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"Frohike, you're not 5'8"," Mulder said, shaking his head as he held the other man's phone. "You're not even 5'2"."
Frohike shrugged, his feet up on the desk of Mulder's office. "Nobody tells the truth on these things."
"How do you think it's gonna go over when you show up a half a foot shorter than your profile states?"
"By then, we would have had enough witty repartee that they won't even mind. That's why you have to take your time talking to them on the app for a while before you meet up. By the time you meet, they won't care what you look like if they've already fallen in love."
"And exactly how many women has this strategy of yours worked on so far?" Mulder asked.
Frohike paused. "Well, it's still in the testing phase."
"Mmmhmmmm," Mulder replied, tossing the phone back to Frohike.
"What about you?"
"What about me?" Mulder asked, adding a news story about a Bigfoot sighting to the wall behind his desk with a pushpin.
"What does your profile say?"
"I don't have one. You know there's only one woman for me."
"Yeah, well that 'one woman' has a dinner date on her calendar with someone named 'T' tomorrow," Frohike replied.
Mulder turned over his shoulder to look at him. "How do you know that?"
"We were over at her place last week. I saw it on the digital notepad that's built into her fridge."
"She has a digital notepad built into her fridge?"
Frohike sighed. "That's not the real take away from this story, man. Get your head on straight. She has a date."
Choosing to ignore that information for the second time, Mulder asked. "What were you guys doing over there?"
"She needed some help setting up some devices."
"Why didn't she call me?"
Frohike laughed. "To help her with tech? You're funny.... Did you know she's dating?"
Mulder sat in a chair on the other side of the desk, crossing one leg over the other, with his foot bouncing anxiously. "I mean... I guess. I don't really want to think about it, but I guess in the back of my mind I figured she probably was."
Frohike nodded, studying Mulder, who refused to make eye contact and was instead fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his pants. "Are you planning to do anything about that?" he asked.
Mulder shrugged. "I figure now that we're working together again things will straighten themselves out. We'll be on the road again, she won't have time for dating, we'll fall back into our old routine… and then things will just go back to normal eventually."
"How's that plan working out for you so far?"
Mulder looked up with a wry smile. "It's still in the testing phase," he replied, repeating Frohike's previous statement.
The older man pursed his lips and nodded, then held out his hand. "Give me your phone.” Reluctantly, Mulder handed it over. He watched as Frohike fiddled with it for a few moments. "Ok. You're what 6'1"?
"6 feet."
"OK, so 6'1". 175 pounds?"
"185."
"Alright, so 180," Frohike continued. He continued to type for a few moments, then, seemingly happy with his work, he read out loud. "Looking for a love that's out of this world. 50 something well-traveled bachelor seeking a partner in crime. Independently wealthy, but recently came out of an early retirement to pass the time. If you're into star gazing, hiking in the woods in search of rare species, and extraordinary adventures, I'm your guy. And I used your real name. 'Fox' is going to be a great conversation starter."
"Melvin...." Mulder began, shaking his head.
Frohike waved him off as he continued to work. He moved to Mulder's photo album and began to scroll. There was nothing recent, and the only things he found were blurry pictures taken in the woods, and old pictures of him with Scully. It was his turn to shake his head. "You don't have a single picture of yourself without her in it?" Mulder just shrugged. Frohike gestured for him to sit up straighter, then directed him to turn his head to the right, staging him to look like it was a candid shot. Then he directed him to look directly at the camera and smile. Within another moment, he sat back, satisfied. "There. Published. Now we wait and-"
The phone dinged. Frohike's eyes went wide.
"What?" Mulder asked.
"You've already gotten a match!" Frohike replied. The phone dinged again. "What the hell, man? Do you know how long it took me to get my first match?!" The phone dinged again. Frohike scowled, looking at each of the matches. "Ooooh, hello."
"What?" Mulder repeated. Frohike turned the phone to show him a picture of a beautiful blonde woman with a captivating smile. Frohike then swiped on the phone and her picture disappeared. "What just happened?"
"You liked her back," Frohike replied, distracted as he continued to look at the screen and swipe in different directions as he looked. He then began to type in between swipes. "Alright. Tomorrow night you've got drinks at 6 pm with Kelsey. Just drinks, because you've got dinner with Marcie at 7:30. Then, more drinks at 9 pm with Shannon."
"Jesus, Frohike!"
"We're casting a wide net," the other man replied. "Wear something black and sexy."
****************************
"....and then she had the nerve to tell me that I was the problem! Can you believe that?!?!"
