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“It’s my life, Mulder,” she says.
“Yes, but it’s…” He trails off, the rest of his thought stays a mystery.
They look away from each other. Scully can’t let go of her anger. The desk is only a minor grievance in a list of complaints she has. She’s tired of being used as an assistant, a file clerk, a sidekick. She’s made contributions to the x-files that have kept the department afloat. Without her, the x-files would have been shut down years ago. She seethes with repressed rage.
“Scully,” Mulder whispers, jumping up from his chair.
Scully frowns and then cups her hand under her chin when she feels the hot trickle of blood ooze across her lips. Mulder is by her side as she tips her head back. He pulls her from the chair and follows at her heels as she heads to the single-stall bathroom across the hall. He has a hand on her shoulder and leans past her to open the door.
“Get out, Mulder,” she mumbles, trying not to move her lips too much. Blood seeps into her mouth anyway and she grimaces at the coppery tang on her tongue.
“Keep your head back,” he answers, as though he didn’t hear her. He turns the faucet on and turns to the paper towel dispenser.
“I said get out!” she says again, and the force of her voice causes the blood on her lips to splatter on the sink and mirror.
Mulder freezes with a paper towel fluttering in his hand. She lowers her eyes and watches the spots of blood swirl in the running water. He just stands next to her like a statue, so she snatches the paper towel from his hand and crumbles it at her nose. She runs the hand that’s smeared with blood under the faucet and Mulder is still there, passing her another towel.
“Thank you,” she says. “Please leave, Mulder. I’m fine.” She glances at him and he clenches his teeth. The muscle at the back of his jaw bulges out and jumps erratically.
The tiny bathroom feels claustrophobic. The sound of running water echoes off the tiles and the walls feel like they’re closing in on her. It’s not big enough to contain two people and their combined anger. It’s hard to breathe.
Scully lifts her eyes to the mirror. The blood has soaked through the towel. The scrapes and bruises on her face are more distinct as her skin has paled.
You have something I need, Leonard Betts whispers in her ear. She closes her eyes and feels Mulder’s hand on her back. There are some abnormalities with your blood tests, the doctor in Philadelphia says. I can refer you to an oncologist in the DC area. I suggest you make an appointment.
“Scully?” he says, his voice laced with concern.
“Just go,” she whispers.
Mulder’s hand falls from her back and she feels him move away. She moves the crumbled, blood-soaked towel from her face. She feels drained. Of blood, of anger, of energy.
“I didn’t sleep with him,” she says.
Mulder turns at the door and his eyes move over her. He shoves his hands in his pockets and his mouth flops open and shut like he wants to say something and then thinks better of it. She sighs and runs a clean towel under the water and wipes her face with it.
“This isn’t about a desk, is it?”
She meets his eyes in the mirror, but she doesn’t answer the question.
“You would tell me if something wasn’t okay, wouldn’t you?” he asks.
“You’ll be the first to know,” she answers.
His mouth flops open again and then he clamps it shut. She turns the water off and silence prevails.
“Okay,” he says, quietly. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She nods at the mirror and watches as the door shuts behind him. The tract of skin under her nose is stained pink and she rubs at it with the wet towel. She sniffs and checks her face and clothes for any missed spots. She has an appointment for an oncologist next week. She just prays there’ll be nothing to tell.
The End