Scully sat at a cluttered desk in the small, dimly lit precinct, focusing on the forensic reports in front of her. The town was quiet, eerie even, the kind of place that made her uneasy despite her years of experience. Mulder was out in the field, combing through woods and abandoned buildings with Officer Davis, hoping to find the next victim before time ran out. The pattern was brutal, the timeline precise—too precise.
"How's it coming along?" Officer Mitchell's voice broke through the silence. He was the younger of the two local officers, tall with sandy hair and a warm smile that Scully had noticed almost immediately when they arrived. He leaned against the doorway, watching her with a casual interest.
"Slow," Scully replied, not looking up from the files. "But we're getting there. Mulder should be able to cross-reference these findings with the scene locations once he gets back."
Mitchell nodded but didn't move. He seemed to linger, the air in the room growing thicker with each second.
"You know, Dana," he said suddenly, using her first name in a way that felt a little too familiar, "you've been working pretty hard. Maybe when this is all over, you and I could get a drink? There's a nice spot just outside of town. I could show you around."
Scully's fingers froze on the page she was turning, her calm demeanor unshaken, but her focus narrowing in on the awkward tension suddenly filling the air.
"That's kind of you, Officer Mitchell, but I'm going to have to decline," she said, her voice steady and professional. Her eyes met his, the message clear even before she added, "I'm here for the case."
There was a brief moment of silence. Mitchell stood up a little straighter, his smile faltering but not entirely fading.
"Yeah, of course," he said, trying to play it off. "I get it."
Scully nodded curtly, her eyes returning to the reports. She felt a knot of unease settle in her stomach—not from the rejection, but from the strange undercurrent she couldn't quite shake. Something felt off, not just about Mitchell's sudden shift in attitude, but about this entire town. And Mulder wasn't back yet.
Mulder stood in the middle of the abandoned building, scanning the dust-covered floor and peeling wallpaper for anything, any sign, but it was all wrong. The profile didn't match here. The killer hadn't been through this place. They were running out of time, and the frustration was gnawing at him. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing over at Officer Davis, who was studying a set of faded blueprints for the area.
"Nothing," Mulder muttered, stepping out of the building into the cool evening air. The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the quiet town. He didn't have to say anything else. Davis shook his head and followed him out to the patrol car.
They'd been searching for hours, and Mulder could feel the pressure mounting. Another woman had gone missing the night before, and if they didn't find her soon, it would be too late.
"Where to next?" Mulder asked, climbing into the passenger seat. His mind was already racing ahead, trying to piece together where the killer might strike next, where the pattern would lead them.
Davis started the engine, the car rumbling to life as they pulled away from the crumbling building. "There's an old barn just outside of town we haven't checked yet," Davis said, glancing at Mulder from the driver's seat. "It's a bit of a drive, but worth checking out."
Mulder gave a tight nod, staring out the window as they sped through the quiet streets. His mind wandered briefly to Scully, back at the precinct. She was probably up to her neck in forensic work, making sense of the evidence he couldn't piece together out here. A part of him wanted to call her, but he pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.
As they drove, Davis chuckled softly, as if remembering something amusing. "Mitchell must be happy about all this," he said, almost casually. "Not the case, obviously, but Scully being around. That guy's had an eye on her since the moment you two arrived."
Mulder's grip on the armrest tightened, his jaw clenching instinctively. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.
Davis shrugged, still smirking. "He's been talking about her non-stop since you guys showed up. Thought he'd get a chance to ask her out, I think."
Mulder's stomach twisted, an uncomfortable heat rising in his chest. He stared straight ahead, trying to keep his focus on the case, on the victim they were racing against time to find. But Davis's words echoed in his mind, refusing to settle.
Scully could handle herself—he knew that better than anyone—but the thought of some local officer eyeing her, making moves while he was out here trying to save lives, made something tighten painfully inside him. His breath caught in his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down, forcing his face to remain impassive.
Davis glanced at him, clearly oblivious to the storm quietly brewing inside Mulder. "Not that I blame him," he added with a shrug. "She's—"
"Let's stay focused on the case," Mulder interrupted, his voice cold, cutting off Davis's sentence. He didn't want to hear whatever the next word was going to be.
The officer blinked in surprise, then cleared his throat, muttering an awkward, "Yeah, of course," before the car fell into an uncomfortable silence. Mulder's mind, though, was anything but quiet now.
Scully remained focused on her work, her eyes scanning through the lab results with methodical precision. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead provided a steady backdrop to the otherwise silent precinct. She was close—close to finding something that could give Mulder the lead he needed.
Footsteps approached from behind, and Scully didn't need to look up to know it was Officer Mitchell. She could feel his presence before he spoke.
