Mulder and Scully stepped into the elevator, the soft hum of the machinery accompanying their quiet conversation. Mulder leaned casually against the side, arms crossed, while Scully stood a little straighter, her brow furrowed in thought.
"I'm just saying, Scully," Mulder started, his tone light but carrying the weight of their usual debates, "it can't be a coincidence. The patterns are too specific."
Scully glanced over at him, a skeptical edge to her expression. "And I'm just saying that we haven't found anything that points to the paranormal. Yet." She pressed the button for their floor, then folded her arms as the doors slid shut.
"Give it time," Mulder replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They never reveal themselves right away."
As the elevator doors opened on the next floor, a group of agents entered, their laughter and casual chatter filling the small space. Among them was Tom Colton, a smirk already forming as he laid eyes on Mulder and Scully. He leaned in, just enough to make his presence known.
"Oh, it's Mr. and Mrs. Spooky," Colton said with a grin, his tone loud enough for everyone to hear.
The conversation between Mulder and Scully came to an abrupt halt, the air in the elevator growing thick with tension. Mulder opened his mouth, clearly ready to retort, but he felt Scully's hand lightly rest on his arm, the gesture small but intentional. He glanced at her, and she met his gaze with a look that spoke volumes—calm, composed, and silently telling him it wasn't worth it. He nodded, understanding.
But the person behind Colton, the recruiter who had originally brought Scully into the FBI, wasn't done. He eyed her with a raised brow and a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"From the Ice Queen to Mrs. Spooky," he sneered, then turned to Mulder, his voice dripping with condescension. "What did it take to finally bed her?"
Colton chuckled beside him, feeding off the recruiter's vile humor.
Mulder's jaw clenched, and he could feel the blood pounding in his temples. But before he could react, Scully's hand tightened around his arm, her grip firm, almost grounding him. The message was clear: not here, not now.
Scully's eyes remained forward, her face an unreadable mask, but Mulder could sense the anger simmering beneath the surface.
The elevator ride stretched on painfully, each second marked by the sting of more remarks from Colton and the recruiter. The air was thick with the smugness of their laughter, and every new comment seemed designed to chip away at Scully's composure.
"Always so cold, Agent Scully," one of them muttered, the words dripping with mockery. "Guess that's why they call you the Ice Queen."
Another snide chuckle followed. "Makes sense she ended up with Spooky—someone as strange as him might be the only one who could melt her."
Mulder stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw visibly tightening with each insult. He glanced at Scully, who remained as still as stone, her eyes fixed forward, refusing to acknowledge the men behind them. But he could see the tension in her posture—the way her shoulders had squared, the sharpness in her breathing. She was holding it together, barely.
When the elevator finally dinged and the doors slid open to their floor, Scully moved with a speed and determination that caught Mulder off guard. He watched her slip out of the elevator with purposeful strides, her heels clicking on the tile.
"Agent Scully," Mulder called after her, quickening his pace to catch up. He reached out instinctively, trying to place a hand on the small of her back, a gesture meant to comfort, to shield her from the weight of what had just transpired.
But as his fingers brushed against her, he felt her stiffen even further, her body seemingly recoiling from the touch. She was walking fast, faster than usual, as if she were not just escaping the elevator and the insults but perhaps distancing herself from him as well.
Mulder slowed for a moment, watching her pull away, the space between them growing both physically and emotionally. His hand dropped to his side as he silently wondered if she was running from more than just the cruelty of their colleagues.
The atmosphere in their basement office was heavy, the air thick with an unspoken tension that lingered from the elevator ride. Scully sat at her desk, her face bathed in the pale light of the computer screen, reviewing a set of lab results. Her movements were precise, methodical, but Mulder could sense something else beneath the surface—something she wasn't ready to voice.
For a while, they worked in silence, the only sound being the occasional rustling of papers or the soft tapping of keys. Mulder stole a few glances at her, noticing how withdrawn she seemed, more distant than usual.
Finally, unable to take it any longer, Mulder broke the silence. "Are you okay? You're very quiet."
Scully didn't look up from the file in front of her. "I'm focusing," she said, her voice clipped, pointing to a stack of lab results in front of her as if that would explain everything. "We need these to connect the dots on the case."
Mulder shot her a look, his brow furrowing slightly, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. He knew her too well. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching her carefully. The way her shoulders were slightly hunched, the way she avoided eye contact—it was all too clear that her focus on the lab results was more an escape than a necessity.
"You don't have to pretend in front of me," his eyes seemed to say, though he didn't push her further. He knew Scully wasn't the type to be prodded into sharing. She had always dealt with things in her own time, in her own way.
Still, Mulder stayed where he was, his silent presence offering her the space to speak if she needed to—or simply to let her know she wasn't alone.
