Mid-October 1923
Fox Mulder stepped off the train in Cairo and grinned. In the distance he could see the pyramids, and he felt excitement propel him forward, limping slightly on his leg that had fallen asleep on the journey.
People bustled about him as they went on their way, street vendors shouting in a language he did not understand. He heard snippets of English then mixed with the language, neither party completely understanding the other, as he passed to the train station office to collect his trunks.
Paying a small fee, he arranged to have them delivered to the Shepheard's Hotel, where he would pick them up later when he arrived for his reservation. Walking back out, he could not stop grinning, despite the heat and crowds of people.
He was incredibly happy to be in the thick of what he believed to be excitement over the recent discovery, it being all that had occupied his thoughts for the past nine months.
Since the first letter he had received, he had been filled with excitement, finding books he had read as a child and searching for new ones to learn new information about a subject he had dearly loved. A second letter had arrived after he had sent another, and he had made a decision to go to Egypt and be a part of the excitement.
His mother had been upset, telling him she would not support his idea, that it was his way of fighting what she wanted for him.
"Mother," he had said quietly, though inside he had been quite angry. "I have told you repeatedly that that is not what I want."
"Fox-"
"Mother." He had stepped close to her and taken her hands in his own. "Please listen to me. Please hear me. I do not want a life of dinners and parties, speaking to the same people about the same subjects. I want… something different."
"Fox," she had said, tears in her eyes, her hands moving to his face. "You were almost taken from me. By war and then by illness. I do not want to lose you."
"And you will not," he had whispered, kissing her cheek and holding her close, his eyes closed as she cried against him. He understood her worry, remembering how ill he had been.
In the end, though she had not wanted to see him go, she had come around. He knew his father had done much to change his mother's heart, of which he had been extremely grateful. His father had given him books and maps, encouraging his desire to know more.
"Your mother has a woman's heart, and a mother's one at that. She does not understand the way I do," his father had said one evening, coming to Fox's room, something he rarely did. "You are her only child, one she nearly lost, she worries for you every day."
"I know."
"Yes, I know you do. And I know how she pesters, believe me." His father had chuckled and shaken his head. "But, I understand. I see, though I do not regularly speak up."
He had looked at him, nodding his head and Fox had understood. His father had then taken from his coat pocket a leather bound pocketbook and handed it to Fox. Taking it from him, he had opened it and found tickets for a ship bound for Egypt and leaving in August. Raising his head, he had looked at his father in astonishment.
"Go, Fox. Go find that next great discovery." He had smiled and clapped him on the arm, squeezing his elbow.
"Thank you, Father," he had whispered, clearing his throat and saying it again, his father nodding.
"The Mulder name should be attached to something amazing. We should be a part of history." They had both laughed and with his thanks said again, his father had left the room.
Looking through the pocketbook, he had found it was not only tickets for the ship, but money, a stack of blank checks, and a letter from his father.
Fox,
You have always been destined for great things. I have seen it. Go and find it. Leave your mark on this world.
To the pocketbook he had added the letters from the museum, reading them over and over, though he could have recited them by heart. Every time he had read them, he smiled, the words igniting a fire of adventure inside of him.
And now, he was minutes away from the person who had started his thoughts of leaving his home and journeying across the sea. Picking up the pace, his leg protesting a bit, he shook his head as he saw the museum in his view, his heart racing.
At the door he stopped, both to catch his breath and to prepare himself for the meeting about to happen. He suddenly felt nervous, though he knew it was comical that he would.
"Are you going in, mister?" A child's voice asked and he looked down, seeing the small boy looking up at him.
"Yes. Yes, I am." He pulled the door open, allowing the child and his mother to enter first, her smile of thanks bringing on one of his own.
Stepping inside, he held his breath, as though he would upon entering a church. It was quiet and reverent to him in the same fashion and even the soft sound of his shoes as he began to walk seemed too loud.
He was not sure where to look first, the room full of items to behold. Statues, items under glass, small replicas of the giant pyramids, and even the columns of the room itself, drew his eyes and caused his throat to go dry.
He was there. He had finally made it.
Paying the fee to enter, he walked around, taking it all in, not paying attention to the other patrons. His eyes feasted on everything he saw, taking many minutes to read placards and learn more than he had before.
When he had walked around the main room, going no further, he walked back to the entrance and gained the attention of the woman sitting at the counter.
"Yes, sir?"
"Hello, I was wondering where I could find the research department?"
"The research department, sir?"
"Yes. I received letters from the research department and I wanted to meet the person I was corresponding with and thank them." He smiled and the woman blushed, but shook her head.
"I don't know if people generally are allowed in that section of the museum, but I could inquire for you. Please wait just over there." She pointed to a column and he nodded, thanking her as he walked away.
He watched her leave and soon was coming back with an older woman with dark hair and eyes. Her expression was serious and he felt it was one she always wore, the lines set deeply in her face.
