Scully's been using National Airport ever since Mulder's disappearance. She's had a difficult time remembering to tack "Reagan" on the name for taxi drivers; the D.C. taxi driver turnover rate is high enough that this has been a liability on more than one occasion.
Scully's been flying out of National every time she's left town...except today. She's still reeling from the shock of Skinner's early morning news about Montana - barely able to acknowledge its implications for Mulder's recovery, even to herself - when he orders her and Agent Doggett to grab their overnight bags and meet him in the waiting limousine downstairs.
She can't put her finger on the feeling; when Skinner's broad palm rests - so briefly - on the small of her back, guiding her into the black sedan, she's filled with foreboding. She doesn't understand why until the car turns off the Roosevelt Bridge, heading not towards nearby National, but down 66 West...
Judging from his demeanor at their first meeting, Scully assumes that Agent Mulder will be the type to arrive at the airport with mere minutes to spare. She sees it so clearly in her mind - coat flying, long legs running, making charming, hurried apologies to the waiting attendants as he rushes onto the plane - that she's slightly startled to find him relaxing at their gate a full hour ahead of schedule, slouched uncomfortably in his seat and cracking sunflower seeds between his teeth.
As if sensing her approach, Mulder looks up before she has the chance to greet him. He waves his arm once and calls out to her.
"Hey, Scully, over here."
She sets her handbag down on the seat across the aisle and turns to face him, removing her coat.
"Agent Mulder," she begins, and he interrupts her with a laugh.
"Just 'Mulder', Scully. We're partners now."
Scully's sober face betrays a small smile.
"Mulder. You're early."
He cracks another seed, carefully placing the empty hull with its companions on a small cocktail napkin spread across his lap.
"Ah. Well, Scully, a good profiler is always early."
She shoots him a quizzical glance and he continues, "People watching, Scully. I come for the people; well, that and the parking. I hate to have to hike to my car when I get in."
Scully sits down across from him, laying her coat over her bag as she speaks.
"If you don't mind my asking..."
He looks up, eyebrows raised.
"Why are we flying out of Dulles, anyway?"
He considers this. "Other than that accident in the Potomac a few years ago, no reason. Why - is it a problem?"
She quickly shakes her head.
"No. I just assumed..."
Mulder nods. "No, that makes sense. Actually, I always try to fly from here. I don't know...I guess I just like all the different people you find. Not to mention that there's a little more leg room here..." Emphasizing his point, he stands and stretches his lanky legs, crumpling the little napkin into a small ball and
shooting it into a nearby trash can.
"I'm getting something to drink - you want anything?"
Scully grabs up her bag and begins to remove her wallet.
"Sure...diet coke?"
Unexpectedly, he steps close and places his hand on hers, stilling it before she can retrieve any cash. He shakes his head and mumbles, "My treat."
"But..."
He turns abruptly and calls over his shoulder, damming her words.
"Diet coke?"
Scully softly replies, "Sure..."
The passengers are silent as the sleek car turns down the Dulles Toll Road. Agent Doggett is poring over the case file given him by A.D. Skinner, jotting down
the odd note here, attaching little post-its there, desperately attempting to analyze the unimaginable.
Skinner, for his part, tries to hide the fact that he's been watching Scully with an eagle-eye ever since he gave her the news. His head is turned away, but he stares at her stoic reflection in the window and wonders what she's thinking...
They always meet at the gate; he's always there ahead of her.
Today, Scully runs up breathlessly, rests her carry-on bag on the floor at Mulder's feet and plops down into the seat next to his, panting softly.
"Sorry I'm late; Bill called..." she offers an apologetic glance, and Mulder has to squelch a sudden urge to roll his eyes.
Her face is a little paler than it should be, considering her rush to the gate. He doesn't want to appear over-protective, but he can't help asking, "You sure you're feeling okay, Scully?"
She looks up, an incipient argument in her eyes, and nods firmly.
"I'm fine, Mulder."
Her partner purses his lips slightly, and Scully instantly regrets this invocation of her standard line. She amends it gently.