Mulder stood at Scully's doorstep, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he knocked again, a little louder this time. Her car was parked in its usual spot, the lights inside her apartment glowing softly through the windows. Faint music filtered through the door, something quiet and melancholic, adding to the strange sense of unease that had been gnawing at him since they left the office.
He waited for a moment, his hand lingering near the door as he listened for any movement inside. Nothing.
His mind raced. Scully wasn't the type to ignore him, especially when her presence was so obvious. The music, the lights—everything indicated she was home. But why wasn't she answering?
Mulder hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the spare key Scully had given him long ago. Sliding it into the lock, he opened the door gently, stepping inside her apartment. The familiar scent of her home greeted him—clean, understated, like her.
"Scully?" he called out softly, his voice carrying over the low hum of the music. No response.
As he ventured further in, he could hear the steady rush of water coming from the bathroom. The sound of the shower explained her absence at the door, but it didn't do much to ease his concern. Mulder glanced around the room, taking in the small signs of her daily life—her coat draped neatly over a chair, a half-read book resting on the coffee table. Everything seemed normal, but it didn't feel right.
Not wanting to intrude further, Mulder decided to sit on the couch and wait. He leaned back, trying to shake the feeling of unease that had followed him from the office. Something about the way Scully had been so quiet, so withdrawn—it just didn't sit well with him.
As he sat there, listening to the soft patter of water from the shower, he couldn't help but wonder what was really going on behind her calm façade.
Mulder shot up from the couch the moment he saw Scully walking through the living room, wrapped in a towel. His heart raced as the words tumbled out of his mouth, a mixture of concern and explanation.
"Hey, Scully, it's just me. I let myself in because you didn't answer the door, and I was worried," he said, his voice a little too quick, trying to justify his presence.
It wasn't until she stopped in her tracks, clutching the towel tightly around her, that he fully registered her state. She took a few cautious steps back, clearly surprised, and Mulder instinctively moved toward her, but as soon as he saw her reaction, he froze. His eyes darted down to the towel, and his face immediately flushed red. He spun around quickly, giving her space.
"I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice suddenly unsure. "I didn't mean to intrude. I wasn't actually expecting you to come this way from the bathroom."
Scully's voice, though composed, was edged with discomfort. "I wanted to put the kettle on while I get dressed."
Mulder cleared his throat, still facing away from her. "I can do that," he offered, eager to make himself useful and perhaps to ease the awkward tension that now hung in the air.
There was a pause before Scully spoke again, her tone calm but with a clear intent to regain some control of the situation. "And then you can tell me why you're here." She hesitated for just a moment, then added, "I'll be right back."
He could hear the faint rustling of her steps as she almost hurried out of the room. The sound was unmistakable—Scully was retreating, and Mulder couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow crossed a line, however unintentionally. He stood there, still facing the opposite direction, his mind racing. He hadn't meant to make things worse. All he had wanted was to check on her, but now… it felt like he had only deepened the distance between them.
Mulder stood there for a moment, rooted in place, still feeling the warmth from the spot where Scully had just been. He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to shake the awkwardness of the encounter. His mind replayed the image of Scully wrapped in that towel, her hair damp, skin glowing from the warmth of the shower. She had looked beautiful—stunning, really—and not just in a physical sense. There was something about her raw vulnerability in that moment, something that tugged at him in ways he couldn't quite articulate.
Shaking his head, Mulder turned his attention to the task at hand. *Tea. Focus on tea.* He needed to give Scully space to regroup. He quickly busied himself in her kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water. As it heated up, he found her favorite mugs, knowing instinctively which one she'd want—an old, chipped one she always used when they worked late nights together.
As the water boiled, Mulder's thoughts drifted back to Scully. He hadn't expected to walk in on her like that, and seeing her in such a vulnerable state caught him off guard. There was something about how she had clutched the towel tightly to herself, the surprise in her eyes—it made her seem almost fragile, a stark contrast to the composed, confident woman he admired.
He didn't often think of Scully this way—vulnerable, exposed. She was always so in control, always had that aura of quiet strength. But seeing her like this, wrapped in nothing but a towel, barefoot and bare-skinned, had left an impression. Not just because she looked beautiful—although she did—but because it reminded him that beneath all her strength and independence, she was human too. She carried so much weight on her shoulders, always keeping her walls up, even with him.
The kettle whistled, breaking through his thoughts, and he quickly poured the water into the mugs, trying to refocus. *This isn't about me* he reminded himself. He wasn't here to admire her beauty or dwell on his feelings. He was here because he was worried about her. The incident in the elevator had shaken her—more than she was letting on. He could see it in the way she'd brushed him off, the way she'd barely said goodbye after work.
As he placed the tea bags into the mugs, he found himself wondering what exactly had hurt her so deeply. He had seen the way Scully had tensed when that agent who came into elevator with Colton made those remarks. But was it just the cruelty of the nickname or something more? Something tied to her past that he didn't fully understand?
