Mulder could hear sounds coming from the hallway as he packed his bags. It was just the typical goings-on in the hospital, but it seemed strange to him to be apart from it as he got ready to leave.
As he stuffed his things into the same duffel he'd brought them in, he had difficulty shaking a vague sense of paranoia. He figured odds were about 25% that someone would come into the room before he left and tell him that they really didn't think he was well enough to leave after all. They couldn't keep him, not unless he did something violent like Tim had that'd get him transferred to a non-voluntary placement, but he knew that they could try to convince him that it was in his best interest to stay.
And he wasn't sure how forcefully he'd insist that he was okay to leave if push came to shove. He felt much better than when he'd arrived several weeks earlier, but his state of mind wasn't anything like it had been before his three-year-long ordeal had begun. Even with medication and the therapy that he'd be continuing on an out-patient basis, he still felt at sea, worrying over shadowy corners of the room. His therapist had warned him that healing would be a gradual process, but he found himself impatient to get back to the way things used to be.
If things could ever go back to the way things used to be.
That was something that he found himself thinking about more and more as his stay wore on. No one with a clipboard had to tell him that worrying about the future instead of just surviving another day was a sign that he was making progress. His educational background explained that concept and many more to him, in a clinical, textbook way. But he did have serious concerns about what came after leaving the hospital. The immediate particulars, that he'd move into the apartment that Skinner helped him decide upon and that he'd report to the animal shelter later in the week for his first shift, were things he didn't worry about. It was what came after that, what people expected of him and what he expected of himself, that kept him awake on quiet nights.
It wasn't as if he had any real expectations that he'd play with the pooches at the pound for a little while, just waiting for a phone call from the bureau asking him to report back on some not too distant Monday, and as soon as he returned, Scully would tell Quantico that it had been nice but her place was in the field. With him. And that they'd resume their relationship, picking up exactly where they left off just before a strange glow from above whisked him out of the world.
That was entirely too facile, and he found that his capacity for naïve hope had been ripped completely from him right around the time he was being strapped down and poked with wires and other sharp objects.
A soft rap, exactly appropriate from someone used to being around the easily startled, lifted Mulder from his thoughts. By the time he turned his gaze from his back to the door a face was looking in at him. Hull smiled in a non-threatening manner. "I've got your discharge paperwork," he said, indicating a sheaf of paper held in his right hand.
"Thanks," Mulder told him, figuring that was the expected response.
"How are you feeling?" Hull's gaze was suddenly intent, but it often was. It made Mulder wonder idly if the man's keen powers of observation could be muted, if the doctor really wanted them to be. Somehow he thought not, at least not without some edge-blunting medication.
Instead of trying to bullshit them both, Mulder let his shoulders rise and fall in an inelegant shrug. "Not too bad. A little excited. A little nervous."
This had the psychiatrist nodding. "That's good."
"Is it?"
"Sure." Hull stepped into the room, taking care not to stand where he'd be blocking the exit. Mulder wondered how long he'd been practicing in hospitals instead of office buildings. He figured on a while. "If you were terrified or exuberant, I'd be concerned. Mixed feelings, though... those are perfectly natural."
A caustic voice piped up in the back of Mulder's mind, taunting him about his experience with the perfectly unnatural too. Even as he had the thought he wondered if it was about what had happened to him while he was missing, or if the bullying thought was referencing his less traumatic past, too.
The thought of the latter almost made him laugh out loud, and he probably would have if he wasn't standing in the room with someone actively evaluating his mental health. For all his yearning to get back to normal, he had to be the first person to admit that his old life hadn't exactly been a shining example of normalcy. His career had led him to legions of creepy, crawly things that scared even those who went bump in the night. And even before then, there had been Samantha…
But damn it, if the only things you experience are abnormal, that becomes your normal. Hadn't that been what let him go on with his life? If every experience left your nerves taunt and sizzling, you'd quickly burn out. So people adapt, and learn to accept what happens. It's not always just hopelessness. Survival can be more than that, with lulls in the disasters that let you feel okay for a while.
He just wanted to feel okay for a while. Even it wasn't forever. Maybe a while could be enough.
When he looked up he expected Hull to be staring at him, but the doctor looked beyond him, eyes on something outside the window. Mulder looked too, and saw a crow on the nearest tree branch.
Noticing that Mulder was looking at the bird too, he asked, "What are your thoughts when you see one of those guys?"
