them on administrative leave for four weeks, which will be fully served out in four days. The bright side of things, if she can call it that, is that during this probation time the duo has been able to focus a little more on their personal lives, including in her case managing to finally schedule today’s appointment with her doctor. Not only that, they have also managed to spend some free time together (Mulder keeps calling it socializing, just to mockingly refer to the word she had used back in January after their case with Linda Bowman). On their first week of suspension, they had gone together on a short trip to California, all expenses paid, to consult on an FBI-based movie that includes characters loosely-based on them both, during which vacation they went sightseeing, enjoyed a few meals together and even went out for drinks on St. Patrick’s Day (well, two pints of beer qualify as drinks for her); since returning, they have chatted a lot over the phone, hung out a few times for no special reason and even held two prescheduled movie nights at each other’s apartments; tonight, actually, is time for one more – he picks the movie, she hosts the session.

All in all, the universe might finally be working in her favor.

*****************************************************************************

April 9, 1998
Alexandria, VA

Mulder is undeniably eager to see Scully again later this evening.

During this forced vacation he and his partner are on, he has been actively trying to prove that he can be less obsessed about work and more attentive to her on a personal level. Of course discussions about myths, legends and general paranormal phenomena come up from time to time – their banter on subjects of this kind is something that he’s come to consider almost as a form of flirting for them – but he has mostly made sure to refrain from turning such conversations into actual shoptalk. No we should sneak in the office to see if we can find any cases that match these reports, no let’s go to the prairies in Wyoming and look for jackalopes; nothing like that, nada. He is doing his best to be a regular (albeit, quirky) guy, and he thinks she is actually enjoying it.

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he has never exceled at romantic relationships, but it isn’t like he is completely incapable of commitment either – he had dated Diana for almost four years, after all, actually lived with her during the last one of those years. He is sure he can do better now, feels like he’s maybe more mature and certainly more willing to put in the work required to be with a woman like Scully. She has inspired him to do better. She is it for him.

So, he has been slowly laying the groundwork for her to see him in a different light, hoping this will lead them to organically become more than work partners and friends. He has been focusing on little things that she could take notice of and that he used to be able to do before he and Diana broke up and his life spiraled down into the X-Files abyss, like keeping his apartment a little tidier when she comes over – he still hasn’t figured out what to do with the mess that is his bedroom, but he reckons this doesn’t need to be a priority right now considering the pace they’ve adopted –, and always having some food in his kitchen for when they don’t feel like ordering in – nothing fancy, just some snacks and regular stuff like pasta, canned tomatoes, frozen meat, a few very basic vegetables, maybe a jar of cranberry jam, a box of light cream cheese and those whole-grain crackers she likes…

He is really trying.

His landline phone rings and he checks his watch before going to answer – 4:28 pm. Maybe it’s Scully calling him, he thinks. They had agreed to meet at six, but she had mentioned she had a personal appointment in the afternoon, so maybe she needs him to bring something over.

He tries to keep himself from smiling as he picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Fox Mulder?” a deep male voice asks on the other side of the line.

Immediately, Mulder’s mood changes from excited to alert. “Who is this?”

“Someone who shares your concerns about the government’s transparency and ultimate intentions,” the voice continues darkly.

Though it’s definitely not the call he was hoping for, his interest is piqued; he can’t help but engage with this call. “How did you get this number?” he asks.

“We have our ways, Mr. Mulder.”

All this vagueness quickly starts to annoy him. “What do you want?”

“To discuss some very important business with you. But not on this line,” the voice announces. “One of my associates will meet you at the Aaron Burr Motor Court in Angola, Delaware, at ten thirty tonight. Room seven. From there, he will escort you to a more secluded location where I’ll be waiting.”

Mulder is positively chafed. The drive from Scully’s place to Sussex County alone is almost two and a half hours. Does the caller just expect him to be sitting at home with no other plans than to wait for someone to call inviting him for an underground meeting? Who is this guy?

“That’s more than enough time for you to get there if you are interested, Mr. Mulder," the voice interrupts, sensing his defiance. "And I assure you, it’s in your best interest to come.”

Is he kidding me? The agent starts pacing before speaking up impatiently, “Look, I don’t know if there’s a memo going around telling people I like this cloak and dagger stuff, but I’m not going to Delaware on a moment’s notice to meet someone who called me out of the blue with some elusive promises of information. So if you want me to meet you, you’re gonna have to do better than that!”

The line is silent for a few seconds before the voice comes alive again. “One of my associates tells me you were very vocal in a recent conference held in Boston about your suspicions that our government is conspiring against their own citizens. There are people who feel like the American people would fare better under a new regimen, Mr. Mulder. People who are willing to do what it takes to save this country,” the voice says, ominously.

Okay, this is not what Mulder expected.

“Are you one of those people?” the male voice resumes in question.

There is not much that would keep him from spending as much time as possible with Scully tonight, maybe not even a chance to go on a ride in a spacecraft with some very cool aliens, but this sounds like a matter of national security and he thinks that constitutes a good reason for cutting short his non-romantic-yet-should-be-romantic movie date with his partner.

“Yes,” he improperly assures the anonymous man on the other side of the line.

“Good,” the voice replies, pleased. “Remember, Aaron Burr Motor Court, room seven. 10:30 pm. Don’t be late,” the other man warns before hanging up.

Shit.

*****************************************************************************

April 9, 1998
Washington, D.C.

“What are we watching?” Scully asks as she picks up a couple of beer bottles in her fridge.

“Blade Runner,” Mulder replies, popping the videotape in the VCR in her living room. “I won’t let you go another day without experiencing this masterpiece.”

“Mulder, whenever you call something a masterpiece I get cautious,” she attempts at deadpan, but ends up smiling with her eyes with the bottles still on her hands. At the microwave’s beep, she places them down on the counter, gets the fresh popcorn, transfers it to a large bowl, pours some truffle olive oil on top of it and adds some salt.

He’s reached her side to help her with the beer without her noticing his approach; it’s his voice closer than expect that makes her turn around as he reaches for the drawer where she keeps the bottle opener. “Next time, I’ll bring you a different kind of cinematic masterpiece,” he toys with her in blatant innuendo.

She only rolls her eyes at him, taking the bowl of popcorn with her into the living room, where she sits down on her couch leisurely waiting for him to follow with the beers.

They have quickly learned how to act as if having a movie night was completely normal for them.

Once he reaches the couch, Scully starts the movie and they sit together comfortably, drinking their beers and sharing the popcorn. Mulder teases her that she always finds a way to turn the food in her house into something elaborate as the TV screen shows the FBI warning about copyright infringement and she shushes him as the movie then starts.

Almost two hours later, when the credits are rolling, the popcorn and the four bottles of beer they had combined are over, and he is curious to hear her thoughts on the movie.

“It’s disturbing in its immersive, dark atmosphere,” she critiques initially, “and the plot is definitely intriguing, I mean, the relationship between humans and artificial intelligence… very philosophical, Mulder.”

“I knew the complex storyline and moral ambiguity would appeal to your analytical mind, Scully,” he delivers, trying his best not to look too proud of himself.

“It doesn’t mean I liked it,” she tells him with a straight face.

“Yes, it does,” he affirms, succinct.

“Yes, it does,” she agrees unable to hide a grin. Moving to pick up the empty bottles on the coffee table, she stands up and nonchalantly asks, “How about dinner? We could order some Chinese.”

He really wants to stay for dinner; he realizes she may have even invited him earlier than usual – the other times they had met, they had usually started around 8 pm – with dinner afterwards already in mind. But there’s the mysterious man waiting for him, and in this particular situation maybe work should indeed win. “Actually, I can’t stay…” he starts.

“Oh,” she lets out on her way to the kitchen, steps briefly slowing before she can wonderfully cover her disappointment. “No problem.”

“I really can’t, but I would love to,” he tells her regretfully. “Raincheck?” he asks with the best reassuring smile he can muster.

She smiles but it doesn’t completely reach her eyes this time around. “Of course.”

He never thought he’d truly hate his work as much as he does right now.

Chapter Text

April 12, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Sunday Easter was supposed to be a laid-back day, not a day to prompt her to feel glum about life injustices or the inexplicable ways in which God works.

Earlier in the day, when she had been leaving Easter mass, Father McCue had asked her to talk in private, hoping she could help a couple of parishioners who had lost their adopted teenage daughter under sudden, peculiar circumstances to make sense of their grief in such a difficult time. She thought dealing with the family might in some way even help herself to come to terms with Emily’s undeserved death and so, after meeting her mother for lunch, she went to visit the Kernofs, who were struggling to find out how their child had come to die, especially after the police had said she, a girl who suffered from congenital spinal deformities and had been bound to a wheelchair her whole life, could have been struck by lightening after walking outside with her own two feet.

It was a mystery on its own – when Scully met with the coroner, she had been told the girl was found genuflecting, with open arms in the position of prayer, and the only evidence of death by lighting was the burnt out eyes, as if God Himself had struck her down – and the religious agent became fearful of its meaning and of her faith clouding her judgement.

What would Mulder make of this girl’s death?

They hadn’t talked since Thursday, when he had left her apartment early in the evening without much detail about why he couldn’t stay for dinner. She still felt a little bothered by it – it’s not as if he owed her any actual explanation, but they seemed to be getting closer and it was usual to expect some clarification as a form of courtesy at least, right? – but had been pushing it aside ever since, convincing herself there was no reason to feel that way when Mulder was only being Mulder. He had probably wanted to chase down a possible lead or something, so she knew to give him space and let him come to her when he decided he wanted her help.

Only she needed his help with this case, she knew. It wasn’t even a case, really a favor to her parish, but still something that she wanted to solve and required his input and assistance. For this reason, when she got back home she talked herself into calling him – first on his cell, but it had been turned off, so she tried him at home and left a message when he hadn’t picked up.

And now he is actually calling her back as she had requested, right when she is close to tears staring at Emily’s picture in her hand, and she feels… funny inside at the sound of his voice. “Hi, um… uh, something’s come up; I was, uh, hoping that you could do me a favor,” she explains at first, hesitant.

“Why, what’s going on?” He sounds in a hurry.

“This isn’t official FBI business,” she details further, “so I was hoping that we could keep it outside of work,” she asks of him.

Does she sound awkward? She feels awkward.

Mulder’s words on the phone bring her back to the real world. “Hey, look, I’m, uh… I’m kind of tailing a possible suspect right now, so I’m kind of rushed, so, uh…”

His tone is all business, she notices. Yep, definitely in a hurry. It’s as if Thursday never happened.

“I need some birth and adoptive records on a Dara Kernof,” she announces.

“Who?”

“Dara Kernof,” she repeats. “I can’t tell you much more than that, Mulder. I’m sorry.” There, she can be secretive too.

“You want to give me a hint? Anything?” He asks, finally sounding interested.

“Not until you get me those records,” she almost singsongs, pleased with herself.

“All right, I’ll talk to you later,” he replies all in one breath and then hangs up.

She should be annoyed, but this hot and cold thing going on between them actually feels fitting. It makes her feel better after the day she’s had, even if only for a short while.

*****************************************************************************

April 13, 1998
Alexandria, VA

Today is their first day back to work after their suspension and all that Mulder actually wants is to not have any contact with Scully.

Last Friday, he had gone to Skinner’s office in the FBI first thing in the morning to inform him about having been contacted the night before by a man he later found out to be Jacob Haley, second-in-command of the New Spartans, who invited him to join the group in their plans to ultimately overthrow the federal government. He had been instructed by his boss to keep his line of communication with Haley open until the Bureau could better assess how to proceed on their investigation of the New Spartans and possibly design an undercover operation to use his access to them. The A.D. had then also ordered him to keep Scully in the dark about it for the time being.

“This is a rare opportunity for this agency to dismantle a known and dangerous domestic terrorist group, Agent Mulder, not to mention a case that could really impact your career and Agent Scully’s,” Skinner had said in that military tone of his, knowing that bringing the female agent’s career into the mix would help reign her partner in. “I suggest you follow your orders and do things by the book here.”

After all the progress they had been making ever since her cancer remission, Mulder was being forced to lie to Scully. That’s why he is so desperate to avoid her at all costs; the mere possibility of having to be untruthful to her about what is going on may very well undo him. Talking to her last night over the phone had been torture enough, but at least he hadn’t needed to say anything that was technically false – he had been kind of tailing a possible suspect, had arranged an encounter with Haley in the XXX-rated movie theater just across the pay phone he had called her from.

(The venue for their rendezvous had been Mulder’s choice – he figured that if he had to stay as far away from Scully to keep from having to lie to her because of this side mission, he could at least have some adult fun and enjoy an hour or so of the featured film after Haley had left to endure the pressure; he was a red-blooded male, after all. Sue him.)

He knows that if he keeps talking to her or seeing her, he will end up having to lie to her eventually, but he can’t really not have any contact with her, especially since she had enlisted his help last night to find personal records for a sixteen-year-old girl. After gathering all he could find on short notice, he called her earlier this morning and was told to meet her at a psychiatric hospital in Mount Lebanon, Virginia, where she was assisting the local police investigate the death of a teenage girl that could somehow be related to Dara Kernof. So he goes to her willingly, learns that she’s been looking into Kernof’s death as a favor to a couple in her parish, listens to her when she argues that the girls were probably sisters, considering Dara’s birth records show her to have been born a quadruplet (and that both girls had been orphans, looked identical and had similar mental and physical impairments); he even weighs in his two cents on the crime scene and possible suspect, all with levity but still keeping a professional distance, because he really wants to help her even if wants even more to get out of this room as soon as possible. But of course, of course, that the girls’ deaths clearly involve a religious component – he knows that her faith is her Achilles heel and that it will be harder for her to keep her highly valued rationality – so he can’t help but offer to accompany her to The Church of St. Peter the Sinner, where, according to the social worker working Paula’s case, they can find the man who was going to adopt the teenage girl, a Father Gregory.

When they’re outside, she follows him automatically and he realizes she expects them to ride together in his car, as they normally do. She would find it odd if he told her to go to her own car – well, he probably could make up a plausible excuse for it but he’s not really in the mood to start weaving his inevitable web of lies right now – so he accepts her company and unlocks the doors for them both to get in.

He prays that she won’t make any difficult questions during their trip to the church. Please, Universe, a little help here.

He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, noticing that Scully is silently staring outside her window. Her stance betrays nothing, and it’s hard for him to gauge exactly what’s going on through her mind.

About five minutes into the ride, she decides to start up a conversation. “Aren’t you going back to work today?” she asks, making a show of eyeing his casual clothes.

Good, he can work with that, he thinks. “Yes, I am. I talked to Skinner last night and he told me that you were going to be assisting on an investigation outside the FBI scope for personal reasons, and that as such he didn’t expect me to be pushing back papers at headquarters on my own,” he tells her off-handedly. “He also told me VCS had asked for my help with a case starting tomorrow and that I have to come in for a briefing tomorrow at seven a.m., so I figured I could give you a hand today and then prepare for the rest,” he says, watching her from the corner of his eyes.

She hums noncommittally. “How long will you be working with VCS?”

“Not sure yet,” he says without looking at her. “I should have an idea after this briefing. I’ll let you know when I do.”

She keeps quiet and he steels himself to avoid turning to look at her. When the silence remains for a while longer, he takes it to mean that she is apparently done talking.

He feels a bit uncomfortable, worrying that she could tell he hadn’t been exactly truthful – he won’t be involved in any VCS case but actually avoiding the Bureau while the higher-ups decide on how to proceed with the New Spartans case, and they needed an excuse to keep Scully unsuspicious of him not being in his office this week. It was still a white lie, but he’s already started weaving the metaphorical web as he had been dreading.

Eventually, they reach their destination and get to meet Father Gregory. Mulder believes the priest is definitely involved in, if not guilty of, the teenage girls’ deaths, but can sense that his partner is having a hard time disassociating her job as an investigator from her religious upbringing, just as he had expected. He tries to readjust her focus back to reason, suggesting that she autopsies the body of Paula Koklos before her body ends up buried.

“Come on, I’ll you give you a ride back to your car and then I’ll try to get the girls’ adoption records and find out more about the other sisters,” he directs her quicky and yet kindly.

*****************************************************************************

About five hours later, both agents are in the middle of a police station in completely opposite moods. Mulder is resolute, steady in his belief that Father Gregory is responsible for the deaths of three young girls, especially after having found him present at the third victim’s crime scene on the heels of her demise and then listening to him tell an elaborate story about the Devil wanting to claim these girls’ souls. The agent is on a roll, spitting to his partner all the information the police just found about the fourth sister, Roberta Dyer, but Scully is only half listening; she is at a loss, aware that science cannot prove the priest’s words, and yet still believing his tale of the girls being messengers in peril, especially as she is still hard put to make sense of what she saw during Paula Koklos’s autopsy and why she would see it.

Her vision of Emily.

“What’s wrong?”, Mulder interjects when he notices that she is lost in her own thoughts.

“Father Gregory called them Messengers,” she says in a daze, looking at the picture of the third dead girl she’s holding in her hand together with the police file.

She’s getting sucked into the priest’s madness, he realizes. This is what he’s been afraid of all this time. “Scully?” he calls her, commanding her attention. “Scully, don’t let this guy get in your head. That’s the last thing you want,” he tries to argue. “Sometimes the most twisted ones are the most persuasive.”

She could make a jab about knowing that firsthand from working with him, but the thought doesn’t even cross her mind. She’s too preoccupied about the meaning of this case. “Mulder, he knows where she is,” she tells him about Father Gregory instead.

“Well, that’s okay. As long as he’s locked up here, it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not going find her,” she warns him. “I think you’re being misled.”

“By who?” he asks, surprised by the depths of what he considers to be her misguided acceptance of the priest’s words. “Scully, I think you’re the one who’s being misled. Not just willingly, but willfully. I’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated and it scares me because I don’t know why,” he rants.

She hesitates for a second. “I saw Emily,” she confides in him. She knows there’s no cause not to. “She came to me in a vision.”

Suddenly, it all makes sense to him, and he goes from combative to tender in the blink of an eye. She’s hurting, she’s confused, and he wishes he could comfort her. He puts his arm around her shoulders and almost pulls her into him on instinct, but they’re in the middle of a precinct and that would certainly be too unprofessional for her standards. He settles on sliding his hand back to her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and then leaning in close to her, still intimately enough. “I think you should step away,” he tells her with a soft tone. “Personal issues are making you lose your objectivity… clouding your judgement,” he tries to reason with her. She usually appreciates reason.

This time reason feels frustrating to her, but she understands where he is coming from, his concern for her. It’s actually the reason she asked him for his help in the first place, to counterbalance her feelings, to keep her feet grounded. “You go,” she tells him, consenting to his cooperation on this case and unwavering care for her. “Go find the girl. I’m going to finish up with Father Gregory.”

“Okay,” he agrees, relieved that she is not fighting him but dreading to leave her behind, alone here with her sorrow. He releases his hold on her shoulder and moves his hand to hers, warmly caressing her skin there as he gently takes the folder from her and leaves her with the photograph. The underlying action is inconspicuous to the rest of the world, but both of them understand the meaning of it.

No matter what, he’s her partner in her grief for Emily too.

Mulder leaves in search of the last girl, and Scully goes back to the interrogation room to talk to Father Gregory, only to discover him dead in the locked room, blisters covering his whole body. This only adds to the enigma that is this case, to the feeling of perplexity she is experiencing.

It’s close to ten p.m. when she exits- the district precinct, having already handed in her autopsy reports on Father Gregory to the detective she had managed to convince to order the examination. She is still refraining from calling her partner, knowing he will reach out to her eventually with an update on his hunt for Roberta Dyer, and that she can talk to him then. And it’s seconds later when her phone rings, just as she’s trying to get into her car to go home.

“Yeah, hi, Scully, it’s me,” Mulder’s voice comes on the other side of the line.

Perfect timing.

She tells him about Father Gregory’s unexpected death and as he starts telling her about not having located the fourth teenager, she ends up dropping her car keys on the ground. She crouches to pick up her Apollo 11 keyring and feels a presence before her, and suddenly she stops paying attention to the phone, because there is a man standing there, surrounded by bright, burning lights, and then his face changes, and it’s no longer a human form, but the head of an eagle, then a lion, then a bull. The apparition disappears just as abruptly as it came, and Mulder’s worried cries for her make their way back to her.

“I’m here,” she tells him, panting.

“What the hell happened?” he is loud, sounding desperate. “Where are you?”

“I’m leaving the police station,” she replies still baffled, trying to control her tone. “I just dropped my car keys,” she says, omitting the rest from him. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

She did a great job of pretending to be composed, but he can pick up on the subtleties that no one else would – the minor hitch on her breath, the infinitesimal sound of saliva going down her throat before she apologized. She’s holding out on him. Something did happen.

“I’m coming to meet you,” he declares without a shred of doubt in his mind. He can’t even remember he’s been trying to keep away from her.

“That’s okay, Mulder,” she tries to discourage him. “I’m on my way home right now,” she tells him as she starts her car.

“Then I’ll meet you at your place,” he insists. “I don’t know what’s going on Scully, but I know you, and I know something is bothering you, even more than when I left the station. Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges.

She wants to tell him he’s wrong, wants to hide from him, wants to protect herself. But she can’t lie to him, not about this, not after all their personal growth. So, she remains quiet.

“I’ll be in your apartment in about thirty minutes,” he informs her upon hearing her silence, and then promptly hangs up, leaving no room for discussion.

She drops her cellphone and sighs, unsure of how to feel about his insistence and intrusion. She decides to let it go for now and focus on making the drive back to her building safely.

Once she enters her apartment some forty minutes later, she spots her partner already waiting for her, comfortably sitting on her armchair in the living room, encompassed by warm, indirect lights only.

“Scully,” he murmurs, getting up to greet her by the couch.

She closes the door behind her and walks up to him silently, reaching him in a few steps. The act feels symbolic to her – he’s meeting her halfway, giving as much as she can take and taking as much as she can give. Relief flows through her body then, making her shiver and her eyes water. There’s a time she would have preferred to be alone, but she realizes that is not true anymore. He’s become her rock.

“I’m so confused, Mulder,” she confesses immediately, an uninvited sob making its way out of her to join her words.

He puts his arm around her for the second time today and this time he gets to pull her into his waiting embrace, placing his other arm around her waist, squeezing her tightly into him. Her arms go around his torso, and she’s shaking – he would think she was cold if it weren’t for the sniffs she is trying to hide. She is crying into him.

He empathizes with her, aware of the jumble of feelings she must be going through and the effort she must be making to understand what’s going on with her. He thinks about how this case has probably affected her, first sympathizing with a catholic couple that lost a child like herself, then having to try to reconcile her faith with the physical evidence of these girls’ deaths and then once again with the grief of losing Emily… she can only take so much before it breaks her.

And she is breaking now in his arms.

Her pain becomes his and he wishes he could transfer all her burden to him. He doesn’t want to see her like this. “It’s going to take time, Dana, but you’re going to be fine,” he whispers into her ear, devotedly. “If I could make it all go away, I would, but I can’t. I can only offer to share it with you, if you’ll let me,” he tells her, gently running his palm over her hair as he pulls back a little from their hug and takes both of her hands in his, softly directing her to come with him to the couch.

He expected her to sit beside him in a collected manner; instead, she simply places her head on the corner of his chest, her left hand coming to rest on his stomach. He revels in her trust in him, accepts what she’s giving him with this simple gesture. She doesn’t speak at all, but he understands it perfectly as his arm go around her shoulder, pulling her even closer.

How could he not?

He loves her.

Chapter Text

April 14, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It’s barely dawn outside when Mulder wakes up, his neck sore from the awkward position he’s in – half-sitting with his legs stretched out on a hard surface and his head reclined against a low-rise cushioned support to his right side. His left bicep is completely numb buried under something soft, a gentle weight pressing down on his sternum uncomfortably; his body feels completely stiff, and yet he feels well-rested, somehow. It takes him half a second to get his bearings, notice the furniture around him in the semi-dark, the gentle scent of white jasmine in the room, the smooth body that’s pressing into him… He's at Scully’s, he realizes. He’s slouching on her couch with his legs laid on top of her coffee table, his head resting on the arm of the sofa and her torso toppled over his body as she rests on her side, legs bent and feet hanging off a couch pillow.

They fell asleep last night. Together. On her couch.

He gently brings his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and watches her sleeping form, mesmerized. She looks peaceful, not at all tormented as she did last night as she cried herself to sleep in his arms. She looks beautiful, plain and simple.

He loves her. He really loves her.

That realization hasn’t ceased to amaze him yet.

He slowly extracts his left arm from under her body, holding her head off his body to try and swiftly get up without waking her. Despite his efforts, she mumbles and stirs, stretching her whole body like a baby cat before opening her eyes and finding him bending over her.

“Hey,” he whispers unable to hide a smile.

“Mulder?” she asks, momentarily confused, raising her torso into a sitting position.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he adds contritely, still keeping his voice low.

“I fell asleep on you,” she speaks softly as the events from the night before come back to her. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, still smiling. “I just need to go home and get ready for the briefing with Skinner.”

“Of course,” she acknowledges, running her hands through her hair shyly, worried about taming it into something more presentable. As if she needed to. “You want some coffee before you leave?” she offers.

“That’s alright,” he replies, shaking his head. “You feeling better?” he inquires tenderly, changing the subject.

Her features morph into something solemn, actually thinking of how to answer rather than hiding. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’m seeing things… because this case seems personal. Because I’m emotionally involved. But… uh, I can’t help but believe that there’s a force at work here, Mulder,” she confesses shakily. “I saw something last night when I was leaving the station. Another vision,” she reveals.

“Of Emily?” his tone is intensely caring.

“I don’t know what it was. But if felt… divine, somehow. Hallowed.”

He certainly believes in a lot of things, yet the teachings of organized religion are not part of what he actually accepts as a possibility. He assumes all devout people have been indoctrinated by the church with tales of punishment for dissidents and eternal salvation for those who submit to their control. Still, even if he doesn’t usually agree with Scully when it comes to her faith, he knows her well enough to recognize that she’s not one to blindly trust in the Holy Ghost over her science. It wouldn’t be fair of him to dismiss what she thinks she saw without the benefit of the doubt, not when she gives him so much leeway even when she doesn’t agree with him. “What do you think it means?” he asks, cautiously.

“I don’t know,” she says, exasperated. “That’s why I’m so confused.”

“Maybe you should find out,” he comments.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” she tells him in annoyed sarcasm.

“I mean…” he starts, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, “maybe you should try to learn what that vision was.”

“I’ll talk to Father McCue on my way to work, see if he recognizes the image,” she acquiesces.

After a moment of just watching each other in silence, Mulder slaps his hands on top of his thighs and announces as he rises, “Well, I’d better go, or Skinner will have my ass on a stick.”

She softly chuckles, getting up as well. “Thank you, Mulder,” she tells him sincerely as she escorts him to her door. “For being here.”

He wants to kiss her, to tell her how he feels, but now it’s definitely not the time, not with what she’s going through and with all the secrecy going on behind her back. So he settles for touching his lips to her forehead in fondness. “Always.”

And then, he leaves.

*****************************************************************************

She had been outside St. John’s Church after her meeting with Father McCue when she ran into the social worker for Paula Koklos’ adoption case, Aaron Starkey, who convinced her to go to The Church of St. Peter the Sinner under the ruse of meeting Mulder and some police officers there on a tip that Roberta Dyer had been located there. When they got to Father Gregory’s chuch, she didn’t see any other law enforcement agents, but she did find the fourth girl hiding. She couldn’t explain why, but her intuition had told her not to bring the girl to Starkey – actually, if she were forced to justify her actions she would have to admit to noticing that Mr. Starkey hadn’t gone into the church and that she had seen horns on the shadow of the man’s head –, so she ended up leading the teenager to the other side of the church, where she came across that same seraphim enveloped in bright lights she had seen the day before. She could have been frightened, maybe even had been frightened at first, but when the sight of Emily came to her again in lieu of Roberta, pleading for Scully to let her go, she knew what she had to do then. God had his reasons even she didn’t understand them, and at this moment He was telling her she needed to release Roberta’s soul to Heaven, she believed. He was also telling her to accept Emily’s death and move on.

And so she did both without question.

Except now, at the end of the day, after having conducted the autopsy on Ms. Dyer, after having seen and touched that corpse, she’s had time to second-guess herself. Even if she has not been able to locate Aaron Starkey, there’s just too much additional physical evidence for her to deal with right now to simply argue that God directed me because the Devil was intent on claiming the souls of these four sisters and He needed me to save the last one.

In the real world, she had let an innocent sixteen-year-old die right under her watch because of her faith.

Without even realizing it, she finds herself outside Mulder’s apartment building. Is this who she is now, someone who relies emotionally on her partner? She’s always been so independent in this regard, keeping her feelings locked away from prying eyes, and even if she’s been recently making an effort to open up more, she’s still surprised to see herself turning to this unique man on instinct.

He's done a superb job of captivating her.

When she reaches the door to his apartment, she knocks lightly to announce her presence. After a few moments without answer, she knocks again, and then uses her key to let herself in. The entire place is pitch black. He’s not here. She tries calling him on his cellphone right from the middle of his living room, but it’s out of service. She has no idea of where he could be, but that shouldn’t alarm her; even if they’re friendlier to each other now, he’s always been this way, going away without further explanation. All that is left for her is to make her way home and figure things out on her own, like she’s been doing for over thirty years. There’s no need to turn this into a big deal.

When she gets home, she notices the blinking light on her answering machine – she’s got message. The electronic voice announces there’s one new recording, left at 11:21 a.m. today.

She hears Mulder’s voice when she presses play. “Hey, Scully, it’s me. Just so you know, I’ll be working on a taskforce with VCS for at least the remainder of the week, okay? I don’t know if I’ll even be home, um, these cases, they, uh… they are scattered through four different states. I, uh…” three seconds go by and then his tone lowers, tenderness seeping through, “I hope everything goes well today. Call me if you really need me, okay?”

She’s usually strong, but right now she feels at a loss. She hadn’t realized how much she was hoping to see him tonight to help her. She’s lost Emily, she’s probably lost her sanity, she’s losing herself.

She calls his landline phone, knowing he won’t pick it up but hoping eventually he will get her message. “Mulder it’s me,” she announces herself as usual. “I just want to let you know, we found Roberta Dyer. She’s also dead… She died right in front of me, Mulder,” she gulps. She wants to tell him how she feels, what she fears it meant – or worse, that it might not have meant anything… but she cannot do it over the phone, even less on a message left on his answering machine. He needs to focus on his work; it’s selfish of her to make him worry about her. “Anyway, we can talk when you’re back,” she says, attempting to sound collected. “Let me know if you need any help,” she adds and, with that, hangs up.

Once the phone is back in its cradle, she gasps for air, feeling spent. For the second time in twenty-four hours, she cries herself to sleep.

*****************************************************************************

April 19, 1998
Annandale, VA

Mulder hasn’t been in contact with Scully since that phone message he left for her on Tuesday.

For the past five days, he’s been staying at an FBI safehouse, going over all intel reported to the Department of Justice over the past seven months about the New Spartans, including their intentions to execute a string of coordinated terrorist attacks to unknown locations all over U.S. soil aimed to destabilize the federal government and stage a paramilitary coup backed by international mercenaries. Today, he attended a meeting with A.D. Skinner as per instructed by the US Attorney General herself and his orders were clear – Mulder was to go under a deep-cover operation as a double agent, pretending to relate to the New Spartans’s goals while secretly reporting back to his boss all information he could gather on the militia’s terrorist plans and its members, focusing especially on the leaders – a man known as August Bremer, an American citizen who had worked for the State Department for seventeen years before going under the radar in December, 1996, and his second-in-command, Jacob Haley, a former Green Beret who had been dishonorably discharged after the Gulf War in 1991 and who acted as Mulder’s liaison to the group.

Due to the sensitive nature of the assignment and the danger it posed to anyone who knew about it, Skinner had made it clear to Mulder that he could not so much as breathe a word about it to Scully, lest he puts her life at risk. The younger FBI agent was still apprehensive about lying to his partner, but at the end of the day he knows the best thing he can for her is to keep her in the dark. The less contact she has with him during this case, the safer she will be.

He goes back to his apartment in the evening, all the while steeling himself for the upcoming days which are going to be no doubt hellish. After he settles in, he checks his answering machine and listens to Scully’s voicemail updating him about the case he had been helping her with before he had left. Her voice is strained, he can tell, and he wants nothing more than to call her back, apologize for not being here for her during these past few days when she needed him.

But he understands that their relationship will have to wait until his undercover assignment is over. For now, all he can do is delete the message.

*****************************************************************************

April 21, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Scully is sitting by herself in Dr. Parenti’s medical office, anxiously waiting for him to show up with her ova test results while also doing her best to ignore her own questions about why her partner has been acting so weird since his return.

She had been pleasantly surprised at seeing Mulder coming through the basement door after lunch yesterday – it had been a whole week since she had last met with him, and her mind and heart had been painfully aware of it. At first, she had thought his eyes had briefly sparkled at the sight of her, but then a mask had come over his face and he had barely directed any words to her, making an excuse about having another briefing with Skinner regarding the VCS case and not even mentioning her message to him about the quadruplets case before leaving the room. And then she hadn’t seen him anymore for the rest of day.

Then this morning she found him already at his desk when she arrived at the office. She tried to make small conversation with him, but he was just as dismissive as the day before, this time telling her he had had a rough night and needed to concentrate on finishing his report for VCS. So she just awkwardly sat there, really trying to work but ending up watching him surreptitiously as she attempted to figure out what could have happened on his case to make him shut her out like this.

The sounds of steps coming closer to the room she’s currently occupying convince Scully that now is not the time to focus on her Mulder issues; there’s just a lot in her personal life riding on this appointment.

“Ms. Scully?” Parenti says cordially as he makes his way through the door and she stands up in greeting. “Got a good report for you,” he mentions, starting the conversation. “I've looked at the ova you've given me and consulted with some of my colleagues. We all feel that with the proper approach we might be successful,” he informs her with a hidden smile. “Got a good chance to get you pregnant.”

She can barely stand, utterly stunned, tears already making their way to her eyes unbidden. “Oh G-” the words don’t come out as she drops back onto the chair. Is this real? “Oh, it's too good to be true,” she whispers.

“I don't want to lay odds, but it's not out of the realm of possibility if we start soon,” the doctor announces.

She looks up at him in wonder. “We can start right away?” she sounds amazed, of course, but also a little desperate really. She’s been afraid for so long to even consider the possibility, now she’s being pushed into acting on it immediately. It feels like too much information all at once.

“Well, you need a father, of course,” he says lightly, thinking a joke might make her feel less staggered. “I can get you genetic counseling on finding an anonymous donor if that's what you want...,” he explains, before adding as an alternative, “unless you already have someone in mind.”

“Yeah...” she confesses, in a daze. “I, uh... I just have to figure out how to ask him.”

Indeed, how to ask her FBI partner, her closest friend, the man with whom she wishes she could spend her life in a world where no conspiracies existed, the man she’s never even kissed – and who has been also apparently ignoring her for some reason – to father her child?

What would he think of her request?

What would it mean to them?

“Well, let me know when you have an answer for me and then we can schedule an appointment with him as well to confirm the viability of his sperm and check for any genetic incompatibilities you two may have,” Parent explains offhandedly. “We’ll also have to redo your ultrasound and blood test once you decide to proceed, considering it’s been almost six months since your last ones,” he adds. “As you know, if it all goes well with these steps, we’ll have you on daily progesterone injections to prepare your uterus lining and he’ll make his donation so that we start the fertilization process. The implantation stage would take place in the following week, but don’t worry, we’ll cover all of this in detail once we’re actually moving forward with the IVF,” he clarifies in a kind tone. “In the meantime, if you want, I can prescribe you your prenatal vitamins, so you already have a head start.”

She feels emotionally overwhelmed, but elation is certainly the core sentiment. She never thought she’d get this chance, and now it’s here. This is truly happening.

Scully nods in agreement with her doctor’s suggestion, her eyes watering. “Thank you,” she manages to add, inadvertently allowing a tear to slip down her cheek.

He nods back at her amiably, used to getting this kind of reaction from his patients. “I’ll be waiting for your call,” he says, shaking her hand in farewell.

She leaves the office in high spirits, choking on a laughter as she reaches her car and the tears now fall freely down her face. Without censor, she pulls out her phone and dials her partner’s cellphone – he picks it up on the first ring.

“Mulder, it’s me,” she greets in a high tone. She can’t hide the fact that she’s shockingly cheerful.

“Hey, Scully, uh, I’m sorry, I can’t really talk right now,” he rushes the words out. “Is it an emergency?”

Her happiness falters. “Oh, it’s okay,” she recovers. “We can talk later.”

“Actually, I’m not available tonight,” he says, voicing no further explanation.

“I see…” she replies calmly then, in order to hide her annoyance. He really is dodging her, she can tell. “Well, some other time then,” she adds before promptly hanging up.

The truth is, he literally cannot see her off work, not when he’s got to start acting like a double agent in bed with a terrorist group and he can’t tell her anything about it. He would completely lose his concentration if he stopped to think about how she would receive this information, how she could end up putting herself in danger for him. Now is not the time for him to worry about them.

Only she doesn’t know that. Today is one of the happiest days of her life, but at the same time she's feeling immensely frustrated that she and Mulder are not on the same page right now. She needs to protect herself and decide what is best for her. For that to happen, she realizes she is going to have to freeze him out of her personal life as well.

Chapter Text

April 23, 1998
Washington, D.C.

What just happened?

As she drives home straight from Folger Park in the evening, Scully can’t stop thinking that something is not right with how things went down with the covert operation to catch Jacob Steven Haley.

Less than five hours ago, Skinner came personally to her desk on the fourth floor when he had failed to find her in the basement office – she had been avoiding Mulder ever since leaving Dr. Parenti’s medical office two days ago, not that he had even noticed her absence, if his lack of attempted contacts had been any indication – to summon her to an emergency joint FBI/CIA counterterrorism council briefing. Along with the other agents present (which included her distant partner, she noticed), Scully learned that they had less than an hour to prepare for a sting at Folger Park to monitor a meeting between the New Spartans’s front man and an international arms dealer for the purchase of automatic weapons and then arrest both criminals. The briefing was succinct; Mulder and four other agents were supposed to be scattered around the park posing as civilians to observe the exchange, whereas another four agents would be on stand-by waiting orders to rush in for the arrest and A.D. Skinner was to run the operation from an FBI van parked around the block, alongside Scully and another agent, who would be the team’s eyes and ears. This was a matter of national security, and they were all intent of doing their best, emotions running high.

Only, for reasons that still stump her, said operation ended up being a fiasco.

She is still reeling from all the earlier chaos as she walks in her apartment, but what is really disturbing her is the possibility that her partner might have something to do with this terrorist’s escape. While she had been sitting in that van, she had noticed that the New Spartans man had seemed to spot Mulder at the park during his meeting with his supplier, which had initially made her fear for her partner’s life once he had taken off after Haley into the park’s west woods after the man had managed to use the arms dealer’s mysterious death in the middle of the square as a commotion to escape. But then, upon leaving her post to try and catch up with Mulder and the fleeing suspect and furtively watching Haley drive off unbothered as her partner just stood there on the sidewalk before walking away, she’s not that sure that his life had ever been in danger. To make matters worse, Mulder had then made his way back to her coming from the woods, claiming as he passed by her nonchalantly that Jacob Steven Haley had simply managed to elude him and escape.

So, once again, she asks herself: what the hell happened?

*****************************************************************************

Shit! Shit, shit, shiiiiit!

Mulder plops down on his couch, annoyed and desolate, not even bothering with the lights.

Just this morning, Skinner had asked him into his office to warn him that the Attorney General had informed him late last night that the FBI was joining forces with the CIA to organize a task force to act on a lead about the New Spartans, and that he should expect an emergency meeting sometime later in the day. The A.D. had been adamant that his undercover mission was to stay in place even as he acted as part of the task force, but that things would probably end up getting a little more complicated now that other government agents were to be involved in the investigation.

“I’m bringing Agent Scully as one of the members assigned to the team once they formally reach out to me,” Skinner had told him from across his desk.

“Sir, –” Mulder had immediately perked up on his chair ready to argue, only to be interrupted by his boss with a raised hand.

“I know you two, and if I appoint you to this task force alone without an explanation, she will question why she is being kept out, especially given that counterterrorism is not a usual area of expertise for either of you,” the bald man had explained, evenly. “All the times you’ve been involved in anything like this, you both had been assigned, precisely because you are partners who are not well-known as counterterrorism agents in the criminal circle. She will just fight her way into this, even if she’s better at following orders than you,” he had added with a purse of his lips. “Frankly, it’s easier to keep an eye on her if she’s brought into it from the beginning. I can have her on the surveillance team with me and limit her interactions with you.”

“I still think it would be better to let her know what’s really going on,” the younger agent had insisted, not really relaxed.

“That’s non-negotiable, Agent Mulder, you –”

“Look, she’s already suspicious,” Mulder had then interjected, raising his voice unwittingly. “I’ve been basically ignoring her or running away from her for two weeks now, she might currently think I’m just a jerk – which is bad enough, mind you – but soon she will realize something’s up!” he had gritted through his teeth.

“You’re in a very delicate position right now,” Skinner had said in a lower voice, trying to calm his subordinate down. “The less people know about it, the better the chance you have at being successful. And the safer she is.”

“I’m starting to doubt this assessment,” Mulder had alerted. “You say you know Scully, but I know my partner better than anyone, and she’s not going to let this go.”

“I’ll deal with it if the need arises,” Skinner had replied, conciliatorily. “You must remain focused on your own responsibilities.” Noticing that Mulder had been about to argue once more, the older man rearranged some papers before him and feigned reading something. “That’s all, Agent Mulder.”

“Yes, Sir,” he had conceded dejectedly.

Back at his apartment, Mulder sighs and gets up to his feet to start a shower. He truly understands the severity of his assignment, but it still doesn’t make him feel any better to lie to Scully about it. Even if at first he had agreed to keep her out of the loop, now that a joint task force has been put in place and that she is involved in the case and still unaware of his covert mock-allegiance, the stakes have been raised considerably. It’s bad enough that she has been distancing herself from him for the past couple of days – the sight of her in that conference room this afternoon got him to painfully remember just how much he misses her on a daily basis –, but now he truly fears that she might end up catching the attention of the New Spartans. Just a few hours ago, at Folger Park, she came running after him when he had been in pursuit of Haley, and it was a miracle that she didn’t end up finding him conferring with the guy.

He'd better put all his efforts into dismantling this militia group from the inside so this case is over before Scully ends up getting herself killed, he thinks as the hot water spray hits his naked torso. She can’t be any closer than she already is.

*****************************************************************************

April 24, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It’s barely 6:30 a.m. when Scully drives into the Bureau’s underground garage, and she’s on a mission – in one hour, they have a post-op briefing and she needs to be prepared for what is to come. She goes straight to the evidence room first to log out the surveillance videotapes from yesterday’s operation, and then makes her way to the basement office to check if her suspicions about Mulder’s actions are founded. She pushes the tape into the VCR and turns on the TV, praying to God that she is wrong about this one thing before pressing play but, as she’s come to believe is the usual standard, her prayers are not exactly answered once she watches the video – eventually, she comes across the image of Jacob Haley taking something from a lean, dark-haired, six-foot-two man who looks in his thirties and is wearing athletic gear. She spends a long, long time trying to deny what her eyes are seeing, watching and rewatching the scene. She can’t really be one hundred percent sure that that is Fox Mulder in the woods of Folger Park, but she can’t affirm that is not her partner either. All this time that she has known Mulder, she has been aware of his mercurial temper, of course, but even more aware of his honor and integrity. It just doesn’t make sense that her partner would be capable of this, of aiding and abetting a known domestic terrorist, and yet… her heart sinks.

Three minutes before the briefing is scheduled to start, Mulder makes his way into the office, pretending not to be bothered by the unexpected presence of his partner in the middle of the room. She foregoes any pleasantries, jumping straight into interrogation mode – actually, confrontational mode; she has never been one to hold out when it comes to a professional discussion – whereas her partner plays well the part of the unknowing, unsuspecting agent, even if he can’t look into her eyes. She is relentless, pressing him further, trying to force him to tell her the truth, and he wants to, really craves to, but he can’t. He knows that the New Spartans will not take too kindly to her loyal, centered, by-the-book persona; she’s not flying off the handle like people think he is. If she gets involved too deep, they will not think twice before murdering her. So he bypasses her demands, tells her coolly that they’re late for the meeting and just leaves without even waiting for her. She takes a deep breath and goes out too, noticing that he must have taken the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator, in a blatant avoidance tactic. She is starting to genuinely feel desperate about this whole bleak situation.

When she gets to the conference room, there are no chairs available side by side, so she ends up sitting on the inside part of the U-shaped table, facing the door so that she can stare down at her partner when he finally makes his way through the door. He doesn’t so much as throw a glance at her direction as he seats himself diagonally across from her, so indifferent that he doesn’t look like he even cares about the fact that a dangerous militia group has succeeded in eluding federal law enforcement.

The meeting is exceedingly short – brass doesn’t need that long to tell them all what a failure the operation was and how important it is to stop these men – and Scully is immediately calling out to Mulder once everyone gets up to leave. He deliberately ignores her, leaving the room without a look back and making her even more frustrated. Skinner notices this (lack of) interaction and wisely asks the female agent for her attention before she can follow him out.

“I need you to go to Quantico immediately to work with the lab techs on identifying the toxin Haley used on the park,” the assistant director orders once she comes up to him.

She wavers before trying to argue her way out, “Actually, Sir, I’ve already started analyzing the surveillance videos.”

“I’ve got ten other agents on this that can look at cameras, Agent Scully, and only you with actual forensic lab background,” he justifies, undeterred. He needs her out of headquarters, away from Mulder.

“Yes, Sir,” she says, but the way her tone of voice goes up in suspension rather than down in acknowledgement makes him notice she might have something more to add.

“Do you have any reason to disagree with your orders, Agent?” Skinner challenges her. “Anything you want to report?”

It’s certainly a bold move, but the older man is counting on Scully’s allegiance to her partner to not say anything about her suspicions yet, not at least before getting a chance to face him.

Scully hesitates briefly. “No, Sir.”

He nods at her dismissively while gathering the documents before him and then goes for the door in the opposite direction of the one she is heading to. Only when he’s out of the room does he let out a relieved breath, and then keeps walking on his way to his office.

“Scully knows,” Mulder announces the second his boss closes the door, having been already waiting for him.

“I’m aware that Scully is suspicious, Agent Mulder,” the older man replies. “Even a blind man could see the tension on her shoulders when she tried to talk to you after the meeting was over.”

“She isn’t merely suspicious, Sir, she’s watched the surveillance tape and saw me.”

Skinner is silent for a moment. “Can she make a positive ID?”

“Not for certain, from what she told me when she cornered me in the basement before the briefing. For once, I’m actually glad Scully is such a stickler for irrefutable proof.”

“Well, I’ve directed her to Quantico for the day to keep her away from you, and if she wants to make a report she will have to come to me. We will cross this bridge if and when we have to. Right now, I’m more concerned about learning what the New Spartans intend to do with the weapons they’ve secured. We need you to stay in their graces.”

“I’m assuming that's going to be a little harder now that Haley saw me in that sting.”

“Well, convince him you had nothing to do with it and that you’re on his side,” Skinner directs. “In the meantime, I’ll be putting you in charge of reviewing the surveillance footage to minimize your exposure, at least for now.”

Mulder’s phone rings and he checks the screen. “It’s Scully,” he informs his boss as he rejects the call and pockets the phone. “We’re gonna need couples’ therapy by the time this is over,” he jests.

“Well, then maybe this will make you finally attend a team seminar,” Skinner deadpans with a raised eyebrow.

Mulder bobbles his head senselessly, using his body language to loudly convey his bla-bla-bla, yeah, yeah, without actually having to speak up.

