A/N: This was an odd piece to write because so little is known about Mulder and Scully's lives before their respective assignments to the X-Files. We get glimpses of a young, professional Mulder in a few episodes (such as Season 5's "Unusual Suspects" and "Travelers"). Otherwise most of the information comes from references and comments made by colleagues who knew Mulder in the late 80's and early 90's. Scully is even harder to pin down because information concerning her life in medical school is scant; episodes referring to it are few and far between. The main one I can think of off the top of my head is Season 7's "All Things" when she reconnects with her old beau. So whilst cobbling together what information I could find and recall about a pre-X-Files Mulder and Scully, accompanied by a bit of my own imagination, I came up with this.
Jerry Lamana and Reggie Purdue (of Season 1's "Ghost in the Machine" and "Young at Heart," respectively) are heavily featured in this story. They were Mulder's colleagues during his time with the VCU.
Sirens were blaring, medical staff were shouting, gurneys were flying across the ground. It was an obnoxious mess, and yet all Fox Mulder could think of was getting into Georgetown University Hospital as quickly as possible. All he had to do was skirt around the hustle and bustle of everyday activity and find a reception desk. And maybe a bottle of aspirin to do away with the pounding headache that was steadily growing at his temples.
He was a sleep-deprived coffee-addicted mess. Only getting a couple hours sleep here and there in his free time. Otherwise, he was pouring over case files, consulting with colleagues, and trying to connect the dots between the recent rash of killings in Washington D.C. But he couldn't stop now; they finally had a break in the shape of Katherine Foster-a young woman brutally knifed in an alley in Georgetown during the early hours of morning, but still surprisingly alive. Their culprit hadn't been so careless before; he always made sure the women were dead before he left them. Mulder suspected something had disturbed the man and kept him from completing his kill.
Katherine Foster's description fit the murderer's typical victim type: a blond university student who happened to be alone in the wee hours of the morning. Intel showed that she had been out with friends at a bar the evening before and left to walk home at about two in the morning. And sometime between leaving that bar and being found at half past seven by some college kids taking a shortcut to class, she had been attacked. Little else was known at the moment, but Mulder was well aware that Foster was the first victim to be found alive. Meaning there was the chance she saw her attacker. Mulder and his partner, Jerry Lamana, were tasked with speaking to her while a forensic team went over the site of the assault.
Mulder marched up to the nearest reception desk and tried to flag down one of the busy nursing staff. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall behind the desk: 9:17. Approximately two hours since she was found. He heard the sharp trot of shoes against the linoleum floor. His partner, Jerry Lamana, jogged up beside him.
"Get us parked?" Mulder asked.
"You bet," Jerry replied with a huff, handing the keys over to Mulder. "Got anything on Foster?"
"Not yet," Mulder sighed. "I'm hoping to get someone's attention soon." He tapped his fingers impatiently against the top of the desk. A middle-aged nurse in pink scrubs suddenly freed herself from a phone call and walked over.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder," Mulder replied, showing his badge. "My partner, Special Agent Lamana." Lamana flashed his credentials, as well. "We're here hoping to speak to a patient that was recently brought in-a Katherine Foster."
"Okay," she replied, hurrying off to look into the in-patient files. She pulled one out and returned to the two agents. "I'm seeing a Katherine Foster. Checked in at 8:06 this morning with severe stab wounds. It says here she was scheduled for emergency surgery upon her admission. And I see no notation of her having exited surgery. Though I can try to find one of the doctors working with her." Staring at the sheaf of papers in front of her, she absently picked up the phone and prepared to type in an extension. Her eyes flashed up as a young woman in blue scrubs began to walk past. "Ah, but here's one of her doctors now." She abruptly set down the phone. "Doctor Scully!" she called.
A petite woman walked up beside the agents, her striking blue eyes staring at the nurse in question. Mulder practically chuckled at the thought of the little woman conducting surgery, especially since she was about two heads shorter than him. Plain brown hair was bundled up in a messy ponytail where a few strands had come loose. Lamana caught Mulder's eye and he gave an almost unperceivable nod of approval. Mulder didn't deign the reaction with a response, not finding it to be the time or place. Plus, he was just too damn tired. Instead, he plastered the most amenable expression he could muster on his face.
"Yes?" the doctor asked of the nurse, her voice deeper than Mulder had expected but clear and confident. She was not a woman to toy with; there was an inherent strength to her that Mulder couldn't entirely place.
