Chapter Text
Tuesday, June 20, 1995
Another historic heat wave has reached Washington, DC, making Special Agent Fox Mulder feel as if he were plunged into the deepest layer of hell while wearing business professional.
He pockets his Metro card and shields his eyes as he exits Federal Triangle station. Today is going to be a long day, he thinks. He walks into his basement office, finding Dana Scully sitting at her side of their shared desk. The temperature of their office isn’t much better than outside.
“Hey Mulder, come take a look at this,” she says without looking up from the files splayed in front of her.
“I don’t know how you can work in here. It’s the hottest day of the year and you’d think they would have the AC fixed down here,” he grumbles, throwing his suit jacket somewhere on the floor behind him.
She gives him an annoyed look. “Mulder. We have a coat rack for a reason. And in case you forgot, we have a meeting with Skinner in exactly fifteen minutes to go over the Franklin case,”
“Right, right. Read me what you got,” Mulder says, pulling up a chair to sit next to her.
Scully wipes a bead of sweat off her forehead and picks up her neatly typed report. “Arnie Franklin, age 68, found dead in his home in Meridian, Mississippi on June 14, 1995. Autopsy report indicates time of death to be roughly four days prior. Cause of death,” she takes a deep breath, “significant blood loss from laceration of the carotid arteries,”
“Vampirism, Scully. We went over this,” Mulder interrupts her.
“Don’t you think your so called vampire would consume the victim’s blood instead of storing it in pickled pigs feet jars in the basement? And besides, the neck was cut with a surgical scalpel, found at the scene of the crime, not punctured,” she replies, staring him down.
“But Scully, that exactly proves my point. Blood is hard to come by. The vampire would need to stock up and store it in a cool, dark place. And a victim with no living relatives and a basement, three minutes from the town cemetery might I add, is the perfect source of sustenance for our vampire,” says Mulder with exasperation.
The phone rings, cutting their argument short. Scully reaches across the desk and picks it up. “Scully. Yes, sir. No, sir. Agent Mulder is here with me, yes. Yes, sir. We are on our way,” Scully puts the phone down on the receiver.
“Please tell me that was the dominos guy with our pizza and not our boss telling us we are late for our meeting,” Mulder says. Scully ignores his comment, quickly gathering the files and her report.
They look at each other and stand up. “Do you think we can arrange for our graves to be next to each other at least?” He whispers to her in the elevator on the way to Skinner’s office. “Fine. But I get the nicer headstone,” she replies. The man next to them shifts on his feet, giving the pair an uncomfortable glance.
…
The meeting was less eventful than anticipated. The pair of agents were given a new assignment for the following week: a series of strange sightings in the Appalachian Mountains in Tennessee. “Skinner totally agreed with my vampire hypothesis,” Mulder said, nudging Scully’s arm with his. “Sure, Mulder. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she replies, making a beeline for the break room for a cup of coffee.
“I don’t know how you can drink hot coffee when it’s practically 90 degrees in this building,” Mulder says. “And I don’t understand how you drink iced coffee. It’s horribly watered down,” she replies, pouring sugar and cream in her mug.
“Oh Mulder, before I forget, I have a favor to ask,”
“Shoot,” he replies, leaning against the wall.
“My mother’s birthday is this Saturday, and my friend Laura who usually watches Queequeg will be out on business. Do you think you’ll be able to watch him for me? It’s just for Saturday, I’ll be back on Sunday. I’ll buy you dinner on Sunday night,” she says.
“Oh. Sure, Scully. But I don’t think he likes me very much if I’m being honest. Every time I come over he looks at me like I personally offended his entire bloodline,” Mulder replies.
Scully laughs, choking a little on her coffee. “You know that’s not true. He likes you just fine. I’ll bring him over Saturday morning at 9. Is that ok?” She asks, eyes hopeful.
Mulder caves. He cannot say no to her, especially when she looks at him like that.
“Sure, Scully. Sounds good. But I get to pick where we go for dinner Sunday,” Mulder replies.
Scully gives him a genuine smile.
“Great, that means a lot to me. Now, what were you saying about vampires? I don’t think I’m done proving you wrong,” Scully asks on their way out of the break room.
…
Saturday, June 24, 1995
Mulder paces back and forth in his tiny kitchen. He deep cleaned his entire apartment last night, moving anything Queequeg might get into out of reach. Why am I so nervous, he thinks. It’s just Scully. She’s been to my apartment countless times. He thinks back to that hopeful look in her eyes when she asked him to watch her dog. Oh. She trusts me. And I don’t want to disappoint her.
His thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell ringing. He scrambles to the door, tripping over a muddy running shoe he thought he put in the closet already. Mulder opens the door and finds Scully holding Queequeg. She’s wearing denim shorts and a white t-shirt. Her shoulder length red hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Queequeg is resting comfortably in her arms. And there it is, that look. Scully’s small dog is looking at him like he’s a medium-rare choice cut steak.
“Hi Mulder, thanks so much for agreeing to watch him today,” she smiles, shifting Queequeg on her hip.
“Of course. Anything for y- I mean no problem. Come in,” Mulder stutters.
Scully takes a look around. “Oh, you cleaned. Looks nice. Put away your magazine collection too, I see,” Scully says, walking into his living room.
Mulder awkwardly laughs, choosing to ignore her last statement. Scully puts Queequeg down and he obediently stays put by her feet.
“Ok, I’ve got to get on the road so I’ll make this quick. You’ll need to feed him tonight and tomorrow and make sure he has fresh water. The food and bowls and some toys are in the bag. He usually sleeps in my bed so I assume he will want to sleep on the couch with you, if that’s ok with you? If not, just put him on the floor and tell him to stay,” Scully says with the same precision she uses to debrief cases at meetings.
“Oh that’s fine. Is there anything else I should know about? Any, uh, evil habits he has that he only does at night… or something?” Mulder asks, eyeing the small dog suspiciously.
“Mulder. He’s less than 20 pounds. He is the most well behaved dog I’ve ever seen. He is not going to shave your head in your sleep or drunk email Skinner from your personal email,” Scully deadpans.
“Right. Right. Sorry just checking,” Mulder replies awkwardly.
“Good. Well if you need anything, not that I think you will, give me a call,” Scully says, leaning down to scratch Queequeg on the head.
“Have a good trip, Scully, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mulder says as he walks her to the door.
“You two be good now!” Scully says, giving him a two finger salute. Mulder smiles and waves, but she is already halfway down the hallway.
He plays it off like he had an itch on the back of his neck. He shakes his head and steps into his small apartment, shutting the door and leaning against it. He stares down the fluffball sitting obediently on his living room carpet.
Right. Ok. Dog sitting, he thinks. How hard can this possibly be?