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CHAPTER 4: When We Were Young

You look like a movie
You sound like a song
My God, this reminds me
Of when we were young

QUANTICO CAFETERIA, MARCH 2015

His senses often bring up little reminders of her on his darkest days, like little lights to guide him back into the world of the living now that she's not there by his side to lead the way. Today is one of those days again. Not the worst he's had, but enough that he could use a little something to pull him back into the light. Profiling always messes with his head a little bit and he wasn't hundred percent to begin with, but he takes great comfort in the knowledge that they caught the guy and today he managed to make a difference somehow, make the world a better place.

Usually his subconscious comes up with little things: a whiff of her body lotion, her shampoo lingering on the pillowcase she hasn't used in two years, the sound of his name leaving her lips in a quiet whisper that makes him turn around in the grocery store, looking for her.

Not once has he hallucinated her in such detail as the woman sitting in the corner table of the Quantico cafeteria, though. She's lost in thought, staring out the window. The harsh light frames her sharp features against the glass as she lifts her cup towards her lips for a sip but is interrupted by someone wanting a quick word with her.

The conversation only lasts seconds and she's all polite smiles and little nods that make her hair fall in front of her face. The moment the man leaves, the smile slips away and she takes a couple of tentative sips of coffee with her gaze aimed at something in the horizon.

She tucks the hair behind her ear and the gesture makes her look so young for a second that he's taken back to the day she walked through the door into his office and his life. She's even cut her hair back to the sharp bob she had when she was still Agent Scully, FBI. The red locks are curling just under her ears now, fiery red in the sunlight, a familiar contrast to her black pantsuit and white button-down shirt.

He glances down at his own, rumpled suit and hideous tie that he loosened at some point yesterday, and he has to smile at the image they make. Just like the good old days, he thinks. She looks like the woman who stood by his side through the years of hell when it was them against the world, when they were young and full of fight and idealism, before the darkness of the world caught up with them and started to drag them under the surface.

Lately he's been lying awake at night, wondering if he'd still recognize her if she passed him on the street and now she's there, perfect like a picture, just the way he remembers her. He's worried the illusion will shatter the moment she notices him, though, that they'll realize they're old and tired now and none of the pieces really fit anymore.

"Excuse me?" someone asks him and he gestures for the man to go ahead, that he's not in the queue, just leaning his hip against the wall with his arms crossed, observing the beautiful redhead on the other side of the room. Probably not the smartest thing to do in a room with several profilers and other highly observant people, he realizes, and decides to join the queue after all, earning a suspicious look from the guy he just told to go ahead.

He keeps his eyes on Scully, watching how people keep approaching her, students and lecturers alike, all with obvious admiration. They all seem to sense their presence is not exactly wanted, though, because none of them linger long or try to sit down, they just say whatever compliments they wanted to give her and then move on, leaving her with her coffee.

He wants to take a picture of her like this, in the bright sunlight, her hands wrapped around her cup of coffee. How many times has he seen that same stance with the coffee cup and the thoughtful look on her face? In dingy diners, police station break rooms or their own kitchen in early mornings when she was up before the sun, waiting for him with a fresh pot of coffee when he made his way to the kitchen... There's something very comforting about the sight, and memories flash in front of his eyes like a movie, making him smile.

Without thinking he finds himself grabbing a croissant on his tray, her guilty pleasure. He takes a sandwich and a cup of coffee for himself and hesitates a moment after the register. She takes that same moment to glance towards him, and their eyes lock. Rest of the room fades away into slow motion white noise and all he can hear is his own heartbeat. He wants to smile but his face refuses to cooperate. Her eyebrow climbs upwards towards her hairline and it seems to pull the corner of her mouth with it, her lips curling into a tiny, lopsided smile at first, before it transforms into a real smile that lights up her whole face. He's brave enough to take that as an invitation and makes his way to her table.

"May I join you for a moment, Scully?" he asks and his heart stops for a few seconds when he realizes it's the first time he's said her name out loud since she walked out of his life two and half years ago.

He's tied all his memories to that name, locked them up in a box titled "Scully" and he's convinced himself that if he speaks that name out loud, he'll lose the memories as well. He used to talk about "her" in therapy. "What's her name?" the therapist finally asked after a few sessions. "Dana," he whispered after a moment of hesitation. In his defense it's the only lie he's told the woman. Perhaps it was that lie that allowed him to be truthful about everything else.

"Of course, Mulder," she says with a little nod, and it feels like the pieces fit just fine after all as he slides the plate with a croissant in front of her and she pulls the spoon from her cup of coffee to give his a good stir because for some reason he never remembers to take a spoon.

"Thought you were on the other side of the Atlantic," he says and takes a careful bite of his sandwich.

"I was," she says and breaks a piece of the croissant, then dips it in her coffee before bringing it to her lips. "Guest lecturer for two more weeks."

"Then what?"

She shrugs, and he becomes aware of the sadness that lingers in her eyes. She really doesn't know where she'll go next. The Scully he knew always had a direction and a plan how to get there. For the longest time her path was the same as his, but even when it wasn't, she always went with steady steps towards her goals. That's how he remembers her walking out of his life as well: steady steps, no looking back, no hesitation. Pain and regret, yes, but no hesitation. He's not sure what to make of this creature sitting across from him, telling him she has no idea where to go from here.

"You'll figure it out," he finds himself saying out loud, and that earns him a little smile.