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The rain was pounding on his window like a snare drum, a sure sign that he should stay in bed. Getting up would mean facing the grey. Facing the wet. Facing… everything.
The only force that moved him enough to roll out of bed and trudge to the bathroom was the fact that Scully would be disappointed if he missed work. She had a way of motivating him like no one else.
He brushed his teeth and combed his hair and threw on any old outfit (he was pretty sure it was clean) and headed in.
The sky unmercifully dumped buckets on him between his car and the building. Rats.
On the way through the main office to the elevator, he ignored the looks of pity and curiosity from the agents peeking over their desk dividers. He was sure he looked just like one of the rain clouds outside but he couldn’t bring himself to care, couldn’t get himself to meet any of their eyes long enough to plaster on a smile.
The basement was quiet and their office looked dark; a bitter pang hit his stomach. He swung the door open and glanced around the room.
It took him a split second to find her standing at the filing cabinet, examining a file he had left open on top with her hands tucked neatly behind her back.
“Good morning, Scully,” he said, a smile spreading across his face as his wet clothes were forgotten.
She turned to look at him, eyeing his dampness. “Do you not own an umbrella?”
Despite himself, he chuckled. “You stole mine, remember?”
“Because you broke mine!” She smiled back. “I thought you were going to buy a new one.”
His smile softened. “On days like today, we usually share.”
“Hm.” She turned away, looking out the tiny window at the grey sky. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Mulder flopped into the desk chair with a sigh. “Nothing. Skinner’s still keeping us from fieldwork.”
“Skinner’s keeping you from fieldwork,” she corrected quickly, as though it were second nature. “I assume, however, that you have another plan?”
He smiled. “You know me well. I have a lead on another possible abduction in Maryland.”
One of her eyebrows drifted upward. “Are you sure Skinner’s not going to have your ass for leaving work?”
“I’m taking my own car. He’ll never know.”
“People might talk.”
He barked out a laugh. “Who? Laverne and Shirley down the hall? They wouldn’t.”
Her brow furrowed as he poked fun at their neighbors, the records agents, and he felt a pang in his chest.
“You shouldn’t call them names,” she scolded. “They brought you cookies last week.”
“I never asked for their pity,” he bit out, despite the guilt pooling in his chest.
“It’s not pity. You’re not taking care of yourself and they noticed,” she bit back. “And, you know, maybe they miss-”
He grabbed his coat, cutting her off, and stormed toward the door. “We need to get to the crime scene.”
The door slammed behind him, cutting off her long sigh.
—
The storm followed them to Maryland, raindrops racing each other up the windshield and across the windows. She leaned her temple against the cool glass, staying quiet for the ride.
“Sunflower seed?” He proffered the bag.
She glanced at the bag and then met his gaze, giving him a very long look. He let the bag drop between them into the cupholder as a pit formed in his stomach.
The silence became too much so he turned on the radio, settling for a station playing Van Halen and cranking the volume up as high as he could stand.
She made a face, but, as he began to sing at the top of his lungs, she smiled affectionately and rolled her eyes in that way that made his heart do flips and somersaults in his chest.
It had stopped raining when they got to the crime scene, but the damp and cold still hung in the air. Mulder thought about offering her his coat, but he didn’t want another one of those long looks thrown his way, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
The local sheriff was there to debrief him about the disappearance of a young woman - Jeanne Brent, age 29, high school science teacher - from the area they were standing in. A local farmer claimed he had seen Jeanne walking through his field at about 3:00 AM that morning. There had been flashing, bright lights and high winds and then, suddenly, she was gone.
It was an achingly familiar story.
Mulder pulled on a pair of gloves and scanned the area. The vegetation had been blown over in the wind making the ground difficult to search but, amidst the grasses, he found a small, silver charm bracelet.
His heart clenched as he placed it in an evidence bag and handed it over to the local CSI unit, keeping his hands carefully at his sides, trying not to think about the feel of the cold metal against his fingers.
She wandered around the perimeter of the scene, looking into the woods at the far end of the field. He tried to catch her eye, but she didn’t look his way.