Mulder sighed, setting the mugs down on the kitchen table. He took a seat, glancing toward the hallway where Scully had disappeared moments ago. He wanted to be there for her, to help her through whatever was weighing on her mind, but he knew better than to push her too soon. Scully opened up in her own time, and he respected that.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that tonight, more than ever, she needed to let someone in. And he hoped, quietly, that she'd let that someone be him.
Scully rushed into her bedroom, her heart still pounding, clutching the towel around her body as if it were a lifeline. She hadn't expected to see Mulder sitting on her couch when she came out of the bathroom—her mind was still caught up in the warmth of the shower, in the soothing sounds of the water, in the attempt to wash away the tension of the day. Seeing him had jolted her back into the present, her vulnerability exposed in more ways than one.
She moved quickly to her dresser, pulling out a pair of soft pajamas and a robe. As she slipped on her clothes, she couldn't help but think about how Mulder had reacted—turning away so quickly, stammering out his apologies. He was always so careful with her, always so respectful of her boundaries. It made her feel safe, even now, half-naked and caught off guard.
That was the thing about Mulder. He was the only man she trusted implicitly, the only one who could see her like this—exposed, raw—and not make her feel uncomfortable or objectified. She knew without a doubt that he would never cross a line, even unintentionally. It wasn't just that he had spun around in embarrassment when he realized her state of undress—it was the look in his eyes before that, the immediate concern, the softness there. He had been worried, not about the fact that she was in a towel, but that he might have somehow intruded into her space, into her world, in a way she hadn't invited.
Scully exhaled slowly, letting her muscles relax as she buttoned her pyjama top. The truth was, being half-naked in front of Mulder didn't make her feel unsafe. It wasn't about the towel. It was about the way she knew, deep down, that he would never hurt her. He had seen her in so many vulnerable moments—bleeding, scared, overwhelmed—and he had always been there, never demanding more than she was ready to give. His presence was a constant comfort, a quiet strength she had come to rely on.
She tied her robe loosely around her waist, running a hand through her damp hair, thinking about how the evening had already started to unravel in ways she hadn't expected. Mulder had come over because he was worried about her. He always worried about her. That thought brought a small smile to her lips, despite everything else. It wasn't that she needed protection—God knew she could handle herself—but the fact that he *wanted* to be there for her, that he cared enough to show up unannounced, said more than any grand gesture could.
As she made her way back toward the kitchen, Scully felt a sense of calm settle over her. Whatever awkwardness had passed between them in that brief moment didn't matter. Mulder was there, in her space, but it wasn't an intrusion. It never had been. He belonged there, in her life, in her world. And she wasn't afraid to let him see all the parts of her—even the ones she usually kept hidden from everyone else.
Steeling herself for the conversation ahead, she took a breath and stepped back into the room, knowing that, no matter how difficult it might be, Mulder would be there to listen, to understand. And maybe, just maybe, to make things feel a little less heavy.
Sitting across from each other, Mulder and Scully both stared into their tea, the steam curling gently upward, filling the space between them with warmth that contrasted with the quiet tension in the room. Scully, now dressed in her pajamas and wrapped in a soft bathrobe, sat with her legs tucked beneath her, her fingers lightly resting on the edge of the mug. Mulder, hunched slightly over his own cup, glanced at her occasionally but said nothing.
The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Yet, strangely, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that only existed between two people who had shared so much, who could sit in stillness without needing to fill the space with words. Still, there was something different tonight—an unspoken fragility, a tension that neither of them was ready to address.
Mulder shifted slightly in his seat, his mind racing for the right thing to say. His initial concern for her still lingered, but now there was something more—a need to bridge whatever invisible gap had formed between them. He didn't want to push her, but he couldn't ignore the way she had been pulling away.
Scully kept her gaze fixed on the tea, her face unreadable, though Mulder could sense the storm of emotions swirling beneath her calm exterior. She wasn't angry, not really. But there was something—an unease, a vulnerability she wasn't used to feeling, let alone showing.
Finally, Mulder broke the silence, his voice soft, careful. "I didn't mean to intrude earlier, Scully. I was just… worried about you." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, hoping for some kind of response.
Scully's fingers tightened slightly around her mug, but she didn't look up. After a moment, she nodded, her voice equally soft. "I know, Mulder. It's just… been a long day." She glanced at him briefly, her blue eyes searching his face before looking back down at her tea. "I appreciate it, really."
The tension between them hung in the air a little longer, but now it felt like something had shifted—something fragile, but maybe a little more open. They sat there, in that quiet space, knowing that words weren't always necessary, but that eventually, the right ones would come.
Mulder watched her closely as she responded, her calm exterior failing to mask the deeper emotions lurking beneath.
"You were really quiet this afternoon," he said softly, testing the waters.
Scully's reply was steady, almost rehearsed. "I concentrated on those lab results. I told you that."
