Chapter Text
APARTMENT #42 SEPTEMBER 22, 1996
A briefcase, a cellular phone, a bag of takeout Chinese, and a stack of mail were juggled in slim hands. The tall man barely managed to keep the items from falling to the floor as he slid the key into the door. It was very late, long past most bedtimes. He'd been late at the office, organizing the filing cabinet.
Fox Mulder tossed the stack onto the coffee table, reaching for the remote. He flipped on ESPN and slid out of his trenchcoat, the muted picture colorful but not terribly interesting.
In the stack of mail, he found a small oblong package. Mulder half-grinned, thinking that it must be the new tape in the Bouncy St. Clair collector's series. He ripped the box open, and slid out the tape: NURSES IN HEAT. Yup, that was it, all right.
Mulder settled down on the couch, opening the bag and emptying its small white cartons. He opened a Snapple and then started to remove the cellophane from the videotape box. A VCR tape slid out. He shoved the tape into the VCR and sat back.
The tape ejected.
He walked back to the TV and slid the tape in again.
The VCR spat it out.
He shoved it a bit less gently this time.
The tape ejected with enough force to land on the floor.
"What the--?" Mulder picked up the tape from the floor, annoyed now, his hazel eyes clouded. He noticed an odd rattling sound inside the casing. "They sent me a useless tape," he muttered, lifting the plastic flap to look inside.
A smaller tape lay inside... a very familiar tape.
A DAT tape.
Mulder's eyes went wide. He casually placed the tape on his lap and started the sports channel up once more, barely daring to believe that he had the proof--all the proof he needed--right here in his hands. He shivered slightly but kept his outward appearance calm. Mulder forced himself to eat his dinner and clean up before he allowed himself to contemplate it further. The sports talk show kept up appearances as he muddled this through.
It can't possibly be the real tape, he told himself, in the voice of his careful paranoia. It's a plot. A trick. They want to make me think it's real...
He closed his eyes for just a second, heard the sound of his own heartbeat. His slow breathing almost hypnotized him. When his eyes opened once more, he felt the electric impulse along his spine.
It was real. It had to be.
"Scully," he said softly. He knew he had to tell her, have her there when he discovered its truth. His protective nature kicked in, wanting to keep her out of this--but she was in it, he knew, irrevocably. He stifled the impulse.
If I can't treat her like a grown woman, he told himself, I'm being disrespectful. She's saved my ass more times than I remember. She hauled up to Alaska to pull me out of danger. She...
Mulder kept the tape in hand. He looked at the suitcase on the bed and smiled. He'd already been packed for the next case, a series of murders that looked to have a connection to Santeria. He opened the case, stuffed in a few more things--several photographs of his sister and himself as children, mementos and tiny things that make up a life.
He slid the Sig-Sauer into the holster under his arm. His hands casually found the spare clips in the nightstand drawer. He slipped those inside his shoes, already in the suitcase.
He looked down at himself. Jeans would be better. Sneakers. Comfortable, casual clothes. Easier to run in than these damn Florsheims and a suit, he mused.
He changed quickly, sliding into a t-shirt and a sweater, tugging on a pair of jeans. Mulder tugged his sneakers on impatiently. He slid a hand under the mattress and came out with a manila envelope. Inside was a series of stock certificates and a great deal of cash. He'd been prepared for this eventuality. He knew all along he'd have to run someday.
He zipped the suitcase shut. The plane wasn't until later that morning, but no sense waiting. He knew Scully wouldn't mind being awakened for this.
=============
Dana Scully was, predictably, in a deep sleep. She moved a bit restlessly on the bed. The phone rang, and she reached for it and lifted it to her ear, still mostly asleep.
"Scully? It's me."
"Mulder...?" Her voice was distant and drowsy. She rolled onto her back. "What's wrong...?"
"Nothing. I just need to talk to you."
"So talk." She groaned softly and wondered why he always did this sort of thing in the middle of the night.
"I mean in person."
Scully finally dragged herself closer to consciousness. "Mulder, I'm in bed."
"Thought you'd never ask," he quipped back. She could hear the smile in his voice. He sounded awfully chipper for a man up at this godawful hour.
"Alone, Mulder. Can't this wait until morning?"
"No."
"All right," she allowed. "Give me about fifteen minutes."
"Deal." He disconnected the call. Dana Scully sat up and ran her fingers through her mussed red locks. Her sensible pajamas were good enough, she told herself. It wasn't as if Mulder hadn't seen her in her pajamas a hundred times.
She slipped out of bed and wrapped her bathrobe around herself, then headed downstairs to put on a pot of coffee. The scent of vanilla and hazelnut began to waft from the percolator as she forced herself awake.
=============
Mulder waited outside. He heard shuffling Scully-sounds behind the door and smiled softly. She was still half-asleep, probably dressed in those serious pajamas. He wondered for a moment if she ever wore those cute nightshirts so many women liked, or perhaps a long white ruffled Victorian number... or a slinky silk gown.