"Hey," he said, his voice lighter than before, as though he hadn't tried asking her out just an hour earlier. "So, I was thinking… maybe dinner isn't your thing. There's this hiking trail just outside of town. Great views, nice and quiet. You strike me as someone who'd appreciate that kind of serenity." He leaned against the desk, his eyes lingering on her.
Scully didn't look up, her attention fixed on the papers in front of her. "I appreciate the offer, Officer Mitchell," she said calmly, "but I'm not interested. I'm here for work. That's all."
She hoped her firm tone would finally put an end to his attempts. But instead of retreating, Mitchell's expression darkened.
"Come on, Dana," he pressed, dropping the formalities. "You don't have to be so cold. I'm just trying to show you a good time. You deserve it after everything you've been working on."
Scully stood up, her shoulders square, her posture radiating calm authority. "I already said no, Mitchell," she said, her voice steady but with an edge that warned him not to push further. "I suggest you respect that."
For a moment, she thought he would back down. But then, something shifted in his eyes—something darker, more dangerous.
Before she could react, Mitchell's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was stronger than she expected, and the next thing she knew, he was pushing her back against the desk with a force that knocked the files to the floor.
"Why are you making this so difficult?" he hissed, his face inches from hers. "Just relax. It doesn't have to be like this."
Scully's heart pounded in her chest, but her training kicked in. She twisted her body, trying to break free, but Mitchell was relentless, using his weight to press her down against the cold metal of the desk. His hands were rough as they grabbed at her, trying to pull at the hem of her scrubs.
She felt a surge of panic, but only for a second. Scully wasn't a victim. She was a fighter.
Her hand scrambled across the desk until her fingers found the cool steel of the scalpel she had been using earlier for analysis. With a swift, practiced motion, she brought it up, slashing across Mitchell's arm.
He howled in pain, his grip loosening just enough for her to shove him back. Blood dripped from the fresh wound on his forearm as he stumbled, cursing under his breath. Scully didn't wait to see how he would react next. She bolted for the door, her pulse racing, but her mind focused, clear.
Behind her, she could hear Mitchell cursing, clutching his arm. "You're going to regret that, bitch!" he snarled, but Scully didn't look back.
She burst through the precinct doors into the cold night air, her breath ragged but steady as she ran.
Mulder stepped through the front doors of the precinct, tension still running through him from the frustrating, fruitless search. His mind had been racing the entire drive back, unsettled by the conversation with Officer Davis. He needed to check in with Scully, make sure she was okay.
As he and Davis entered the main office, the first thing he noticed was Officer Mitchell standing near the overturned desk, clutching a blood-soaked rag against his arm. Files and papers littered the floor, chairs knocked over, the entire scene a chaotic mess. Mulder's eyes darted around, searching for Scully, but she was nowhere in sight.
"That bitch attacked me!" Mitchell spat, his face twisted in anger and humiliation. "I'm going to file a complaint with your supervisor! She'll never work as a medical examiner again. I'll see to it personally!"
Mulder's heart stopped for a second as he took in the scene. Mitchell's words hit him like a sledgehammer, but the only thing that registered in Mulder's mind was *Scully.* Where was she?
His gaze locked onto the scattered papers, the chair pushed back as if someone had struggled—*she had struggled.* He felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through him, his body moving before he could fully process his thoughts.
Mulder crossed the room in a few swift steps, his hand grabbing Mitchell by the collar and slamming him back against the wall. "Did you attack Agent Scully?" Mulder's voice was low, vibrating with barely contained rage. His face was inches from Mitchell's, his eyes burning into him.
Mitchell winced, his bravado faltering under Mulder's piercing gaze, but he still spat back, "She attacked me! I didn't do anything to her! She just snapped!"
Mulder tightened his grip, yanking Mitchell closer, his voice even colder. "Where is she?" His patience was gone, his entire focus honed in on the fact that Scully was missing and Mitchell was lying. "You better tell me where she is, or I swear—"
"I don't know!" Mitchell gasped, fear finally creeping into his voice as he struggled in Mulder's grip. "I don't know where that bitch ran to!"
Mulder's jaw clenched, his mind racing with possibilities, fear gnawing at him. He shoved Mitchell back against the wall with a final warning glare before stepping back, his breath quickening.
His first instinct was to run, to search every corner of the town until he found her, but he forced himself to pause, scanning the room one more time. Scully had fought—she had gotten away. But where?
Without wasting another second, Mulder spun toward the door, determined to find her before it was too late.
