A/N: It took me ages to get this one right, but it's finally ready. I think. This is my take on how Mulder learned about Scully being assigned to The X Files. Characters are obviously not mine - I'm just playing as I'm (im)patiently awaiting the revival. Not too long now! Reviews are lovely, please make my day :)


The New Partner

Part I Mulder

When Skinner showed up on his doorway, he knew for sure – this was definitely not his day.

It's not as if he didn't have signs. They were there all morning, taunting him. He woke up fifteen minutes after the alarm and jammed his toe into the coffee table. He picked up the wrong cup at the café, and as if that in itself wasn't irritating enough, spilled its entire content all over his recently dry-cleaned jacket. It still smelled of soy milk, which made his office reek, as well. The only skylight in the tiny space was stuck so he couldn't even get some fresh air in. His printer stopped working with no apparent reason, and a tower of files all but collapsed on his head when he bent underneath his desk to pick up a stray pencil. Even as the small incidents accumulated and worsened, he dismissed them. Just one of those days, he figured; no point in making a big deal out of it.

Little did he know that his day was about to get so much worse.

He was still catching his breath underneath his desk when he heard approaching footsteps. He thought nothing of it; people passed by his office at all odd hours, mostly on their way to use the spare photocopier three doors down. It was a well-kept secret among veteran agents passed on only to a chosen few. The photocopiers upstairs were getting too busy around midday. Those venturing downstairs often lingered by his office door, where his nameplate served a silent memento to the fallen golden boy of the FBI, but moved on as swiftly as they arrived. No one wanted to risk being tainted by his deteriorating reputation.

And so when someone cleared his throat on the threshold and he realized there was another person in the office with him, he was so shocked he bumped his head against the frame of the desk.

"Ouch! Son of a – "

"Agent Mulder?"

At the sound of the familiar voice he started, then crawled out as neatly he possibly could without looking like more of an idiot. He blinked twice, but his eyes were not deceiving him. It really was Assistant Director Skinner standing there, holding a thin folder against his chest.

"Sir. What a surprise," he said, straightening his tie. Although his dress shirt was thankfully not stained with coffee, it was now hopelessly wrinkled and covered with dust bunnies. One glance at his superior and it was clear he wasn't the only one noticing it.

"Are you alright, Agent?" asked Skinner, eyeing him with concern. Then his gaze shifted to the desk. "What were you doing down there?"

"I was just…" His voice trailed. Nothing he said would make him look better at this point. "Never mind, Sir. What I can do for you?"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"How am I doing, Sir?" he echoed slowly, all the while furiously attempting to figure out how he had messed up this time. He didn't remember pissing off any of the executives recently. Not more than usual that is. Why would Skinner be down there in the midst of what was surely a busy day, especially looking for him? It didn't look good. It looked rather suspicious, actually. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why would you say that, Mulder?" asked Skinner, certain wariness sneaking into his voice.

"Surely you could ask your secretary to get me if you needed to see me, Sir. And yet here you are, in person. And it can't be just out of concern for my well-being. I'm not that important to the bureau."

Skinner chuckled darkly. He pretended to see faint blush rise in the bald man's face. Clearly, he was busted. He should have known not to use false pretenses, not with him. He was a brilliant profiler, after all. Or so he was told.

"I need to talk to you," Skinner said finally, stating the obvious.

Well, he was already doomed. He beckoned the older man to come inside. "Have a seat."

Skinner hesitated, but only for a moment. He made his way through a jumble of books and case files and took a seat across from him. He fiddled with his folder, placing it neatly across his lap, as if wanting to keep his hands busy. He still hadn't spoken.

"I'm all ears, Sir," he reminded him, allowing a small, cautious grin curl on his lips. The older man cleared his throat, still looking hesitant.

"First of all I'll have you know that this was not my idea – "

"Come on, Sir, now you're starting to scare me." He wasn't even joking. He was genuinely anxious with every second Skinner was stalling. "What is it?"

"The higher ups feel you've been down here on your own for too long."

"It isn't my fault no one has the stomach to stay long enough for the ride." Honestly, working on the X Files alongside him was like being a governess for the Von Trapp children. No one had lasted very long; he had supposedly scared everyone away. He knew he was not an easy person to tolerate, let alone work with. Every time his superiors had attempted to pair him up with a new partner –

Then it suddenly dawned on him, and he felt the blood drain from his face. He knew exactly why Skinner was there and where the conversation was going. "No," he hissed, his eyes narrowing at his boss despite himself.

