This is for the 2021 Missing Scenes Exchange, and it's for the always lovely BaronessBlixen!
Mulder had barely realized she'd been talking on the phone again when they were at his apartment. He was too busy mulling over the words that were unwillingly becoming their reality.
Reassignment. Both of them. Closure of the X-Files.
The implications of what that meant smoldered angrily in his mind, each passing thought shrouded with the knowledge they were tricked, deceived.
"Mulder, whatever you may believe, this time they may have won."
"Mulder, we have to go, something's happened," she informed him, shoving her arms frantically into her tan trenchcoat. From the look on her face, she'd been calling to him for longer than he'd heard her.
He slid into a seated position on the couch, on edge by her uncharacteristic panic. "Scully, what's wrong?"
Then a new set of words started taking precedence in his mind.
Fire. Their office. Emergency.
They didn't just win. They scorched the playing field so there was no possible chance for a fair game.
They didn't say much on the drive over. Hell, he wasn't even sure he obeyed a single traffic light and he was pretty certain Scully didn't even bother to put on her seat belt.
The unease began settling in his stomach when they pulled up to the building and saw the fire trucks outside, it got even worse when they got out of the stairwell and smelled the smoke kindled by their blood, sweat, and tears.
He'd heard that when people were set on fire initially it felt like every cell in their body was screaming in protest until their nerves fried and they just became numb. That's how he felt when he saw their office. All of the tension and anxiety he'd felt coming over here faded, and all he could do was stand shell-shocked and look at the destruction.
Subconsciously, he knew Scully was trying to comfort him. Saying nothing, but attempting to soothe him with her touch, gentle strokes up and down his arm that said "it's okay" while her voice failed her. It felt like she was trying to draw him into her arms and protect him from the harsh reality in front of them, but she was just too diminutive compared to him to have her intended impact.
Despite her attempts, he felt nothing. All he could manage to do was stare in abject horror as the past decade of work swirled around him in taunting embers, glowing hot before a drop of water would fall from the ceiling and snuff it out.
Fire's destructive nature, losing Scully, and the loss of his work, his greatest fears teaming together for the ultimate act of defeat.
He wasn't sure how long they were standing there, but he could feel Scully starting to pull at his side lightly with the palm of her hand as if she could physically pull him from the depths of despair he was reveling in. "Mulder," she murmured. "I think you're in shock."
He exhaled a deep sigh and just shook his head. As much as he wished he could say that was true, this wasn't as shocking for him as it was disheartening. He knew the day would come where they got too close to the truth and someone pulled the rug out from under his feet — it had happened before — but it didn't make falling any less painful, the sting of the burn any less excruciating.
"We're going to need to evacuate the floor while we document the scene," a gruff voice from behind them instructed.
"W-wait, can I have a moment to grab some belongings?" Scully asked softly, letting go of him so she could look around him.
"I don't think anything here's salvageable between the fire and the water, but as long as you don't disturb anything too much that's fine," the man replied with a shrug. Mulder could read between the lines of the man's laid back attitude and the fact he was allowing Scully to disturb a crime scene: it didn't matter because their work didn't matter enough for a thorough investigation. Mulder despondently watched as she turned away from him and walked towards the desk, wobbling unsteadily when her heel slid across the wet floor.
"They suspect it's arson," he heard Skinner say. Part of him realized Skinner was likely talking to him, saying the obvious just so he could say anything that might diffuse the tension in the room, but his attention was focused on how even the nameplates on the filing cabinets had burned away. The J-P section he'd often opened to find Samantha's file, the Q-S where Scully's lived, all of them had gone up in flames. He had nothing. All the paperwork they'd spent hours on had been the fuel for their own destruction.
They'd been assigned to decorate the inside of their own crematorium, and someone else had finally lit the fuse.
"Goddamn it," he heard Scully mutter.
She'd been concerned about him. That's probably why she wouldn't leave his apartment earlier, and probably now why she was letting her coat trail along the soot ridden floor, tainting herself in her pursuit to make him feel better.
It reminded him of how he'd been when his childhood friend's house burnt down. He'd stayed up all night protecting the rubble from looters, because even though it looked worthless, that rubble was an entire family's life. He felt like Scully was taking his place in this situation, only she hadn't come to the realization ash has no value.
"Scully, forget it. We gotta go," he sighed.
"Hang on," she replied quickly, trifling through her area. Former area.
"There's nothing here," he replied, angry she was dragging this out longer than it needed to be. "Everything is burnt, Scully. It's all ashes now." The entirety of their work was gone, all their files, all they'd given a part of their lives for.
He heard her sniffle before lamenting, "You don't know that!" Her voice was high and tight in that way it got when she was trying to hold back tears, and he felt some of his numbness dissipate out of concern for her.