Skinner purses his lips to look stern (in reality, he is simply trying to hide a grin) before barking out, “Dismissed.”

*****************************************************************************

After spending the entire day at Quantico working to find a break that would help catch a murderer and his militia group, Scully allows herself to focus again on Mulder and his possible betrayal to their country. He had swiftly avoided all of her attempts to talk to him that morning, even her call as she drove to the FBI labs after the briefing, but she is not letting him get away with it now. She is driving to his apartment now, close to nine in the evening; they need to properly address this issue.

As she is approaching his street block, she spots Mulder leaving the building, apparently to cross the street and get in his car. She slows her sedan and parks two buildings before his, hoping he hasn’t noticed her. She is going to follow him and find out what is going on, yes, if that’s what it takes to get to the bottom of this.

So she follows her partner’s car for a two-hour drive until they reach a motel in Angola, Delaware, all the while keeping a safe distance from him so he can’t see her tailing him. She can’t really come up to the room he went in and confront him, but she can trick the motel manager into informing her who rented it – Mr. Kaplan, she learns. Yeah, it doesn’t mean anything much to her at this point. When she goes back to stalking her partner out from the parking lot, she ends up watching him leave the room and get in a different car, with another man, who looks like another associate of the New Spartans – she hates criminally profiling based on appearances alone, but if it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck...

Time to chase her partner again.

She keeps her headlights off and she drives out of the parking lot at a safe distance from the car Mulder is in, following them somewhere north the State, not noticing there is a government-issued car also tailing her from afar. About twenty minutes into the drive, a different car comes from the opposite direction, passes by Mulder’s vehicle and turns on the high-beam headlights before cutting into her lane, effectively blocking her. She’s immediately alarmed as she hits the breaks to avoid a collision, shifts to reverse gear in an attempt to get away, but gets boxed in by the Lincoln Town Car behind her. Suddenly she finds herself surrounded by six different men, all in dark suits, and she gives up, confused. These are not terrorists, at least; these are federal employers for sure.

She gets driven in one of the Town Cars all the way back past D.C. and into Virginia, and the men surrounding her refuse to identify themselves for the almost-three hours it takes them to reach an unmarked office space building there. She is frustrated by all the secrecy by the time they lead her into room 809, and then she recognizes the men in the room and is no longer just disturbed. She feels rightfully incensed at the sight of A.D. Skinner and the CIA operative in charge of the joint taskforce to investigate the New Spartans.

“What the hell is going on?” she inquires once she steps into the room, looking straight at her boss with indignation in her eyes.

“I apologize for our methods,” the man sitting behind a plaque identifying him as Carl Leamus, U.S. Attorney – most definitely a front, since she is unaware of anyone with that name in the Attorney’s Offices in D.C. and surrounding area – greets her.

“They may well have saved Agent Mulder’s life,” Skinner adds, hoping that will help reel her in.

“What about my life?” she quips back now that her adrenaline is soaring. “I don’t appreciate being run off the road.”

“We had our reasons,” Fake Carl justifies mysteriously, causing her to veer off her exasperation to briefly look at him.

“You’re suspicious Agent Mulder’s betrayed his country,” Skinner announces, calling her attention back to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says with no emotion, and someone who didn’t know her might actually believe her.

“Your discretion is understandable,” Fake Carl applauds her efforts, having been briefed of her suspicions before she arrived. “In point of fact, Agent Mulder’s actions are entirely honorable. What you’ve stumbled into is a classified action, a deep-cover assignment.”

Her face clearly shows that her ire is turning into confusion.

Her boss takes over the explanation. “Until now, Agent Mulder’s true mission was known only to the US Attorney and myself.”

“His true mission?” She asks, bewildered.

“The council we sat in was front to make the New Spartans believe we were unaware of Agent Mulder’s complicity,” the other man adds.

“Why him? Why choose Agent Mulder?” She asks the man behind the desk, indignation taking over again. She looks like she would wring his neck for gambling with her partner’s life.

“We didn’t choose him; they did,” Skinner reasons, and he can see her deflate.

“He spoke at a UFO conference in Boston where he apparently broadcast his feelings about the government and their conspiracies against the American people,” Fake Carl justifies, letting minor annoyance show in his eyes. “Somebody from the organization was listening, and the man who escaped, Haley, sent out feelers in hopes that Agent Mulder was a man whose politics were in line with his own. Someone on the inside that he could use.”

She finally takes a seat across the man, fully directing her attention to him. “To what aim?”

“That we don’t know,” Skinner replies from the chair next to her, feeling confident now that she seems to have calmed down.

Scully turns to him slowly, censure in her eyes, as she speaks in a controlled tone, “You’ve put Agent Mulder’s life in danger by not telling me.”

He shouldn’t have thought she would be compliant so soon, Skinner realizes, but he is still her boss and so he acts like one. Holding his head high in defiance, he tells her “Agent Mulder came to me; I advised him not to tell you. He’s at a very delicate point,” he drops the cadence of his speech, burning his eyes into hers. “Everything he does now must work to build trust.”

“Including letting this man Haley get away with murder?” She asks in such a tone that both men in the room feel berated. “Sir,” she starts, focusing solely on her boss, making sure he understands her justification as pleading, “we know nothing about this bioweapon. We don’t know what they want to use it for, we don’t even know if they have the capacity to store it safely,” she holds up, taking a mechanical glance at the man across the desk to see if he has anything to contradict her. Certain he doesn’t, she continues, “Putting Agent Mulder in this situation is extremely risky.”

Skinner feels for her, he understands how concerned she is for Mulder; he truly is too. But this is national security, and he is as by-the-book as they come. “They want something from him,” he forces out, hoping she sees his hands are tied. “We have no other way of learning what.”

Before she can think of a response, one of the agents assigned to the task force abruptly opens the door and cuts them off, informing the room that there has been an attack in a movie theatre in Ohio with the same bioweapon used at Folger Park. The discussion about Mulder is clearly put on hold for now; Skinner directs her to go home and change before they can use an FBI jet to fly out to Akron, Ohio, and make their way to Gables Corner where the incident happened.

Chapter Text

April 25, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Mulder manages to get some four hours of passed-out sleep on a cot in this warehouse in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania, after an hour-long torture session courtesy of Jacob Haley and his lackey in the dead of night. The agent can’t even be certain he’s in the Keystone State; he rode here late last night with a hood over his head, and all he knows is that (a) they drove north of Angola, Delaware, for some three hours, and (b) luckily the suspicious terrorist seemed to believe his interest in the cause is genuine and not part of a government ruse to take down the New Spartans.

Someone bring me an Oscar, please.

Mulder stretches, trying to shake the kinks out of his body, and almost screams at the pain he feels when he inadvertently closes his fingers into a fist during a yawn. His pinkie finger is throbbing, most likely broken; he knows this is a small price to pay for national security but it’s definitely not why he signed up for the FBI. He has no interest in becoming Captain America; he’ll gladly settle for being the crazypot down in the X-Files if it means he gets to help his country uncovering a different kind of public threat, one that most people don’t even seem to understand or care about.

Before he even gets a chance to take a leak, Mulder is already being accosted by one of the militia’s minions, who is ordering him to get off the cot and follow him into a meeting with Haley and the rest of the present members of the group.

“What, no breakfast?” Mulder jests as he starts walking. “I get cranky when I’m decaffeinated and have broken bones in my body.”

The criminal only gives him a disapproving stare in reply.

Finally, after a whole morning of discussion and not a whole lot of upfront information, Mulder’s undercover assignment starts to pay off. Haley gives him an actual task – obtain documentation on fund transfer schedules from the Federal Reserve Bank for the entire eastern coast. He’s not clear on all the reasons, but at least some of it seems pretty straightforward to him – they intend to rob a bank or at the least an armored cash transport van. He makes his promises to deliver all the information he can gather to Haley but tells the New Spartans frontman it is going to take some time; he can’t just start printing everything all at once on a Saturday or his superiors will get suspicious, Mulder wisely argues. He manages to stall for at least a day, but Haley is not all that subtle in telling him he should come through by Sunday late afternoon or else.

“I’m not really keen on the or else part, trust me,” Mulder deadpans. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, he is finally allowed to leave, getting hooded again and shoved into the car to make the three-hour drive all the way back to Delaware and then pick up his car to go home.

The main thing keeping him whole is that the sooner he’s done with this, the sooner he can come clean with Scully and get their lives back to their usual tortuous tracks.

*****************************************************************************

Ever since leaving that office where she had the covert meeting with A.D. Skinner and the shadowy CIA operative, Scully has been battling her concern about Mulder’s perilous assignment with her need to do her actual job. She swung by her own apartment for a quick shower and a change of clothes before meeting the rest of the team at the tarmac in Quantico, but what she had really wanted to do at the time was to call Mulder to check if he was safe and to tell him he could confide in her about his undercover mission. Despite her wishes, she knew rationally that she couldn’t talk to him, so she tried to redirect all of her attention to the work ahead of her, all the while avoiding at all costs any unnecessary contact with the agents flying with her to Ohio, including her boss.

It was a lot harder for her to concentrate on the case as they all waited outside the movie theater in Gables Corner for the HAZMAT team to clear the crime scene. Even if the area was chaotic and she feared for everyone’s safety while standing there, she kept reverting back to her partner and the risks he was taking interacting with such ominous men, especially considering the New Spartans held this threatening bioweapon and the FBI all still didn’t know much about it. Finally, after about an hour of waiting, the military declared safe to enter the theater and she managed to slip into investigative mode with a little more ease than she expected. Now, as she witnesses the corroded victims’ bodies covered in protective plastic just sitting inside the auditorium and looks around to try and determine what could have been the delivery method for the toxin that killed them all, she reminds herself that this is a matter of national security and she needs to focus on solving what has happened in this small town so the government can prevent any future attacks.

A ticket stub lying on the floor looks like a good possible vector and she bags it, ordering a lab tech to instruct the rest of the team to collect all the other stubs they can find and send them to Quantico for a rush analysis. Not wanting to be remiss, she looks around and notices another common factor among all the victims – their popcorn buckets and soda cups. She orders their collection too and moves on to the lounge to go through the restrooms and concession area. She needs to find out what has happened here.

By mid-afternoon the team has everything collected and bagged and they fly back to Washington. Knowing they need to wait for the lab to come back with the results, there’s no question in her mind about what’s her next step.

She drives straight to Alexandria.

*****************************************************************************

When Mulder finally makes his way into his dark apartment, he is utterly run down. His finger is swollen and hurting like crap, he smells bad after having been tortured for a night and spent a whole day without a shower and, honestly, he could also use a bite.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he hears her voice and startles immediately despite her warning.

Damn, not this too right now, he thinks to himself, rubbing his face tiredly. He is going to break if he has to deal with her after all that he has gone through this past day. “Scully, get out of here,” he dismisses her with a sigh.

“Mulder –” she sounds so caring for him.

Oh God, he hates that he loves her so much. He yells, “Get out of here!”

“I know what you’re doing,” she continues in her sweet voice, taking a step closer to him. His presence alone before her now is enough to make her forget that at some point she had actually suspected him of being a traitor. “Skinner told me everything.”

Is she trying to trick me? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies doing his best to pretend he is truthful.

She chooses to ignore his retort and go a different way about it. “What happened to your hand?” she asks, nodding at the way he is holding his fingers apart to avoid flexing.

“Nothing,” he replies like a defying child and immediately winces when she gently takes his hand in both of hers to inspect the damage.

“Oh, Mulder, what did they do to you?” she laments as she twists his little finger to better examine it. Her heart is aching for him. “God, this needs to be set,” she declares as she lets go of his hand and starts heading to the kitchen to grab some ice. “You’re in pain.”

“Yeah, if you keep pulling it around like that,” he rebukes, sulking, before making his way to his couch, resigned to the fact that she’s not leaving for now.

“Let’s get the swelling down,” Scully comments once she reaches the living room with the ice wrapped in a dish towel. She sits on the coffee table in front of him and then delicately picks up her partner’s injured hand with her right one, using the other to place the ice over his swollen finger in remarkable tenderness.

He is genuinely thankful to have her here with him, tending to him, but he can’t speak of it now; he can’t look at her or he will lose his determination to keep going with his assignment. No matter how much he loves her and has missed her, he knows how difficult the situation they’re in is, reminds himself why this is something he needs to do alone. At least he can accept her concern for him, her kind touches as she takes care of him. She is his source for strength in a world of turmoil.

After a few moments of quietness, she speaks up in a soft, sad voice, “They’ve killed again, Mulder. Fourteen people in a movie theatre in Ohio. The same toxin they released in the park.”

“Fourteen people?” he half-questions, half-states, making eye contact with her. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he muses.

“Unless it was a test – for something bigger,” she notes, before coming back to the matter of his injury. “Why do this to you, Mulder?”

“They’re testing me, too. Haley’s paranoid; spooked. I was sure he was going to kill me.”

He sounds so matter-of-factly that it scares her how she had been so close to actually losing him. “What stopped him?”

“They still need something from me, and I’m sensing there’s someone Haley trusts even less… the man giving him his orders. Someone I haven’t met yet; a guy named August Bremer.”

“You need to be careful, Mulder,” she cautions, turning his palm up to change the position of the ice on his little finger. “This is one dangerous decision you’ve taken,” she adds, referring to his undercover assignment.

“You know me, I’ve done far worse in the past,” he attempts at levity.

“Yes, but…” she starts retorting and hesitates. But what? Their friendship is even stronger than usual, of course, and she certainly cares for him as her partner, but is that all?

He looks into her eyes, trying to read her uncertainty. This feels like a charged moment, no question.

She can’t deny to herself that she wants more from him. She wants him to father her child, to start with – and that alone is one tall order. Nevermind that her feelings have also been changing more and more for the past few months. Not changing, she accepts. Have changed.

It’s time she accepts that she loves him.

“Mulder,” she says his name like a prayer, before taking a deep breath and taking his free hand to hold the ice over his battered finger as she disentangles his hand from her touch and interlocks her own fingers, hands resting on her thighs. “There’s something I want to discuss with you once all of this is over. Something I need to ask you,” she comments enigmatically. “So, I need you to take care of yourself, okay?” she pleads. “Don’t put your life in any additional unnecessary risks.”

He can feel the weight her words carry, even if he isn’t certain of her meaning. He hopes it’s something about their personal relationship, but there’s no way he can know for sure with her – and, apparently, she is adamant about not giving him any indication of what she wants to talk about. “Okay,” he agrees, sincerely. He wants to believe he would never deny her anything she asked of him with such vulnerability.

She nods in gratitude, staring into his eyes. “I need to go to the pharmacy and get a splint to set your finger and some medication to help with the pain and inflammation, okay?” she tells him, unable to not reach out and caress his left biceps. “Why don’t you take a shower and relax on the couch in the meantime?” she recommends. “I can get us something to eat as well.”

“You’re not staying, Scully,” he growls, serious. He’s worried for her safety.

She just pins him with a stare that assures him the matter is not up for discussion.

He sighs. “I’ll order some Italian for us, don’t worry,” he amends her suggestion as he stands up, still holding the ice to his hand, stopping momentarily only to kiss the top of her head. “I hope you know I wanted to tell you, Scully,” he comments in a serious tone, looking straight at her sincerely.

“I do know, Mulder,” she replies with her eyes closed, enjoying his touch for a second. “I understand; I just don’t like that you’ve gone into all of this without my being there with you,” she admits, getting up as well. “I’ll be back soon,” she says in parting, heading for the door, watching him as he nods at her and picks up the phone to call the restaurant before she closes the door behind her on her way out.

All during his shower, he can’t stop thinking about how much this case had put a strain on his relationship with his partner and how lucky he is that she’s here for him now, how quick to forgive him she is. He also reflects on her words and demeanor when she told him she wants to have a conversation with him after his case; she didn’t seem unhappy; she seemed to have a prospective idea, looked and sounded… wishful. He can’t help but wonder if he’s the one who is being wishful, really.

It's been about twenty minutes since her departure when Scully lets herself back into his apartment, carrying the medical supplies she needs to treat his damaged pinkie. “I’m back,” she calls out to him as she makes her way into his living room, noticing him opening his bedroom door a few inches to talk to her.

“I already ordered the food, it should be here in under ten minutes,” he informs her through the door crack as he goes about his messy room barefoot, wearing a grey pair of sweatpants and towel-drying his wet hair using just his uninjured hand.

“Perfect,” she calls back, taking notice of his solid, damp, bare torso peeking through the open door as he moves back from the bedroom into his bathroom, his oblique muscles fascinating her just as much as the black elastic band of his boxers apparent under the low waist of his untied pants. “When you’re ready, I can set your finger,” she says from her spot in his living room outside the half-opened door, doing her best to sound under control.

“I’ll be right out,” he replies as he gargles some tap water in his mouth in front of the sink. He certainly seems in no hurry to put on the rest of his clothes.

She’s seen Mulder undressed several times before, but never in a relaxed-enough state that she would allow herself the time to closely appreciate his body. This time, she wants to enjoy the view; she definitely doesn’t want to be the one to rush him. Daringly, she sets the door ajar and steps into his bedroom, taking a longer glance at the disarray of boxes, magazines and overall junk that is piled in the room than she usually does on the few times she’s needed to use his bathroom in the past. He is a strange man, her partner, she thinks to herself. She then redirects her stare to Mulder’s direction, leisurely admiring the smooth expanse of his bare athletic back, the enticing curve of his buttocks as he sloppily combs his hair, trying to understand how such a good-looking, interesting man manages to lead this lonesome, loveless life. Her eyes make their way up his body and she ends up meeting his gaze in the mirror in front of him.

His pupils are dilated; his look feels dangerous.

“You’d better finish dressing, Mulder,” she comments offhandedly, resting her shoulder on the bathroom doorjamb as if she hadn’t just been caught staring at his semi-naked form. “I still have to immobilize your finger and it would be more convenient for you if I took care of it after you’re done. Not to mention the food is going to be here any minute.”

“I don’t think that’s really going to make a difference in terms of resting my finger,” he answers, turning around to face her. “Somehow, I’m expecting a lot of activities for the next days and dressing and undressing seems to be the least of my concerns,” he goes for a deadpan but ends up sounding a little more to the salacious side, so he tries to tease his way out of it. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll put on a shirt, Agent Scully,” he finishes, watching as she unglues eyes from his chest hair back to his face.

“I’m sorry,” she flounders, unable to hide a blush. “I got a little lost in my head thinking about the case and I must have given you the wrong impression,” she tries to recover, reaching out to his good hand and dragging him into his own living room. “Come on, let’s work on that battered finger of yours.”

“Scully,” he starts to protest with a chuckle just as the apartment intercom buzzes. “Oh, that’s probably the food. Let me buzz them up and then we can continue this,” he gives her a tight-lipped smile, managing momentary playfulness even considering the particularly dire events of the day, and then goes to the kitchen to answer the call and retrieve tableware and dishes for their meal. He thinks of carrying all of it to the coffee table but decides on using the dining area instead. “Less messy this way,” he justifies sheepishly once he notices her look and goes for the door to accept the take-out.

“Do we need glasses?” she asks, pointing at his cupboard while he shuts the door closed with his foot after paying the delivery man.

“We’re fine, I ordered us Italian soda,” he points at the smaller bag he’s just set at the table, containing two large plastic cups and a couple of straws.

“Then, let’s fix your finger before dinner,” she beckons him into the living room.

“You sure you’re not gonna punish my finger for my undercover assignment?” he jests as he sits next to her on the couch, turning his body to face her.

“Stop being such a baby,” she mocks in return, feigning a forceful grasp on his wrist and then laughing once he winces preemptively, scared. Starting over, she takes hold of his bruised hand with exceeding care and applies a numbing cream to keep him comfortable as she reassesses the damage to his finger more thoroughly. “It looks like a stable fracture… no joint damage. You were very lucky,” she remarks.

“Yeah, either that or Mr. Enforcer really knows what he’s doing,” Mulder retorts cynically.

Scully watches him for a few seconds, without addressing his comment. “Well,” she starts deciding to keep their focus on his finger and not the New Spartans tactics as she measures the splint against his pinkie, “ideally, your finger should be immobilized for at least twenty days. Since I know that’s not realistic when it comes to you,” she piles on before he can even get a chance to cut in, “do you think you could at least manage to keep the splint on for a full week? Otherwise, you could really end up jeopardizing your recovery time.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed to him this time around how much she actually knows him and offers compromises to keep him in line. “Yes, I can do a week,” he says with a pleased smile as she uses the sticking plaster to fix the splint on his finger. Once she lets go of his hand, he takes a look at her good work and pats her thigh closest to him, keeping his hand there. “Can we eat now? I’m actually starving and I still have to go to the Bureau later tonight to meet with Skinner about what I gathered from the New Spartans,” he informs her, making his way into the bedroom instead of the dining area.

“Tonight?”

“I called him on the way over here. We’ll meet at three a.m. so as to avoid prying eyes,” he returns, putting on a white shirt as he walks toward the dining table.

She follows him in silence, watching his covered torso in curiosity, acknowledging that he was most likely taught to never have dinner without a shirt on. Such a well-mannered man, her partner. Unfortunately.

He smirks at her without so much a word as she sits across from him at the table. He definitely noticed her staring at his dressed form just now. Disappointed?

She grabs the bag with the Italian sodas and places each one next to their respective plates without looking at Mulder’s face. “Shall we eat?”

He shakes his head in amusement and starts serving the food that’s sitting in the separate bag. “We shall.”

Chapter Text

Mulder and Scully eat their pasta primavera and lemon chicken mostly in silence, except for minor conversation about the case. Her questions about when he had been first approached by the New Spartans, his next steps and what he knows about the members of the militia surely sound professional and would not mean anything else for someone who isn’t fluent in Scully-speak; he knows the implication behind each word – When did you start lying to me? How long will you keep me out? Are you going to be safe?

“I think you noticed that our interactions have changed recently,” he says at one point, almost finished with his plate, as he takes a sip of his soda with his head low and flicking his eyes up to look at her through his lashes.

“Do you mean earlier this month, when you started distancing yourself again like you used to be when we’d first started working together?” She mentions wittily. “Or…” she adds without thinking and then catches herself. She looks flustered as she realizes the words she barely kept from spilling out.

Or how we’ve grown more intimate in the past months.

His heart speeds up unwittingly inside his chest once he infers the possible meaning of what she didn’t say. From the look on her face, he gathers she inadvertently referred to the ginormous pink elephant in the room, almost openly discussed this… this thing between them.

Are they ever going to properly acknowledge it?

Wanting to avoid making her even more uncomfortable now that they cannot really do anything about it, he speaks up, “I meant running away from you these past few weeks.” Then he sees her exhale, seemingly in relief, and ends up stupidly summoning courage that he didn’t even know he had to continue, “But, yeah… I guess the other too.”

Once the words are out of his mouth, he takes the last bite of his food, adding to the silence that he anticipates will settle over the room.

She feels flushed and worries that her fair skin could be showing evidence of her emotions. Properly, she looks down to her own plate and plays with the remainder of her food a little bit, trying to organize her thoughts and calm her breathing down. Now is not the time to talk about them, she supposes. “Well, at least is comforting to know you’re not a traitor… that your actions are justified,” she comments skirting the other subject and keeping the focus on their work.

Yes, she meant to talk only about his professional stance, of course; and yet… apparently, they could unconsciously write a whole book, Tolstoy-long, on subtext.

“I would never do that to you,” he whispers, surprising even himself that he would be so indirectly direct.

His eyes distinctly convey some of what he feels – decisiveness, fondness, devotion, fear; hers are a mask that only allow pride and loyalty to seep through. She smiles, though, and that smile lets him see how glad she is to hear his words. She can only nod in recognition of him, refocusing her attention to her last forkful of pasta and chewing slowly, taking her sweet time until she is certain the underlying subject will have died out.

Also trying to give them time to compose themselves, Mulder checks the clock on the wall above the dinner table and finds that it’s ten past nine p.m.; he still has at a solid five hours ahead of him to rest before he needs to go to the Bureau. At that thought, he realizes he wants his partner to stay. He wants to tell her that she is the most important thing in his world now, that he can’t even think of finding Samantha without her at his side; that he’s afraid these terrorists will kill him before they get a chance to sort out their concerns and overcome this final barrier between them. He wants to kiss her, to make love to her, to at least hold her in his arms and be sure that this is a true possibility for them in the near future. But alas… it’s all in the future; he can’t overstep and ruin everything by doing a half-assed job of addressing it now. “You should go home, Scully,” he says instead, getting up from the table and taking their dishes to the kitchen mechanically.

She bristles for a second before getting up as well and walking towards the kitchen doorway, coming out of her own reverie. She was thinking along the same lines as him, assessing that she should go back to her place and get a good night’s sleep before giving all of herself tomorrow to finding out the truth about the toxin the New Spartans have been using and helping this case go away. Still, hearing him speak the words, she can’t help but feel… rejected.

Upon noticing her reaction and before she gets a change to say anything, Mulder continues in what he hopes is a comforting voice, “I really appreciate the company and having my finger fixed, but it’s still too dangerous for you to stay here, I can’t risk your life with this case.” He dumps the dishes in the sink and runs the water, then turns around to face her, resting his hips on the counter. “And I honestly need some quiet time before meeting Skinner and taking the next step with this case,” he tries for a tired smirk.

“You do know it’s my choice to have a risky job, right, Mulder?” Scully asks in a serious tone, now that she’s finally allowed to speak. “We’ve covered this before,” she comments, frustrated.

“Yes, you’ve said something in the past about this being your life,” he comments back, more snarkily than he intended to before closing his eyes and turning toward the counter to brace himself, taking a deep, calming breath.

“I’m just worried about you,” she says softly, coming up to him and placing a hand on his bicep. She wants to steer them away from pointless, redundant arguing.

“And I’m worried about you, Scully,” he declares turning his face to look at her sideways, such tenderness in his eyes and tone of voice that her stomach flutters. “You’re not assigned to this undercover assignment. Your job doesn’t require you to make house calls and keep an eye on your partner off hours, either; I’ll be fine. I’ll do my thing and you do your thing and we’ll see each other on the other side of this case,” he finishes, gently taking her hand in his in reassurance.

“If that’s what you want,” she relents, slipping her hand off his grip, though not unkindly.

“It’s more of a matter of what I need to get through it, actually,” he confesses stoically.

On an impulse, Scully places both of her hands on each of his cheeks and opens her mouth but immediately hesitates. What is she doing, she thinks. She can’t be sure of what she was about to say. “Good night,” she settles on, caressing his face with her thumbs before letting go of him and walking out of the apartment all at once.

It takes Mulder almost forty minutes after she’s gone to let go of trying to guess what she would have said and done before she stopped herself and finally take a nap on the couch.

*****************************************************************************

April 26, 1998
Angola, DE

Sunday seems to be a business day for all the agents working on the New Spartans case.

After arriving in the middle of the night at the Bureau to meet Skinner and the CIA operative liaising with them to discuss the updates on the case and then spending most of the morning there to collect the information he needed, Mulder drives again all the way to Angola, Delaware, to meet with Haley and his sidekick at the Aaron Burr Motor Court, expecting to just deliver all the material that had been requested of him and then go back to his regular life. Instead, he ends up being once again thrown into a car wearing a hood over his face and then taken to the same undisclosed location three hours away that he had gone to the day before – the difference this time being that the warehouse is swarming with other men, including the elusive August Bremer, all busy with working out the plans for a secret bank heist. It’s ironic that Mulder is happy to see he had correctly assumed the crime; he hadn’t been counting on actually taking part in it, but apparently now he is supposed to. He doesn’t really know how he feels about it but figures that after everything he’s already gone through, it’s a little too late to backtrack. So, he hovers around the group for a while, trying to keep out of the way and at the same time wanting to learn as much as possible about their plans. He is already too deep into this anyway.

By early evening, it becomes evident that no one is going back to their regular lives for the night, so Mulder declares to the room – aiming his words mostly at Jacob Haley – that he needs to contact his assistant director at the FBI with an excuse as to why he will be away from the office tomorrow morning. “I need a reason to be away lest he and my partner get even more suspicious,” he adds for good measure to keep his cover. Actually, what he really needs is to touch base with his boss and let him know he’s at least still alive.

“Maybe you should quit your job and joins us full time, Mr. Mulder,” Bremer tells him, still sounding wary for a reason the agent can’t really pinpoint.

“Let’s see how this goes before I give up on my 401(k),” Mulder deadpans. “Besides, how would we get any government information without someone on the inside?”

“Not to sound unappreciative of your assistance and interest in the cause, but we can do just fine without a government pawn,” Bremmer states emotionlessly.

Mulder’s ostensibly innocuous question was meant to afford him an opportunity to pay close attention to Bremer’s reactions, and the militia leader’s message seemed clear enough to him – the federal agent is clearly expendable to him.

Jacob Haley, on the other hand, doesn’t appear to like his associate’s manners, throwing the other criminal a dirty look before directing Mulder to use a room at an opposite far corner to call his boss. Thankful, Mulder goes to call Skinner about this latest update, briefly informing the A.D. only that something has come up and that he will be chasing down a lead out of office the next day, no further explanation conveyed for fear that someone might be listening in.

For his part, Skinner understands well-enough to pick up on the fact that Mulder is probably joining the New Spartans for their next terrorist attack, one that he doesn’t really have any detail on, except that it possibly involves a bank or armored car robbery anywhere in any of the twenty-six states that comprise the eastern region of the United States… At a loss, he informs Scully of the situation and requests her help to try and find out more about her partner’s whereabouts, hoping that their eerie connection actually works in his favor this time. She had already warned him earlier today that there is a chance the toxin used by the New Spartans might have come from the U.S. bioweapons program (which seems to have continued in secret after the 1960’s) and that Mulder might be on a suicide mission; he is not willing to gamble with his agent’s life.

That’s why Scully rides again all the way to Angola, Delaware, close to eleven o’clock this fine cool evening – she came to check if her partner drove back to the same motel to which she had followed him last Friday. Reaching the lodge’s parking lot, she allows worry to take over her once she spots her partner’s car abandoned (okay, parked) at the outdoor lot. She has no concrete reason to fear for Mulder’s safety – no incoming threats that she’s aware of, no evidence that his cover has been blown, nothing; all she has is a bad feeling in her gut.

That’s not very scientific of her, she automatically berates herself at first. Then she reminds herself that she has indeed been making an effort to rely more on her intuition than she’s permitted herself in the past, so she accepts her instincts and acts accordingly – she parks her own car next to her partner’s and then on a hunch goes to the motel’s front desk to check if her “boyfriend” – Mr. Kaplan – has already checked in, giving the night manager (who she’s glad to see is a friendly older lady and not the same person as last time) a weak excuse about being unable to reach him on his mobile phone.

“Room 130, ma’am,” the night manager tells her cordially after checking the ledger.

“Thank you,” she replies with an amiable smile, grateful in fact that she remembered the alias that had been used to rent a room two nights ago.

Going back to her car, she spots the door to room 130 across the parking lot and makes herself comfortable in the driver’s seat; she’s ready to stakeout the place for the whole night, if that’s what it takes to make sure he’s going to be okay.

*****************************************************************************

April 27, 1998
Angola, DE

When Scully comes to her senses at the sound of a car horn, she notices that she’s still in her car, daylight almost blinding her eyes, and finds that she must have dozed off at some point during her overnight stakeout. 6:04a.m., she spots on the car’s radio display. Honestly, Dana…

She usually loves that she can manage to rest anywhere at any time, but it’s moments like this that make her hate her inability to stay awake for long hours when she’s not actively on the move.

Movement ahead of her catches her attention and she looks at the door she had been watching all night only to see motel housekeeping leaving the room. “Oh, damn,” she mutters to herself, realizing that this means the room is vacant and Mulder is nowhere to be found. Despite the fact that she constantly harasses him about his sleeping habits, right now she’s ironically envious of the man’s chronic insomnia; if things were the other way around, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep and lost the only potential lead to finding his own partner.

She feels like she failed him, and that tears a hole inside her, would actually bring her to tears if she gave herself more time to wallow in self-blame. However, she refuses to let even another second go by without pragmatically considering an alternative to finding her partner. This mistake will not possibly cost him his life; that is just not something up for debate.

Suddenly, a light bulb goes off in her head – the money. If they were planning to simply rob bank or an armored car, they would have no need for releasing a biotoxin in a movie theater in a small town in Ohio. If she is reading this situation correctly, the New Spartans are most likely aiming at contaminating the money to maximize casualties and create chaos all over the country, weakening the population’s faith in the government’s ability to protect them and making them vulnerable to further attacks, until they can ultimately stage a coup. She could be wrong, of course, but right now this is the theory that makes the most sense to her, so she once again makes an executive decision to trust her instincts, already turning her car around to drive back to D.C. as fast as she can. She reaches for her cellphone to call Skinner and tell him of her suspicions, but the battery is discharged.

She needs to drive faster.

Unfortunately, due to morning rush hour and a six-car pileup in Chesapeake Bay Bridge, it takes her almost four hours to reach the FBI Headquarters, and she dreads to think that with each tick of the clock Mulder’s life might be closer to danger. She keeps chanting to herself that they will find her partner and that he will be fine, over and over, nonstop, like a mantra. Once Scully finally walks in the conference room set up as command center for the FBI/CIA joint taskforce and spots her boss, she starts immediately spurting her theory about the money being contaminated and Mulder’s life being in danger, and not even the information that there have been twenty-seven bank robberies in seven eastern states just this morning is enough to deter her. She is on a mission to find him, and she goes around the room looking at all the different monitors playing surveillance tapes trying to find her partner. Determined, she directs all the team’s efforts into going over the tapes involving large bank heists in the major cities. “Hitting smaller banks or minor cities would not be symbolic nor threatening enough to fabricate the kind of havoc they in all probability desire,” she assures both the A.D. and the CIA agent whose name she still has no idea is.

Eventually, she comes across a panoramic image of the heist in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and her heart starts pounding. “Freeze there!” she commands to the tech, her adrenaline high.

“Agent Scully?” Skinner’s question is implicit as he comes to her side, CIA man in tow.

She points at the tall man in an all-black ensemble, holding what looks like an MP9 semi-automatic pistol and wearing a Dracula mask over his face and a splint on his pinkie finger. “That’s Mulder. I set his finger last night with that splint,” she informs them intently. “We need to go immediately to Harrisburg.”

“It’s a two-hour drive,” CIA man states unnecessarily.

“I’ll call in the HAZMAT team to start the sweep in the bank,” Skinner tells Scully, ignoring his co-leader. “Let’s go.”

*****************************************************************************

Mulder has been feeling sick to his stomach ever since leaving the warehouse at seven-thirty this morning. Actually, if he’s being honest, he’s been particularly tense ever since leaving the makeshift criminal headquarters late last night and going with the group to a secluded estate somewhere eastbound about twenty minutes away – as he had correctly assumed, it had been impossible to have a good night’s sleep; thoughts of being made as a double agent by someone in the militia, of the terrorists being successful in their endeavor, of Scully getting caught, of either of them getting killed had permeated his mind and resulted in him having only managed to snooze for short periods of time, which had barely amounted to an hour of rest for the whole night.

At nine a.m. sharp, the bank’s manager and accompanying security guard had been surprised to open the armored van door and find the New Spartans and Mulder hiding behind masks piling out of the car, waving guns at them, yelling to unlock the loading dock gate and then storming into the bank and threatening to shoot the employees and clients if they didn’t follow their instructions. Most of the terrorists stayed behind in the main room to hold the bystanders at gunpoint, whereas Bremer took the manager as hostage and went inside the vault with a couple of the group’s members to steal the money. It fell onto Mulder the responsibility of pointing his own gun at a young teller, an honest, unsuspecting, stupid male teller who thought he should take advantage of the undercover federal agent’s apparent uncertainty and try to trigger a silent alarm to call the cops. Mulder might have hesitated, but the lackey responsible for breaking his finger certainly didn’t; he fired his own gun and hit the teller right on his left side, very close to his lung. Whilst the man had miraculously remained alive, he couldn’t really claim it to be his lucky day – Haley wanted Mulder to execute the innocent man, and the FBI agent was at a loss, couldn’t really murder a civilian but at the same time couldn’t think of anything to say that would sound plausible to avoid shooting the man; he just froze, standing there for about ten seconds that felt like two centuries getting howled at by Haley until Bremer stepped in and ordered Mulder to go away because his weapon was traceable, shooting at the man himself.

They piled back onto the armored van they arrived in and left with all the money they could take, going back to the New Spartans headquarter about an hour and a half away.

Now, standing outside around a makeshift bonfire where Bremer is burning all evidence that could link them to the heist, Mulder is disgusted with himself. He cost a civilian’s life. He may not have pulled the trigger himself, but his actions, or lack thereof, actually caused a guiltless man to be killed.

He hates himself.

As Bremer adds the stolen money to the bonfire, Mulder is desperately confused. Shouting at the man to ask what he’s doing, he’s told that the bills could also be traced and puts two and two together – it was never about a robbery; the heist was a decoy to contaminate the money they left behind.

Dear Lord, these people are lunatics.

Coming face to face with the barrel of Bremer’s gun, Mulder is stunned out of his stupor. Haley immediately steps up and stands in front of him, arguing with Bremer about his allegiance, accusing the man of leaking information to the feds, and then Bremer is playing a recording of Mulder talking with Scully two nights ago about being tested and afraid of dying and about Haley trusting August Bremer even less than he does him for them all to hear.

“What the hell is this?” Haley asks Mulder, astonished.

Mulder can’t say anything in his defense at first. They’re gonna kill me, he thinks. They’re gonna kill me and I haven’t found my sister, I haven’t really lived, I haven’t told Scully how I feel… oh my God, they’re gonna kill Scully too. I’ve failed everyone I’ve ever loved in my life.

“It’s time you pay for your betrayal, Mulder,” Bremer announces interrupting his musings, still pointing at the agent. “And you for your stupidity and misguided ambition,” he adds, turning his aim at Haley. “Both of you, start walking,” he pushes them backwards by nudging the gun barrel at their chests, and the two men turn around and march away, Bremer and his thugs in tow, until the New Spartans mastermind tells them to stop by the side of the road. “Kneel on the ground,” he orders both men and they comply.

“My partner found out about my involvement with you,” Mulder speaks up while staring ahead, an idea in his mind. “We’re personally close, and she tailed me to Delaware once she thought I was acting too detached and weird. She confronted me in my apartment after she saw me leaving with the gimp there and I had to tell her some of what was going on to get her to trust me, to get her on my side. I was trying to get her to believe the cause,” his voice turns insistent as he tries to convince the men with the guns and the one kneeling beside him. “I am certain I can get her to join us in this!” he raises his voice, turning his head to the side, in a half attempt to look at Bremer behind him.

“It’s too late for your lies, Mulder,” Bremer says cooly.

“I’m not lying! I just didn’t want to say anything before I could actually tell Haley we had another believer on our side,” he replies frantically. “I guess being wrongly sentenced to death here made me see I had to move up the schedule a little bit,” he adds in sarcasm.

“Just shut up and stay still,” Bremer tells him. “We’ll discuss what to do about you two.”

With that, Bremer turns to the terrorists by his side and they start speaking in hushed tones.

“You guys could really use a chill pill,” Mulder says in a low tone to Haley, trying to joke his way out of certain death.

“I vouched for you,” Haley retorts, anger seeping through his lips.

“I’m on your side,” Mulder whispers harshly, hoping to convince Haley and get himself out of this situation.

Bremer’s voice announcing that they’ve made some decisions interrupts their conversation. He addresses Haley first, placing a leather pouch with a set of car keys on top of his head and ordering him to take the car ahead of them and leave. After the man drives away, the militia leader tells Mulder to stand up and directs him to a deactivated greenhouse nearby.

This is it, Mulder thinks. This is the end of the line for me.

“Stop there,” Bremer tells Mulder once they get to the middle of the area, plastic sheets hanging all around them.

The agent turns around to look at the man, in a last attempt to save himself. He notices the criminal’s eyes are downcast, head hanging low, as he orders Mulder to get down to his knees and put his hands behind his back. Not following through at first, Mulder keeps watching the older man in silence. Something feels off here. His brain starts racing – what is going on?

Without lifting his head, Bremer looks up through his lashes and Mulder’s mind keeps reeling, trying to make sense of the expression on the other man’s face. Is there a message in there? Is that a warning? Regret…?

Once the staring contest gets to be too much, Mulder resigns himself to his fate. He turns back ahead and gets down on his knees.

I’m sorry, Scully.

Chapter Text

April 27, 1998
Harrisburg, PA

When the gun went off behind him, Mulder’s kneeling body was automatically pushed forward and his mind went blank. For a millisecond, he had expected his life to flash before his eyes, but there was nothing like that; it all looked exactly the same. Except for the gimp’s dead body dropping next to him.

You’re still alive, his mind reminds him as he reaches the outskirts of Harrisburg driving the car he has borrowed from August Bremer. Bremer – the supposed mastermind behind the New Spartans, the man who Mulder had been sure was going to kill him – had actually killed a member of his own group and saved the federal agent’s life.

Someone needs to tell him what the hell is really going on.

Another ten minutes and Mulder makes it past the police block outside the bank he had assisted in robbing just this morning and starts yelling out orders to get everybody out of the building, frantic. No way this is a simple domestic terrorism case, not with everything that has just happened, he knows it. He storms his way through the loading dock, intent on finding whoever is in charge, and, oh – Scully is there before him, walking his way and shouting his name in relief.

Scully is here.

“The money!” he tells her in a loud voice, still panicked. “They sprayed the money!”

If she touches any of the bills…

“We got here an hour ago, before any of the funds were touched or transferred,” she tells him, easing his concern as she crosses the threshold and comes to a halt in front of him. “The cash supply is being isolated; it’s being locked down in the vault.”

She’s okay; everyone is okay, he repeats to himself in his head. The adrenaline rushes out of his body all at once and he feels like he’s going to pass out; he braces his hands on his knees as he tries to regulate his breathing.

She’s okay, and she’s standing there right in front of him, looking all proper and professional and in charge of everything.

Well, she’s not most of these things, really. She wants to touch him, pull him into her arms, make sure that he’s truly alive and healthy and safe, that she hasn’t lost him. It’s just that she’s standing in the middle of a crime scene, rounded by policemen, their boss just inside. She can’t do what she wants to. Actually, she wonders if, even if they were alone, she would allow herself to do what she really wants to.

“How did you know it was this bank?” he asks, the thought coming to his mind all of the sudden.

“I recognized you from the surveillance tape,” she tells him, and as he looks at her baffled, murmuring questions and mimicking a mask over his face, she merely nods at his hand and adds in explanation, “Ah, your finger.”

God, he wishes he could take her face in his hands and kiss the air out of her, he barely laughs to himself, amazed at this woman before him. It’s a fleeting idea, because they’re in public and – oh look, Skinner is coming over from inside the bank as well.

“August Bremer – or whatever his real name is – he’s working with us,” Mulder announces immediately to the assistant director, ready to tell his boss everything he think he knows.

“Mulder, before you go any further,” Scully commands his attention, sounding uneasy, “you should know that the biotoxin they used may have come from government labs. Our government.”

That stops him in his tracks. “You’re saying I was set up?”

Skinner, who is looking more and more disconcerted by the sight of his subordinate and the words he’s proffering, replies cautiously, “We have no definitive information to justify that position.”

Mulder is having none of it. “I was being used?” He asks the bald man, turning to Scully to gather her thoughts on this. She doesn’t look any more comfortable about the possibility than he feels. “This whole operation?” He further asks, turning to his boss again. “The people who died in that theatre?” he adds in a loud, disapproving voice.

“Agent Mulder,” the CIA agent that has been involved every step of the way on this greets as he rounds the loading dock from behind Skinner. “Our government is not in the business of killing innocent civilians,” he says in that formal, this-is-the-government’s-official-speech tone.

“The hell they aren’t,” Mulder challenges, angrily walking up to the man. “Those were tests on us to be used on someone else.”

“Those bills have been analyzed; the money in the vault gave no readings,” the mysterious operative retorts disdainfully. “There’s absolutely no evidence of any biotoxins. So, before you climb on any bandwagon –”

“You knew about this all along,” Scully interrupts him immediately, confrontation in her eyes once the pieces of this diabolical puzzle come together in her mind. “You knew about this the whole time!” she raises her voice accusingly. Just the prospect of her partner’s life being in the danger for no other reason than a government agenda leaves her livid, in a full protective-mode.

The CIA agent observes her, taking in her posture and the way she looks at him menacingly. This female agent surprised him, and he isn’t usually surprised. He would have expected such a reaction from Agent Mulder, not his pristine partner.

“I want that money rechecked,” Mulder says like it’s an order.

“That money has been cleared,” the other man sternly replies. “It’s being used as evidence in a federal crime.”

“That money’s as dirty as you are, isn’t it?” the younger male agent pretends to ask, when he’s really making an accusation. Upon the silent, fake self-righteous look on the secret agent’s face, he repeats calmly. “Isn’t it?”

Mulder already has his answer, even before the shady government official haughtily launches into a well-rehearsed speech filled with rhetorical questions about Mulder’s intentions as a whistle-blower and the job also being about keeping people from knowing the truth. As the dishonest man walks again, Mulder and Scully just stand there, stunned by the veiled meaning of the words just spoken and aggrieved by the knowledge that their own government would stoop so low as to kill their own citizens in the name of assuring their military dominance over the world. Even Skinner looks jaded, dissatisfied with having been used in this charade alongside two of his most upstanding agents.

“I’m sorry, Agent Mulder,” the older agent finally breaks the silence. “Why don’t you go back to D.C. and take the rest of the day? We can debrief tomorrow; apparently, this is no longer a high priority case,” he all but mumbles the last part. “Actually, take the rest of the week off. You need to take care of that finger and I’m not looking forward to your whining about being stuck behind a desk all day long because of it,” Skinner deadpans.

Despite everything, Mulder cracks up. “Why, thank you, Sir. But if it’s no bother, I’d like to finish this case up, see what’s behind door number two. I have even more questions now than I did before I first started this assignment.”

The assistant director shakes his head negatively. “I’ll finish up here with Agent Scully and the rest of the team. Go home, Agent Mulder – that’s an order. I’ll expect your thorough report next Monday morning.” He stares at the male agent and then glances briefly at his female counterpart, silently allowing her a few moments alone with her partner before she needs to go back to work. With that, he heads back inside the bank.

“I was worried about you,” Scully declares in a tender voice the second their boss is out of earshot.

“Not my favorite rodeo, I’ll tell you,” Mulder’s jokes fall flat, sounding more despondent than he would have expected.

Intent on learning more about what happened to him and wanting to remain professional for the sake of appearances, she starts with what she expects to be the easier questions. “What did you mean by August Bremer being on our side?”

“I think he’s working with the CIA, Scully. He had a tape of the conversation about Haley we had that night you came to my apartment, and he played it to the group to expose me and push the Haley out of the way. Bremer pretended to allow him to go free, but I passed by his car – it was stopped off the road, Haley’s dead body inside with his head against the steering wheel. He was probably killed with that same biotoxin.”

Scully is shocked. “And you?”

“I’m still alive, in case you haven’t noticed,” he deadpans, and it’s the second time in as many minutes that his sense of humor leaves something to be desired. With a deep breath to prepare himself – and maybe his partner too –, he details, “He told them he was going to kill me. Led me aside with one of the lackeys for good measure and then shot the other guy instead of me and told me he had a car available for me to run away.”

Surprise lingers on her face for a moment before it shifts into bemusement. “This doesn’t make any sense, Mulder. Why use you?”

“I still don’t know that,” he admits. “Maybe it was Haley who thought it would be a good idea to bring me in and this was the only way Bremer could think of to keep things from going any further…”

For a short while they are silent, and Scully allows herself to be vulnerable, to let him see the distress she had been feeling. “You could have been killed,” her words are softly spoken then, meant only for his ears, and she seems to physically reach out to him before catching herself.

