Timeline: 7x15 En Ami
Category: Missing scenes/post-episode fiction
"Mulder, it's me. I wanted to let you know that I'd be out of town for a day or two. It's a family emergency. I'll…I'll call you when I can."
It wasn't just the message; it was the tone of her voice. Mulder stared at the message machine for half a beat before picking up the phone, dialing her home number.
"This is Dana Scully. I'm not in right now. Please leave a message after the beep."
"Hey, Scully, it's me. Pick up if you're there. Scully? Are you there? All right, I just got, I got your message and I hope everything is okay. I'll try on your cell right now." His stomach tightened as he put the phone down.
He chewed his lower lip when her cell phone went straight to voicemail. This wasn't like Scully—disappearing without warning was more his specialty. He couldn't help but think that if there had been a family emergency, she would have told him what was going on. Her message was strangely vague. But if there wasn't a family emergency? Why would she run off? 'Call her mother,' he thought. If there was an emergency, she would surely know about it. But then, if there wasn't, he might worry Mrs. Scully needlessly. He wasn't sure at this point whether he needed to expose other people to the irrational fears that were sweeping over him at this moment.
He drove to her apartment with a lead foot. He realized belatedly as he killed the engine that he had left the extra key she had given him at his apartment in Arlington. He smacked the wheel with the palm of his hand before opening the car door and slamming it behind him. He entered her apartment building and walked back past Scully's apartment towards the landlord's door. He knocked loudly at the door and stood waiting. After there was no answer, he pounded more loudly, calling, "FBI."
The door opened and the landlord paused before his face registered some level of recognition of Mulder: "I think we've met before…Mr. Mulder is it?"
Mulder took out his badge. "I'm going to need you to let me into Dana Scully's apartment, number 35."
The landlord nodded, turning towards a hook on the wall and pulling off his ring of keys. "Sure, she left last night. Took along a suitcase with her—I don't suppose she'll be back for a while," he said, as he pulled his own door shut. "Follow me," he said gesturing down the hallway Mulder had come from.
"She left last night?" Mulder asked.
"Yeah, said it was a family matter. Dropped by in the evening…asked me to water the plants—no biggie. Hey, great girl," the man said, glancing over his shoulder at Mulder. "Independent as they come, you know but a great girl."
"Yeah, yeah," Mulder said impatiently. He just wanted to get into her apartment. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he would know it, if he saw it.
They came to her door and the landlord began going through the keys on the large ring. "Tenants like having an FBI agent in the building. Gives them a sense of security."
Mulder shifted on his feet, vaguely amused by this proclamation. "Do you know how many people have died in there?"
The man shook his head dismissively: "Oh, we don't really talk about that."
Mulder watched with growing irritation as the man continued to methodically look through keys. "You said she was, uh, carrying a suitcase. Did you notice anything else, anything abnormal?"
The landlord paused, finding the key and holding it aloft before inserting it in the lock. It gave him some trouble and he jiggled it before pulling it out again to make sure it was the right one. "No. No, actually it wasn't her carrying the suitcase. It was her driver."
Mulder rested his hand on the wall, bending forward and cocking his head. "Her driver?"
The landlord reinserted the key. "Yeah, older guy…tall. I've seen him here before. Smokes like a chimney."
Mulder stared blankly at the man for a moment before turning on his heel and hurrying down the hallway. All of his worst fears were confirmed.
...
Mulder lay on his couch. The hours ticked by. The Lone Gunmen had left four hours ago, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. He was sure there had to be some way to find Scully. He refused to believe that she would intentionally keep things from him or that she would work so hard to keep him from finding her. She must have been forced to be opaque. 'Think it through,' he urged himself. She'd left the message for him, telling him about an emergency that was calling her away for a while. But Mrs. Scully knew nothing about a family emergency. After combing through Scully's laptop, the Lone Gunmen had discovered that Scully had deleted e-mails from someone named 'Cobra.' But she'd never mentioned any such contact or communication to him. When she left, she hadn't made any flight arrangements. Instead, she had left with a man, whom he feared was CBG Spender. Finally, there had been some contact with her: something on which he should have been able to latch onto. She had contacted Skinner—not him—on Skinner's private line, and she'd said to tell Mulder that she was 'fine.' She'd refused to speak to him directly.
He scrubbed his face with rough intensity, as if he could forcefully awaken himself to the truth of her disappearance. Whatever she was doing, it certainly seemed like she didn't want him to know what it was. But he found that hard to believe; he found it hard to believe that she would lie to him. He chose not to believe it. Mulder sat upright and reached for the phone. He dialed the numbers and waited for the answer.
"Boys, get back over here. We're taking another look at her laptop and then we're heading over to AD Skinner's office bright and early. I refuse to believe that there is no way to find her."
...
Mulder watched Scully tap her glass mindlessly. He sat across the way from her. He could understand her motives, but he was still having a hard time not sulking. It didn't matter that he had left her dozens of times: he did that out of his deep devotion to her, he told himself. He did it out of convenience.