"The FBI are looking for Katherine Foster," the nurse explained, handing over the patient file. The doctor quickly reviewed it before turning to the agents at her side. Mulder and Lamana flipped their badges open again. Once satisfied, the woman nodded.
"What can you tell me about Ms. Foster?" Mulder asked, immediately cutting to the chase now that he had someone's attention.
"She was stabbed in the abdomen," the woman replied clinically. "There was profuse blood loss, but thankfully none of the major organs were punctured or otherwise damaged. Besides that, she was extremely dehydrated. It's not been too cold this September, so she didn't suffer from hypothermia. Ultimately, it comes down to the fact that she looked much worse than she was in reality, and she's liable to pull through."
"When can we speak to her?" Lamana cut in at Mulder's side.
"As soon as she's returned to her room and regained consciousness. Investigatory surgery was completed on her a short time ago, and it was determined that aside from some minor tissue damage to her abdomen which has now been stitched up and some superficial cuts on her face and hands, she's fine. Nonetheless, she's undergone some blood transfusions and is on morphine, as well as a saline drip. She should be returned to her room soon."
"Excuse me," Mulder said hastily. He turned to his partner. "You report into ASAC Purdue about Foster's condition. Request that 24/7 security be stationed outside her room. If this is our killer, he knows he messed up, and he can't risk Foster talking. He might try to come for her, and we can't afford that kind of screw-up." Lamana nodded.
"You got it. What are you going to do?"
"I'll stay here. Wait to see if she wakes and stay posted outside her room until you get that paperwork cleared."
"Call me when she's up," Lamana urged. "I'd like to be here when she talks."
"I will," Mulder nodded. Lamana about faced and strode to the nearest exit. Mulder returned to the doctor in front of him. She had crossed her arms, looking up at him expectantly with her bright eyes, made all the brighter by the white-washed walls and intense hospital lighting.
"I'm sorry about that," he offered as means of apology, even including a rare placating smile. "Thank you for the update. Would you be sure to inform me when she's awake?"
"I'll make sure someone lets you know," the woman nodded, maintaining eye contact. She turned to go.
"Oh, one more thing," Mulder added. She glanced over her shoulder. "Could you or one of the staff direct me to where her room will be? I'd like to sit outside it if that wouldn't be too much trouble."
"It shouldn't be," the woman replied slowly. "Is she in danger?"
"We believe she was meant to be killed this morning, and we want to ensure her attacker doesn't attempt to finish the job. So I'd like to be posted outside her room."
"I'm sure that can be arranged," the woman nodded. She slipped Katherine Foster's file back onto the reception desk. "One of the nurses should be able to help you. If you'll excuse me." She backed off and wandered on down the hall. Mulder watched as she disappeared from sight, finding himself oddly curious about the woman.
Mulder curled his long legs uncomfortably under his chair, attempting to keep them out of the way of the hospital staff flying to and fro down the hall. Katherine Foster had been moved to her room, but she still hadn't woken. Nurses periodically walked passed Mulder to check her status and fluids. Every time they exited the room, they gave him the same response: she was doing perfectly well, but still hadn't regained consciousness. Oftentimes the report was accompanied by an encouraging smile which Mulder attempted to return. But the hours were wearing on him. The fatigue he had managed to keep at bay over the last few days since the case started was catching up with him as he sat still and silent in his chair. He would need a couple hours sleep or at the very least a cup of coffee and a handful of sunflower seeds if he wanted to keep functional. He checked his watch. It was half past noon. Where was Lamana with the agents to relieve him? He half considered commandeering a phone to try and get a hold of his partner when a familiar voice echoed down the hall.
"Mulder!" He looked to one side to see Lamana grinning at him, flanked by two other men.
"You took your sweet time, Jerry," he replied, standing up and stretching himself out. It felt good to move his stiff limbs after being crunched into a chair for hours on end.
"Bureaucratic red tape," he shrugged. "What can you do?" Mulder noticed a file clenched tightly in his hand, but said nothing of it. Lamana continued. "But yeah, these two agents have been given the green light to supervise Foster's room." The two agents nodded at Mulder, one taking Mulder's unoccupied chair as the other walked off, presumably in search of another chair. "She awake yet, by the way?"
"Nope, and I've seen a nurse check on her about every half hour or so." Lamana checked his watch.
"Well, I told Purdue I'd apprise him of the situation when I got here. I'll give him a call. Meanwhile, here's a listing of the forensic findings from the crime scene." He handed Mulder the file. "Purdue was wondering if this could help you fine tune your profile at all." Mulder peered at the mess of papers packed into the manila envelope.