Mulder burst out of the precinct, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath ragged as he scanned the darkened streets. "Scully!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the quiet night. There was no answer. He turned, looking left and right, his gut tightening with each passing second.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of light blue near the edge of the parking lot. His pulse quickened. It was the familiar color of Scully's scrubs, just barely visible in the shadows. He started toward her, moving quickly but carefully, and as he got closer, the shape became clear. It was Scully, sitting on the ground, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her body gently rocking back and forth.
"Scully…" he whispered, his voice softening, concern flooding him as he took in the scene. She looked so small, so vulnerable—something he wasn't used to seeing. Her head was down, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she was trying to hold herself together.
Mulder felt a wave of emotion hit him—anger at what had happened, worry for her, guilt for not being there when she needed him. He quickly shrugged off his coat, moving closer. "It's way too cold for you to be outside in just your scrubs," he said gently, crouching beside her, trying to slip the coat around her shoulders.
Scully flinched at the contact, her body jerking as she looked up, startled. Her wide eyes, still clouded with shock, met his, and for a moment, she didn't seem to recognize him.
"Hey, hey," Mulder said softly, immediately pulling back his hands but staying close. "It's just me. You're safe now." His voice was calm, soothing, but inside he was anything but calm. Seeing her like this—shaken, rattled—was tearing him apart.
For a second, she just stared at him, her breaths shallow and uneven, but then something shifted in her expression, the fear slowly fading as recognition dawned. "Mulder…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with the effort.
He offered a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah, it's me." He reached out again, more slowly this time, draping his coat around her shoulders with gentle hands. "You're safe now, Scully. I've got you."
Mulder sat down beside Scully, resisting the urge to pull her up and get her somewhere warm. She was in shock—he could see it in the way she clutched the coat tightly around her, her eyes distant, her body still trembling slightly. As much as every instinct told him to move, to get her out of the cold night, he knew she needed a moment to gather herself. For now, he'd stay with her, keeping close and keeping quiet.
The minutes stretched on, the cold biting at Mulder, but he barely felt it. His mind was entirely on Scully. She hadn't said much, just sat there, staring at the ground, her breathing shallow but steady. Mulder fought back the anger and worry swirling in his chest. He needed to be steady, calm—for her.
After what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence, his voice soft and careful. "Scully…" he began, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Did he hurt you?" He could barely ask the question, his voice tightening. "Are you injured in any way?"
Scully was quiet for a long time, still staring off into the distance, her body tense as though she were bracing herself for something. Then, finally, she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "No… not really." She paused, as if the weight of the question was still sinking in. "He tried, but… I fought him off." Her hands gripped the edges of the coat, knuckles white from the strain.
Mulder felt a sharp, fierce pride rise up in him at her words, but it was quickly tempered by the raw anger still simmering beneath the surface. The fact that she had been forced to defend herself in the first place was something he could barely stand.
"You're sure?" Mulder asked again, his tone gentle but insistent. "No injuries at all?"
Scully nodded faintly, her eyes finally lifting to meet his. There was still a lingering fog of shock in her gaze, but she was coming back, little by little. "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, a bit more firmly this time, though her voice still shook slightly. "Just… shaken."
Mulder nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief. But he knew that what she'd gone through tonight had left more than physical marks. He shifted closer, just enough to let her know he was there, a solid presence by her side.
"We're going to get you somewhere warm," he said quietly, gently, not wanting to rush her but knowing she couldn't stay out here any longer. "And then we'll deal with this. Together."
Scully didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. That was enough for now.
Mulder hesitated for a moment, knowing how fiercely independent Scully was, but the concern gnawed at him. He needed to be sure she was okay, beyond just what she was saying. He shifted slightly, trying to keep his voice gentle but firm. "Scully, I'd feel better if I could take you to a hospital," he said, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of resistance. "Have you checked out? Just to be sure?"
Scully shook her head, her lips pressed together. Mulder could see the conflict in her—she hated hospitals, hated being vulnerable. But he couldn't let this go, not after what she'd just gone through.
He leaned in a little, lowering his voice as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile calm they'd found. "I'll make sure we won't bump into him," he added, knowing that in this small town, the hospital would likely be just as small. He didn't want her to have to deal with seeing Officer Mitchell ever again, especially not tonight.
Scully was silent for a long moment, staring down at the ground, weighing her options. Mulder could tell she didn't want to go, but something shifted in her expression—perhaps the realization that, eventually, she'd have to give a statement, or that Mulder wouldn't back down until he knew for certain she was alright.
She sighed softly, resigned but not defeated. "Alright," she said quietly, her voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and acceptance. "For your sake."
Mulder's shoulders relaxed slightly, a small wave of relief washing over him. He knew this was hard for her, but he also knew she needed time to process, to take the next steps in her own way. "Thank you," he said softly, his tone filled with both gratitude and understanding.