He doesn’t reply to her observation; the odds of that happening would have been all too real if it wasn’t for Bremer. Instead, he briefly touches her arm, no qualms about showing her (or anyone else that could be watching them) this display of fondness, and changes the subject. “You want to come over after you’re done here? You said you had something you wanted to discuss.”

She does indeed have something important she wants to discuss with him, but maybe asking him to help her conceive a child immediately after everything he’s been through is a bit too much. She needs to ease into the subject. “It can wait a few days,” she declines. “Right now, you need to focus on resting; you’ve been through a lot these past weeks; actually, you’ve been through a lot this year – and it’s only April,” she remarks with an impish smile.

He’s not sure he can hide the disappointment taking over his emotions; he was at least expecting to see her during this short leave of absence, maybe move things along in the personal relationship department but, by the way she phrased it, it seems she’s going to keep him at bay a while longer. “You’re sure? I think I could manage entertaining you for a couple of hours...” he lets the words hang in the air for a couple of seconds, teasing her with his double entendre. “Maybe dinner and a movie?”

“Oh, don’t try to sweet talk me, Mulder,” she banters with him, acknowledging his efforts. “I’m with Skinner on this one – I think some time off might be good for you and, no matter what you say, you and I both know you’d be using our time together to discuss your theories about the New Spartans. Or maybe a black-magic cult in a small town in North Dakota, or a Sasquatch sighting somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains…”

“Scully…” he pushes her name out with a dreamily sigh, like she’s an oasis and he’s been dying of thirst in the middle of the desert; he’s 70% mocking her and 30% admitting that she’s probably the only person in his life with whom he can be his true self.

She does her best to ignore his baiting. “I’m serious, Mulder. All work and no play makes Mulder a boring, tired man. I don’t want to see you in the office until Monday –”

“Scullayy,” he interjects, dragging her name out playfully, as if he were a little kid annoyed at being scolded.

“And don’t even think about working from home.”

“Oh, but you’re taking all the fun away! What am I supposed to do stuck at home for almost a whole week if I can even work remotely?” he asks mischievously.

“You don’t have to be stuck at home. You could go running, do some chores that don’t involve straining your finger… and even at home, you know, you could maybe clean your apartment,” she deadpans.

He puts his hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Why would you even say that?”

She appreciates that he’s taking this back-and-forth in stride. It’s not as if she hasn’t noticed that he’s been trying to at least be more organized when she’s around. “I’m sure you’ll manage to keep yourself… engaged with something,” she teases in a serious tone, her eyes smiling.

He plays dumb for her, knitting his eyebrows together and forming an O with his lips for maximum effect.

With a soft smile that reaches her lips, she lets go of their repartee and says kindly, “Try to rest, Mulder – I’m serious.” She then fleetingly runs her fingers against his. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?” she adds as means of goodbye, turning away to leave without waiting for his reply.

He watches her stroll back into the bank with his mouth shut about what’s on his mind; he’ll give her the time she needs. “See you Monday,” he softly calls out.

*****************************************************************************

May 9, 1998
Chicago, IL

“I’m looking for a patient,” Scully asks the receptionist at the Calumet Mercy Hospital as she flashes her badge at the young woman. “Fox Mulder. Can you direct me to his room?”

The employee stares at the FBI badge in front of her for a few moments and, apparently satisfied, turns to the computer on the desk she’s sitting at. “Fox Mulder…” she repeats out loud, dragging the words as she searches for the information.

Scully checks her watch, frustrated with the wait. Almost five-thirty p.m.; the weather is supposed to drop to 50 degrees this evening and she would prefer to make it back to D.C. tonight rather than stay here without the coat she’d forgotten at home.

“He’s in the psych ward,” the girl announces at last. “Fifth floor,” she adds, handing Scully a visitor’s tag.

The federal agent makes her to the elevator, concern and annoyance fighting for dominance inside her.

Almost two weeks ago, they had parted ways in Harrisburg after a strenuous case that prevented her from talking to her partner about her plans of going through IVF and wanting his donation for the cause. She had let the rest of that week pass by, hoping that by the following Monday, when he was to be back at the office, she would be able to take advantage of their improving relationship and casually propose some socializing after work to actually ask him for his help to make a baby. The problem was, when that Monday came earlier this week, Mulder had been first stuck all morning in a meeting with Skinner going over his report on the New Spartans case and then, by the middle of the day, they both had been called back into Skinner’s office – not for more national security threats and plausible government conspiracies, but to discuss a possible case in Oak Brooks, Illinois, involving claims of a monster stalking employees at a siding company. He had been so chafed by such a jerk-off assignment – his words, not hers –, at the prospect of having really become the FBI’s go-to specialist for anything paranormal (regardless of credibility), that he had simply taken off to go home and pack and come to Chicago without her, in what could have passed for a messed-up attempt of saving her from wasting her time.

Since then, her relationship with her partner – both professional and personally – had been gradually suffering.

At first, he had reconsidered his position about the case and asked her on Tuesday to fly out to Chicago and help him out with the investigation – and even if she had been marginally bothered by his volatile personality, she had also been glad that he had at least seemed to value her assistance and company. Then on Wednesday morning, when she had arrived in Illinois, she was informed that Mulder had been taken hostage by a mentally unstable man at the siding company – and once again she had been put in a position of fighting her fears of losing him while trying to help him and save his life; at least this time he’d been safe by lunch time after a SWAT team had stormed into the building and killed the hostage-taker, Gary Lambert. She had been so preoccupied with getting him back to D.C. away from harm that she hadn’t really given any thoughts to how he’d been behaving strangely, how distraught he’d looked even as they’d parted ways at Dulles. By Thursday, Mulder had already been caught up in the delusions of Lambert; he'd tried to convince her that Greg Pincus, Lambert’s boss, could turn into an insectile creature and victimize others around him, wanted her to autopsy the body of a man killed during the hostage crisis whom Lambert had said to have been turned into a zombie by Pincus. A zombie. And when she had refused to examine the corpse – rightfully so, if anyone cared for her opinion –, Mulder had become so stung, bordering on spiteful, that he had just walked out on her and left for Illinois again, spending the whole Friday harassing Mr. Pincus to the point where A.D. Skinner had to fly out to Chicago to try and mediate things himself while she had been grounded to Quantico to perform the autopsy that ultimately could not irrefutably disprove her partner’s theories.

And now she had to come here on a Saturday, on short notice, because Mulder has been admitted to the psychiatric ward of a local hospital after exhibiting erratic behavior that apparently turned into a full psychotic episode in front of A.D. Skinner and this Greg Pincus character.

I mean; REALLY, Mulder…

Upon entering the psych ward, Scully can see from afar her partner and best friend strapped down to a hospital bed. Annoyance really has no place in her mind anymore; she is so sorry for the man that she loves that she knows all she can do is help him, make him understand that she’s always on his side, that she’ll never leave him even if she doesn’t agree with his theories – and especially when he needs her help. She pushes back the curtain giving him privacy at the open area and takes his hand in hers gently, startling him out of his drugged slumber.

He notices the tenderness and sorrow in her features once their eyes meet. “Five years together, Scully; you must have seen this coming,” Mulder tells her with a sheepish laugh, addressing the fact that he’s finally being treated as a clinically insane person.

It’s so easy and so hard at the same time for her to love this driven, stubborn man that her heart actually aches for him, just lying there and making fun of himself, so pliant.

Mulder wants to discuss the case with her, seemingly oblivious to his partner’s internal conflicts, and it doesn’t take him even a minute of conversation to start spurting rash conclusions regarding Lambert being right about having killed a zombie, about Pincus being a monster. He’s already asking her to check the zombie’s back of the neck for evidence of puncture or bite marks that he seems to think would substantiate his theories.

Scully almost pities him. Still, she won’t lose her grip on his hand; she needs their connection, needs for him to know that he’s not alone.

“Mulder, the case is over. There’s no more evidence to be gathered,” she tells him in a soft but firm voice. “There’s only my hope that you’ll be able to see past this delusion.” she is sweetly condescending.

He can feel it, he can hear it and he can see it, it’s plain there in all of her, the way she is so dismissive of him. He feels exasperated. “You have to be willing to see,” he insists calmly.

“I wish it were that simple,” she says, resigned. Oddly, she truly does wish she could see things his way.

“Scully, you have to believe me,” he is adamant. It’s a strange mix of emotions in his eyes; he looks hopeless and hopeful at the same time. “Nobody else on this whole damn planet does or ever will.”

She looks down, feeling so miserable for him, for herself, for them. It really breaks her heart to see him like this, and she is lost.

When he speaks again, his voice is so intense that she can’t help but look up into his eyes. “You’re my one in … five billion.”

Rationally, she believes he is in poor mental health; still, how can she not give him the benefit of the doubt when he looks at her like that – like she’s his lifeline, like she is the only person in his life that matters to him. How can she not trust him when he’s saying so much with such simple words, when he’s silently proffering his love and need for her with just his eyes…

She looks back down, stares at their joined hands. Adds her other hand to the mix. Squeezes down in assurance of their bond, of their love. She is the only person for him in all the five billion people on Earth. And he has the same importance in her life.

She does indeed have to believe him. And so she will, she decides. She will help him get out of here.

And the second he’s back at home, she will ask him to embark on a new journey with her. The two of them, together, always.

No more waiting.

Chapter Text

May 11, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It’s late in the afternoon when Skinner deems finished their Monday briefing regarding the Greg Pincus case.

“Agent Scully,” the A.D. calls out to her as she’s making her way out the door behind Mulder, and both of them turn around to look at him. “A word?”

She nods at her partner to signal that she’s okay on her own and he steps out of the office as she stays behind and closes the door to talk to their boss.

Apparently, only Mulder’s attendance to the meeting is finished.

He hangs around for a minute or so before deciding it’s best if he waits for her back in the basement office, so he turns around and walks towards the elevator at the end of the corridor, thinking once again how lucky he is that she is with him on the X-Files – he would for sure have been killed if it hadn’t been for her coming to his rescue yesterday in Chicago. As he had first expected, she hadn’t really believed his latest theory about the existence of a human turning into an insectile monster, but she had taken time out of her Sunday to recheck the corpse in the morgue at Quantico and flown back to Illinois, all because of him.

As he waits in the hall for the lift to reach his floor, he is surprised to see her already coming his way. “What did you tell him?” Mulder asks once she reaches his side.

“The truth… as well as I understand it,” she says, staring at his chest instead of his face.

“Which is?” he insists, just before the doors to the elevator open.

She immediately enters the car and announces in a resigned voice, “Folie à deux. A madness shared by two.”

That’s Scully for you, he thinks to himself as they ride the elevator to the basement floor. She hasn’t been able to scientifically make sense of what had happened in that hospital, so she would still rather argue that it’s a matter of folie à deux rather than accept his theory as plausible. Even so, he realizes that she has proven to him yet once more that, no matter what she thinks of his methods and conjecturing, she’s always there for him, above and beyond anything.

Indeed, that’s Scully for you.

“How about we take off early?” comes her voice next to him as they step out of the elevator and head to his – well, their – office.

He keeps walking but turns his face to look at her, intrigued. Never in the five years he’s known her has Scully ever suggested that they both leave early, even if by early in this case she means less than fifteen minutes to five o’clock – well, it’s been a rare occasion for them to leave before seven o’clock anyway, so maybe that’s technically what she means.

“You wanna play hooky?” he teases in a sweet voice as he sits down, planting his feet on his desk and laying back in his chair with his fingers interlocked behind his head.

“There’s nothing pressing for us to do right now, Mulder,” she says as an explanation, but there’s a hint of discomfort in her voice. “I was actually thinking we could go to your place,” she starts but immediately interjects to her own idea, “that is, if you don’t have any plans.”

Oh yes, she definitely seems anxious to him.

“Nope; no plans,” he appeases her, mildly amused. “What do you suggest we do in my apartment, Agent Scully?” he questions her, unable to stop himself from sounding salacious; it’s his defense mechanism after all, alongside plain humor.

She stands as tall as she can, refusing to turn this into meaningless flirty banter; this is important to her, and she doubts after she tells him what she wants he will be insisting in his playful innuendo. Looking straight into his eyes, she tells him seriously, “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“Talk?” he asks, half-disappointed, as he puts his feet back on the floor, sitting up. His other half is definitely made up of concern. “What about?”

“Not here,” she says in a low voice, eyeing their surroundings. “It’s personal.”

The pieces seem to fall into place in his head and he leans over the desk. “Is this the discussion you mentioned a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “I need to stop by my place and then I’ll meet you at your apartment, okay?” she announces and then makes her way toward the door, the question seemingly rhetorical. Right before she leaves, she turns around and speaks again, “I’ll have to spend the next couple of days at Quantico and I think it’s best if we talk right away.” Her eyes are laser focused on him, as if she’s trying to coerce an affirmative reply out of him with her look alone.

“Okay,” he assures her, already standing up and watching her walk out.

*****************************************************************************

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Mulder asks as he sits down on the couch besides Scully, handing her a bottle of beer and taking a sip of his own.

He is doing his best to appear relaxed, but deep down his nerves are shot. When she had first mentioned last month that there was something she wanted to discuss with him, he had this feeling that maybe she would address this sexual tension that he had been feeling grow in the past months; now, after the mention of needing to speak before being apart this week and as he watches her sitting rigidly on his sofa, there are a thousand different scenarios running through his mind – and most of them definitely do not involve a happy ending.

She puts the bottle down on the coffee table, beer untouched, turns to face him head on and begins the speech she’s been rehearsing ever since she left the Bureau, “I went to see my doctor about three weeks ago… about my ova.”

Mulder’s eyes widen slightly, and he abandons his beer to the coffee table as well before sitting up straight and braces himself for the subject. He has no idea of where this is going – if she’s going to tell him that they were not viable and she still resents him for hiding it from her, or if they are in fact viable and this is her telling him she’s going to quit the X-Files to finally have a normal life. Either way, it seems worse than all the alternatives he had already come up with in his mind on his way to Alexandria; this is a serious subject for her and it doesn’t bode well for him that she’s been waiting this long to discuss it. “Okay…” he drawls out, in an attempt to spur her on.

She takes a deep breath, trying to get her heart rate down. “He can’t guarantee that I’ll manage to effectively get pregnant, but, um…” she stops, taking a short look at her hands trying to find the best way to say what she wants to tell him, “he, uh… well, he seems to believe that some of the eggs are viable for me to try in vitro and…” she looks up at her partner in front of her, trying but failing to understand his emotions so far. Taking another long breath, she finishes, “And, um, that with the right approach, we could be successful.”

“That’s great news, Scully,” he says in a quiet, controlled voice. He is happy for her, of course, but his fears remain the same now that he’s aware that her eggs are viable. She’s going to leave me.

“It is,” she agrees with an honest smile at the prospect of becoming a mother, not wanting to to overanalyze why he seems to be acting so contained. “Dr. Parenti thinks we’ll have better chances if we start soon,” she further explains.

It’s a fleeting pierce to his armor, one that gets an open reaction out of him. “You mean you can start right away? That’s fast,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Yes, it is,” she agrees with a chuckle of her own, deflecting her eyes back to her lap. She can see that he is surprised and happy for her, but she can also sense a hint of discomfort, maybe fear, seeping through.

It’s egotistical of him, Mulder knows, but if she gets pregnant right now, that most likely means that she is here to tell him that she will leave the X-Files sooner rather than later, and he doesn’t want to be without her at work. Not only that, but if she is going to have a child, it will be that much more improbable for them to ever become romantically involved – he can’t imagine anyone would want an unreliable crackpot like himself around their child.

Steeling himself for where this conversation is most likely going, he jumps head first, “Does this mean you need to cut back on the X-Files? Is this why you’re going to Quantico tomorrow?”

“No,” she says in a quiet but high tone, evidence of her bewilderment. Is this why he was so nervous? Did he think I was leaving? “No, Mulder,” she says in her normal voice, in an effort to soothe him. “Quantico is due to my being needed to sub for a pathology teacher until Thursday; Skinner informed me of it before I left his office earlier. I’ll be back to the office on Friday,” she assures him.

“Oh, okay,” he looks marginally relieved, even allowing a small smile to appear. “Is there anything I can do to help, then?” He asks, his mind already trying to readjust to other possibilities and his mouth running behind, trying to catch up. “You know I support you in whatever decision you make. Maybe you need to cut back on the travelling; or I could start pestering you to actually eat some real food instead of those bird seeds salads you seem to think pass for lunch…”

“Mulder,” she interrupts him gently, a soft touch to his knee that is closest to her. “I think you can actually assume what I’d like to ask,” she expresses seriously but kindly, searching for his eyes. Noticing he is at a loss, she continues, “In order for me to even have a chance at IVF, I need a father for the baby.”

Suddenly, he stops breathing all together for a full three seconds. Is she…? “A father?” he repeats, shocked. This conversation is definitely not going in the direction he had anticipated.

“A donor,” she amends upon noticing his reaction, voice trembling with nervousness. “Dr. Parenti said that he could help find me an anonymous donor through genetic counseling if I didn’t have someone in mind, but, uh, I, um…” she trails off, twisted hands in her lap the most blatant evidence of her anxiety. Once again, she finds herself struggling for perfect words to use. Taking another deep breath, she decides to just be honest and start over. “Mulder, I’d like to ask you if you would consider being my donor,” she tells him looking straight at his face.

“Scully…” her name is out of his mouth with a tender, undiscernible sigh.

She can’t tell if he’s worried or honored and it weakens her resolve a bit. “This is not unheard of; friends helping friends with IVF,” she rattles on, trying to make it less awkward.

“Of course, I know,” he says reassuringly, lips curved upwards, and briefly he does indeed seem to find it a privilege that she’s asking this of him, but then his face is unreadable again. “I just…” he starts only to trail off.

She silently watches him for a moment, trying to gauge what is going on inside his head. “I know it’s a big ask, Mulder,” she admits. “And I don’t expect you to answer right now; actually, I’d like it if you really took the time to think about it. I don’t want you to say yes just because you feel responsible for what happened to me, nor would I want you to feel afraid to say no if this is something that makes you truly uncomfortable. And I know there are certain legal and emotional implications we would really need to cover if we do this. It’s just that…” once again, she stops and inhales deeply to gather her thoughts. “You’re the most important male figure present in my life; there’s no way I could not think you.”

He looks taken aback at her words, completely flattered. He was in fact struggling to understand why someone like Scully, who could do so much better than him, would ever think of asking him to father her child, even if just in biological terms. Normally, he wouldn’t dare to question her judgement, but she’s been known to have made some poor decisions in the past – a one night stand with Ed Jerse being a perfect example. So, he eventually ends up asking her, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, not giving him time to drown in self-doubt.

There’s really no hesitation in her, and it brings a smile to his face, makes him feel honored by her conviction in him.

“I trust you completely, Mulder,” her voice resonates in the living room. “And the moment I started thinking about conceiving, I’ve been unable to refrain myself from having these expectations about what the child would be like, you know?” She poses it as a genuine question, waiting until he nods pensively at her before resuming, “Of course I cannot guarantee how they would turn out – nor would I ever actually want to – but I realized that a lot of the characteristics I would hope my children would have are qualities you already possess… either to counterbalance some of my shortcomings or to complement those traits I do hope to pass on.”

“I remember once telling you to find a man with a high tolerance to constantly being second-guessed, but I would’ve never expected you to actually listen to me, Scully,” he tells her, self-deprecatingly.

“Mulder,” she exhales his name with a chuckle, trying to reprimand him but at the same time thankful for his wit. “I mean,” she takes his hands in hers, a soft look in her eyes, exposing her openness and emphasizing the significance of the matter at hand. “We’re both intelligent, smart, tenacious… and we’re also virtuous, kind-hearted people; but whereas I am more rational, you are more, um… uh, passionate, I guess. You’re courageous, and determined, and kind, and compassionate.” She notices his intention to interrupt her, his mouth already opening, so she pushes forward, “I know I’m those things too, to some extent, but it’s not the same. You’re true to yourself, and way better at expressing your vulnerabilities and being open with your emotions than I am.”

Her words go straight to his heart, leaving him relatively speechless. “Wow,” his eyes sparkle with what seems to be tears but he quickly looks away, trying not to drown her in all the feelings he has right now. “Plus I’m tall, right?” he teasingly asks after a beat, in hopes that sidestepping the personal elements of her admission will help him get a hold of his emotions.

“Well, my father’s side of the family is really tall, but I guess your genes would act as an extra boost there,” she accepts with a smile. “And there is also the advantage of your other physical attributes,” she says shyly.

He raises his eyebrow at her in inquiry, and he truly looks unaware as to what exactly she is referring to.

“You’re objectively an attractive man, Mulder,” she declares somewhat disturbed at having to spell it out to him. “I don’t think that comes as a surprise to you.”

His eyes are shining with mirth. “It comes as a surprise to hear you say it.”

She narrows her eyes at him in return. “Well, it shouldn’t,” she states. “And while we’re in the matter of compliments, I hope it doesn’t go to your head, but I also like your sense of humor,” she reluctantly concedes with a warm grin.

“Oh, now I know you’re really laying it on thick just to get me to say yes, Scully,” he deadpans.

She laughs and they fall silent, looking into each other eyes at first with affection and comfort. Soon enough, then both avert their eyes in embarrassment.

Scully can’t help but feel exposed right now, thinking and rethinking about how her partner might have received her request. Is he afraid that she would expect him to settle down and marry her? Did her words make it clear for him that she sees him as more than just a platonic partner? Even if she’s mentioned that this is not out of the realm of a close friendship, it still feels somewhat monumental; they might be friends, but their bond is first and foremost born out of their professional association, and she is suddenly concerned that asking for his involvement may have resulted in her really overstepping the boundaries of their relationship.

For his part, Mulder is initially struggling only to not let his male pride take over his logical thinking. There is something biologically primitive inside him chanting that if Scully is going to have a baby, he is the only option she is allowed to go with. But then insecurity takes over, and he wonders what helping her conceive would entail, what would it mean to them personally. Would he be able to give her all that she wanted and deserved? Did she even want that of him or was she only after his donation? If he couldn’t be the kind of man to give her a normal life with a normal family, would he be able to at least give her this? What if the IVF didn’t work out, would that bury any chances of them ever becoming a couple in the future?

After what feels like a century, his eyes finally make their way back to her sitting there with him. “When do I need to get back to you?” he asks in a husky, low voice.

Scully raises her head to stare back at him before replying, “I think it’s okay to wait until the end of the week, if that works for you,” she says tentatively. “If not, just let me know.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“If you don’t think this is something you can go through, it’s okay to let me know sooner rather than later. That way, I can start going over other plans with my doctor.”

The possibility of other plans is something Mulder doesn’t exactly know how to deal with. “Of course,” he says without really meaning it and regrets his tone. “I’m sorry if I seem distant, I just really want to properly consider this. I know this is ironic coming from me, but I don’t want to make any rash decisions.”

She smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Mulder; I understand,” she assures him and the uncomfortable silence immediately takes over again. “I’d better go,” she says faintly. “If you have any questions or any concerns you wish to discuss, just let me know. I want us to be on the same page about this if you decide to go through with it.”

“Of course, Scully. We're partners, always.”

Partners, she muses unable to hide a small smile as she gazes into his eyes. “I’ll see you on Friday,” she says in parting as she caresses his face tenderly, calmly stands up and walks away to exit his apartment.

As he watches her gently close the door on her way out, all he’s left with is the phantom touch of her fingers in his locks, the faint smell of vanilla and tangerine that he has come to recognize as Scully’s essence and the thoughts of a half-Scully, half-Mulder baby lying in his partner’s arms as he holds her in his.

Chapter Text

May 14, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Sitting in his office chair, throwing a basketball aimlessly up in the air and then catching it in his hands on its descent, Mulder contemplates how his life has been turned upside down in a very staggering way.

Dana Scully, his partner and best friend, the woman he just so happens to be irrevocably and irreparably in love with, asked him three nights ago to help her conceive a child.

He is still having a hard time actually believing it.

More so than believing it, even since Monday all he’s been doing is trying to figure out the implications of such a decision – be it either to say yes or to say no – on their lives. Work has been at best a minor inconvenience, one that he’s been ignoring with such skills that would put con artists to shame.

He puts the basketball down on his desk as he remembers something Scully had told him that night. I know there are certain legal and emotional implications we would really need to cover if we do this. Well, other than that being a massive understatement, what had she meant exactly?

In terms of legal aspects, does she want him to sign a waiver saying he will never pursue his rights as the father of the child? Does she want his name on the kid’s birth certificate as their father? Do they need to cover visitation, or alimony, or anything like that?

I wonder if there is such a thing as a pre-birth agreement…

As for the emotional impact of conceiving a baby together, well, now that is just a veritable minefield. Being open and honest about their feelings and expectations is just something Mulder and Scully don’t do; how ever will they address this?

As a premise – a very thin premise at that – he thinks about how Scully had tried to play down his role in this… event. It’s not unheard of; friends helping friends with IVF, she had told him and he had promptly agreed, because, of course, what could he have done then? It is definitely not unheard of, yes – usually for gay friends, not for two straight, attractive, single individuals who are close friends and co-workers and, at least on his side, in love with the other person. And has he mentioned that they work together? Because they do. In the FBI. Where people already speculated about their relationship… Surely, her becoming pregnant would add to the watercooler gossip either way, but if anyone got wind of him being responsible for sperm donation… would it ruin their partnership? Their friendship? Would it stand in the way of them ever becoming more? Or would it actually help them move along?

He gets up and walks around the room, hands scrubbing his face in frustration at his inability to organize his thoughts into a decision.

You’re objectively an attractive man, Mulder, he thinks back to her words. Those had been her exact words. He laughs at that; that’s just so Scully of her, admitting to finding him attractive whilst wording it as a fact.

At least, their kid would be cute, right? I mean, unless it gets my nose…

Sam had a pretty nose.

Samantha… he sighs. What would become of his quest if he had a child now?

For the past months, he had been working on the idea of becoming a better man, a man that could enter into a romantic relationship with Scully, and he knows he hasn’t been successful enough to say that he is ready. He knows that if he really puts his mind to it, he probably could do it; he had been able to have a long, committed relationship with Diana in the past, after all. But then, he also knows that such relationship had only been stable before he had undergone hypnosis; once he had learned about his memories of his sister’s abduction, he had become more obsessed with the existence of extraterrestrials, more driven by his quest to uncover the truth about what had happened to her, and then when he found the X-Files, his life had actually derailed – he had drifted apart from his life partner, until she had ultimately left him, and then he had also basically decided to flush his promising career down the drain. And deep inside, he knows it in his heart that it was the right decision for Diana; he hadn’t been able anymore to give her the life she had planned for herself.

What makes him even entertain the idea that he would be a good romantic partner to Scully now? A good father? He’s truly not ready yet. She does deserve better.

The problem is – she wants to try to conceive now; she had told him that it’s her best chance according to her doctor. And even if he’s not ready, there is just no way that he can deal with the possibility of her using anyone else’s sperm to have a child. He had never really thought of himself as someone who prized machismo, but there’s almost an animalistic instinct in him to procreate with the woman he loves; he can’t deny it. Her decision to have a child now impacts his life, and he wants his life to involve a chance of being with Scully, of creating life with her. So that settles it – if she’s certain she wants his contribution to the IVF, he is certain that he wants to be a part of it.

He doesn’t believe he deserves a chance at happiness, but he is a selfish man, he can admit it to himself; a half-Scully, half-Mulder baby is what he wants. Consequences be damned.

He goes back to his desk and checks the clock on his computer monitor as he sits back down – 6:44 pm. Today was her last day at Quantico, classes end at five o’clock. He knows how she thinks and also knows she’s a creature of habit, which routine he believes he knows by heart now – she doesn’t like to work out in the evenings, so she has most likely already left the Academy. There’s a small chance that she would go have dinner with her mother to enjoy the fact that her day ended earlier than usual, but she prefers to visit Mrs. Scully in the weekends if they’re not out of town, not to mention that she’s currently entertaining some radical changes in her personal life, changes which she would most likely prefer to keep to herself before she had anything concrete to show for it, so chances are she would rather go straight home after her final class. It would have taken her a little over an hour to get to her place, so unless she’s indulging in a long bath – which would have given her too much time to stress about IVF –, she has probably taken a shower and is already finished by now. In that case, she could be making dinner for herself right at this moment, or sitting in her living room waiting for take-out and reading something to keep her mind occupied – a novel she finds interesting, maybe a medical journal. Yes, she’s definitely at home. And there is no way he will be able to face her tomorrow at the office before they rash out this in vitro situation, so he picks up the phone and calls her landline.

“Hello,” she answers on the second ring.

“Scully, it’s me,” he nervously announces. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, hesitant.

“No…” she lets out with a sigh; she sounds tense too. “I was just reading while waiting for the food to arrive,” she explains.

An odd smile finds its way to his lips somehow, proud that he profiled her correctly just a moment ago. “What are you having?”

“I just ordered some Japanese, if –” he hears her stop herself, then a deep breath. “Do you need something?”

She sounds formal, but not in a bad mood. She’s just probably anxious.

“I was thinking about coming over,” he tells her trying to gather his courage. “I can be there in about twenty minutes. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” she lets out in a controlled tone, trying to mask her uneasiness. “Food won’t probably be here yet, though,” she attempts at levity.

“That’s okay, I’m not planning to stay for dinner,” he says automatically and, upon hearing a hushed oh coming from the other end of the line, realizes that he probably just made her even more worried. “I mean…”

“I’ll see you soon,” she states politely right before she hangs up the phone.

He chastises himself and thinks about calling her again to clear things up, but decides that he can do that in person, soon enough. His priority is getting to her and starting the next chapter of their lives. So, he picks up his suit jacket and rushes out the door.

*****************************************************************************

To say that Scully has been feeling apprehensive since asking Mulder to be her donor for the IVF procedure is a disparagement.

She had thought at first that being away for him during most of the week would serve to keep her nerves in check as he thought about her request but, if anything, it only added to the tension of having to wait for his decision. She couldn’t see how he was reacting to the idea, and had really no excuse to talk to him at all until she either came back to Headquarters or he gave her his answer. All this time apart has only left her with extra time to second-guess herself.

And then about ten minutes ago he called her asking to come over. She had given him until the end of the week to think things over, but of course he would want to talk to her before they saw each other at work tomorrow – it would have been too weird to just sit there and pretend there wasn’t this giant elephant in the room. In the end, she was right to ask him to consider the IVF while she would be teaching in Quantico. The lesser of two evils, she guesses.

She keeps telling herself that it doesn’t matter if he says yes or no, that nothing is going to change between them, but evidently she knows this is not accurate. Things have already changed, and there is no going back; there’s only going forward, and there are basically three options in her mind for that: a) he says no and that pretty much means he doesn’t see her as anything other than a professional partner and a platonic friend and doesn’t want to mix that up with very personal circumstances; b) he says yes because he wants her to be happy and he cares for her, but still platonically; or c) he says yes and he does so because he wants her to have a child and he wants to be their father, maybe just biologically but maybe, if they play their cards right, in every other sense of the word.

She’s going to have a panic attack if she keeps overanalyzing every possible scenario in her mind, so she decides to just play it cool – as cool as she can currently be. She changes her clothes, putting on a silk shirt and tailored pants to become Dana Scully again – she fretfully laughs at the idea of wearing a suit jacket in her own apartment and decides against it, folding her shirt sleeves to pass for a casual but still professional look that will help her steel herself for the conversation that will be pivotal for her life and their relationship. She fixes her hair as she usually wears it to work and then goes back to her living room, pacing back and forth as she waits for partner’s arrival.

When the knock comes, she is right there by the door; she answers it immediately. “Hi,” she greets him in a nervous exhale.

“Hi,” Mulder greets back with a pleased but awkward smile, graciously standing there without making any further moves.

She invites him in and he thanks her as he makes his way inside, both acting very proper and cordial. “Can I take your coat?” she asks him courteously while closing the door, and then she wrings her hands as she thinks how bizarre it is that she’s acting all hostess-like to a man that has literally broken down her door on numerous occasions in the past.

“No, I can't stay; I gotta get back to the office for a while,” he tells her in a very well-mannered tone, breaking up her reverie, and then he just stands there watching her for a few seconds, apparently at a loss of what to say.

God, this is a very uncomfortable situation they’re in.

Scully decides to tackle the matter head on, tilting her head to search deep in his eyes for encouragement. “Obviously you've had some time to think about my request.” She can’t help the hopefulness that seeps through in her features.

“Um, it's...” he starts, at a loss for words now that he’s facing her. She’s so beautiful, and they’re really going ahead with this. He just needs her to understand his concerns. “It's not something that I get asked to do every day,” he says awkwardly in an attempt to convey to her the importance this has for him, “but I am absolutely flattered.”

She deflates, closing her eyes suddenly embarrassed that she had even entertained this crazy idea in the first place. Option A it is.

He notices her demeanor and fumbles to reassure her. “No, honestly,” he says in all seriousness. He wants her to know he is sincere.

“Look, if... if you're trying to politely say no, it's okay, I…” she states with a sheepish smile and then averts her eyes to momentarily gather her strength as she finishes, “I, uh, I understand.”

He is so intent on getting his point across that he barely registers what she’s actually saying before he continues, “See, as weird as... this sounds – and this sounds really weird, I know – but I, I just wouldn't want… this to come between us.” He really hopes she can see how serious he is about this; this is the most serious thing he’s ever done.

“Yeah,” she lets out in a daze, completely devastated but trying her best to cover it up. “Yeah, I know, I,” she says with a resigned sigh, “I understand,” she sounds defeated, her eyes closed once again, this time to hide the fact that she’s so close to breaking down. “I do,” she whispers, head down, and she is unsure if she is trying to convince him or herself that it’s okay that this is not going to happen for them.

She just needs him to go, so she can lick her wounds in private.

He realizes that she has misunderstood all he’d been trying to tell her, that he didn’t make it clear for her that by it he means the IVF, not the having a baby per se; and that when he says he doesn’t want it to come between them, he means it in a way that prevents them from moving forward, either because he really isn’t his best version yet or because if the IVF fails she might end up hating him for it.

“But, the…” he whispers so softly as he reaches out to stroke her chin that he’s not sure if it’s the sound of his murmur or the movement in her periphery that makes her lift her head to look back at him; either way, he pulls back once her eyes meet his and he’s sucker punched by the way that she is undoubtedly a vision of perfection, even though there is pain in her features. His love for her is transcendental, and he’s floating in a cloud of hopefulness as he tells her with an amazed barely-there smile, “the answer is yes.”

A million of emotions cross her face in the seconds following his words. She is astonished, and moved, and overwhelmed, and thankful, and elated as she grasps that he wants to help her conceive. She is powerless to keep the tears from pooling in her eyes, and even less inclined to stop herself from smiling at the man standing in front of her. She reaches out for him, tightly embracing him as she allows her emotions to flow freely through her body.

He is her true partner in all aspects of her life.

Mulder holds her back with a sense of wonderment and peace that he’s definitely not accustomed to, a bliss he doesn’t think he’s felt for at least twenty-four years.

This is a new beginning for them.

After about ten seconds, she gathers herself and lets go of Mulder’s body, still smiling with tears of joy in her eyes as she tries to downplay her emotions. “Well, I'll call Dr. Parenti and...”

He nods stupidly at her, a loving smile still on his face. He would give her the moon if he could, just so that he could make her feel like she’s feeling right now.

It turns out he can be happy. She is his happiness.

“I assume that he'll want to meet you,” he hears her say, “and go through the, uh, the donor procedure.”

“At that part, I'm a pro,” he jokes instinctively, managing to rise a chuckle out of her.

He needs to go before he does something that could potentially destroy this moment – say, kissing her for instance – so he timidly smiles at her and leaves her apartment while she stands there, stupefied.

No matter what they still have to figure out, as of right now, they are officially trying to have a baby together.

*****************************************************************************

May 15, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Just this morning, they had been acting all cute and shy around each other.

The minute Mulder first walked through the door around 7:30 a.m. to an empty room, he felt somewhat empty inside. He had been hoping to see Scully already there – even though he’s usually the first one in the office – but to see that she hadn’t actually arrived disappointed him in a way he hadn’t expected.

It’s okay, he told himself. She’ll be here soon enough.

He placed the Styrofoam cups he was carrying on his desk – coffee for both of them from the vendor two blocks away that she preferred – and then noticed a post-it glued to his monitor. On it, in her cursive, was simply written her doctor’s name and phone number.

His heart sped up.

After calling Dr. Parenti’s office and managing to squeeze in his appointment for today at 12:30 p.m., he called Scully’s cell phone.

“Scully,” she answered on the third ring.

“I got you coffee,” he told her with no preamble.

“You’re in early,” she told him with an amused voice.

“So are you,” he replied in a conspiratorial tone.

He heard her half-chuckle, half-gasp before she told him, “I’ll be right down.”

When she arrived, he mutely handed her her coffee and, after her brief words of gratitude, they ended up simply staring at each other with dopey smiles on their faces and an awkward quietness in the air. Since then, they barely talked to each other – only about case reports and expense receipts –, both too shy to discuss the future conception of their child.

Around noon, Scully tried to break their silence pact. “Lunch?”

He looked up all cute and bashful, telling her he couldn’t make it because of his doctor’s appointment. “But maybe we can meet up tonight; discuss the next steps until implantation…?”

“That’s… a good idea,” she agreed, before averting her eyes. “We should talk more in depth about our expectations. I mean, I don’t really expect you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing –”

“Scully,” he interrupted her, growing brave as she also seemed to be uncertain. “I get it. And I agree, we should talk. I think there are some things I need to tell you so that we can decide together how to proceed if things go as expected and it takes.”

She smiled reservedly at him. “Okay.”

Things had been really looking up for them this morning.

Which is why now, as he stands in the conference room next to Skinner discussing the assassination of a Russian chess player with Special Agent Spender, he is thrown for a loop at the sight of Diana Fowley there, backing him up as if nothing had happened in the past seven years, all under the watchful and suspicious eyes of Dana Scully.

Chapter Text

May 15, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Scully had really thought today would be a good day.

Mulder had been boyishly nice to her throughout the morning, alternating between acting timid and brave as they talked around the fact that he had agreed to assist her in conceiving a baby and that they needed to discuss what such an arrangement could, or rather would, entail for them. Up until an hour ago, she had believed she would be spending her day struggling to focus on her job just because her thoughts would keep floating back to the possibility of creating a family with her loved partner – the fact that he had even taken the time during his lunch break to go to Dr. Parenti’s office, presumedly to go over the steps that would require his involvement in the proceeding, had only made things even more real for her. Nevertheless, the Universe had apparently had other plans for her to stress about. Like jealously.

After returning from lunch and while she waited in the basement office for Mulder to come back from his medical appointment, Skinner had called to inform Scully that her presence had been requested by Special Agent Jeffrey Spender in a meeting to discuss a new case at four o’clock – the assassination of a Russian national by a former NSA agent during a chess tournament.

“We’ll be there,” she had told her boss.

“Just you, Agent Scully.”

Clearly, her partner’s presence had not been expected or even wanted.

During the twenty minutes she had spent alone in his office up until that call, all Scully could think had been that she loathed her medical background. This particular set of skills was the reason for her knowledge of the exact steps her partner would be discussing with her doctor right about then, including a most likely impromptu request to provide a sample of his semen for a spermogram, if he had not partaken in any activities that would have resulted in ejaculation in the past forty-eight to seventy-two hours. The mere possibility that Mulder would come to tell her later on that he had not taken the test today made her anxious about the motives for it – it stood to reason that, being unaware of the need to abstain from sexual activities, Mulder would have masturbated at least once during the past few days, but what really had her mind reeling was the unlikely, yet not impossible idea that he could have done more than participate in auto-erotic exercises.

Where had these unprovoked feelings of jealousy come from?

Now is not the time to analyze Mulder’s possible sexual encounters, Dana, she had told herself as she had made her way upstairs to her own official FBI workstation after deciding to avoid her partner during this bout of insecurity. You have work to do. Focus.

And she had tried to focus on her job, she really had. She had gone to the meeting not expecting to see her partner until the end of the day, but Mulder’s sudden admittance to this taskforce meeting alongside Assistant Director Skinner about half an hour ago did nothing to keep her concentration strictly on the case. She had to fight herself to play her FBI persona in the presence of her peers, avoiding the desire to gaze at him dreamily, like the unrepentant love-sick partner she had apparently become in the past twelve hours. Oh Lord, get a grip.

To make matters worse, not even five minutes after arriving in the conference room, Mulder was already acting contentious like she knew he could be.

“I don’t have any questions, no. I just think you’re wrong,” he told Agent Spender, interrupting the younger man’s exposition with a perfected mix of assertiveness and sheepishness that only her partner could pull off.

“Mulder…” she fully turned to him then, speaking in a quiet voice, “what are you doing?” she half-asked, half-admonished him. She was really hoping she wouldn’t need to jump to his defense; chances were she would not be able to do it in the professional manner that the present location and company required.

Spender then became aggravated and argued with Mulder, who in turn ended up affirming that the intended target of the shooting had not been the Russian man, but his chess opponent, an American twelve-year-old boy who, according to the spooky agent, had purposefully avoided the shot by consciously leaning back into his seat.

Okay, so maybe she would be required to stand up for him after all, by the look on Spender’s face. God help her.

“I think Agent Mulder is right,” Scully heard a female voice say before she got the chance to speak up, and turned around to look at the woman who had come to her partner’s aid. “Looks like the boy sensed the shooter precognitively; if you rewind the tape, you’ll see it.”

This female agent – this attractive, well-mannered, presentable female agent with mid-length dark brown hair, greenish blue eyes and looks that put her in her late-thirties or early-forties had been sitting across the room and was then defending Mulder with poise, using sound words to validate his conjectures with an ease that not even Scully could say she instinctively had.

What the hell is going on here?

On her periphery, Scully could hear Spender arguing like a petulant child and Skinner ordering him to just rewind the tape; her attention, however, secretly went to her partner – Mulder certainly noticed the woman who had spoken and then schooled his features into impassiveness.

He recognizes her, Scully felt pretty certain, an uneasy feeling immediately taking residence in her heart. Was this why she had been feeling jealous and insecure earlier? Was this her intuition?

Doing her best to appear unaffected, the female X-Files agent turned her attention back to the TV screen in front of her just in time to see the boy in the video looking up and behind him prior to the shooting, which put a defeated look on Agent Spender’s face. She then turned her eyes back and forth between Mulder and the mysterious woman, who just happened to be sharing a charged but concealed look.

Who is this woman?

Now, as the meeting is over and Spender is sufficiently peeved at Mulder’s participation in this case, A.D. Skinner directs Mulder and Scully to visit Gibson Praise – that’s the name of the boy, they’ve learned – as the rest of the team will keep working on the case’s mainstream angle.

Special Agent Mystery Woman is still not done, though, apparently.

“Assistant Director Skinner,” she calls out to the higher-rank agent, making her way toward where he is conferring with both agents that make for the X-Files team.

“Agent Fowley,” he greets her, and Scully takes mental note of the name for later purposes. From the corner of her eye, she can tell Mulder is softly but uncomfortably squirming. The Assistant Director formally introduces Special Agent Diana Fowley to Scully and Mulder, and the redhead pays special attention to the way her partner reacts, ever so casually, trying to appear uninterested.

There is no way he doesn’t know her, it’s clear as day now to her. Scully just isn’t sure of the context, and for now she refuses to give into the fear crushing her heart that there is some sort of special history between the two of them.

After exchanging formal greetings with Scully, Agent Fowley informs Skinner of her desire to assist on the Gibson Praise front, claiming interest in the parascience angle of the investigation. Knowing that Mulder does not usually play well with others, their boss takes a cursory glance at the male agent and is confused by the bored apathy on his face. He looks over to Scully to see if her stance on the matter is any clearer, but she looks as professional as ever. Not a peep coming out of her mouth.

With no reason to deny Fowley’s request, he authorizes her involvement as a consultant in this unofficial X-File before making his way towards Agent Spender. And this is how Scully, Mulder and the new woman find themselves awkwardly standing as a cozy group by the entrance to the conference room.

“I’ll go requisition us a car, okay?” Mulder directs at Scully, not making any contact with the other woman. “Meet you at the garage?”

“Okay, I’ll stop by the office to gather our things and meet you there,” she agrees comfortably and then turns politely to the brunette by her side. “Agent Fowley, do you think you can be ready to leave in twenty minutes?”

Mulder is already out the door by the time Fowley, looking perfectly put together and unbothered, replies to her audience of one, “Of course. Which exit should I meet you at?”

*****************************************************************************

Considering the usual traffic at this time of the day, it should take them about forty-five minutes to reach the psychiatric hospital in Gaithersburg, Maryland, where this Praise child has been staying. This is going to make for one awkward car ride, Mulder gathers as he makes his way to the garage to find their assigned FBI-issued sedan.

Diana Fowley in the flesh… wow. It’s been so long since he has last seen her – heard of her at all. Up until an hour ago, he had actually forgotten she’d been a real person in his life, not just this ethereal memory that he sometimes feared he had simply made up in his mind. Seeing her in that conference room had really taken him by surprise. Is she back for good or is her assignment in D.C. only temporary? What does her presence mean for him?

He had loved her during a very important time in his life, when he had felt for the first time like he had been finally achieving the successful life he had envisioned for himself when he had left New England to go to real England for college. Fox had met Diana like normal people did in the 1980’s; he had recently graduated the FBI Academy - and, back then, he had still been trying to fit in, making use of his high-class upbringing to charm his way through the crowds, the golden boy with a promising career as a profiler ahead of him -, so they had both been at the same ‘87 New Years party and had been introduced by a mutual friend. She had been taken with his brilliant mind, his boyish, naturally charming smile and his lithe body, all the while managing to suck him in with her own attributes – she had the looks that appealed to him, and the wits to match it; also, she had been interested in him right off the bat, and it had been a good stroke to his ego. Even if he had been able to publicly play the part of the easygoing alpha male well, deep down he had still been this insecure boy who needed validation from other people, and a woman like Diana Fowley indisputably checked all the boxes that a man like him would have wanted back then.

As a psychologist, he had been aware of the risks involved in getting into a relationship with somebody when one’s self-esteem wasn’t high enough; he had just arrogantly thought that he had learned his lesson with Phoebe Green and that no other woman would be able to wrap him around her finger again. Also, Diana hadn’t been manipulative as Phoebe had made sure to act from the start – she had been caring and genuinely interested in him. It hadn’t been her fault that he was a broken man whereas she was a self-assured woman; it hadn’t been her fault that he would become codependent in their relationship throughout the years they stayed together.

She had been supportive of his professional dedication and drive, had even tried on occasion to give him pointers about how to be less arrogant and more congenial, how to play the game to advance his career – not that he had really listened. She had never complained about the traveling or the long hours the work required, nor about his need to isolate himself when he was deep in profiling. She had listened to him all the times he had opened up about his childhood traumas and intimate fears, and not once had she used any of it against him. She had been the one to suggest he undergo hypnotherapy to recover his memories of his sister’s disappearance, and she had been there for him when he had come home from Dr. Heitz Werber’s office with startling recollections of Samantha’s cries and her abduction. She had been a reliable, comfortable companion, and once he had suggested that she moved into his apartment, she had agreed to share her personal life with him, even happily consented to his impulsive idea of wearing matching golden bands as a symbol of their commitment, a placeholder for when the real deal eventually came – at least the need he had felt back then to please his parents and do things the traditional way had prevented him from imprudently proposing they elope. She had shared her interest in parapsychology with him, had spurred him on in his pursuit of the X-Files after that Edward Skur case, when he had learned about his father’s involvement in some very weird activities involving tests and experiments being conducted in American citizens falsely identified as communists. She had also reacted to his idea that she should join the FBI so they could work on the X-Files together with enthusiasm; except that last plan had gone astray once she had been offered a legate appointment in Germany right out of the Academy.

She had left him for her ambitions, and he couldn’t actually begrudge her for that.