"I'll take a look at it," he agreed. "But first I'm going to find some coffee." He rubbed his tired eyes.
"Go ahead," Lamana nodded. "I'll meet you in the lobby in a bit." Mulder turned to the stationed agent and gave him a curt nod of farewell before wandering down the hall.
After weaving among the intersecting halls for a bit, he finally found a single-serving coffee machine wedged near one of the waiting rooms. He fished out a few coins from his pocket, popped them in the contraption, and glanced at the file he held. There were some crime scene photos, preliminary analyses on blood and other traces found at the location. Mulder sincerely doubted any of it would bolster his profile in any way. By his accounts, the Foster attack had been a mistake. She was meant to die-and another death would certainly have offered more to Mulder's profile, but in her survival, all they had was a botched crime scene and the woman's word. Foster's statement would prove much more beneficial than any information obtained from the site of the assault. Had her assailant left any prints or blood, Mulder would have heard about it immediately; given that he heard no such thing about any such genetic indicators, it was to be assumed that there was little to be gained by reviewing the preliminary crime scene reports. But every detail deserved going over, and Mulder wouldn't shirk his duties or his responsibilities as an agent with the Violent Crimes Unit.
The last of his coffee dripped into the deposited paper cup. He picked it up and took a sip. It was scalding and muddy tasting, but it would do its job. Unfortunately, there were no sugar packets or individual creamers around to neutralize some of the acrid taste. He frowned at the thought of chugging down the awful substance, but he needed something to keep him on his feet. After taking another drink, he directed his feet to the nearby reception desk.
"Could I use a pen?" he asked. A nurse picked one out of a flowery cup containing all sorts of writing implements and set it down on the desk. "Thanks." He walked over to a long row of chairs sitting across from the coffee machine. Carefully, he set his cup down on the seat beside him and crossed his legs, resting the ankle of one foot against the knee of his other. He set the file against his leg and flipped it open. He shuffled through the documents, hoping that someone had the presence of mind to include a lined sheet of loose-leaf paper so he could jot down notes as he scanned the various reports and analyses.
Thank you, Jerry, he thought to himself as he found a page wedged into the back of the folder and dated it. September 23, 1989. He carefully printed his name at the top, as well. Now to see if we can unearth any new clues, he thought with a sigh as he riffled through the various photos and documents. He scanned the crime scene photos, noting the location of blood spatter and signs of a scuffle. There was little information to be garnered. He reached for his coffee, pulling out the testimonies of the two students who had found Foster. A blue blur suddenly flashed in his peripheral vision. He looked up to see a woman in surgical scrubs standing at the coffee machine. She dug beneath the elastic band of her pants, seemingly looking for something.
"Damn!" she muttered, coming up empty handed. Mulder realized it was the doctor from before, the one who had informed him of Katherine Foster's condition. He quietly set down his coffee, put aside the file, and stood. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some change and crossed over to her.
"Here," he said quietly, holding out the necessary money. Startled at his sudden appearance, her eyes shot up to meet his. Her expression quickly calmed as she recognized him.
"Uh, thank you," she replied with the ghost of a smile. She slipped the coins into the machine and waited for her cup. Rather than returning to his seat, though, Mulder remained where he was.
"Brave of you to drink that sludge," he commented idly. "I would've thought the good stuff would be hidden in back." The woman picked up her freshly brewed cup and perfunctorily blew on it. She smirked up at him.
"Don't let rumors fool you," she reprimanded playfully. "It's no better in the break room, so I take what I can get." She took a sip and winced at its bitterness. "I just wish they would put out some creamer."
"One moment," Mulder quickly said, his eyes straying to his own cup of coffee and the abandoned file. The woman arched her eyebrows at him questioningly as he strode over to his chair, picked up his cup, and swept up the file, tucking it under his arm. He returned. "Can't go lying this stuff around for anyone to pick up," he explained, taking a sip.
"Mmm-hmm," she agreed, swallowing her own drink. Mulder wondered if she'd buried her nose in her cup to hide a critical look at his foolhardiness. Professional individuals-whether FBI or medical staff-were expected to always keep prying eyes away from potentially classified documents. Unless it was in your hand, nothing was ever wholly safe. She coughed, though Mulder couldn't ascertain if she was covering an incredulous laugh or reacting to the muddy brew. "You were looking for Katherine Foster earlier, right?" she finally asked inquisitively. Mulder nodded. "Were you able to speak with her?"
"Not while she's unconscious. Unless you know of any psychics or seers," he teased lightly. She offered a strained smile.