"You're getting a new partner," said Skinner, although at this point there was no big surprise there; he had already figured it out. His tone was resolute, but he seemed cautious. Clearly, he was bracing himself for resentment he knew would be coming.

Well, he wasn't going to let the older man down. "Why?"

"You know why, Agent Mulder. It is against FBI regulations for you to be – "

"I don't need a new partner. I manage quite well on my own here."

"Look, this is not negotiable," Skinner cut him off decisively. "Contrary to what you may believe, rules are meant to be followed, not broken. And you need someone to watch your back."

"You mean the fellows upstairs actually care for my well-being? I'm flattered, Sir. I'm practically blushing."

"Cut the crap, Mulder. The decision is final. There's nothing you can do to change it."

Then he got it. Of course. It made perfect sense that Skinner himself would be down there laying the news on him rather than some lesser figure. Skinner had always had a soft spot towards him despite his erratic behavior and general dislike of his superiors. The Assistant Director had always treated him with more patience and respect than the rest of them, almost as though he'd liked him. He imagined it wasn't far-fetched; he just wasn't used to displays of positive emotion from his peers, not since he was deemed the black sheep of the bureau. At the moment, though, in light of this current news, he couldn't help feeling betrayed. He didn't need a new partner, someone who would breathe down his back and slow him down. Not when he was finally getting somewhere on the X Files.

"When?" he all but growled. If Skinner was intimidated, he didn't show it.

"Next Friday."

Rare were the times when he was left speechless. This was definitely one of those times. He had so many things he wanted to say, but he simply couldn't string the words together. And there was no point saying anything, really; Skinner made it very clear that the decision was final. In exactly a week's time, he would have a new partner. Nothing he was going to say would change this grim fact, or the deadline.

Another moment passed. Skinner deliberated, but then reached for the folder in his lap. "Here's her file, in case you're remotely interested."

"Her file?" he asked, his voice a cross between disgust and incredulity. Skinner glared at him and handed him the folder with no further comment, not even a nod. He took it, sulking. "Great. Awesome. Thanks so much," he said, each word dripping with sarcasm. If earlier he'd still managed to contain himself somewhat, now he simply couldn't help it. He could already picture this woman, all breasts and curves and long hair; a femme fatal sent by the higher ups to seduce him, and then bring him down. Just when the wound Diana had left behind was beginning to heal.

Skinner sighed with what sounded distinctly like exasperation, and then got up and approached the door. In the last moment he changed his mind and turned back to face him. "You know, Mulder, you of all people should know to keep an open mind about this. Who knows, you might be pleasantly surprised."

"Somehow I highly doubt that, Sir," he muttered. He was tempted to create a formation of paper planes from each and every one of the pages that compiled that damn folder. Somehow he didn't think Skinner would appreciate such an initiative.

"Just try to be nice, will you?"

"I'll be on my very best behavior, Sir," he said, all but batting his eyelashes innocently.

He could tell Skinner wasn't buying his act, but the Assistant Director merely shrugged. "Back to work, Agent."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

As soon as he heard Skinner's footsteps receding down the hall, he glared at the folder before tossing it across his desk.

xxx

Of course, he could only let it go for so long. All through the day, he felt the taunting presence of the folder, wordlessly daring him to open it. It was late in the afternoon when he finally gave in. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed it and brought it closer. He opened it reluctantly, yet forcibly enough that a photo came loose of its paper clip and dropped on his desk. It was a black and white portrait, as per FBI requirements.

She looked too young and too green to be either a spy or a temptress, but he knew he shouldn't let looks deceive him. Phoebe Green was also young and beautiful when they first met, and everyone knew how well that story turned out. He observed the stranger's bright eyes and straight hair as closely as he would a criminal. She looked nothing like the dark image he'd had in mind for the last few hours. She had pleasant features, actually. It was certainly different than the more striking, intimidating sort, like Diana Fowley; a softer type of beauty. He turned his attention back to her personal file, hoping to learn some more.

Dana Katherine Scully, twenty eight years old, joined the bureau merely two years prior. She was a scientist, a friggin' medical doctor, no less, with background in forensic medicine. Apparently she was recruited out of medical school and was currently teaching at the Academy in Quantico. What on earth were the executives thinking she would do with him? Did they count on her to use her medical background to declare him unfit, and thus get rid of him for good?