Down boy, he told himself, but his spirits were too high for the chastisement to have much effect. He grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd grinned.
Scully opened the door. She looked wonderfully mussed. Her hair was not the perfect sleek wave it was when he saw her in the office; now it was tousled, almost tomboyish. It suited her.
"Come on in," Scully said. Her voice was a bit rough from sleep.
Mulder smiled and followed her inside. They settled in at the kitchen table. He watched as she poured coffee, sipped slowly and precisely from the mug, then asked, "Okay, Mulder. What is it?"
His grin was irrepressible. "We need to make a trip."
"Our flight leaves in five hours," she reminded him.
"I know. Are you packed?"
"Of course. I packed before I went to bed. Would you mind telling me what this is about?"
He handed her the videotape wordlessly. She picked it up, raising an eyebrow and examining it. "I'm sure 'Nurses in Heat' is high up on your hit parade, Mulder, but waking me up at four in the morning..."
He simply smiled. Scully's voice trailed off. She lifted the tape, hearing a faint rattling sound. "It's a broken tape. Is this another one of those alien autopsy things?"
Mulder shook his head, remembering.
"Mulder, I..." Scully stopped, and relaxed. He could almost see the thoughts that raced through her mind: think like an investigator, Dana. His eyes twinkled as she examined the seams of the tape, touched each surface to feel for structural integrity.
He clamped down on his excitement. At last, she lifted the flap and looked inside. A smaller tape. She raised her eyes to Mulder, startled. An eyebrow quirked up in a questioning gesture.
He nodded. No words needed to be exchanged. He watched her nod slowly and stand up.
"I'm going to go get dressed," she said quietly. "Where are we going?"
"Lone Gunmen," he replied.
"All right. Fifteen minutes. Less if possible."
=============
Dana Scully raced into the shower. She wasn't sure if the tape was the same tape, but for once, she wasn't going to argue with Mulder. She knew what this tape would mean to him--and she had a pretty good idea that it might solve some of her own questions.
She managed to be out in six minutes, then dried herself quickly as she walked to the bedroom. A light sweater, sneakers, and a soft pair of faded jeans were in her hands in moments, as if by instinct. She slid into the jeans, zipped them tight, then reached for her suitcase.
After a moment, she stopped. She casually lifted a photo of Ahab, one of Mom, another of Bill Junior and <name tk>, and a photograph and some other New Age-y remembrances of Missy. She told herself, in surprise, Damnit, I want this too. For her sake.
She slid the artifacts into her bag. She had a feeling that she might not be coming back. She shivered at the thought. Her roots were so much a part of her that this seemed like a travesty.
Survival, she corrected herself, sliding her dog-eared copy of _Moby Dick_ into the bag. She had called Mulder "Ahab" once--off on his insane quest for the white whale. But now the whale had been sighted, and Dana Scully would be damned if she would give up. His quest had become hers.
What else has Mulder changed in me? She stopped the thought and told herself sternly that she had changed on her own, that Mulder was only a catalyst.
Is that so, Dana Katherine?, her own voice asked, sardonically. Scully bit her lip and carried the suitcase out to the kitchen.
She watched Mulder as he paced. He was restless, pacing like an impatient boy. In some ways, he still was a boy, she reminded herself. When he repressed the incident with his sister, it had been purely for emotional survival--but he'd also robbed himself of the possibility of catharsis.
"Ready," she said quietly. "Let's go."
=============
Mulder drove his car, still quiet, the videotape inside his jacket. He had not touched the tape itself. After reading and copying the data, there might still be residual fingerprints--and the identity of his mysterious benefactor was as important as the contents.
Who was giving this to him? His mind examined the possibilities with suspicion. It could be an attempt to discredit him, for all he knew.
He looked to Scully, still amazed that she had not insisted on examining the whole thing from a more scientific perspective. Perhaps the presence of tape-us delicti had convinced her.
"Scully," he began, huskily.
She looked to him with the curious expression he knew so well. The warm familiarity of that gesture made something in his chest turn hyperkinetic.
He said, "Thank you."
"It's my fight too," she said softly.
Mulder had to catch his breath. The shock and wonder almost made him faint. She was sincere. A layer of each facade peeled away to reveal things neither had chosen to reveal. He pulled to the side of the road and slipped his hand into hers.
"Scully, we have the truth. It's in our hands."
She gifted him with a rare smile. Her soft lips curled upward and Mulder felt almost queasy with the force of his emotion.
"We both lost sisters, Mulder. We've both had parts of our lives taken from us. What we lost them *to* is what we're going to find out. I don't know if I can believe that it was something extraterrestrial... but some part of me wants to. I don't want to believe that humanity could be so cruel to itself."
Mulder paused again, listening, her words hypnotic. He'd never heard her admit so much. Her tough, capable facade was slipping away, and he saw the loss, the pain, and the sorrow she felt.
He reached for her hand. She did not pull away.