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Chapter Text

Mulder enjoys field work most of the time. He excels at gathering information from interviewing both witnesses and suspects by asking the questions no one else thinks to ask.

Right now, he would like to ask this sleazy bookstore owner what gives him the right to stand so damn close to Scully. With each passing second, Mulder feels more sure that the embarrassingly eager book seller must be the killer. The urge to arrest him is strong.

Unfortunately, flirting with Scully won’t hold up as probable cause. Mulder frowns, disappointed with the direction this day is taking.

The case had started promisingly enough.
Local PD requested Mulder for his profiling expertise, but it is Scully’s thoroughness while autopsying the latest victim that provided the first solid lead.

The killer had hidden a folded up page from a somewhat rare copy of Wuthering Heights in the victim’s nasal cavity. Further examination of the previous five victims provided five more pages.
It was a good catch, and Mulder finds it deeply satisfying to see others recognize Scully’s excellence. The local Medical Examiner’s office insisted that there had been no cause to check the victims’ nasal cavities, but none of them were as thorough as Scully. He relishes being able to brag about her brilliance.

What he does not relish is watching some jerk try to pick up Scully in the middle of a case.

“Are you a fan of Wuthering Heights, Agent Scully?” asks Theodore Bell, the proprietor of Bell’s Books, rather intrusively. Why is he asking? How is that relevant? Aren’t they supposed to be asking the questions here?

Mulder knows that Theodore “Call me Theo” Bell is interested in more than his partner’s opinions on classic literature.

“I haven’t read it since high school, but I remember the central romance being rather unhealthy,” Scully replies, her voice husky. She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“It’s worth a re-read,” says the average looking, uncharismatic man who Mulder is not threatened by in the least. “It’s not just dark romance and a brooding antihero. It’s a study in power, class, revenge, and obsession. Brontë was also a master at creating unreliable narrators.”

Mulder watches the exchange with growing suspicion. What is this? Is she blinking more than normal? Batting her eyelashes? Smiling? He’s seen enough.

“We meet quite a few unreliable narrators in our line of work,” Mulder cuts in sharply. Such as a brutal murderer pretending to be an innocent bookstore owner.

“I can imagine,” Theodore says, smiling as if Mulder couldn’t possibly be referring to him.

Mulder feels a wave of disgust at how easily Theodore pretends he hasn’t killed six women over the course of the last three months. Theo is an unreliable narrator, all right. Not like Mulder, who sees the situation perfectly clearly.

He can see right through Theodore Bell.
Theodore Bell: sad, pathetic loner with hair that looks thick now but Mulder can tell it’s going to fall out by the time he turns forty. Theodore Bell with muscles a little too defined to be those of a simple bookshop owner—clearly the results of the physical demands of murder.

And then there’s Scully, his brilliant partner reduced to a flirtatious school girl in the presence of this thoroughly unremarkable and not at all hunky, egomaniacal bookstore owner. (He named the bookstore after himself, as sure a sign of malignant narcissism as Mulder has ever seen.)

“Thank you for your help,” Scully says, handing Theodore a business card. “Call us right away if anyone comes in looking for Wuthering Heights.”

When they get back to the rental car, Mulder decides to inform Scully that her new boyfriend is probably the killer.

“Mulder, there is nothing pointing to Theo being the killer,” Scully huffs. She does not look impressed.

“Credit card statements proved that three of the six victims had made purchases at Bell’s Books in the days before their abductions,” Mulder reminds her. “I’m betting the other three paid cash. Who besides Theo would be following the comings and goings of his customers so carefully?”

He leans back, confident that his judgment is based on logical, factual information.

“Aren’t you forgetting the female employee who recalls a strange man purchasing the same rare edition of Wuthering Heights as the one the killer is using?” Scully reminds him.

“She could be covering for her boss,” Mulder argues. The female employee in question was a rather dour young woman with the incongruous name Joy. She didn’t actually strike him as the type of person who would stick her neck out for anyone.

Scully looks at him sideways, clearly skeptical.

“If the killer follows his pattern—and we have no reason to think he won’t—he will be abducting another woman in the next forty-eight hours,” Mulder states, attempting to get them on track. “Right now your friend Theo is our best lead.”

“My friend?” Scully asks, one eyebrow raised.