So, Fox had buried his pining for Diana during the first year after she left by diving into his growing interest in the X-Files, by really making it his life’s work, once again retreating into himself and this time throwing his promising career out the window. He had hidden his pain behind his obsession, had vouched to never let anyone in again, reverting to being just Mulder to keep everyone away. He hasn’t really thought about what things could have been like with Diana if she had stayed in over five years… not since Scully had permanently established her place in his life as his true partner in the X-Files.

Scully. She’s not only his FBI partner, she’s also his best friend. She’s the woman he had desired ever since they had first met, but who he had tried to ignore for so long – and yet, she is the woman who had managed to weave her way into his life so intrinsically that he could no longer imagine his existence without her there with him.

She is the woman he had unwittingly, hopelessly fallen in love with, the woman he’s helping conceive a baby, the woman who has maybe offered him a chance to have not a perfectly normal life, but a life that he really wants. A woman that has chosen to devote her life to searching for the truth by his side without demanding anything in return, maybe expecting only that he respects and trusts her. A woman who by example inspires him to become a better agent, a better man… a better person as a whole.

As he gets on the driver’s seat of the car, Mulder spots through the windshield this remarkable woman looking around the parking lot in search of him. He honks to get her attention, and then notices the way her eyes instinctively sparkle in contentment once she sees him; next, she is purposefully making her way to the parked vehicle. As she opens the door to get in, he wants to tell her who Agent Diana Fowley is, he really does; he just doesn’t know how to start the conversation.

“Where is Agent Fowley?” he asks instead after his partner takes the seat in the passenger side, hoping this will pass for an opening of sorts.

“She should be waiting for us by the exit ramp,” Scully replies without much ado at first, but then she turns her face to look at him head on.

There is a question in her eyes, and he can tell she is silently giving him the chance to say something – anything he deems she needs to know. He realizes that she has probably worked out that he knows Diana, maybe picked up on his discomfort or shock, this observant partner of his. There is no way he can just inform her that Diana is his ex-girlfriend; there is too much he needs to tell her and not enough time in the world to do so right now. So, he just chickens out, facing forward and starting the car. “Let’s go then.”

“Mulder…” the tone in her voice makes it clear that she is hesitant to say whatever it is she wants to say.

Please don’t let it be about Diana, he prays to himself. “Yes?”

“How did the appointment go?” She asks, a mixture of uneasiness and curiosity in her voice.

Oh, right, he thinks. They hadn’t discussed his visit to Dr. Parenti’s office. “Piece of cake,” he tells her effortlessly. “I’ll need to come in on Monday for a spermogram,” he adds, sparing a quick glance at her direction and immediately noticing an undecipherable look in her eyes. He can already see Diana standing just ahead of them, so he needs to make this quick. “I wasn’t prepared for it today; not with my solitary indulgence last night after our talk,” he brazenly overshares. “Let’s just say I’ll be on a diet over the weekend,” he finishes lamely with a self-conscious grin, and relaxes once he sees the adorable, embarrassed smirk on her lips.

At least this part was easy.

*****************************************************************************

They’ve been driving for about thirty minutes. Thirty long, uncomfortable minutes.

As soon as Diana settled herself on the back seat of the vehicle, the atmosphere inside the car changed. Mulder and Scully have always been reticent in the presence of others, but this time it's the female half of the duo who feels more wary; she's distrustful of what the woman sitting behind her partner could represent.

They have gone over all information they have on Gibson Praise – son of a military soldier and a stay-at-home mom, he lives in the Philippines where his father is stationed and is apparently a gifted child, with an uncanny aptitude for chess. Scully and Diana have been solely responsible for carrying that conversation; so far, Mulder has remained dead silent for the whole ride.

The sun has already set outside when Scully decides to test the waters, her curiosity outweighing her reservations. “How long have you been with the Bureau, Agent Fowley?” she asks nonchalantly but in a tone that makes it clear that she is not eagerly trying to become best friends with her.

“Since ’91. I took an assignment in Europe after the wall came down, when the Director stepped up foreign terrorism concerns,” the older agent replies just as coolly.

Scully can’t tell that her unawareness of who Diana is makes the brunette both satisfied for having the upper hand in this interaction and irrationally sad that Fox hadn’t mentioned her at least once to his partner.

She also can’t tell that Mulder is sitting next to her painfully uncomfortable with where this conversation might be going, gripping the wheel as if the car would float away if his hands ever left the ten-and-two position.

“And they brought you on this because of a terrorism angle?” The redhead continues in her effort to make small talk.

“No, I… I requested a reassignment,” Diana shares tentatively in an easy tone. “There were, uh, things at home I decided I wanted to get back to.”

This time, even if she doesn’t notice Mulder and Agent Fowley’s charged eye contact through the rearview mirror again, Scully can pick up on the subtext there. She is on a hunt now, one she tries to mask with deliberate indifference. “1991, that’s about when you started your work on the X-Files,” she muses aloud, glancing at her partner.

Mulder nods feigning casualness. “More or less, yeah.”

Once Scully looks away gathering her thoughts and pretending to be uninterested, Mulder glances at Diana again in the rearview mirror. This time around, she averts her eyes as his message is clear – his partner doesn’t know about them and he is thankful she is keeping her answers vague; he wants her to keep it that way for now.

In the meantime, Scully is still trying out different theories in her head.

Maybe Mulder and Fowley had met when she had joined the FBI, worked together in the beginnings of the X-Files… yeah, but if that had been all, he would for certain have already told her about Diana Fowley at some point during their partnership, or at least made mention of it after the meeting.

Perhaps they hadn’t really met before and she is just being silly… she wants to believe this more than her partner wants to find out the mysteries of the Universe, but this is just wishful thinking, she knows. She is a scientist, and the most probable conclusion to this experiment she has just conducted here is that they had been romantically involved in the past.

That’s a tough cookie to swallow.

“What about you?” Fowley’s voice brings her out of her reverie. “When did you join the FBI, Agent Scully?”

“1990. I was recruited right out of Medical School,” Scully replies unpretentiously, but still with enough information to get her point across.

“Med School? That’s impressive,” Diana praises, perfunctorily biting her bait.

“Scully did her undergrad in Physics then went to Med School before joining the Bureau,” Mulder voluntarily speaks up for the first time, and the pride in his voice is unmistakable. “She is a certified pathologist, comes in handy a lot,” he adds with a teasing gleam in his eyes as he quickly glances at the woman by his side. “Actually, her entire academic background is put to the test every day on the X-Files.”

Scully chuckles at his words and it gets him to calm down just a little bit.

“That must be frustrating,” Diana pipes up, and the sweet tone in her voice sounds acidic to the younger woman. “Having to conciliate unexplained phenomena with your convictions on a day to day basis,” she further explains.

“I like the challenge,” the redhead states, taking a brief look at the woman in the back.

Apparently, Mulder is mad at the steering wheel, because his fingers are trying to strangle it to death.

A deafening silence falls over the car, Diana looking out the window to hide her annoyance, Mulder just checking his watch then staring ahead as he drives. Now that everyone seemed to have handed out their business cards and tried to covertly establish their place in this awkward interaction, Scully is left once again with her own thoughts, and the idea that this woman in the car with them has ever made love to Mulder is killing her. She’s almost certain that Agent Fowley has at one point kissed his lips, touched his body, made him tremble and then run around her like a puppy – she knows her own partner, and he craves the attention of strong, beautiful women more than he craves air.

She is suffocating in this car.

“How long ‘til we get there?” Scully asks her partner with a tilt of her head, changing the subject.

“Five minutes or so,” Mulder replies hoarsely, and he must feel the same way as she does, because he steps his right foot further down on the gas pedal.

The three of them, each one for their own different reasons, wish this day could just start over.

Chapter Text

May 15, 1998
Gaithersburg, MD

Gibson is sitting on the floor numbly watching The Simpsons when he hears a set of three voices approaching the room he’s in – from the way they’re thinking, it seems they’re law enforcement.

Darn, he just wanted some peace and TV.

“Hi,” Mulder greets him as he crouches down to his line of sight. “My name is Fox. This is Dana and Diana. How are you doing?”

Gibson can tell that he seems genuinely interested in the question, even if he is anxious to get somewhere else with this conversation. Fascinating. “I don’t mind it here; they get all the good TV shows. Where I live, in the Philippines, all we get is Baywatch.”

The male agent turns back to share a look with the two other agents with him, the three of them momentarily amused at the fact that this boy-wonder is such a, well, kid, and then the man looks back Gibson. “What’s wrong with Baywatch?” he asks without much consideration, thinking that as a man he can surely appreciate the advantages of watching a mind-numbing TV show with scantily clad hot, beautiful women. Actually, it’s a very nice image when I need to…

Oh, God. “You’ve got a dirty mind,” Gibson criticizes the male adult.

Mulder is at a loss of what to do or say. He’s the real deal, he thinks to himself, turning back in wonder to look at his partner – and there is no question in his mind that his partner is Scully. Can you believe this kid? He asks her with his eyes, but it’s the thought in his head that reaches Gibson’s brain.

She smirks back at him, amused that he has just been berated by this twelve-year-old boy. It doesn’t take a mind reader – heck, it doesn’t even take an adult – to see that Mulder’s mind is, indeed, in the gutter a lot.

They’re a funny pair, the child decides.

“Your parents are going to pick you up on Friday, Gibson,” the redhead speaks for the first time, “to take you back home.”

There is no underlying thought in her mind, the boy notices, just the words she stated. Diana, apparently, has a lot more to think about – she is amazed at his abilities, and also admiring Mulder’s growth in the past years. As for Mulder, well, he only wants to move things along so he can play some chess and prove his point.

“I don’t want to play any chess,” Gibson tells him beforehand.

The sentence seems to have come out of nowhere for both women in the room, but for the male agent, it makes perfect sense. He is once again surprised at the boy’s powers. “How do you know I want to?”

“‘Cause you got that cheapo chess computer in your hand.”

Scully snickers.

“It’s not so cheap,” Mulder says back with mock indignation, pulling the electronic chess board from under his arm. “Don’t you want to see how fast you can beat it?” Come on, I dare you.

“No,” Gibson disputes, looking away to watch the cartoon on screen.

Here we go. “Maybe because you can’t,” Mulder points out as he turns the TV off and pierces the boy with his gaze. The child averts his eyes, sensing both women’s conflicting thoughts, before the man goes on, “I’m right, aren’t I? You know what I’m talking about. You knew the moment I came in.”

Scully is confused by Mulder’s actions. What exactly is he doing?

Diana is admiring the agent and the man he’s become. Look at him go… imagine the things we could accomplish together.

Mulder is focused on making his point. “That’s how you win, isn’t it… how you know what your opponent’s going to do? You get inside his head. You read his thoughts.” This boy is Scully’s quantifiable proof. At last, she’s going to have to believe me. “That’s how you knew that man was going to shoot you… isn’t it?”

He seems proud to have figured the kid out so quickly, happy to find a personification of a scientific breakthrough. He’s glad that his partner is here to see this, this is something they’ve been working for together for years, him even longer. This reminds him of all the times he had gone with Diana to visit psychiatric patients who claimed to have mind-reading abilities – Diana… who is now back in his life out of nowhere and he still has no idea what it means.

Gibson can hear him perfectly, like his thoughts are being transmitted live in an acoustic concert. “I know what’s on your mind – I know you’re thinking about one of the girls you brought.”

“Oh?” Mulder is not so self-assured anymore. Where is he going with this?

Scully is further perplexed, raising an eyebrow as she watches the two in front of her. Diana, on the other hand, seems entertained as she glances at Scully and then looks back at the kid, waiting for him to go on.

“One of them is thinking about you,” the boy assures the room, with a very proud tone at being able to one-up the adults.

Is it me? Scully ponders awkwardly. Technically he’s on his mind, yes, but it’s not as if she’s really thinking about Fox Mulder himself, more of a side-thought. And if it’s not her… Is Agent Fowley thinking of him in a more specific way?

Diana was indeed thinking about Fox, the man. She is so grateful to be here with him again, witnessing such a breakthrough they had first started looking for together all those years ago. “Which one?” She boldly asks the kid. She’s got nothing to hide about this.

Gibson looks closely at Mulder, who apparently now thinks he needs to channel all of his energy into this one single thought to get through to the boy. Hey, kid, please do not do this to me right now.

“He doesn’t want me to say,” the child announces, to Mulder’s utmost relief.

Still, the adult man chuckles uncomfortably, glad to have bought himself at least some extra minutes for the time being. He stands back up as he faces Scully, the adrenaline rush waning through his body and making him shiver at the close call. “This kid’s going to need round-the-clock protection,” he tells her objectively, also glancing at Diana before he promptly makes his way out the door.

Scully immediately follows him out to the hallway, asking him to explain what just happened and inadvertently starting their customary back-and-forth, the one where he tries to defend a non-scientific theory and she pushes back under the argument of it being one of his ludicrous ideas.

The plat-du-jour we’re going to be serving this time is Gibson’s mind-reading powers.

They’re both comfortable in their debate, aware that disagreeing is what makes them so good together, and it really brings them closer, not only figuratively speaking but also literally, with Scully actually stepping into his personal space as their professional argument heats up.

This is definitely their inadvertent weird form of foreplay.

They’re in their own private world, oblivious to their surroundings, until Diana’s voice interrupts their conversation with her own contribution to their topic of discussion.

Scully doesn’t even try to hide her disdain at Agent Fowley’s meddling in their dynamic as she turns her head to watch the brunette, and Mulder feels like this probably ranks in the Top 10 most inopportune times to have your ex-girlfriend drop in on you. He really needs to get out of here.

“Well, let’s test him; I think the kid will stand up,” he declares about Gibson, hoping this will appease to Scully and put a pin on this discussion for the time being. “Let’s run a brain scan and a psych evaluation on him,” he assigns tasks, to his partner’s annoyance and his ex’s satisfaction. He knows that he won’t be able to keep up appearances for much longer, so he makes an executive decision to rip the band-aid off for once and for all. Briefly glancing at Agent Fowley, he looks away and then says in retreat, “You know what to do, Diana.”

His subtle acknowledgement of their history makes the older woman feel hopeful as Scully’s world shatters. They both watch him leave in silence for a few seconds before the redhead turns around to face the older woman and speaks up. “So, you two know each other?” she asks, hoping she’s managed to sound indifferent and not any of the pain she feels show in her voice.

Even if Scully is a master at hiding her emotions, Diana is still an astute, experienced woman; she can tell exactly how disappointed and hopeless the younger woman feels right now. “It was a long time ago,” the brunette says with what she would like to pass for an easy, conciliatory smile and not arrogant disregard as she goes back to Gibson’s room. Still, that's one point in her favor.

To Scully, this feels like the beginning of the downfall of any possible plans for a future together with her partner. How can she compete with a woman who looks and thinks like she could have been genetically engineered to perfectly cater to Mulder’s specific taste?

What was I thinking, she laments to herself. She takes a couple of deep breaths to try to get herself together and marches back into the room where the prodigy child is, watching Diana already in conversation with the boy and explaining that they will need to run some tests to check how his brain works.

Gibson hears it all, but his attention keeps going back to the younger woman standing by the door who is considering that for some reason her world has been shattered to pieces.

Once Diana is done going over the exams they want to conduct, the women decide instinctively to split up to optimize their efforts to organize the kid’s immediate tests (or, the way Gibson sees it, they also seemingly want to spend as minimum time together as possible to stay out of each other’s way and avoid any and all conversation about Special Agent Fox Mulder). While the older agent suggests she takes some time to prepare a preliminary psychiatric evaluation for the boy, Scully takes the child to draw some blood for testing and conduct an EEG and a PET-Scan for starters.

About two hours later, the female agents reconvene, and Scully lets Agent Fowley take the lead on Gibson’s routine psych eval – as routine as someone who thinks like Mulder would go for, apparently. The redhead watches as the other woman handles the testing with practiced ease, filling in Mulder’s shoes much better than she would have expected.

Once she’s done with the questions, Diana walks up to Scully and offers to stay overnight with the child. Not wanting to get into a pissing contest, the younger agent relents.

“You seem to know your way around this type of cases,” Scully mentions cautiously. “Not what I would have expected from someone who’s been working counterterrorism for the past years.”

“You could say I took a page out of Agent Mulder’s book,” Fowley comments. “I admire how his career has turned out, actually; back when I joined the Bureau, the X-Files were nothing but a pipedream of his. He definitely seems more experienced now than when I first worked with him.”

As another little piece of her heart falls off her chest, Dana grudgingly admits to herself that her partner was right – Diana really knows what to do here.

*****************************************************************************

Mulder has been sitting on his couch for a good half hour, still in his work clothes, still going over the unexpected day’s events in his mind. He feels wired, anxious about the fact that Diana is back in his life and that she just weaved her way into this case before he ever had a chance to explain to Scully who the other woman is.

Who she was to him.

It’s close to eleven o’clock when he finally gathers enough courage to call his partner.

“Hey, Scully, it’s me,” he announces once she picks up the phone. He can hear the line go silent as if she’s apparently holding her breath, steeling herself to talk to him. “Are you okay?”

The question throws her off-guard. Her partner is not the one to usually go for pleasantries when he calls her, especially not when he’s got a case that is attractive to him as a juicy steak would be for a starving dog. Also, it still feels uncharacteristic of him – of them – to openly discuss how she’s feeling, especially considering that apparently there is a blast from his past currently messing up their dynamic. Does it mean…

Nope. Not going there.

She decides to bypass his question and jumps ahead, “I’ve done an EEG a PET-Scan on Gibson Praise, as well as a full blood-work,” she pauses, waiting to see if he will interrupt her, but he doesn’t. “So far, everything appears to be mostly normal – I’ve scheduled a CT-Scan and full MRI of his brain for tomorrow starting at eight a.m. to further investigate how his synapsis work.”

“Mostly normal, huh?”, he comments, genuinely interested. “What about the psych eval, did Diana work on that front?” he asks without any qualms, and then regrets the question upon hearing the oppressing silence on the other side. “Scully?”

“Yes,” his partner lets out in a long breath. “She seems to think his scores are impressive, so she decided to arrange for an additional evaluation with a parapsychological board in the morning. You know, cover all the bases.”

The line remains silent once again and Mulder suddenly feels even more uncomfortable than he had felt before calling her. He doesn’t fully grasp why Scully seems so bothered by the mere mention of Diana’s name. Then again, she’s probably upset that he omitted knowing the other woman; trust is a big deal for them. “Scully, I –”

“Agent Fowley stayed on the hospital with the boy,” she speaks up before he gets the chance to continue. “I came home with his medical results to go over them in detail. You should call her if you have any questions on the preliminary psych evaluation; she’ll be better equipped to let you know the specifics.”

The way this phone call is going, one could call this their great cold war; no accusations, no upfront inquiries about the other subject they really want to talk about; just a lot of sidestepping and tension.

That’s how it goes for them – one step forward, two steps back.

“I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

“Okay,” she lingers on the line for a couple of seconds before she decides to hang up the phone without anything more to say.

Staring at the corded phone in his hands, Mulder sighs tiredly.

*****************************************************************************

Mulder’s phone call prompted Scully into action. She didn’t want to throw in the towel and admit to him that she wanted to know all about Diana Fowley, but she would be damned if she was going to continue being kept in the dark about it.

So, she decided to drive to the Gunmen’s.

After expectantly waiting for what sounds like seven sturdy locks and bolts being released, the sight of Melvin Frohike in childhood-themed pajamas and a Kevlar vest welcomes her on the other side of the door.

“Sorry… you caught me getting ready for bed,” the elder man greets her sheepishly. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you,” she says, looking amused and strained all at once.

Frohike closes the door without any of the previous precautions, giddy about having his Goddess all alone in their humble abode. “To what do we owe the pleasure at this late-night hour?”

“I need your help,” she declares.

“With what?” Langly’s muffled voice interrupts, and she turns to see the blond man walking up to her, toothbrush in his mouth and stay-at-home clothes passing for his sleepwear.

Byers is just a few steps behind, covering his elegant long-sleeve blue cotton pajamas with a black terry robe.

Such a peculiar bunch.

“You’ve all heard of Gibson Praise, the chess wunderkind,” the female agent cuts to the chase and then starts passing around image scans and medical results as she further explains, “These are a series of scans and neural electrical outputs of his brain and brain processes. There seems to be some suspicion that he’s a fraud.”

“Dorf on chess?” Byers sounds doubtful.

“Well, apparently, he wins by reading his opponents’ minds,” Scully clarifies.

“I love that,” Frohike remarks in amusement.

“And you want us to what?” Langly asks as he sits in front of the lighted viewing box where he sets the PET-Scan image of Gibson’s brain.

“Analyze the data… with an eye to the parapsychological,” she reluctantly directs them, to the men’s immediate surprise.

“Ooh… walk on the wild side!” Frohike cooes.

She doesn’t feel like smiling at his teasing, remaining quiet for two, maybe three heartbeats. Second thoughts start to take over in her head, but she pushes them out; she came here for another reason, and she’s not backing down now. Averting her eyes, she starts to speak as she switches off the viewer, “First… I want you guys to tell me who Diana Fowley is.”

Just mentioning her name makes her want to puke.

The Gunmen look surprised in their own ways, Byers being the first to say anything. “Diana Fowley?” he exclaims the question. “Geez, we haven’t heard that name in a while,” he chuckles uneasily.

“Then you know her,” Scully states, like she just got him to slip up with a trick question.

He glances around the room for support from his friends, and it’s hard to say who is the most uncomfortable out of the three of them. “Well, yeaaah...”

Yeaaah.

Like it’s so obvious.

Yeaaah, Scully… duh!

The air is stifling, and Langly grimaces as if it would make him disappear whereas Frohike searches his mind for something to say. “She was… Mulder’s chickadee when he just got out of the Academy,” the older man tries his best to sound like he’s just stating facts. At Scully’s pressing stare, he fumbles for something, anything, to add. “Good-looking,” he affirms.

Oh sure, that’s going to help.

“Well, she claims to have worked closely with him for a while,” Dana continues in a professional tone, as if that’s all that she cares about. As if learning about Mulder’s personal history with Diana hadn’t felt like a bazooka blasting through her torso.

Langly, bless him, follows her lead. “She was there when he discovered the X-Files. She has some kind of background in parascience,” he shrugs, like it’s no biggie that her partner’s pretty ex-girlfriend’s academic background is basically Mulder’s version of mental porn.

“She got a legate appointment a while back. In Berlin…” Byers adds. “I always wondered why they split up,” he muses aloud.

Scully grimaces at the sting, looking like she’s saying Well, imagine that, right?

If Frohike thought he himself was a dimwit before, he now wants to smack Byers’s head upside down.

Their friend’s partner – actually, their friend, period – just stands there for a moment, trying to pretend she isn’t wounded by all of this information, but her eyes suddenly shine with tears that start to form and she feels the need to avoid their gaze to protect herself. “Well…” she sighs, turning the light in the viewer back on and then steeling herself as she makes eye contact with them again to revert back to the original subject, “how about you boys see what you can find?”

The three of them do their best to ignore the hurt they feel for Scully as they settle themselves to start working. She remains standing in a strong pose, doing her best not to crumble in front of these men who were already Mulder’s friends before she even knew them.

Oh God. We’ve just agreed to have a child together. Do I still want to go through with it? What if he wants to get back together with Diana now?

“This should take at least a couple of hours,” Frohike speaks up in a kind but not overly sentimental tone and brings her back to the room she’s in. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to go. I’ll come back tomorrow around lunch time, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” her number one fan assures her.

Nodding once in goodbye to them all, she turns around and leaves the room.

Before she reaches her car, a single tear makes its way down her left cheek.

Damn.

Chapter Text

May 16, 1998
Gaithersburg, MD

“How’s little Karnac doing?” Mulder cordially asks Diana as he enters the observation room where she’s standing watch of Gibson, who is glued to the Silver Surfer cartoon on TV, early in the afternoon.

“Put a TV in front of him and he turns right into a normal kid,” she tells him with a smile. “He’s the real deal, Fox. We tested him with Zener cards, random numbers, a variety of ESP tasking... he’s got ability to not just focus on a thought, but a multitude of thoughts at once,” she reports in awe of the child, this child that is the epitome of everything they had both searched for together at one point in the past.

Mulder is still conflicted about having Diana back in his life – it feels weird to have her call him Fox after all this time, brings back some unexpected memories – but he ignores the feeling and rather focuses on the work, one of the defense mechanisms he has developed ever since she left him in 1991. “There’s something else; there’s something we’re missing here,” he ponders out loud as he watches Gibson through the glass.

Once he turns back to look at his former life partner, she catches him off guard with her approach. “That was a good catch on the videotape. I was impressed.”

He feels adorably nervous by her compliment, looks down bashfully. “Oh, you would have caught it eventually,” he says as he plays with his right foot against the floor. It’s like he’s twenty-five and feeling coy when meeting her for the first time, listening to this confident woman’s praise of him.

She still has some sort of hold over him of which he hadn’t even been aware up until seeing her again.

“Nah,” she denies his claim self-deprecatingly, “I’ve been too many years trying to get inside the head of too many Arab terrorists; I’m out of practice with this stuff. But you seem at the top of your game,” she states, and she hopes her honest flattery will help her get back in his good graces.

Fox was never one to hold grudges against people who tried to make amends.

“That’s all I do,” he admits to her assertion. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the last five years. Been my life… such as it is,” he acknowledges with a diffident grin.

She takes his demeanor as a sign to move on to more personal stuff, sees her opening to try and pick up where they had left off. “Sometimes I hear about you – about the work you’re doing... and I think how it might have been if I’d stayed.”

The sharp man in him sees where she is going with this, and then he’s slowly making his way towards her, softly trivializing, “Ah, we’d all be… blown up by some terrorist bomb, no doubt, huh?” There is no hurt in his voice, he’s actually being gentle with her; he’s just not going down that path with her.

She catches the meaning behind his words, decides to tread lightly but still in the direction she ultimately wants to. This is a game that requires a lot of skills, and she trusts she’s really mastered the art of reeling Fox Mulder in. “I sense you could’ve used an ally, though. Someone who thinks like you… with some background.”

He knows exactly what she’s doing, and his face changes almost imperceptibly as he slightly towers his frame over hers. “You mean Scully?” he asks in a casual tone, but there is nothing casual about the way he feels protective about his partner.

Don’t go there, Diana.

The brunette knows better than to openly criticize her adversary for this man’s affections, but she doesn’t seem to read his minute signals correctly enough to completely avoid the matter. “She’s not what I would call an open mind on the subject,” she makes light of it.

He laughs with her to make her feel comfortable, but there is no mistaking how he truly feels about his partner once he turns solemn and explains in a careful tone, “She’s, uh... she’s a scientist; she just makes me work for everything.” He drives his statement home with an intense stare.

An intense stare that is clearly meant to make Diana drop this line of discussion.

Maybe she’s a bit out of practice, she concedes to herself, but she firmly believes she can still get him to see that she’s better for him than his current partner. “Yes, but I’m... I’m sure there were times when two like minds on a case would have been… advantageous,” she insists.

Mulder nods in thought, a diminutive smile on his lips as he decides that he needs to be at least blunt-adjacent about where the two of them stand. “I’ve done okay without you,” he affirms, though not unkindly.

It drives a stick through her heart, and she can only stare at him for a few seconds – she’s forced her hand. She tries to recalculate their route, to figure out how to salvage this conversation. “Hey...” she softly lets out, almost in a whisper, as she takes his hand in hers. “I’m on your side,” she assures him with a smile.

He lets her hold his hand, tries to avoid being rude to this woman who had been part of the only healthy-ish relationship in his adult life – at least before he’d met Scully.

Not that his relationship with Scully is actually healthy according to any regular standards either… but that’s more of a him-problem than a her-problem.

“Well, we’re still working on the weekends, but at least this time we get to this on Bureau’s dime, right? It’s not like we’re spending our off-hours traipsing all over the State looking for psychiatric patients to conduct our unofficial research like in the olden days,” she chuckles trying to get him to relax.

He smiles at her fondly, “I still do that a lot from time to time, actually. Not the visiting mental health facilities for interviews as extracurricular activity, but the working in my down time,” he clears up, then further mentions, “Drives Scully nuts, really.” He laughs at himself.

She pauses for a moment, uncertain if she should mention what is on her mind or not. After a brief hesitation, she observes, “You two seem very close.”

“We are,” he states with assurance. “Not in the way you’re probably insinuating, but… yeah,” he admits, thoughtfully looking at his hand still caged in her own and then gently extricating himself from her grasp. “She’s had to work hard for my trust, but we got here. She’s the most important person in my life.”

He doesn’t want to hurt his ex-girlfriend, he really doesn’t, but he can’t lie to her really. She needs to know that he’s not in the same place as they had been when she’d left. And even if he’s not officially romantically involved with Scully, it’s not because the sentiment isn’t there.

He’s trying to give her a baby, for crying out loud.

Diana smiles mechanically, in an effort to hide the pain she’s feeling from him. She sits down at a nearby table, pretending to look over some of Gibson’s test results.

“How did he do in the ESP category?” Mulder asks, changing the subject.

She looks down to gather herself and then looks up with a wounded, fake smile. “A perfect score.”

His phone rings before he has a chance to say anything else and so he just fishes it out of his pocket. “Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me,” his partner’s voice comes alive.

Talk about timing. He turns his back to Diana in an attempt to give himself some privacy. “Where are you?”

The brunette tries to not pay attention to his conversation, but it’s hard not looking at the man she’d so ill-advisedly left behind many years ago. She listens to him telling the person on the other side of the line that he’s at the psych facility with “him” right now – probably, Gibson Praise – and then invite them to come by and show him whatever they want him to see.

From the softness in his face and the words he’s speaking, that’s most likely Dana Scully on the phone with him. It’s hard for her to come to terms with the fact that there is a real chance she won’t be able to get back together with this man for whom she still has feelings.

“I’m on my way,” Mulder says at last into the receiver and then hangs up. Turning around to face Diana again, he speaks as he pockets his phone, “Well, I have to go.” A pause ensues once she doesn’t say anything to that, and he awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets. “Are you spending all day here with Gibson?” he asks in an attempt to fill this awkward silence.

“No, actually – Agent Johnson is coming to relieve me in about…” Diana checks her watch. “Twenty minutes. Then I’m off for the rest of the day; nightshift and all,” she says in reference to the fact that she’s been in here since last night, and he nods in understanding. Her eyes turn soft once again as she looks at him affectionately. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fox.”

His lips turn up in a miniscule smile and he turns to leave, speaking over his shoulder as he walks out of the room, “Goodbye, Diana.”

*****************************************************************************

Scully looks out the basement windows high on the wall as she sits at her partner’s desk and waits for him in their office at the FBI Headquarters, struggling to keep the battle between her thoughts and emotions from tearing herself apart.

She had always believed Mulder to be someone who deeply struggled to lead what society deems to be a normal life because of his childhood traumas – he had even pretty much told her so in her living room that evening they had first socialized, after the Linda Bowman case, when he had portrayed himself to be a normal kid until his sister had disappeared and his family unit had fallen apart. During all this time that she’s known him for, she had only heard accounts about how Mulder had always been a loner, despite the fact that he is a handsome man with great sense of humor, an upstanding moral code, a big heart and a brilliant mind. Pretty much everything she knew about him and his habits up to this point – his social ineptness, his obsession with work, his proclivities to porn material and phone sex rather than actual romantic couplings (other than a few failed relationships, most notoriously with Phoebe Green) – screamed that Fox Mulder had never been able to personally connect in full with other people, had always chosen loneliness in his adult life… up until the time when she had walked into his life.

Scully had always believed that the two of them had somehow managed to professionally and personally connect throughout the years they have known each other in a way that Mulder had never before experienced. She had believed what they shared was unique.

But then all of these assumptions had gone down the drain last night when she’d learned that Diana Fowley used to be in an established romantic relationship with Mulder – and not only that, but that she had also been a partner of sorts in his quest for the truth about paranormal phenomena. Byers’s final words had really done something to her, had made her doubt everything she had known to be true.

I always wondered why they split up.

She had gone home last night having to accept the fact that, at one point in his life, Mulder had found a connection with another person, with another woman, that had given him all that he had ever craved for – and apparently the only reason for their breakup had been that this other woman had moved to Germany and left Mulder behind.

When she woke up this morning, Scully was still feeling the sting from learning that Diana Fowley had at one point held such a prestigious place in her partner’s life, and so she had to force herself to rationalize her pain as a mere result of being both surprised by this new information and disappointed in herself for having had misread her partner for so long.

Safe to say, she was completely in denial.

She managed to convince herself that she was fine, decided to go back to Gaithersburg and continue her work with Gibson Praise alongside Agent Fowley, because that was what she was good at, that would help her clear her mind, she thought. And for a brief moment that worked – other than having to go through Gibson’s meddling inside her head and listening to him bring to her attention that she was still wondering about Fowley’s existence and that the other woman was also wondering about her, she managed to go through the morning mostly fine. But then Agent Fowley told her that she and Mulder used to visit psychiatric hospitals to interview patients they had felt had been misdiagnosed; then Scully wasn’t so fine anymore.

She excused herself and drove all the way back to D.C. to visit the Gunmen and gather the results of their analysis of Gibson’s medical exams, hoping that the time away would help her clear her head again. She listened to them report to her all of their findings – their extraordinary, incredible findings – and left as soon as Frohike asked her how she was doing and she noticed the remorseful looks on Byers and Langly’s faces.

Why were they pitying her? She was fine.

So, about two hours ago, after going to the deli around the corner from the Gunmen’s office/house to force herself to eat something, Scully drove back all the way to Gaithersburg, knowing that Mulder would most likely be there by then, and certain that she would feel better once she could see his appreciation for her contribution to their partnership. She didn’t have to make a big deal about her personal feelings for him or about the fact that he had loved Diana in the past; everything would be just fine again once she felt confident that they were still partners and friends. She would have time to deal with her infatuation for him later; it’s not as if she had never been romantically disappointed before.

Yet, upon getting to the psychiatric facility and seeing Mulder and his ex-girlfriend holding hands through the window of the door to the observation room they were standing in, she was sucker-punched by the reality of it all – Diana Fowley, the woman Mulder had loved and shared his body and mind with years before, was back again, working right here with him, smiling right here with him, and neither of them seemed to be adverse to the idea of picking up where they had left off.

Scully stood to lose everything she thought she had with him, everything she had created with him, everything she had dedicated herself to in detriment of all other aspects of her life.

It was about the job, yes, but it was also about so much more.

As she gets up from her partner’s chair to walk around their office – is he still her partner, really? Is this still their office? –, she wonders how she can compete with Diana Fowley and her good-looks, out-of-the-box ideas and paranormal interests, all perfectly aligned to Mulder’s taste.

How can she let Mulder help her with her IVF procedure now that he has a chance to have the life he has always wanted? How can she ask him to donate his sperm to her, to create a child with her, and then watch him walk away with another woman and leave her behind? She knew that asking for his assistance with conceiving didn’t mean that they would undoubtedly become a couple and, ultimately, a family in the first place but she certainly wants to rethink her idea of going through with this now that she is aware that there is a bigger chance of them not even being in each other’s lives in the near future.

“Hey,” the masculine voice coming from somewhere in the room behind her startles her, and she quickly turns around to see him there, standing there behind his desk.

“Mulder, hi,” she greets, stunned.

“Are you okay?” he asks with an amused smile as he takes a seat, leisurely throwing his legs on top of the desk and interlacing his fingers behind his head.

“I’m sorry… I guess you just took me by surprise; I didn’t hear you come in, that’s all.”

He observes her quietly, trying to figure out if there is something she is not telling him. Giving her the benefit of the doubt for the moment, he moves on. “So what did you want to tell me that you’d rather be here in the privacy of our office?”

At least it’s still our office, she thinks to herself.

She proceeds to relay to him her findings about Gibson’s scans, explaining that the Gunmen helped her at her request with the research on the parapsychological angle of it all. He looks so proud of her, so in awe of the lengths she’s gone to for him and their quest, that it almost makes her forget all that she stands to lose now that Diana Fowley is back in his life.

Almost.

“I’ll talk to Skinner and arrange a meeting with the taskforce so you can tell them all about this, Scully,” he is saying, and she tries to shake herself out of this funk she’s in.

“I can tell them?” she asks, confused, as Mulder holds the phone receiver in his hands, ready to dial Skinner’s extension.

“Well, yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious, before he hangs up the phone. “These are your findings, Scully; you should be the one to present the evidence to them all,” he sounds confident for her. “Besides, scientific proof is really your kink, not mine,” he adds with a teasing gleam to his eyes.

She stands there mutely, uncharacteristically uncertain of how to proceed.

“I’ll see if we can still schedule it for today, but most likely we won’t be able to assemble everyone on such short notice on a Saturday, so –”

“Actually,” she interjects, “is it okay if we do it tomorrow morning at least? I was thinking of leaving early today.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She doesn’t address his concerns directly. “I guess I’m just tired; I stayed up most of the night going over Gibson’s test results.”

Well, that's a lie.

“Okay, sure,” he replies, oblivious. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Good night,” she tells him even though it’s merely four o’clock.

*****************************************************************************

May 17, 1998
Washington, D.C.

When Mulder leaves Skinner’s office after telling his boss to call the Attorney General to work out an immunity deal for the shooter so they can confirm that Gibson Praise is quantifiable scientific proof of pretty much everything in the X-Files, he notices that Diana is the only one around and that his partner is no longer nearby.

“Have you seen Scully?” he asks the brunette.

“I think she went back to your office,” she reports and immediately catches his forearm in her grasp as soon as he starts to leave towards the elevator. “Fox, are you sure you want to do this? The X-Fi–”

“You’ve been away for too long, Diana,” he interrupts her before she even gets the chance to finish mentioning the X-Files. “You have no idea how hard Scully and I have worked for the past five years, how much we have sacrificed to get to this point,” he tells her impatiently. He’s feeling anxious after this morning’s meeting and considering that he has a chance to prove that he’s not a paranoid lunatic.

“I have no idea? Fox –”

“No,” he interrupts again. “You don’t. I know that you have an interest in the X-Files, I know that parascience has always been of great importance to you, but you left, Diana; you got to make your choice seven years ago and you chose to go to Berlin,” he says in a raised voice, to her utter astonishment. He’s on a roll, so he continues loudly, just a couple of notches below what’s considered shouting, “And I stayed here, and I put aside a mainstream career and dove headfirst in the Files, and I pissed off a lot of people to the point where they decided to send Scully down to the basement to debunk my work and shut me down, and you know what? She didn’t.” He takes a breather before he works his voice back to a normal tone. “She stayed, and she joined me in the work, brought legitimacy to the Files. And she lost a lot because of it too, but still she stayed,” he says and it’s like a switch has been flickered in his mind. “And yes, you have no idea what the past years have been like. So, I’m sorry if you don’t agree with my decision, but it’s mine. Actually, it’s ours – Scully’s and mine. So, excuse me,” he finishes as he turns around and heads for the stairs, not giving a second thought to Diana’s bewildered and regretful look.

When he gets to the basement, Mulder sees Scully leaning her hips against his desk. He doesn’t even get a chance to speak before she straightens herself and pushes away from the furniture at the sight of him.

“What did Skinner have to say?” she asks, apprehension in her eyes.

“He just wanted to make sure that we know what we are doing, what this could entail.”

“Maybe Agent Fowley is right.”

The words out of her mouth stun him. “What?”

“Mulder, if we make one wrong move now, it could cost us the X-Files. It could cost you all of your life’s work; the chance to find Samantha…”

“Scully, we’ve already talked about this; why are you backpedaling now?”

“I’m not backpedaling. I just want to check if you’re really willing to take this risk right now, with this case. I don’t really trust Agent Fowley –”

“Why don’t you?” he interjects. “Trust Diana, I mean.”

Everything about his stance, about his words and his tone of voice, points her in the direction that he’s trying to turn this into a fight.

“I don’t know her,” Scully says in a controlled pitch.

“But I do,” he replies levelly, honey in his voice, and if feels like he’s slapped her in the face.

“Yeah, I gathered that,” she states mostly to herself as she looks down.

That’s enough of an opening for him to feel self-righteous. “What does that mean?” he questions confrontationally.

She instantly looks up at him. “It means you haven’t been upfront with me, Mulder. Is there a reason you didn’t want me to know that you two have a history?”

“A history?”

“Well, she mentioned that you two have worked together before she left. And when I told the Gunmen that she was working with us on this case –”

“You went to the Gunmen?” he asks, taking a step towards her.

“About Gibson’s scans, Mulder,” she grits out, in a tone that is meant to remind him that she had already told him yesterday about talking to the boys about this case. Her words are accompanied by a look that tells him he shouldn’t flatter himself.

Well, you should, she mentally admits, even though she’s certainly not going to let him know that right now.

Taking advantage of his silence, she continues flatly, “When I told them that Agent Fowley was working with us, they told me she’s also your ex-girlfriend.”

He bristles at the tone she uses, thinking of it as an accusation. “Fine, I slept with her in the past – is that relevant to this discussion?” he asks passive-aggressively, gradually raising his voice and flailing his arms.

“Only because you tried to keep this from me,” she raises her tone to match his, although her posture is much more restrained. Fixing him with a hard stare, she adds, “And I don’t know why that is.”

They remain locked in a staring contest for what it feels like forever, both refusing to be the first to give in. The office phone rings, a stab at the bubble of tension they’re wrapped around in.

“Mulder,” he answers the phone as Scully takes a few steps towards the back of the office. He mumbles a couple of short okay’s and yes’s as he talks to the person on the other side of the line and finishes the call with “I’m leaving right now.” Turning to Scully with closed eyes to calm himself, he takes a deep breath and finally looks at her. “That was Skinner. The Attorney General is willing to grant our immunity request if we get something concrete out of our gunman. I have to go to Fort Marlene and talk to him.”

“Okay,” she sounds robotic.

“Can we talk about this later?”

She raises her eyebrows and then looks down with a sarcastic half-smile, clearly doubtful that they’ll ever finish their conversation.

“I want to tell you about Diana,” he says as he approaches her. “I want you to understand where I’m coming from when I say that we can trust her; I know her. And we will talk about this later, Scully. But I want you to know in advance that her coming back doesn’t change anything for us – about our work, our friendship, the IVF… she’s not in the way of anything when it comes to us.” He searches her eyes with deep emotions in his.

The underlying message she believes is there takes her breath away.

“Okay?” he asks for good measure, wanting to make sure that she understands.

She refuses to meet his eyes but nods profusely. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

May 17, 1998
Centerville, VA

After Mulder had left the basement office headed to Fort Marlene earlier in the day, Scully went to Skinner’s office and asked for his authorization to move Gibson Praise out of the psychiatric facility in Maryland and into a safehouse where they could keep him under twenty-four-hour protection. With her boss’s acquiescence to move the kid to one of the secure motels the Bureau usually resorted to when working federal cases with the U.S. Marshals in the D.C. metropolitan area, she further negotiated with him that only the two of them, alongside Agents Mulder and Fowley, should be afforded direct access to the kid – it’s not that she actually wanted Agent Fowley around too, but her conversation with her partner had left her feeling a little more at ease at least; also, she didn’t want to explain to the assistant director why she would have any reasons to ask to keep the woman away from them, so she thought it best to not upset the apple cart. She opted to go back to Maryland and keep watch over Gibson as she waited for A.D. Skinner to dot the i’s and cross the t’s to set the transfer in motion, all the while trying to figure out what Mulder had exactly meant when he had told her that Diana Fowley was not in the way of anything when it came to them.

It seemed like they could be on the cusp of a new chapter in their relationship, and she certainly liked that idea. Even so, years of bad experiences in relationships and a not-so-great track record when it came to her and Mulder being on the same page on personal matters told her to not get her hopes so high; more often than not, things were not what they seemed to be, and even if they were, things could always still change on a moment’s notice.

Upon arriving in Maryland, Scully elected to spend all of her time watching Gibson from afar, remaining in the observation room adjacent to his accommodations rather than in the same area as him; when the time came to transfer him to the motel where he would be staying in Virginia, she also decided to turn up the radio volume in the car as they sat next to each other, and once they got to their final destination, she allowed the child to turn on the TV and drown all of his attention in mindless cartoons. All of these measures were taken in an attempt to hide her own thoughts from the kid during this time of internal turmoil for her – she wasn’t 100% convinced of the extent of Gibson’s powers, but even so, she figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

Now, as the clock nears eleven p.m. and the time to say good night to the boy approaches, the redhead is facing the reality that not only she can’t hide her thoughts and feelings from Gibson forever, she actually wants to talk to him about his abilities, understand more about this scientific marvel that is his brain.

(She also has this fleeting idea to maybe get his twelve-year-old input on what is going on in this situation she finds herself in with her partner and his former lover and co-worker, and yes, she is aware that she is contemplating indirectly asking a pre-adolescent male for romantic advice, but the child has an inside track to the minds of the object of her affections and of her rival, so it’s not like he is completely clueless on the matter.)

Once she settles her thoughts back in the direction of scientific research and Praise’s mind-reading abilities, she tries to catch his attention. “Gibson?”

“This is a great show,” he dismissively calls back to her without even turning his eyes away from the TV. “I wish we got this where I live.”

Steeling herself to go for this conversation, she speaks, “I’d like to ask you something.” Here goes nothing, she thinks to herself as she makes her way across the room and pulls up a chair that is positioned besides the TV to sit closer to the kid by the bed, directly facing him. “How do you do it?”

“I just hear you thinking,” he explains at first, because he knows exactly what she wants to know. “Like on a radio. And sometimes there are lots of radios. And I want to shut them off and watch some TV.”

This actually piques her interest. “Is that why you like chess? ‘Cause it’s just one thought that you hear?”

“Yeah. But that’s not why I like it all the time.”

“Why else do you like it?”

“Because there’s no talking, just thinking. It’s nothing like real life, where people think one thing, but they say something else.”

She can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what people do?”

He knows it’s not what she is doing right now; she is indeed completely focused on this discussion – actually, when he comes to think of it, everything that she has ever said while in his presence so far has always matched what was on her mind. Still, he also knows that her mind has been focused on other things throughout the day. He wants to explain to her how people usually operate, including some people around her, some people she’s been wondering all day about, so he tries to give voice to his own thoughts, “They’re so worried about what other people are thinking, when the people they’re worrying about are worried about the same thing.” It’s all so simple for him, he wishes people didn’t make things more complicated than they needed to be. “It makes me laugh.”

“Why?” she is really trying to understand.

“They make up all this stuff to believe but it’s all made up. Some people try to be good people, but some people just don’t care,” he tells her, before adding, “Like you.”

She is confused. I don’t care? “You think I don’t care?”

“No,” he wants to make it clearer, but his young age is not helping him sound so wise. “You don’t care what people think,” he tries to explain what he means. “Except for her,” he nods at the door. “The other one.”

At that precise moment, there is a knock on the door, and when Scully turns to look, she watches as Agent Fowley steps into the hotel room.

“I’m here to relieve you,” Diana tells her.

Scully pauses for a moment, her mind reeling with so much knowledge all at once – that the boy knows that she’s worrying about Agent Fowley, that he could sense that she was about to come in, that he really can read minds apparently… She turns back to the kid. “Well, we’ll talk about this later, okay?”

As he watches the redhead getting ready to leave, Gibson can’t help the fact that for some reason he likes her; it’s something about her honesty, he thinks, about her morals and her desire to always do right by others, maybe. There’s a purity in her heart and a virtue in her actions that are not common to adults. It’s something that he feels even more strongly now that the other agent has arrived. Even if the brunette’s actions towards him have always been designed to do good, her reasons to do so have not been as selfless or generous. Anyway, all he knows for certain right now is that his life is in danger and that most likely there won’t be a later to talk to Agent Scully again. He needs to tell her that. “They want to kill me, you know.”

