Chapter 7 (Scully)
It took me a couple minutes to find the pay phone, and after I had called, I spent a couple more minutes dodging hall monitors as I made my way back to Mulder. I found him in the same position he had been in when I left—leaning against the wall beside the door, his arms and legs both crossed in front of him. I could tell he was lost in thought by the faraway look in his eyes which were currently focused on the floor a few feet in front of him. Because he was not paying attention to his surroundings, I managed to come within a few feet of him without him noticing my presence. When he did, he recoiled for a moment, reaching to his waist for the gun which was no longer present.
"Relax, Mulder, it's me," I told him. Immediately, his muscles loosened, and his hands dropped casually to his side.
"Old habits die hard," he said by way of explanation.
"Trust me, I know," I said.
"Ready to go?" he questioned. I nodded, and he turned, opening the door for me. I did not even have to duck to pass under his arm and out the doorway, but our height difference had ensured that this was always true. After he had also walked outside, he walked to my side, placing his hand in its customary place on my back. Using the gentle pressure of his hand, he led me to a black Ford in the back of the parking lot. The warmth of his hand left my back briefly as he reached into his pocket for the keys. I walked to the passenger's side of the car, waiting until he opened the driver's door and reached across to unlock the passenger's door.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, I broached the topic that we had been avoiding for the entire week. "So, Mulder, what happened? And I want a better answer than 'We traveled through time'."
"I don't have a better answer."
"You have to have some theory as to how it happened."
"You're the scientist. Shouldn't you be the one with the theory?"
"As much as I hate to admit it, Mulder, this is beyond the realm of science."
"So you admit that science can't explain everything then."
"I admit that we don't fully understand everything yet."
"Well, in answer to your first question, I stick by what I said earlier. I think we've been given a second chance."
"But why us? Why can't someone else save the world?"
He shrugged. "We already know what's going to happen. Actually, we probably know more about it that anyone else except perhaps the conspirators behind it all, and I doubt they're going to suddenly have a change of heart and decide to save the world anytime soon."
"So we're supposed to save the world? That's a pretty tall order."
"I never said it was going to be easy."
"How exactly are we supposed to go about doing this?"
"One day at a time," he answered, turning his attention to the road. I fell silent, allowing him to navigate through the relatively heavy traffic without interruption. As I watched out the window, I could not help but wonder why the fate of the world always seemed to rest on our shoulders.
We made good time to the military base where Mulder had found his sister's handprint so many years before (or was it actually a number of years in the future? I did not know what constituted my past and what constituted my future any longer). It was dusk, and the low light cast odd shadows across the ground in front of us as we pulled up in front of the gate. The base looked deserted; I did not see a single car or sign of life anywhere. The trees around us flapped lazily in the light wind, shedding their leaves which floated slowly to the ground.
Mulder pulled the car off to the side in a copse of trees which hid it fairly well from anyone passing on the road. "This is it," he announced needlessly, shutting off the car and exiting. The wind swirled around us, giving the air a slight chill. I shivered involuntarily as we approached the tall, metal gates with a sign declaring that we were at April Base and another warning unauthorized personnel to stay off the premises. Naturally, we ignored this warning. Mulder cast a quick look around before squatting down, his hands cupped together in front of him. Immediately, I knew what he wanted, and I walked over, placing my foot carefully in his clasped hands and my hand on his shoulder for support. He stood, lifting me easily into the air, and I reached for the top of the fence. Grabbing the fence, I started to pull myself over. It was a bit of the struggle; since I had not yet decided to join the FBI, I had not started the rigorous exercise that had become commonplace for me during later years, and I could feel the strain in my arms as I pulled myself up. Still, with some help from Mulder, I managed to struggle over the fence.
Once Mulder saw that I had safely landed on the ground on the other side, he reached up and grabbed a couple of the fence links, using them as handholds to pull himself up. Since he had been active throughout college, he was in excellent physical condition, and it was not long before he pulled himself over the fence and was standing beside me. "Come on. This way," he whispered.
I followed him, knowing that with his photographic memory, he could likely tell me exactly how many feet we had to walk in each direction. We strode quickly down the streets, staying on the side behind bushes, relying on the dim light and the shadows from the vegetation around us to conceal our figures as we walked. In a few minutes, Mulder stopped, staring at the sidewalk. Glancing down, I saw the familiar small handprint labeled with his sister's name. He crouched over, running his fingers gently over the contours of the hand in the cement with a certain reverence. I watched his eyes take on a faraway look as he stared at the handprint. After a few seconds, he stood again, tearing his gaze away from the print. With a slight nod in my direction, he started toward the house.