"I'm afraid I can't help you there. But she's likely to wake soon." She tossed her empty cup into a waste basket. "Good luck in your questioning of her." She reached out a hand to Mulder. He awkwardly juggled his unfinished coffee from one hand to the other before grasping her hand with his own. "And thank you for the coffee," she added. Mulder nodded before watching her walk off, again finding himself oddly intrigued by her. He couldn't guess for why, though.
With a shrug, he finished the last dregs of his coffee, tossed it in the trash, and checked his watch. He was due to meet Lamana in the main lobby, and after returning the borrowed pen to the reception desk, he headed off in that direction.
"She's up. She offered a description of her attacker, and she's willing to see a sketch artist," Mulder recited into the lobby phone.
"Alright, Agent Mulder," ASAC Reggie Purdue replied sternly. "Have you taken her statement on her whereabouts and the events of last night?"
"Agent Lamana is doing that right now," Mulder nodded, "but we need a sketch artist here, sir."
"I heard you, Agent Mulder. I'll ask for one to be sent there promptly. Two other agents should be arriving soon to reprieve those posted outside her door."
"That's good, sir. I believe Foster's safety should be our number one priority. With her talking, she's painted a target on her back, and I won't risk losing her."
"I'm aware of the risks. We'll ensure she remains secure."
"What would you like me to do next, sir?" Mulder asked, unconsciously checking his watch. 8:36.
"Stay put until Foster has finished with the sketch artist. I'll expect a report on her statement and a copy of her description of the assailant ASAP. The sooner we catch this bastard, the better."
"I agree, sir." The phone line clicked, and Mulder set down the receiver. "Thank you," he said tiredly to one of the night-shift nurses on staff. She nodded with a smile. Mulder turned down the hall to return to Katherine Foster's room, intent on listening to her statement. He would be sure to check the lobby again shortly for the arrival of the sketch artist. Otherwise, it seemed like Katherine Foster had proven to be just the break they were looking for. With her help, they could hopefully catch the killer and be done with the grisly case altogether.
Mulder rubbed his eyes, wishing for anything he could get a couple hours shut-eye to get himself back into fighting shape. So long as the case was on-going though, he'd need to suffer through it. At least until the man was caught-a task hopefully made much easier between his profile and Foster's statements. Feeling the long, tantalizing fingers of sleep cling to him, he unexpectedly veered off into the men's room. Approaching the sink, he turned the faucet knob, spurring ice-cold water to come streaming out. Without a second's thought, he dunked his head in the liquid, splashing it along his neck and face. Anything to jolt him awake. The sink gurgled and sputtered as the remaining water circled the drain and disappeared. Mulder stared at his drenched features in the mirror and grabbed at a paper towel. He dabbed his scalp and face, sponging up what water he could. Another glance in the mirror told him he looked like a bedraggled rat with a bad haircut, but he was awake. He slicked back some wet strands of hair, shook out his suit jacket of the beads of water clinging to it, and put on his best professional demeanor. Upon exiting the bathroom, he spotted a familiar small form walking down the hall with a coat on her arm.
"Hey, there," he said with an easy smile. The woman slowly looked up at him, coming to a stop. Appraising him with sharp, detail-oriented eyes, she opened her mouth to speak, reconsidered, then tried again.
"You look like you were out in a hurricane," she commented. "And though I'm new to the area, I've never read that hurricanes are prevalent in D.C." He pointed to the bathroom door behind him.
"I needed a little pick-me-up," he replied.
"Uh-huh," she nodded, appearing as if to understand him. "Have you been here this whole time?" she pressed. "Since I met you this morning?"
"Yeah. Katherine Foster just recently woke up, though, so everything's underway again." The woman sighed, checked her watch, and her shoulders sagged under some unseen weight.
"Well, I was just on my way out, but I think my time would be better spent keeping you conscious." She turned on her heel and marched down the hall. The sharp click of heels met his ears with each step she took. She certainly wasn't wearing those before, he thought as he watched her walk down the hall. "Come on," she beckoned with a glance over her shoulder. Mulder raised his eyebrows curiously, but followed her all the same. He would find Lamana shortly, and if need be, he could use his recent government-issued cell phone to contact his partner. The thing was a pain in the ass to carry around, but it proved invaluable in times of crisis.
The young woman breezed through various hallways, but Mulder found it easy to keep up with her on his long legs. Finally, she drifted to the right of the hallway and toward a doorway marked "Staff Only." She held the door open for him to follow her. Mulder stepped into a sparsely furnished break room complete with all the amenities, including a few vending machines and numerous sets of tables and chairs. Mulder was surprised to see the room deserted; he would have expected the space to be busy at all hours of the day and night, though the woman didn't seem stunned in the least. She slung her coat over one of the chairs and gestured for him to take another one.