Scully immediately stops what she’s doing and turns around to face him, startled by his words. At first, she wants to believe that he’s just afraid, as any child would be in this situation, but at the same time she knows that, considering what they’ve learned about Gibson Praise, this is definitely not the mere ramblings of a child. She can’t help but feel amazed at the boy’s skills, that his powers are so strong that he can pick up thoughts and single them out even when the people thinking them are not on the same room as him.

It's her mission to protect him, and she knows that she will do whatever she can to keep him out of harm’s way. “Nobody’s going to do anything to you, Gibson. I promise,” she tells him, determined.

He can read the sincerity in her mind; it’s sad to him that she actually believes she can fight what is going on in the world right now. “I know you do,” he sympathizes.

Scully feels shaken, but she won’t allow herself to let her vulnerabilities show in front of the older woman for fear that she will think less of her – nice catch by the kid –, so she quietly makes her way past Agent Fowley, grabs her coat laying on the armchair closest to the door, pauses to look at the boy one last time – believe me, Gibson, we will do our best to keep you safe – and then walks out, leaving Diana Fowley and Gibson Praise alone in the room.

Diana smiles timidly at him, and he knows that she believes in her head she’s doing the right thing trying to meddle in this case to protect this so-called X-Files he keeps hearing people thinking about. Unfortunately for the both of them, he also knows that she’s operating under a misguided idea.

*****************************************************************************

Mulder has spent close to twelve hours since the meeting in A.D. Skinner’s office going back and forth with the shooter locked up the federal detention center in Fort Marlene, with the Attorney General in the Justice Department and with his own boss back at Headquarters, all in a perfect attempt to finally get the chance to prove to himself and to the rest of the world that his efforts haven’t been for nothing, that there really is something out there that explains the existence of extraterrestrials, that there is actually something right in Gibson Praise that confirms that present-day humans and aliens have been consorting to advance the human race. He’s been so focused throughout the day on this mission, so obsessed with the work of a lifetime coming to fruition that he hasn’t had any chance to think about his personal issues with Scully or about Diana’s current presence in his life.

It's only now, when he’s about to drive back to Alexandria feeling completely spent but hopeful that he and Scully have managed to succeed in their quest, that he thinks about his partner at all. It’s when he remembers that she is there to share his elation about the progress in the work and that she’s been dedicating her entire Sunday to this case as well, most likely directly watching over Gibson, that he knows he has to call her and catch up with his partner.

It's embarrassing to him how self-absorbed he can get once he goes down the X-Files rabbit hole, but he can’t pretend that it is not the case. He can only show up again, with his tail between his legs, and hope that she will be understanding yet once again. So, he picks up his phone and speed-dials her number as he backs out of the FBI parking garage.

“Hey, Scully, it’s me,” he tells her once she picks up. “We got the deal with the Attorney General; she’ll deliver the papers to Skinner first thing in the morning. As soon as I get them to Fort Marlene, guy will give us his signed confession.”

“Well, at least it worked out so far. Finally a score for us,” she tells them back, as she makes a turn in her own car, about two blocks away from her apartment building.

“How did things work on your end today?”

“Uneventful. We got Gibson into protective custody, and Agent Fowley is with him overnight. I’m driving home as we speak.”

At the mention of Diana’s title, Mulder finally is reminded that he owes his partner a conversation about who the other woman is and how little that impacts the current status of their professional and personal lives. “I’m going home myself now…” he lets the words linger, waiting for an invitation perhaps.

“We should talk tomorrow, I guess.”

“You sure?” He asks, a tad alarmed.

“It’s almost midnight, Mulder; we need the rest. Don’t worry,” she mentions, and she doesn’t have to spell it out to him to make him aware that she knows exactly what they are not saying.

“Well, I know we still have some unfinished business to discuss. How about dinner tomorrow, if we can make it? My place. I’d say we could meet in the morning, but we're going to be extra busy with work and I’ll still have to stop by Dr. Parenti’s at seven… let’s call it giving them my demo version of things so they can approve of the final product.”

She can practically hear his wiggling eyebrows and unwittingly it makes her chortle. “Mulder, you are such a man-child”, she admonishes.

“Guess you still have time to back out, Scully,” he jests.

“It’s that what you want?”

“That’s not what I said,” he replies noticing the seriousness in her voice and then he turns suddenly silent, weighing his words. “It’s a big decision on your part; I guess I just want to make sure again that’s what you want. There’s a lot that can come with my baggage, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t considered all the pros and cons,” she reassures him. “But I’d be lying if I said recent events hadn’t gotten me thinking...” she trails off.

“I told you, nothing’s changed on my end.”

“I know,” she lets out with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t have said yes if that was something I didn’t want to do. And I definitely wouldn’t go through with it now if I wasn’t certain of what I’m doing.” A pause. “What we’re doing. You have to believe me.”

She smiles to herself but doesn’t let him know what his words truly mean to her. “Thank you again, Mulder.”

“Well, I’ve been training for tomorrow’s event for, like, twenty-five years. Finally, it’s going to come in handy,” he teases her. “Quite literally.”

“Good niiight,” she singsongs and then hangs up with a grin.

*****************************************************************************

May 18, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It takes Mulder a little under ten minutes to deposit his sperm donation in the container the young blonde medical assistant had provided him with as soon as he had entered Dr. Parenti’s clinic. By 7:15 a.m., he’s already out the door.

There’s nothing complicated about jerking off into a cup when he’s doing it thinking about Scully and possibly creating a new life with her. On the contrary, it is surprisingly easy.

As he waits out in the hall for the elevator that will take him back to the garage to pick up his car, he checks his phone for any missed calls and notices seven of those – five from Skinner and two from Scully. Immediately, he speed-dials his partner; no need to deal with his boss’s animosity this early in the day.

He barely gets out his customary “Hey, Scully, it’s me” and she’s already telling him that Skinner had called her about an emergency involving Gibson Praise.

“Hang on, hang on,” he tries to slow her down as the elevator car arrives and he holds the steel door open with his left hand, right one still holding up the phone. “I’m just leaving Dr. Parenti’s office. Do you know what happened?”

“No, Skinner just said to get there asap. I’m almost done getting dressed and then I’ll go to the motel.” There’s some ruffling noise on the line, as if she were putting on a shirt, and then her voice comes on again. “Do you have the address with you?”

“No,” he replies, and then he notices that the one person already inside the lift is eying him with annoyance. Muttering a “just a second” into the phone, he holds it up by pressing it between his ear and shoulder so that his right hand is free to go fishing for his badge in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “It’s an emergency,” he directs not so kindly at the twenty-something-year-old man before he shifts his attention back Scully, all the while still standing in the hall and holding the elevator door. “I’ll swing by your place and we’ll carpool together, okay? I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting outside,” she says in agreement and just hangs up.

Finally stepping onto the elevator, he pockets his phone and apologizes to the impatient man as the door closes. “National Security,” he comments dryly.

The younger man doesn’t feel the need to say anything to that other than a disconcerted “Thank you for your services.”

Once they reach the garage level, Mulder rushes out the elevator for theatrical purposes, gets in his car without much thought to anything else and just speeds his way to Georgetown.

True to her word, Scully is out on the sidewalk in front of his building already waiting for him when he arrives. The drive to Virginia is made almost completely in silence, except for brief morning greetings, a call to Skinner to let him know they’re on their way and the sound of a rock radio station playing 1980s tunes on low volume; nothing is mentioned about the spermogram or the IVF in general – it feel sacrilegious to discuss such a matter when there is this sense of dread in the pit of both of their stomachs.

It takes them about fifty minutes to make what should have been a two-hour drive to Centerville, and the second they drive through the motel parking lot they are met with a perfect sight of mayhem – there are patrol cars, ambulances and unmarked vehicles scattered all around, a variety of people roaming the area, a dead body covered with a sheet lying on the floor. They step out of the car and are walking towards the corpse laying on the ground when A.D. Skinner appears behind them, calling their attention as the paramedics come out of Gibson’s room with Diana’s body on a stretcher and hooked up to an oxygen tank.

“They killed a U.S. Marshal and then shot Agent Fowley,” their boss is saying, but Mulder has a hard time paying attention to the words, his concern and alarm blatant on his face.

He gently places his right hand around Diana’s limp fingers. This is a woman he once loved, the only person with whom he’s even been involved in a committed, stable, intimate romantic relationship, and her life is hanging by a thread.

“They worked on her here for an hour,” Skinner explains, unaware of the graveness of this shooting to Mulder. “They couldn’t get a chopper in so they’re in radio communication with the hospital. She’s got weak vitals and a hole in one of her lungs, so they’re not optimistic.”

The words only add to the reality of which he already knows, that his former lover is probably going to die and that the last words he uttered to her had been in harsh disregard to her place in his current life. The EMTs ignore his presence by the woman’s side and push him back to get their patient loaded onto the ambulance, and their hands fall separate, pretty much the same way Mulder feels about his body and soul right now.

He is disconnected from his body, floating away in regret.

Scully can see how much this is affecting him, and it only makes her feel even worse for the other woman, even if she had been uncertain about her presence before. This is not something she’d wish on anyone, let alone to someone so important in her partner’s life. Diana doesn’t deserve to die, she thinks.

Even so, time is of the essence and she needs to lend her attention to something else, especially if she’s going to give her partner room to deal with his pain. “What about the boy, is he here?” the redhead directs her question to their boss.

The bald man only shakes his head in the negative.

Mulder’s mind is reeling with accusations, something akin to revenge taking over. “Where is Spender?” he asks, once he remembers that a couple of days ago, he saw the younger agent conferring with the Cigarette-Smoking Man in Gibson’s psychiatric hospital in Maryland.

“He’s gone to Federal Detention,” Skinner replies and then debates internally how to relay this additional piece of news. “They found the shooter shot dead in his cell early this morning. We also found this,” he adds as he holds out a paper wrapper of a pack of Morley cigarettes to the male agent.

Disillusionment is all that is left on Mulder’s features. What should have been one of the best days in his life on a professional level has suddenly become just another day where everything is falling apart. With a vacant look in his eyes and no further words out of his mouth, he merely takes the piece of Morley wrapper and wanders back to his car, leaving Scully and Skinner just standing there as they watch him walk away.

“Are there any leads as to who might have taken the child?” Scully speaks up, partially turning her attention to the assistant director and thinking back to Gibson’s words to her last night. They want to kill me, you know.

“No, all the cameras have been disabled since half past midnight. We don’t even know yet at exactly what time all of this went down – the call about the shooting only came in around six in the morning, when one of the guests found the Marshal’s body out in the pavement, a shot to his head; the killer probably used a silencer,” he relays all the information he has so far. “Is he going to be alright?” the bald man asks, nodding in Mulder’s general direction.

“Well, it’s not going to be the day he’d expected, that’s for certain,” she says back.

Skinner stares at his shoes, uncertain of how to continue this conversation with someone who certainly doesn’t deserve this, but he knows what he has to do. “I’m going to have to ask you both to stay out of this investigation for now,” he gets out, looking up to stare into his subordinate’s face. “The next few hours will be of the utmost importance and it’s paramount that the two of you don’t cause any havoc within the FBI right now; Agent Spender’s been reluctant to have Mulder’s participation in this case from the beginning, and –”

Hesitant, Scully tries to interrupt, “Sir, I don’t think I’ll be able to –”

“Well, do your best, Agent Scully,” he interrupts her right back. “The way I see it, there is a pretty good chance this will end up threatening the existence of the X-Files. I suggest both of you do all you can to avoid getting caught on anyone’s radar.”

She steels herself and only nods once. “Will you let me know about Agent Fowley’s medical status as soon as you have an update?”

Skinner watches her with partial confusion.

“She’s someone who’s worked closely with Mulder in the past,” is all she is willing to let her boss know, and his features turn understanding. “I’m sure he would like to know.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she says and then she walks to the car, where Mulder is patiently, but restlessly, waiting for her.

Without a word, he simply starts the car and backs out of the parking lot.

Scully tentatively places her hand on his forearm, trying to get his attention. When he spares her a glance as he drives, she gives voice to her thoughts. “I’m sorry about Agent Fowley.”

His jaw clenches but she can tell that he’s not mad at her; he’s just trying to keep his emotions to himself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” her tone is kind.

He bites the insides of his cheeks before he states in an arid voice, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

She nods acceptingly, feeling hurt by his distance but knowing that this is not the moment to press him. She removes her hand from his body and places it in her lap.

He sighs. “I had an argument with her yesterday morning,” he says and notices that his partner’s face turns to him with consideration. “I just don’t want those to be the last words I get to say to her.”

Wisely, she refrains from speaking meaningless words of comfort. “We can only hope they won’t be.”

He nods, grateful to have his true partner with him but at the same time wanting to redirect the subject. “I saw Spender with the Cigarette-Smoking Man in the garage of the psychiatric facility Gibson was staying in a couple of days ago."

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was on Saturday, before I was coming back to the office to meet you about Gibson’s scans. Guess it slipped my mind once I got there.”

“Do you think he’s involved in this? Agent Spender?”

“Well, he claims he knows nothing about the black lunged son of a bitch, but I’m not feeling so inclined to giving him the benefit of the doubt,” he glances at his partner with sarcasm in his eyes.

“Mulder, Skinner warned me that we should tread carefully right now; he said we should stay back and let him try to work things out before we make any moves,” she reports their boss’s advice.

“Oh, you know me, Scully; I won’t do anything irrational,” he deadpans.

“Mulder…”

“I’ll tell you what – I’ll drop you off at your place and then I just have to make a quick stop by the office before I head home. You can come over later and we’ll go over our next steps together,” he tells her with a conciliatory half-smile.

“Don’t you want to go to the hospital to check on Agent Fowley?” she asks meaningfully, concern for him her first and foremost emotion.

“I won’t be of any help there,” he says with a dismissive shrug. “Honestly, I just want this day to be over. I don’t think I can take any more bad news right now.”

With a silent nod and a close-lipped smile, she acquiesces and looks out the window as she waits for the car trip to be over.

It’s not even nine in the morning and they’re both thinking that there’s no way this day could get any worse.

But these are their lives; of course it can.

Chapter Text

May 18, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Scully arrives at Mulder’s apartment a little after seven o’clock. She can’t tell what exactly has happened during their time apart since this morning, but she can see that all of the day’s events have taken a toll on him – he looks haggard, lying on his couch in a grey T-shirt, worn-out jeans and bare feet.

So handsome, but haggard.

His left arm is still resting over his shut eyes as he says, “Welcome to the pity party, Scully.”

“Mulder,” she says in half-greeting, half-question, as she takes a seat on his coffee table and watches him. “Have you been holed up in your apartment all day?”

She sets the six-pack of Shiner Bock she’s been carrying right next to her on the wooden surface, and the sound of the glass material hitting the table gets his attention.

“Ooh, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes in your pretty, casual cardigan and much needed alcoholic emotional support?” he rhetorically asks her once he’s lifted his arm off his face and opened his eyes, taking in her appearance and the beer she brought with her. Sitting up on his couch, he reaches for a bottle and adds, “Although I could actually use something more stiff tonight.”

“I could say the same thing to you Mulder, but then I don’t think you’d be able to deal with such a statement,” she teases him with a mostly serious face, running her tongue on the inside of her cheeks to keep from grinning.

“Scully, you naughty, naughty girl,” he holds up the bottle to her in cheers and takes a swig.

They both share an easy smile.

“So, what did you do all day?” she asks redirecting the subject away from their flirty banter and grabbing a bottle of beer to herself.

He plays with the label of the bottle in his own hands and then nonchalantly replies, “Oh, you know, contemplated the intricacies of a government conspiracy designed to hide the truth from the American people, my professional failings as an FBI agent, the paltriness that is my whole existence…” he trails off, drinking another gulp of beer. At her judgmental look, he adds defensively, “Hey, I also played some ball at the Y with the homies.”

She looks down at her hands to hide a smirk, and then looks up at him again. “Have you eaten anything at all?” she asks with a loving, concerned voice.

“I’ve swallowed a bucket full of regret and sorrow – does that count?” he deadpans.

“Oh, Mulder…” she sighs, running her left hand on the top of his head in tenderness as she stands up and goes over to the phone. “I’m ordering a pizza for us. My treat.”

He listens to her quietly as she calls the hole-in-the-wall restaurant he likes best and orders the pizza just the way he prefers it, and it brings a comforting feeling to his heart in this time of uncertainty and loss. He knows that he loves her – has actually known for a while now – but all this time he’s been looking at it as being on the giving end of things, analyzing his shortcoming and why he might not be capable of granting her what she wants and deserves. It’s been so long since his last romantic relationship, and he’s tried so hard to convince himself that opening up to a woman would only lead to getting hurt again that he has failed to recognize how good it is to be on the receiving end of love, to actually have someone in his life who cares for him. He’s spent so many years after Diana focusing on everything that could go wrong in a relationship that he forgot that being in love could also be great.

Especially when it’s with the right person.

“Mulder?” Scully is off the phone and using a low tone of voice to try and get his attention, and he realizes that he has probably been staring at her for longer than it would be deemed subtle.

“I’m sorry,” he says shaking his head and setting his beer on the coffee table. “I was just thinking.”

She looks at him waiting for him to elaborate but he doesn’t, a deep breath being all that he does at first. He looks conflicted, maybe anxious, and she tilts her head as if he’s a mystery she’s trying to solve.

“Pizza will be here in about thirty minutes,” she reports after a few seconds of silence. “I’m just going to call Skinner to get an update on things, okay?”

“Be my guest,” he tells her in acquiescence, and then he stretches out on the couch again, closing his eyes and mulling over everything that has happened so far and the direction he wants his life to go now. In between his musings, he hears bits and pieces of Scully’s side of her phone call with their boss, notices how drained she sounds as she mentions that they had been aware of the risks of going to the Attorney General – it doesn’t seem like she’s going to have any good news to share with him.

He listens as she hangs up the phone and speaks up without opening his eyes. “Any news on Diana?”

He hasn’t even visited his former lover, and he can’t help but feel a bit of an asshole for that, even if he's said that there’s nothing he can do for her. If it were Scully, I’d be there, but –

“They have her on maximum pressers… but she’s barely maintaining her pressure,” the redhead by his side says after a sigh, interrupting his thoughts. In her own mind, she’s struggling with having to give him not so great news and with the guilt she feels for being jealous of Mulder’s concern for his ex.

“What did Skinner have to say?” he asks, changing the subject.

“There are talks going on right now about reassignment,” she admits in a quiet voice.

That makes him gently look up at her. “For who?”

“Both of us,” she replies sadly, and then steels herself for relaying even worse news to her partner. “These talks included instructions from the Justice Department to close down the X-Files.”

It’s his turn to sigh. “This was all strategized – every move. I just couldn’t see it,” he says, disappointed, as he stares at the ceiling. “It was all of a plan.”

“Mulder, whatever you may believe… this time they may have won.”

This is all killing her – the concern for him, the hard truth that she has failed her goals, that they’re helpless in this situation… it’s too much. And from the looks of it, he feels the same way.

“You should have left when you had the chance, Scully,” he tells her in all his powerlessness, still staring at all the nothing that exists in front of him. “I probably ruined your entire career.”

His words unwittingly give her the strength she needed to fight back. “You didn’t do anything, Mulder,” she says with confidence, leaning further onto her thighs to force him to make eye contact with her. “I want to be here, no matter what the consequences may be.”

He turns his face to her, but his eyes don’t hold the same intensity as hers. “You had no choice; they sent you down there because I was a nuisance that needed to be shut down.”

“Everyday I stayed, it was my choice, Mulder,” she assures him. “Everyday I’m still with you, it’s because I decide so. Me; not you. And certainly not them.”

He holds her stare, feeling the strength of her certainty but unable to rise out of his funky mood. “Diana was right to leave when she had the chance,” he utters out of the blue as he averts his partner’s eyes. “Look what getting back here after all this time got her.”

This is as close as he’s come to ever admitting that Agent Fowley had also worked with him on the X-Files in a way. Scully never saw the other woman’s name in any of the files down in the basement, but she knows that Mulder was only officially assigned to the Files in 1992. So, this somehow feels like he is telling her in his own way that Diana had been an integral part of his quest to revive the X-Files division back in the day. And she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that it hurts.

She doesn’t know how to reply to his words about Diana, but she knows what she can tell him about herself. “Even if I had known back then that all that we’ve gone through was going to happen, I’d still choose to stay in the X-Files with you all over again.”

The great thing about her speech, she realizes, is that she sincerely means it. Even if they don’t get to expose the truth about all of this conspiracy now, even if Diana lives and he chooses to be with her, she wouldn’t change her opinion about the good work they’ve accomplished together in the X-Files.

“Why?” he asks as he sits back up on his couch, looking at her with deep admiration and bafflement.

“Because working with you gave me a chance to learn things that I’d never even considered. Because it has expanded my comprehension of what the great mysteries in life really are,” she confides, and it’s the most she’s ever told him about the meaning of the X-Files for her. She needs him to understand. “Even if I don’t get the proof for all the answers… at least I’m now aware of questions that I didn’t even know to ask before.” She doesn’t want to speak ill of the near dead, but she needs to bring her point home. “Maybe Agent Fowley had already been aware of all of this before, and that’s why she chose differently back then, Mulder. But that’s not how I feel. I’ve been given a chance, and I’m glad to have taken it.”

Mulder sits on his couch with his lips literally parted in awe of the woman before him. He feels the magnitude of this moment, knows that this could be a life-changing opportunity for him – for them.

“Maybe she realized what she had been missing and that’s why she came back, Mulder,” Scully adds as an afterthought, nervous that he might have taken offense to her words. “No matter her reasons for leaving in the past, you just have to understand her reasons for coming back now. That’s what matters.”

He watches her closely for a moment, and when the silence stretches to almost uncomfortable, he finally opens his mouth to speak. “I was twenty-six when I met her,” he starts, and he can tell that the woman before him wasn’t expecting him to say anything about this now.

But he wants to.

“I was barely out of the Academy. Freshly moved back to the States after Oxford and this awful relationship I had had there – you remember Phoebe, right?”

“How could I forget?” Scully asks back, barely containing the disdain in her voice.

“Right…” he comments with a sarcastic half smile. “Anyway… I was trying to get a new life here – joining the ISU, hoping to make a name for myself… maybe, if I was lucky enough, also make my father proud,” he laughs at himself stupidly. “I was on the right track back then. Still, it felt like something that wasn’t really for me, not for the boy whose sister disappeared without a trace. But then, I went to this New Year’s party a guy from the unit was hosting and I met Diana there.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “We clicked.”

At first, it's not as if Scully really wants to hear all this, this love story about Mulder and his former girlfriend whose life is hanging by a thread right now. But at the same time she knows he needs a friend, and she is also curious to know what happened with them, so she can’t help herself; she looks at him with kind eyes, willing him to go on.

“She was beautiful, intelligent and interesting, and she was interested in me – in some ways, it felt like Phoebe all over again. But at the same time, Diana was nothing like Phoebe; she wasn’t arrogant, wasn’t looking to be the center of attention. She was a couple of years older than me, but that didn’t seem important. We were equals in our conversation, and we talked for hours, about nothing and everything. It was easy being with her. Comfortable. I’d never felt that way before with anyone – like there was no judgment, you know?”

“Yeah…” Scully manages to get out. She’s making a herculean effort to keep her emotions in check.

“We started dating after that. She worked as an anthropologist at the Natural History Museum, and we shared a lot of common interests, including parascience and the occult. I told her all about Samantha’s disappearance; each time we talked about it, I told her a little bit more about what it had done to my family, about how it had shaped me. A couple of years later, she suggested I should undergo hypnosis to deal with it; that’s how I learned that Sam had been abducted.”

The redhead can’t help a sharp intake of breath. Diana had been there for Mulder right from the beginning… this information only adds to the insecurities she had already been feeling before. Still, she remains silent. All she can do is pick up her neglected bottle of beer, nod for her partner to continue and then take a large gulp.

“Everyone I knew liked her,” Mulder is saying now. “My mother loved her; even my father approved of her the one time they met,” he adds, reaching for his own beer bottle and inadvertently pouring salt over the open wound Scully feels in her chest. “The Gunmen… God, when I met them and told her about them, I thought she’d tell me to get away from the crazy kids, but she kept an open mind, befriended them,” he continues to sing praises to Diana, pausing only to take a swig of the liquid. “I admired her so much. I’d do anything for her back then,” he confesses with an air of self-judgement in his voice.

It almost feels too much to Scully. She looks away as she takes a sip of her beer, praying to all that is sacred that Mulder won’t be able to tell how uncomfortable she feels right now, but then he delivers the two final blows she hadn’t even anticipated.

“When I turned 29, I asked her to move in with me, and she said yes. And then when I learned about the X-Files the month after that, I told her she should join the FBI so we could work on those cases together. And she agreed to that too,” he declares, looking at his hands.

She suddenly feels the air leaving her lungs and her legs go weak – if she were standing, she’d certainly be on the floor right now. It is too much right now, all at once. She knew that Mulder and Diana had been romantically involved, she knew that they had worked together off-hours, but she hadn’t grasped the intensity and seriousness of both of these relationships. Mulder had lived with her? He had invited her into the X-Files?

“When she got out of the Academy –” Mulder tries to continue, but Scully doesn’t think she can still do this.

“Mulder –” she tries to interject, only to be interrupted herself by the buzzing sound of the apartment intercom. She nervously sighs in relief. “That’s probably the pizza. I’ll get it,” she announces without giving him a chance to question her actions.

She takes much longer than she has to in the kitchen, and when he finally gets up and brings the four unopened beer bottles with him to check on her, she’s holding herself to the counter by the sink, trying to regulate her breathing with her eyes closed.

The sight before him makes him stop dead in his tracks by the doorway. “Scully?”

She quickly turns her head in his direction, watching her partner standing there with the beer in his hands, and she feels ashamed to have been caught. “I just…” she trails off. “It was more than I expected, Mulder. I don’t know what I’m feeling; I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he says, immediately placing the bottles on the counter and turning her body to fully face him. He keeps one of his hands on her shoulder as the other one makes its way to push a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Talk to me, Scully.”

“I can’t…” she shuts her eyes. “I just need a minute.”

“Scully, I –”

A knock on the door interrupts them again.

Mulder sighs in frustration. “Just let me get that.”

He collects the pizza from the delivery kid and then searches for his wallet to pay for the order. Once he’s done with the task, he goes back into the kitchen, where his partner is once again perfectly put together, holding out a plate for him and some paper napkins.

“You should eat,” it’s all she says.

He immediately sees what she’s doing. “You’re not leaving,” he says as he numbly accepts the plate.

“I have to go home, and –”

“The hell you do,” he barks at her, and she is stunned.

They don’t do this. They don’t confront each other unless they’re arguing about a case. They don’t… do personal talk.

“Scully, we’re not done talking,” he continues in a softer but firm tone. “We’re going to have this pizza and we’re going to finish our conversation.”

“Oh, is that what we’re going to do?” she asks sarcastically, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She is hoping that baiting him into a fight will get her out of this situation.

“Yes, it is,” he replies, adding the plate to the pile of things sitting on his counter. “Because I don’t know what just happened, but there’s no way that I’m letting you go before we sort this all out.”

“There is nothing to talk about, I –”

“Are you jealous of Diana?” he asks her before she gets the chance to form a clever, sensible, Dana Scully-approved excuse.

“Mulder…” she starts with a sigh, hoping he will interrupt her once again.

This time he doesn’t.

When he notices that she is not going to go on, he insists. “I’m done talking in circles. Are you jealous?”

She stares straight into his eyes and with her head high she sets her jaw. There is no way she is going to answer him, but she’ll be dead before she lets him see her embarrassed again.

He tries a different approach. “Is it because I never told you about her before?”

Nothing.

“Scully, she left two years before I met you. She joined the Bureau and before we even had the chance to work together on the X-Files, she took an assignment in a different continent, moved out of our apartment and left me behind. This is not something people usually want to talk about.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry, Mulder," she relents. "I don’t know what it is, it’s just weird to know that you’ve had all of this different life that I never knew about. I mean, I’ve never seen you with anyone, and I just assumed that you’ve always been this… obsessed with your work. It’s a little unsettling to learn so much all at once, that’s all – that you had a long-term relationship, that you wanted to share the X-Files with her… that she might be the reason for who you are today,” she concedes uneasily.

“She’s a contributing factor to who I am, yes,” he agrees truthfully. “But so much of what I am today is not because of her, Scully. It’s –”

The ring of his landline phone startles them both. They stand awkwardly looking at each other, so much in their eyes that is going unsaid, so much riding on his next words. Mulder makes no move to answer the call until the fifth ring, and then he gives up and goes to get it.

Scully feels like she can finally breathe again after being choked by the sexual tension.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, still looking at his partner from across the room as she comes closer to the doorway to his living room.

“Agent Mulder.” It’s Skinner. “You and Agent Scully should come in immediately.”

“Sir?”

Skinner is silent, his breath the only indication that the man is still on the line. He sounds hesitant.

“Sir –” Mulder starts, only to be interrupted.

“It’s about the X-Files.”

“Are we off the X-Files?” Mulder asks, and Scully’s attention is now completely on him for a different reason.

“Just meet me in my office asap.”

*****************************************************************************

The funny thing about trauma is how it can instantly mess up with your mind.

After Skinner’s call, Mulder had told Scully they had been summoned to their boss’s office, and so they had immediately ignored the sexual tension in the room and left together to find out about their fate. They had carpooled to the FBI Headquarters, but right now, as he’s once again lying alone on his couch, Mulder can’t even remember that he had told his partner that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened, they would find a way to make it work again, just like they had done the first time they had been split after their first year of partnership. He can’t remember that he had told her this wouldn’t change anything for them in their private lives as well, can’t remember the look on her face once she had understood that it had been his way of telling her he wanted more with her than just being work partners and friends. He doesn’t remember that he had seen the signs leading up to their discovery of the fire, that he had noticed firetrucks parked outside the Bureau on Pennsylvania Avenue, had seen some sympathetic looks on the faces of the few agents that crossed their path as they had ridden up the elevator to Skinner’s floor. He can’t even remember what the assistant director had said to them upon their arrival.

There are only three things that he can remember with unequivocal clarity right now: the sight of everything in his office turned pitch-black, the acrid smell of his life’s work burned down and the unequaled feeling of emptiness that arose inside him once he had stepped into his torched office.

Mulder closes his eyes, doing his best to evoke any memories of what had happened after that – he can’t even recall how he managed to get himself home. It’s as if everything that’s taken place immediately after he entered the X-Files basement office about an hour ago has not even computed in his brain. With much effort, he seems to remember bits and pieces of things, like a flash image of Scully’s hands on his biceps as they stood in the middle of the room and the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize telling them they needed to leave immediately.

A blurred vision of the car ride back to his apartment comes to his mind – apparently, Scully had been the one to drive his car back here – and he has this brief recollection of a short dialogue they had shared then.

“Are you okay?” she had asked him tenderly, concern never before so present on her profile.

“I just… I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

May 26, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Over the course of the week following the arson that destroyed Mulder’s basement office, the Department of Justice had (as expected) issued specific orders to close down the X-Files Unit, with the argument of budget reallocation. There had been discussions regarding where the two agents in the unit should be reassigned to, but A.D. Skinner has so far managed to take advantage of the bureaucratic aspects involved in government decisions to unofficially keep both Mulder and Scully partnered under his supervision in the Criminal Investigative Division, generally working for the Violent Crimes Branch – under which technically the X-Files Unit had been structured in the first place. The higher-ranked agent is pretty sure that, as long as both of his subordinates comply with their sanctioned directives and remain out of the spotlight, their professional instability will eventually blow over, and soon the two of them will be able to restart their work with paranormal cases, even if informally at first – Skinner can’t actually back their unofficial X-Files investigations, but he believes his don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy has been immeasurably favorable to his beloved agents from the very beginning.

So, during the past week, Mulder and Scully had been mostly sitting behind a desk in the fourth-floor bullpen, working ordinary FBI hours to get acquainted with a number of active murder cases in which no substantial leads had been found and trying to figure out which ones they would have a better chance of solving first. Their professional banter had changed from “Mulder, there is no scientific indication that an incubus is responsible for this woman’s cardiac arrest” to “Mulder, these bullet wounds match the ones on the victim in this murder case that took place in the same area two months ago”, and frankly the mundane quality of their assignment had immediately taken a toll on his interest. For this reason, Mulder had spent most of his time after clocking out holed up either in his apartment doing research on possible new X-Files or going to the Gunmen’s to discuss what was new in the conspiracy theories department; either way, what he hadn’t done was actually spend any time with Scully outside the Bureau.

The first two days after the night of the fire, she had tried to demurely inquire about his plans after work, hoping to determine his state of mind in the aftermath of such a tragic event. Both attempts to reach out to him had been met with indifference, so by Thursday she hadn’t tried again. It had been clear to her that he was brooding, and she had known him well enough to understand that he needed time to lick his wounds.

On Friday, as Mulder had been getting ready to part ways with Scully for the weekend and the upcoming Memorial Day, he had remembered an important piece of news.

“Hey, Scully,” he had said aloud, making his way back to her desk. At her surprised look, he had continued in an almost whisper, “I… I don’t think I ever told you, with all that’s happened this week and all, but the, uh… the spermogram, I’m scheduled to get the results on Tuesday.”

The mention of their private IVF arrangement had instantly instilled conflicting feelings in the redhead; she had been uneasy discussing the topic in such a public venue but, at the same time, she had felt relieved that he hadn’t apparently dismissed his involvement in the event. “I know,” she had said, definitely in a whisper. “Dr. Parenti’s assistant called and asked me if I could make it to the same appointment so that they can start my hormonal treatment and do another round of tests to prepare for the upcoming implantation, assuming your results are satisfactory.”

“Great. I’ll see you there,” he had told her in a not so quiet voice, playing his knuckles against the surface of her desk, looking anxious. “They, um… they told me I should expect to make a new deposit then...?” He had admitted in what had actually sounded as a question.

Confused about what to do, she had nodded hoping it would pass for assurance to him.

He had smiled sheepishly at her, for the first time since that fateful Monday, and finished in a whisper, “At least this time I know better than to play with myself before going to the doctor, right?” His inappropriate joke had been accompanied by a wink, and with that he had simply walked out of the room.

For the umpteenth time since meeting him for the first time, Scully had been at a loss then as to what to make of his antics.

Now, as she’s sitting in the waiting room to Dr. Parenti’s office worrying herself yet again about the consequences of asking Mulder to help her conceive, she sees her partner confidently making his way in – and to make matters worse, he smiles brightly at her the moment he spots her there.

“Hey,” he greets her casually as he takes a seat by her side. “How was your extended weekend?”

This is man is infuriatingly disconcerting to her. “It was uneventful,” she tells him politely. She almost opens her mouth to ask him about his weekend, but she’s too wired to make small conversation right now, so she grabs an old magazine that is lying abandoned on the coffee table in front of her and peruses it quietly.

She can see from the corner of her eyes that he’s watching her for a moment, like he’s trying to profile her. It feels unsettling to her.

After about twenty seconds of silence, her nerves get to her and, without looking up, she asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Have you heard from Agent Fowley?”

Great. As if the subject of his ex-gir… well, ex-everything is what she really wants to talk about.

Mulder fumbles for words almost imperceptibly, surprised by the topic of discussion, but recovers. “Last I heard, she’s still in the ICU, but stable now,” he tells his partner. “I still haven’t been to hospital to see her.”

This admittedly piques her curiosity, and she ends up turning her face in his direction. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t seem right. Under the circumstances…” he lets the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

She’s contemplating asking him what he means by circumstances, but then the doctor’s assistant calls out their names.

It’s time for their first IVF appointment together.

*****************************************************************************

June 1st, 1998
Washington, D.C.

“Good news,” Dr. Parenti announces as he steps into his office and then greets Mulder and Scully, who are sitting next to each other and making for this precious image of a perfect, cozy couple.

Six days ago, Mulder had learned in this very office that his sperm count, concentration and motility were all top tier, and then awkwardly left to donate another sperm sample, this time for the actual fertilization process. While her partner had been dealing with his part, Scully had confirmed everything checked out with her body to proceed with the IVF during the next month, and then received her prescriptions for pre-natal vitamins and hormones required during this pre-implantation phase. They had left the office last week together, with a follow-up appointment to learn if the fertilization had been successful or not scheduled for today.

Even though Mulder and Scully have been once again friendlier to each other ever since the last time they’ve been sitting here, they still hadn’t discussed their personal relationship again, hadn’t even circled back to the conversation they had started in his apartment before Skinner’s call that Monday two weeks ago.

So, to set the record straight, a couple they’re most definitely not, then.

As he sits down across from the makeshift couple, Parenti speaks again, “We’ve got six healthy embryos out of the fertilization process. With that number, you can decide if you’d prefer to implant them all at once or separately, in smaller groups or even one at a time. In terms of expenses, a single try would definitely be less costly, but if you decide on multiple tries, since fertilization is concluded, you would only have to pay to keep the embryos frozen and for the additional implantations, which cost about 10% of the whole IVF process.”

It's a whole lot of information for Scully to absorb all at once, but apparently Mulder is unaffected. “What would be the odds in each case?” he asks, determined.

“Well, technically, for women under thirty-five, the success rate per embryo for the first try is around 30%,” the doctor explains. “For future attempts of implantation, the odds could actually improve a little because the hormonal treatment will have a combined effect on the mother’s body, but we wouldn’t recommend actual back-to-back IVF cycles; due to expected inflammation on the uterus after implantation, we would suggest a six-week waiting period at least in between tries. In my experience, the more conservative approach would be to use three eggs for the first implantation and then the remaining three for a second-one, or maybe three tries, each one with two eggs. Either way, it would also prevent you from ending up with a quadruplets to sextuplets pregnancy, in the off chance most embryos took on a single try.”

“Okay…” Scully lets out, overwhelmed. She notices her partner is watching her closely, expectantly, and takes a deep breath in hopes to clear her head and focus.

Sensing the atmosphere in the room, Parenti stands up. “I’ll give you both a few minutes to discuss, okay?” With that, he leaves the room.

That’s a lot to take in, the redhead thinks to herself as she ponders her options for a few moments. She once again glances at the man by her side, who is unusually silent. “What do you think?”

He seems surprised by her question. “I think that’s a decision you have to make on your own, Scully,” he tells her with no hesitation. “It’s your body; not mine.”

She understands his reasoning, she really does, but it feels like he’s trying to send her a message that maybe he doesn’t want to be involved – and she can’t even be mad at him for that, after all they aren’t in a romantic relationship and she did ask him only to be her donor. Still, this feels confusing to her, especially because he had been the one to expressly ask to join her on this appointment, not her. Was he here only for moral support, or did he want to actually take a part in this possible pregnancy?

Damn, they should’ve really talked this through beforehand...

He senses her discomfort and considers that maybe he is giving her the wrong idea about his intention. “I just don’t know if it’s my place to say anything, Scully. I don’t know what you’re expecting of me, that’s all,” he tries to explain.

“I don’t expect anything, Mulder,” she is quick to assure him. “But I’d like to know your opinion as my friend and…” she falters. “I don’t know. I guess I am open to discuss any expectations or concerns you might have,” she tries to address the matter at hand.

“Okay,” he agrees in a wavering tone. Clears his throat. “Yeah, so… how did you want us to go about the pregnancy, if the implantation takes?” He asks at first. Before she even gets a chance to think of an answer, he goes on, feeling more confident about having this conversation, “How would you raise the kid? I mean, assuming we’re still in contact when they’re older, would I be Uncle Mulder or would they know that I’m the dad?”

The way he says dad brings a warm feeling to her heart, but she doesn’t really want to get her hopes up. She sighs, trying to organize her thoughts and emotions. He is her work partner, not her husband. “Well, I… I guess I’m prepared to do this all on my own, Mulder, if that’s how you prefer. I mean, I did ask you only for your donation…”

He sighs, noticing that he’s getting the politically correct speech, apparently, and not the truth he asked of her.

“…and I don’t want to burden you with any responsibilities you didn’t sign up for –“

“Scully –” he tries to interrupt, in a calm, quiet tone.

She doesn’t notice it at first. “I guess, if I had the choice –”

“You have a choice,” he says more insistently, finally getting her attention.

She halts, trying to understand what he means. Turning in her seat, she eyes him thoughtfully. “Do you even want to have kids?”

Even though the subject is still the same, the tone and words she uses for her question initially catch him off guard. Does he want kids? As if, in general? But after the initial shock, he understands what she’s truly asking – does he want to have this child, maybe these children, with her. And he knows the answer to that without a doubt. And maybe it’s his fault, but he thought she knew the answer to that too.

He shifts his position on his chair so that he is fully facing her, hoping that she will see all that he wants her to see. “Scully, I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed of having children,” he starts in a tender, sweet voice, as if he were reading a bedtime story to a small child. “I mean, I’ve never been truly opposed to the idea, and in the past when I’d picture a future for me I’ve definitely considered that at some point in my life kids would probably be a part of it, but it’s never been a priority, not even a real topic of discussion with… anyone I’ve been actually involved with before. Especially given how my own adolescence turned out after Samantha’s abduction,” he adds the last part as an afterthought.

She appreciates his honesty, and she can see where he’s coming from, but she can’t help but feel disappointed in his words. It’s ridiculous of her to believe that Mulder would have ever spared a thought about having children with her; they aren’t a couple, have never ever actually discussed this… thing between them. It’s irrational of her to feel like this.

“I see…” she almost whispers, trying to remain strong.

He looks at her caringly, but a hint of frustration still seeps through in his voice when he resumes his explanation, “No, I don’t think you do.” He smiles and touches her hand softly. “Scully, there is a reason I wanted to take some time to think about doing this with you and not only say yes from the beginning. If it were anyone else, saying yes would be much easier – I mean, all I’d have to do is have some sexy fun on my own for a few minutes and then hand out my best swimmers in a cup.” A smile. “And aside from the cup, that’s not much different from what I already do in my spare time,” he chuckles making fun of himself.

She ends up chuckling with him, nervous with the direction in which this conversation might be going.

“You’re not just anyone, Scully. You’re my partner in the FBI – and that in and on itself is already a lot, if you think about it; this could be an HR disaster waiting to happen.” Another chuckle out of him, and a smile out of her. “But I don’t think of you as just my work partner, of course. And I know you don’t think of me as just your partner either, or you wouldn’t have asked me to be a part of this process. We’re friends, Scully,” he says looking deeply into her eyes. “We’ve already established that. We’re close friends. So close that most of the time people can’t even understand our relationship; I know it and you know it. We’ve been through so many things together… much more than most people will ever have to face in their lifetime,” he says the words as he remembers a lot of the times the two of them had gone above and beyond what was reasonable for each other.

Scully had gone to Puerto Rico for him back in 1994, barely a year after meeting him and at a time when they hadn’t even been partners. He had traded his own sister (or who he thought at the time to be his sister) for Scully the year after that, because he wouldn’t let anything happen to her after her abduction. God, let’s not even get into the whole ordeal during her abduction… She had gone pretty much everywhere with him – she went to Alaska with, she went to Norway, where they don’t even have jurisdiction, for Christ’s sake. She’d risked her career for him multiple times; she’d broken into government facilities for him, lied for him, been held in contempt of Congress for him… and he’d lost track of how many people he’d threatened to kill people to keep her safe. During her cancer… I can’t even think about it.

Mulder’s eyes hold such an intensity that Scully has to looks down and break their contact all of the sudden. Maybe she could blame it on the hormones she’s been taking, but the reason is not important; the point is that she feels even more susceptible to her emotions right now, and she’s not sure that it’s a safe decision right now to follow her heart.

“Last year, when you found Emily… we never really talked about her either, have we?”

Her eyes instantly fill with tears, and she shakes her head agreeing that they haven’t discussed the topic of Emily on a personal level.

“You know I had my reservations about you adopting Emily, Scully, but I hope you understand that they were never really about how it would affect our partnership; it was mainly because I didn’t want to see you hurt.”

A tear runs down her cheek without her permission. “I know.”

“But if she had survived… if you had adopted her, Scully… I know that I would never be able to be away from the both of you.”

This time, the tears flow freely down her face.

“And that’s how I knew that I would never have been able to say no to your request, Scully. That’s how I am certain that I’ll do whatever you want me to when it comes to this baby.”

“Mulder…” she can’t say anything more; there are no words to express how she feels.

“So, in a nutshell… I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I wasn’t willing to be a father, if that’s what you want of me.”

This is certainly not the place Scully would have expected to have this conversation with Mulder, but things certainly don’t always work out the way she plans them to. Grabbing his face in her hands, she pulls his forehead to her lips and kisses him lovingly, pouring her heart out in this small action, hoping he understands what this means to her.

“I’d like the child to know that you’re their biological father, yes...” she tells him intimately once she removes her lips from his face and presses her forehead against his own, closing her eyes. “And I guess if you’re willing to stick around, I’d love it if you had the chance to be a dad.”

She can feel his smile somehow, but given that her eyes are still closed and no words come out of his mouth after her admission, she starts worrying she might be showing her cards too much, maybe somehow giving him the impression that he needs to take a bigger step than he’s willing to. “And it doesn’t change anything between us,” she says at once, disengaging from him. “I mean, a lot of people raise their kids together even if they aren’t a couple, so you wouldn’t have to give up on your single life or anything like that, that’s not what I’m saying –”

“Oh yeah; wouldn’t want my dating life to suffer, right,” he deadpans, but it doesn’t even take him three seconds to smile at her again.

She smiles shyly in return. “I just mean… this is a lot. And it’s my choice to do it alone, Mulder. This is my only chance, and I’m willing to do it. Just the same, it’s your choice to participate in it.”

“Well, I for one don’t think it’s fair to the kid to grow up on romaine lettuce and vegan pie, so I guess it’s really a matter of justice that I get balance out their diet with some greasy burgers and fries from time to time,” he grins mirthfully.

“Oh, I’m sure my mom we’ll be there to cover all that, Mulder,” she jests.

“And what about sports? Baseball, basketball… soccer practice. I’m their only chance, Scully,” he says it all with a grin.

Even though she’s still smiling, she quickly second guesses this situation again and turns serious. “You know you don’t have to be their dad for any of this, right?”

“But I will be their dad no matter what, Scully. I don’t think it’s fair that I knock you up and leave you alone with all the responsibilities,” he smirks.

She pushes her body further away from him and raises her eyebrow. “Knock me up?”

“Biologically knock you up, yeah.”

She smiles abashedly.

“Most of all, as I’ve said – I want to be a part of it. You say this is your only chance for a baby, but you seem to forget that it’s mine as well.”

“That’s certainly not true, Mulder,” she tells him earnestly. “You can still do it later on; you can find someone to marry and have a family if that’s what you want…” she tries her best to avoid the subject of Diana Fowley. “Heck, you could get someone pregnant in a one-night stand; it’s different for you.”

“Yeah, but, Scully… at the risk of overstepping the boundaries of our friendship, I don’t think I can see myself having a child with anyone else.”

This admission knocks the wind out of her. Does he mean…?

“You’re the only person in this whole world who seems to tolerate me, let alone want to bear my children,” he adds, attempting at levity.

She chuckles uncomfortably, and once again her thoughts revert back to Diana without her consent. “Mulder…”

He can sense her hesitation, maybe even read that she’s thinking about the other woman that has made a comeback into his life but who might not even survive, and he decides to put an end to this for now. “Let’s just see how this goes, okay? One step at a time, we’ll keep checking in with each other as we move forward, but just know that I want to be there when the kid comes; and I want to be there for you, right by your side, as we go through the pregnancy as well.”

There. He can’t be any clearer about it unless he comes out and spells it out for her that he loves her, but now is certainly not how he wants to start the conversation about them.

Scully seems pensive. “That’s going to make for a hell of a gossip in the bullpen,” she says with a serious face but a teasing gleam in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he says and it’s his turn to kiss her forehead tenderly. “And in the meantime…” he sighs. “I think you should go with three separate rounds of implantation.”

She’s surprised to see him weighing in on the matter after all. “You do?”