I noticed immediately that it looked just as deserted as it had the last time we had been there. I could not imagine that anyone could possibly be living there much less two children. But I nevertheless followed Mulder up the overgrown walkway toward the front door. I might not have believed, but, as always, Mulder had faith enough for the both of us.
We did not make it all the way to the front door. A familiar voice stopped us before we had reached it. "You're not going to find her here," the man remarked, stepping out of the shadows. His voice was low and gravelly, almost like a truck rumbling down a bumpy country road.
Mulder turned, and I saw him reach for the older man's neck. However, the cigarette-smoking bastard simply stepped out of the way of Mulder's groping hands. I saw Mulder's hand drop to his waist where his gun would usually rest, but he came up empty-handed. "There's no need for violence, son," Spender remarked, flicking a bit of ash off of his lit cigarette. He had stepped partially into the light from the setting sun, making it easier for me to see him.
"Actually, I believe the situation certainly warrants violence," Mulder growled.
"You can't change her fate, Mulder. That's not what you were sent here to do."
"I won't accept that. I know she's still alive. There's got to be something I can do."
"There's nothing." He flicked the butt of his cigarette to the side and stepped closer to Mulder. As his face passed beneath the light, I saw the countenance of a man we had both come to despise. He was younger; his hair was still partially brown, and only a few lines crossed his face, but the features were no different. It was CGB Spender; I had no doubt about that. "She has to die. That's what's meant to be. Even you can't play with destiny."
"I have to do something."
"Actually, you have to do nothing. If you try looking for her at all before you graduate, I will find out, and I will have her killed. Slowly."
"You son of a bitch, you-"
"Trust me when I say that I have your best interests at heart. You can't be looking for Samantha. There are other things you need to do."
I could not help it; my curiosity simply got the better of me. "Like what?"
Spender turned to me, lighting a new cigarette. "That, Agent Scully, is for you to discover." He saw us both react at the title, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Yes, I know. You don't think you're the only ones privileged enough to remember, do you? I've actually been waiting here for a couple days now. I'm surprised at you, Agent Mulder. I expected you earlier."
"Plane tickets were harder to come by than I thought," Mulder remarked between gritted teeth. The tone of his voice and stiffness of his stance told me that he still wanted to kill Spender.
"Yes, well, everything is harder when you don't work for the government."
"Why are we here?" I questioned.
Spender looked at me, his lips still quirked slightly. "To save the world," he answered simply. And then he laughed. It was a low grumble that I thought would be better suited for a lawn mower engine than a laugh. When the laughter ceased after a few seconds, he took a long draw on his cigarette before remarking, "I wish you the best of luck, agents. I truly do." And then he was gone before either of us had the chance to ask another question.
Naturally, Mulder still insisted on checking through the house. We found signs of habitation, but the house had likely not been occupied in months. As we left, Mulder took out his frustration on the door, leaving it hanging from the hinges. The drive back was fairly quiet; I knew Mulder was frustrated that even now, his efforts to find his sister were thwarted by Cancer Man.
We stopped at a small mom-and-pop diner for dinner on the way back. While we were waiting for our food, Mulder remarked, "So it seems we do have to save the world, Scully. Lucky us."
"What are we going to do, Mulder?" I inquired.
"Now? Nothing. We have some time. I think right now we both just have to concentrate on getting through school. We can maybe do some digging on Cigarette Smoking Man and his cronies while we're at it, but I doubt we'll find anything. I have a feeling that even now, they're well-hidden."
"Have you thought about going back, Mulder?"
"Back to what? The end of the world? We've been given a second chance, Scully. There's no reason not to take it."
"True. What about your sister?"
Mulder shrugged. "I keep looking. I'll just have to be a bit more discreet about it. But I didn't give up the last time until I knew she was dead, and I don't plan on giving up this time either." Our food arrived at that moment, and we both turned our attention to the burgers in front of us.
When we finally returned, Mulder automatically turned toward the motel where he was staying. As he pulled into the parking lot, he seemed to realize that we were not actually on a case together. "Sorry about that, Scully. I'll just take you home."
