Fairfield, Connecticut

Chapter Five: Soda Pop Psychology

Of course, Mulder was right. The next morning at school, the football team passed Dana in the hall without a second glance. Dana quietly and gratefully assumed her role as one of the countless bodies roaming the hallways between classes.

While Dana did not like her morning classes any better than before, they were becoming easier to bear. Dana was warming up to her public speaking teacher, Mr. Whitman. He always seemed to accent his lectures with his own life stories. The class was never too boring.

When she walked into the lunchroom, though, she could not help but feel paranoid. As she glanced over to a table in the center of the cafeteria, relief washed over her and Mulder motioned for her to sit next to him. He had saved her a seat.

She slid into her seat and greeted Mulder with a smile. "How were your morning classes?" she began the conversation.

"Could've been worse. Yours?"

Scully smiled, "Not bad, but I'm glad it's over."

"I think Mrs. Jefferson is going to give us a project in Psychology today. Something about how the body reacts to different pheromones," Mulder said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Scully smacked his chest half-heartedly as he snaked his arm around her shoulders and commenting on how good she smelled.

"But really, Scully, her projects are awful."

"Well maybe this one will be easier."

Mulder leveled his eyes. "I doubt it."

"If the project is that hard, maybe we can work on it together. That way, it'll go faster," Scully suggested.

"What are you doing after school today?"

"Nothing. Missy's taking our car she's going to some crystal crap."

"She's into that?"

Scully nodded.

"Cool. Oh, so do you want to work on it after school at my house?" Mulder asked.

"Sure."

"Great," Mulder smiled. "Then after Biology we'll go."

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Mulder pulled his Chevy up the driveway and threw it into park. Mulder unlocked the front door and held it open as she passed through. He dumped his book bag on the hardwood floors of the living room, next to the worn couch. Scully followed his lead. When she lifts her eyes, though, Mulder is nowhere in sight. She hears him rummaging in what she can only guess is the kitchen. He returns bearing refreshments.

"You like Coke?"

"Yeah, thanks," she took the proffered bottle.

"My mom only buys the soda in the glass bottles. She says they're more charismatic," he says, accenting the last word with a girly voice and a flip of his wrist, making Scully laugh, which in turn caused him to smile.

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That afternoon was the first of many. In fact, Scully and Mulder spent almost every afternoon together. They were usually at Mulder's house because Scully's could become loud. There were always people coming and going. Mulder's house was much quieter because it was just the two of them. Mulder's parents both worked.

On this Thursday afternoon, Scully sat on his couch with an open biology book on her lap. Mulder tossed her a soda as he hopped on the couch next to her. They twisted off the caps, tossed them ceremoniously over their shoulders, and clinked bottles before taking the first sip. They glanced back behind the couch to see where their bottle caps landed. Scully laughed as she spotted hers a good three feet from the trashcan. She hopped up and walked over to where it landed. She spotted Mulder's bottle cap in the trashcan.

"As always," she commented picking up his bottle cap to show him before dropping both of them in the garbage. Before walking back to the couch, she picks up one of the pictures in a collection arranged on the piano. "Who is the little girl? She's pretty."

"Samantha. She's my sister," Mulder said. From the inflection in his voice, Scully realized that this was touchy subject.

"Oh. And that's you standing next to her?" she asked, pointing to the boy leaning against the tree.

"Uh huh. I was almost twelve when the picture was taken."

Scully placed the picture down gently and walked back to the couch. As she sat next to him, one leg tucked under her, she touched his knee gently. "Is she…dead?" Scully asked tentatively.

Mulder paused for a moment, going over the possibility. "I…don't know."

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I don't want to make you talk about something you don't want to," she apologized hurriedly.

"No, no it's not that I don't want to talk about it. I just know so little." Mulder took her hand in his and sighed, preparing for battle. "I was twelve; Sam was eight. I was babysitting her because my parents had gone to the neighbors' for dinner. We were playing a board game. This…man broke in through a back window. He kidnapped her. She kept calling my name, pleading. She wanted me to stop the man. But I was frozen. I couldn't move. I just…stood there," Mulder finished, finally making eye contact with her. He had avoided looking directly at her, afraid to see the blame and the anger that his parents felt reflected in her eyes. When he finally mustered the courage to look her in the eyes, all he saw was compassion. This empathy was foreign to him.

Scully sat silent for a long time. "Did they look for her?"

Mulder kind of shook his head in a cross between a positive nod and a negative shake, "Well, they had this big investigation. My dad is high up in the government, so he pulled a lot of strings to get task forces to find her. Even the Department of Treasury had an investigation. But as soon as the investigations started, they stopped. No explanations."

Scully squeezed Mulder's hand emphatically, "I'm sorry, Mulder. I know you must miss her."

"Yeah, no one ever talks about her anymore. It's like she never existed. It was nice to talk about her again."

"Well," Scully started, smiling, "if you ever want to talk about her again, you know where I am."

"Thanks," Mulder replied. Scully closed the space between them as she gave him a hug.

"Anytime."