Scully glanced at him, her expression still guarded but a bit more open than before. She knew this was necessary, not just for herself, but for Mulder, who needed to see her safe, whole.
Together, they stood, and Mulder kept a protective but respectful distance, ready to shield her from any further harm. He would take her to the hospital, and after that, they'd deal with whatever came next—together.
Later that evening, Mulder and Scully emerged from the hospital, the weight of the day hanging heavily between them. The quiet of the night seemed to press in around them, amplifying their silence as they walked to the parking lot.
Mulder glanced at Scully, his relief that she wasn't seriously injured tempered by the worry etched on his face. He wanted to do something to help, to make things a little easier, but he knew he had to respect her space. "Are you hungry?" he asked, nodding toward the diner across the street. The warm glow of the neon sign was inviting, and he hoped a meal might offer some comfort.
Scully shook her head slowly, her eyes distant. "Can we just go back to the motel?" Her voice was quiet, almost weary, but there was a firmness in her request. She needed the familiarity of her own room, a place where she could begin to process what had happened.
Mulder nodded, understanding her need for solitude and normalcy. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked gently as they drove toward the motel.
Scully looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You heard me give my statement."
Mulder shook his head. "That isn't talking about it."
Scully's response was quiet but firm. "I'm fine."
Mulder's heart ached at her words. He could see the strain and exhaustion in her eyes. "I'd like to be alone, if that's okay."
Before Mulder could answer, Scully had already opened the car door and was walking toward her room. He watched her, noting the way her movements were slower, more deliberate, a sign of the soreness she must be feeling. He stayed in the car for a moment longer, his heart heavy with concern as he saw her disappear into the motel.
In her room, Scully quickly shed her clothes, opting for a hot shower in hopes of washing away the tension and lingering fear. The water, though soothing, did little to calm the whirlwind of emotions she felt. Afterward, she slipped into her pajamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against her skin.
She tried to settle down, switching on the TV to drown out the silence and provide a distraction. But despite her efforts to focus on the show, the memory of the attack kept intruding, replaying in her mind with unsettling clarity. Each shadow, each sudden noise, seemed to echo with the fear she had felt earlier. As she turned off the TV and tried to sleep, the restlessness of the night persisted, her mind unable to escape the haunting images of what had happened.
In his room, Mulder changed into his pajamas, the usual routine offering little comfort. Normally, he would have flipped on the TV for some background noise, to distract himself from the thoughts always swirling in his mind. But tonight was different. He left the room quiet, straining to hear any sounds from the room next door—Scully's room.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his phone in hand, making the calls he knew had to be made. First, he informed Skinner about the incident, keeping his voice steady as he recounted what had happened, even though every word felt like a blow to his gut. After that, he contacted the FBI psychologist he knew Scully had been seeing on and off after everything they'd been through. It gave him a small sense of relief knowing she had someone professional to talk to.
But it still stung. The fact that Scully couldn't open up to him, even after all they'd been through together. He knew she was fiercely independent, but the distance between them tonight felt like a chasm. He wanted to be the one she turned to, the one she trusted with her fears. Instead, he was left listening through the walls, hoping to hear some sign that she was okay.
As he hung up the phone, Mulder leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the frustration and helplessness that gnawed at him. He wished he could do more, but for now, all he could do was wait and hope she found some peace.
Shortly after, a soft knock echoed through Mulder's quiet room. He jumped to his feet, heart racing, and quickly opened the door.
It was Scully, standing there in her pajamas, looking small and vulnerable in a way he rarely saw. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "I changed my mind. I don't want to be alone."
The quiet of her room and the relentless images in her head had become too much to bear. She looked at him, her guarded expression slipping just enough to reveal the exhaustion and fear underneath.
Wordlessly, Mulder stepped aside, opening the door a little wider to let Scully in. His heart ached for her, but he knew words weren't what she needed right now. Instead, he offered her the quiet reassurance of his presence, silently welcoming her into the safety of his space.
Scully sat down on the edge of Mulder's bed, her posture tense as she lowered herself carefully, her hands trembling slightly. To hide the shaking, she tucked them beneath her legs, trying to steady herself. Mulder watched her in silence, concern etched on his face as he pulled a chair over and sat opposite her.
He placed a hand gently on her knee, the smallest touch of reassurance. Scully winced ever so slightly, her body instinctively reacting to the pain, both physical and emotional. Mulder noticed, but he didn't say anything, didn't push her to speak. He just waited, offering her his presence, his understanding.
Inside, Scully was struggling. She knew Mulder was worried about her, could feel his gaze on her, full of unspoken questions. She couldn't explain to herself why this had rattled her so deeply. She'd been in worse situations, had faced life-or-death moments countless times, but tonight felt different. The attack lingered in her mind, making her feel exposed in a way she wasn't used to.