“You two certainly seemed friendly,” Mulder says, casually hiding his feelings of disapproval.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Mulder answers, wisely not elaborating that Scully has very recently shown poor judgment in men. The Jerse Incident is all too fresh in his mind.

Scully stays quiet for the rest of the drive back to the motel. Mulder berates himself for constantly bringing her down, wondering if maybe he’s selfish for discouraging her from interacting with men who actually make her smile.

Not Theodore Bell though. That guy’s hiding something.

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Scully needs a nap.

Between the previous day’s autopsy, the subsequent follow up to check the other victims’ bodies for book pages in their nasal cavities, and today’s series of interviews, Scully cannot believe she’s still standing.

She changes into pajamas and climbs into bed, more than ready to fall asleep. She closes her eyes, trying to clear her mind for peaceful sleep.

Scully will not think about the handsome bookshop owner or the flutter of something akin to excitement when Mulder actually seemed jealous. There’s no sense in thinking about any of it because nothing is going to happen with either of them.

Theodore Bell of Bell’s Books did seem interested, but that’s because he doesn’t know the whole story. Aside from living in another state, Scully’s terminal cancer makes it difficult to even think about starting a relationship.

There’s also the messy business of being in love with her partner—which is another lost cause.

As supportive and caring as Mulder has been, Scully knows all too well that he has no romantic interest in her. All his little quips about picking out china patterns and whatnot only prove that the idea of being with her is literally a joke to him. He knows he can say those things because he is convinced of their absolute absurdity.

There may have been a time early on when Scully thought she picked up on some mutual attraction between them, but after four years together she is now resigned to the truth; Mulder doesn’t see her as a viable romantic option, and he never will.

And yet he acts out when someone else shows interest. It’s so nonsensical on one hand, but it makes perfect sense on the other. Mulder doesn’t want her romantically, but he does value her professionally. He’s clearly afraid that she would no longer be there for him as a partner were she to become intertwined with someone else.

Don’t worry Mulder, she imagines telling him. I’m not going to date anyone else. I’ll still hop on a plane at a moment’s notice to do an autopsy.  I’m just going to stay in a state of unrequited love with you until my cancer metastasizes and I drop dead having never so much as kissed you. Nothing to worry about at all.

She falls asleep, deep and dreamless.

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Mulder doesn’t want to wake Scully, but he’s itching to go do surveillance on the book store. He decides that leaving a note is a perfectly acceptable option, so he jots down a vague “following up on a hunch” explanation note and leaves the motel.

He takes the shared rental car and parks across from Bell’s Books, watching the customers come in and out. It seems to Mulder that there aren’t enough customers going in and out to sustain a successful business. If it turns out that Theodore isn’t the killer, he may be guilty of money laundering.

The store closes at 7 pm, which is conveniently early enough to commit a series of abductions and murders while still getting to bed at a reasonable time. The evidence is piling up.

Mulder watches as Theodore and Joy lock up. This time, Joy does seem to be living up to her name. She smiles at Theodore and touches his arm. Maybe she is a woman who would lie for someone, as long as the person in question is Theodore.

Mulder decides to follow Theodore, which will hopefully result in stopping the abduction of another woman. Theodore’s first stop is the gym down the street. He lifts weights while Mulder snacks on sunflower seeds, idly wondering if Scully is into the muscular type. Mulder knows he’s in good shape, but he has a lean runner’s body. He’s never thought much about bulking up.

Theodore seems popular with the guys at the gym. The muscular friends take turns spotting one another before laughing and conversing on the way to the locker room. Mulder imagines Theodore bragging about how he plans to hook up with Scully later.

”I met a hot little redhead at work today. No, man, I didn’t want to ask her out in front of her goofy looking partner. She gave me her card, so I’ll hit her up later.”

After a long time in the locker room, Theodore emerges in fresh clothes and carrying a gym bag. Mulder wonders if he’s foolish enough to carry the murder weapon in there.

Theodore’s next stop is a vitamin shop, where he chats up another fitness enthusiast. The two men seem to be deep in a discussion about protein powder, if Mulder’s powers of observation are correct. So far, this stakeout hasn’t provided anything that would allow him to get a warrant.

Theodore arrives home to an admittedly charming little Spanish bungalow. It looks well maintained and artfully landscaped. No one would ever expect this to be a murder house, which makes it a perfect murder house.

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Scully’s sleep is interrupted by an insistent knock on the motel room door.

