Scully didn't come to Kroner, Kansas, to fall in love, but somehow that's exactly what happened.

In a way, it happened all at once. She had this epiphany – that she was in love – under the most unexpected circumstances: wrapped in a musty, floral hotel bedspread nose-to-nose with Mulder in the middle of the night.

Officially, Scully didn't believe that love could happen that way – that a person could shift states from out of love to in love or vice versa in a single moment. She didn't believe a person could fall in love in a single meet-cute or fall in love at first sight. She didn't believe in whirlwind romances where two people went from strangers to madly in love in one week. Love was a choice – something to be cultivated and nurtured.

It all began with a joke of a case in Dorothy Gale's home state. A man claimed he could control the weather through sheer force of will. While Scully had major doubts about the case being worthwhile enough for investigation, the little town did experience so many once-in-a-lifetime climatic events that she couldn't deny something strange was going on. Maybe it wasn't paranormal, but it was certainly curious.

Everyone in town mistook them for a couple – from the mayor of the town to the persons of interest in the case. It made Scully a little self-conscious at first. Was there something in her body language or mannerisms that led strangers to this conclusion? In the end, she chalked it up to a small-town mentality. They didn't know what to make of a man and woman arriving together, completely out of place in dress and manner. To them, a marriage relationship was the most plausible explanation.

Then, the cow came through the roof. That's how she and Mulder ended up sharing a hotel room. An impossibly strong gust of wind lifted a cow into the air and plopped it unceremoniously through Mulder's hotel room. The hotel manager predictably assumed they were a couple and, by the time Scully tried to correct her, it was too late. The hotel was all booked up from the local high school reunion – a reunion all their prime suspects would be attending.

Sharing a room with Mulder wouldn't be so bad. Since Diana had faded into the background, things between her and Mulder had been improving. The night they shared on Christmas Eve was a bright spot, giving her hope that, in time, their relationship would fully recover. When they parted on Christmas morning, he kissed her on the cheek. It was nothing, a friendly gesture, yet it made her feel alarmingly warm. It made her heart race in a way that surprised her.

After concluding Darryl was decidedly not controlling the weather, Scully booked their flights home for the next day and returned to their now-joint hotel room. Mulder had made himself at home. His suitcase was spread open on the luggage rack, his clothes splaying over the sides. He had changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and casually reclined on the bed reading a newspaper. Apparently, he had no issue sharing the room.

She settled into an armchair and, to Scully's dismay, he insisted on debating the case further. Mulder had a hunch that it was Holman's unrequited love for Sheila manifesting in these catastrophic weather events. His theory was insane, but it was easier for her to argue the finer points of the case than to focus on their sleeping arrangements.

He tried to appeal to her logical side. Perhaps this was the opposite of Seasonal Affective Disorder, he reasoned. Instead of weather influencing someone's emotions, someone's emotions were influencing the weather. His theory was so outlandish it was hard to argue. How could she debate rationally against completely irrational ideas?

"I'm going to get ready for bed," she finally said when their banter about the case petered out. She had been in her suit for twelve hours and she wanted nothing more than to get into comfortable clothing and scrub her face clean.

Mulder nodded. He cleared his throat. "I could, um, sleep on the floor or –"

"No," she said, cutting him off, "don't be silly. With how uncomfortable the bed is, I can't even imagine how bad the floor would be."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

In the privacy of the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and washed her face. As she executed her nighttime rituals, her hands moving almost automatically with little thought, a gentle creeping anxiety started to escalate. Sharing a bed with Mulder shouldn't be a problem, in theory. They were two professionals, two close friends. The way their relationship had been evolving lately, however, gave her more pause than the situation would have six months or a year ago. The bed wasn't a twin, thank god, but it certainly wasn't a king. It would be close quarters.

When she left the bathroom, Mulder was still in the same spot, chewing on his lower lip with his eyes glued to the newspaper.

"Your turn," she said.

With reluctance, he pulled his eyes away from the newspaper. He drank in Scully's appearance from her makeup-free face to her cream-colored silk pajamas. While she was generally a frugal, practical person, she allowed herself indulgences: manicures, bath oils, and luxurious night clothes.

"You sure know how to class up this joint with those fancy PJs," he said as he rose to take his turn in the bathroom.

She smirked but didn't reply. Scully drew down the comforter and settled on the left side of the bed. Waiting for him in bed was a strange sensation. She could count on one hand how many times she had shared a bed with a man in the past ten years. Without knowing what else to do, she stared up at the ceiling and listened to him brush his teeth. When he returned, his expression gave him away; she wasn't the only one who felt awkward about the bed situation.

