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Dana swallowed as she turned to Mulder in their rental car, one of their few moments of true privacy they got with each other. Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap. This should be an easy thing to tell him – it was Mulder for goodness’ sake! – but having to voice this aloud made Dana’s heart pound.
“What is it, Scully?” Mulder asked, not even looking at her. He could always sense her mood, if she had something to say. She would attest it to how long they’d worked and been together if it wasn’t something he’d somehow been able to do from the beginning.
“I wanted to tell you something about myself,” she began.
“What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath. “I think I’d like to start using some new pronouns.”
Mulder’s brows shot up even as he kept his eyes on the road. “Which ones?”
“They/them, but . . . I still like she/her a lot. I don’t want to use only they.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Mulder said. Now he did glance at her, a small, disarming smile gracing his lips. “Most people denote that as ‘she-slash-they’.”
Dana nodded. That seemed . . . right. “How did you figure this out? I only really knew it was an option because of you.”
Mulder shrugged, taking one hand off the wheel to tangle his fingers with hers. “I think it was put on me more than I chose it. I would cruise the dyke bars and a lot of other butches and bulldaggers call each other guys and use he/him for each other. And, of course, in public I was always assumed a man, so people called me he. I liked it enough.”
“Would you prefer to be more easily recognized as a woman?” Dana asked. It was easier to listen to Mulder talk about this. She couldn’t articulate it so easily.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly by other women. But I can’t change that I’m butch. It’s too much who I am. I still like she, if someone thinks to use it for me, but I think he conveys who I am to the right crowd more. Pronouns don’t really affect me much otherwise.”
“So, they’re a tool, for you, to demonstrate your experience?” Dana asked.
Mulder smiled again, always entertained by her constant need to analyze and break things down. “That’s a good way to put it. What does using she/they demonstrate for you?”
Dana stared out the window, trying to organize her thoughts as endless cornfields whizzed by. “I was a tomboy, growing up,” she started, still trying to find the thread, “and at some point I realized that wasn’t an acceptable thing to be above a certain age. I changed myself, to fit in more, to be a better woman, and at some point it became easier.”
“Scully, are you trying to tell me you’re also butch?” Mulder asked with a teasing grin.
“Not quite,” she smiled back. “It’s more like . . . I really did grow out of it, but I had to think about it. Suddenly I was so aware of the way the world perceived me and who I was because of how I look. I like the way I dress and present myself, but part of it is like a defense mechanism, to control how people see me.” Dana sighed. “I like being feminine, I like being your femme, but it never seems like enough. I’m a dyke, so I’m always on the outs of what it means to be a woman.”
Mulder pulled her hand to his lips, offering a small comfort. He understood. He understood her better than anyone else ever had. “So, the pronouns.”
“I think they/them helps convey that,” Dana went on. “There’s a bit of separation between who I am and the genetic heterosexual world. I’m a woman, and they don’t think I’m the right kind.”
“Remind me to eat you out when we get to the hotel,” Mulder said. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re a woman.”
“Mulder,” Dana chastised, but she was trying to hold back a laugh.
“You get me, Scully,” he said warmly. “I’ll get on the new pronouns immediately.”
“Don’t stress about it too much in this little podunk town. We cause enough problems as it is.”
He just grinned over at her and squeezed her hand.
Back in D.C., Dana updated her email signature. She had added her pronouns shortly after meeting Mulder as a show of support, long before their relationship really blossomed. Now, it was more personal.
Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D.
she/they
She shot off an email to Skinner then, letting him know the report would be ready in the morning since she and Mulder got back later than expected. Then they went to bed, planning to furiously write the rest of her report before she got to the office in the morning.
Skinner stopped her in the hallway when they entered the Hoover building the next day. “Agent Scully,” he said stiffly. It was difficult to glean his mood from that alone. Skinner was always stiff.
“Good morning, Skinner,” she greeted back. They entered the elevator together, and she could now feel Skinner’s agitation coming off him in waves.
“I got your email last night,” he said.
“I’m on my way to print the report now.”
“No, I mean . . . I saw the update in your signature.”
“Oh.” They waited, not sure where this was going.
Skinner cleared his throat. “Good for you,” he said awkwardly. The elevator dinged, and Skinner hurried out the second the doors opened. Dana smiled to herself and thought Mulder would find the story very funny.