“Coming,” she calls. She looks through the peephole to see Joy, the bookstore cashier they met earlier. Scully opens the door for her.

“Joy? What’s wrong?” Scully asks, sensing the young woman’s unease. Scully steps aside to let her in.

“I couldn’t say anything at the shop,” Joy says, her eyes darting around the room. “I was afraid of what he might do.”

“Theo?” Scully asks. Joy nods sadly.

“I lied about there being a strange man who bought that copy of Wuthering Heights,” Joy confesses. “I didn’t think Theo could have been involved, but tonight I found something that makes me think he’s responsible for those murders.”

Scully cringes inwardly that Mulder was right about Theo. Because of course he was. Isn’t he always? It’s Scully who seems to have no radar for murderous psychopaths. In fact, those are the only men who seem interested in her. Theo’s flirting really should have tipped her off.

“Let’s bring my partner into this conversation,” Scully says, turning towards the connecting door to Mulder’s room.

“He’s not in there,” Joy reveals. “He’s following Theo right now.”

Scully turns to ask how Joy knows that, but she doesn’t get the opportunity. A solid bar of metal connects with the back of her head, ending the conversation abruptly.

Chapter Text

Mulder is starting to question whether or not Theodore Bell is guilty. Using binoculars, Mulder has learned a bit about Theodore’s evening routine, and it’s all very, very dull.

Right now Theodore is curled up on a sofa with what appears to be a cream colored, cashmere blanket (much like the one Mulder’s mother requested for her birthday), a Ragdoll cat, and a well worn copy of Oscar Wilde’s The Portrait of Dorian Gray. A trophy on the fireplace appears to be from a local cat show.

There’s nothing suspicious to indicate Theodore as the killer.

Mulder almost admits defeat when Theodore receives a phone call that changes his mind. Theodore looks upset. He seems to be on the move, putting on a light jacket as he continues to speak rapidly to someone on the other end of the phone.

He’s coming out of the house. Maybe the phone call was from an accomplice? No, the profile doesn’t indicate that the killer was working with anyone. Still, it has to mean something.

Mulder stealthily follows Theodore, who drives back to Bell’s Books.

Mulder watches as Theodore gets out the keys and enters the closed shop. What urgent business could he have inside? Mulder decides to stay put for now.

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Scully wakes up in a dark and musty basement.

She quickly determines that her hands are zip tied to a support beam—and she’s not alone.

Theodore Bell is also zip tied to the other support beam a few yards away. Scully remembers that she had been speaking to Joy when she lost consciousness. Joy had been implicating Theo, but it’s looking like that was a ruse.

“Theo? Can you hear me?” Scully calls out to his slumped form. No answer.

“Poor Theo,” a female voice emerges from the shadows. “He just couldn’t control himself.”

“Joy, you don’t want to do this,” Scully says, sounding more in control than she feels. “Assault and false imprisonment of a federal officer are serious charges. You need to free me right now.”

Joy steps out of the shadows, a strange smile on her lips. She holds a worn copy of Wuthering Heights.

“Oh, this isn’t up to me,” Joy corrects her. “You made this happen.”

“I made this happen?” Scully cannot even begin to imagine what she’s talking about.

“You tempted him,” Joy snaps, pointing to Theo. “You just waltz in here and bat your eyes, and he falls all over you.”

“What?” Scully questions. It’s been a while since she’s been accused of being any sort of sexual temptress.

“Meanwhile, I’m here for him every day. No questions asked. Joy comes in early. Joy stays late. Joy is completely loyal—but does he flirt with Joy? Oh no, he saves that for the pretty customers.”

Scully hears alarm bells go off in her mind when Joy begins speaking about herself in the third person. She’s separating herself from her actions.

“I bet you don’t even love him,” Joy complains with obvious disgust. “I love him.”

Scully isn’t sure what to say. Of course she doesn’t love him. She just met him that day. She had a mildly pleasant conversation with the man. Surely Joy can’t plan to kill her for that?

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Joy scoffs, responding to Scully’s incredulous expression.

“The other women… they talked to Theo too?” Scully asks, trying to divert attention from herself.

“They didn’t just talk to him,” Joy replies in disgust. “They flirted with him, led him on. Shameless harlots, all of them. This town is full of them. Every time I get rid of one, here comes another. They keep popping up and I keep knocking them down. It’s like whack-a-mole, and I don’t win until you’re all dead.”