"Uh, no," Mulder replied, his elbow on the bar with his head resting in his hand. "No, I can't believe it."
He chewed on the straw from his drink and really tried his best to engage, but since he had walked into the bar and introduced himself to the woman he recognized from the app, he hadn't gotten another word in edgewise. I was clear that what this woman needed wasn't a date, it was a therapist. And he just didn't have it in him to provide any psycho analysis. He tried to surreptitiously look at his watch to check the time. He only had 15 minutes of this to go.
"So, what do you do?" she asked, interrupting his reverie.
"Hmm? Oh, I work for the government," he replied. "Boring stuff, really." If you could consider being at the center of a worldwide conspiracy to conceal the truth about extraterrestrials boring.
"Oh, like the IRS or something?"
"FBI," he replied.
She suddenly sat up straighter. "You're a cop?"
"Well, not technically. I'm an FBI agent."
"But that's law enforcement."
"It is."
"You know you're supposed to disclose if you're a cop."
Still lazing against the bar, Mulder just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Well, technically, I don't have to identify myself unless it's within the course of investigation, and even at that there are times where agents will be working undercover and won't -"
She cut him off with a drink to the face, causing his jaw to drop and the straw to fall out of his mouth. "Save it, pig," she retorted before picking her purse up off the bar and storming toward the front door.
Mulder looked down at his now soaked shirt. Not only was it soaked, but it was soaked in alcohol, so he was going to show up to his dinner date smelling like a Cosmopolitan, and the pink was surely going to stain.
"Was that as fun for you as it was for me?" the bartender asked, handing him a towel.
Mulder looked up to see her smiling at him good-naturedly from behind the bar. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a wry smile. "I doubt it," he replied, accepting the towel and pressing it against the rapidly staining wet spot on his shirt.
"I give you credit," the woman replied. "I can't believe you sat there listening to her for as long as you did. I was ready to walk out and I'm obligated to be here."
"Well, if you're lucky, you'll get to be witness to a 9 pm showing of the same thing."
"Wow, bringing two women to the same bar in the same evening. That's a power move."
"Is it?" he asked. "I guess. My friend set all this up. This is the first time I've been on a date in... I dunno? 30 years?"
The woman's eyes went wide. "Divorced or widowed?"
"I guess the first," he replied. "We never actually got married, but after that long, does it really matter?"
The woman sighed. "I take it this isn't your choice?"
He matched her sigh with one of his own. "I guess that depends on who you ask. I wasn't the one who walked out the door, but you could say that my choices led me here."
"Did you cheat?"
"No."
"Did you lie?"
"No."
"Are you an alcoholic? A drug abuser?"
"No!"
"Well," she replied, drawing the syllable out. "What choices then?"
"It's a long story," he replied. "And I've got dinner next door in 10 minutes. If you're still here for the next disaster, maybe I'll fill you in. What's your name?"
"Nikki," she replied, sticking her hand out to him over the bar. He took it and gave it a firm shake, then turned to head toward the door. "Wait! You didn't give me your name?"
"It's Bob," he replied, falling back on the old faithful that kept him out of having to explain Fox to one more person.
"Good luck, Bob."
*******************************
"No, I asked for the filet," the auburn-haired beauty sitting across from Mulder told the waiter who had just set down her plate.
"Yes, ma'am, this is the filet," the young man replied.
The woman scoffed. "This is not a filet," she replied haughtily.
The waiter set Mulder's meal in front of him before replying, "If you'd like me to verify with the kitchen, I'm happy to do so, but this is a well-done filet, as you asked."
"A filet is much pinker than this."
"Yes, it can be, if it's ordered medium or lighter, but when you request well, it's not going to have any of the pink left," the waiter replied with much more patience than Mulder would have been able to muster in his position.
The woman pointed to Mulder's steak. "Look at his. Now that is a filet."
"It's the same cut of meat, ma'am. Your dining companion just asked for his to be medium rare, which is why it's a different color."
The woman let out a very loud, clearly perturbed sigh. "I think I know what a filet is," she snapped back. "Now, take this back to the kitchen, and bring me one out that looks like that."
"No, no," Mulder replied, picking up his plate and handing it to her. "It's fine, let's just switch."
"That isn't the point," she replied, turning her frustration on him. "I asked for something, and I expect to be served what I asked for."
Mulder stood just enough to set his plate in front of her, then held his hands out for the waiter to give him the other one. He gave the waiter an apologetic smile before sitting back down. "There," he said. "Crisis averted."