Mulder nodded, knowing there was more to it, but not wanting to push too hard. After a beat of silence, he decided to give it another try, his voice gentle. "I'm sorry those guys called you names. I really don't understand why you stopped me from saying something."
Scully's gaze met his, and the look on her face nearly took his breath away. Her usual steely composure had crumbled, revealing a rare vulnerability he wasn't used to seeing in her. She looked… defeated. Tired in a way that went far beyond the day's work.
"Because it's not worth it," she said quietly, the words heavy, almost resigned.
With that, she stood up, cradling her cup of tea as she moved to the couch. Mulder tracked her with his eyes, his concern deepening. There was something about the way she moved, the quiet heaviness in her posture, that told him this wasn't just about the insults they'd heard in the elevator. This was about something more—a burden she had been carrying for a long time.
He sat in silence, watching her from across the room. The distance between them felt more than physical. He wanted to help, wanted to reach out, but wasn't sure how to bridge the gap. Mulder knew Scully as a woman who faced every challenge with strength and resilience, but tonight, she seemed different, as if the weight of everything—the work, the personal sacrifices, the constant battles—was finally catching up with her.
As she sat on the couch, Mulder could see the way she held her tea tightly, like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. He wanted to go to her, to offer comfort, but something told him that right now, she needed space. Still, the concern gnawed at him, knowing this incident had affected her more deeply than she was willing to admit.
"Not worth it?" he asked, his voice low, more to himself than to her, as he watched her in the quiet of her own thoughts.
Mulder moved from his spot at the table and joined Scully on the couch, sitting down beside her but leaving enough space to give her the room she seemed to need. His eyes were focused on her, full of concern, as he gently asked, "Who were these guys anyway? I mean, Colton I know. But that other guy?"
Scully's voice was barely a whisper at first, like saying the name brought back something difficult. "Stephen Monforton."
Mulder frowned, the name unfamiliar to him. Before he could ask more, Scully's voice steadied, and she continued, "He's one of the recruiters. He goes to universities and colleges to find new agents."
"He recruited you?" Mulder asked gently, already suspecting the answer.
Scully nodded, her expression tight as she spoke. "And he started the whole Ice Queen thing."
Mulder, sensing that Scully seemed ready to finally open up, moved a little closer, trying to offer her some comfort. "Now why would he call you that?"
To his shock, Mulder saw Scully's eyes glisten with unshed tears. They started to brim over, her composure slipping as she struggled to hold back the emotion. The sight of her tearing up was a stark contrast to her usual controlled demeanor, and it made Mulder's heart ache. He reached out, his hand hovering close but unsure if it was the right moment to offer physical comfort.
Scully shied slightly away from Mulder, trying to hold herself together as best as she could. Her voice trembled as she continued, "You know that I was recruited while I was still in med school?"
Mulder, familiar with that part of her life, nodded in understanding.
Scully took a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. "I lived on campus, I was still working on my PhD, and I had those training courses at the academy. It was a lot."
Her voice faltered slightly, and she looked away, struggling to maintain her composure. The weight of her past experiences seemed to hang heavily in the air, and Mulder felt a profound sense of empathy for the pressures she had faced.
Scully's voice softened as she continued, "In the evenings, between working for school and the academy, I would go on walks, random walks around the campus, just to get some air. The university had a campus cinema. They played Star Trek episodes on Wednesday nights."
Mulder smirked, teasing gently, "Didn't take you for a Trekkie, Scully."
Scully, undeterred by his playful tone, shook her head slightly. "The first time, I only went in because, during my walk, it had started to pour down like there was no tomorrow. I liked it. It was a nice distraction. So, I went back."
Her voice held a hint of nostalgia, revealing how those moments of escape had become a small but significant part of her life during a demanding time.
Scully continued; her gaze distant as she recalled the memory. "After a few episodes, I noticed Monforton in the audience. So, I said hello. And then the next week, he was there again, and we sat together. And then, one week, he asked if he could invite me for dinner. So, we went to a small diner just outside the campus."
She paused, her expression reflecting a mixture of fondness and regret. "It felt nice, that attention, I mean. That distraction from my workload, from the tension my choices had created with my family."
Mulder listened intently, his heart heavy with the realization of how much pressure Scully had been under, and how even small gestures of kindness had meant a lot to her. He could see how Monforton's initial kindness had given her a brief respite from her overwhelming responsibilities, only to be overshadowed by the hurtful nickname he later used.
Mulder listened carefully as Scully recounted how she had met Monforton, her words tinged with a mix of nostalgia and something more bittersweet. He could picture it: Scully, young and driven, managing her demanding workload, feeling the weight of her choices on her shoulders. He understood why the small moments of normalcy, like the attention from Monforton, might have felt like a welcome reprieve. But as she spoke, the pattern of Monforton's behavior began to stand out to him in a way it hadn't for her back then.