"Not yet." He shot me a questioning gaze but still shut off the car and led me to his room. I do not know exactly why I objected to him taking me home; I suspect that a part of me simply did not want to leave him just yet. I always felt comfortable around Mulder. His presence made me feel safe and loved and, as irrational as I knew the feeling was, invulnerable. And so I followed him into the motel room.
When we reached the motel room, Mulder disappeared into the bathroom, emerging a couple minutes later wearing an undershirt and boxers. I had taken off my jacket and shoes and was sitting on the bed with my back against the headboard and my feet spread straight in front of me. Though I was taking up most of the bed, Mulder quickly solved this problem by placing his arms beneath me and lifting me off the comforter, depositing me a couple feet to my left so that he had enough room to sit beside me. Crawling under the covers, he put an arm around my shoulders, allowing me to rest my head comfortably on him.
"What are you thinking about?" he questioned.
I looked up at him with a fond smile of remembrance when I heard the question. "This is nice," I said simply, moving closer to him.
"What? Crappy motel rooms? Because I thought you had plenty of those."
"No, not the room. Just the sitting here, together, with no worries or concerns or the threat of doomsday looming over us. It's a pleasant change."
"Everyone always dreams of being young again."
"We might as well enjoy it."
I had not meant to be suggestive. Honestly. Or at least, my conscious mind had not meant to be suggestive; I have no control over what my unconscious does. Mulder, of course, immediately found the double meaning. "And how do you plan on doing that?" He turned to me, his eyebrows arched.
"I'm sure you can figure it out."
"Oh, I think I certainly can." He moved, his hand sliding off my shoulders and onto the mattress to my right. His other hand moved to my opposite side so that he was suspended above me, supported by his arms. His feet lay on either side of mine, and our chests barely brushed as he lowered himself, meeting my lips with his. The kiss was slow and sensual, for we both now felt that we had all the time in the world.
Tongues soon entered the picture, and both our hands began to roam- mine across the broad expanse of his back, still covered by a thin cotton shirt, and his from my shoulders to the curve of my hips. With his fingers, he gently traced the hem of my shirt before moving it upward, allowing his fingers to brush across my skin as it was exposed. Though the touch was not even especially sexual yet, it still caused me to shiver, and I arched my back slightly, bringing my body in closer contact with his. I could feel the grin on his lips at my reaction, and I was tempted to give him a taste of his own medicine, but he was too quick for me. With a dexterity born from years of practice, he shifted his weight to his knees, and used one free hand to support my lower back as he pulled the shirt over my head with the other.
With that impediment out of the way, his fingers began a more thorough exploration of my upper body. He traced languorous spirals around my stomach, allowing them to slowly grow outward until the pads of his fingers were brushing the base of my bra. "No front hook," he remarked, removing his lips briefly from mine.
"Fifteen-year-old Dana had no reason for one," I told him.
"Good." Again, his lips met mine, and he lifted me to unhook my bra, tossing it, too, to the side. Before his lips could follow his hands in their dance across my body, I pushed him gently away.
"Equal partnership, remember?" I reminded him, tugging at the base of his shirt.
"Aye, aye, partner," he agreed, quickly pulling the shirt over his head. I had not realized until that moment how muscled he had been at eighteen. It seems he was not lying all those times he boasted about his excellent athleticism in high school and college. He certainly looked like an athlete. "I'm assuming that bleary eyed look means that you approve of eighteen-year-old Mulder," he remarked cheekily. I hit his chest, noting with some satisfaction that it was hard with muscle.
"Maybe I just think you're hideous," I told him.
"Hideous, huh?" he asked with a grin. Before I knew what was happening, I felt his hands below my waist, unzipping my jeans. "Funny. You seem awfully aroused for hideous," he remarked. I wanted to slap him again, but the feel of his fingers around that part of my body prevented me from doing anything but closing my eyes and letting my head fall back against the pillow with a low moan. "That's what I thought," he remarked. Suddenly, the warmth of his fingers was gone, returning a moment later higher on my body.
"What-" I began, but he cut me off.
"You didn't think I was going to skip to the good part yet, do you?" he questioned. "Oh no, my dear, I was just getting started." And with that characteristic smirk I simultaneously hated and loved, he lowered his lips to my skin again.
Mulder was true to his word; it took him quite awhile to get to the "good part." At first, his slow pace annoyed me, but I quickly realized that, like everything else that Mulder did, he had a reason for taking his time. And when we finally did reach the "good part," it was better than anything I had felt before. One of the things I loved most about Mulder was that he was constantly surprising me. Even though I knew him better than I knew myself, he never ceased to amaze me on a daily basis. He kept our relationship interesting and new, ensuring that I never grew bored of him or us.