The woman snorted. "I hardly think so," she shot back. "It would have been nice if you would have stood up for me there."
Mulder reached for the pepper grinder in the center of the table, his hand pausing briefly as he tried to take in what she’d just said. "I wasn't aware you needed assistance. It seemed like you had no problem jumping into handle your own perceived problem."
She let out a stunned laugh. "A perceived problem?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising enough that the diners at the table next to theirs turned to look. He gave them the same apologetic smile he had offered to the waiter. "That wasn't my perception, that was the wrong cut of meat."
"No, the waiter was quite right, actually. A filet comes from the tip of the tenderloin, and is a delicate piece of meat, which should be fork-soft," he replied, not looking up at her as he tried to demonstrate with his fork. "However, you asked for yours to be well done, which means that, in my opinion, it's overcooked, and see? No longer fork tender."
He finally looked up at her and was surprised at the anger on her face. "You're kidding me."
He shook his head as he used his knife to cut a piece of the meat. "No, no joke. It's part of how the tenderloin got it's name."
"Oh, so what, you're a cattle farmer now? You know all about beef production?"
He just let out a little laugh as he chewed through the meat. "No, but I suppose now is probably the appropriate time to tell you that I'm an FBI agent."
"Ha!" she let out a humorless laugh as she stood up and threw her napkin down on the table. "A federal employee? So, you don't make any money," she surmised. She let out another laugh at some joke that he was failing to find as she picked up her purse and dug into it for her cellphone. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. Thanks for wasting my time, Fox," she spat before making her hasty exit.
He turned to the table next to him and apologized for the display, before then switching the plates back so he had the steak that he had actually ordered. No sense letting the meal go to waste. If he noticed the couple at the other table giving him pitying looks as he sat there and ate his meal alone, he didn't let on. Eating alone was something he was used to, so it didn't faze him one bit.
"Sir, I am so sorry," the waiter came hurrying over. "I shouldn't have fought her on the filet."
Still chewing, Mulder shook his head, as well as motioning with the knife and fork in his hands. "No, please don't apologize. You were absolutely not the problem there."
"First date?" the waiter asked.
"First and last, I'd say, based on the evidence at hand," Mulder replied. "Do you think I could get a box for that other steak? My dog will love it later tonight."
"Absolutely, sir."
Enjoying the rest of his meal in silence, Mulder looked down to see that the stain on his shirt from his first run-in of the evening wasn't all that bad after all, and in the dim lighting of the restaurant was barely noticeable. He was hopeful that the bar he would be returning to would also be dimly lit. He didn't really know why he was going through with this. He supposed, if anything, he was trying to prove a point to Frohike about this whole thing, so he would stick it out for the third date of the evening. He paid for the meal, tipped well, and took the doggy bag for Daggoo.
*****************************************
"Before I even sit down, I should tell you that I'm an FBI agent," Mulder began as he approached the woman who matched the photo for his final date.
She grinned up at him from the barstool, her smile bright and wide and her hazel eyes twinkling. "Should I consider this an interrogation, then?" she asked good naturedly.
He let out a breath as he sat on the stool next to her. "Phew," he made a show of wiping his brow. "You won't believe it, but that same piece of information has led to me being stormed out on by two other women tonight already."
The woman let out a hearty laugh. "I don't know what's better; the fact that you're showing up to a first date in a stained shirt with a doggy bag, or the fact that you just told me I'm the last of three dates tonight. Or maybe I shouldn't assume I'm the last?"
"Oh, no, you are. Trust me, I'm never doing this again," he replied, waving as the same bartender from earlier in the evening caught his eye.
She laughed again. "I take it you're new to the dating scene?" she asked. "I did notice that today was your first day on the app."
"I am," he replied, feeling an immense amount of relief at the easy going, calm, and confident nature that this woman exuded. "I guess it's probably not proper etiquette to tell someone that they're the third of three dates in the same night?"
"No, it's actually refreshing, I've got to tell you," she replied. "I appreciate the honesty. Full disclosure, you're my second one this week. I don't know why people are so cagey about it. We're all out here doing the same thing; just trying to find the right person to spend more time with."
"I've got to say, you're pretty refreshing yourself," Mulder replied.
"Hey Bob," the bartender approached them. Mulder's date raised an eyebrow at that. "What'll it be?"
Mulder looked to his companion. "Shannon? Whatever you order, please make sure it's clear so that when you inevitably throw it in my face later it won't add to the stain on my shirt."