Scully cringes at the comparison to the arcade game, although it probably confirms her suspicions that the murder weapon is a hammer. Images of the victims enter her mind unbidden. Their midsections had been brutally beaten, the internal damage fatal and undoubtedly painful.

“Joy, I know you don’t want to hurt me,” Scully insists, although she knows no such thing, “and you certainly don’t want to hurt Theo. You love him. I can see how much you love him.”

“I really do,” Joy says sadly. “I was prepared to kill every hussie who walked through that door.”

Scully nods encouragingly, as if this makes perfect sense.

“It’s over now,” Joy moans. “The FBI? There’s no way to keep this up. I have to stop.”

“I can help you,” Scully soothes. “Just untie me, and we can get this sorted out.”

Joy stops and looks at her, confused for a moment before recognizing the misunderstanding.

“And go to prison? No thank you,” Joy laughs. “No, I meant that I’m done chasing after a man who doesn’t want me. I choose to punish him instead. I’m going to frame Theo for the murders—including yours.”

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Mulder doesn’t like waiting around.

He stays in the car for a few minutes, but he can’t see anything. Theo doesn’t turn on any lights, which is super suspicious. Not enough to barge in there, unfortunately.
Still, there’s no harm in taking a closer look.

Mulder gets out of the vehicle and jogs across the street. From this vantage point, he can see that the only light seems to be coming from the staircase to the basement.

Until this point, Mulder’s suspicion of Theodore Bell could be chalked up to jealousy. He wanted to find something wrong with the man.  Now though? Now every fiber of his being is telling him that he needs to get into that basement. Something is wrong.

He would call Scully, but he has the rental car. He would only frustrate her with his unsubstantiated lead and the fact that he stranded her at the motel. No, he can handle Theodore Bell on his own.

Walking around the old building, Mulder finds an older door with a lock he can break easily enough.

He carefully makes his way to the light of the basement stairs, listening for Theodore’s voice. He doesn’t hear it. The muffled voices are distinctly feminine.

Taking each step as quietly as he can, Mulder descends into the basement.

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The good news about a chatty serial killer is that Joy seems to be in no big hurry to actually kill anyone. She’s much too busy telling Scully about her brilliant plan.

“The way I see it, Theo brings you here just like the others,” Joy divulges. “He ties you up, smashes your internal organs with a hammer, you die. Then I, the shy cashier who would never hurt a fly, end up coming in to work early tomorrow morning, discovering his secret. He threatens me. We fight. He hits his head on—“

Joy looks around the room and spots a metal table in the back corner.

“—this table,” she finishes, walking towards it. “He’s dead. I run upstairs and call 911. The police show up, believe everything I say because of course they do, and I go free to find someone who deserves me.”

Scully stays quiet, realizing that Joy has forgotten the most important factor of all: Mulder. As soon as he gets back to the motel, he will knock on the connecting door and realize she’s missing. Since he already suspects Theo, he’s going to race right over here—hopefully with backup.

Joy walks back into the shadows before reemerging with leather gloves, a cloth, and a hammer in her hand. Scully doesn’t feel great about that combination.

“I don’t want you to think this is a rash decision,” Joy says casually, slipping a hand into a glove. “Framing Theo was always the backup plan. I’ve never even read Wuthering Heights.”

Both hands now gloved, Joy begins wiping down the hammer with a cloth.

“Maybe it was always going to end this way,” Joy sighs, crossing to Theo and bending down beside him to wrap his hand around the hammer. He moans.

“Joy, this isn’t you,” Scully attempts to reason. “You’re not thinking clearly. If you do this, there’s no way out. Let me help you.”

“I’ve already killed six people,” Joy reminds her, unmoved. “I think that ship has sailed.”

Joy takes a menacing step towards Scully, the hammer at the ready. Scully’s mind races. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to her body slowly deteriorating from cancer, she would choose it over dying right now in this basement.

She closes her eyes, fully intending to pray to God, but all she can think about is Mulder. 

Chapter Text

Mulder draws his gun, moving closer to the bottom of the stairs. As the voices become clearer, he realizes in horror that one of them belongs to Scully.

Mulder enters the basement in time to see Joy advancing on Scully with a hammer. He moves into the room with barely contained rage.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!”

Joy looks genuinely stunned to see him. She stands in shock, hammer in hand.