Afterwards, we lay in the tangled sheets, sweaty and sated. Mulder was still kissing the back of my neck lightly, and I could not stop myself from giggling at the contact. "Mulder, cut it out," I told him between chuckles.
"Cut what out?" he asked innocently as he stepped up the ferocity of his attack.
"You know very well what."
"Or what?" he questioned.
"Or I'm never going to get to sleep tonight."
"So?"
"So I have school tomorrow."
"So? You graduated the first time, and I have no doubt you'll do it again. Come on, Scully, you're only young once." I rolled my eyes at the statement but nevertheless yielded to his caresses.
The next morning, I woke up to find myself entwined with Mulder; his long, lanky limbs were wrapped around my body, making it difficult for me to move. With some maneuvering, I managed to turn my head so that I could see the clock on the nightstand behind me. The red numbers glowing brightly on the screen caused me to sit straight up in bed, no longer mindful of not waking my partner.
"What is it, Scully?" he asked, his words slightly muffled from sleep.
"We're late, Mulder," I explained, throwing back the covers so that I could climb out of bed and begin collecting my clothes.
"Late for what?" He was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
"School."
"Oh." He shrugged, unconcerned, as he rose from the bed, stretching. "So?"
"So I can't be late."
"Why not? It's not like you've never been late before."
"I always had a legitimate excuse."
"You're telling me you never stopped for breakfast with your friends and ended up coming in tardy to school?" he asked.
"And I don't have a change of clothes, so I'm going to have to go to school in the same thing I wore yesterday, and I'm sure Missy'll notice. . ."
"Breathe, Scully," Mulder instructed, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sure it will all be okay in the end. You're not that late yet, so just finish getting dressed, and I'll drive you to school. It's not that far away, so we can even pick up breakfast."
"If I'm tardy, I get a detention and my mother finds out," I pointed out.
"Just tell her you and your friend overslept."
"She won't believe it. My mother has a knack for seeing through lies."
"Then tell her the truth."
"What? That I spent the night with a guy and had wonderful sex?"
"That sounds good to me."
"Mulder, I'm fifteen! Or at least, I'm fifteen as far as my mother is concerned. I'm not supposed to be having sex. I'm supposed to be concentrating on graduating this year so I can go onto college and then to med school."
"Scully, just relax. You'll be fine."
"How can you know that? See, Mulder, this is the problem with what happened. Our bodies are young, but our minds are middle-aged. We think like we're fifty when we should have teenaged concerns."
"Like what? Popularity and whether Billy in fifth period likes you? Personally, I'm glad not to have those concerns. I think it'll make college a lot easier."
"Aren't you worried at all about adjusting?"
He shrugged, his face clearly telling me that he had none of my concerns about our current predicament. "I'll adjust. It may take some time, but I will. And as far as I'm concerned, this situation is much better than the alternative."
In the end, I was just under an hour late for school. I accepted the detention slip without a word, still trying to come up with a good excuse for receiving it. Unfortunately, Mulder's seemed to be the best I could do.
I spent the entire day dreading the conversation with my mother that night. I had a sinking feeling that she would blow the entire thing out of proportion. Though a tardy detention did not seem like much to most people, I had always been the good kid in my family. I did not get into trouble. I did not get detentions of any kind. I knew my mother would wonder why I had the sudden change, and I honestly had no good explanation for her except for the truth—which would likely cause even more suspicion than a lie.
When I reached the house, my mother was waiting for me as always. She was flipping through the newspaper at the kitchen table, but she looked up from her reading as soon as Missy and I walked in the door. "Hey, girls, how was school?" she questioned. Melissa immediately responded with her usual "fine, but I took a deep breath, working up the courage to tell the truth.
"I got a detention," I finally blurted out, simply wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. Missy, who had been ready to leave the room, suddenly turned and moved back to where I was standing.
"Really?" my mother's eyebrows were raised. I could not tell if she was angry or not; her voice had not increased in volume, so I was fairly certain that I was still safe.
"Nat and I overslept this morning, so we got there late. Sorry, Mom. It won't happen again," I lied, praying fervently that she would buy it. Fortunately, God seemed to be in a favorable mood toward me that day.
"Okay. Just make sure this doesn't become a common thing."
