"The blue house on the hill."
That's what they told him when he asked if anyone had seen a petite redhead with piercing blue eyes.
"Was she with anyone?" he asked.
"No. No one I've ever seen."
Good, he thought. It would be easier to speak to her alone.
He parked half a mile away and walked up the hill covered in tall grass. The wind whipped his hair and clothes, the grass waving and bending, as he began to breathe harder, the hill becoming steep. His dress shoes were not made for hiking and they pinched his feet.
When the house came into view, he stopped, staring at it with a thudding heart.
She was outside, hanging clothes on a line and singing quietly. The song was carried on the wind and hit his ears, causing him to stumble backwards a couple of steps.
He had not heard her voice in so long and until that moment he did not realize how much he had truly missed it.
A dog barked and ran out to her, wiggling and wagging its tail happily. She laughed and he doubled over, the sound of it taking his breath away.
A different bark, an alerting tone, forced him to stand up straight, knowing the dog had to have seen him.
She shaded her eyes and looked in his direction. Her hand fell slowly as she recognized him and her shoulders slumped, standing frozen in place.
He waited, his entire body aching to run to her. To apologize. To beg for her forgiveness. But he stayed rooted to the spot.
She turned and walked into the house, snapping her fingers for the dog to follow. It did obediently and she shut the door without looking back.
His answer given to a question asked long ago, his head dropped and he exhaled a breath as he closed his eyes and remembered the day his world had shattered.
"I can't do this anymore, Mulder."
"How can you say that? To me, Scully?"
"This job is consuming me."
"I don't feel the same."
"Not yet, but you will."
"Then go."
"It's not that simple," she had said, reaching for his hand.
"Then let me help you."
And he'd left.
Left their office.
Left her.
She'd tried again, calling him and leaving a message on his machine.
"Come with me. Please."
He never called her back. Never answered her plea. But he listened to the recording until the tape broke and he threw the machine against the wall.
She disappeared. Her apartment was emptied out, and no forwarding address given.
Not that he asked.
Not at first.
Not when he was so angry and hurt.
But then he desperately asked for any information about her. Where was she? Where did she go?
Skinner refused to give any details.
Mrs. Scully tight-lipped as well.
Frohike shook his head, leaving the room when Byers gave him the first lead he'd had in months.
"Don't fuck it up," Byers said, shocking Mulder.
"Yeah," Langly said and Frohike called out his agreement.
He'd taken personal time off of work, but the people he questioned did not know that, as long as he looked the part.
Exhausted and at the end of his rope, he had come to this little town, asking anyone if they had seen her, nearly crying when they had said yes.
Now he stood within sight of her and it may as well have been hundreds of miles.
She left him. He did not follow. She had moved on, happy in her little blue house on the hill with her dog and her clothesline.
She did not need him.
Taking in a deep breath and letting it out, he opened his eyes for one last look.
"Goodbye, Scully," he whispered and took one step back, intent on leaving. Running down the hill in his slippery shoes, chancing a fall, if it got him away faster.
But then the door creaked open and she walked out, staring at him with her arms crossed.
"Are you coming? Or do I need to send Fox after you?" she called and his stomach fell to his knees. "I really wouldn't take my chances. His bite is worse than Queequeg's."
His feet moved, but he did not know how they did, his brain momentarily detached from his body, taking over and doing what it wanted.
The grass danced and waved again, hitting his pants and whispering against the material.
It was the quiet sound of coming home.
Stopping at the bottom of the two steps up to her porch, he stared at her. Her face the same, but softer. Happier. More freckled than he remembered. Her eyes were just as blue and her hair was longer, the wind whipping it in front of her face.
Wordlessly, she turned around and walked back inside, not watching to see if he would follow, but knowing he would this time without question.
He stepped across the threshold and breathed in, her scent overpowering his senses. The unmistakable scent of Scully all around him.
"Sit," she said and he saw a small kitchen table laden with two place settings, the plates mismatched and the colors faded.
"It's laid for two," he said, his voice low.
"It always is," she said. "I knew one day you'd find me. I just needed to be patient."
"Why?" he asked, wondering why she would wait for him. The one who walked away. The one who let her go.
"Because I love you," she said so easily, it stole his breath. "And sometimes… that love needs to break and crumble to find its way back again."
"Scully," he breathed, shaking his head.
She reached out her hand and he stared at it, the past blurring the present. His fingers brushed hers, scared to hold on too tightly. She eased his worry by covering their hands with her other one and squeezing.
"Hi," she said and he choked back a cry as he pulled her to him, laughing as cried, whispering his apologies in her hair and then his love.
The dog barked and pawed at his leg, causing them to break apart.
"Quiet, Fox."
"Fox?" he asked with a laugh, looking at the dog.
"Well, yeah. I couldn't call him Mulder. That would be confusing once you finally made it here."
"Yes, it would," he said with another laugh. "God, Scully. I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
He cupped her cheek and kissed her gently, Fox whining quietly beside them.
He never went back to work. He quit over the phone, not giving a goddamn about any of it.
His apartment was cleared of his most prized possessions, put into a moving truck, and driven to the little blue house on the hill where Scully and a dog named Fox were waiting for him.