This felt like a quiz, but Mulder told him what he was thinking rather than carefully deliberating what to tell the doctor. If he was going to suggest that he expend his stay, he would have by then. "I think that they're smart. Aren't they one of the birds that keep treasures? Bits of shiny things that capture their attention so thoroughly that they have to have them."
"Ravens and crows, yes," Hull agreed. Then he sighed, which was surprising. "They get a bad rap as far as I'm concerned."
"A bad rap?" Mulder repeated, verging on amusement. The last thing he expected was for Hull to come to the bird's defense.
Hull waved a hand in the bird's direction, and although it was watching them too, it was clever enough not to worry that his movement had been a threat. "They're heavily used in horror movies as shorthand for the ominous."
"Ah." Mulder could recall watching a movie with Scully that had resorted to that. "Humans are like that, aren't they? Programed to look for faces and stuff in ordinary things.
"Pareidolia," Hull said. Mulder glanced at him, and he shrugged. "That's the term for it."
"Right."
Hull looked at the packed bags resting on Mulder's neatly made bed. "You have an appointment set up for Wednesday, correct?"
"I do," Mulder replied nervously, even though it was the right answer and the truth.
"And I trust you'll keep it." Hull didn't react to the surprise on Mulder's face. "It's always nice to feel like someone leaving us is for the best."
"I didn't realize leaving came with a complimentary pep-talk," Mulder said with a wan smile.
"Oh no." Hull made a warding gesture. "I bill you for it."
Mulder opened his mouth to laugh, but before he could one of the orderlies poked his head into the room. "Mr. Mulder? Your ride is here."
"Thanks," Mulder told him.
The orderly picked up one of the bags, and he realized that the younger man intended to accompany him out. He gave Hull an awkward look, wondering how you were supposed to say goodbye to the doctor who treated you for PTSD. In the end Hull just nodded, and Mulder followed the orderly from the room without another word.
Somehow he'd expected to meet Skinner in the lobby, but the orderly walked out the front doors with Mulder trailing after him. This was such a surprise that he didn't even have time to dwell on the fact that crossing the threshold would be the difference between being a patient and being on his own. He barely noticed that the fresh air made him free as he hurried towards Skinner's waiting car.
A small click, and the trunk popped open for them to stow his bags in. Mulder smiled minutely to himself - a few week earlier the trunk coming open like that would have left him diving for cover, and he hadn't even flinched now.
After the orderly slammed the trunk back down, he gave Mulder a friendly look. "Good luck."
"Thanks," Mulder replied quietly. Skinner reached across the front seat, opening the passenger side door a few inches, which he took as an invitation to get in.
As he did so, he looked at Skinner and said, "Thanks for the ride. It would have been awkward to get a cab if I got the same driver who dropped me off here."
Skinner forced himself to smile. "I'm glad to spare you that."
To Mulder's relief, they didn't spend a lot of time talking on the drive to his new apartment. What would they have talked about anyway, he wondered. The medications he was on, their intended purposes and intense side-effects? What it had been like to watch Tim being taken away when he was deemed to be a danger to himself and others? It wasn't as though he'd been gone on vacation and had a lot of new stories that wouldn't have depressed them both if he shared them.
And he still hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Skinner about his continued work on the X-Files, either. In a way he was deeply grateful that Skinner had kept the division alive while he was gone, and he was aware of how high a price he must have paid professionally to have accomplished it, yet it too was still a sore spot. The X-Files was apparently getting along without him, and the very fact that it was also proved that it could continue in his sustained absence. But wasn't that what he should want? He didn't though. In a way it would have made him feel better if it had crumbled when he stepped away from it, and it needing him to resurrect it would have feed his ego all the more.
Since he couldn't talk about these things, they exchanged a few sentences about the weather and called it good.
"We're here," Skinner announced when they pulled up to a building on a somewhat familiar road. Mulder had sometimes taken the road as a shortcut to a favorite Chinese food place that he wasn't sure even still existed.
"Great," he replied, trying to force some enthusiasm into his tone.
Skinner fished a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to him, then they both entered the building. The apartment was on the first floor, which came as more of a relief than Mulder really wanted to think about. He'd gained ten pounds back since entering the hospital, but he was still a lot frailer than he was comfortable with and the lack of stairs would help him recover faster. Maybe he should have taken the cafeteria workers up on offers of extra desserts.