“Drop it!” Mulder repeats, and this time Joy complies. Her shoulders slump as she drops the hammer. She looks terribly disappointed.
Mulder makes quick work of placing her under arrest before moving to cut Scully’s zip ties.

“You okay, Scully?” He smooths her hair, studying her face. She mumbles an affirmative. He helps her to her feet, wrestling with the urge to pull her to him. His adrenaline is still pumping from the unexpected rescue. He hadn’t even known she was in trouble.

“What’s going on?” Theodore Bell regains consciousness, taking in the scene with confusion.

“Don’t believe anything they tell you,” Joy begs from her handcuffed position on an old chair.

“You’ve already been read your rights,” Mulder snaps, “so I would stop talking if I were you.”

He’s not a fan of people who threaten Scully.

Mulder gets on the phone to get local PD on the scene while Scully unties Theodore. When he hangs up, Mulder’s curiosity cannot wait another moment.

“What is going on, Scully?”

“Joy killed all those women,” Scully confirms. “She was jealous that he flirted with them. When she realized we were getting close, she pivoted and tried to frame him.”

“Jealous?” Theodore asks, flabbergasted. “Why would she be jealous of me flirting with customers?”

“Because she’s in love with you,” Scully answers softly. Mulder feels his own small pull of jealousy, even though he knows it’s not the time or the place.

“I did everything for you,” Joy sobs, not taking Mulder’s advice about remaining silent. “It was never enough. I tried so hard to get you to see me, but you never did. You only saw them, the damn customers.”

Theodore’s mouth drops open in shock.

“Why didn’t you want me?” Joy rants, tears spilling down her face. “Was I not pretty enough for you? Would you have noticed me if I looked more like her?”

Joy shoots Scully a hateful look, which earns her a warning glare from Mulder.

“Joy, what on Earth are you talking about? I’m gay!” Theodore exclaims, clearly horrified. “I ‘flirt’ because it makes the customers feel good, and we sell more books. My God, Joy, I thought you knew.”

It’s now Joy’s turn to drop her jaw in stunned silence. So much death and destruction over an unrequited love that was never meant to be.

Scully raises her eyebrows, looking at Mulder in surprise. Mulder gives her a little shrug, inwardly relieved that the chances of Scully running off with Theodore just decreased dramatically.

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After local police arrive and take their statements, Mulder and Scully head back to the motel in the rental car. The tension of earlier in the day has been replaced by exhaustion mixed with something else. A different type of tension perhaps.

“You’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Mulder asks, pulling into the motel parking lot. “You told Theodore to get checked out.”

“I’m sure,” Scully replies, opening her car door to get out. “It was probably his first time getting hit with a crow bar. I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Mulder’s face scrunches up with guilt and worry over Scully’s casual familiarity with getting knocked unconscious by psychopaths. They make their way to their motel room doors.

“I should probably stay awake for a while, just to be sure,” Scully tells him, an unspoken ask dangling in the air.

“Want me to keep you company?” Mulder fulfills the silent request, pleased that she actually seems to want him to offer.

“If you’re not too tired,” she says quickly.

“Nah, I’m too wired to sleep,” he replies, following her into her room. He takes a seat on the only chair in the room, leaving the bed to Scully.

“I’m going to change,” Scully announces, gathering pajamas from her suitcase and bringing them into the bathroom.

Mulder’s body relaxes into the chair, but his mind gives him no reprieve. He thinks back to the moment he saw Theodore and Joy closing the bookshop earlier that evening. His misplaced jealousy had him following an innocent man around town, while he let the real killer go off to attack Scully. If things had turned out differently, he would have never forgiven himself.

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Scully washes and dries her face. She studies herself in the mirror, not entirely surprised to learn that she looks pale and tired. She momentarily considers redoing her makeup, but it’s almost midnight.

Besides, it’s not like Mulder is here for romantic reasons. He’s here out of partnerly concern for her head injury. He doesn’t care if she looks professional and well rested. Being attractive should be the last thing on her mind because she’s certain he doesn’t even think of her in those terms.

Apparently Theo hadn’t actually been interested either, which is not a disappointing blow to her recently shaky confidence. She’s dying of cancer, so attention from men is truly the least of her concerns.

Truly.

Would it be nice to be held and kissed and loved and cherished and comforted? Of course. She’s only human. Does she need those things? No. All she really needs is respect. That’s enough.