"Sit," she demanded. Mulder did as he was told, silently wondering to himself why he was listening to dutifully to the young doctor. The woman dug into her purse, pulling out a couple dollars. She fed a bill to one of the vending machines and punched a large, rectangular button. With a clunk, a bottle of cold water fell down the chute into the dispenser. "While a diet of coffee can last you a few hours," she said turning back to Mulder and setting the water in front of him, "I don't recommend it for more than a day. It'll screw up your system more than it will help. Human bodies need real sustenance from time to time." She smirked at Mulder, and he had the distinct impression that she felt as if she were talking to a toddler rather than a grown man, and an FBI agent no less. He picked up the bottle and uncertainly unscrewed the cap. She returned to a different vending machine-one with various pre-packaged foods on a rotating platform with little access doors. "Now what do you want to eat?" she promptly asked, looking at the various foods on offer. "There's a ham sandwich. A turkey sub. Some fruit." She looked over to him.
"Is that sanitary?" he asked, finishing a drink of water, and finally finding his voice.
"It's not killed anyone yet," she replied flippantly, "though I usually bring my own lunch just in case."
"If you get me something from there, would you be willing to be my food taster? I'd just rather not suffer the embarrassment of succumbing to food poisoning in a hospital." The woman rolled her eyes.
"Well, good thing I'm a medical doctor," she retorted. "Chances of you expiring are slim-unless you continue your current trend. There's little I can do for you if you refuse to eat or sleep." Mulder shrugged, trying to appear unaffected by her words as he took another drink of water. Truth be told, he was beginning to feel more and more incompetent. Not as a VCU agent, but as a man taking care of day-to-day needs. He had fallen into his old habit of letting a case consume him without any consideration of his physical and psychological well-being. And now he was in a place where a doctor had to ply him with food and drink to keep him functioning. "Now what do you want?" she asked again.
"I'll try the turkey sub," he replied realizing he really did have to eat something substantial and was, in fact, a little hungry. He reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. "How much do I owe you?" She plopped the sandwich on the table in front of him.
"Your life," she deadpanned, removing her hand from the cellophane-wrapped sub.
"I didn't think I'd made a deal with the devil," Mulder replied cheekily, ripping open the packaged sandwich unhesitatingly.
"That would cost your soul," the woman replied simply, taking a seat next to him and crossing her legs. Mulder took a big bite of the sub, unceremoniously overstuffing his mouth. "I drive a much easier bargain," she smiled.
"Thank God for that," he said through a bite of turkey, lettuce, tomato, and bread. "I'd rather not be eternally bound to you for the rest of my life." He swallowed. "No offense meant," he added hurriedly, realizing he was perhaps being a bit too carefree and personal with a complete stranger. Maybe the sleep deprivation was really getting to him. Or maybe he was just finding her eerily easy to talk to. She rolled her eyes, and he was whole-heartedly thankful that she hadn't taken offense to his blasé manner. "But honestly, what do I owe you?" he suddenly asked, hoping to return the conversation to safer territory.
"Nothing," she shook her head. "So long as your coherent and conscious. Just don't let yourself get this bad again. I'm not always going to be around to pull you back from the brink." She smirked.
"Yeah," he admitted hesitantly. "I got a bit engrossed in this case; a bad habit of mine, I admit. With Katherine Foster awake though, we're so close to closing it."
"Sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and dehydration will make you a liability and potentially put your colleagues at risk," she replied wisely. "Better to take care of yourself than run on an empty tank."
"And a medical doctor is telling me this?" Mulder retorted with a smile, balling up the sandwich wrapper. "Don't you work 48 hour shifts on a weekly basis?"
"I'm just a resident at the moment," she corrected quietly, picking up the wrapper to toss it into the trash. "But I have worked a handful of 36 hour shifts. To get through them, I make sure I take ample breaks to sleep and get something to eat. I'm not standing on my feet the entire time."
"I'm sitting for a good part of my day, don't forget," Mulder teased with a lopsided smile. "Otherwise, you're fresh out of medical school then?" he added, intrigued to hear a little more about the woman.
"And quickly reconsidering whether a career in medicine is for me." Mulder arched his eyebrows at the insinuation and took another drink of water.
"Not liking it?" he asked. She returned to her chair.
