Nov 8, 1993
Unalakleet, Alaska
X
We're not who we are.
I am not who I was when I left DC, but each case changes me, while Scully works very hard at not changing.
She had turned her back on what happened at Icy Cape with a very definite, "Leave it there."
I thought we would have to, but our flight from Nome to Anchorage only got as far as the village of Unalakleet before a sudden storm forced down our small prop plane.
The furry-faced pilot asked around at the tiny airport for someplace for us to stay. "No hotels here," he explained. "If it were summer, there'd be fishing lodges open-"
Scully cut in. "We just need a bed." She looked as exhausted as I felt; we hadn't slept a wink at the research station.
A tiny woman with a face like a shriveled raisin peeked around our pilot's beefy shoulder. She booked the flights. "We can open up the Fish and Game bunkhouse."
She looked at us doubtfully. "That's State and you're Feds, but we'll let your agencies work out the bill."
A bed. That's all I cared about.
"Can we find some food?" asked Scully.
Oh yeah, and something to eat. I nodded enthusiastically.
"Let's check it out," Scully suggested.
I followed the chattering Native woman and my stomping partner out of the steel hangar into the roaring storm.
The bunkhouse was a one room building with a set of bunks on one wall, a desk, two sagging chairs, and a very basic kitchen on another wall.
Belying her size and age, the small old woman darted around, turning on the electricity at the fuse box and lighting the oil heater for us.
"Water?" said Scully, peering at the small rusty sink.
"A bathroom?" I asked.
The woman laughed. "Outhouse is around back."
"Great," Scully said. There hadn't been a flush toilet at the ice research station either.
"Can't turn the water on," the woman said, "Frozen up."
"That's fine," Scully said, making it sound not fine at all.
The old woman kept chattering. "There's some bottled water to wash with and canned grapefruit juice to drink."
This time, Scully sounded truly grateful when she thanked her.
Heading back into the storm, I called over my shoulder: "I'll get our luggage." Better to face the swirling ice than Scully's cold stare.
When I returned, a pan of chili was bubbling on the hot plate, the mattresses were rolled out on the bunks, and the room was toasty warm, but no sign of Scully.
I found my razor and toothbrush. Cleaning up would make me feel fifty percent better. The other half would come with a chat with Scully.
The door blew open. Bundled in her huge white coat, Scully struggled with it. I helped her get it closed.
"You might want to go now. I've warmed the seat," she said, sounding a bit friendlier.
"That's okay. I made yellow snow on the way to the airport."
"Lovely," she grumbled, taking off her coat. She poked through her dufflebag, finding her own toiletries.
"Dinner smells good," I said.
She cocked an eyebrow at me as she pulled out clean clothes. "Bertha put it on. Not me."
"I don't expect you to cook," I protested.
She didn't answer. She was looking around, still holding a pair of white panties in her hand. I figured out what she wanted.
"Let me rig something up," I garbled. As I rigged up a rope across the corner of the room to hang a blanket on, I explained "I'm taller."
"I know," she said witheringly, but ducked behind our makeshift privacy screen.
I pulled down bowls from a shelf and filled cloudy plastic cups with juice.
She returned, brushing her moisture-frizzed hair back into a ponytail and looking marginally happier.
I said exactly the wrong thing, "Let me change my panties too," but she smiled anyway.
When I ducked back around the blanket, I discovered she had started eating without me. I decided not to note how much food such a small woman could put away with no apparent effect.
Taking my bowl, I sat in the remaining chair, sinking down so far that my knees nearly touched my chin. Scully smiled again, but it wasn't as kind.
"Good," I said after a few bites and she nodded. "Not too many beans."
She raised an eyebrow and I refrained from making any sort of cowboys and beans joke.
I put the bowl aside and cupped my knees. "So-"
She scraped the bottom of her bowl. "I'll be glad to get home. Do some laundry-"
"You gonna ask for a reassignment?"
She blinked and put her empty bowl on the desk. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I know it's been a rough couple of months-"
"I guess you could say that," she said dryly.
"You've seen some things-"
Her face took on a bullish expression. I waded on. "-that you didn't understand."
She stood and carried the dishes to the sink. "It's been interesting."
"But-"
"But what?" Turning to face me, she leaned on the rough plywood countertop, gripping the edge tightly.
"But I can understand if you ask for a reassignment, that's all." I dropped my head.
Her silence was crushing.
"Do you want a new partner?" she finally asked.
"I hadn't had a partner in a while. It's taken some getting used to," I admitted. "The X-files has been my baby."
"You are pretty protective," she mentioned slyly.
"If you don't feel the same passion-"
"Is that how you see it?" she challenged me.
I shook my head like it was a snowglobe in this storm.
"I just don't feel the same as you do. Doesn't mean I'm not passionate," she said fiercely.
The energy changed in the room, making it pulse for a few, hard beats. I wasn't sure what that meant.
"Last night, you said you want to trust me," she said, then her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "Do you now? After what happened up there?"
My gaze shot up. I could see that hurt her to ask, and that surprised me. Like I said, I learn something new every case.
"Yeah," I said, keeping it short and sweet for once.
"You can. I think I've shown you my commitment so far-"
"You don't have to sell me," I insisted.
"True. You don't need any sort of empirical evidence," she said slyly.
"I observe evidence all the time," I protested. "We just come to different conclusions."
She poured water from a plastic bottle into the sink and added dish soap. "I just hope there's not a Yeti out in that storm for you to chase. Like I said, I need to get home and do my laundry before our next case."
The tense moment must be over. I could go back to needling her. "Yeti is in Asia. The locals around here call their mythical bigfoot Urayuli."
She held out a ratty dish towel. "Dry, Mulder."
I joined her, knocking elbows as we cleaned our few dinner dishes.
It was time for bed. "Do you want to be on top?" I asked, even as I put a foot on the bunk to climb on the upper bed.
She flicked off the light. Her voice in the dark: "Shut up, Mulder."
"Back to work tomorrow," I said as I settled on the lumpy mattress.
"Yes, back to work," wafted up from beneath me. And she sounded grateful.
I didn't usually go to sleep easily, but that night, I dropped right off.
~ end