"Right side. Duly noted," he said to himself as he slid into the bed.

"Is that OK?"

"Not a problem."

He shut off the lamp on his side of the bed and she did the same. The mattress dipped and the comforter moved as Mulder turned to face Scully.

"Have you ever been to a high school reunion before?" he asked.

"Mulder, I don't want to talk about the case."

"No, I mean, have you gone to any of your high school reunions?"

Scully rolled onto her side. Even though the room was dark, she could just make out some of the planes of his face.

"Do I seem like someone who would go to their high school reunion?" she deadpanned.

He chuckled.

"Have you?" she asked.

"Nah," he said. "I have a couple of buddies I stay in touch with, but I have no interest in seeing anyone else. Plus, saying I'm an FBI agent sounds cool at first but explaining in any more detail is . . . difficult."

She agreed. "It's hard to explain what we do. What we've been through."

"Do you still have friends from high school?" he asked.

"Not many. Since we moved around a lot, I didn't have a lot of close friends."

He was quiet. She wondered why he was suddenly interested in knowing about her high school experience. It vaguely reminded her of Eddie Van Blundht – the shapeshifter who tried to woo her using Mulder's likeness. All it took was a little wine and "Mulder" taking an interest in her high school prom for her to start to unfurl. Frankly, the ease with which Eddie had almost seduced her was humiliating. If Mulder hadn't burst through the door – in the most humiliating moment of the entire experience – she probably would have slept with him that night. As with most things, she and Mulder never discussed that little incident. She had buried that memory deep in the recesses of her brain and tried not to recall it. Until now.

"I guess we both grew up as loners," he said, "though I find it hard to believe boys weren't banging down your door for dates."

"Who said they weren't?" she quipped.

That elicited a full belly laugh from Mulder, not at her expense but at how quickly and uncharacteristically she responded.

She continued, "This may shock you, but as a short, awkward teenager with bright orange hair, glasses, and braces, the boys weren't exactly falling over themselves to date me."

"If only they could see you now," he said off-handedly.

Now it was her turn to get quiet. It was hard to gauge the intent of his comment in the cover of darkness. As much as she hated herself for it, she wanted him to see her as beautiful. She longed for it in a way that embarrassed her to acknowledge. She spent her whole life fighting for and demanding respect in their largely male-dominated field. For most of her career, she dressed down, hiding the shape of her body in suits and wearing minimal makeup. Femininity was the enemy of success, she had thought. Lately, though, all she wanted was for Mulder to notice her – not as just a colleague but as a woman. Eddie thought she was beautiful. She saw it in his — er, Mulder's — eyes.

"Do you remember Eddie Van Blundht?" she asked, feeling bold.

He scoffed. "How could I forget?"

"He asked me about high school too, and I told him this stupid story about my senior prom."

"So you're having deja vu?"

"In a sense." Except not at all. Her conversation with Eddie had been romantically charged from the jump. This conversation felt decidedly friendly, nothing more.

"Well, now I feel left out that Eddie knows a story about you that I don't."

She took a deep breath, debating whether she wanted to tell the story to the real Mulder. Would it cause her to relive the horrifying memory of almost kissing Eddie? She decided to proceed. This was Mulder, one of the few people with whom she wanted to share stories.

"It was about the one guy who did ask me out. Marcus. We dated my senior year. I was so in love with him."

"What was he like? Was he a jock, a nerd, a burnout?"

"He was a band geek," she replied with a giggle.

Mulder laughed. "I didn't realize you were into artsy types. What did he play?"

"Not important."

"Scully –" he groaned.

"It's irrelevant to the story."

"Specificity is the soul of narrative, Scully."

Without realizing it, Scully began comparing Mulder's reaction to Eddie's. Mulder asked different questions and reacted differently to her replies.

"Tell me!" he urged.

"Percussion."

Mulder let out an exaggerated groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, how can anyone compete with that? Drums. Cymbals. The triangle."

Giggling, Scully purposely baited him, "He was rhythmically gifted."

Mulder then burst out laughing, throwing his head back into the pillow. His laughter was contagious – she began to giggle even harder. They were slap-happy. She didn't even know why it was so funny. Their laughter grew and it took them both a long moment to collect themselves.

"I haven't even told the story yet," she said once her breathing was under control.

"OK, what's the story?"

She told Mulder the whole story about Marcus – about how his friends took them all to a campsite off the beaten path. About how she thought she was going to lose her virginity to him until their campfire got out of control and the fire department busted the party. Mulder listened with rapt attention but in a way markedly different than Eddie. He listened without many interruptions, like her voice was soothing him to sleep. In a way, it was healing to retell the story to the real Mulder. It closed some open loop in her mind.