"He was just… there," she continued, almost absently. "At first, it didn't seem unusual, him being at the campus cinema. It wasn't like it was a private event or anything. We started sitting together, and it felt… comfortable, I guess. Familiar."
Mulder's jaw tightened slightly as she spoke, a thought nagging at him. The more he listened, the more something didn't add up.
He shifted slightly, finally voicing his concern, careful not to sound accusatory. "Scully, I get it, but... don't you think it's a little strange that Monforton, a guy with his job, was hanging around a university campus every week just to watch old *Star Trek* reruns?" He glanced at her, gauging her reaction. "It sounds like he was... well, always there."
Scully paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered what Mulder was suggesting. In the moment, it hadn't seemed odd at all—Monforton had just been another face in the audience, someone who had become a casual acquaintance, then a bit more. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, Mulder's words sank in, and she saw it differently.
"In retrospect… yeah, maybe," she admitted slowly, almost as if the realization had just dawned on her. "It didn't feel strange at the time, though. It felt… good, you know?" She looked at Mulder, her voice softening. "I was overwhelmed with everything—med school, the academy, the tension with my family. His attention was a distraction. It was nice to have someone who seemed to be paying attention, who wasn't wrapped up in all the stress."
Mulder's heart ached as he watched her. He could see why she had been drawn to Monforton's company back then—it had offered her something she desperately needed, even if it came with strings attached she couldn't see at the time. But now, with the way it had all unfolded, it was clear to Mulder that Monforton had been circling her for a while, waiting for the right moment to push boundaries.
"So, he was just… around," Mulder mused quietly, his suspicion deepening. He didn't want to make Scully feel worse about it, but the idea that Monforton had been subtly stalking her during such a vulnerable time bothered him deeply.
Scully nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah," she admitted. "I didn't think much of it at the time. He was just… there, and it felt harmless. I thought it was coincidence more than anything else."
"But in hindsight?" Mulder pressed gently.
"In hindsight, I suppose it wasn't so innocent," Scully said, her voice more measured now. "But back then, it felt nice. Like someone was noticing me for me, not for all the pressure I was under."
Mulder sat back slightly, letting the realization sink in. He knew Scully had always been strong, but to hear how isolated she had felt back then, how she had craved a moment of simple human connection, only to have it exploited—that hit hard. He wanted to say something, to offer her comfort, but he knew she wasn't done telling her story. So, he stayed quiet, letting her set the pace, while silently vowing that he'd always be there to notice her—not just for the brilliant agent she was, but for the woman he cared about deeply.
Scully took a few deep breaths to steady herself, her eyes fixed on the tea cup in her hands. "So, one evening, he walked me to my dorm room just like he had done before." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "And he kissed me goodbye just like the other times. At least I thought so. Just that that time, when I entered my room, he pushed through the door as well."
The room fell silent as Scully's words hung heavily in the air, the weight of her memory settling between them.
Mulder noticed the strain in Scully's voice and spoke gently, "If this is too difficult to talk about…"
Scully interrupted him, her voice steady but resolute. "I just want you to understand how the whole Ice Queen thing happened so that you can judge for yourself if you want to think of me like this."
Mulder met her gaze with sincerity. "I don't. Never have, never will."
Mulder's eyes softened as he looked at Scully, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. "Scully, I knew about that nickname long before I met you. Your reputation had preceded you—there was all this talk about the 'Ice Queen' in the bullpen, and to be honest, I didn't care for any of it. It was just locker room talk, the kind of stuff that's easy to throw around when people don't really know someone. I never put any stock in it."
He paused, shifting slightly as he collected his thoughts. "Then, when I finally met you, I started wondering where the hell that nickname even came from. Because the person sitting across from me in that basement office wasn't cold, not at all. You were guarded, sure, but it wasn't the way they made it sound. You were smart, professional, and yeah, you challenged me—but you didn't seem closed off or detached. You didn't freeze me out. I could tell, even then, that there was so much more to you than whatever label they'd stuck on you."
Mulder's voice softened further, as if he were letting Scully in on a private truth. "To me, you were never the Ice Queen. You've always been someone who cares, someone who feels things deeply. And the more I got to know you, the more I realized that you were the furthest thing from what those guys were saying. I didn't need to hear their version of you. I saw you for myself."
He held her gaze, his eyes reflecting a deep sense of understanding. "And from that moment on, the nickname didn't matter. I didn't care about it because I knew it wasn't you. What mattered to me was the person I saw in front of me. The person who's always been there for me, and who's always felt more than she lets on."
He reached out, his hand finding hers. "You never seemed cold to me, Scully. Not once."
Scully struggled to keep her composure as she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "He said something about three dates meaning sex and that this had been going on long enough without him getting anything in return." She paused, looking at Mulder with a mixture of pain and desperation. "What did I know about dating? I had the same boyfriend all through high school. We drifted apart when we chose different colleges. We're still friends, sort of. We send each other Christmas cards, and when we were in San Diego last," she gestured between herself and Mulder, "we even met for coffee."
