Outside Dana Scully's Apartment
Knock knock knock.
Mulder paused, waiting for a reply. When none came, he pounded on the door again louder.
Mulder rocked on his heels impatiently, letting the plastic bag he carried swing back and forth, winding itself up, then spinning itself around on the recoil. He reached his hand in his pocket and jingled his keys a bit. He bit his lip. In short, he was restless and impatient. His mind began to wander…
Something was wrong. It never took Scully this long to answer.
"Scully? Scully!" he called pounding on the door as loudly as he could. Instinctively, he started to reach for his gun, but realized wearing his jeans and T-shirt meant he did not have it with him.
"Just a minute!" her muffled voice called back. Something had to wrong, and Mulder reached into the bag, pulling out the first object his hand wrapped around. The doorknob slowly twisted, and even slower, the door creaked open as Mulder raised his arm ready to strike.
"Jesus, Mulder!" Scully exclaimed, jumping back. Her hair was dripping, and she was wrapped in a bathrobe. Mulder could see the blood start to return to her face. "You scared the…."
"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, turning his head down so she would not see him blush. "I thought maybe somebody had broken in and tied you up or something."
She eyed the object in his hand. "And your plan was to strike them over the head with a bag of popcorn?"
He blushed a little more as he looked at the plastic wrapped bag of unpopped corn he held. "Well, I wasn't about to endanger this," he said, trying to make a joke out of it by pulling a videocassette out of the bag. "Have you seen how much they charge when you return them late? Imagine the charge if you beat somebody over the head with one."
Pushing the hair out of her eyes, Scully took the tape. "Manos: The Hand of Fate?" she asked curiously.
"Well, I was not going to come all the way out here just to read a letter. You were having a bad day; I thought a little bit of bad acting and clichéd plot devices might cheer you up."
"Thanks, Mulder. That was…sweet…albeit in your own distorted sense of the word. Sit-down. The repair man just left half and hour ago and you pulled me out of the shower."
Scully pressed her slender index finger to his mouth just as his lips started to open. "Not a word, Mulder," she said slyly, giving him a little shove as she went to the bathroom.
Darn, he thought, I had a good one for that too. Mulder sat down on the sofa. Scully's apartment was nice, why did he not come here more often? On the armrest, an envelope caught his eye. It was addressed to Dana Scully (and Fox Mulder) written with David's cramped, thirteen-year-old handwriting. He had to marvel at Scully's self control; the temptation to open it was already overwhelming him, begging him, pleading him to give in. He was just about to when the smell of shampoo and soap alerted him to Scully's arrival. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her hair still damp.
She sat down beside him as he twisted the envelope, spinning it in his hands. "Well, Mulder," she said, "are we going to open it or just stare at it all evening?"
"I don't know. I'm thoroughly amused as it is."
"Give it here," she said, reaching for it. At the same time he moved his arm so it was beyond her reach. "Mulder," she said, smiling wearily, "stop playing around and give it here."
He held it out to her, and her hand opened to take it. As her fingers closed, he pulled it away with a smirk.
"That's not funny."
"Yes it is."
"No, Mulder, it's not," she said, trying not to laugh.
"Fine," he said, tearing the envelope. Inside were a piece of paper and a photograph. Mulder pulled out the paper, and Scully read it with him.
Dear Dana and Fox,
What's up? Thanks for the birthday present you sent me, it rocks. You have no idea how many stores kicked me out for drooling on their floors over Galaxy Cross II. You did the merchants of our small town a huge favor, as well as make a guy very happy.
Heather and I are going back out again.
"That makes what, the third time this year?" Mulder remarked.
I sent you guys a picture. It was taken at one of our junior high's basketball games a couple of months ago. I'm there in the center, in case you don't recognize me, and Heather's to my right. Robert's the kid on my left. That guy in front (who kind of got in the way at the wrong time) is Mr. Nicolas. He moved in next door not too long ago, and he teaches algebra at our school. He's really nice. I mow his lawn for him sometimes. It's all about the Benjamins, you know. (Okay, so maybe it's more like Washingtons and Lincolns…)
Anyway, I have to go. Write me back soon, okay?
David
"He's really grown, Mulder," Scully remarked, pulling the picture from the envelope.
"Let me see," Mulder said, reaching for it.
She gave it to him, and watched as his eyes traced over the photo. She was surprised, however, when they did not brighten, but rather his eyes grew gray as he laid them on the photograph.
Mulder's heart sank, and his stomach was suddenly too small to hold his last meal. He took in a breath that sent a tremor down his spine.
It sent one down hers too.
"Mulder," Scully started, trying not to sound worried, "what is it?"
"Pack your bags, Scully," he said. "We're going to Kansas."