"Sir, I'm Aziza Ahmad. I was told you're inquiring about our research department," she said by way of introduction, her accent slight, as she held her hand out to shake his own.
"I was, yes," he responded as he shook her hand. "I wrote letters months ago and received some in return. I wanted to meet and thank him." She frowned slightly as she let go of his hand.
"Sir-"
"Fox Mulder."
"Mr. Mulder," she said with a slight nod. "Unfortunately, we don't have any men in our research department. Are you sure the letters were from someone here?"
"Yes," he said with a frown of his own. "I sent a letter, two actually, and received two in response. From a doctor in research."
"A… a doctor?"
"Yes, ma'am. A Doctor Scully."
"Doc… Doctor… Scully?" she asked incredulously and he nodded. "May I… may I see the letters?"
"Umm, sure," he answered and took his pocketbook out, opening it to take the letters from inside. He handed her the first one and she skimmed it, her lips pursing together when she reached the bottom.
"Sir, Mr. Mulder, this is not from Doctor Scully." She stared at him, handing him back his letter. "And the contents of it contain more information than they were supposed to when sent to those inquiring about the discovery of King Tutankhamun."
"Oh," he said, looking at the letter. "I suppose I assumed the D was for Doctor."
"It is not." He looked up at her and she crossed her arms, shaking her head.
"Well, I would still like to meet him, if it were possible." She held his gaze and then smiled slowly, a smile which made him feel incredibly uncomfortable.
"Yes, please come with me and I will introduce you." She turned around and he put the letter back into his pocketbook, following behind her.
"Thank you," he said as they walked across the lobby. She opened a door and they continued down some stairs and into a long hallway. "I've traveled very far and this is my first stop."
"Hmm," she hummed, not responding further. He glanced at her as they turned left and continued to a glass door simply labeled 'Research.'
She opened the door and waited for him to walk inside, stopping across the threshold and telling him to wait. She walked over to a young woman wearing a blue apron, her head covered with a cap of the same color, her hair tied back as she carried a tray in her hands. He did not hear their conversation, but the younger woman motioned with her head toward the left, and set the tray down. She walked away and Miss Ahmad returned to his side.
"It will be just a moment."
"Wonderful," he said with a smile, of which she did not return, her face once more serious and her arms crossed.
Movement caught his eye and the young woman she had spoken with was coming back, followed by another young woman wearing the same blue apron, her head also covered, and a curious look on her face.
"Miss Ahmad," she said with a slight bow of her head, her accent surprising him, being an American one, and something he had not heard since the war.
"Miss Scully," she responded, saying nothing further, but cutting her eyes to him. He turned his head quickly to look at her and then back to the young woman before him, who was staring at him with the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
"Is there something I can do for you, ma'am?" she asked, looking away from him to Miss Ahmad.
"On the contrary, it is what you can do for the young man standing beside me."
"Ma'am?" she asked, her eyes widening, hands clasping in front of her.
"He would like to speak with you and when you are finished, I would like to see you in my office." Miss Ahmad turned around and walked to the door, opened it, and left without another word. He looked back at the young woman in front of him, confusion still on both their faces.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't believe she told me your name," she said with a sigh.
"Fox Mulder," he said softly, watching her eyes widen again as her face paled.
"What? You're… you're here. How?" She looked him up and down, a hand going to her throat.
"I… I just arrived today and I wanted to meet you. Well, the person to whom I was corresponding."
"That was me."
"I did… I didn't know." He shook his head, feeling his face flush as he stared into her eyes. "I thought you were a doctor."
"Why would you think that?"
"You signed your letters D. Scully, I thought the D stood for doctor."
"It doesn't."
"I know that now."
They stared at one another and he felt as though his happiness and excitement had been extinguished, his thoughts over the last few months a lie.
"I'm so sorry. I'm a bit confused. Why did you not sign your name?"
"Would it have mattered if I had? You sent a letter to the museum. Did you think there were professors of archeology sitting around waiting to reply to the many questions people had? Do you have any idea how many letters we received?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"I…" He cleared his throat and then laughed softly at his own stupidity. Of course doctorate professors would not be waiting for letters from people all over the world asking mundane questions. "You're right, it doesn't matter. I simply had an idea in my head that was far from correct." He smiled at her and she uncrossed her arms, clasping her hands together again.
"We've met now, was there anything else you needed?" she asked and his smile faltered.
"Oh. I…"
"Mr. Mulder I don't want to sound or appear rude, but I have a lot of work piled up and now I must go speak to Miss Ahmad about something." She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "If you would excuse me…"
"Yes. Of course. I… I simply wanted to thank you for your letters. To tell you that they have…" He saw her look down and he felt an odd sense of need to shut his mouth and leave the room as soon as possible. "Thank you, Miss Scully. I will let you return to your day. Goodbye." Her head snapped up quickly and he nodded at her, turning around before she could speak a word in return.
He did not look back, not wanting to see her watching him as he left with the blue eyes he knew he would never forget, though was certain he would never see again.