Mulder nodded, remembering their time in San Diego and that she had mentioned wanting to catch up with an old friend.
Scully continued, "So I had no clue. And it's not even that I abstained from dating in college voluntarily. It just happened. My course load was high, and everything was so interesting—time just flew by."
Mulder couldn't help but find her reflection on her past endearing. Her dedication and passion, even in the face of such personal turmoil, spoke volumes about her character. He admired the way she threw herself into her work and how she had handled a situation that had been so unfairly thrust upon her.
Scully took a deep breath, steadying herself as she continued, "That night, when he walked me to my dorm, it felt like every other time. We talked, he kissed me goodnight, just like before. But then... out of nowhere, he pushed into my room after me." Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. "I wasn't expecting it, Mulder. It felt like the pressure to sleep with him had just come up out of nowhere."
She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I didn't even see him as a potential prospect. For me, he was the guy I would watch Star Trek with on Wednesday nights and have burgers with afterwards. One minute we were saying goodnight, and the next, he was making it clear that this had gone on long enough without him 'getting anything in return.'" Her voice dropped as she mimicked Monforton's words.
Scully's hands tightened slightly around the edge of her robe as she spoke, the memory clearly still weighing on her. "I hadn't thought about sleeping with him at all. It had been a long time since I'd been with anyone, and yeah, the attention felt nice at first. For a moment, I even considered it, even though I didn't like the way he pushed for it."
She shook her head, looking down at her hands. "I didn't even know how to react. He'd made me feel good about myself, like I wasn't just this overworked med student trying to juggle everything. For a while, I liked the distraction he provided. But the expectation... that was something I didn't see coming."
Mulder's chest tightened as he listened, trying to piece together what it must have felt like for her in that moment. He wanted to say something, to tell her none of this was her fault, but he stayed quiet, knowing she needed to say it all.
"He acted like it was inevitable. Like I owed him something just because we'd gone out a few times. The pressure he put on me that night... it made everything so clear, but in the worst way possible. I felt trapped."
Scully paused, then added, her voice barely above a whisper, "It wasn't about wanting to sleep with him. It was about feeling like I didn't have a choice."
Mulder's heart sank. He could sense how deeply this had affected her, and it made his blood boil that someone had made her feel like this. But more than anything, he felt an overwhelming need to let her know she was safe now. She wasn't alone anymore.
Scully's voice was strained as she continued, "So all of a sudden, I found myself alone in my college dorm room with this guy who pulled on my shirt and even tore it."
Mulder's heart twisted as he listened to her, his chest heavy with a combination of anger and protectiveness. The idea of Scully—strong, self-assured Scully—feeling exposed and vulnerable in her own space was almost unbearable. His thoughts raced with the desire to go back in time, to stop it, to shield her from that pain.
He watched her closely, the way her eyes darted between their joined hands and the memory that still haunted her. Her vulnerability in sharing this wasn't lost on him, and he felt honored that she trusted him enough to open up like this. But he hated that she had to relive it.
Scully's voice shook as she continued, and Mulder's mind flashed with images of her in that dorm room, alone with someone who'd taken her trust and twisted it. He wanted to reach out, pull her into him, shield her from those memories, but instead, he stayed still, letting her guide the conversation.
When she spoke about covering herself up, his heart ached even more. He could almost see her there, arms crossed over her body, instinctively trying to protect herself, while this man—someone who should have respected her boundaries—ignored every signal she was giving.
Mulder felt a surge of guilt, not for anything he had done, but for the fact that the world had men like Monforton in it. It was a helpless feeling, knowing that no matter how much he cared for Scully, he couldn't undo what had happened. All he could do now was be there for her. Be the safety she needed.
He squeezed her hands again, a silent reminder that she wasn't alone, not anymore. Mulder had seen her face impossible odds before, but this... this was different. This was something personal, something that cut deeper than any case they had worked on. And it made him all the more determined to show her that she was valued, respected—loved.
"Take your time," he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with the weight of his sincerity. He wasn't rushing her, wasn't going to press her for more. He just wanted her to feel safe, here, now.
Mulder's mind flicked to all the times he had seen her put up walls, knowing now that some of those barriers had been built long before they ever met. It wasn't just about proving herself in a male-dominated field—it was about surviving in a world where men like Monforton had made her feel powerless. And that, more than anything, made Mulder's resolve strengthen. He would never, ever make her feel that way.
Scully's voice shook as she continued, "He grabbed my wrists and pinned them over my head. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel like two people having sex after a few dates."
Mulder's expression hardened with a mix of anger and sorrow. "That's because it wasn't."