Scully exits the bathroom and sees Mulder in the uncomfortable looking chair. He looks up at her and smiles, and it strikes her that maybe he needs more than just respect. She softens, remembering a simple truth about love that she hasn’t been allowing herself to think about.

“Come on, Mulder,” she says, taking his arm to gently pull him out of the chair. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“Are you sure?” Mulder hesitates.

“It’s been a rough night. I think we’ll both rest easier this way,” she says, as if sharing a bed is the only logical answer. He doesn’t argue. She takes a breath before asking the tougher question.

“I feel a little silly asking, and please don’t feel obligated, but… would you hold me? Just for a few minutes?”

Scully almost chokes on the words, so foreign they feel, but she has such a strong inclination that Mulder needs this—and she loves him enough to swallow her pride, if only for tonight.

Mulder looks momentarily shocked, but he recovers quickly.

“I can do that,” he assures her, joining her on the bed and wrapping his arms around her.

Scully closes her eyes. It feels so damn good to be held, and the fact that it’s Mulder makes it perfect.

It’s so wonderful, in fact, that a solitary tear drops from Scully’s eye as she thinks about how she wishes it was real. More tears follow as she thinks about the cruelty of cancer and the finality of the death. The pain of unrequited love versus the devastation of actually having love and dying anyway.

“Scully, what’s wrong?” Mulder asks, so sweet and gentle that she’s afraid she might start sobbing.

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“Nothing’s wrong,” Scully mumbles, in obvious contradiction to the fact that she is uncharacteristically weeping.

Mulder feels the beginnings of panic creep up. Is this about tonight? Is she hurt worse than she let on? Or—and this is what he’s been avoiding—is it the cancer? Did she ask him to hold her only because she knows she’s about to die? No. That cannot be it because she’s not going to die. If there’s one person in the world who needs to live, it’s Scully.

“Talk to me, Scully,” he says, bracing himself for whatever news she’s going to impart on him.

“I think I’m crying because… I’m happy,” she whispers, sounding absolutely miserable.

“You don’t sound happy,” Mulder says, pulling her tighter while strategically avoiding contact with his nether regions, which only seem to register “holy shit, we are holding Scully, prepare for love” and not “she only wants comfort from a friend, you pervert, stay down.”

“Because I don’t want to be happy,” Scully says with a sniffle. “I mean, I do, but not like this.”

Mulder pulls away immediately, every possible negative way to interpret her words flying at him from every direction. This only seems to make her cry harder. She rolls over to face him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, furiously wiping at her tears. “I’m not making sense.”

He knows this is a rare moment of vulnerability from Scully, so he tries to push down his feelings of fear and rejection. He desperately wants to say the right thing.

“Did I do something wrong?” Mulder asks, instantly realizing, to his chagrin, that he went and made it about himself.

“What? No,” Scully shakes her head. “You did exactly what I asked you to do. You made me feel safe.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He reaches out to dry one of her tears.

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What’s wrong? How to answer that question without embarrassing herself further? Honestly, she should probably just blame it on the whole head injury and being zip tied in a basement ordeal.

And yet…

“Have you ever thought about us in a romantic way?”

Did she say that out loud? Wow, should she have gone to the hospital?

“Why do you ask?” Mulder seems nervous.

“I liked the feeling of you holding me,” she admits, becoming more convinced of major head injury with each word that comes out of her mouth, “and I have these feelings for you, and I don’t know what your feelings are for me, and I can’t believe I’m even saying any of this, but—”

Before she can put her foot in her mouth any further, Mulder’s mouth is on hers. Or maybe hers is on his. It’s unclear who started it, and it doesn’t matter how they got here.

This kiss is everything.

“When it looked like I was going to die, all I thought about was you,” she tells him when they come up for air.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it was Joy, not Theodore,” Mulder tells her sincerely. “If I had followed her instead of him, this whole night would have turned out differently.”

“Mulder, how could you have known?” She kisses him again. “Besides, I think night is turning around quite nicely.”

“Yeah?” He looks adorably pleased.

“Mmm hmm,” she murmurs, moving her kisses from his mouth to a trail down his neck. “Who needs Heathcliff on the moors when I’ve got Mulder in a motel?”

There will be time later to think about mortality and what it means to start a relationship while fighting a terminal illness, but tonight they can put their defenses aside and just be happy.

Whatever their souls are made of, his and hers are the same.