She gave another hearty laugh. "In that case, let's make it a Titos martini, extra dry, dirty, please."
Mulder looked to Nikki. "Sounds great," he replied, though he had no idea what any of it meant. "Make it two."
Once the bartender was out of earshot, Shannon leaned in. "Bob?" she asked on a whisper. "Your profile says your name is Fox.... are you undercover?"
Mulder laughed. "No." He pulled out his badge and showed it to her. "My name really is Fox, but I don't go by it. Most people call me Mulder. If I must give a name, I usually pick one that doesn't require the perfunctory 'is your name really Fox' song and dance."
She grinned at him. "OK. So, what do you want me to call you? Fox? Bob? Mulder? Jim? Sam?”
He laughed. "Let's stick with Mulder," he replied.
"I like it. Ok, then instead of you calling me Shannon, how about you call me by my last name; Breward? Then it'll feel like we're on one of those unbelievable procedural drama tv shows, only calling each other by our last names."
He smiled, deciding not to ruin things by telling her that was how it really was. "Alright, so you know I'm an FBI agent. What do you do?"
"I'm a teacher. I teach third grade at the International Academy."
Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Wow, impressive. That means you teach the children of some very important people in this world."
"It's very different, that's for sure. I've been at the Academy for the last 5 years; before that I was working in the public schools," she responded.
He half listened to her talk for the next several minutes as she filled him in more on what her days were like. He felt guilty for enjoying himself so much, and for allowing himself to be intrigued by this woman. He picked up his martini, ready to take a sip when over Shannon's head he saw an oh so familiar redhead walk into the bar, followed immediately by none other than Tad O'Malley. Tad fuckin’ O’Malley. His eyes went wide and he felt some of the drink spill onto his lap as his hand shook. Shannon caught his expression, so she turned to look in the same direction.
"Oh my God, is that that insane Tad O'Malley?" she whispered.
Her quick turnaround caught Scully's attention, and from across the room her eyes met Mulder's. They were frozen for a few seconds before he saw her take a deep breath, set her shoulders, and put on a smile as she began walking toward them.
"Mulder," she said by way of greeting.
"Scully," he replied, having a hard time speaking as he felt his mouth go dry. Of all the gin joints in all of the towns in all of the world, she had to walk into mine….
"Mulder," Tad also said, sticking his hand out. Mulder hoped the other man couldn't feel that he was shaking, so he overcompensated with an exaggerated pumping of his arm in greeting.
"Tad," he replied.
Sensing the tension, Shannon looked back and forth between the three of them before clearing her throat. Scully was looking at him expectantly.
"Oh... uh, Dana Scully and Tad O'Malley, this is uh..." his mind blanked. He thought of all of the women he had met that evening and damn if he could remember which one she was all of a sudden. "Uh, sorry, this is Nikki."
The brunette woman turned and looked at him, confusion in her eyes. "It's Shannon," she said to him at first, then turning back to the other two. "I'm Shannon," she told them, her voice obviously deflated.
Scully, of course, was perfectly gracious and shook the other woman's hand without making it any more awkward. Clearly oblivious, Tad put his hand on Scully's back and gestured toward a table nearby. That's where my hand goes, was all Mulder could think. You can't touch her there.
"Dana," he heard the other man say, and he knew he didn't hide the look of disgust on his face when he heard her first name come out of another man's mouth. "Let's get a table."
Scully turned to him and nodded, and Mulder did his best to try to read her, but she was intentionally expressionless. She turned back to Shannon, avoiding eye contact with Mulder. "Shannon, it was lovely to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Still refusing to look at Mulder, she turned back to Tad and allowed him to steer her toward the empty table he had indicated. Shannon turned to study Mulder's face.
"OK, I know we joked around about this at the beginning, but really? You couldn't remember my name?" she asked, sounding dejected.
Mulder shook his head to clear it, then apologized. "I'm sorry, Shannon. That just really took me by surprise."
"Who was that?"
He cleared his throat. "That's my partner. My FBI partner," he replied, trying to think of how to continue. Lying seemed like the best choice in the moment. "She uh... like you said, Tad O'Malley is insane, and it just blows my mind that my partner is seeing him."
Tentatively accepting his response, she nodded. "Fair enough. I can’t believe you actually know him. And I can't imagine any sane person actually dating him."
"She's quite competent," Mulder replied, hearing the defensive tone in his voice. "Brilliant, actually. She's a scientist and a medical doctor."