"Scully?" he prompted, walking forward to get a better look at her. As soon as he got near her though, she tried to close the drawer only for the metal to be so warped from the heat that it wouldn't budge. She made her way to the wall and he glanced inside where she'd just been looking. All he could see was black, and the texture of melted plastic from where her candy stash had been.
Looking up, Mulder watched as she raised her hands and started rubbing the wall, dark black ash crumbling around her touch. "Ma'am, we think that's near where the fire started, we ask-"
They paused when Mulder held up a hand to the firefighter, watching Scully's movements become more frantic. He walked up behind her and asked in a low murmur, "What are you doing?"
Scully turned around with her eyes locked on his side of the desk, but when she moved towards it, she was stopped by his hands gently grabbing her shoulders. "I'm just looking, Mulder. Please I just n- I just need a -" she explained, her voice dying out as she was overtaken by a sob. It sounded as if the hands of grief had wrapped themselves tightly around her throat, choking her so that she couldn't form a sentence that didn't come out as a strangled gasp for breath.
He realized in the midst of his own self-pity, he didn't even consider that Scully would grieve the loss of their office too. He thought maybe this could be a chance to start anew, a phoenix rising from the ashes. Seeing her this upset made his heart ache in affection for her, and made him even angrier at the injustice of it all.
"Hang on," she croaked, her chin quivering as her eyes darted to the charred wall, unshed tears threatening to pool over her lash line.
"Take your time, Scully," he murmured, low enough so only she would hear it.
Mulder was about to pull her into a hug when she seemed to recognize there were more people in their office than just them. She moved to place a shaky, soot-covered hand on his chest before it became visible in her line of sight and she paused, taking it in with wide, unfocusing eyes as if she was realizing what she'd been doing. Instead of touching him, she held her hands in front of her with her forearms against him, not pushing him away but with the clear intention of not letting him get closer. "N-no," she replied, nodding firmly while she blinked away her tears. "You're right. We should go."
"Was there something-"
Her face crumpled and he watched her eyes dart back to the firemen and Skinner before looking firmly at his shirt with a single shake of her head. "I'm sorry."
He wasn't sure why she was even saying that, but he could tell she was still upset. All he knew was he wanted to get her out of there. He could see her rapidly crawling back into herself and he wanted a moment to talk before she insisted she was just fine. "Let's get some air, okay?" he asked, taking a step to the side so he could place his hand on the small of her back and lead her out.
Wordlessly, she walked in front of him and side-stepped Skinner and the firemen that were waiting in the doorway. "I-I'm sorry," Skinner offered softly, never enjoying having to be the bearer of bad news.
"It really smells like smoke in here now, huh?" Mulder snapped at him, glaring as they walked past.
He already knew the conclusion of the report without seeing it. It would be inconclusive, a fire with no discernible cause. Maybe if they really wanted to be spiteful, they would try to pin even that on him or Scully. A lamp socket not plugged all the way in, too many cords in one outlet, something that would make them look neglectful of their space.
The smoke lunged bastard who probably took in their failure like a blissful drag would never be mentioned.
Scully walked up the stairs ahead of him and every time he tried to catch up or say something, she was either just staring at the ground while biting her lip or trying to avoid being seen by him at all. The first word he got out of her was a resounding "Damn it," when they walked outside and saw their car had been towed.
Even government plates couldn't park in front of a fire hydrant, despite the fact it obviously was being used just fine.
"Let's get something to eat," he replied, motioning to the cafe they often walked to for lunch.
"Mulder, I'm not-"
"Going to get a taxi easily with the streets sanctioned off like this," he finished pointedly. "Come on, we can at least wait it out while the firetrucks clear out."
She just nodded in acquiescence and walked forward as he trailed behind her, noticing how stooped her shoulders looked with the weight of her emotions. He just wanted a chance to bear the brunt for once and help her like she'd tried to do for him in there.
Even in the diner, he could still feel the smoke lingering in his lungs, like a little token signature from the Smoking Man himself to add insult to injury.
Scully let him buy her food, and he knew she must've been feeling really bad when she skipped the rabbit food she usually subjected herself to in favor of a large milkshake and cheese fries. The food came out almost immediately, and he watched as she stared dejectedly at her plate, her expression as somber as it had been down in the basement.
"What were you looking for when we were down there?" he asked gently.
"Nothing," she murmured quietly, picking at her food.
"Scully," he prompted, knowing she was lying.
"Um," she started, as if she was about to say it but her voice wasn't strong enough. "It doesn't matter."