He wasn’t brave enough to ask what she was thinking anyway.
Jeanne Brent had never been abducted before. Other than the manner in which she had been abducted, Mulder could see nothing else familiar about her disappearance. Regardless, as he climbed back into his car, he looked over at her with his usual smile.
“Classic alien abduction.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mulder, it can’t be-”
“Oh come on, Scully.” He turned the car on and pulled out onto the road. “The lights? The field?”
“There’s an airfield nearby, it could have been an airplane!”
“Airplanes don’t kidnap people.”
“A helicopter, then.” She threw him a look.
He smiled harder, enjoying the feeling of their usual banter. “Sure, Scully. A helicopter.”
The feeling faded as they drove for a bit in silence.
“Mulder, I know this seems familiar, but there’s not that much similarity. Where do you think this is going to lead?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“The trail has been cold for so long and you know that Maggie really wants to stop-”
“I DON’T KNOW.” he snapped. He couldn’t bear to hear the end of that sentence. He couldn’t.
She went quiet for a moment. “I think maybe you should call it a day.”
Deep in his heart, he knew she was right; there was no way he would be able to focus on work now.
He drove straight home without stopping by the office. Skinner would be more likely to notice him come back in and leave than if Mulder just never came back at all. The assistant director was observant and Mulder didn’t want to face his questions and demands for Mulder to take more time off.
Maybe if Skinner had noticed their office was dark he would assume Mulder had taken a day and finally get off his back about it.
The sky opened again, gently dropping rain on the car. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed in the distance. Mulder looked toward it on instinct and clenched his jaw.
—
She sat on his couch as he shuffled through his freezer, looking for dinner.
“What should we eat, Scully? Looks like I’ve got a lasagna, some chicken cordon blue, some Salisbury steaks…” he poked his head up from the kitchen and smiled widely at her. “Any of that striking your fancy?”
Her head tilted and she fixed him with that long look again. “Mulder, you know I don’t-”
“Chicken cordon it is, then.” He pulled the box out of the freezer and put a couple on a baking sheet, turning the oven on.
When he turned around again, she was standing at the table. “You need to talk to someone about this. The Bureau has plenty of therapists available-”
“I don’t need a therapist.” He smiled at her, though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have you.”
“I’m not a therapist,” she said firmly.
“But you’re my doctor,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Her face softened and she looked at him in that sad way that made his stomach churn. “ She’s your doctor. Dana Scully is your doctor. I’m not her.”
Mulder flinched.
She came around the table and stood in front of him, moving for a second like she wanted to reach out and take his hands, but they both knew she couldn’t. He looked down.
“Why don’t you call Maggie tonight and chat with her. I think she would like that,” she coaxed.
“I don’t have any good news. I still haven’t found you. I don’t even have a lead.” He kept his gaze fixed on his sock-clad feet.
“She cares about you beyond your ability to find her daughter.” She leaned down, forcing him to meet her clear, blue eyes. He relaxed a bit as she smiled at him. “Call her. Ask her how her day was. You know she had a book club meeting this afternoon; ask her about that.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“And then call one of the Bureau therapists.”
He shook his head, but she gave him a firm look. “If you won’t do it for me, then do it for her. For the real Scully.”
For a moment, they locked eyes, gazes equally unyielding, until Mulder cracked a smile.
“Even in my head, you’re so logical. And probably always right.”
She gave him a half smile. “Your oven is ready.”
Behind him, the appliance beeped. He turned, opened the door, and slid the sheet inside, careful to keep his fingers away from the metal rack as he realized he had forgotten to put a mitt on.
He stood and shut the oven door, staring at the stovetop for a moment, not wanting to turn around. Looking at the white surface, he could still see the afterimage of her red hair and blue eyes. The colors were reversed; orange was bluish and blue was orangish. He closed his eyes as it all faded away.
He turned around. She was gone.
A hand drifted to his throat, to the gold cross that hung there, warm against his chest.
Thunder cracked outside.
He watched the rain race down the window in his living room for a moment before grabbing his phone to dial Maggie Scully.