She wanted to say something—anything—to ease his worry, to put his mind at rest, but the words wouldn't come. They were trapped beneath the swirling emotions, the confusion, and the frustration that she couldn't seem to shake off. She wasn't supposed to feel this way. She was trained for this. She was strong. But here she was, unable to voice the storm raging inside her.
Mulder's hand stayed steady on her knee, grounding her even as she struggled with her silence. He didn't need words from her right now; he only needed to be there. And, for a brief moment, that was enough.
Scully hesitated, her lips parting as if she was finally ready to speak. "I..." she started, but her words were cut off by the loud growl of her stomach. She blinked, momentarily startled by the sound, and Mulder raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You need to eat," he said softly, standing up without waiting for her response. He crossed the room and picked up the phone, dialing the number for the diner they had passed earlier. Scully watched him, her mind momentarily distracted by the sudden shift in focus.
Mulder rattled off the order as if he'd done it a hundred times before. "Mashed potatoes, chicken fingers, matzo ball soup, cheeseburger, sweet potato fries, corn on the cob, apple pie... and a cherry Coke." Scully's eyes flickered with recognition. Every item he mentioned was one of her favorite comfort foods, and she felt a strange warmth spread through her, despite the exhaustion and turmoil still gnawing at her insides.
When Mulder finished, he pulled out his personal credit card to pay. Scully noticed it immediately and felt a twinge of something more than gratitude. The total had to be over their daily FBI allowance, but he didn't hesitate. He was doing this for her, not out of any professional obligation, but because he knew her, cared for her in a way that went beyond the job.
As he hung up the phone, Mulder turned back to her, his expression calm but filled with that quiet understanding she had come to rely on. "It'll be here soon," he said simply, as if his gesture hadn't just spoken volumes about how much he was willing to do for her.
Scully picked at the food slowly, taking small bites of mashed potatoes and soup, but her appetite was barely there. She could feel Mulder's watchful eyes on her, his concern palpable. It was the only reason she made an effort to eat at all. She pushed the food around on her plate, taking in little more than a few bites, but she sipped on her cherry Coke, the familiar sweetness grounding her in a small way.
Each sip was a small comfort, even as the silence between them stretched on. Mulder didn't push, but his presence was steady, quietly urging her to take care of herself.
By the time Scully put her half-eaten burger down on the plate, silent streams of tears had begun running down her face. Mulder, quick to notice, gently took the plate away and set it aside. Without a word, he moved closer and sat next to her on the bed.
"Is it ok if I hold you?" he asked softly, barely finishing the question before Scully practically launched herself into his arms. She clung to him with a desperation he hadn't expected, and the floodgates opened. Mulder had never seen her cry like this—her body trembling, her tears soaking through his shirt as if releasing all the pain she had kept buried inside.
He knew there was nothing he could say to make things better, so he didn't try. Instead, he held her tightly, his arms wrapped protectively around her. Occasionally, he raked his fingers gently through her still slightly damp, curling hair, pressing tender kisses to the top of her head. It was his quiet way of reassuring her that he was there, that she wasn't alone.
As the minutes passed, Mulder felt her trembling slowly subside. Her sobs quieted until they faded into soft, shallow breaths. He realized she had fallen asleep, utterly exhausted from the emotional weight she'd been carrying.
Carefully, so as not to disturb her, Mulder shifted his position and slowly lay down, still holding her close. He kept her wrapped in his arms, offering her the comfort and safety she needed, as she finally found some peace in sleep.
The next morning, a sharp knock on the door jolted Mulder awake. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, then registered the sound of the door opening. Skinner stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room before stopping abruptly. His gaze landed on Mulder and Scully, still wrapped in each other's arms, asleep on the bed.
The position was intimate, yet innocent. Scully was nestled against Mulder, her head resting on his chest, her breathing deep and steady. Mulder, protective even in sleep, had one arm draped over her. Skinner stood frozen, taking in the sight.
Mulder, now fully awake, looked up at Skinner and immediately put a finger to his lips, signaling him not to make any noise. He gestured silently toward the door, indicating he would meet him outside in a moment. Skinner gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, and quietly stepped back, closing the door behind him.
Mulder glanced down at Scully, still sound asleep, and felt a deep sense of relief that she was finally getting the rest she needed. He carefully shifted, ensuring she stayed comfortable, before slipping out of bed to join Skinner outside.
Mulder stepped out of the room and immediately began, "Sir, it's not what it looks like."
Skinner stood there, arms crossed, his expression dry and distant. "It looks like the two of you shared a bed," he replied, his tone leaving little room for interpretation.