After she finished, she asked, "Did you go to your prom?"

"This may surprise you, but I did go to my prom."

"Tell me about it."

"There's not much to tell. I was head-over-heels for this girl, Alicia. She wasn't my girlfriend, but I wanted her to be."

"And what archetypal high school group did she belong to?"

"She was captain of the cross-country team. One of those three-sport athletes. She had long brown hair and a ton of freckles."

"Wow, sounds like a catch," she replied, impressed.

With a chuckle, he said, "Yeah, well, I think she took pity on me when I asked her to go with me. She had a crush on someone else and spent most of the night with them."

"And what was his name?"

"Ronda."

It took a moment for Scully to get it. "Oh no," she cooed. She reached over and placed her hand affectionately on his forearm.

"I never fully recovered," he joked, drawing out her sympathy.

"Sheila seems to have eyes for you," she offered.

"Nah."

"She kissed your hand," she stated.

He considered this. "You're right, that's pretty damning evidence." He yawned.

"When you said Holman could be controlling the weather with emotions he's not expressing, what did you mean?"

"Holman's in love with Sheila. I think it's his unrequited love for her that's affecting the weather. I can tell you from my experience with Alicia – unreciprocated love is a powerful emotion."

Mulder shifted, reconfiguring his sleeping position. She let go of his forearm and immediately missed the warmth of it. He yawned again, clearly on the precipice of sleep.

"I want to talk to Holman tomorrow morning," he mumbled.

"Mulder, no. Our flight is at ten."

"I just want to ask him a few questions."

"There's no case. There's nothing further for us to do here."

"I want to know if my theory is right."

"Mulder, stop meddling in these people's lives. Let them be. Even if Holman was controlling the weather, do you really think he'll admit that to you? What do you hope to gain?"

When he didn't immediately respond, she assumed he had fallen asleep. After a few long beats, he finally responded, his speech slurred with sleep, "I just want to know the truth."

She rolled her eyes in the dark even though he couldn't see it. His response was exasperating in that special, quintessentially Mulder way. His breathing turned heavy, deep, and even. How typical of him to abruptly end a conversation – albeit by falling asleep versus his usual dramatic exit – in a way where he had the last word.

Crickets chirped outside the thin walls of the hotel room, creating a lulling white noise. The blue light of the moon squeezed through the gap in the curtains slanted across Mulder's face, revealing all its beautiful angles. Considering his bouts with insomnia, it surprised her how quickly he had fallen asleep. Usually, she was the one falling asleep on stakeouts or airplanes while he droned on about some creature or ancient alien lore.

The sheets rustled as Mulder moved in his sleep. He pulled his pillow so he held it in both arms like a phantom lover. He buried his nose in the pillow and let out a long, contented exhale. Watching him snuggle the pillow, a childlike serenity on his face, her annoyance melted away. Did he ever watch her sleep like this? Despite herself, she wondered how it would feel to be wrapped in his arms. The warmth from his body soothed her like cozying up to a fireplace during winter.

Tentatively, she reached out and tucked her fingers into one of his hands. She's not even sure why she did it. It was an impulse gone wild. Reflexively, his fingers tightened around her hand, and he pulled it close to his face, nestling it under his chin. A wave of affection washed over her, making her heart race.

How did he manage to do that? How did he manage to make her feel this way when he could be so infuriating, so clueless, so single-minded, so fucking stubborn . . .

And that's when she knew. She knew it in the way you know something deep in your bones, at the very core of your being. She loved him. Just like that. No fanfare, no fireworks.

The clarity she had been searching for about their relationship managed to find her instead of the other way around. Thank god he was asleep, impervious to her life-shattering revelation. She had thought the clarity would come in some grand gesture – from the universe, from God, from somewhere outside herself. She thought some figurative neon flashing sign would point the way, guide her to some satisfying conclusion. (Though, if asked, she would deny believing in such a thing.) But, for some reason, this was the moment. In this dinky, ramshackle hotel room in small-town Kansas, she finally had her epiphany. It wasn't flashy or explosive, the way she expected; her revelation was a whisper.

I'm in love with him, she thought for the very first time.

It wasn't that she hadn't felt loving feelings for him before – she absolutely had. She had buried those feelings deep inside, hiding them even from herself. That's the trick to never being hurt. You can't lose something you never had in the first place.

Scully moved closer, their knees brushing. Their noses were only inches away from each other and his breath huffed against her cheek. She closed her eyes, reveling in the rare intimacy of this closeness.