“Yeah, well, it multiplies our chances, and if it takes in the first try that means we get to keep the other embryos for any additional pregnancies, if that’s something you’d want in the future,” he considers.

Once again he leaves her breathless, and she struggles to even remember how she’s supposed to breathe at all. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale… there we go.

“Also,” he continues, “I think at some point we should discuss the financial implications of having a child together.”

“Mulder…” she says in awe; this is too much, way more than she would have expected.

“Just hear me out, okay? I know you’re the one that decided on this initially, but if I’m the one suggesting that we go through with three rounds, I think it’s only fair that I at least pay for the implantations. And we can discuss baby costs later on; we have time.”

“We don’t even know if it will take,” she desperately tries to bring her expectations – that she tried so hard to pretend she didn’t have – down.

“All the more reason for us not to worry about this right now, okay? You can keep covering the fertilization and the first round of in vitro, if it makes you feel better. If we decide to try again after the first one, I’d like to pay for the others. How does that sound?”

“Very uncomfortable, actually,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Great,” he tells her with a grin. “If there’s anything we’ve learned from the X-Files is that being uncomfortable often means we’re on the right track,” he finishes with a squeeze to her hands.

She ends up sharing a smile with him and gets up to call Dr. Parenti back in the room. Apparently, they’ve finally found a way to be mostly on the same page about all of this.

Chapter Text

June 17, 1998
Washington, D.C.

True to form, Mulder and Scully have somehow found their own comfortable rhythm back without much need for additional conversation, making use of their enviable, unexplainable, magical connection to not only do some good work but also to further take baby steps in their personal relationship seamlessly.

On the professional front, it took them only ten days working out in VCS to solve a triple murder that had been stuck in the Bureau’s system for about four months, which unexpectedly earned them some respect from a few of their peers in the bullpen – make no mistake, everyone still calls them The Spookies behind their backs, some even address them as that to their faces (as a well-intended but mostly poor joke that continuously falls flat), but it’s still more than what they had been expecting given their past experiences as well as the side looks and the lame jokes they had seen and heard on their first day there.

As for their personal lives, well… two weeks ago, they had left Dr. Parenti’s office with the date set for their first try at transferring the embryos to Scully’s womb: June 25th. The older man had explained that they still needed to wait another ten days or so for Scully’s hormonal treatment to reach its peak, and he also preferred to do it on the date in her cycle that she would have been expected to ovulate (if she had any eggs left in her to do so) to afford her uterine walls optimal conditions for implantation.

“The human body is an extraordinary machine,” Dr. Parenti had told them.

So, ever since their last appointment, Mulder has been paying extra attention to her eating habits to ensure that she’s properly getting enough nourishing food, pestering her to avoid alcoholic beverages, reminding her to exercise but to avoid unnecessary strenuous activities and overall doing his best to take care of his partner.

“I’m trying to get pregnant, Mulder, not an invalid,” she had told him in an annoyed whisper one day when he had rushed in the middle of the bullpen to relieve her of a hefty box of case files.

“And I’m your partner who’s got almost two feet and about eighty pounds on you,” he had replied in a low voice as he set the box down on her desk. “And I’m a gentleman.”

“And you’re bordering on sexist, that’s what,” she had muttered as she picked up a cup of light yoghurt and started sprinkling it with bee pollen.

“Yeah, well, you’re also a medical doctor who should know better than to strain your body and eat rabbit food,” he had reprimanded her with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk.

Now, as they are leaving A.D. Skinner’s office with orders to immediately go to Dallas, Texas, to join the local office taskforce that has been assembled to investigate a bomb threat in the Government District, Scully gently holds her partner by his bicep just outside the waiting room and pulls him face-to-face with her.

“What?” he asks, apprehension in his voice.

“Please promise me you will not hover during this case, Mulder,” she tells him in a gentle, almost pleading tone but sporting a serious face.

He flounders. “Scully –”

“Assure me that you will have my back as you’ve always had for the five plus years we’ve been partners, but that you will have faith in my abilities and judgement and grant me the respect as you would to any other fellow agent – actually, as you would have done to me before the IVF,” she continues before he has the chance to argue. “Please. Give me your word.”

“I will, but in return I want you to promise me that you will take the extra care that you would request of me if I were the one preparing to carry our child,” he states as he pierces her with one of his most intense stares ever, honestly showing her everything he’s feeling.

She’s taken by surprise by his open tenderness and concern for her and for any possible future offspring she might conceive. Our child, she replays the words in her head. Without any warning, she feels the burn behind her eyelids as tears start to form. Stupid hormones, she swears in her mind.

“Promise me this, Scully, and I’ll do whatever you ask,” she hears him say as he places both of his hands on each side of her shoulders and creates a cocoon of intimacy for the two of them in the middle of a busy FBI hallway.

“Okay,” she replies, staring straight into his chest and avoiding his face. “Okay. I promise.”

“Good,” he says to the air above her head, also looking away from her and then dropping his hands off her body. “Then let’s go.”

*****************************************************************************

June 17, 1998
Dallas, TX

The flight to Dallas is as routine as expected, with Mulder offering his shoulder for Scully to take a nap as he pretends to go over the file on the bomb threat again, and then changing his reading material as soon as the lights are out for her to the information the Gunmen had gathered about female abductees that had attempted to get pregnant in the United States in the past ten years – which just happened to be something he had a profound personal interest in, although the three quirky men had no suspicion about it.

There’s nothing of use for him in the files in his hands, but at least his partner’s angelic face and sleepy groans as she rearranges her position against his torso is enough to make him feel not too frustrated about the useless research.

Once at their final destination, Mulder becomes truly indignant at having to take part in the assignment pretty much in the first minute of the briefing taking place in loco. There are over eleven thousand field agents in the entire Bureau, almost a hundred alone devoted to counterterrorism; how come he and Scully have to be involved in this case?

Scully eyes him warningly upon noticing his restlessness, but he pretends not to notice her look and stares ahead, feigning interest in what SAC Michaud is saying. Soon enough, their orders are clear – there’s not much to say other than split the group into smaller teams and canvass the entire building for a bomb – and Mulder walks away with three other agents to scavenge for the bomb in their allotted area while Scully goes in a different direction with her own pre-assigned buddies.

Twenty minutes in and her phone rings. “Scully,” she answers automatically.

“Hey, Scully, it’s me,” her partner announces in a relaxed voice.

“Did you find something?”

“I need you to go to the roof of the building across the street.”

This is certainly not what she was expecting. “What?”

“Just use the exit towards Wood St., Scully. There’s a commercial building with light marble walls and dark tainted windows on the other side; it’s impossible to miss. I think the bomb could be in there and I could use your help.”

“Mulder –”

She hears him hang up.

The two agents beside her watch Scully curiously as she pockets the phone with a sigh. Arguing with herself inside her head that this is a ridiculous idea and that she shouldn’t ignore direct orders from the Special Agent in Charge of this case – who certainly is not Mulder –, she is annoyed at her partner for going rogue, but she’s mostly annoyed at herself, because she knows there isn’t really a choice for her here. She can never say no to him.

Making her way past her co-workers as she averts her eyes, the redhead mumbles an “excuse me” and leaves the room.

Once she’s out of the building, she can see only one more large construction on the other side, not exactly immediately across the street but close enough, that seems to match Mulder’s description. Already in a bad mood because of the heat, she walks the distance and uses the fire escape stairs to go up to the roof, hoping to avoid the attention of any bystanders by taking the elevator in her FBI jacket. By the time she reaches the final floor she’s not exactly exhausted, but maybe just a little more winded that she should be if she wanted to abide by Mulder’s rules of avoiding unnecessary strenuous activities.

She’s also a little pissed now, because this bomb thing is a real threat, time seems to be running out and her partner doesn’t even seem to be anywhere around here.

Picking up her phone, she calls him back. “Mulder, it's me,” she announces the moment the line connects.

“Where are you, Scully?” He sounds as laid back as Bugs Bunny would when he was provocatively mocking the other characters in the cartoon.

She wants to strangle him.

She tells him that she’s on the roof, complains to him that she’s just climbed up twelve floors, that she’s hot, that she’s thirsty, and then she also goes on a rant about the importance of taking seriously the bomb threat and the chances of people getting killed if there actually is a bomb and they fail to take it seriously, and during it all she hopes he can tell how unhappy she is. She’s on a roll.

But suddenly he comes up out of nowhere and calls out behind her, “Boom!”

She turns around, startled, and exclaims, “Jesus, Mulder!”

“Whatever happened to playing a hunch, Scully?” He asks nonchalantly, ignoring her tirade as he passes her by and leaves her with no choice but to follow him. “The element of surprise, random acts of unpredictability? If we fail to anticipate the unforeseen or expect the unexpected in a universe of infinite possibilities, we may find ourselves at the mercy of anyone or anything that cannot be programmed, categorized or easily referenced,” he finishes as he bites on a sunflower seed and looks out to the skies. Turning back to face her, he asks in a deadpan, “What are we doing up here, Scully? It's hotter than hell.”

She stares at him with equal parts of amusement and frustration, and then he’s off walking again.

Well, she’s the one that asked him to treat her the same way he always did; he hopes she’s glad he’s abiding by her rules so eagerly.

“I know you're bored in this assignment, Mulder, but unconventional thinking is only going to get you in trouble now,” she advises as she climbs up the stairs that will lead them to the door out of this roof.

“What makes you think I'm bored?” he asks, keeping up with the charade.

Yes, he is bored, but the truth is the main reason he’s called her out to this building is to get her out of the one that could be blown up to pieces at any moment now.

“You've gotta quit looking for what isn't there... they've closed the X-Files,” she is saying to him as she stops walking and turns back to face him. “There’s procedure to be followed now. Protocol.”

He muses for a couple of seconds. “Maybe we should call in a bomb threat to Houston; I think it's free beer night at the Astrodome,” he announces as if it’s his most brilliant idea yet.

She just stares at him judgmentally and then turns to open the door, except she doesn’t get it to open somehow. She groans and turns around to him. “Now what?”

He pauses, worried. “It's locked?”

“So much for anticipating the unforeseen,” she tells him sarcastically as she rattles the doorknob again.

The male agent moves determinedly to the door and opens it easily, and all at once his face changes because he realizes she was just pranking him.

She has a big Cheshire cat smile on her face when he turns to see her. “I had you,” she tells him.

“No, you didn't,” he unwittingly laughs back, because she’s just too cute for her own good.

“Oh, yeah. I had you big time,” she tells him, still grinning, as she walks past him – who’s holding the door open for her – and towards the indoor staircase.

“You had nothing,” he banters back, like a little boy, as he follows her. “C’mon, I saw you jiggle the handle!”

All the way down, they keep their well-rehearsed back and forth going, and even if he hates this case, he loves her enough to feel happy to be here, fighting this unnecessarily hot Dallas summer weather and investigating mind-numbing bomb threats instead of riveting X-Files. He’s watching her speak animatedly next to him but he’s not actually computing the words, just looking at her face entranced; he suddenly halts. It takes her a heartbeat to notice he’s stopped, and so she follows and looks at him curiously, which prompts him to push his face right in front of hers and, without much thinking, start blowing air directly on her forehead, then her eyes and cheeks, and she ends up closing her eyes to accept his gesture as goosebumps run freely through her skin.

When she feels the wind stop, she opens her eyes and sees his adoring face watching her. “Thank you,” she whispers.

He shrugs. “You looked a little bothered.” After a moment of just staring into her eyes with a smile, he starts walking again. “Anyway, where were we?”

They reach the ground floor and pass by a group of children in the lobby.

“I saw your face, Mulder,” she picks up where they had left off. “There was a definite moment of panic.”

“You've never seen me panic. When I panic, I make this face,” he tells her and then turns into a statue, a completely blank look on his face.

“That was the face!” she jests, holding back a smile.

He looks blasé. “You didn't see that face.”

“I saw that face,” she insists letting her smile come out. “You're buyin',” she adds with a nod to the vending area, changing the subject.

He acquiesces, heading to the adjacent room but still keeping up with their banter. “What? Coke, Pepsi, saline IV?”

“Something sweet,” she tells him just as sweetly as the drink she expects.

While Mulder is in there picking something for her to drink, Scully can’t help but think that eventually something is going to give. She’s always holding on to her rationality, but times like just now, when they amp up their flirting disguised as regular camaraderie and end up slipping into tender gestures that only people who care deeply and romantically about each other would commit, make her accept that maybe it’s okay to dream about more.

She wants more.

The ringing of her phone pulls her out of her reverie and once she answers it, it’s Mulder’s voice on the other side of the line, telling her he found the bomb. She grins, because of course he’s kidding, but he swears he’s not, he’s locked in the vending room with a bomb that is set to go off in less than fourteen minutes – and he even starts counting down from it.

For a fleeting moment, she is in that weird place where a part of her brain is telling her this is just an elaborate joke on his part whereas another part is saying that maybe there’s some truth to it. That’s why she still has a soft smile on her face when she sees that the keyhole on the vending room’s door has been welded shut and that Mulder’s life is indeed in danger.

She doesn’t even have time to wonder if he’s making his panic face right now, but she certainly is making hers. “Hold on, Mulder, I'm gonna get you out of there!” she yells through the door, and then she’s rushing back to the lobby, shouting out orders to the security guards to evacuate the building and set in place a roadblock around the perimeter with the fire department, calling SAC Michaud to inform him that her partner has found the bomb. She waits outside for the cavalry, leads them through the building once they arrive, calls her partner again to keep him company over the line as the team cuts through it with a blowtorch and finally, finally, she gets to see him and make sure he’s still okay.

The group briefly discusses the bomb specifics, then the supervisory agent orders them all out of the room and Scully pretty much has to drag Mulder out of there, and then out of the building itself when they reach the front doors to the outside world – all because this upstanding man that she loves has this feeling that something’s not right.

Ten out of ten times she gives him the benefit of the doubt, but not this time; not when this building is about to blow up and that means that if he stays then he will most definitely die and they’ll never get the chance to even have a try at their happy ending.

“Mulder, get in the car, there's no time!” she shouts, desperately.

Something in him clicks, and not even he knows for sure if it’s because of her passionate pleas or if he’s having the same thoughts as her about their future, but he follows her out to the car at maximum speed, and they get inside the patrol car just in time for the officer to drive off as the bomb explodes. The blast is so strong that cars are sent flying, their own vehicle rocking from the blast and running adrift straight into the back of a sedan that just happened to be parked on the street.

After a suspended moment in time that turned all of these thirteen past seconds since the bomb went off into an eternity, Mulder and Scully finally manage to slowly get out of the car and assess the damage around them. Debris is everywhere, not only from broken car windows and twisted metals of vehicular accidents but mainly from the collapsed half of the building where the bomb had been found.

The area surrounding Dealey Plaza has once again become the sight of a national tragedy.

The thick dust resulting from the explosion is rapidly spreading in the air, reaching everywhere as far as their eyes can see. At a loss, Mulder reverts to his trustworthy defense mechanism. “Next time you're buying,” he directs to his partner in a deadpan as he takes a few steps away from her.

She doesn’t say anything, but her hands go to her lower back and she stretches in pain. Immediately, her partner is back by her side.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?” He asks the questions as he goes on doctor-mode, Scully-style – he pushes her hair out of her face to check for cuts and immediate bruises, runs his hands over her arms and turns her body around so he can generally check the whole of her for any signs of external wounds.

“Mulder, we have just been in a car accident resulting for a major explosion. I think a few kinks are bound to happen,” she replies patiently, a small smile gracing her lips. “I’m fine, really. Just a little sore from the backlash from the flying car and the crashing down on the ground.”

“Are you sure?”

Her smile widens. “Aren’t you Mr. Protective all of a sudden?” she teases him as she herself pushes his hair out of his face to assess any possible damages to his beautiful features and then runs her eyes down his body and over his disheveled clothes.

“Well, I learned from the best,” he tells her with a minute grin.

The sound of sirens all around them reaches their ears again and, self-consciously, they both take a step back from each other. “You should get checked out,” she tells him as if he had any choice.

“Right after you,” he says, gallantly extending his arm out to prompt her to go on first.

They get a call from Skinner just as they’re walking away from the ambulance after being given a clean bill of health by the paramedics informing them that their incident reports are expected by nine a.m. the next day and that in the afternoon there will be a meeting with the brass in D.C., including the assistant director himself and the Section Chief for the Counterterrorism Division in the afternoon, to go over the events that led up to the explosion. After a brief debate on whether or not they should stay back in Dallas for the night, the pair ends up deciding to fly out later in the afternoon, to afford them a good night of sleep in their own apartments.

The whole trip to the airport and then the flight out to Dulles are made mostly in silence, the events from the day taking their toll.

“You sure you’re okay?” Mulder asks for the millionth time as they stand outside the airport about to get in their respective taxis.

“Yes, Mulder,” she replies indulgently. “Try to get some rest, okay?”

He nods.

She caresses his hand and then opens the door to the cab assigned to her. “Good night.”

*****************************************************************************

June 22, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Mulder has the distinct impression that Scully’s been avoiding him for the past few days. Nothing drastic or too evident, but it’s the little things that make him think that something might be wrong.

Everything had been fine during office hours at the Bureau on Friday, once they had submitted their reports and then spent a normal day at work, even after Skinner had informed them they would have to attend an OPR panel to go over the events in Dallas. He’d been thinking throughout the day about asking her over to his place, but the Gunmen had called him and invited him to go over some possible UFO sightings in the Midwest, and he couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. At the end of the day, when he had shared with her his evening plans as he’d been getting ready to leave, he had noticed that she had looked at him with an inscrutable look.

“You wanna come with?” He’d asked her about visiting the Gunmen.

She’d just looked down at her desk and told him dismissively, “I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”

On Saturday, he had tried to busy himself with his regular activities – go out for a run, shoot some hoops with his basketball crew, watch some porn… later in the evening, he had called her ready with the UFO sightings as a flimsy excuse to get her to come over, but she hadn’t even picked up at her home, and her cell phone had been off.

He had left her a message, but she hadn’t returned his call. Not on Saturday, not even all day Sunday.

He’s now sitting outside the room where Scully is discussing the events in Dallas with the OPR panel, waiting for his turn. He was late to the briefing, so he couldn’t sit in with her, but she hadn’t seemed particularly glad to see him when he had walked in about an hour ago.

He convinces himself that he’s probably just reading too much into her actions, overthinking the whole situation – it’s not like she has to be at his beck and call all the time, right? – just as Skinner walks out.

Mulder starts to stand up, but Skinner tells him to stay seated, that Scully is still giving them her view on events, explaining why she was in the wrong building and such. The younger agent is quick to explain that she had been there in the wrong building with him, that he had been the one to ask her out there, and when Skinner spells it out to him that OPR is looking for someone to blame after such a disastrous outcome in Dallas, he is even quicker to assure him that blame should then be assigned to him.

Scully definitely doesn’t deserve this.

“She's in there right now saying the same thing about you,” Skinner says, and he can’t help but feel admired and envious of these two agents’ loyalty to one another.

The door opens again and this time it’s Scully who steps out. “They're asking for you, Sir,” she informs her boss.

Mulder waits until the assistant director is out of earshot to address his partner. “Whatever you told them in there, Scully, you don't have to protect me.”

“All I told them was the truth,” she replies formally.

“They're trying to divide us on this, and we can't let them,” he insists, fight in his eyes.

“Mulder, they have divided us,” she explains, cooly. “They're splitting us up.”

“What?” He is taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

And how can you be so calm and collected about this?

“I have a meeting with OPR day after tomorrow for remediation and reassignment,” she mechanically informs him.

“But they're the ones who put us together!” he utters frustratingly.

“Because they wanted me to invalidate your investigations into the paranormal,” she expounds as if he’s a child that can’t see the big picture. “But I think this goes deeper than that now.”

“This is not about you, Scully, they're doing this to me,” he hisses.

Scully is tired of his self-absorbedness and naïveté. “They’re not doing this,” she tells him and then pauses to collect her thoughts on how to best get this out. “Mulder, I left behind a career in medicine because I thought that I could make a difference at the FBI. But it hasn't turned out that way.”

Her statement makes him feel incredulous, and he almost stops her right then and there, but she doesn’t give him the chance.

“And now if they were to transfer me to Omaha or Cleveland or some field office… it just doesn’t hold the interest for me that it once did. Not after what I've seen and done,” she finishes nervously.

Mulder can’t make sense of her words, not until it all suddenly falls into place in his head. “You're quitting,” he says in realization of her meaning, but not her reasons.

She looks anxious in a way that he doesn’t recall ever seeing on her face. “Maybe you should ask yourself if your heart's still in it, too,” she tells him.

There’s an underlying implication in her words, he’s certain of it, but he can’t figure out right now what she means.

Skinner ends up interrupting him, announcing that it’s Mulder’s turn to talk to OPR.

Right now, the younger agent couldn’t care less about it. He feels like she’s stabbed him in the back.

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes when she notices the pain in his eyes, his loss for words.

He starts to walk away, but she quietly calls his name – and, for a moment, he’s hopeful that she’s going to take it all back, tell him she’ll be by his side no matter what. But she only hands him his jacket that he forgot on the bench where he’d been sitting before his world fell apart.

“Good luck,” she adds without truly making any eye contact with him.

He takes the garment from her and puts it on, turning around to make his way to face this panel who will decide his professional fate. Still, the only thing that matters right now for him is Scully and why she’d rather leave the Bureau and him than to stay behind and fight back.

What the hell had he done wrong?

Chapter Text

June 22, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It has been almost an hour since Mulder went inside for his OPR review and Scully is still switching back and forth between roaming the hallways waiting for him to come out and standing outside the building thinking about heading home and putting an end to this dreadful day. Currently, she’s about to walk away for the fourth time when her partner steps out, and they both look caught off guard when they see each other.

“Didn’t expect you to still be here,” he says as he walks up to her.

She doesn’t acknowledge his statement, and instead redirects, “That was quicker than expected.”

“Yeah, well, there’s not a lot to discuss when you tell a room full of arrogant paper-pushers who haven’t been in the field since the Reagan Administration, if ever, that they’re making a mistake,” he announces, half-ashamed, half-annoyed.

She stares at him, concerned. “What did they have to say?”

“What do you care, Scully; I thought you were quitting,” he retorts.

She knows that her intention to quit hurt him, but she feels that it doesn’t give him the right to treat her like this, to purposefully, spitefully, hurt her back. Filled with righteousness, she goes on a rant, “You know, Mulder, I thought you’d understand that I wouldn’t want to stay in the Bureau if that meant moving out of state, away from my family and from my entire life in D.C., just to keep my badge and work on assignments that any other of the eleven thousand agents in the Bureau can take care of. That without the X-Files, there would be other things at this specific moment in my life that I’d rather focus on.” She looks at him meaningfully, as she lets that information sink in. “And I do understand that the X-Files are the most important thing in your life – and they’re definitely important for me too, you know that – but we certainly have different ways of going about getting them back. You are an immediatist, you want to fight and argue right now, whereas I just don’t see how making a big mess of things is going to help us convince the people that are already against us to see things our way in the long run. So, maybe it is a good thing after all that I’m contemplating leaving at this time.”

Her words have the desired effect on him, and Mulder immediately backpedals. “You can’t quit, Scully,” he tells her, before taking a step even closer to her and adding with somewhat desperation in his voice, “I need you.”

“What you really need are the X-Files, Mulder,” she tells him, though not unkindly. “And I get it. I really do. But right now, there are other things I need too.” She stops and sighs. “I have a really important doctor’s appointment this week… my life could be completely different in a month’s time. There are other things right now I need to consider.”

“Do you think I don’t want you to get pregnant?” his abrupt question comes in a hushed voice.

She would’ve expected his words to sound defensive, but instead they actually sound deflated – like he’s disappointed in himself for letting her down. It makes her feel instantly remorseful, and she goes from combative to tender. “No… Mulder, no; that’s not it.” Once again she sighs, but this time not in frustration; this time, she is taking a deep breath to reorganize her thoughts and better express herself. “I think we have different priorities right now, that’s all,” she admits sadly.

He looks brokenly at her, and it prompts her to look down to avoid his eyes.

“I’d better go,” she says at last.

She walks away and leaves him before he tells her that he has stood up for her – for them – inside that room just now. It’s not her fault that he was being belligerent when he first saw her out here, but in the end she disappears before he gets to tell her that he’s argued to OPR that they can’t transfer her to some field office away from D.C., that it isn’t fair to punish her when she was working at her partner’s suggestion; that their work is the only reason at they even had the chance to find the bomb before it went off and that a lot more people would’ve been dead if it hadn’t been for the two of them.

That he doesn’t care what they’ll do to him, as long as they don’t split them up.

He doesn’t get to say any of this to her.

Argh… he needs to get out of this building.

*****************************************************************************

June 23, 1998
Washington, D.C.

If feels like it’s been ten minutes since she just lied down on her comfortable mattress, but when she checks the digital clock strategically placed on her bedside, the red numbers blinking back at her let her know that it’s 2:53am – so, almost four hours since she started tossing and turning in her queen bed. Ever since she left the OPR building at close of business hours, Scully has been struggling with the reality that not only does she not have the X-Files anymore but she’s also not getting to keep Mulder as her work partner, if OPR goes through with their decision to reassign them. Actually, it’s even worse, she realizes – from the way her conversation with Mulder had gone before they parted ways earlier today, and considering the man’s strong obsession with his quest is in full force yet again, it seems that he might not even be interested in being part of her baby’s life anymore. A life that at least genetically would be half-his, half-hers.

Out of nowhere, an insistent pounding at her front door startles her; someone’s come knocking. After a beat, she takes a deep, calming breath, gets up, dons her robe and steels herself for what’s probably going to be a fight with her partner as she walks towards her living room – she doesn’t need to actually open the door to know that it’s Mulder.

Once she answers it, she sees him on the other side – surprise, surprise – and takes in his rumpled appearance. The redhead doesn’t even get the chance to say anything before he’s stumbling inside her apartment, muttering apologies about waking her up and then actually stopping to ask if he had indeed woken her up. Upon her denial, he questions why she hadn’t been sleeping in the first place … and there’s a minor slur to his words, a slight unsteadiness to his gait – it’s enough evidence to give her pause.

“Are you drunk, Mulder?” she questions, mildly suspicious, as she closes the door behind her.

“I – I, uh, I was until about 20 minutes ago, yeah,” he admits, self-consciously.

She pins him with a criticizing stare. “Was that before or after you decided to come here?”

If he wasn’t exactly sober when he walked in five seconds ago, he is now. “What exactly are you implying?”

He knows exactly what she fears – that he’s making the wrong decision in coming to her apartment in the middle of the night, drunk and needy.

She won’t even lie to herself and pretend being intimate with this man isn’t something that she wants, but this is definitely not the way that she wants it to happen. “Go home, Mulder.”

“No,” he lets out dismissively, trying to make her understand with just that one word that she’s getting his motives for being here wrong. “Get dressed, Scully.”

“It's late,” she insists firmly.

He almost reaches out to her to placate her fears, but refrains. “Get dressed.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just get dressed. I'll explain on the way.”

She watches him for a few more seconds, unwilling, before he sighs in frustration and makes his way to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her towards her bedroom. “Just go, already – unless you want me to come help you pick out an outfit,” he says in a low voice, but there’s no real malice to his words, just tiredness.

Even so, she picks up her pace to disengage herself from his grasp and makes her way inside her bedroom alone, promptly locking the door behind her to add the extra barrier between the two of them in her darkened apartment.

She is tired of the way that he can just pop up in her life at the most unusual moments and get her to go along with his sudden demands, but still she removes her pajamas and changes into one of her black shirts and a pair of black pants. Even if she doesn’t spend too much time on getting herself presentable as she brushes her hair and adds minimum makeup to her face, she can tell once she walks back out in her living room that his eyes go a shade darker as he notices her appearance.

Wisely, he doesn’t say anything about it.

“What do you want, Mulder?” she asks, tiredly, as she comes face to face with him once again.

“Grab your keys; we need to go to Bethesda,” he explains as he looks around her apartment as if searching for her keyring himself.

She doesn’t move an inch. “Bethesda? Mulder, what’s going on?”

He sighs, realizing that they won’t get to leave this apartment if he doesn’t give her something. “We need to check the bodies of the other victims in the Dallas explosion. I have reason to believe they were already dead before the bomb even went off.”

“What?” She inquires, surprised by this turn of events. “Why do you think that?”

“Because someone came up to me tonight at Casey’s and told me as much. Said the bombing was a cover up to hide the truth about these bodies.” He holds her eyes with intent. “Do you understand why I came here now?”

She wouldn’t be his Scully if she wasn’t somewhat skeptical of this unexpected story about a cover up, but there is also the other side of her that proves she is still his same Scully in all the ways that count – the one that goes back into her room to pick up a jacket, pockets her cellphone, grabs her keys and says, “Let’s go then.”

During the initial part of their car ride to Bethesda, Mulder entertains his partner as she drives with details about his encounter with this Doctor Alvin Kurtzweil and the man’s claims that the bombing had been arranged to destroy a FEMA provisional medical quarantine office and hide the corpses of the three firemen and the little boy that had been found at the site. They go over their own theories about the incident in general, especially as to why anyone would call in a threat about a bombing across the street – media coverage, undermining the population’s confidence in the government, sadist tendencies…? When Scully eventually asks more about this Dr. Kurtzweil and his agenda, the male agent superficially tells her that Kurtzweil had apparently worked with his father in the Department of State and came to him to help in their search for the truth.

After such an admission, silence ends up falling upon them.

Thinking about Kurtzweil’s words about his time in the State Department, about he and his father being fellow travelers, as the older man had put it, takes Mulder back to 1990, when he had enlisted Arthur Dales’s assistance with the case involving Edward Skur, unexplained beings, communists and yes, fellow travelers – the case that had propelled him to research more about the X-Files and ultimately led him to ask Diana to join him in this quest of his for the truth about his sister and paranormal phenomena.

These memories about Diana also remind Mulder that there is something else he wants to disclose to the woman sitting by his side, something he thinks that will prove to her that even if he’s still currently prioritizing his work, it doesn’t mean she isn’t as important to him.

“Before going to Casey’s, I stopped by the hospital to visit Diana,” he says offhandedly, looking sideways at his partner behind the wheel.

The abrupt change in subjects startles her, and the fact that this new topic he brought up is about the other woman in his life brings a sour taste to her mouth. She swallows it down, trying to look unfazed and to keep her voice neutral. “How is she?”

“Apparently, she’s being moved out of the ICU later this week. It’s been over a month since she was shot, but it finally seems she’s going to be okay,” he states with no real emotion, just a report for her. “Still a long way to go, though – with physical therapy and breathing exercises and the whole nine yards… but she believes she’ll get back to the office in a couple of months; you know, once she passes her psych eval and requalifies for field work.”

Dana’s face is perfectly still. “So she’ll stay in D.C.?”

“Apparently so, yeah.”

There is a minute twitch in her jaw, so microscopic he’s not even sure if he really saw it. He watches her quietly, waiting to see if she’ll say anything about that piece of information; unsurprisingly, she doesn’t.

“She was stunned to see me,” he adds then.

“Why?” she asks furrowing her eyebrows and taking a quick glance in his direction. “I’d assume you would visit her eventually.”

“She’d seemingly expected me to do so too. But when a month went by and I still hadn’t shown up, she actually thought I wouldn’t be around to see her at all.”

Scully is confused as to why her partner is telling her all this. Is this his way of making small talk – by bringing up his ex-lover and big fan of his work, by making her feel even more inadequate? Does he just need someone to talk to about it and he’s doing it with her because he doesn’t have anyone other than herself in his life to confide in? Should she just suck it up and be his best friend and ignore her insecurities and jealousy?

Yes, I am jealous, damnit.

And thinking about the matter itself, why hadn’t he visited Agent Fowley, really? Scully remembers he had mentioned back in Dr. Parenti’s waiting room something about not going to visit her because of current circumstances, but that still doesn’t make much sense to her. Had he meant the two of them trying to conceive together? Did he want her permission or blessing to pursue Diana so that he wouldn’t feel like he was abandoning her? The redhead has half a mind to ask him what gives but decides against it; she buries the thoughts and goes for a safer approach. “At least now she knows you still care.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want her to die, yeah,” he chuckles, thinking that maybe he isn’t being as effective in explaining things to Scully as he would want to. “But there’s been a lot on my plate this past month, and it didn’t make any sense to me to up and leave to go visit her at a moment’s notice when she currently doesn’t hold a place in my life as she used to.”

The implication that he has other priorities in his life right now that don’t involve Diana is blatant, but still Scully doesn’t want to assume anything. “Then why did you? Visit her today, I mean.”

Mulder takes in a deep, settling breath. He wanted to see Diana, this woman who had been the center of his life for a good part of his adult life, in an attempt to comprehend what he had done wrong in their relationship so that, if he were to in fact pursue a romantic relationship with Scully and maybe, ultimately, form a family with her, he would not repeat the same mistakes now. He needed to understand how he could still honor his search for his sister, his personal interests, the things that made him who he is while at the same time still trying to adjust to having someone else in his life as a priority. It had seemed to him after his conversation with Scully in the OPR building that she wanted to distance herself from the X-Files and from himself because she was trying to protect herself, because she didn’t think he wanted the same things as she did. So, Mulder hoped that by visiting his ex-girlfriend, he would come to realize what had made her leave and, thus, what he could do to make Scully stay.

Naturally, all of that thinking is not exactly translated into his words when he finally speaks. “Well, after leaving OPR I realized there is a lot going on in my life right now that I need to carefully assess, maybe reevaluate. I guess I wanted to see her, understand how coming face to face with a part of my past could help me figure out what I have to do right now.”

Scully takes his words to mean that Mulder might want to pursue things with Diana again, and that possibility is enough to make her pull her defenses up. She makes a noncommittal hum in reply to her partner’s admission and then remains quiet.

For the rest of the ride, they don’t engage in any further conversation.

*****************************************************************************

June 24, 1998
Alexandria, VA

So much has happened in the past nineteen hours that Scully can’t even believe it.

Last night, after their awkward car ride and before the sun had even come up, she and Mulder had managed to make their way past security at Bethesda Naval Hospital, locate the dead bodies of the bombing victims and confirm that they had definitely not been killed by the explosion – although the actual cause of death, other than a massive infection caused by a dangerous and unknown pathogen, certainly still needed to be determined. Mulder had also met with Dr. Kurtzweil again and learned about FEMA’s involvement in the management of an apparent small outbreak of the Hanta virus on the outskirts of Dallas – and that the older man actually believed such outbreak to be a lie to cover for the conscious spread of a deadly virus which he and Mulder senior had worked on together during their years at the State Department –, which then prompted the two partners to each take the first flight that they could back out to Dallas to check with the local FBI field office if they had collected any evidence out of the ordinary at the bomb site.

And they had.

The local agents had found some bone fragments that FEMA had recovered from an archeological site in Blackwood County, leading Mulder and Scully to go to visit the place and learn that the alleged archeological team had left only an hour before. After a long car ride trying to figure out where the team could have gone to – which had afforded Scully the only hour of sleep since two nights ago as her partner drove –, they had ultimately come across a large cornfield in the middle of a desert circling two white domes; domes which they had found out, upon entry, housed thousands of bees that had chased them out almost immediately.

And then, to top that, they had been chased out of the cornfield by two threatening black helicopters.

The car ride back to Dallas Fort Worth airport had been made almost exclusively in silence, the tension between them and the events of the day weighing on their minds. During the six plus hours they had been stuck in that car, there had only been a shortened debate about possible theories on what the bees could be intended for, followed by a conversation about their future in the Bureau.

“We could both ask to be reassigned to Quantico, you know,” Mulder had mentioned without any link to their previous discussion.

“Why are you bringing this up now, Mulder?”

He had ignored her surprised question and forged ahead. “I could work out in ISU again, and maybe you could go back to teaching at the Academy.”

“You hated what profiling did to you, Mulder,” she had presented him with the valid argument.

“But then we would both be still around D.C. and making a difference, Scully. Isn’t that what you want?” He had spared her a glance then. “You would also be safer during your upcoming pregnancy, and I could find a way to work on the X-Files until we figure out a way to officially get them back. You and me against the world,” he had added with a sheepish smile.

Even if he had mentioned her pregnancy as a certainty and not a remote possibility, even if his words had foreshadowed a future of the two of them together in all fronts of their lives, even if he had used all the right words and found a way to get her heart to beat faster, Scully had still reasoned to herself that she needed to lower her expectations and accept that there would always be a not so small chance that, if the IVF were successful, she could still end up on her own with the child – a child that she had decided alone to bear in the first place. She couldn’t begrudge Mulder this, but if the choice ever came for them between the X-Files and having a child, she knew their answers would be grossly divergent, despite his best intentions.

She had known then she couldn’t afford to be led by her dreams.

That is why when OPR informed her less than two hours ago that she would be reassigned to Salt Lake City, she knew she had to quit the Bureau and move on with her life. At first, she tried to focus on the fact that if she stayed in D.C., at least she and Mulder could still have a tiny chance of making it work in their personal lives. But then she also remembered that that was a very remote chance, considering that Diana Fowley would eventually be back at work and most likely would find her way to assist Mulder in his quest for the X-Files – and Lord knew how that would most likely lead to them rekindling their romance… so, yeah, better not even think of it as a remote chance; it was just not meant to be.

Resigned to her fate, that’s how she came to be at his door right now, ready to tell him that this is the end of the road for the two of them.

Not waiting for an answer after she knocks, Scully lets herself into his apartment and then just stands there, appearing wrecked and silently facing her partner for a moment.

“What's wrong?” Mulder asks from his seat at his desk, taking in her defeated look.

“Salt Lake City, Utah,” she announces with no preamble. “Transfer effective immediately.”

Mulder looks positively distraught as he turns his body away from her, as if physically shielding himself from this news would make it all go away. He already knows what’s coming out of her mouth next.

“I already gave Skinner my letter of resignation,” she adds.

“You can't quit now, Scully,” it’s all he manages to say, still looking at this photo album in his hands.

She doesn’t know this, but while she had been sitting in a room getting sentenced to professional death by OPR, Mulder had been having a stressful conversation with Kurtzweil, doubting the other man’s knowledge about this deadly virus conspiracy and his motives for giving them the information in the first place. The album in his hands at least confirmed that the older man had in fact known Fox’s father – that some of what he had been told could in fact be true.

“I can, Mulder,” Scully replies to his previous assertion. “I debated whether or not even to tell you in person, but –”

“We are close to something here! We're on the verge,” he exclaims passionately, desperately. He can’t lose her now. His world is already hanging by a thread as it is.

“You're on the verge, Mulder,” she tells him in that calm, robotic tone of voice that he really hates sometimes. “Please don't do this to me.”

He all but leaps out of his chair and purposefully walks over to her, looking for a confrontation. “After what you saw last night, after all you've seen, you can just walk away?”

“I have,” she nods resignedly, not taking the bait. “I did, it's done.”

“I need you on this, Scully –” he says slowly, wishing he could get through to her.

“You don't need me, Mulder,” she interrupts him. “You never have. I've just held you back,” she says back to him, and her voice is honey, her face showing dejection and acceptance. She truly believes it.

It breaks his heart to see her like this, to not understand how they got to this place where she really questions if she has a place in his life or not. He looks like a puppy dog after getting kicked out of home.

For the second time in as many days, she drops her eyes from his. “I gotta go,” she gets out, walking away from him, from his apartment, from his life.

At first, he feels paralyzed, unsure of what he should or shouldn’t do, but there really is only one right answer.

He follows her out into the hallway, determined not to let her go. “You wanna tell yourself that so you can quit with a clear conscience, you can, but you're wrong!”

The fact that he came after her in the first place, that he’s loudly saying these things to her in a generally public venue, causes her to stop and turn to face him. If this is the end of them, she owes him this conversation. Frantic, she reminds him, “Why did they assign me to you in the first place, Mulder? To debunk your work, to rein you in, to shut you down.”

“But you saved me!” he declares with an intensity that shows her this is the only possible truth for him. “As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over!” He pauses, letting his words sink in for a couple of seconds, but he can’t actually stop himself now, he’s too far gone. “You’ve kept me honest.” Another pause. “You’ve made me a whole person.” One more. “I owe you everything… Scully, and you owe me nothing.”

His words truly leave Scully speechless, the fact that all this honesty is flowing out of him in the middle of this hallway becoming too much to her. She never thought she’d ever hear him say such things to her, and there is no way she can ignore the sincerity in his eyes, his feelings over possibly losing her. She stares at his chest to try and steel herself, but her eyes begin to fill with tears anyway.

Apparently, Mulder is not done talking. Now that he’s said so much, nothing can stop him from pouring his heart out to her. “I don't know if I wanna do this alone...” he admits in a much lower tone, as if this is all he’s got left. “I don't even know if I can...” he adds frankly, intimately. “And if I quit now, they win.”

Emotional, Scully finally looks up back to her partner’s face and he seems lost, unaware that he had so much locked up inside him and that he even had the ability to let it all out. He also looks vulnerable, maybe wondering if he should have said as much as he just did. But above all, she can see the anguish and love reflecting in his eyes.

This is pretty much all she’s ever hoped for, and it all came in the most unexpected of times – she had already convinced herself that Mulder would eventually be fine without her, and here he is pleading with her to not leave him. Her bottom lip quivers and she finally can’t hold it in anymore – she falls into him, allowing her tears to fall down her face as his arms come to enfold her in a tight, everlasting embrace. Eventually, she pulls back, and with a hand to the back of his neck, she pulls his forehead in for a long kiss, pouring all that she has in that one gesture. She then gently rests her own forehead on his, still crying, both of them with their eyes closed, savoring their connection. Mulder is the one to move first, slowly pulling her face back so he can take a real look at her, both of his hands on each side of her head, most fingers resting on the nape of her neck as his thumbs tenderly caress the softness of her cheeks. Her own hand hasn’t left the back of his neck, fingers softly touching the short hairs there.

It's such an intensely intimate moment, a moment between friends, between lovers, between people who represent everything to each other. It’s a moment that makes people believe soulmates exist. They both seem to feel it, and even if at first she pretends it isn’t there, she notices that this time he is not avoiding it; on the contrary, this time Mulder is leaning in to her and it’s finally here, they’re really going to kiss. And their lips do touch for an infinitesimal, blissful second... before a sudden, sharp sting reaches the back of her own neck.

She yelps, pushing her head down and running her hands over the nape of her neck, searching for something inside her shirt. “Jesus!”

Mulder looks dejected as he immediately lets go of her, mistaking her surprised pain for being shot down. “I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“No…” she’s quick to assure him, even though a weird rush is running over her body. “Something stung me.”

He looks mildly relieved to not have done something untoward, but still uncertain as he holds his hands away from her body and she finally manages to find the agent responsible for interrupting their long-awaited kiss – a bee, its little legs squirming in the air as she holds it up between her thumb and index finger for them both to see.

He takes a cursory glance at the collar of her shirt and jacket, running his large right hand over her fragile neck. “Must've gotten in your shirt,” he ascertains, entangling his left hand through her hair and pulling her face to his chest, now frustrated that the romantic moment is gone.

“Mulder...” she calls out to him, panic lacing her features as she pulls away from his body just a few inches. “Something’s wrong.”

He goes from vexed to concerned as she describes what is happening to her body, the pain, the lethargy, and he has no option but to lie her down on the floor and rush inside the call the paramedics to help her. Not even a minute later, he’s back by her side. “Hold on, Scully, help’s on the way.”

She can barely breathe by now. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know, but you have to hold on, okay, Scully? We have so much to do yet, so many answers to find, so much to explore together. We have a baby to look forward to. You have to fight, Scully.”

She’s falling unconscious as he keeps whispering sweet nothings to her, pouring out everything that he wants for them.

“I love you,” he finally tells her. “Please don’t leave me.”

He repeats this over and over again but he’s not sure she even hears him. She looks lifeless to him, and there is nothing he can do other than wait for the ambulance and wish he was the one lying lifeless on the ground instead.

Chapter Text

June 25, 1998
Washington, D.C.

When Mulder comes to his senses, he’s lying in a hospital bed and facing his three favorite mismatched friends, who are watching him with concern on their faces. He’s confused as to what is going on, but as soon as the Lone Gunmen report that he’s been shot and lucky to be alive, he remembers the ambulance driver shooting at him after Scully had been loaded onto the vehicle – and it’s the thought of Scully’s body shutting down after getting stung by a bee and being somewhere out there that immediately pushes him into action, the need to find her and make sure she’s okay all that goes through his adrenalized mind as he startles out of bed. He barely gets to his feet and suddenly he’s instantly confronted by A.D. Skinner, who is just walking in the room in that moment, pushing his star agent back towards the bed and promising him he will help find Agent Scully if Mulder stays put, lest the people behind the attempt on his life around six hours ago should try again to kill him and be successful this time around. But not even the threat of dying is enough to keep him from doing all he can to find his partner – it’s the middle of the night, which makes it technically the twenty-fifth, meaning that today should be embryo implantation day for Scully. And yet, she’s nowhere to be found and her life’s once again in danger because of him. He can’t just sit around and wait for things to work out, or for someone else to save her.

He needs to find her.

He manages to convince all the men in the room to allow Byers to switch places with him, borrowing his friend’s clothes and leaving the hospital room incognito alongside the other two Gunmen to make his escape. From there, he arranges for an immediate meeting with Dr. Kurtzweil back where they’d first met, at the alley behind Casey’s Bar and Grill, but once he gets to the rendezvous spot he is surprised to find someone else there instead – a man he had met two years before in Central Park, a very presentable man that is certainly a part of the group responsible for the alien conspiracy Mulder has been trying to unravel for so long, a man who most likely knows what’s happened to Scully. And it’s the prospect of finding out where his partner is that has Mulder agreeing to go on a car ride with this man, this well-manicured man who first hands him the information necessary to find Scully and the means to save her life in the form of a serum that needs to be administered within ninety-six hours past the moment of infection, who then calmly reveals that an alien virus has been lying dormant on Earth for millions of years and waiting to be reconstituted by the alien race when it comes to colonize the planet, who further explains that Mulder Senior had allowed Samantha to be abducted so she would have a chance at surviving the alien invasion as a genetic hybrid while later in life hoping Fox would uncover the truth about the Syndicate’s project and fight the human race’s intended future. It’s a lot of information to take in, the FBI agent realizes, a lot to reconcile with, especially when he’s suddenly staring at the barrel of a gun and listening to this older gentleman sitting so poised right next to him admit to having orders to kill Dr. Kurtzweil and Mulder himself. This evening feels surreal, even more so when the elder man swiftly turns his gun at the car driver and shoots him in the head before telling Mulder to get out and go find Scully, only to then end up blown up in a car explosion as soon as Mulder starts to walk away. It all feels like it’s too much.

There is indeed so much the lanky agent needs to consider, he realizes, but none of it matters right now – first and foremost, he needs to save Scully.

With that in mind, he ends up going to the Gunmen’s.

A sleepy, grumpy Frohike wearing Looney Tunes pajamas makes for a conflicting image as he opens the door and welcomes Mulder inside.

“I need your help to get me to these coordinates,” Mulder announces loudly as soon as he steps into the room, holding up the piece of paper he got from the Well-Manicured Man.

“What is it?” Langly asks as he takes the paper and makes his way to the computer, Byers coming in a few feet behind, both of them rubbing the sleep out of their eyes whilst wearing their diametrically opposed sleepwear.

“It’s the location where Scully was taken to,” he broadcasts intensely.

The three other men look at each other meaningfully, gravely aware of the importance of this request to their friend. They all have taken a special liking to Dana Scully, actually thinking of her as a true ally and friend, but they are well aware that Mulder has become dependent on her as if she’s the oxygen he breathes – not to mention that eventually one of the two will have to give in and admit that their relationship far surpasses the conventional boundaries of platonic.

It doesn’t take long for the blonde man out of the group to find something – something more severe than they all could have expected, if the astonished look on his face is any indication.

“What is it?” Mulder asks, walking up to him to look at the computer screen.