Since she was relatively new to the FBI, her file didn't reveal much else, but he was burning with curiosity now despite himself. Her photo remained on his desk and her eyes were leering at him, almost challenging him to try and send her away. She seemed so faultless, and that only increased his resentment. He needed to know more. There had to be something devious about her. What skeletons was this woman hiding for their superiors to crown her Mrs. Spooky?

There was only one way to find out.

xxx

"Nothing else, Frohike? Are you guys certain?"

"You sound disappointed, Mulder," said Frohike.

"And just a little more paranoid than usual." Langly, on the extension. "What else were you hoping for us to find?"

"I'm… not sure." He was disappointed, which was somewhat irrational. He glanced at her photo. She looked too goody-two-shoes for anything dirty or mysterious he'd had in mind. He would have been surprised if the Gunmen had unearthed something about her.

"Dana Katherine Scully, born 1964, daughter of William, a retired Navy Captain, and Margaret, former kindergarten teacher. The third of four siblings. Graduated from the University of Maryland in 1986 with a senior thesis in physics." Frohike let out a long whistle. "A medical doctor. A smart girl you've got there, Mulder. You never told us you were back on the dating pool."

"What?" he asked irritably. Even two days later, the imminent arrival of his new partner – now less than a week away – was a nuisance to him, not to mention the complete lack of information that might mark her as the enemy. He was beginning to exhaust his resources and it was pissing him off. He was not in the mood for hints and games.

"Papa Smurf means to say it's a good thing you're finally over Diana, but it's probably not advisable as first impression, having us run background checks on your potential dates."

"It's not a – It's nothing like that." There was expectant silence on the other end. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "She's to be my new partner, as of Friday."

That made them both burst in laughter. Having expected it, it was somewhat less hurtful. "Leaving behind a promising career in medicine so she could chase little green men with you? She must have seriously pissed off one of the slave drivers," roared Frohike.

"I tried to get myself out of it, believe me. I don't need anyone breathing down my back, trying to keep up. Especially not someone as inexperienced in field work as this girl seems to be. Besides, I'm pretty sure there's more to it than the good intentions of my superiors."

"Can you be more paranoid, man?" chuckled Langly. "Not everyone in this planet – or elsewhere, for that matter – is out to get you."

"It just feels a bit suspect, is all."

"What do you base that on?"

"It's just a hunch, okay?"

"Well, there's nothing on her that would suggest it, Mulder. Maybe you're wrong."

"In all the years you've known me, Langly, how many times have I been wrong?"

"Don't answer that, hippie. Seriously, though, Mulder. I don't know what to tell you. She's clean as a whistle. Oh, but hey, since you're not interested, care to put in a good word on my behalf?"

"She's half your age, you perv!" Langly roared with laughter.

Their ongoing bickering became background noise. He stared at his I Want to Believe poster in momentary defeat. Then something occurred to him, and he straightened up in his chair, new determination coursing through him. "You guys said that she graduated from the University of Maryland?"

xxx

He spent the next night reading her senior thesis, which he had retrieved earlier that day from the University of Maryland. Einstein's Twin Paradox, a New Interpretation. Well, she was fierce, he was willing to give her that, and ballsy. Her writing style was sharp and cohesive and not entirely typical for a student so young. Hell, he didn't remember his own college papers to be as strongly argued, and he aced every single one of his classes in Oxford. It told him that whoever Dana Scully was and whatever was her agenda, she was serious and hard-working. If her writing style was any indication of her character, he was in deep trouble.

He looked at her photo again, well aware of the fact he was obsessing and yet unable to help himself. He tried to look into her, to put together the few pieces available to him, but to no avail. He tossed both photo and paper onto his coffee table in frustration and stretched across his sofa, sighing. This was exactly what they had wanted him to do. They wanted to toy with him even before they sent their minion to infiltrate into his office, to write her notes and field reports and tell them exactly what they want to hear. Well, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He wouldn't make it easy on her. If she was going to bring him down, she was more than welcome to attempt it, but he wasn't going to go without a fight.

xxx

When he arrived at work on Thursday, he found a memo from Skinner, reminding him of Agent Scully's arrival, sometime around noon the next day. He crumbled the note into a little ball and tossed it into the wastebasket along with a hiss of nasty curses. He didn't actually believe he'd be able to get away with it, of course. He just wished he'd had more time to prepare. Luckily he had come up with new evidence on the case he was working on, and it served as good enough distraction. But then he realized he would have to fill her in about it the next day, and his concentration was all gone. As he was gathering up some slides for a presentation, he couldn't help but snigger. Hopefully the bizarre nature of this case – the unexplained deaths of a bunch of high school graduates in Bellefleur, Oregon – would freak her out enough to keep her out of his way.