"Really, Mulder. I promise. The doctor okay'd me for travel. The remission...my remission appears total and complete."
Mulder's faithful, fearful eyes search hers for any sign of wavering, of uncertainty. Her hand moves to covers his, resting on the arm of his seat, and she squeezes it gently, returning his gaze with an open honesty.
They sit like this for a minute or two. Passers-by might be forgiven if, spying the quiet couple ensconced in a corner of the room, they mistake them for lovers.
Scully thinks she's done a decent job of keeping her feelings to herself. Skinner seems to guess the truth, and it's gotten to the point that she can barely look him in the eyes for fear of the effect his pained look of concern will have on her.
She'd hoped to keep Agent Doggett in the dark a little while longer, but, as days turn to weeks turn to months, she finds it harder and harder to rein in her emotions; and he, too, has had his glimpses of her secret soul.
Her eyes are fixed on the green trees whirring past them as they wind down the road; yet, she sees nothing. Or, rather, she sees memories, rushing in on her, breaking down barriers she's spent months building.
He usually buys her a diet coke, or a cup of hot tea, each time they rendezvous at Dulles. That gentlemanly gesture of their earlier days has evolved into a little ritual; which is why, when she arrives at the gate with a small coke cup in hand, he feels it like a slap in the face.
Scully sets her bags down a few seats away from Mulder and, mumbling a greeting in his direction, sits down and begins pulling files from her bag. Her lips are tight, she's drawn in on herself, and he knows he has only himself to blame. It's been weeks, now, since he learned of Diana's relationship with old Smokey...not a night has passed that he hasn't laid awake on his couch, berating himself for his lack of faith in his partner. She hasn't said anything, but...well, that's it. She hasn't said anything, and her silence is deafening.
She knows he's watching her. Her eyes may be trained on the pages in front of her, but her mind is five feet away. They've managed to tiptoe around each other at work in the days since Diana disappeared, but this is their first time back on the road together, and she's not sure she's ready for the close quarters it entails.
His eyes never leaving her, Mulder stands and walks down the narrow aisle in her direction. He hesitates in front of her; her head never moves, but her own eyes shift almost imperceptibly from the unread report to the feet standing before her.
"Could you...keep an eye on my stuff for a minute?"
She wants to answer; she's ready for this to be over, but some small part of her, still smarting from the hurt he's dealt over the past few months, makes her contrary. Her eyebrows arch and she nods curtly, wordlessly, never looking up.
He lingers a moment too long, and she almost bends. Softer syllables are on the tip of her tongue when he walks away.
Traffic increases as they approach the airport; cars merging, multi-colored signs, 747s overhead.
Skinner sees the shadow that is Scully turning towards him and he looks in her direction. Her eyes are stark, scared...their blueness blurs, and he remembers...
When Scully arrives at the gate, Mulder is nowhere to be found.
Feeling more disappointed than she's prepared to admit, she finds a quiet corner, sits, and opens the first "People" magazine she's ever brought on a flight. She's in vacation mode; or, at least, she's trying to be.
She's only just begun leafing through ads - which have effectively buried the table of contents - when she hears Mulder's voice behind her. She turns to see him jogging up, his jacket off and not a bag in sight.
"There you are. Come on - you've got to see this."
He leans over and takes her carry-on.
"Get your purse," he orders.
She straggles behind him, her short legs doing double-time in an attempt to keep up with his long strides.
"Mulder, where are we going?"
He turns, a broad, happy grin on his face. She can't remember when she's seen him this relaxed.
"It turns out there are benefits to being invitedto California, Scully. Not only are we flying first class, but we get to hobnob with the rich and famous in the lon-gay."
She grins up at him. "'Lon-gay', Mulder?"
"Don't tell me they never taught you French, Scully. How outre."
She'd hit him, if only she could catch up.
"Have you actually *seen* any of these rich and famous people yet, Mulder?"
"Party-pooper."