“She’s in Antarctica,” Langly declares.

“What?” Byers asks immediately, giving voicing to the question all of the men in the room share as he too approaches the computer.

The rocker wannabe pushes the screen towards the other occupants in the room, pointing at the map that is shown. “These coordinates are to somewhere in the middle of Wilkes Land, Antarctica, not exactly close to any of the stations there. I don’t even know how she could’ve been taken there – it’s winter in the south hemisphere, there aren’t any available means of transportation to go out there this time of the year.”

“What do you mean there is no transportation?” Mulder asks, tense.

“Well, the ocean is truly frozen during this time of the year, so a ship is out of the question. And no flights either – I mean, there are no commercial flights out to Antarctica anyway, but even the military or charter aircrafts usually stop flying in around late April. I’m sure you’re aware that crew in Antarctica this time of the year remains grounded on site until the weather conditions pick up again in late October,” Byers explains it all, apologetically.

“Well, someone has to go out there somehow,” the FBI agents retorts.

“Hey, man, I know she’s important to you and you also know we all care for her,” Frohike begins in a soft voice, hoping to appease his friend. “We just don’t have an easy answer for you right now.”

“Then get me a hard answer,” the tall man nearly shouts. “If they managed to take her out there, then there’s got to be a way that I can go there too!”

“Are you sure that’s even a good idea?” Byers points out, fearfully. “I mean…” he trails off, pointing at the injury in Mulder’s forehead.

“I don’t really have an option, Byers,” he says callously, making the three men close to him stare uncomfortably at each other. Impatient, Mulder grabs the piece of paper with the coordinates out of Langly’s desk. “Look, if you’re not gonna help me, I’ll find someone else who will.”

“Calm down, man,” Frohike takes control of the conversation again, placing a hand to his friend’s bicep. “We’ll do it. Just give us some time to figure it out.”

Mulder removes his arm out of the short man’s grasp and plops down on their couch in exasperation. “I’m waiting. If I don’t inject her with the cure to the alien virus that bee was carrying in a little over eighty hours, she will be dead and I’ll never forgive myself.”

*****************************************************************************

June 27, 1998
Wilkes Land, Antarctica

It takes Mulder two full days to get here, but he did it.

After many long hours of substantial research and a lot of calls here and there, the Gunmen had eventually come through for him yesterday morning. They had managed to design the whole itinerary for him to reach the specific set of coordinates he needed, and in order to initiate his small odyssey, all Mulder had to do was buy the plane tickets required to get to the U.S. Antarctic Program gateway located in Christchurch, New Zealand – meaning a flight bound to Los Angeles, then to Auckland and finally to Christchurch, resulting in a thirty-two-hour-long journey and an eleven-hundred-dollar dent in his credit card. Once in New Zealand, he met some civilian researchers who were decidedly nice but certainly believed him to be out of his mind, and they provided him with the proper gear for the extreme cold weather he’d be facing in Antarctica, and then directed him to his five-hour trip in a C-17 Globemaster charter flight out to McMurdo Station, the largest of the three American stations in Antarctica and, considering its location in Ross Island, the closest one to Wilkes Land – all thanks to the Gunmen’s connection with an Air Force Colonel who shared their interest in conspiracy theories. At the American station in Antarctica, Mulder met up with the poor man tasked with taking him on a thirty-minute helicopter flight in the middle of winter out to Wilkes Land, precisely to Casey Station, which was operated by the Australian Antarctic Program and thankfully happened to house a childhood friend of Langly’s, Dean Anderson, who was stationed out there with a group of marine biologists. It was Dean himself who arranged a Tucker Sno-Cat a few hours ago for Mulder to drive to the specific coordinates.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you out there,” the newfound friend said as he walked Mulder over to where the Sno-Cat was parked. “We have stuff to do here at the station and, if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to go out there in this weather. Actually, I don’t think you should do it either.”

“Do you foresee sunny days ahead? You know, for us to take a stroll while sipping Margaritas?” Mulder deadpanned.

The other man shook his head with a laugh. “Ringo said there’d be no stopping you.”

“It’s literally a life-or-death situation,” the agent explained seriously. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“He also told me it just happens to involve the one person you’d die for,” the scientist added, probing for information.

Mulder shrugged sheepishly. “There’s no doubt about that.”

With an understanding nod, Dean handed him the keys to the small snow tractor and nodded in its direction. “It should take you between two and three hours to reach your final destination. Try to go easy the accelerator pedal; the tank holds precisely the amount of fuel you need for a roundtrip, so you don’t want to overdo and end up stranded out there,” he advised. “Good luck.”

Of course Mulder held no regard to the advice and used almost all of the fuel on the first leg of the expedition – mostly because he tried to speed his way closer to Scully, but also because he had no idea how to drive a Sno-Cat in the Antarctica terrain. Right now, he hasn’t a clue how he’s going to get back to the station, but that’s currently not a priority in his mind; at least he’s reached the precise coordinates he needed to.

As he takes a look around, standing in the middle of a whole lot of nothing but snow, it looks at first like it’s not the right place. So, he decides to do what he does best – he starts roaming around, operating on a hunch and hoping he will find his partner somewhere out here. Not even half an hour later, after climbing up a hill, his decision pays off: he spots a facility a couple of miles away that reminds me of a winter version of the domes he and Scully had seen in the middle of the Texas deserted landscape, and upon further inspection through his binoculars, he spots the Cigarette-Smoking Man getting into a snow vehicle. This is the place.

I’m coming, Scully. Please, hold on.

As he tracks closer to the domes, he ends up falling down a hole in the ice that leads him to some sort of a ventilation tunnel and, eventually, to a storage room where there seems to be a great number of tanks holding human bodies and alien figures in what looks like hibernation – a cryotherapy chambers, he realizes. The sight is unsettling, but still he keeps checking each cryochamber for her red hair, hoping against all odds that it’s going to be that easy to find her.

By the end of the corridor, there is no Scully.

There are, however, passageways leading him to other rooms, and he follows through with unmatched certainty, as if his emotions were guiding him, as if his heart were a compass and his partner were his true North. A few minutes later, he reaches what seems to be the main communal area in this place – a hall so massive, built entirely out of steel-like material, with so many floors above him and below him, with so many pipes and automated production mats and conveyer belts and stacks and stacks of cryochambers all around, that it looks like he’s observing the operations of a colossal factory straight out of a sci-fi movie. This building is definitely imposing, and all at once Mulder realizes that it could take him days to find Scully, that the chances of him getting caught are substantially higher than the chances of him ever saving his partner. Still, there is no doubt in his mind that he will do whatever it takes in order to get to her. It’s the only thing he can do.

Using his binoculars, he eventually spots an area below where there is what looks like a vehicle carrying a transportation pod and some clothes that resemble the attire Scully had been wearing when she’d come to see him at his apartment three nights ago. He can’t be certain of any of this, but it looks like a place as good as any to start, so there’s nothing for him to do but try to climb his way to the lower floors through sliders next to the ledge he’s currently standing on. Mulder barely makes it ten feet downwards before he loses his grip and slips, falling harshly all the way down to another ledge and teetering between life and death. His survival instinct kicks in, but it’s truly the thought of failing Scully that gives him the extra push in adrenaline to hold on, to anchor himself and make his way around to a safer area, where his feet can reach something to stand on. In due course, he ends up reaching the transportation vehicle he spotted from above and, yes, these are Scully’s clothes, her cross necklace is just sitting here too. It all means that she is close, he knows; he can feel it. He takes the necklace with him and starts going over each and every row of cryochambers until ultimately, finally, he finds her bottomless blue eyes staring inertly at him through the glass.

He did it. He found her.

The need to get her out of this damned chamber is the only thing going over his mind, so he slams the glass with his bare hands, then uses the butt of his flashlight against it in attempt to break through, but neither measure is enough to do it. Searching around for the first heavy thing he can find, he ends up coming across a fire extinguisher in the transportation vehicle and uses it to hammer down the glass until some of it breaks and the liquid inside starts pouring out. Soon enough, Scully’s top half is finally exposed to him in the flesh, this beautiful, extraordinary woman painfully frozen before him, nothing to cover her body other than a large, translucid, organic tube connected to her mouth. Desperate to bring her back to life, Mulder pulls the vial of the vaccine and a syringe out of his pocket and messily prepares the injection, cursing himself for not having paid better attention to her medical ministrations in the past, which would certainly have come in handy right now. With a deep breath aimed at quashing his anxiety, he stabs the needle into the muscle near her left shoulder and prays to whatever Gods are listening that this is enough to save her.

In less than a minute – which naturally feels to him like a lifetime –, Scully’s eyes are blinking, and the liquid that had been fed to her through the organic tube somehow starts making its way back to wherever it came from as the tube itself starts to shrivel and die. Mulder is glad to see her coming back to him and at the same time terrified at the image in front of him, especially when the whole building they’re in starts shaking, apparently reacting to the vaccine in its system. He frantically pulls the dead tube out of her and holds his breath as he waits for her to react. It takes a few moments, a few agonizing screams of his ordering her to breathe, but then she is coughing up, spitting up the goop that was still inside of her and gasping for air that comes rushing back into her lungs.

She looks like she’s in a trance as she stands there catching her breath and shivering, but then she whispers in between gasps that she is cold; repeats it a second time with her voice a little stronger, for good measure.

His heart goes out to her, a gentle touch of his hand to her face his immediate reaction to comfort her as he assures her that he’s going to get her out of here. With no hesitation, he’s back to destroying the glass that is still holding her body inside the cryochamber, rushing against the clock as the structure around them starts to give in, until finally he manages to break enough of the glass to pull her out of the pod and into his waiting arms, the naked skin on her entire body feeling icy against his clothed torso and bare hands, the pain of having her here so corpse-like almost tearing him up inside. He gently lies her down to cover her with his insulated parka jacket and pants and an extra pair of socks, hoping that these layers of clothing and the warmth he feels for her in his heart are enough to keep her alive as he navigates them out of this place.

With all the madness going on around them and topped with Scully’s incapacitation, Mulder is left with no choice but to carry her out in his arms like she’s his most exquisite prize – certainly, the most valued and loved person in his life. Eventually, he reaches the steel structure from which he fell down and knows there is no way he is going to be able to haul them up without her assistance, so he is forced to hold Scully’s body up next to his as he pushes them both to climb their way back up to where he’d come from. As soon as they reach that first floor, her body nearly gives out and she’s left gasping for air again, telling him she can’t continue. They’re almost out, he keeps repeating to himself in his own head, and so he starts carrying her once more, this time over his shoulder to make it quicker to get out of this place that is rapidly coming alive and closer to killing them. Once he reaches that first room he arrived in after the ventilation tunnel, he notices the cryochambers around them are occupied by alien entities, all waking up and scarily banging against the glass surfaces keeping them apart. It would be significant to have actual undeniable proof of alien life right now were it not for the fact that these extraterrestrials do not seem to be of the friendly type and that the Scully on his shoulder seems to have passed out just when he needs her cooperation again for this final leg on their way to the outdoors.

Desperate to keep her alive – there is no way in hell he will lose her after coming this close to saving her –, he tenderly places her on the ground again and starts giving her CPR, placing his mouth over hers to push air into her lungs, pressing his intertwined hands in between her breasts to massage her heart. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his brain cells register that this is the first time his lips have ever touched hers, the first time his skin has come into contact with her bare chest, and that information is stored for later, when he will have the time to properly deal with it, hate himself for not having the courage to act on his feelings and mourn the reality of only coming this close to her under mortal danger.

As he powers through his efforts to get her lungs to work again, he takes another look around and notices that the aliens are close to breaking free, making time really become of the essence in this instance. Luckily, Scully comes alive once again, frantically coughing up as the oxygen fills her lungs once more and it’s suddenly like nothing else around them matters to him.

She is here. She is breathing again. He is holding her head in his hands. He is touching his thumbs to her cheeks, and he is moving the hair out of her face.

She is really here.

Her big wet eyes are staring back at him, grounding him to this moment, and her lips are moving but no sound is coming, and – wait. She wants to tell him something.

He leans into her, pressing his ear almost against her lips, and hears her whisper, voice husky from her ordeal, “I had you big time.”

He pulls away to look at her, and for an infinitesimal second, he is confused. But then her eyes are running over his face and her mouth is morphing into a sweet, tired smile, and he remembers their playful conversation on the rooftop of that building in Dallas a lifetime ago.

He can’t help but smile back at her, for Scully is all that is bright and light in his life – he loves her more than he’s ever loved anyone, and he would certainly kiss her right now if it weren’t for the fact that the glass on the cryochambers around them are starting to break and they truly need to get the heck out of here if they want to stay alive. Running out of time, he pulls her up to her feet and then pushes her body up so she can grab at the vent and start her way out. He has half a mind to wish he could take a minute to show her all that is going on around them, to register the proof of extraterrestrial life that is right here, within their reach, but the second she’s in that vent and he starts to pull himself up to leave with her, all hell breaks loose; the aliens start clawing for his body, trying to hold him back, and the desire to stay behind to collect evidence and prove to Scully that he’s been right about ETs swiftly evaporates.

It's a close call, but they manage to crawl their way out to the great icy outdoors, collapsing on the snowy terrain as soon as the perpetual day light of winter in Antarctica hits their faces. He’s gasping for air and Scully is downright exhausted, but he doesn’t have any time at all to rest. Out of nowhere, he can hear the sounds of the glacier moving, he can feel the ground below them cracking… a new rush of adrenaline pushes Mulder into action – they’re going to fall into the ends of the Earth if they don’t run away right now.

He pulls his partner up by the parka, like she’s a handbag, and half-carries her as soon as her feet touch the ground in a race for their lives.

No matter how fast they flee, it seems the frozen terrain crackling behind them is always faster. He tries his best to outrun the hole chasing them, he tries his best to pull his partner with him, but eventually the crater wins and they’re swallowed up by the ground, falling about fifty feet in panic until their bodies hit a rising platform that brings them up again. Nothing is making sense right now, and there’s no time to even try to understand what is going on as they’re suddenly sliding down the platform and dropping again, this time about thirty feet onto the ground.

All this running, and falling, and climbing and dropping has finally taken a toll on Scully’s body and she passes out cold yet again, overwhelmingly depleted. Mulder’s initial reaction is to crawl his way to her, to make sure that she’s alive – please, God, let her be alive – but the loud sounds and this field of energy all around them call for his attention. As he lies on the snow next to his partner, he rolls over to see what’s going on and cannot believe his eyes.

That is an alien aircraft. Indisputably, that is a spaceship – a hand-to-God, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die mother ship, straight out of the movie Independence Day.

As the flying saucer flies overhead, Mulder’s face glows in awe and amazement at what he’s witnessing, watching the culmination of everything that he’s believed for the past decade right in front of him, and he can’t help but to feel his heart constrict with the knowledge that he finally did this with his one and true partner on his side. Scully is here with him.

“Scully, you gotta see this!” He tries to catch her attention, to bring her back into consciousness. “Scully!”

She really tries to lift her head from the snow, to focus her attention on whatever he wants her to see ahead of them, but her eyes barely flutter open. Her motor functions hardly work. She is genuinely spent, clinically exhausted.

He wishes she could truly share this moment with him. He feels frustrated that she is unable to give this monumental event the attention it deserves, but summarily redirects his emotions to being grateful that she is alive, that they’re going to be fine. She might be barely awake right now, but they’re going to get out of here – he doesn’t know exactly how when he remembers that his Sno-Cat parked ahead is almost out of fuel, but he didn’t make it this far into the story to end it with ‘and then they died stranded in the middle of nowhere’. They are going to survive, together, like they’re meant to, always together. She’s been by his side through thick and thin for the past five years; she’s given him her trust, her dedication, her belief in him when no one else would, she’s made him a better man for it. She pushed him into not giving up and now he knows that he’s not crazy, he has seen with his own eyes that he’s right, that he’s always been right. He knows that it wasn’t all for nothing.

A heart-melting grin takes residence in his face as a sense of wonder comes over him. He loves her so much that he came to the ends of the Earth for her, and because of it he found the truth he had been searching for his entire professional life. If that’s not proof that they were always meant to find each other and be together, he doesn’t know what will convince her.

And with that in mind, the adrenaline in him wanes and his body starts to calm down, the events of the past days finally taking a toll on him – less than sixty hours ago, his brain could have been blown to pieces if he hadn’t been lucky. He pushed through it all to come to her, and now he needs to rest.

The final thought in his mind before he slips out of conscience puts a smile to his dreams - he and his partner had also just been inside a veritable spaceship.

Chapter Text

June 27, 1998
Wilkes Land, Antarctica

Scully comes to gradually. Her arms and legs are wrapped around her partner’s body protectively while they lie in the snowy grounds, as if this small act would be sufficient to shield him away from all the cold that surrounds them. It’s impossible to know for certain how long they’ve been here but it certainly can’t be that long – the lack of apparent frostbite is the most telling sign. Trying to get her bearings, she takes a long look at the frozen, sparkling white landscape around them, the immense crater with approximately a mile-long circumference that’s sitting right by their feet, and realizes she can’t even tell where they are right now. The last thing she can remember is them frantically running away as the ground opened up behind them and then falling onto something that rose from below and them rolling off until they hit the icy terrain and she passed out in fatigue. There are bits and pieces of further memories, like his voice calling out to her, a feeling that something passed by above their heads as she laid face down in the snow, but it’s all a blur. The only thing she knows for certain is that, wherever they are, she was brought here against her will and Mulder came looking for her and rescued her.

As weird as it is to admit it, the truth is that her chaotic partner has also constantly been her knight in shining armor.

Watching his body intertwined with hers, she knows that now is her turn to have his back, to save him and make sure that they get out of here okay. She strengthens her hold on him, wanting to make sure that he’s properly warm and also hoping to assure herself that he’s really alive as she tries to figure out their next steps. With no idea where to begin, she gives in and starts running her hands through his ice-covered hair, adding soft whispers of his name to his ear and trying to gently wake him up.

Eventually, she gets through to his idled brain and his eyelids flutter open.

“Scully,” his husky voice murmurs in pleasantly surprise, and the cold breath rushing out of him actually feels warmer to her skin than the chilly winds around them. “We found it.”

Her eyes are tender as she watches the boyish, happy features appearing on his face at his last words. “Found what?” she asks in a lovingly confused tone, unable to keep the back of her fingers from running against his cheeks.

“Your irrefutable proof.” He takes her hand in his and pulls it to her lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “We saw it.”

She can’t help but grin at his demonstration of affection. “What did we see, Mulder?”

“A spacecraft.” His smile widens.

Her right eyebrow goes up in disbelief, but her hand doesn’t leave his. “A spacecraft? Muld –”

“We were inside it, Scully,” he interrupts animatedly, sitting up and losing his grip on her hand. “You were kept in this tank, a cryotherapy chamber, in this alien spaceship that was buried under an Antarctic glacier. There were extraterrestrial entities in there too. I saw it all.”

“Mulder, for all the times I’ve told you this, this time you might have actually lost your mind,” she tells him with a lopsided grin.

He smirks. “What, after all this time you’re telling me you still don’t believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

“I believe you’re out there; that’s comforting, right?”

He laughs, happy for their repartee, but then the gravity of the situation comes back to him. “Scully, what do you remember? Before being here.”

“I remember I came to tell you I was resigning the X-Files,” she recounts vaguely, looking down to hide the blush that surreptitiously comes over her features as she remembers the moment they’d shared in his hallway. She can see from the corner of her eyes that he’s nodding, apparently swallowing down his shyness too and she knows that now it’s just not the time to talk about that – wonders briefly if they’re ever going to address it at all. “Then I was stung by a bee. And when I came to, I was cold, you were right in front of me and we were inside that odd facility,” she finishes, her eyes meeting his again. “What happened, Mulder?”

“Well, I say we get out of here and then I’ll tell you all about it.” He pushes himself up and tell extends a hand to pull her up with him. “But that facility? That’s the spaceship.”

She looks at him skeptically but refrains from putting any words to it. Wrapping her arms around herself to try to shield herself from the all-encompassing cold, she redirects, “So, now what?”

He starts walking, certain that she will follow him closely behind. “Now I’ll take you for a Sno-Cat ride back to the station so we can get outta here.”

“Where is here, exactly?” she poses the question as she treks behind him.

Maintaining his pace, he takes a quick look over his shoulder and replies offhandedly, “Antarctica.”

She stares at the back of his neck in shock as she considers this information.

I was taken to Antarctica?

How did he even manage to come after me in Antarctica?

“Mulder…?” she speaks his name in a half-question a few seconds later, that single word enough to let him know so many of the questions she has for him.

This time, he doesn’t even glance at her. He keeps walking and looking ahead as he climbs the hill that will take them back to the Sno-Cat. “I had to find you,” it’s all he says.

He hopes she understands all that he means with that single sentence too.

*****************************************************************************

It didn’t take much more than five miles for their Sno-Cat to run out of fuel and for Mulder and Scully to end up stranded in the middle of all the ice and snow enveloping them. The male agent had already anticipated this scenario, but he hadn’t come up with a solution to their problem – hiking back to Casey Station would probably take over three days, and they both were in no condition to do any more walking right then as it were. Thus, they decided to stay put and rest inside the Sno-Cat for as long as they could to regain some of their strength and then pick up on their on-foot expedition later.

“I’m not expecting you to find a pickle in my pocket,” he said as he shifted positions to press the front of his entire body against his partner’s back like a parenthesis, trying to huddle for warmth, “but just in case, I hope you know that the weather is not conductive of granting you any lasting good impressions, okay?”

“Mulder, shut up,” Scully replied as she pulled his arm tighter against her midsection, maneuvering them both into the most comfortable position they could find in order to sleep.

Hours later, they are woken up by the sound of a motor vehicle approaching, and if Mulder had been glad for the Gunmen’s help before starting his crusade to save Scully, when he sees an average-height and built, thirty-something man with dirty blonde curls and trimmed beard framing his olive skin stepping out of a different Sno-Cat ahead of their own Tucker, there are no words to describe his appreciation for those three stooges and the kind of men they are that they’ve managed to harvest such loyal, concerned friends all around the globe.

That’s Langly’s friend Dean Anderson coming to their rescue.

Letting go of his partner’s body with an unexpected tightness in his chest as she silently fixes her hair to make herself look more presentable, Mulder opens the door to the driver’s side and jumps out just as Dean approaches. “I thought you couldn’t leave the station,” he says as means of greeting.

“I’ve been told trouble seems to follow you wherever you go, and when our radars picked up on some sort of avalanche at the coordinates you were going to, I figured I should come over and make sure you were still alive,” the researcher deadpans. With a nod to their out-of-fuel Sno-Cat, he adds, “Looks like you didn’t take my advice.”

“Don’t take it personally, I never do,” Mulder grins feebly as he notices Scully coming around the Sno-Cat to join them. “Just ask her.”

Dean takes an assessing look at the redhead in front of him and extends his hand. “Dean Anderson,” he introduces himself.

She takes his hand formally. “Dana Scully.”

Glancing at Mulder, he tilts his head in the woman’s direction. “So, she is the reason you’d go through all the trouble.”

Scully looks between the two men with curiosity, maybe mild embarrassment, and notices that her counterpart isn’t looking at her at all.

Mulder just straightens his back and nods once solemnly at the other guy, stating, “She’s my partner.” A hint of extra hue to his cheeks is the only sign that this makes him feel bashful at all.

Anderson half-smiles in understanding and then gestures to his own Sno-Cat. “Shall we?”

“What about our Sno-Cat?” the female agent inquires.

“We’ll get someone out here later to bring it back,” the blonde man replies dismissively, leading the way to his vehicle. “C’mon, you probably can’t tell but it’s the middle of the night and you two will need the rest if you ever plan to make it out of here tomorrow. Plus, it’s freezing out here.”

“What day is it?” Scully poses the question.

“Technically, since it’s one in the morning, it’s the twenty-eighth.”

She’s lost almost four days in her life, she realizes as she treks quietly behind Anderson, Mulder by her side, looking uneasy. It takes her an extra moment to recognize why he’s so morose all of the sudden.

The embryo transfer. She missed it.

He can tell the second the memory of the IVF comes to her mind. Briefly squeezing her hand, he moves his face closer to her ear and whispers, “It’s just a setback; we’ll reschedule.”

*****************************************************************************

June 28, 1998
Wilkes Land, Antarctica

Standing in someone else’s bra and panties in the bedroom assigned to her and Mulder, Scully studies herself in front of the full-body mirror. The warm shower she just took certainly worked wonders for her, but cold burns are already coming over her face and extremities. She knows that the effects of exposure are probably starting to show on her partner’s skin too, but she gathers it’s a little harsher for her considering her fairer complexity, and so she takes the extra time to carefully apply some salve to her body before pulling on the leggings and T-shirt she also borrowed from Leigh Campbell, the only female member in the research team currently based in Casey Station and who is thankfully close to her own size. For a brief moment, she curses the fact that she doesn’t have her own clothes to wear, but then ends up feeling ungrateful when she knows everyone around here is being extremely accommodating and doing their best to help her and Mulder.

The sad thing is that the lack of her own personal garments and the initial stages of frostbite are not even the worse part of these past few days – not even close to it, if she takes into account that she’d been infected with some kind of a virus and then once again abducted and experimented on. And let’s not forget the impact that this whole ordeal will probably have on her IVF process, her only chance to conceive a child with her own genes. And also, there’s the minor issue that she’s currently out of a job.

Will her life ever become less of a trial?

A knock reverberates on the door, and the signature sound is enough to alert her to her partner’s presence. “It’s open!” she speaks up before pulling on an oversized sweater – her choice – over the T-shirt she’s wearing.

“Hey,” he addresses her in a honeyed tone as he closes the door behind him and waits for her to turn around to face him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not even sure how to answer that, honestly.”

Her genuine answer gets a small, pained smile out of him. He’s standing close to her, as per usual, but he looks uncertain and is clearly doing all he can to keep from actually crowding her, which is definitely abnormal for him. She watches him curiously for a few seconds, then uses the moment to take in his appearance – he’s in someone else’s jeans and T-shirt too, she knows it, and yet he makes it look like it was custom-tailored for him. His hair is still wet from his shower, and his skin is a little more on the pink side than usual, but no real burns show. Despite all they’ve been through, he’s still as handsome as always. Apparently, God has Their favorites.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, allowing his fingers to tentatively brush against the damaged skin in her cheeks.

“A little,” she admits as she briefly closes her eyes and accepts his touch. “Leigh left me some ointment for it, I was just about to use it.”

He hums in acceptance of that information, putting a safe distance between them. “Dean mentioned he would leave out some food for us in the communal area before he retired to his room. I was thinking we should get something to eat before going to bed.”

The pink in his cheeks intensifies, and she wonders if his odd behavior has something to do with the fact that they have to share the room. She hasn’t really taken the time to think too much about it, but taking a quick look around she realizes they actually have to share a bed. A twin bed, at that.

“I’m not really hungry, but I think it’s important that we eat something,” she replies to his earlier comment, ignoring their sleeping arrangements for the time being and going about applying the cold burn balm to her cheeks. “Did you reach the Gunmen?”

“Yeah, the chopper will be here later in the evening to get us to McMurdo Station and then we’ll fly out to New Zealand. Our flight leaves tomorrow at six in the morning, so we’ll just go straight to the airport once we get to Christchurch. Best to rest as much as we can here before we have to go.”

Scully unconsciously eyes the twin bed again.

“I can ask Dean to set me up in a different room,” Mulder tells her awkwardly, addressing their situation. “I guess he was just being facetious when he decided we should bunk together.”

“That’s nonsense, Mulder,” she’s quick to assure him. “We should be glad we have a comfortable place to sleep in at all. We were squashed together in that Sno-Cat earlier; this is fine.”

Reverting to humor to avoid any discomfort between them, he speaks up, “Well, technically I was just trying to abide by Bureau regulations on male and female agents consorting in the same room, Agent Scully.”

She puts the ointment back on one of the nightstands and watches him intently, as if deciding on what to say. Making her way to the door, she tosses over her shoulder, “Good thing I’m not an FBI agent anymore.”

*****************************************************************************

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you saw something, Mulder,” Scully tries to explain as she walks back into their room, her partner in tow, after their very late or very early meal. “I’m just not sure how you can be certain that it was an authentic alien spacecraft – if that’s even such a thing.”

They had been using their time alone in the communal area to catch up on the events of the past seventy-two hours, with Mulder telling her about the Africanized honeybee carrying the extraterrestrial virus intended to facilitate the alien invasion, about getting shot and meeting the Well-Manicured Man, about coming to Antarctica thanks to the elder man, who had also given him the vaccine to counteract the effects of the virus on her body and then died in a car explosion... and then the male agent had also explained in detail about the spaceship and the alien creatures he’d seen while they raced for their lives.

Despite her best efforts, the redhead was still having a hard time coming to terms with her partner’s take on things, and it was becoming a little too annoying for him.

“Scully, what will it take for you to believe that this is real?” he asks her as he shuts the door and makes his way to stand by the bed they’re supposed to be sharing in a few minutes. “Should I have taken pictures for you?”

“Mulder, I’m sorry, but this is who I am,” she replies, standing in the middle of the room. “You can’t say you value my rationalism and then choose when it’s convenient or not for me to apply it,” she tells him in a controlled tone, subtly referring to their conversation in his building hallway a few nights ago. “I’ll test the bee for the virus, I’ll run tests on my own blood, I’ll do what I always do – I’ll try to give you the proof you need. I have faith in you, Mulder. I just can’t support your claims without doing what you say you expect of me.”

The air feels tense around them for a few extra seconds, but then Mulder throws his head back and sighs, calming down. “You’re right.” He shakes his head to clear his mind. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

She touches her hand to his furtively, as if it were an accident and not a very deliberate action on her part. “I’ll talk to Skinner as soon as we’re back in D.C., okay? Maybe there’s a way for me to withdraw my resignation letter. I won’t give up. We’ll fight this together.”

He looks into her eyes then, and the intensity she sees there takes her right back to his hallway. “If the implantation takes, between you and me, our kid is going to be the most stubborn person on this planet,” the words spill out of his mouth in an attempt at levity, but the delivery is all wrong for it; it ends up adding even more relevance to this moment.

When his lips had been approaching hers some evenings ago, Scully had decided to allow herself to be swept by their senses; to not think, only to exist, to feel. But right now, with her renewed determination to continue their work in this exciting and challenging endeavor, with the prospect of finally gathering the proof they need to validate all that Mulder’s been shouting from rooftops for so long, with the addition of a possible baby in their future… it seems too important a decision to just let her instincts and attraction guide her. She needs to think, to evaluate the best course of action to move forward with him.

It's no longer a matter of if for her; just a matter of when and how.

“I can’t lose you,” his words bring her out of her reverie, her eyes coming back to focus on his and seeing a different determination there. “They know how important you are for the cause, how much I…” He bites his lower lip to swallow the rest of the sentence and looks down, shifting his feet from side to side – all telltale signs that he’s feeling timid. “What you mean to me,” he ends up saying. “I can’t allow you to continuously put your life at risk for this, Scully.”

She walks purposefully to the bed behind him and sits down, scooting back until there’s enough room for him next to her, and then she lies down, propping her head on the pillow. “Mulder, come here.”

His mind goes blank as he turns around and watches her before him. “Scully…”

“Just lay here next to me.”

Hesitantly, he crawls into bed with her, lying on his side to look at her, feeling unsure as to what he’s supposed to do. He looks frozen, holding his arms stiffly close to his own body and waiting to see what she will do.

“Mulder, I’m going to tell you this just one more time,” she says seriously, taking his hand in hers with determination. “You need to stop blaming yourself for everything that’s happened to me, and most of all you need to stop trying to make decisions for me. This is getting old, and frankly, it’s also a bit insulting.”

He opens his mouth, startled, though he’s not sure what to say in his defense.

“What I need from you is that you allow me to have agency in my own life, Mulder. It’s my choice to stay by your side, doing our work, for which I happen to deeply care, probably as much as you do at this point. And I also happen to care deeply about you – also probably as much as you care about me.” She squeezes his hand in emphasis of her words. “So, you have to accept that everyday that I stay is because I want to be here. And I’m not going anywhere unless that’s something that I decide to do on my own.”

“But you were going to leave,” he tells her, his thoughts all mixed up in his mind.

“Because they closed the X-Files and we had nothing to go on with. Because my life is in D.C. and they wanted to transfer me to Utah. Because I’m trying to have a baby, Mulder, and you said you wanted to be a part of it, and it wouldn’t make sense for me to live two time zones away from you. Do you understand that?”

Mulder’s eyes fill with tears, his emotions getting the best of him. Usually, people leave him the first chance they get; it's a whole new sensation that runs through his body when he learns that he's the reason she is staying for. He is definitely not used to it. “I’m a broken man, Scully,” it’s all that he manages to get out.

With a Monalisa smile, she turns around and hits the lights, feeling around for his hand again and then pulling his arm around her body for the second time today. “Then I’d like to stick around and prove you wrong.”

Chapter Text

June 29, 1998
Washington, D.C.

It takes Mulder and Scully almost forty hours to get from Casey Station back to D.C., but thanks to the miracle of time zones, their flight leaves Christchurch at six a.m. on the twenty-ninth and lands in Dulles International around five p.m. the same day. Even with the two of them spending almost two full days together, of course none of them broach the subject of their evolving personal relationship – they had woken up yesterday still spooning in the twin bed, his half-hard cock pressed against the bottom of her butt, and since then almost as if by unspoken agreement they have been postponing this long overdue conversation for a better time.

Neither of them knows, however, what would qualify as such a better time.

The first item in their agenda once they’re back in D.C. soil is to go straight to the ER and do a full work-up on their health in general, specially Scully’s, all things considered – gratefully, everything seems to check out; in her case, other that the frostnip on her face and a few other parts of her body, she is physically as healthy as she was a week ago.

“I want to head down to Quantico sometime tomorrow to do some further tests myself to check for any anomalies resulting from my exposure to the unidentified virus that the bee was carrying,” she informs her partner once the ER doctor leaves to procure her release papers.

He is tense at the prospect of anything being wrong with her, but at the same time he’s excited about what this could mean for the X-Files. “You should also run some tests on the bee. The Gunmen have it.”

She nods in agreement. “I’ll stop by their place tomorrow before going in.” Steeling herself, she marginally changes the subject. “I’ll also schedule an appointment with Dr. Parenti to check my reproductive system.”

As she looks down, he merely nods in acquiescence and softly takes her hand in his, praying he’s successful in hiding his nervousness. He really hopes this latest ordeal won’t hinder her chance at motherhood.

Sitting in companiable silence in the E.R. room – she on the gurney, he on a chair by her side –, still holding hands and having already mentioned the topic of her upcoming pregnancy, Mulder toys with the idea of picking up their conversation about what they could become if they are finally upfront with each other about their feelings. Given what they’ve been through up to this point, now seems as good a time as any.

“I was afraid this time I was really going to lose you,” he voices out loud, watching their joined hands and playing with her fingers.

“You didn’t, Mulder,” she says in a soft tone, gently squeezing his hand and getting him to look up at her. “You found me, and now we’re back home and I still plan on continuing our quest together.”

“The X-Files?” He questions evenly.

“We’ll get them back,” she replies with a nod, not really giving any second thoughts to his question. “We’ll go in tomorrow to talk to Skinner and see about our next steps. Did he say anything when you called him?”

During their layover in Los Angeles, Mulder had called their boss to report the abridged version of their impromptu adventure and let the man know of their arrival back in D.C. today and plans to get checked out at the hospital and go back to work tomorrow. “He only said we’d talk more once we were back in D.C., but we didn’t discuss specifics,” Mulder explains patiently. “But that’s not what I was asking.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“When you mentioned our quest… are you only talking about the X-Files?”

His eyes bore into her, and the intensity there makes her heart speed up. She almost drops his hand, but fights her nerves and keeps their physical connection. “You mean the IVF?” She asks back, testing the waters.

“We’ve already addressed the IVF, haven’t we?” His tone is kind and easy, as if he were a professor trying to help a student work out the answer to a test. His thumb draws undefined patterns on the back of her hand. “At least the initial aspects of it.”

She takes a deep breath and voices a different question in a quiet, expectant tone, “Then what haven’t we yet addressed?”

The door to the E.R. room opens and the partners turn to see A.D. Skinner walking in, his presence more than enough to break the moment. Scully tries to surreptitiously drop Mulder’s hand, and with a frustrated sigh, he fully turns his body around to face their boss.

“I’m glad to see both of you are safe and sound,” the bald man’s booming voice is polite and collected, and it’s unclear if he really can’t tell there was tension in the room up until his arrival or if he’s expertly avoiding the matter. “Agent Scully, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Sir, thank you for asking.”

Mulder can immediately tell that Special Agent Dana Scully’s armor is up once again.

“It seems your resignation letter has still not been properly submitted through official channels,” the A.D. tells the redhead meaningfully. “I suppose recent events can play a significant part in making a case that the X-Files should be reopened and that you should be allowed to remain assigned to a department in D.C. as we wait for the DOJ’s decision. If that’s something that you’re interested in.”

“I am,” Scully tells him immediately. “Thank you for your support, Sir.”

“I hope you know this will not be an easy fight, agent. I suggest you two play by the rules for as long as it’s needed. That means even going to Salt Lake City if it comes down to it; we’ll work out something to transfer you back to D.C. eventually.”

Scully is not happy with this prospect, but her resolve to stay on the X-Files plays an important part in her decision. “Understood, Sir.”

Skinner turns his attention to the male agent, “You were supposed to appear before an OPR review panel last week, but due to the attempt on your life I managed to postpone it. Agent Cassidy has been on my ass about your whereabouts and I’ve been doing my best to keep your job, but until the panel reconvenes you’re suspended from the Bureau. I suggest you two manage to come up with a sensible report on the events of the past days to submit to OPR.”

“I should be able to amend my own report and submit it as additional evidence by tomorrow, Sir,” the female agent interjects, not giving her partner a chance to say anything he might regret.

“Good. I’ll expect it on my desk by the end of day,” Skinner tells her professionally. “I’ll see that you are put on paid medical leave until the OPR panel is reconvened,” he adds.

“Thank you, Sir, but I’d rather go straight to work so that I can run some tests that might support our findings.”

Skinner mulls over but agrees with a nod. “Fair enough.” He then addresses both agents once again. “Please do your best to avoid any additional attempts on your lives,” he delivers the line with a straight face, but they see it as an attempted joke.

“We’ll do our best,” Mulder says glibly.

The on-call doctor makes his way back into the room and Skinner takes it as his opening to head out. After their boss is gone, Scully is discharged with a prescription for her frostbites and ordered to take it easy for the next few days – something her partner is sure won’t be followed.

As they’re leaving the hospital, the silence between them no longer feels comfortable, but charged. Mulder briefly flirts with the idea of resuming their halted conversation, but he can tell that Scully is hesitant to have this discussion out in the open, and even if he considers asking her to his place or inviting himself to hers, he knows she’s bound to be feeling even more fatigued than he is after such a long trip and he doesn’t want to impose on her. The moment is gone, anyway. Resigned, he merely guides her to a cab, wishes her a good night with a soft kiss and a promise to call her the next day and then watches her drive away.

*****************************************************************************

July 2, 1998
Washington, D.C.

He had in fact called her the day after they arrived in D.C., but to Scully’s disappointment, Mulder had kept the conversation brief and professional. He made no inquiries about the IVF, and even less so any attempts to discuss the possibility of an evolving personal relationship – they only discussed the results of the tests she’d run at Quantico during the day.

He acted the same way yesterday, when he called her to tell her his OPR panel had been scheduled for today early afternoon.

At first, she thought that his distance meant indifference, but after taking the time to evaluate the evidence before her she knew it in her heart and mind that both of them felt something between them and wanted to take the next step. Maybe he just didn’t know how to go about it – it made sense, considering he had already tried to kiss her and to address their situationship, and she hadn’t really been as forthcoming as he had.

Maybe he was waiting for her to give her any unequivocal signs that she would welcome his advances.

Maybe the ball was on her court.

With that in mind, as she was sitting outside the room where her own OPR hearing would be held this morning, Scully made a plan: she would first wait and see what would be decided about the X-Files and then what the outcome of the IVF implantation would be – she and Mulder already had too much on their plates right now. Once they had the final information on these issues, then they could determine if they would indeed act on their romantic desires. It wasn’t much longer now; what’s a week or two when they’d been five years in the making?

Now, as she meets him by the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool to tell him she’s stepped up to their cause in her OPR panel only to listen to him ranting about their quest at the X-Files being fruitless, about it being best for her to leave him and go be a doctor, seeing him hopeless and exhausted, she knows that it is indeed up to her to make him see the light. She doesn’t know what’s changed in the last couple of days, but she knows Mulder well enough to understand that even five minutes alone is enough for him to second-guess himself and turn to self-flagellation. So, yes, the ball is in her court – not only about their personal relationship, but about everything else too.

Determined, she tells him with all the conviction she can muster, “I'll be a doctor, but my work is here with you now. That virus that I was exposed to, whatever it is, it has a cure. You held it in your hand. How many other lives can we save? Look,” she stops momentarily, clasping his hand in hers and hoping his own words to her some days ago will make him believe again in them. “If I quit now, they win.”

He fixes his eyes to hers and accepts her speech. They’re in this together, he can see it. He remembers what she told him at Casey Station when he had lamented that he was a broken man.

I’d like to stick around and prove you wrong.

He wants to kiss her, actually feels the need to do so, a sort of a do-over of his interrupted hallway attempt. Except they’re in public right now, nothing is truly solved, and kissing her would only complicate things more. So, he silently turns away, still holding hands with her, and they make their way out of the National Mall under the warm light of the summer sun.

As they reach the crosswalk on 14th Street and wait for the lights to turn red so they can continue their walk up Constitution Avenue, Scully drops his hand and asks affably, “Do you want to go to lunch before your hearing?”

“I’m actually meeting Skinner before the hearing,” he says, apologetic look crossing his face.

She deflates, but quickly composes herself. “That’s okay. Well, then, I’ll just go straight home as I’m also suspended until the OPR decision – I just need to pick up my car,” she says dismissively and starts crossing the street upon noticing the lights are green for the pedestrians now.

“I’ll walk with you,” he tells her easily, dutifully matching the rhythm of her steps.

Aware of his company and thankful for it, she decides to change the subject. “I’ve scheduled my appointment with Dr. Parenti for next Monday.”

“Good,” he comments. “Do you want me to come with?”

She shakes her head, “It’s just a check-up. Nothing for you to do right now.”

He nods quietly.

Is he chagrined? She can’t really tell. “I’ll let you know how it goes, okay?” she tries to appease him anyway.

“Okay,” he replies, and this time it seems he’s marginally happier.

She watches him furtively for a few moments, thinking about how intertwined their lives really are. Lost in her own thoughts, Scully chuckles to herself.

“What?” Mulder asks, curious as to what is so amusing to her.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the look on my mother’s face if I end up having to tell her I’m pregnant.”

Will you tell her I’m the father? Mulder almost asks, but refrains. “What will you tell her?” he chooses to ask instead. His eyes are enough to pose the real question to her, though.

“Honestly, I think knowing you’re involved in the IVF will at least make it easier for her to accept that I’m doing this out of wedlock, Mulder. She likes you, and this way she at least knows who the father is.”

He hums in agreement, actually considering if this arrangement might be even more convoluted to Mrs. Scully than the alternative of an anonymous donor. “I’m sure she would respect your decision either way, Scully.”

“Of course,” she is quick to defend her mom. “But I’m sure this will make her happier. For both of us, really.”

“Both of us?”

Scully blushes. “I don’t mean…” she pauses. “I mean, she’ll be happy you’ll have a family of your own as well. Untraditional as it is, the baby will still be your family.”

Mulder notices they’re across the street from the Hoover Building and he knows their conversation will need to come to an end. Nodding in dismissive agreement, he decides he wants to end their little chitchat on a high note. “As it is, I feel like you’re already family to me, Scully, even without the kid,” he tells her with his hand on her lower back, guiding her towards her final destination.

She looks at him completely astonished by his words, immediately stopping in her tracks once they reach the steps to the Bureau’s main entrance. Her lips move as if she’s trying to decide on what to say.

“I just thought you should know it,” he says before she gets any words out. He looks both nervous and peaceful, the conflicting image throwing her for a loop. Touching her right shoulder with a barely-there caress of his thumb, he simply adds, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Scully is still excitedly bewildered once Mulder’s body finally disappears around the corner and the meaning of his words truly sink in.

*****************************************************************************

July 6, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Monday morning, Mulder and Scully are officially back at work – Skinner had called them over the extended weekend to let them know that OPR was still analyzing the possibility of reopening the X-Files but had in the meantime decided to officially reinstate them both to VCS assignment. It’s not ideal, but at least they’re still partnered and she’s still in the East Coast, so it’s still a win.

She’s come to the Bureau today determined to focus on the good things, and not let the fact that pretty much every aspect of her life is a mess get in her head. In the perfect world, she would be working on the X-Files, would already be pregnant, would have spent Independence Day with her partner, would maybe even be in a committed romantic relationship with him… but in the real world, she’s going to Dr. Parenti’s office at lunch hour to reschedule her IVF implantation, she spent Fourth of July at her friend Ellen’s, with some friends and her 10-year-old godson she basically sees twice a year at most and away from Mulder (who told her he would be at the Gunmen’s checking on conspiracy theories about the Gulf War – “They’re going for thematic conspiracies this holiday, Scully”), and she’s most definitely in a holding pattern with her partner about their feelings for one another.

She’s still in this limbo where she doesn’t really have anything she wants, yet she could have it all depending on the outcome of a number of factors. She’s upset, but she’s decided to look at this as a glass half-full.

It’s just significantly harder to do so once she learns at her OB-GYN’s medical office that her uterus is suffering an inflammation that will prevent implantation for at least this next cicle.

“I know it can be frustrating, Dana, but it’s nothing to really worry about,” Parenti tells her. “Let’s see each other again on July 27 and hopefully we’ll have better news then.”

When she comes back to work, there’s a cobb salad for her on her desk and a note from Mulder.

I was summoned to Skinner’s office. Eat your nutrients and don’t pick out the bacon, it’s good for you – you should really know that. See you in a bit.

She feels the toll of all of her unfulfilled desires mixed with her love for this man and her heart clenches in physical and emotional pain. She’s in the middle of the bullpen, but she’s helpless to stop her eyes from brimming with tears. She closes her eyelids and takes a deep breath, trying to regulate her emotions. She’s can’t break down here.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” she hears his voice coming from behind her, his steps taking him past her and to his desk across from hers, where he plops down in his chair with barely a look in her direction.

He’s agitated, excitement and determination pouring out of him in waves; she, on the other hand, is frozen on the spot, unaware if she should tell him about her doctor’s appointment or not.

“OPR recommended reopening the X-Files to the DOJ, Scully,” he’s telling her animatedly. “We still have to wait for the official word, but I want to start collecting the burnt files as of tonight, see if there’s anything we can salvage there so we’re ready to work once the DOJ gives us the green light. We have a lot to do before we’re back to business.”

He looks up at her briefly and she swallows her sorrow and steels herself into her professional persona. “That’s great news, Mulder.”

“It is,” he agrees, picking up the phone to call the local P.D. in New Orleans about a serial killer case that they’re investigating, not sparing her any additional attention.

She chokes on the fact that he didn’t even ask her about the IVF.

Chapter Text

Thursday | August 27, 1998
Washington, D.C.

“Well, it looks like the inflammation is completely gone, Dana. According to your menstrual cycle, I would suggest we schedule the implantation for next month, on the seventeenth – what do you say?”

“I say that sounds perfect, really,” Scully’s reply to Dr. Parenti is accompanied by a relieved exhale and an emotional chuckle.