Mulder ran a hand through his hair, already feeling defeated. "I was trying to comfort Agent Scully. She... she didn't want to be alone."
Skinner sighed, casting a brief glance toward the closed door. Under his breath, he mumbled, "None of my partners ever held me like that, not even in 'Nam." Then, louder and more direct, he added, "I hope 'comfort' is the operative word here, Agent Mulder."
Mulder's shoulders slumped slightly. He knew what it looked like, but there was no way to fully explain the weight of what had happened between him and Scully last night without it sounding personal, even though it wasn't—not in the way Skinner might be thinking.
Mulder, feeling defeated, looked down for a moment before speaking quietly, "I hope so, sir. She's in pretty bad shape... mentally." He paused, glancing back at the door to where Scully still slept. "Physically, she's fine—the doctors said as much. But... it's different this time."
Skinner studied Mulder for a long moment, his stern expression softening just a fraction as he recognized the weight of the situation. "I see," he finally said, his tone less harsh.
Skinner took a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders visible as he paused for a long moment. "Off the record," he began, his voice steady but softer than before, "you two are not like other agents. And I don't just mean your horrendous expense accounts or outrageously wild conclusions to some cases." He gave Mulder a pointed look. "I'll be rooting for both of you until you finally figure it out. You both deserve to be happy and to be there for one another."
He paused again, his gaze steady. "But I gather from our phone call last night and what I just saw that Agent Scully isn't in a good place right now. I want the guy who did this to her in jail and never again on any police roster—not even as a sandwich deliverer. I have an appointment with the local sheriff this morning to sort this out. You'll get ready. Agent Scully stays here. If I can spare her from having to give another statement, I will."
Mulder, astonished by his boss's unexpected support, managed to respond, "It'll just be a minute. I'll be right back with you."
Mulder quickly returned to his room, brushing his hair and teeth with swift, practiced movements. He threw on the suit he had worn the previous day, the familiar fabric offering a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos.
As he was finishing up, he heard Scully stir a little, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mulder?"
He turned back to her, a gentle smile touching his lips as he approached the bed. "Shh," he said softly, tucking her back in. "It's your lucky day. You get to stay in bed a little longer. Skinner and I will go down to the precinct."
Scully blinked sleepily but didn't fully wake. Mulder watched her for a moment, ensuring she was comfortable before heading out the door, his mind focused on the task ahead.
Mulder sat in shock as the CCTV footage replayed the attack on Scully. The grainy video showed a horrifying, intimate violation of trust and safety. His hands gripped the edges of the table, knuckles white, as he tried to process the brutal reality of what had happened.
The sheriff, trying to offer a justification, said, "Listen, it's a young officer, it's a small town. We don't get many ladies from the big city here. He did something stupid."
Skinner's anger flared in response. "I haven't gotten laid in a while either, but I'm not trying to force myself on someone who made it clear she wasn't interested," he snapped, his voice laced with frustration and disgust. "This is beyond 'stupid'. It's criminal."
The sheriff looked taken aback, his face paling slightly under Skinner's heated gaze. Mulder remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the screen, the raw emotion of the footage settling heavily in his chest.
Skinner hadn't even fully stopped his rental car in front of the motel when Mulder, filled with urgency, jumped out and practically ran toward his room. His thoughts raced as he reached the door—Scully, he needed to check on her, to see if she was okay. Nothing else mattered.
He flung the door open in his haste, but the sudden noise startled Scully awake. She sat up quickly, her eyes wide with surprise.
"I'm so sorry," Mulder said, his voice low but filled with guilt. "I didn't think you'd still be sleeping." He paused, realizing how reckless he'd been. "I didn't think. Period."
Scully blinked, still groggy, but she could see the concern etched into his face. Mulder stood there, torn between his need to be close and his fear of overwhelming her again.
As Scully saw Skinner emerge behind Mulder, she jumped to her feet, but her balance wavered, and she nearly stumbled. Mulder was quick to catch her, his hands steadying her by the shoulders.
"Hey, take it easy," Mulder said softly, his voice filled with concern. "You don't have to rush." He kept a firm but gentle grip on her, his eyes searching hers for any sign of how she was really feeling.
Skinner, his brow furrowed with concern, asked, "What's wrong, Agent Scully?"
Scully winced slightly, trying to downplay it. "My leg hurts."
Without hesitation, Mulder knelt down, gently lifting the leg of her pajama pants. His breath caught when he saw the massive, deep bruise on her thigh. "Wow, that's quite some bruise," he muttered, his shock evident.
Scully, always trying to brush it off, offered a weak smile. "I didn't think I kneed Mitchell that hard."
Mulder, guilt creeping into his expression, glanced up at Skinner. "The doctors told me she wasn't injured, just bruised. I thought..."