"It won't, Mom. You just need to sign this." I passed her the detention slip, and she glanced at it briefly before adorning it with her signature and passing it back to me. Feeling extremely relieved, I followed Missy upstairs to our room. Perhaps Mulder had been right. Maybe I was overreacting.
As soon as we reached our room, Missy closed the door behind us and moved to my desk where I sat, placing her hand on the book I was about to open. "Spill," she instructed simply.
"Spill what?'"
"The truth about why you were late this morning. Mom may have bought your story, but I certainly didn't, especially since I saw Natalie this morning before class."
"There's nothing to tell," I remarked, knowing even as I spoke that my ears were turning red, a clear indication that I was lying. Missy was sure to pick up on this, too.
"You're lying again. There's plenty to tell. So spill or I'm going to tell Mom that I know for a fact you weren't at Natalie's last night."
"Okay, you caught me, I wasn't at Natalie's last night." I hoped this would be enough to appease her, but I knew that this hope was in vain. My sister was not one to be deterred easily.
"Where were you then?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Sure it does. Especially if you were with a guy." I didn't think I reacted to this statement, but I must have because Missy straightened up with a triumphant smile. "I knew it. Were you with the same guy that you were kissing in the hallway yesterday?"
"You saw that?" I asked, wishing Mulder and I had been a little more discreet.
"I didn't, but Marissa did. She said it seemed fairly hot and heavy." I thought about lying again, but I knew Missy would catch me, so I settled on the truth.
"Fine. I was with him."
"Where? His house?"
"He goes to Oxford. He's staying in a motel."
"He took you to a motel? Danes, what have I told you about guys and motels?"
"It's not like that, Missy. You wouldn't understand."
"Trust me, Danes, I understand perfectly. I've been in your situation. You think you love him, so you agree to do what he wants. And then he takes advantage of you. And in some crappy, run-down motel no less."
"He didn't take advantage of me."
"You may think that now, but you'll realize later that he did. How old is this guy anyway, Danes?"
"Eighteen."
"That's too old for you."
"It's three years, Missy."
"But you're only fifteen. At that age, three years is a lot."
"You dated guys five or six years older than you when you were my age."
"And they all took advantage of me because they're older and more experienced."
"Mulder's not like that."
"His name is Mulder? What kind of name is that?"
"It's his last name. He hates his first name. You know what? I don't even know why I'm arguing with you. This is my life, and I'm free to live it like I want. I love Mulder, Missy, and he loves me, too. I would die for him, and I know he feels the same way. You don't meet your soulmate twice."
"Listen to yourself, Dana. This is way too serious for a high school relationship. You should be dating a variety of people and having fun not bogging yourself down with a serious boyfriend."
"Look, Missy, you can't understand. What Mulder and I have is. . . unique. You have to trust me when I say that I have tried the whole dating thing, but it just doesn't work for me. Mulder's it for me. No amount of dating is going to change that."
Missy looked at me for a moment, shaking her head slowly. "Sometimes I just don't understand you, Danes. He must be really good in bed."
"That is none of your business," I told her, reaching to open my book. But Missy was not one to give up that easily.
"Come on, Dana, I'm your sister. We're supposed to share these things."
"Just a second ago, you were lecturing me on the danger of guys. Now you want to know the intimate details of my relationship?"
"A second ago, I was doing my duty as your sister. Now, I'm doing my duty as a fellow female. How was it?"
"You make no sense to me sometimes Missy."
"Come on, Danes, I've told you about my boyfriends."
"Yeah, usually when I didn't want to hear."
"Well, I do want to share. So tell me."
"No."
"Tell me or I tell Mom where you really were and what you were doing."
"Fine. It was. . . amazing."
"Amazing? That's all you're going to tell me?"
"What do you want? The details of the positions we used?"
"Sure, if you're willing to tell me."
"Missy, this is ridiculous."
"I'm just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"I just want to know what this guy did to steal my little sister's heart."
"You want to know the truth? He had my heart long before the sex even entered the picture. Our relationship isn't based on the physical aspects. I mean, don't get me wrong, they're great and all, but there's so much more to Mulder and my relationship than that. It's the way he looks at me—like I'm the only person in the world who matters. Or the fact that I know he would do anything for me. Or the way he knows me better than I know myself."
"Wow. Sounds like you're really into this guy."
"I really am. Now, can I get back to my work?"
"Only if you promise to give more details later."
I sighed, half-wishing it was my mother who had found out instead of my nosy older sister. "Fine. I'll do that."