She thought about the excitement of the early days of their partnership when she was young and green and fascinated by his search for his sister. She remembered her abduction and subsequent illness and his unwavering dedication to finding its cause. Whether he was by her bedside, sitting vigil, or out in the field finding answers, she felt him close during those times. She remembered holding him on the ice in Antarctica, wondering whether they would survive the day, knowing that he had moved heaven and Earth to find her. Tears stung her eyes.

I love him.

Even though this realization felt sudden, she knew her love for him had been growing over the years. She hadn't let herself acknowledge it consciously, but Mulder had been weaving himself into the chambers of her heart. He had grown around her like a slow-climbing vine. He had coursed through her veins like a spreading contagion.

She had a sudden urge to speak the words out loud. She wanted to bring them alive with sound, release them into the universe, and make them real. Words had never been her strong suit, though. Sure, she could talk for hours about the findings of a medical paper or ramble off the scientific names of all the bones in the body. However, when it came to emotions, to expressing her innermost feelings, she lost all means of articulation.

In previous relationships, she was never the one to say I love you first. Not once. When she and Mulder had almost kissed in his hallway, he had said such beautiful things to her. His words had deeply affected her, moving her to tears. There were so many things she had wanted to say back, but none of them made it past her teeth.

She swallowed. Despite all her supposed strength, poise, and courage, she knew she couldn't say the words out loud. He was asleep – he wouldn't even hear them. Still, she couldn't muster the words. Her knuckles brushed the short stubble on the underside of his chin. She felt an overwhelming urge to take his hand and place it over her heart. She wanted him to feel her heart beating, to communicate with touch what she couldn't say with words. This is my heart. I want to show you my heart, give you my heart. She couldn't do it. What if Mulder woke up from the movement? How would she explain her unusual behavior?

What an absolute coward she was. She resigned herself to watching him sleep, her hand tucked sweetly in the crook of his neck.

The next morning, Scully woke up facing the opposite direction. Without even rolling over, she could sense that Mulder was no longer in the bed. Her back was cold and she heard the gentle pitter-patter of the showing running. She had a moment of panic remembering the night before as if Mulder could be privy to her private thoughts. However, Mulder went about his morning routine with no indication that anything was amiss, assuaging her fears. All he could focus on was going back to the TV station to talk to Holman. She tried to dissuade him yet again, but he wouldn't let it go.

Mulder got his wish – their plane got delayed due to, unsurprisingly, inclement weather. Not only did he get his opportunity to validate his unrequited love theory, but he somehow became an unwilling participant in a love triangle with Holman and Sheila. As much as it all amused Scully, the situation hit a little too close to home.

She hadn't intended to get involved. Her only wish was for the violent weather to subside so she could go home and process her realization from the night before. Yet, when Scully saw Sheila run to the bathroom, something compelled her to follow.

Before long, she found herself saying things out loud she never thought she would, things deeply repressed suddenly rising to the surface. "Well, it seems to me, that the best relationships – the ones that last – are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. One day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with."

She was speaking not only to Sheila but to herself. It was cathartic to say out loud. She had done it, verbalized it in her own way. A weight lifted from her shoulders, at least for the moment. While she couldn't imagine herself confessing her feelings to Mulder anytime soon, she told a stranger, in a way. And that was a start.

The next day, the sun was shining. Big, fluffy, heart-shaped clouds drifted across the sky. Mulder and Scully finally secured a flight home through the smallest airport they had ever seen. It was so small that an attendant personally guided them to their gate. As they waited for the flight to be ready, Scully noticed a poster on the wall with the Kansas state seal and motto.

"Ad astra per aspera," she read out loud.

"Hmm?" Mulder looked up from the magazine he was flipping through.

Scully pointed at the poster a couple of feet away. "It's the state motto, apparently. Ad astra per aspera. Ad astra means to the stars, I believe."

"Yeah. Seems a bit too . . . celestial for the state of Kansas. To the stars through hardships is the full phrase." He glanced over at her with an expression that indicated she should be impressed.

She took the bait. "And how do you know that?"

"It was used in a tribute to Apollo 1."

She looked at him, her eyebrow arched, skeptical of his explanation. Sure, Mulder knew a lot about space exploration, but the phrase seemed pretty specific for him to know off-hand.

"Also, Star Trek," he said after gauging her reaction. "It was on Star Trek."

"There it is." Scully sat back in her seat, settling in.

"I think it's about achieving or accomplishing something despite the perceived obstacles and difficulties."

It struck her how applicable the phrase was to their work, their journey together. They had persisted, continuing to search the stars, through countless hardships. She looked up at Mulder meaningfully and his smile told her he was thinking the same thing.

The gate attendant in a sky blue uniform approached and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, your flight is ready to board."