He felt clumsy as he unlocked his new door, but eventually he got it open. The place had more furniture than he had imagined it would, but when he shot a questioning look at Skinner, his former boss shrugged. "I figured you'd like a furnished place."
"I..." Mulder tried to think of how to put his question.
Somehow Skinner seemed to read his mind. "Your stuff's in storage. I wasn't sure if you'd want it here right now. Anyway, that's the smaller key on the ring. It's in space 207 at the Lock-It Inn on South street."
"Thanks," Mulder said, feeling like he'd said that too much for one day. But in all honesty he wasn't sure how he would have reacted if he'd opened the door to find his old apartment recreated elsewhere.
"So..." Skinner looked around. "There's food for dinner in the fridge, but you're going to want to buy groceries soon. The store's about a block away. We could go now-"
Mulder cut him off, shaking his head. "No thank you. Honestly, I'm too worn out to do it today. I think I'll go tomorrow."
Skinner's expression was hesitant, but eventually he nodded. For some reason it had him thinking of how Skinner would have reacted if he and Sharon had children because Mulder could imagine him looking much the same watching the oldest going off to kindergarten.
"Well," Skinner said gruffly. "You've got my number if you need me."
"Thanks, Walt."
"Walt?" he asked, one eyebrow arched ironically.
Mulder shrugged. "You're not exactly my boss at the moment, so 'sir' feels a little weird."
"Walt's okay." Skinner eyed him. "And you'll call Scully in a few days?"
"Count on it."
"Okay..."
He left after that rather than putting Mulder through a drawn-out goodbye.
Alone in the apartment, Mulder revealed in the relief he felt that he had no urge to look in the closet and under the bed for little gray men.
The Next Day
As well behaved as the kids generally were, Scully tried to limit taking them out to shop to once a week, or twice when absolutely necessary. She had her list and pilled them into her car after getting home for work. Grace and Tommy looked out the windows as the scenery rushed by. Tommy was in a booster seat and Grace just barely fit in her car seat, so Scully made a mental note to look into finding a larger pink car seat by the end of the month.
Looking at the kids in the rear view mirror, she asked, "Two days ago I said that we needed to get more of something when we went shopping. I've forgotten what it is. Do either of you remember?"
"Chicken nuggets," Grace said with confidence.
"No, we've got plenty of those."
"Fish sticks?"
"Nope."
"Manwin oranges!"
By this point Scully had realized Grace was just naming her favorite foods. "No."
"Slippy peanut butter."
"Grace-" Scully started to say, but then realized that it had been creamy peanut butter they'd run out of. "Thank you."
"That was it?" Tommy asked, not bothering to disguise his surprise.
"Yup."
"Huh."
It didn't take long before Scully remembered why she hated to take the kids grocery shopping: Grace was perched in the cart's seat and pointed things out that she wanted to negotiate getting, while Tommy walked beside her and occasionally also held up things he would like. She said no to most of it, but gave on a few things. Maybe she could talk to her mother because she didn't remember her brothers, Missy, or herself behaving that way in stores. It might be more pleasant to shop with them with that taken care of.
By chance, she looked out one of the store's big plate-glass windows as she reached for a package of English muffins and her heart nearly stopped. A familiar figure carrying two plastic grocery bags was moving across the parking lot, paying no attention to the store or anyone in it. She had the urge to run out of the store, screaming his name, and only the mental image of her bewildered children left behind in the baked goods aisle stilled her feet.
Shooting Tommy a quick look, she wondered if it would be ok if she promised to be right back. No, she decided. No. Tommy wasn't even big enough to get Grace out of the shopping carriage's seat, so he was far too young to look after his sister, even for a couple of minutes.
And if she wasn't hallucinating, and it was Mulder, if it really, truly was Mulder, would it only be a couple of minutes? She could imagine chasing after him, literally running behind him as she pleaded with him to just talk to her. Depending on his frame of mind, the quest could take her blocks away.
"What are you looking at, Mommy?" Tommy asked, his gaze following hers.
She shook her head, and then sought to give him a reassuring smile. "I just thought I saw someone I knew."
"Was it someone you knew?" he predictably asked.
"I'm not sure, honey." And she wasn't. But she thought she knew who might know. "I think we've got everything, and Mom's gotta make a phone call, so let's go check out, huh?"
"We didn't get bananas," her small red-haired boy pointed out.
Biting back her sigh, Scully headed for the produce department at the other end of the store, hoping that if Mulder was really out there, she'd get confirmation of that soon.