They enter through the frosted glass doors of the first class lounge, and Scully sees Skinner sitting at a small table, scotch in hand. He looks up and sheepishly waves; he's enjoying being the guest of the studio more than he'd like his agents to know.
"Sir," Scully says in greeting.
"Agent," he nods. "Why don't you get yourself a drink; you're on vacation, and the flight's been delayed an hour."
A giddy Mulder chimes in. "What'll it be, Scully? The usual, or are you up for something a little more Hollywood?"
Scully's torn. She can't say she regrets seeing Mulder like this, and part of her would like to loosen up as well...but the sober sight of their A.D., grimly sipping his drink and looking for the world like he hates it, puts a slight damper on her spirits.
"No...I think I'll just have a diet coke."
Mulder doesn't give in that easily.
"Come *on*, Scully! Live a little." He holds up his own beer, tilting the bottle between his fingers and grinning a little more maniacally than usual. Scully rolls her eyes, and, in an exaggeratedly exasperated tone, replies, "Fine; I'll have what you're having."
He beams a bit and slips off to the bar to grab her beer. Scully watches his retreating form and can't help the silly smile that sneaks over her face.
It's gone almost before it appears, but Skinner glimpses it, and he turns away.
As their car rounds the rolling green lawn encompassing an anonymous airport hotel, the swooping lines of Dulles come into view. They are ascending up the ramp to the departures level when Doggett catches a soft, sudden intake of breath. He glances over at A.D. Skinner, whose face has gone white, whose eyes have grown large. Following the older man's gaze, he turns to Agent Scully.
She quickly bends to retrieve her handbag from the floorboard of the car, but she's not fast enough to hide the tears now snaking down her cheeks.
Skinner books a flight that same night, and the trio shares a cab to Dulles. The A.D. sits up front, his agents in the back. They're silent: Scully sits with her arms folded, resistant, trying to keep control. Her partner looks at her, concern clouding his face.
As they approach the concourse, Skinner glances back over his shoulder. Mulder and Scully are staring ahead; but his hand now covers hers, resting on the small space between them.
He turns quickly around; he's seen too much...more than he should, more than he wants. For all the grief these two have caused him, for all the times he's wanted to wring Mulder's neck - preferably in front of Kersh, so that asshole will get off his case - he thinks he loves them. Of course, he doesn't
articulate it this way, even to himself; but somewhere, deep down, he knows that's the feeling, and he only wants their suffering to end.
The cab pulls up to the deserted curb, and the three of them get out. As the driver removes their simple luggage from the trunk, Skinner grabs his bag and turns to his agents, saying shortly, "I'll meet you inside, Agent Mulder."
He walks away, not daring to look back.
Scully's mind is screaming. She has a feeling...a sense of foreboding she can't shake.
Mulder slings his own bag over his shoulder and turns to face her, but his eyes look past her, locked somewhere on the horizon. He can't quite bring himself to meet her gaze.
They step close...close enough that she can feel his soft breath on her hair...close enough that she can feel the heavy pounding of his heart. They don't know if Skinner can see them, and they're long past caring.
Mulder looks down at her small head and strokes Scully's hair. When he speaks, his lighthearted tone belies the grim set of his features.
"It's only a couple of days..."
Scully silently nods; her voice can no longer be trusted.
Mulder swallows and brings his lips close to her ear in a rough whisper.
"When I get back..."
She glances up and nods, biting back the stinging tears that threaten to spill over.
His eyes soften and he returns her gesture. There's no more to be said.
Bending slightly, he kisses the top of her head and turns to go. Before he's walked three paces, he hears Scully call out after him.
"Mulder - " Her voice catches, choked.
He pauses and turns.
"I..."
Mulder glances over his shoulder at Skinner, waiting inside the terminal.
Rushed and scared, she panics and simply says, "I'll see you when you get back."
He nods; in months to come, she'll play his face, his words, over and over in her mind, hoping that he heard what her heart, not her lips, spoke that night.
"Me too."
Then he turns and enters the doors to Dulles.