"It's certainly fulfilling," she readily admitted with a nod. "I do a lot of good, but the more I see of this life, the less it feels like where I belong."
"That's a lot of tuition gone to waste if you've suddenly decided it's your dream job is to be a pastry chef," Mulder commented, attempting to lighten up the mood.
"Well, hopefully it won't be that bad. I'm happy with my medical degree, but I can't see myself working day-in and day-out in a hospital. It's too..." she sought out an appropriate descriptor, "emotionally taxing, I guess."
In his mind's eye, Mulder watched as her internal fortifications began to crumble. The wall she built on a daily basis to distance herself from the horrors she witnessed in those white-washed halls eroded away, showing cracks in the foundation that gave him a definite, though obscured view into her mental state. His profiler's mind spring to life. She wasn't entirely happy, but she was young and still had time to choose where she belonged. There were certainly options available to her, and her tenacity coupled with her meticulous nature would get her far in life. She was an ambitious woman, and she would no doubt do great things in life; she just had to find her calling. He had found his place in the FBI after some soul-searching; his skills in criminal profiling were unparalleled, and he was highly regarded in the VCU as a thoroughly competent and reliable agent. Ultimately, he was proud of the work he did in memory of his sister, Samantha, and he hoped he'd one day be able to find and rescue her like the countless victims he saved through the Bureau.
Though he also could sense the winds of change in his life. His periodic sessions with Dr. Heitz Werber were leading him to reconsider the circumstances surrounding Samantha's abduction. If the accounts he gave during their regression hypnosis therapy tapings were to be believed, Samantha had been taken by something far more unbelievable and incredible than anything found on Earth, and he had been a unknowing witness to it. But Mulder wasn't entirely certain where he was expected to look for answers. His career in the Bureau gave him access to some records and files he otherwise wouldn't be able to see, but so much was omitted out and censored. The only option left was to dig deeper, and Mulder had decided that learning the truth about Samantha was well worth any obstacles he might potentially face.
With her stern, ambitious countenance, Mulder wondered how far the woman in front of him would go to seek answers about ones she loved. There was drive behind her eyes, and while she was directionless now, Mulder sensed she would be about willing to do just about anything for the right person. He found he rather liked that about her.
"Well, medical personnel are always needed in law enforcement agencies," he offered as a possible career option. "That is, if you get tired of working with the living. The nice thing about the dead is that they don't talk back or need a shoulder to cry on." He smiled lightly before becoming serious once more. "I've often heard the medical examiners at the Bureau say that the dead have so much more to tell you than the living." She smiled appreciatively.
"Thanks," she said, her eyes suddenly appearing tired. Mulder finished the last of his water and lobbed the empty bottle into a garbage can. He fist-pumped the air when it landed cleanly in the bin. The woman chuckled as she stood and picked up her coat. Mulder stood, as well.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, looking her in the eyes. "I've been in pretty bad shape the last few days, so thanks for trying to fix me up."
"Just doing my civic duty," she replied nonchalantly, checking her purse for her car keys. She pulled them out and cupped them in one hand. She looked to him once more and nodded curtly. "But you have a good night." She moved to open the door.
"Hey," Mulder quickly said, his hand shooting out to grab her lightly be the wrist. She turned around wide-eyed and inquisitive at the sudden action. He hastily released her. "I just wanted to say..." he coughed once and took a deep breath, trying to smooth over his awkward approach. "Don't give up. You'll find your place." Her sharp gaze softened and a gentle smile played at her lips.
"Thank you," she returned. "I mean to try. And good luck on your case. Just don't give up on yourself when you're caught up with work," she added with a chuckle. He laughed in turn at the deserved jab, and with a final smile, she exited the room and filed out into the bustling hallway. Mulder hung back, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment as he prepared to face the world again. He had gotten oddly comfortable with the quiet, small space of the break room. It served as a perfect hideaway for a brief time and gave him a sense of solace that was much-needed. Suddenly a thought struck him, and he found himself dumbfounded that he had forgotten to ask such a key question. He threw open the door and stepped out into the clamor.
"I never got your name," he called, looking left and right in a sea of multi-colored scrubs and lab coats, but he didn't see a little brunette head bobbing among them. Mulder sighed, checked his watch, and pointed his feet toward Katherine Foster's room once more. Jerry Lamana was likely wondering where in the world he was, and ASAC Reggie Purdue expected a progress report. There was always work to be done. The military-grade sized cell phone buried deep in his coat pocket rang. He lugged it out and pushed a key before holding it to his ear.
"Mulder."