After almost two months of back and forth due to her uterine condition, she finally has good news about the IVF – during her last appointment, on July 27, the inflammation had been reduced, but her doctor had still deemed it better for her to wait another month. Thus, it’s been fifty-one days of insecurities and anxiety, over a thousand and two-hundred and fifteen hours of anguish and sorrow, but she made it here. Once again, she has the chance to get pregnant. She still has a long way to go if she’s ever going to have a baby, but at least this feels like a step in the right direction. Something to feel good about.

Especially since she hasn’t had anything in her private life to feel good about in particular during these past seven weeks.

It’s been hard for her to reconcile with the fact that she and Mulder have been somewhat estranged ever since OPR had recommended that the X-Files be reopened. It’s nothing that other people would recognize; she just knows that he hasn’t been as attentive or caring towards her as he had been immediately prior to and after Antarctica. And the reason is very simple: his focus has been 150% on getting the X-Files back, and everything else has taken a back seat. During work hours, he’s been focused on the job just enough to be considered a good agent, but after hours all his efforts have been going into trying to salvage the burned old case files, in preparation for the day that the Department of Justice effectively authorizes them to get back to their beloved division – which has yet to happen.

That’s not to say her partner has been truly negligent or overly distant. Mulder has been passively supportive about the IVF, meaning whenever he’s been somehow reminded of the fact that Scully is trying to conceive, he’s been helpful, considerate, and sympathetic – for instance, it had taken him two whole days back in early July to remember to ask Scully about her first appointment back with Dr. Parenti, and even though he’d seemed actually pained on her behalf (and maybe even his) to learn about her uterine inflammation, he hadn’t been as attentive as she would’ve expected back then.

Okay, so he hasn’t been exactly anticipating her needs, but he still brings her the food she likes (when he remembers he himself needs to eat), he started carrying mints for her alongside his sunflower after the third time he noticed her feeling nauseated because of the progesterone injections, small gestures like that. Still, even though she’d originally planned to have a baby alone, she misses the relationship they had been developing –and it’s been hard for her to admit that these step backs are making her feel, at the very least, confused. Afterall, it’s not as if they had discussed the matter. They hadn’t come to an agreement to act on a divide-and-conquer basis, for instance, where he would spend his energy on the X-Files while she would focus on the IVF; she feels as if he’s merely shut her out of his life, though he still acts as part of hers when she needs him to.

It’s all been very unnerving.

Considering her current appointment with Dr. Parenti took place at the end of the day, she decides to go straight home after leaving the clinic – a chance to collect her thoughts and emotions and get ready to meet her partner the next day. When she steps out of the elevator on her apartment floor, the sight of Mulder standing outside her door turns her apprehensive. She’s surprised and glad to see him, truly, but she’s also afraid that her excitement will somehow turn into disappointment again.

“You haven’t answered my calls,” he announces as she approaches him.

“I’m sorry, I must have left the ringer on silent,” she tells him placidly as she reaches for her key to open the door. “Did you need something?”

“Kinda, but I wanted to check on you first,” he says in a soft, concerned voice, following her into her apartment without an invitation – there’s no reason for one at this point. “How did the appointment go?”

She’s hard-pressed to conceal her surprise that this time he did pay attention to the IVF schedule.

See? Confusing.

So, as she drops her keys on the table by the door, she tells him about the latest news. She can’t help the relieved smile that graces her whole features as she watches his face light up, feeling his arms go around her shoulders when he pulls her into a tender hug.

“I’m so glad,” he confesses in a quiet tone, elation in his voice.

“Thank you,” she says genuinely. Pulling back from him, she feels the warmth of the moment but doesn’t allow her hopes to soar. “So,” she starts in a tone that makes it clear that she’s changing the subject. “What is it that I can help you with?”

Still holding her hand and staring into her eyes with a different kind of excitement (maybe more energetic and less tender, she notes), he announces, “I have news myself. Skinner informed me the DOJ has finally authorized reopening the X-Files. We have a new panel with OPR tomorrow afternoon to discuss our reassignment.” His eyes gleam.

Hopefulness fills Scully’s heart immediately. She squeezes his hand with a sincere smile. “That’s actually great news, Mulder.”

“It is.” He smiles back, spontaneously running his thumb over the back of her hand in a caress.

She looks down at their joined hands, electricity coursing through her body and bringing her heart speed up. With her new real chance at pregnancy and the X-Files back on track, could it be that they are on their way to finally having everything they want? Could this mean they will move forward in all fronts?

Feeling the moment, Mulder pulls her back into his arms again and kisses the top of her head. “We’ll get there, Scully.”

She sighs, comforted.

Gently, he breaks their bubble and lets go of her. “I’d better go,” he half-murmurs as a preface. “I have to get back to the Bureau to put the finishing touches on our report and do more work on restoring the burnt files.”

“Tonight?” She asks as he steps away from her, tone closer to a whine than she would care to admit.

He grins, seemingly aware that she’d disappointed he’s not staying. “Did you have other plans?”

“No,” she backpedals, bashful, and he allows her this. She redirects them back to work. “What do you want me to do?”

“You still need to identify the virus you were contaminated with, right?”

“Yes, we’ve been unable so far to find a hard answer on its origins.”

“Now’s the time to get that answer.” At her discouraged look, he clarifies, “Tomorrow early, I mean.”

She nods, relieved. “I’ll head out straight to Quantico and restart on it.”

“Thanks, Scully.” He opens the door and turns to look at her with kind eyes, hand still on the knob as he admits with turned-up lips, “I don’t know about you, but I feel like things are finally looking up.”

After the door is closed and he’s gone, she allows the words to leave her lips with a true smile. “Me too.”

************************************************************************

Friday | August 28, 1998
Washington, D.C.

“Next time, I'll wear a clown suit and do balloon tricks,” Mulder mutters as he walks out of the OPR panel room ahead of Scully, displeased with her participation in the meeting they’re just leaving.

“Mulder, I was hoping it wouldn't come up,” she futilely tries to explain as she matches his steps, carrying all of the lab results she has.

“The only reason I was in there was because you assured me there was a scientific basis for what we saw,” he replies over his shoulder as he keeps walking, still frustrated.

“Mulder, let me remind you once again - what I saw was very little.”

At this, he stops and turns to face her, even more vexed. “Look, Scully, that excuse is not going to work this time,” he says in a controlled voice. “You were there, and you were infected with that virus.”

“Mulder, yes, there is a scientific basis for what happened to me. I was exposed to a virus – but as it turns out, Mulder, that virus is not what you thought. Look, I can't identify it, Mulder,” she insists, waving the papers in his direction. “I have run three separate tests! but I can tell you, without a doubt, that that virus’s DNA and proteins are very much of this world.”

He shakes his head, aggravated. “I saw what that virus did – I saw it generate a new being,” he marginally raises his voice to prevent her from interrupting. “An alien being inside a human body.”

“It attacks and destroys human cells, but that is all it does, Mulder; it creates nothing!” She matches his tone, also frustrated with him and his inability to see where she is coming from. “Look, I don't like telling you this... and I know that you don't want to hear it – not that you can't question me and what I saw, but what you can't question is the science!”

He just watches her and nods without any feeling behind it. He’s used to people not believing him, but this time he feels like he truly made a fool of himself, announcing to a room full of higher ups that his partner had hard, incontrovertible, scientific proof that there was an extraterrestrial virus, only to have her not step up to defend his claims. And that’s the worst part for him – in his mind, she’s just so afraid to believe in the unknown, so closed off to the possibility of more, that she truly didn’t have his back this time. Like she flat-out refuses to support him.

Mulder doesn’t want to turn this into any more of an argument than it already kind of is, nor does he want to turn it into something else that he’s certain he’s going to regret later. Holding it all in, he merely bypasses her and her precious little papers and walks away.

Deflated, Scully is left sad and powerless in his wake.

************************************************************************

Much later that day, long after his office hours, Mulder is alone and working on trying to recover the information on the files that were burned over three months ago, still frustrated with how the day developed. To make matters worse, Skinner stops by to deliver more bad news – their reassignment to the X-Files has been denied, and the A.D. himself voted against him. Mulder doesn’t care for his boss’s rationalization that he’d be of no use if he were outside of the majority in the panel, it feels as if all of the people that he considered to be his allies are in fact too worried about covering their asses. The younger agent just wants to leave, yet as he makes his way to the door, Skinner mentions a new case file about a man who’s been viciously attacked and killed in his home in Phoenix, which just happens to be sitting on Mulder’s old desk and might help him get the proof he needs.

Mulder considers this information for a short while, concerned this could be just Skinner’s way of throwing him a bone. He knows there’s no other alternative, though. With a box of recovered X-files in his hands and a “fuck it” mumbled under his breath, he leaves the room and makes his way down to the basement.

Upon locating the file folder Skinner mentioned, the picture inside a testament to his boss’s promise that this could indeed lead to him proving that there’s an alien conspiracy to colonize Earth, he feels marginally better for a moment. His optimism is short-lived, as Agent Spender shows up and he learns that the arrogant agent has apparently been assigned to the X-Files.

As if that things couldn’t get worse, he hears the sounds of high-heeled footsteps and turns to look at the door, just in time to see Diana walk up to the office.

“Fox,” she greets him cautiously, aware that he won’t take kindly to this development.

Of course things could take an even steeper downturn.

He throws her a fake smile and a weak thumbs-up. “Diana, back on your feet,” he greets back in sarcasm, surreptitiously throwing the new case file into his box before picking it up and heading out the door. “I guess that's the only way you could stab me in the back,” he admonishes his ex-girlfriend as he walks past her and out of the space that he once called his office without looking back.

Well, this has certainly been a hellish of a day, he thinks as he makes his way to his car, determined to study the case folder in the privacy of his own apartment, alone.

************************************************************************

Saturday | August 29, 1998
Washington, D.C.

As she sits at her kitchen table and forces herself to enjoy her grain-free bagel with light cream cheese and homemade latte, Scully ponders once again about the status of things with Mulder.

Their argument the day before still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, a sting of frustration that she wishes weren’t so familiar. He’d walked out on her after the meeting and disappeared for the whole day, not even coming back to their desks at the Bureau for the remainder of the day. He had ditched her, and she’d wished then (and still wishes now) he would not act as if her professional stance were a personal attack on him.

She wishes she didn’t feel as if he were personally punishing her for their professional disagreements.

Her cellphone rings and the sharp sound startles her, her muscles responding instinctively as she reaches for the device and answers the call. “Scully.”

“It’s me.” His voice is a balm and a toxin at the same time. “I’m in Phoenix – a lead has come up, one that might help prove that this new virus creates alien life.”

She’s used to his out-of-the-blue calls about work, has learned to deal with the way he just plunges ahead without asking her if she’s available, but this time is different. This call feels different.

“Is this an informative call or am I allowed to investigate with you?” She asks levelly after she realizes he hasn’t actually asked her to meet him.

She can hear over the line the breath he takes, identify its meaning. She knows that his following words are sincere. “I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t want you to come.”

It’s enough for now for her. “I’ll book a flight out as soon as possible.”

“Already did,” Mulder says and proceeds to give her the information she needs.

They finish the call with a plan to meet at the crime scene address, and she’s aware that if it’s up to him, the only conversation they’ll be having this whole trip is going to be about this case.

************************************************************************

Saturday | August 29, 1998
Phoenix, AZ

The six years they’ve been partners have allowed them to hone in their ability to work well together, and so they manage to ignore everything that is going on and focus strictly on the case.

Even if Scully protests, Mulder forges ahead and breaks into the victim’s home without notifying the local P.D. of their arrival, and there’s nothing left for her to do but join him in investigating the whole place, comparing it to the police notes. The official report is obviously bogus, she knows, but that doesn’t mean she agrees with her partner’s claims that the only possible explanation for what happened is that the dead male was infected with the unidentified virus and subsequently killed by an extraterrestrial creature born out of his torso.

She refuses to believe they’re in a reality that seems more like a scene in the movie Alien.

For his part, her convictions are starting to really piss him off.

“What does it take, for this thing to come up and bite you on the ass?” He asks her haughtily as they leave the victim’s house.

Even if he’s not flat out rude, it’s the harshest she remembers him ever being with her, and it stunts her.

“I saw these creatures!” He adds with an annoyed chuckle. “I saw them burst to life! You would've seen them too, but you were infected with that virus. You were passed out over my shoulder.”

She realizes how much it’s truly hurting him, her not agreeing with him. She finally sees that he’s really taking it as a personal attack, as if he feels that she believes he is crazy.

She tries to make him see her point. “Mulder, I know what you did. I know what happened to me. But without ignoring the science, I can't...” she trails off, noticing the pain in his eyes. She knows she’s got to be the one to address their being at odds, so she decides to take a leap of faith, going about this differently. “Listen, Mulder…” she says intently, grasping his hand in hers with fierce intensity. “You told me that my science kept you honest. That it made you question your assumptions. That by it, I'd made you a whole person. If I change now... I…” she sighs and stops. “It wouldn't be right. Or honest.”

Mulder continues to let her hold his hand but doesn’t return the touch. “I'm talking about extraterrestrial life alive on this planet. In our lifetime. Forces that dwarf and precede all human history.” He pauses to get his point across, then lets his hand fall from her grasp as he delivers the final blow. “I'm sorry, Scully, but this time your science is wrong.”

He walks away from her, and she feels like he’s not only walking away from their professional discussion.

Chapter Text

Saturday | August 29, 1998
Phoenix, AZ

Their drive over from the crime scene to the power plant is as tense as it would be expected.

When Scully had gone back to the car after their argument, she’d found Mulder in the passenger’s seat, chomping sunflower seeds rather aggressively – she’d learned years ago to assess how he was feeling based on his chewing habits, and this kind of munching told her he was most likely upset and irritated. If that hadn’t been enough evidence, the fact that he’d deferred to her to drive had told her she shouldn’t even try and talk to him right then.

Once their car reaches the perimeter of the power plant where the ‘murder victim’ worked, familiar yellow tape isolating the area that’s crawling with police, they instinctively reverse to their professional personas. Getting out of the car in sync and heading for the building, the partners are surprised to find Agent Spender there, impeding their investigation and actually throwing back in their faces that they are not authorized to be there. Scully tries to argue with her peer, but she notices Mulder is only half-present, scouting around until he locates something he wants. Or should she say, someone.

“Diana, let us in here!” Mulder pleads to the brunette walking up to them, leaving Scully ill at ease as she watches the two of them interact.

The redhead tries to reign in her dislike for the other woman. Her mind provides arguments like you’re just feeling insecure, or it’s not Diana Fowley’s fault that Mulder acts like a puppy around her, and even women in a male-dominated environment should stick together – yadda, yadda, yadda –, but there’s something about his former girlfriend that just doesn’t sit right with her.

It’s got to be more than just redirecting her frustration with her partner to someone else, she tries to convince herself.

“We were called because of a possible connection to two previous deaths, from a case file that was stolen from our office,” Scully hears the other female agent explaining pointedly to Mulder, obviously a jab to expose that she knows what he did.

As she continues to observe the conversation between the two former lovers and partners, Scully realizes that Fowley doesn’t actually seem inclined to help him.

For all the shit she’s ever got from it, ninety-nine percent of the time Scully has always made sure to be in Mulder’s corner; the rare times she’s not defended him before other people always involved her actually fearing for his physical or mental safety – for instance, during the whole ordeal with Linda Bowman.

Diana, it seems to her, has been using her history with Mulder for her own purposes. She’d reappeared three months ago out of the blue, weaseled her way between their partnership, messed with his head with veiled words and feather-like touches, suffered a terrible attack on her life and come back with no qualms about taking the X-Files from him, from them.

And now? She’s not even giving much in return.

Aware that Agent Fowley won’t likely be of assistance to them, Scully protectively takes Mulder’s arm in her grip and tries to break up this conversation. “Let's get out of here, Mulder.”

“I hope you know what you're doing, Diana,” he loudly warns the other woman before reluctantly letting his partner take him away. “I hope you know whose errand you're running.”

“I think I do,” Fowley replies just as steely and loudly, and it only cements Scully’s distaste for her.

“You weren't getting anywhere, Mulder; it was only making it worse,” Scully explains her reasoning to her partner as they approach their rental, not ready to let him off the hook but also not wanting to enter a whole new discussion about Diana.

“It's here, Scully, and they know it,” he ascertains like a conspiracy-fed man.

“How do they know?” she asks, frustrated. “Mulder, how do you know?”

Instead of replying, Mulder orders her to give him the car keys and get in the backseat – he’s just spotted an unconscious Gibson Praise, bloody bandaged head and all, lying unconscious in their backseat. The child’s life is at stake (not to mention having him under their watch represents a real chance to substantiate their work), so her professional side takes over. As he starts the car, she desperately does her best to tend to the boy resting with his head in her lap, rather than allowing her mind to yet again drift to thoughts about her relationship with Mulder and what Diana Fowley’s resurgence in their lives means for the two of them.

Still, as the minutes tick away and her partner continues driving in silence in search of a motel for them to check-in to, the quietness makes it impossible for her mind to not slip back towards more personal matters. The woman inside her grasps for control again, and Dana finds herself ensnared in a web of disquiet.

In the realm of human affections, few emotions are as complex and tumultuous as those driven by jealousy and longing.

*********************************************************

Saturday | August 29, 1998
Camelback View Motel | Phoenix, AZ

Finally settled in her hotel room later that evening, Scully lies Gibson down in the double bed and cautiously cuts the bandages around the boy’s head. His skin is burning hot to the touch, and even before she can see the poor job whoever operated on him did with his stitches, she’s concerned about his health.

How can anyone do this to a child, she thinks once she removes the bandages and stares, distraught, at the mauling they did to his skull. They turned him into a Frankenstein.

“Frankenstein? Really?” the boy asks in a saddened voice.

Even if she’s seen him spit out thoughts that were in her mind in the past, she still uses her words to try and reassure him about the quality of the medical care he received – wanting to spare him any more disappointment and hoping to God he won’t be able to tell that it’s a blatant lie.

“You think they were butchers,” he sulks, letting her know she’s not fooling him for a second. He’s actually a little irked that she’s lying to him for the first time since he’s known her.

Mulder, who’s been quietly watching her partner work on the boy from his seat next to them on the bed, decides to be truthful. “They were butchers.”

Resigned, Scully relays to Gibson his medical status with pain in her voice, confirming that he’s been badly taken care of and is now suffering from an infection as a result. At least the boy can tell this time she’s not sugarcoating her words anymore.

When she asks him why he was subjected to such harm, the child confirms what they already know. “’Cause I can read people’s minds.”

When Mulder follows up with a question as to why he’s come to them, the boy proves himself to be even more of an ally. “They were using me – ‘cause I can communicate with it.”

Is this about the creature that Mulder believes is out there? The redhead wonders. It can’t be possible. Hesitant to go down this path, she asks what Gibson’s talking about.

“You already know,” he assures her sagely. “You just don’t want to believe it.”

Scully turns to look at her partner with a mixed look of astonishment and embarrassment, and with a pained look of his own, he signals to her that they should retreat to discuss the implications of Gibson’s words privately, meanwhile allowing the boy to rest a little more.

In hushed tones on the other side of the room, they discuss what their next steps should be – with Mulder intent on using Praise to locate this thing they’re after, whereas Scully insists that the boy’s health must take precedence over their investigation. Their disagreement seems to underscore even more the tension between the two of them, pitching Mulder's relentless pursuit of the truth against Scully's commitment to more rational action, and she’s suddenly even more desperate to make him see that Gibson's unique capabilities could help validate their work on the X-Files in the long haul, but not at the cost of his health.

“Listen to me, what I'm saying is in your best interest, okay?” she implores, leaning into Mulder even more, touching her hand to his forearm. “We have to take every precaution. We have to make every effort to ensure that nothing happens to this boy – because whatever he is, whatever gives him the ability to do what he does… he's your scientific evidence. It's just like we said. He could be the key to everything in the X-Files.”

“We don't have the X-Files,” he retorts quietly, anxious to get out of this conversation, anxious to do something, just… anxious.

“No… but what if he could corroborate everything that you're saying?” she asks, managing a crack to his armor. “This boy could be our last, best chance,” she delivers her final words.

Mulder thinks back to that fateful meeting they had in Skinner’s office back in May, before their office went up in flames and they lost the X-Files. They’d taken a gamble then and pleaded for an immunity deal for a sniper who’d tried to kill the very same boy they’re currently trying to save, so sure they’d been that Gibson was quantifiable scientific proof for their life work in the X-Files. He had sided with Scully back then, had even argued with Diana that this decision was only his and Scully’s, and he’s never questioned that decision since. Maybe his frustration right now is misguided… yes, she has this painfully annoying habit of questioning every little possible thing, but she’s always been at his side, hasn’t she? From the very first day.

As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over, his own words come back and hit him in the face.

Maybe he should listen to her.

“Okay,” he says to her at last, and it pains him to see that she’s actually surprised that he’s agreeing with her. “Let's wait for a couple of hours. You'll drive, I’ll get Gibson.”

She wants to thank him for trusting her, but she doesn’t. Instead, she tells him to lie down with Gibson before she goes to his room to get the car keys.

Later, when she wakes him up - did he sleep in her room? Did she sleep here with him? -, he waits a full minute before following her out to the car with the boy in his arms.

No sooner is the sleeping boy in the backseat again, a car drives up, tires squealing and headlights bright. They can’t see who’s driving, but once the female voice booms, dread runs through Scully’s body.

Diana Fowley.

The other woman steps out of the car, Mulder steps up to her and Scully remains frozen in the driver’s seat of their own rental. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but by the way her partner’s face shows interest, she knows it’s not going to be good news for her.

Damn this woman.

“Mulder, what's going on?” she asks once he comes around to the passenger but fails to get in the car.

“You take Gibson.”

“Where are you going?” Dread pitches in her stomach.

“To find this thing,” he announces before closing the door and leaving her behind to join forces with Agent Fowley.

Scully suspects Diana’s intentions aren’t as noble as her partner believes, but with nothing to show for it, she can’t do much to dissuade him. She can only wait for them to leave, start her car and try to dispel this strained feeling that grows inside her from being the only thing she can focus on.

Her heart is filled with an inexplicable sorrow at witnessing Mulder's seeming preference for Fowley. She reminds herself that nothing about this is out of the ordinary – they usually split up to go about their cases from different angles. Yet this seems different. She cannot help but feel as though her contributions, her unwavering devotion, are rendered trivial in the light of the presence of this rival for Mulder's affections.

While she is resolute in her commitment to their cause, the shadow of doubt whispers insidiously within her thoughts—does she remain the confidante, his beloved partner in this extraordinary odyssey? Has she been relegated to a mere companion, an obstacle in his quest, overshadowed by the allure of history?

She can’t help but feel like she’s being replaced, and it pushes her to fight for the X-Files even more. She wants to prove to him their cause is important to her too.

So, once she gets to the hospital, she arranges for Gibson to be taken straight into emergency care, intent on getting him treated and running all the tests she can in order to prove what they want and need the most. Aware of her thoughts, Gibson complains and scolds her – she can try as best as she can to justify her actions, she’s still turning him into a lab rat. And the worst part? He’s resigned to it.

It’s his resignation that kills her inside – he doesn’t expect her to have his best interests at heart. He’s got to know that she’ll always try her best to protect him, but even if she does have good intentions, that won’t stop her from acting the same way as their enemies.

How can she expect to be a good mother if she’s putting this helpless child through so much? How can she think she’s better than them? Her intentions mean something, of course, but so do her actions.

Maybe this is God’s way of showing her that it’s best if she doesn’t go through with the IVF at all.

Maybe it’s best if she accepts her fate.

I am barren.

Chapter Text

Saturday | August 29, 1998
Phoenix, AZ

When Mulder buckles up on the passenger seat of Diana’s rental car, his only thought is that he’s finally able to do something, to find this alien creature and prove it is real, to shove the evidence down his critics’ disbelieving throats. For almost ten years now, people have been calling him crazy, and a loose cannon, and downright spooky; but now he has a chance to validate his own claims, just like Scully taught him to.

Scully, who, in his eyes, is failing him, and he can’t seem to understand why.

They’ve been closer than ever these past few months. He’s come to terms with the fact that he loves her, has agreed to help her conceive a baby, hopes he’ll get the chance to be their father. Envisions the possibility of forming a family with their mother. He is aiming for it all with Scully – comrades-in-arms, friends, lovers, parents. He wants them to build a life together in every sense of the world: to wake up together every day, to fight conspiracies and solve the mysteries of the world for a living, to spend every possible off hour with their kid and hopefully to make love every single night. He wants them to grow old together, happy to have chosen each other as their partner for this lifetime.

But for reasons he can’t fathom, she’s acting differently now. She’s always been cautious and a stickler for rules, yes, but when push comes to shove, when things turn urgent, she always comes through for him. Her science and rationalism have often frustrated him – he’s even admitted it to her –, but he’s never doubted that she’s been in his corner. Yet, this time, when push came to shove and the OPR panel bulldozered them, Scully just stood there. She didn’t stick her face out for ridicule’s slaps, didn’t tell them that, despite not having scientific evidence of extraterrestrial life yet, she’s seen it with her own eyes like Mulder did. She fell back to her training wheels and told them she couldn’t support her partner’s claims.

And, for him, part of the reason they don’t now have the X-Files is because she didn’t fight hard enough for them.

On the other hand, here’s Diana, a woman he’s always admired and once loved, offering a chance to prove him right and turn the X-Files into something of value. She’s willing to stick her neck out and grant him access to something the powers that be are trying to hide from him. She’s offering to help him in a way that his own partner unfortunately can’t right now. And time is of the essence – they need to prove this thing exists in order to get to the bottom of this alien colonization plan.

They need to act now so that he and Scully can be reinstated to the X-Files as soon as possible. They’re wasting time.

Scully can understand that, surely.

He was offered an opportunity. He just seized it.

It’s not betrayal.

Scully and he can iron out their differences later on and move past this. Just like they always do.

As she drives, Fowley recounts how she, too, seized an opportunity – they offered her the X‑Files on a silver platter, so she accepted. The brunette explains how she came to be involved in this case, how she can’t help Mulder by outright disobeying orders, how they need to be smart about it. She discusses the case with him, takes his theories seriously, asks the right questions, makes proper considerations.

“You’re not under the impression that what we’re looking for makes sense in any conventional way?”, she questions him while they strategize together.

Mulder smiles to himself. “No,” he confirms.

After their debriefing session is over, Mulder finally feels validated again. If this goes right, things will go back to normal in no time. The thought gets him to relax a little bit.

“So, how are you feeling?” He asks Diana, reverting to his more empathetic self. “Are you fully recovered?”

She nods, glancing at him as she drives. “It only took three months of physical therapy and breathing exercises, plus passing the Bureau’s physical test after getting cleared by a psychologist, but I’m finally back on my feet,” she says in sarcasm.

He chuckles amiably. “That’s good.”

Mulder can’t be expected to know that, after getting released from the hospital, Diana was paid a visit by the Smoking Man. He can’t know that the old man orchestrated Gibson’s abduction and Fowley’s shooting to a T; she hasn’t told her ex-boyfriend that the shooting had to look dire enough for him to never suspect her allegiances.

What she does tell him, with a perfect amount of self-consciousness, is, “During my hospital stay, I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted to say to you.”

Her words reel him in – hook, line and sinker. “Say to me?”

She carries on, precisely contrite. “When I decided to come back, I didn’t pause to consider that your life could’ve changed; that it did change in a way.”

The area between his eyebrows wrinkles. “You mean Scully?”

Not taking her eyes away from the road, she nods once. “Honestly, I’d heard you had a new partner, but I never expected you to actually appreciate it. Another partner, I mean.” This time, she does glance at him, watching for his reaction. Purposefully blank. “It took me by surprise in a way. And the last time we spoke, before I got shot, I guess I acted disrespectfully about it all – I acted as if I still had a claim over the X-Files despite having left before it even officially started, and I didn’t take into consideration that you and Agent Scully have been working hard at it for years. So, I wanted to apologize for just showing up without considering that my presence and contributions might not be welcome anymore.”

“It’s not a matter of being welcome or not, Diana–"

“I know,” she’s quick to interrupt him. “But I realized that it wasn’t right of me to just show up and expect things to be the same. And for that, I apologize.”

Her speech is laced with just enough remorse for it to pierce his armor and reach his heart.

“Well, now you’re back, and in the X-Files no less,” he tells her flippantly at first, but then reconsiders. There’s no reason for him to take his frustrations with losing the X-Files on her. Staring at her face, he asks instead, “You only want what’s best for the Files, right?”

“Of course,” she replies immediately, moving to look straight into his eyes for as long as she can while driving. She doesn’t even flinch.

In her heart, this isn’t a lie really.

“I don’t know…” he starts, jovially. “I guess D.C. might be big enough for the both of us. Don’t you?”

She smiles in relief. “I do.”

He smiles back, glad to have cleared the air with someone who was once so important in his life. “Good, then.”

Old Smokey did say it would be easier to gain Fox’s trust back if I didn’t antagonize Scully to his face, Fowley admits to herself.

After a short-lived moment of silence, she decides to move forward with her agenda. “I also wanted to apologize for the way I left. Back then.”

This time, Mulder looks reluctant to hear her out. “Diana—”

“Hey, you can say it’s water under the bridge and all that, but what I did wasn’t fair to you,” she squeezes out before he has a chance to interrupt her. She needs to be in his good graces again. “You deserved better. So, I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he acknowledges, “Thank you for saying it.”

Progress, she thinks.

When she disappeared seven years ago, Diana truly was sorry to leave Fox behind. She did love him, and she did love what they were building together. It’s just that she was ambitious – and once she graduated from the Academy and was offered a Legal Attaché appointment in Berlin (with a side promise of access to information on several parascientific phenomena), she didn’t really have to think twice.

It took her less than a year to realize that the non-governmental organization that she was liaising with under FBI orders was actually an undercover global venture managing a project of human-alien cooperation for future colonization.

Well, if the world was going to shit in the future, best she aligns herself with the winning side.

And she did such a good job with it that one of the most powerful men within the Syndicate eventually offered her a chance to come back to the United States, after years of being transferred around Europe and North Africa. A fixed position back home, back in the FBI, to assist his legitimate son’s career as a fed, to show the young man the benefits of joining the Syndicate’s agenda.

Oh, and if she could also help out with his illegitimate son’s career and get him to abandon his self-righteousness and come to the right side of history, that would be great, thank you.

What are the odds that her professional objectives are yet again linked to Fox Mulder?

She now has the chance to kill two birds with a single stone. To move up the professional ladder and convince the man she used to love – the man she oh-so easily can love again – to resume their old plans of romantic and professional partnership, with a minor twitch of allegiances.

“I never meant for it to seem like I didn’t love you, you know,” Diana confesses to him.

Mulder straightens in his seat and chooses his words carefully. “I guess we can say we chose our professional lives over anything else, Diana. And that’s okay – it truly is water under the bridge.”

She stares straight ahead and allows the conversation to die.

She’s conquered enough of his trust for the time being.

********************************

Sunday | August 30, 1998
Phoenix, AZ

Eventually, after all the promise of finding foul-proof evidence of alien life inside the power plant turns into a fiasco, with another dead body and Gibson Praise being yet again abducted, Agent Fowley identifies herself to the facility’s chief of security and manages to escort Mulder out of the building. In the dead of night, they make the drive back to the motel where he’s staying with Scully – and the only time the utter silence inside the vehicle is broken is when Mulder calls his partner on the phone to let her know that he’s coming back.

When Diana stops the car outside his motel room, he doesn’t immediately get out. She kills the engine and looks at him, anticipating his next steps.

He lingers for a moment before turning to look straight at her face. “I saw that creature in the central core. It attacked Gibson’s captor, it tore him apart with supernatural strength.”

“I know,” she reassures him. “I saw the creature myself when I was trying to find another way in.”

He looks at her, determination in his eyes. “This needs to be reported.”

The brunette leans in, her hand crossing the console and resting on his knee. “I’ll report what I can to protect the validity and the existence of the X-Files,” she assures him in a quiet, honey-laced tone. “Remember: we have to be smart here. There’s a greater goal to be achieved.”

He stares at the hand that’s touching his leg as he considers her advice, the words she’d told him on their way to their secret adventure tonight coming to the forefront of his mind.

I never meant for it to seem like I didn’t love you, you know.

The aversion Mulder suddenly feels takes him off guard, and he tenses. His rational mind wants to believe Diana’s touch is legitimately meant to appease him, but his body reacts as if she’s being manipulative. He feels dirty in some way, like the mere act of going out tonight to the power plant and sitting in this car with another agent, with his former lover, is conducive to betrayal.

Looking out the windshield, he notices that the lights to Scully’s room are off – a signal that she’s no longer waiting for him. 

It oddly makes him feel like he’s cheated on her.

With a mere nod in Diana’s direction, Mulder pushes the car door open and steps out. “Thank you for the ride.”

Holding up a façade that hides her resignation, Diana drives away.

********************************

Monday | August 31, 1998
Washington, D.C.

Reassignment to a different division, under a different Assistant Director. Mandatory cessation of all material association with the X-Files. Threat of immediate dismissal during a probationary period in case of refusal to follow such orders. The only things the OPR panel did not strip from Mulder were his grit and his partner.

After leaving the meeting, Mulder was so vexed, he walked out of the Bureau and straight to the closest YMCA to shoot some hoops, work be damned. He didn’t wait for Scully, didn’t try to reach her; he wanted to lick his wounds on his own.

Later that day, when it was already evening and he had a modicum of privacy again, he decided to go back to Headquarters and resume his restoration work of the X-Files that were burnt down in the infamous fire months ago. This time, he at least decided to text Scully to let her know that he would be available again.

Almost two hours later, she surprises him with her presence when she shows up in the room where he’s working hard at reconstructing the X-Files. 

“It would help if you'd shut the door – it would make it harder for them to see that I'm totally disregarding everything I was told,” Mulder tells her with a pinch of sarcasm.

Everything we were told, Mulder,” Scully replies as she closes the door. She’s not in the mood for his self-centeredness right now, not after recent events. Not only did he walk out of the OPR panel today as soon as they got reprimanded and then completely disappeared on her, but he also disregarded that she too has been affected by the brass’s ruling on his poor decision-making.

And not only that, but he split up from her in Arizona to work with his former partner and didn’t even have the courtesy of updating her face-to-face about what happened there. She had to listen to his report in a room full of other agents. And to hers – Diana’s.

“You know, Agent Fowley's report to OPR painted the facts in an interesting way,” she brings up. Even if she’s not particularly happy with him, she never means him harm. “I hope you haven't been betrayed.”

Still, Mulder bristles at the implication. “Agent Fowley's report was a means to an end. Trying to protect the work, protect the X-Files.”

His blind trust in the other woman bothers her to the point of annoyance. “Mulder, Agent Fowley's report states that the man you saw attacked was bludgeoned by an unknown subject. She makes no mention of a little boy who, as it happens, is nowhere to be found. It would seem that her report protects everything but you.”

“Agent Fowley,” he counters as he remains seated, “took me to that plant at great risk to herself, where I saw something that you refuse to believe in. Saw it again, Scully. And though it may not say it in her report, Diana saw it, too. And no matter what you think, she's certainly not going to go around saying that, just because science can't prove it, it isn't true.”

The animosity and hurt she can hear in his tone cut Scully deep. Still, his words provide her with the clarity she needs to recognize where he’s coming from. She doesn’t want to stay at odds with him; she wants to remind him that they’re on the same team. 

So, in a soothing voice, she says, “I don't doubt what you saw, Mulder. I don't doubt you. I'm willing to believe, but not in a lie and not in the opposite of what I can prove.” She needs him to understand, to meet her halfway. “It comes down to a matter of trust.” That gets his attention, so she continues, “I guess it always has.”

He mulls it over, chewing on the insides of his cheek. “You asking me to make a choice?” He sounds defiant but, inside, he’s terrified.

“I'm asking you to trust my judgment. To trust me,” Scully lays it all on the table. And with that, she extends a folder to him.

Mulder doesn’t reach out, afraid of what she’s presenting him with. “I can't accept that. Not if it refutes what I know to be true.”

“Mulder, these are test results,” the redhead explains. “DNA from the claw nail we found, matching exactly the DNA from the virus you believe is extraterrestrial.”

“That's the connection.” He finally takes the folder and looks at the contents.

“Which matches exactly DNA that was found in Gibson Praise,” she adds.

“Wait a minute, I don't understand. You're saying that Gibson Praise is infected with the virus?”

“No. It's a part of his DNA,” Scully explains at first. “In fact, it's a part of all of our DNA. It's called a genetic remnant. It's inactive junk DNA. Except in Gibson it's turned on.”

“So, if that were true, that would mean that Gibson is in some part extraterrestrial,” he says, trying to make sense of these findings.

She looks at him meaningfully. “It would mean that all of us are.”

Mulder remains immobile as he absorbs this information, and then his entire being lightens up. “Thank you, Scully,” he says, ecstatic. “I knew I could count on you,” he adds as he turns around to stuff the lab results in a folder, in anticipation of leaving. 

His offhand remark rips through her like a sniper bullet. Scully has always been aware of her partner’s volatility, but to see how easily he’s moved past the disrespect he’s shown her these last few days, as if nothing happened, hurts her more than she expected. She wishes she could blame it on the hormones from the IVF treatment but, deep down, she knows that’s not it.

“I’ll head to the Gunmen and see if they can help out with it,” he’s saying.

At least he hasn’t mentioned going to Diana with it. Not yet, at least, she thinks.

“Wanna come with?”

Now it’s her who needs to lick her wounds privately. “I’ll pass,” she tries to sound normal, but by the way he’s looking at her, she thinks she wasn’t so convincing. “I’m not feeling that well, actually.”

It’s only half a lie, anyways.

“Is it the hormones?” He asks, to her surprise.

So, apparently, he still remembers the IVF.

Somehow, this only makes her feel worse. 

“Yes,” she lies again, not meeting his eyes this time. “The exertion of the past few days, coupled with the injections, have taken more of a toll than I expected.”

“I’m really excited about it,” he tells her with a smile just as he stands up, towering over her. At her look, he confirms it. “The IVF.”

She wants to cackle at his face, or maybe even scratch his eyes out. Anything that wipes that annoyingly adorable look off his features.

Of course she doesn’t do any of those things, yet something must be apparent on her face, because he’s insisting, “I really am. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise. I know I may get a little –”

“Monomaniacal?” she bites on impulse.

He’s briefly stunned into silence, but does his best to avoid her bait. “Focused,” he finishes. “But I swear, whatever we’re arguing about during office hours, it doesn’t affect how I feel about this,” he tells her, taking her hand in his and hoping he can convince her that he truly means it.

She stares at their joined hands and looks into his eyes, but her focus seems to move through him. “Sure, Mulder. It’s fine.” She lets her hands slip from his. “I have to go. Let me know how it goes with the Gunmen.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else; she just walks away.

For the first time since she’s asked him to make a contribution for the IVF, she feels that their professional partnership and whatever personal relationship they have been inching closer to might truly be in conflict – and, if that’s the case, she needs to figure out if she’ll be able to compartmentalize or not, in which case she’ll have to make a choice.

God, please don’t force me to make a choice.

Chapter Text

Thursday | September 17, 1998
Washington, D.C.

As the elevator doors open at ground level and she steps into the vacant car, she stares at herself in the mirror yet again. Touching the cross hanging on her neck – her trustworthy companion, her source of emotional support –, memories of her feelings when she left this same building almost two years ago, back when she’d first been told she would never bear children, resurface.

I am barren.

This time, Scully forgoes her G-woman armor and opts for more comfortable clothing to make the day easier: a cashmere cardigan with the buttons that pop open easily, her favorite pair of well-worn jeans and white Converse shoes she can’t even remember the last time she wore. She probably passes for a college student, but she’s hoping that in two weeks she’ll get to say she’s a mother-to-be.

Today is finally the day of her first attempt at an embryo transfer.

The car doors open in front of her and, with fearful hopefulness in her heart, she makes her way to the office’s reception desk. She identifies herself, fingers flying to her cross again to steel herself for the upcoming events, and waits for the attendant’s confirmation that Dr. Parenti will be with her shortly.

“Scully,” the breathy, intimate voice in her ear shocks her auditory system and reverberates in her whole body.

She turns on impulse, astonished. “Mulder?”

His sheepish smile is a balm to her soul, and when his hand finds that one spot in her lower back, she feels home. He is her entire emotional support system, she realizes, the only one she truly wants.

Leaning closer into him, she asks in a quiet tone, “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “I didn’t want you to be alone for this.”

She forgets, with that one sentence, that things haven’t been as easy between them these past few months as they used to be. She forgets the hurt he’s recklessly caused her – the heavy weight left by his questionable choices and impulsive actions, the dark shadow of Diana Fowley’s existence that still hovers over them, the near insufferable estrangement that has been consuming their partnership, especially since their allocation under A.D. Kersh's supervision. With less than ten words and only a single touch, he’s reminded her how much she appreciates his encouragement, how much she longs for his presence, yearns for his companionship. He has shown her with his being here how much she misses him. 

And the fact that he holds this power over her – her, a woman who’s always prided herself in being self-sufficient –, leaves a staggering feeling of helplessness deep inside her.

Tears brim her eyes without her consent, but, for once, she allows Mulder to see them. She wants him to know, for this iota of a moment, how much of herself she’s given him willingly, how much of them he’s been taking for granted. Her eyes screen the information for less than two full seconds, like a moving text animation: You’ve hurt me. Thank you for being here.

The pain in his solar plexus is almost unbearable, like his insides are suddenly submerged in sulfuric acid. The vitriol comes not from her, but from his own consciousness.

How could he have damaged their relationship so much without even noticing it?

“Ms. Scully?” the nurse’s voice calls softly, distracting him from his own private purgatory.

When he glances at his partner (can he still call her that?), the tears in her eyes have receded, the windows have been closed, the front door bolted. She’s hiding behind her protective armor again.

“Yes?” Scully forges a smile with her question.

“Please come with me. The doctor will see you now.”

********************************

Scully’s already taken a short rest by herself to avoid her partner’s looming presence, and now, almost a full hour later, she comes out of the doctor’s office and into the reception area. By now, certainly a dubious tip about an improbable (but irresistible) X-File has most likely taken Mulder away from her again, right?

But said Mulder remains there, supportive and expectant, repentless of the cruel sins he’s committed, crimes he doesn’t even realize happened.

She can see it plainly, in his offensively cute Golden Retriever face, the way Mulder truly believes that resenting her professional limits should not – does not – affect their personal relationship. 

It wasn't a betrayal, his eyes are shining. They remind her of the words he’s spoken to her verbatim: whatever we’re arguing about during office hours, it doesn’t affect how I feel about this.

Mulder moves up to her, his hand a welcomed caress against her lower back as he gently walks her out and into the hallway. “Come on, I’ll take you back home.”

“It’s Thursday,” Scully protests. “I have things to do at work; Kersh won’t–,”

“We can play hooky for one morning, Scully,” he interrupts, kindly. He’s not expecting a discussion – she’s not even wearing her usual office suit, after all –, but he still adds, “Your health takes precedence.”

She looks outside, and the sky has that washed, hopeful color of early spring, an unexpected surprise this close to fall season. The breeze seems to be non-existent, as if even the air is holding its breath. 

Selfishly, Scully wishes she took precedence over everything else in the world.

Mulder draws a breath, and the sound gets her to turn back and watch him closely.

I hope it takes, he doesn’t say.

She toys with her fingers, pondering about his reference to the proceeding she just underwent. Right then and there, she decides to make a small promise to herself: she’ll feed the hope she feels inside her with love and care, like a precious seed.

Her fears and frustrations can take a back seat for now.

********************************

Sunday | October 4, 1998
Washington, D.C.

In the dark of her bedroom, Scully sits alone on top of her bed, legs crossed, the plastic stick in her hands. This time, there’s no Mulder here with her. This is something she needs to do on her own.

This is not two weeks ago, when he indeed drove her home. When she reclined on her sofa as he made her some tea and procured a warm water bottle for her back without even being prompted (“Don’t worry, they’re not really hot. I read it’s best to avoid extreme heat or prolonged raised core temperature during the early implantation window as a precaution”). When he sat down on her nearby chair, asked her how she was feeling, and then simply remained quiet in his seat, satisfied in just being there, present for her, after she was economical in her response.

This is not two weeks ago, when lunch time came and he ordered her a caesar salad (“I asked them to hold off on the bacon”), when he tried yet again to get to stay at home (“I’m pretty sure you have a whole year worth of sick days to take by now”), when he even offered to give her a foot massage after work if she wanted (“Whatever you need, Scully”).

No, this is two weeks later, when he’s also spent every business day with her stuck in the bullpen, brooding about their bullshit assignment of background checks and sneaking out at the end of the day – probably to chase down any and all possible X-Files he could get his hands on. This is now, when he’s friendly to her, but not really there - because there’s a lot on his plate, and she’s told him there’s nothing he could do for her.

This is now, when the pregnancy test she’s holding taunts her, the single line shouting in mockery, Nope, it didn’t take.

See? This is why that compartmentalization crap Mulder has been throwing at her for the past month is pushing her buttons – because for a long time she’d tried repeatedly to steer them in a direction that kept their professional lives away from their personal ones, and he had somehow made it past her barriers every single time. Because she was here now, far from shallow waters, and she had only herself to blame.

When she’d first met him, all those years ago, Scully had expected this field assignment to be something that would never seep into her private self. She had steeled herself to be prim and proper and professional, she’d expected to have a conventional partnership (albeit with a partner that had outlandish theories), one that stayed back in the office at the end of the day. And yet, from their first case together, he’d been slowly reeling her in, innocently showing her he wanted to believe her, to trust her, even when experience told him he should beware of her. It made her empathize with him, to show him she had his back, that he could count on her even when the rest of the world wouldn’t give him the same courtesy.

And he had eventually accepted it; accepted her, in his office and in his life.

She had uprooted her career for him, and, when she’d been taken, he had uprooted his life for her. Their FBI partnership then became something unbreakable because it was rooted in a profound sense of camaraderie, of companionship, of it’s us against the world.

At some point, it had made her wary, how much her life was intertwined with his. It had made her rebel, made her seek a way to prove that she was still in control of her own life, that she hadn’t become codependent of him. Her personal mutiny had shook them, and her cancer had put things back into perspective.

Us against the world, indeed.

By that point, it’d dawned on her – and it most likely dawned on him around that same time as well – that, besides being partners in the FBI, they were man and woman. It became clear that there was no way that they could ever have any other relationships in their lives because of how fused together they’d become. How do you go home to someone else’s arms when your life belongs in the hands of someone else?

You don’t, she’d realized. You either have it all with that one person in your life, or you remain alone in your bed at night.

For this entire IVF journey, Mulder has made her believe she could trust him with everything she had, including her heart. That all aspects of their lives were linked, that their personal connection was the foundation for their partnership and, at the same time, that their partnership was the foundation for any private relationship they could come to have – maybe as co-parents, maybe even as lovers.

Up until their return from Antarctica, even if Diana Fowley had already made a comeback into his life, Scully deep down had still believed that she and Mulder together were the only occupants in the intersection of all circles in a Venn diagram. Yet, after both of the OPR fiascos this past month, now that they no longer have the X-Files, she’s noticed that he’s been consistently taking her for granted again. And after everything they’ve been through, to have him back to sneaking around behind her back at work, back to treating her as an afterthought and merely indulging her professional concerns rather than valuing her opinion, like it’s 1993 all over again... it hurts her. To have him so much as think that it should be easy to compartmentalize… it’s a crack in their partnership. 

So, it’s clear as day in Scully’s mind: if there’s a crack in their partnership, then there’s no room for any further advancements in their private relationship. Mulder might act with love and care for a day, or a couple of days, maybe a few weeks or months, but as long as their partnership is on rocky ground, it all stands to crumble eventually.

I.e., she’s condemned to being on her own every night for the rest of her life, with no warm body beside her.

And with no blessed child in her foreseeable future.

Maybe it’s a good thing the IVF didn’t work. Maybe this way they can forget this was ever a possibility, and focus on the one thing that really matters at this point – repairing their partnership.