Not picking up on his tone, Shannon tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrow. "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it," she replied. "I mean, have you seen his show? I can't imagine being so paranoid. I bet he believes in Bigfoot."
"I believe in Bigfoot," Mulder retorted.
She laughed out loud, before taking in the serious expression on his face. "Oh..." she replied. "I'm sorry, I uh... I shouldn't judge someone like that. It's not a good look."
Taking a large gulp of his drink, Mulder tried to put himself back into the moment. He shrugged casually. "Well, to your point, most people do think it's insane," he answered, trying to right the ship.
She studied him again for another moment before asking, "So, what exactly is it that you and Dana do for the FBI?"
Snorting a laugh, he figured why not lay it all out there. "We head up a small division that is responsible for taking a deeper look into cases that other divisions have deemed unsolvable. Scu - uh, Dana, is a scientist and a medical doctor, as I said, and I am a trained psychologist with a specialty in profiling, so we use those skills when a case requires a different investigative angle."
She stared deep into his eyes. "You just said a lot of words, but I'm still not exactly clear on what it is that you do."
"We investigate paranormal cases."
She slowly nodded her head. "So.... Bigfoot?"
He let out another soft laugh. "Yeah. Bigfoot." And aliens, weremonsters, international conspiracies, alien human hybrid clones… oh, and the occasional vampire. He just shrugged.
She didn't seem completely turned off, though, much to his surprise. "Wow. I had no idea that such a division even existed in the FBI. That's like, some Friday night Fox network fictional TV show stuff."
He took a deep breath and shrugged again, a look on his face that indicated he didn't know what else to say. "It's kinda hard to fit all that in a dating app profile," was his eventual response.
Their conversation continued, she ordered another round of drinks for them, and he tried - he really tried - to get back to the feeling that he had right before Scully had walked in, but he couldn't. During any break in conversation, he would find another generic question to ask to keep her talking. Truth be told, he should have just wrapped it up and cut his losses, but he didn't want to leave as long as Scully was there with that asshole. He was nodding and adding in the odd "mmhmm" or "yeah" or "right" when it was appropriate, but he was completely zoned out, fighting the urge with every passing second to look over his shoulder to spy on them.
"....but then I seen it for myself and-"
Suddenly he snapped back to attention.
"I'm sorry?" he asked. "What was that?"
"I said that I didn't believe it but then I seen it for myself when-"
"Saw," he interrupted her.
"What?" she asked.
"Saw. You saw," he over enunciated. "It's 'I saw' or 'I've seen'. It's not 'I seen'."
"Okay...." she responded reluctantly. "I didn't realize that the FBI also had a grammar division."
"Well, it's very basic grammar," he responded, knowing how shitty he sounded as he continued to mansplain. "I mean, if you're going to be teaching the children of world leaders during their formative years, you'd think that you'd know how to conjugate a verb appropriately."
She laughed, this time humorlessly. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" she asked, though her voice remained even. "You told me I'm the third of three dates tonight, you forgot my name, you obviously consort with that nutjob O’Malley enough that he knew you by name, you completely checked out of the conversation - but not before telling me that you believe in Bigfoot and you chase little green men for a living - and you have the nerve to now be a dick about the verbiage I used?"
"Grey," he said.
Clearly exasperated, she asked, "What?"
"Grey. You said little green men. The reticulan skin tone is actually grey."
There was that laugh again, and before he knew it, there was one more drink being tossed in his face. She had an exasperated and disbelieving look on her face as she took her purse off the bar. "Go to hell, Fox," she stated before walking away.
With quick reflexes, he caught the towel that Nikki, the bartender, tossed to him. "Bro," she said. "I'm starting to think that maybe you're the problem."
He snorted. "Tell me about it," he replied quietly. He did his best to sop up the alcohol, grateful that at least - what was her name? Oh yeah, Shannon - that at least Shannon had taken his advice on ordering a clear drink. He tossed the now damp towel onto the bar, then grabbed some napkins to wipe the liquid off the Styrofoam box that Daggoo's leftovers were in, as it had been caught in the crossfire.
"Is this seat taken?" He heard a familiar voice ask from close behind his left ear.
"Help yourself," he sighed. "Though I have to warn you, I'm not great company tonight."
Scully slid into the barstool next to him, motioning for Nikki to come over. She sent away the martini glasses and ordered two gin and tonics with lime. She held one out to him, and when he took it, she tapped the rim of her glass to his in a cheer.
"Dinner and a show," she ribbed him.
He just shrugged, and lifted his hands. "Always here for your entertainment, Scully," he grumbled. "Speaking of entertainment, where's your celebrity boyfriend?"