He glanced at his watch, then at his schedule. At a very early stage in his career he had learned that legwork was the only way to acquire information. The case of his new partner was no exception to this principle. While sure of the Gunmen and their findings (or its lack thereof), his time was running out. He was still desperate for information, any sort of information, before the next day. He had no meetings due, no interviews. His trip to Oregon was organized, including the second plane ticket and inn reservation which he had reluctantly booked earlier. He gathered his things and grabbed his coat, making sure everything was in order before he locked up. Then, knowing full well he probably shouldn't do this, he headed to Quantico.

The recklessness of his actions was beginning to fully dawn on him as he pulled into the main parking lot and made his way to the Administration building. The only thing he knew for certain was that Agent Scully was currently teaching at the Academy. He knew neither her class schedule nor if he would be able to get in. He didn't even consider what he'd do if he wouldn't be able to – stalk the hallways, try to break into her office? He'd just have to play it by ear, he figured. The majority of his work on the X Files consisted on trusting his instincts, anyway.

The secretary on duty was a pretty young thing, all pink lips and honey colored curls. He was ashamed to be reduced to such cheap ploys, but honestly, one smoldering look was all it took. She informed him that Dr. Scully's class had started not half an hour before, in room 208, a pathology lab on the second floor of the Learning Center. Well, that wasn't good news. If her class took place in a lab rather than a large lecture hall, it meant he wouldn't be able to sneak in after all. He wished the secretary a good day and fled the office before she could slip him a note with her number. He headed out in the direction of the Learning Center, in search of the lab in question.

It had been too long since he had been at the Academy. The hallways were pretty much deserted now, in the limbo between lunch break and the afternoon classes. The few cadets who did pass by eyed him strangely, and he couldn't help but being suspicious about their inconspicuous stares. Did they know him, heard of him? He was well aware of his reputation, of the fact he had become a cautionary tale of sorts in these hallways. Did they all believe the stories? Would she, too?

The smell of formaldehyde and various other chemicals assaulted his nostrils as soon as he reached the second floor, so he knew he was in the right place. He'd never been to that floor, which consisted of small labs and classrooms. He was relieved to discover that most of the walls were out of glass, which would serve his purposes well. This way he should still be able to observe her uninterrupted. If only he'd be able to find the right room. The smell was overwhelming and somewhat distracting; suddenly he was glad he hadn't had a big lunch. Was this what it would be like, working alongside her? Would this same odor constantly hover around his cramped office? There was no way in hell he would be able to handle that.

Most of the labs seemed empty as he was rushing down the hallway, but there was an echo of a voice coming from further down the hall. He figured it was her voice. He glanced at his watch as he rounded another corner, finally approaching 208. It didn't matter that her class had already started some time ago. He only wanted a glimpse. Whatever happened the next day, at least he wouldn't be caught unawares. He chuckled. He still couldn't believe they would stoop so low to assign a woman as his partner. Was he really so gullible in their eyes? Did they honestly believe she could sweep him off his feet and make him stray from a path he had set for himself so many years ago?

There were about ten cadets in the small room, crowded around a medical table containing what seemed distinctly like a human body. Like his day could get any worse. It's not as if he'd never seen a dead body before, but it was always in one crime scene or other. Something about the more clinical environment felt different, grislier somehow. He forced his gaze away from the horizontal shape – thankfully blurry due to the glass and the distance – and turned to search for the person he had come there to see. As soon as his eyes finally set upon her, his queasiness turned into something closer to a snort, because the woman at the center of all those students' attention was quite possibly the least intimidating person ever made it into the FBI Academy.

Wearing scrubs, a hair cover and protective glasses, Dana Scully looked nothing like the photo attached to her personal file. In fact, he was able to identify her thanks to two distinctive reasons: she was the only one wearing a lab coat, and the only one speaking. If he had come here for answers, the mere sight of her only provided him with further questions. It was hilarious how incredibly tiny she was. Most of her students towered over her. Hell, he would tower over her; she couldn't be much higher than his elbow. How could anyone think this woman would be his downfall? Based on her height alone, how did she even make it through the physical exams, a fifteen-week training? That is, unless he had misinterpreted things altogether and she was sleeping her way to the top. This would not be something he'd associate with a scientist of her stature, but it was not unheard of. It would sure explain a whole lot, including how she was expected to sabotage his career.