His brows furrowed that she was so clearly upset about something, but she didn't want to tell him. He knew she had copies of the cases that involved her, along with some other notable ones, on a floppy disc at her apartment, so she had backups of those. He couldn't think of any other files she would have been this upset at losing.
Mulder watched as she looked up and caught his look of concern. With a resigned sigh, she swallowed thickly and admitted, "It was just a few knick-knack items that I didn't want to lose." She puckered her lips to the side like she did when she was trying not to let her emotions show.
"Something from your mom?" he prompted. "Or someone else in your family?"
"No, nothing like that. It's just been a hard day, and my emotions are fried," she deflected, wiping a tear away. "I'm overreacting."
He waited for her to continue, hoping his silence would prompt her, and it seemed to work.
She glanced to meet his gaze, the tip of her nose red while her eyes watered. "There was a picture on the wall I wanted," she said, her voice hitching despite herself.
He mentally scanned the wall and tried to think of what she might've wanted. "The newsclipping from your abduction?" he asked.
She shook her head immediately. "No, not that," she dismissed before swallowing thickly and admitting in a harsh whisper, "It was the picture of you and me at a crime scene. And um, I had the birthday card you gave me this year in my desk." It sounded like there was more than that but she suddenly stopped, setting her fork down limply in her hand while her other hand shielded her eyes from him as the bottom of her face crumpled.
It hit him like a punch in the gut that he'd been mourning the work while she'd been mourning the loss of the office where their relationship had developed and all the memories it held.
"Awh, Scully," he murmured, grabbing the hand that was lying limply on the table.
"It's stupid," she replied, removing her hand from her face as she stared at his shirt. There was an ashy residue on her face from the office and it made her tear tracks stand out harshly on her face, breaking his heart even more than he imagined possible today.
"No it's not," he countered, shaking his head. "It was more than an office for us."
Her jaw clenched in an attempt to keep her tears at bay and she nodded once, firmly. "I liked having our space."
Mulder wished he could say something comforting, but he didn't have the words. Their space had been taken from them and he couldn't tell her firmly they'd get it back. Instead, he tried opting for a different route of comfort. "Remember that time you fell on me when you climbed on the back counter to get something from the top shelf?"
She sniffled and for the first time in a while gave him a genuine smile. "That was so embarrassing."
"Was it as embarrassing as that time your nylons got caught on a sharp edge of the desk and Skinner walked in while I was on my knees in front of you, looking like I was trying to hitch up your skirt," he replied, trying to make her smile again.
It worked and she actually laughed out loud, her face turning red at the memory. "Even his bald head was blushing," she added. "That reminds me of when you tried to show me something in the VCR but you had one of your tapes in there instead."
Mulder felt his face redden at the mortifying memory of sitting Scully down and accidentally playing a porno flick for her instead of the autopsy tape he thought he'd put in. He'd never forget the way her eyes teasingly flicked to his as the raunchy sounds of moaning and sex filled the office. "I can't believe someone broke into our office," he replied jokingly.
She nodded and smiled before murmuring sentimentally, "Our office."
As they sat there in silence, her hand still resting in his, the implications of what she said really hit him, the knowledge twisting his stomach uncomfortably. "Do we really not have any photos together?"
This wasn't a sentiment all that unfamiliar to him. He'd often thought about how he wished he had more photos with Sam after she was taken. She used to do a funny little thing when she was concentrating where she would scrunch up her forehead and stick her tongue out. He always used to tease her that if she did it enough she'd get stuck with that goofy expression on her face. Turns out it would only end up getting stuck in his mind as, no matter how hard he tried, he could never find a picture of that expression.
In a rare moment of shared nostalgia and sentimentality, he asked his mother if she remembered Samantha's concentration face, only for his mom to say: "No, no. She used to pucker her lips when she was thinking. She never stuck her tongue out." And in that moment he realized a part of Sam had been lost to conflicting memory. He may have an eidetic memory, but who was he to question the observations of her own mother. It made him second-guess himself and in that moment he could no longer say for certain what Samantha's funny concentration face was. He didn't have much more he could lose of her.
The thought that he and Scully had spent so much time together and yet they had no documentation made him sad. Hell, three years from now he will have known Scully for longer than he ever got to know his own sister, and he didn't even have any photographic evidence. Would he never see that fresh-faced, determined young woman who walked into his office all those years ago except for in his own memory?
"I-I would be willing to bet anything the Gunmen have had to record us at least one of the times we stopped by to consult them. I don't mean to perturb you, but I wouldn't put it past Frohike to try and sneak a picture of you," he started rambling, not waiting for her to answer. "I can go to the library and look at newspaper archives, I bet we've shown up in other newspapers over time while on a case."
"I kind of have one," she murmured softly. "But I wanted the one on your wall collage."