Skinner took a deep breath, his frustration tempered by understanding. "I get it, Mulder. But bruises like that... we can't take chances. She needs a full checkup, just to be sure."
Mulder nodded, relieved that Skinner wasn't lashing out, but the guilt still weighed heavily on him. He turned back to Scully, who was trying to remain stoic. "Come on, Scully," he said softly, "let's make sure everything's okay."
Scully sighed but nodded, knowing there was no point in resisting. "Alright," she said quietly, allowing Mulder to help her up again.
Scully underwent a battery of tests at the hospital, leaving Mulder and Skinner waiting anxiously in the lobby. Mulder paced back and forth, his restlessness palpable. His mind replayed everything—every moment he hadn't been there for her, every second of that footage.
Skinner, watching him for a moment, finally spoke. "She's strong, Mulder. You saw her fight in the footage. She'll get through it, just like always."
Mulder stopped pacing, his jaw tight. "But how much is too much for her to take?" he asked quietly, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
Skinner nodded, contemplating Mulder's question. "She's strong," he repeated, but there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice now. It was as if he was reassuring himself as much as Mulder.
After a brief pause, Skinner looked over at Mulder again. "Are you okay, Mulder?"
Mulder shook his head slightly, his voice barely audible. "I'll have nightmares for weeks, I know that." His eyes were heavy with guilt and fear, the helplessness of watching Scully suffer clawing at him.
Skinner didn't press further. He simply nodded, his respect for Mulder evident as they both stood there, waiting, each lost in their own worry for Scully.
After a long moment of silence, Skinner cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "My flight back to DC is soon, so I won't be able to wait for Scully. Give her my best when she gets back, will you?"
Mulder nodded, appreciating the gesture. "Thank you, sir. For everything."
Skinner studied him for a moment, then added, "You know, Mulder, I'm not a doctor, but with that bruise, I don't think Scully should be flying or driving home anytime soon. And let's be honest, you won't be able to work without a partner. So how about you two find yourselves a nice hotel room somewhere around here, take some time off?"
Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean rooms?"
Skinner smirked. "Suit yourself. Just make sure Scully gets some real rest before you head back to DC."
Mulder blinked in surprise. "Next week? It's only Wednesday, sir."
"Doctor's orders," Skinner said with a knowing look. "You both need it."
Mulder gave a half-smile, realizing Skinner was looking out for both of them in his own way. "Understood."
While waiting for Scully to finish her tests, Mulder did some research and found a charming little hotel with individual bungalows. It offered the perfect solution—separate bedrooms but still close enough for him to keep an eye on her. The idea gave him some peace of mind.
When the nurse finally wheeled Scully out in a wheelchair, Mulder felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Nice new ride," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Scully, managing a small smile, replied, "Hospital policy. Can we go now?"
Mulder nodded, standing up and taking her coat. "Yeah, we'll pick up our things from the motel and make a stop at the supermarket to pick up a couple of things before we head to our new place of residence—at least for the next few days."
Scully raised an eyebrow, confused. "Excuse me?"
Mulder helped her up carefully, easing her into her coat. "You'll see," he said with a teasing smile, gently guiding her toward the exit.
A few days later, Scully stood on the porch of the bungalow, still being careful not to put too much weight on her injured leg. The fresh air and peaceful surroundings seemed to provide a welcome change of pace.
"It is nice out here," she said, taking in the tranquil setting.
Mulder, leaning against the railing beside her, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it really is. I think this was a good call."
Scully glanced at him, her face thoughtful. "I never tried unwinding like this. I usually just carry on or... when things are really rough, I go see... uhm... one of the psychologists at the Bureau."
Sensing this was turning into a serious conversation, Mulder gently steered her toward the swing on the porch. "Come on," he said softly, guiding her to sit down. He carefully lifted her injured leg, making sure she was comfortable, and rested it on the small ottoman in front of her. "Just relax."
Scully looked down at her hands, fiddling with her fingers as she spoke. "She usually asks me if I can talk to you about these things, and I avoid answering. I usually just say that you're being supportive... which you are," she added quickly, not wanting Mulder to doubt himself. "You were with me during my cancer, and during the really bad days, I just wished for it all to be over. If I hadn't had you then, I don't know if I would've made it..."
Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the right words. Mulder stayed quiet, giving her space to continue, his attention fully on her.
"I know I can talk to you," Scully said softly. "I have no doubt about that. But the things that bother me... they're the same things you deal with. It feels unfair to unload on you when you're going through it, too. When you're trying to make it through all this in one piece as well."