Her voice carried with clarity that surprised him. Like her writing style (which he had memorized by now) there was sharpness to it, and unmistaken intelligence. He could easily make out every single word while standing outside even though he was pretty sure the glass was soundproof. She was speaking in a steady pace, as if she didn't care if her students would keep up, but at the same time knowing that they would, and they did. His most recent theory didn't seem so valid anymore. Perhaps he was too quick to dismiss her. This was no act; she knew what she was talking about. She was there in her own right. She certainly had more power than he had given her credit for; they all seemed engrossed.

He watched her as she approached the dead body and began to dissect it. He noted the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her hand never faltered, never trembled. He fought wave after wave of nausea when all the while she remained as cool as a cucumber, calmly slicing and dicing. Even one or two of the students winced and moved slightly back. She barely acknowledged them, just kept on speaking and demonstrating. For a moment, all thoughts of seduction and conspiracy left his head. He was as transfixed as her students by what was happening in front of him. This miniature of a woman was in complete control, clearly in her element, and he found it fascinating, despite himself.

He didn't know how long he had been standing there staring, but the sudden ruckus from inside shook him out of his reverie. He looked up just in time to see the cadets begin to disperse. He acted fast and changed his position just as the door opened, and two of them slipped outside.

"The quiz next week will cover everything we've done these past three weeks," she called after them. Her voice was even clearer now, further alerting him. "Dr. Larken will be taking over next week and he won't review what we've already covered, so keep that in mind."

"Going somewhere, Dr. Scully?" asked one of the students, a handsome one. Looked kind of arrogant, too. He watched her closely, waiting to see if she would return his flirtatious smile, but her face remained impassive as she replied.

"Fortunately for you, Meyers, I've been reassigned. This is my last day. Dr. Larken will teach this course until the end of your training. Don't let this mid-course swap deceive you, though, because he will not go easy on you. So I wouldn't try and mess with him; not if you care to have a future here."

More of them left, some wishing her luck on her new assignment, others asking where she was headed next, and yet none had noticed him. They were moving further down the hall in the opposite direction to his, now discussing their reading for next time, the upcoming quiz and their plans for the rest of the afternoon. She was taking her time hanging her lab coat on a hook by the door, getting out of the scrubs and tossing them in the bin. Underneath them, she was wearing a grey pantsuit that didn't flatter her in the slightest. Gone was the tough doctor; she looked more like someone's unattractive aunt. An English teacher or a librarian, perhaps; certainly not someone who was meant to chase bad guys, or little green men for that matter.

She pulled off the hair cover, then finger-combed her hair to give it some volume. It seemed useless; it fell against her shoulders, straight and shapeless. And there lay another revelation, something her photo did not reveal. She was a redhead. He hadn't expected that. She leaned against the supply closet and rubbed her temples for a moment, letting her eyes close. Her skin looked pale, but he couldn't decide if it was the affect of the lighting in the room, or her actual complexion. Either way, she looked drained.

Watching her resting there, he was suddenly reminded of one of Samantha's dolls. It, too, had red hair, but hers was arranged in perfect ringlets, which he had once cut claiming the doll was infested with lice. He was grounded for two weeks, and Samantha refused to speak to him for longer than that. He sniggered inwardly, and then sighed. It was so easy, so comforting, to associate Dana Scully with this childhood memory. Maybe what he had observed a short time ago was not real, after all. Maybe this was her true self he was witnessing, this vulnerable, exhausted young woman. And if that were the case, how much harm could she inflict?

There was a phone on the wall next to her, and she reached out to the receiver and dialed a number. She stifled a yawn as she waited. "Maintenance? This is Dr. Scully in room 208. I'm done here, yes. Alright. Thanks."

She gathered her things, turned off the lights and exited the small room, leaving the dead body behind. The heels of her sensible shoes echoed down the hall until she too disappeared from his sight.

Well, he couldn't say he felt calmer about officially meeting her the following day, but now he was carefully optimistic. This last image of her, a worn out, fragile young woman, gave him hope. Surely her change of circumstances would leave her shaken, out of her comfort zone, especially upon meeting the infamous Spooky Mulder. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing here, in this lab, in her world. But once she stepped out of it, who knew? Maybe it was too soon to lament his time on the X Files.

Yeah, he assured himself as he chose the opposite direction, and started towards the elevators. There was nothing to worry about. She wouldn't last a day in his office.