She laughed. "Tad?" she asked. "Mulder, he wants to do a story on the kids I was working with at the hospital. I told him he'd have to give me a very clear explanation on how he planned to report on it, so it wouldn't turn into another Monday morning conspiracy meme." He just nodded, looking into his drink. "Mulder, look at me," she said. He reluctantly looked up. "That wasn't a date, Mulder. And, if you'll allow me to make an observation... it doesn't look like what happened here was really a date either."
He laughed. "Hardly. This was actually my third 'not date' tonight, believe it or not."
Now she laughed, loudly, and he forgot how much he missed the sound of it. And how much he missed being the one to be able to coax it out of her. With a self-deprecating smile on his face, he just raised his hands again.
"Mulder, you don't know how to date," she said.
"I don't think that really needs to be said," he replied.
"Frohike?" she asked.
He nodded, appreciating how well she knew him. God, it felt so good to be known. "Yup."
"And you let him rope you into this?"
"He told me that you had a date lined up tonight with 'T'. He saw it on your fridge."
"Ahhhhh," Scully replied. "I get it now. Well, he wasn't wrong. My calendar did say I had a dinner date tonight, but it wasn't a date date, Mulder.... if you were worried about it, why didn't you just ask?"
"It's not really any of my business anymore, is it?" he replied.
"Mulder," she began, then paused, not entirely sure she knew what she was going to say next. Her voice got quieter. "Mulder, it's always your business. It never really stopped being your business."
He leaned onto the bar with his forearms, then turned to look at her again. "What do you mean?"
"I mean.... I mean, we're us. I know we're in a... different place on our journey, Mulder, but we're always going to be us."
He shook his head. "Scully, you're not making any sense."
She sighed. "I didn't want this, Mulder. I know I'm the one who left, but I didn't want this. I just didn't know what else to do."
He nodded, biting his lower lip. She had said that to him before. He hadn't been able to believe it then, but maybe he could start to believe it now.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Tonight wasn't a date with Tad, but have you been on dates?"
"Do you really want to know?"
He dropped his head onto his arms. "I guess that's my answer."
"They went about how yours went tonight," she continued. "I tried, but do you know how hard it is to carry on a normal conversation? Do you know how hard it is to find something to talk about that a lay person will understand?"
"See why I prefer to lock myself in my office?" he asked, feeling vindicated.
She smiled. "We've seen too much," she agreed. "We were never going to be able to go on with 'normal' lives after all we've seen and all we've done. Besides..."
When she didn't continue, he prompted her. "Go on."
She took a deep breath. "Nobody is you. A conversation with anyone else in the world is never going to stimulate my brain the way that a conversation does with you."
"And nobody is ever going to fight me tooth and nail, every step of the way like you," he responded.
"I think that's a compliment?" she asked with a smile. He nodded.
They finished their drinks, and when it was time to go, he was stumbling. For someone who didn't drink, the amount of alcohol he'd consumed that evening caught up with him quickly. Scully paid the tab and made sure to pick up Daggoo's leftovers off the bar so he didn't forget them. She saw him fumbling with his phone as they walked out onto the sidewalk. He was holding it closer to his face, then further away, then closer, then further away.
"This damn thing is so blurry," he grumbled.
"No, it's the fact that you refuse to wear your progressives. And you're a little drunk Mulder. What are you doing?"
"Well, for one, I'm trying to delete this fucking app. And I need an Uber."
"You don't need an Uber."
"You said it yourself, G-Woman," he replied, attempting to elbow her, and nearly falling over. She put her hand around his arm to steady him. "I'm drunk."
"I'll drive you home," she answered.
He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Ooooh la la," he slurred. "Are you trying take advantage of me in my inebriated state?"
She rolled her eyes. "You wish. I need to make sure you get home safe and that you don't forget to feed my dog these leftovers."
"Your dog?" he asked, exaggerating the first word as she steered him to where she was parked on the street.
"Ok, our dog," she replied, doing her best to keep him walking in a straight line. She used her remote key to start the black Explorer before they got to it, then helped Mulder pour himself into the passenger seat. He rolled the window down as she began to walk around the front of the vehicle.
"Hey, Scully?"
She walked back to where he had his head lolling out the window. "Yes?" she asked, trying to keep a straight face as she looked at him.
"I love you," he replied.
She was prepared to hit him with an "oh, brother" but then looking at him knew that he needed something more from her in that moment. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I love you, too, Mulder."