Mulder took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. He watched her closely, feeling the weight of her concern and the way she carried both their burdens, even when she didn't need to. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice steady. "Scully, I'd rather carry it with you than let you go through it alone."
Scully sighed, her gaze distant as she spoke. "You're so dedicated to everything you do," she said quietly. "You care so deeply about me, it sometimes scares me." She gestured vaguely toward the town beyond the porch. "All this… I don't know why I'm so rattled. I fought him off, didn't I? He didn't hurt me, right? Nothing happened, even though he tried..."
Mulder watched her, his heart breaking for her. He saw the way she was struggling to make sense of it all, to rationalize her feelings. Gently, he finished her sentence. "To rape you, Scully. That's not nothing."
Her eyes flickered with pain as she looked at him, the unspoken truth hanging heavy between them.
"Just because he didn't succeed in forcing you to have sex with him doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel violated. You are. And that's... that's enough. You don't have to justify what you're feeling."
Scully's lips trembled slightly, and she glanced away, trying to hold herself together. The words Mulder had spoken seemed to release something in her, an acknowledgment she hadn't allowed herself before.
Scully stared off into the distance, her voice low and shaky. "I've been attacked before, haven't I? I was abducted by a lunatic who thought he traded me for his place on an alien ship. I was attacked by a man who wanted to bathe me before ripping out my fingernails. What makes this attack stand out?"
Mulder, his voice soft but steady, looked at her with quiet understanding. "Maybe it's the one too many."
The weight of his words settled between them. Scully didn't respond right away, but she didn't need to. The unspoken exhaustion was written all over her—physically, emotionally, and mentally. She had been through so much, and it seemed like this time, it had pushed her past the point of what she could carry alone.
Scully shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want it to be. I don't want to give up everything I've worked for."
Mulder sat silently for a moment, contemplating her words. He knew how much her career, her identity as an agent, meant to her. But he also saw the toll this had taken.
"I don't want you to either," Mulder said quietly, his gaze soft but firm. "But your well-being comes first. Nothing matters more than that—not the job, not the cases, not anything."
Scully's eyes flickered with uncertainty, her resolve wavering. She had always been so strong, but now, faced with this overwhelming sense of vulnerability, she was struggling to reconcile it with the image she had built of herself.
Mulder picked up the conversation after a moment of silence. "Whatever you choose—whether you take more time off, go back to Quantico, or stay with me—I'll be there for you."
He paused, his voice steady with sincerity. "You mean the world to me, Scully. And you won't be able to shake me off that easily."
He smirked softly, trying to lighten the mood just a little, though the weight of his words was unmistakable. He wanted her to know that no matter what path she chose, she wouldn't have to walk it alone.
Scully's voice softened as she looked at him. "When I come back, you will not hover. Promise me."
Mulder, catching her choice of words, smiled. "When you come back." He leaned back, clearly relieved.
Trying to lighten the mood, Scully added, "I'll have to wait for my leg to heal. It's already hard enough keeping up with you on those little legs when they're healthy."
Mulder chuckled, but his tone grew serious. "I can't promise not to hover. I care about you. You do know that when I hover, it's not because I think you can't handle yourself, right?"
Scully nodded, understanding.
"I promise, though, that I'll be here for you no matter what. Whether you want to talk, sit in silence, cry your eyes out—whatever you've got, throw it at me."
Scully took his hand, her grip gentle but meaningful. "I appreciate that. Sometimes it's just easier to talk to someone who's not that close to me."
Mulder nodded thoughtfully. "I know. And I also know that if it helps you, then I'm happy. But I need you to know that I'm here. Always."
Scully looked at him, her eyes softening as she asked, "If I talk to you, will you tell me about your nightmares?"
Mulder looked surprised.
Scully, determined, added, "It's a small bungalow. I heard you last night and the night before that."
Mulder, feeling caught, sighed. "It's not a competition about who talks to whom." But after a beat, he relented. "The CCTV footage of your attack—it's haunting me. And in my nightmares, it mixes with memories of other moments where I've come close to losing you. That's all."
Scully, her voice gentle, said, "That's not nothing either." She leaned in and snuggled closer to him, offering comfort in return.
After a moment of silent snuggling, Mulder suddenly chuckled, breaking the quiet. "Skinner said something about rooting for us," he began, his voice amused, "and that he hopes we'll figure it out."
Scully's eyes went wide with surprise. "He said that?"
Mulder nodded, grinning. "Yeah, he did."
Scully blinked, processing this unexpected revelation. "Well, if this comes from our supervisor," she teased with a small smirk, "I guess I'll lean on you, even when I can't make heads or tails of my own emotions."
Mulder's expression softened. "And I'll make sure not to shut you out either."
They exchanged a knowing glance, a quiet understanding deepening between them.