She looked up at him. "You're still mad?"
He tilted his head. "Did I say I was mad?"
She shrugged: "you didn't need to."
Mulder nodded, looking down at his shoes. He was hurt and childishly he wanted to hurt her by freezing her out. "Well, I didn't think you'd do that."
"What?"
"Lie to me."
"I wasn't trying to lie to you."
"We're supposed to be partners."
"Mulder, I've been telling you that for years," Scully responded in exascerbation.
Mulder continued to stare at his shoes.
Scully sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. "It wasn't an easy decision to make, Mulder. I was being told things…lied to, I suppose, and I thought I was doing the right thing—for everyone, for the greater good…for the world. I guess that sounds ridiculous."
"I thought you trusted me," he said leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. He tried to imbue the word with all the layered meanings that he felt and desperately wanted her to hear. He both wanted her to hear it and hoped that she would not. She trusted him, right? Scully didn't just let people kiss her, didn't just let them lie alongside her at night, didn't let them into her private world—even just a little. Did she? He was growing dangerously drunk on her kisses—the few he had sampled—and the thought of having to give them up cold turkey, because she didn't actually trust him was unpleasant to say the least.
"I was trying to let you know what was happening…I wore a wire…I tried to mail you the tapes," she shook her head, pausing, "I've always trusted you, Mulder," she said putting down the glass and reaching out to him.
Mulder stood up and joined her on his couch, slouching back against the leather. She took his hand in hers.
"You always keep me guessing," he said quietly. He'd thought that a few weeks ago, when she'd surprised him with her seeming openness regarding extreme possibilities. But she surprised him in little ways on a regular basis. It was surprising to him that she was sitting here with him at this moment. That she hadn't already ducked out. That she hadn't been put off by his childish sulking…by his passive aggressive antics that couldn't possibly be appealing.
Scully made no answer.
"And…I generally like it. You know, keeps the magic alive," he said with a waggle of the eyebrows. Scully straightened slightly, evidently made somewhat uncomfortable by Mulder's teasing. He held her hand a little more tightly, so she couldn't pull it away. "I didn't, uh…I didn't like it so much this time though," he added more seriously.
Mulder looked down at her. "And you're telling me the truth that he didn't hurt you?" he asked, tapping their entwined hands on his leg.
Scully's mouth turned up just slightly at the corners. Well, not the entire truth—that Smoking Bastard had violated her trust—her totally misplaced trust. Mulder wouldn't do that. And she wasn't convinced that CGB Spender hadn't drugged her. After disappearing for a few months and losing your ova, you don't wake up missing several hours and changed out of your clothes without beginning to doubt your lucidity.
"No, he didn't hurt me," she said soothingly, resting her head against his upper arm. She trusted him, but she wasn't going to send him careening off into the night, when she wanted him here beside her; so, telling him the more unsavory details of her trip was not part of the plan.
"I knew you could take care of yourself," he added. He didn't want her to think that he didn't have confidence in her ability to handle herself in a difficult situation. He reached across her, stroking her hair. "But, don't do that again," he said softly. She nodded against his arm. He couldn't be angry—a little hurt, perhaps—but not angry…not when he had her back. "And I'm sorry…sorry there wasn't anything on the disk. I know what that's like…thinking you're going to be given something or told something that will make a difference in people's lives…and ultimately being disappointed."
She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand, considering that Mulder's quest for the truth was his way of providing the world with the same kind of life saving potential that she had sought. He was similarly frustrated on a regular basis. Scully sighed. That smoking son of a bitch had made it seem like there was something behind his endless quest for power. Perhaps something more altruistic…more humane. She had been sure of it. But, then, he'd clearly lied to her and she didn't want to believe in everything that he had said to her anyway.
"You're drawn to powerful men but you fear their power. You keep your guard up, a wall around your heart. How else do you explain that fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a life alone? You'd die for Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him."
His words had made her very uncomfortable. It might have been pop psychology tripe—that's what she reassured herself—but it hit its mark nonetheless.
She knew that she had built walls with the utmost care between herself and Mulder. Walls, which lately she had felt were beginning to become poorly defined and less secure. She had built them to protect herself. She had built themselves to protect them—if there were no boundaries, she was afraid she would lose what it was they had. Whatever that was. She wasn't even sure why she was sitting here with Mulder. He'd simply brought her back to his apartment after they'd walked through an empty building, which only a few days ago had housed CGB Spender's office and a complex of security. She hadn't even asked what Mulder was doing driving her to his apartment. Wouldn't she have asked what they were doing before? A few months ago wouldn't she already have thought of a reason to excuse herself?
"Scully?"
"Mmm?" she murmured, her private reverie interrupted.
Mulder tugged on her shoulders, dragging her closer, lifting her so that she almost spilled into his lap. "You wanna wrestle?"