"You have one?" he repeated, uncertain of her meaning.
She looked embarrassed as she retracted her hand and he didn't understand why until she pulled out her wallet, removing a newspaper clipping and handing it to him.
It was a photo of him at a crime scene, his head careened towards the side, looking downwards and presumably talking to her about something. His hair was cropped too short and if he had to place it, he'd guess it was a few months after she returned from being abducted, really early in their partnership.
Mulder rubbed his fingers on the underside of the image, intending to unfold it so he could see Scully looking up at him from the other side of the parchment fold, only for his fingers to gain no purchase. He flipped the image over and was met with inky black text announcing that a K-Mart was opening in the area.
Then it dawned on him.
Scully kept a photo of just him in her wallet.
"It's just me," he stated dumbly as if she didn't know the contents of her own wallet.
She didn't say anything in response, she just licked her lips and rubbed her thumb against the leather of her billfold.
"If I had known you would have kept this, I would have smiled for the camera," he joked lamely while handing the picture back to her.
She chuffed a laugh and he watched as she methodically flipped through the images, catching sight of her mother and father's beaming face, a glamour shot of Melissa, an unfamiliar redhead he presumed was Charlie — the only member of the Scully clan he hadn't met yet —, ultimately to stop at a translucent insert with Bill Jr.'s face obscured underneath like he was wading beneath water. With the utmost care, she slid his photo into the fold, making sure the corners were protected.
"My picture's before Bill's?" he asked, trying to make a joke but the depths of how touched he was made his voice soft.
She flipped through her album to the front and showed him a trading card. "So is Timothy Hutton from Taps, it's not too hard of a feat," she joked before carefully closing the wallet insert full of photos and placing it reverently back in its rightful place.
"Can I show you something in return?" he asked, reaching for his own wallet as she put hers back in her coat pocket.
"Please do, I'm embarrassed I showed you that," she chuckled.
He opened his billfold and pulled out the polaroid he'd trimmed to discreetly fit in his checkbook. "What's this?" she asked, taking it from him before gasping and laughing. "Mulder!"
They'd had to take impromptu photos at a crime scene a few months back and she had to hold a piece of evidence up for a size reference. He'd accidentally been too far away and they couldn't read the inscription on the label. He'd just pocketed the photo to keep it from getting mixed in with the others and when he found it later, he wanted to keep it safe.
He remembered vividly she had been teasing him about something and he could see the mirth in her eyes as she looked up at him, her mouth slightly parted in anticipation for a joking remark. She looked beautiful and he often found himself looking at the photo idly, using it for comfort how some others used lucky rabbit's feet.
"I look awful! This is such a bad picture of me," she laughed.
"You don't look awful," he replied sincerely, shaking his head to dismiss the notion.
She licked her lips once and then pursed them together like she did when she was in deep contemplation before she handed him the photo back and pulled her wallet back out. "Got a picture of George C. Scott from Taps in there too?" he teased.
"Ha. Ha," she deadpanned, pulling out a photo from the back of the album before sliding it to him.
He took the photo and held it to his face. It was an image of Scully wearing a light blue sundress, it must've been recent because her hair was familiar. She was looking at the camera and smiling like she was sharing an inside joke with the photographer. "After my cancer, my mom made me take pictures in the backyard. I think she realized that if something bad had happened to me during that time, the most recent photos she would have had of me were family glamour shots we took at Sears in 1992."
"You look really beautiful," he replied with a smile. "Happy."
"I want you to have it," she offered.
He looked up and saw a bit of color high on her cheeks. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yeah, please," she insisted, looking to him. "It's awkward carrying a photo of myself amongst all of my loved ones, feels a little vain."
Her slip up dawned on her at the same moment it sunk in for him. He was one of Scully's loved ones. He watched Scully swallow thickly before hiding her face behind her coffee cup, averting her gaze. "Timothy Hutton would be honored," he replied, hoping his meaning came through.
She smiled and set her mug down, running her thumb along the rim. "Besides," she started, brushing over his comment. "Maybe this way you can still remember what I look like after they reassign us."
"They can't separate us," he replied firmly.
"Mulder, it's inevitable," she replied dejectedly, her gaze flitting to her open wallet that had fallen back to the slot with his image. "And that was still when there was an office to go back to. No one except for us will fight for the X-Files, and it was hard enough when there was evidence of our work. They won't let us start from scratch."
"Our office might be gone, and they might be determined to shut down the X-Files, but don't for a second think either of those things means you'll be able to get rid of me that easily," he stated.
She smiled at him, and for the first time in this shitty day, he felt like things might be alright.
They'd been through worse before. They might take the X-Files from him, but he still had her.
And from the looks of it, she was content with keeping him around.