Scully nodded, her eyes reflecting the trauma of the memory. "I lost it. I fought so hard to get him off me. When he finally realized that he wouldn't get me to sleep with him, he pointed at his crotch and said, 'You have hands and a mouth; you can still do something about my current predicament.'"
Mulder's face flushed with a deep shame and anger for the kind of man who would treat someone like that. He felt an intense sense of injustice and sorrow, his heart aching for the pain Scully had endured.
As Scully's words hung in the air, Mulder's grip on her hands tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to control the rage bubbling up inside him. He couldn't fathom the audacity, the cruelty, of someone using intimacy as a weapon. The thought of Monforton, someone who should have respected her strength and brilliance, reducing her to an object, infuriated him to his core.
He swallowed hard, his mind racing with how much Scully had gone through—how she had fought, physically and emotionally, to protect her dignity, her body, her autonomy. It wasn't just the act that horrified him, it was the aftermath: the nickname, the reputation she had been unfairly saddled with, all because she refused to give in. And she had endured it alone.
His anger at Monforton was only eclipsed by the deep sorrow he felt for Scully. Knowing she had carried this weight, this secret pain, all while maintaining her composed, strong exterior, made him feel helpless in the moment. He wanted to find the right words, something to ease her pain, but all he could do was be there.
The thought of her fighting back, of her feeling trapped in that dorm room, played on a loop in his mind. He pictured the scene she described—the vulnerability, the desperation in her struggle to break free. His heart broke at the image of her pinned down, fighting off a man who refused to accept her boundaries.
Scully's voice had steadied, but the raw emotion was still there, barely contained beneath the surface. She wasn't just reliving the moment—she was allowing Mulder to witness a part of her that had been locked away for years. And he realized, in that instant, just how much it had taken for her to share this with him.
Her next words cut through his thoughts. "I felt so disgusted with myself. Like I had let it go too far, like I hadn't seen it coming."
Mulder shook his head, his voice low and firm. "This wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve any of that, Scully. Not then, not ever."
Scully's lips trembled, but she held his gaze. "I know that now... but back then... I questioned everything."
The vulnerability in her voice was palpable, and Mulder's heart ached for her. He wished he could erase that memory, that trauma, but all he could do was promise her, silently, that she would never have to face anything like that alone again.
Scully's voice, though composed, carried a heaviness that lingered in the air as she spoke. Mulder could see how much weight the story still carried for her, the unresolved anger and hurt tucked just beneath the surface.
"When I came to the academy the next morning, the nickname had already spread. Everybody knew it's impossible to bed Dana Scully because she freezes your dick off," she said, her tone detached as if trying to distance herself from the cruel words, even though Mulder could tell how deeply they had stung.
Mulder's stomach twisted with disgust. The crudeness of the nickname, the way it had reduced her to an object of mockery—after she had already endured so much—filled him with fury. His fists clenched on his lap, wanting to go back in time and protect her from all of it. The very idea of her walking into the academy, with her head held high, only to be met with such demeaning talk, was unbearable.
"Did you report him?" Mulder asked, his voice tight with suppressed anger, desperate to know that some form of justice had been served.
Scully nodded, though her expression was resigned. "I did, but… it was his word against mine." Her voice carried a familiar bitterness that Mulder had heard before, in cases where justice felt out of reach. "So, he got away with a warning, and they assigned him a female partner to help recruit female agents. A slap on the wrist, really."
Mulder's jaw tightened. A warning? That was it? After everything she'd been through, after having to fight off Monforton's advances and then deal with the humiliation of that nickname, all the system could offer her was a weak slap on the wrist for him? The injustice of it made his blood boil.
"He should've been kicked out of the academy," Mulder said, his voice low but hard. "Or worse."
Scully gave him a small, sad smile. "I thought that too. But it was a different time, Mulder. And he had seniority. I was just a recruit—nobody would have believed me over him." She sighed, as if the weight of it all was finally lifting, now that she was telling him.
Mulder's heart ached as he looked at her. The fact that she had carried this burden, gone through this trauma, and still come out on top—still fought for her place in a male-dominated field, where she was constantly underestimated and disrespected—made him admire her even more than he already did. But it also filled him with a protective instinct he couldn't shake.
"You didn't deserve that, Scully. None of it," Mulder said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
Scully's eyes glistened with unshed tears, the weight of her confession hanging between them. The words she'd been holding in for so long now filled the small space around them, leaving no room for anything but raw honesty. Mulder could see the vulnerability in her expression, a side she rarely let anyone see.
"When Blevins assigned me to the X-Files," Scully continued, her voice tightening with the memory, "he didn't just give me a job. He gave me an expectation. He didn't want a scientist. He wanted the woman everyone whispered about to prove you wrong, to kill your theories with cold logic. The nickname was a part of that expectation, like I was supposed to carry it with me."
She blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but her composure faltered slightly. Mulder felt a pang in his chest, a deep empathy for what she had gone through. It wasn't just that Scully had faced the indignity of the Ice Queen label—it was that she had been hired under the shadow of it, with the expectation that she'd live up to that heartless, cold persona. He thought back to their early days, remembering how tough she seemed, how meticulous and rigid in her skepticism. He'd admired it, but now, he realized that part of it had been armor.
"And then Colton came along," she continued, wiping at the corners of her eyes but keeping her composure. "With his Mrs. Spooky joke. It was a jab at you, but for me, it was something else."
Mulder flinched, guilt washing over him. He had always hated the nickname, not just for himself, but for how it tied her to him in the eyes of their colleagues. He had never thought about what it had meant to her, though.
"I didn't like it at first," she admitted, her eyes softening as she looked at him. "Because of what it meant coming from him. He was mocking us, mocking the work we do. But then…" she hesitated, taking a breath to steady herself. "It started to mean something else to me. They weren't calling me the Ice Queen anymore. It wasn't about what I couldn't give someone, or how I didn't fit into their mold. It became something else—a connection. To you. To the work. To a place where I finally felt like I belonged."
Mulder was holding her gaze now, his chest tight with emotion. He understood. "I am so sorry, Scully," he said softly, the apology carrying more weight than just for the nickname—it was for all of it. The years of whispered remarks, the expectations she had shouldered alone.
But she shook her head gently, a tear finally slipping free. "Don't be. Because in the end, I needed that. I needed to belong somewhere. And with you… I did. I do."
Mulder felt his throat constrict, her words sinking deep into his heart. He wanted to tell her that she had always belonged, from the very beginning. That she had been more than just a partner, that her presence had given meaning to the work they did. But he didn't need to say it. He pulled her gently into his arms instead, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispered, "Come here, Mrs. Spooky."
Scully let out a shaky breath, leaning into his embrace, her head resting against his chest. There, wrapped in the warmth and safety of his arms, she allowed herself to let go. The weight of the years, the pain of the past—it was all there between them, but for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a burden she had to carry alone.
"Thank you for sharing this with me," Mulder whispered, holding her just a little tighter, as if he could somehow shield her from all the pain she'd ever felt.
Scully closed her eyes, the tension in her body slowly easing as she let herself be vulnerable in his arms. "Thank you for listening," she whispered back, feeling, perhaps more than ever, that she truly belonged right there.
After a moment of comfortable silence, Mulder broke it with a teasing smile, his voice soft but playful. "Star Trek, really?"
Scully, who had been resting against his chest, pushed herself slightly back to look at him, her expression a mix of exasperation and fond amusement. "Let it go, Mulder," she warned, though there was a glimmer of warmth in her eyes. "It could have rained another day, and it could have been cheesy movies instead."
Mulder raised his eyebrows, still grinning. "But it wasn't. It was *Star Trek*."
Scully rolled her eyes, clearly trying to stifle a smile. "You're impossible."
Mulder leaned closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. "Which series?"
Scully narrowed her eyes but couldn't resist the grin tugging at her lips. "Not telling."
"C'mon, Scully. *The Next Generation*? Or are you more of a *Voyager* fan?"
She shook her head, gently swatting him on the shoulder. "You're never going to find out."
Mulder chuckled, the tension between them all but dissolved now, replaced by their usual banter. The weight of the earlier conversation still lingered, but in this moment, they both found some much-needed lightness.
A few days later, Mulder and Scully stood side by side in the elevator, the familiar hum of the building's machinery filling the space between them. Scully glanced at Mulder, catching his slight frown. "You cannot seriously be disappointed that the case turned out not to be paranormal."
Mulder sighed dramatically. "Not only that. It turned out to be boring." He threw her a sidelong look, as if the mundane nature of the case was somehow her fault.
Scully smirked. "Boring is good sometimes."
Mulder was just about to argue back when the elevator doors slid open on the next floor. Neither of them paid attention until a familiar voice cut through the air like ice.
"Ice Queen. Spooky."
Monforton's voice was curt, dismissive, and it instantly brought their conversation to a grinding halt. Mulder's easy demeanor vanished, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Scully, whose face was already setting into a steely mask of indifference. Monforton stepped into the elevator with an air of casual arrogance, not sparing either of them another glance.
For a split second, the tension in the small space became palpable. Mulder's fists clenched at his sides, his thoughts racing. He wanted to say something, to shut Monforton up for good, but the weight of Scully's previous confession held him back.
Scully stood straight, her eyes forward, her expression unreadable. But Mulder knew her well enough to see the flicker of discomfort behind her calm façade. The silence stretched as the elevator continued its descent.
Mulder leaned slightly closer to her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "I really, really hate that guy."
Scully's lips barely moved, but her voice was steady. "Let it go, Mulder. He's not worth it."
Mulder gritted his teeth, wishing he could follow her lead. But as Monforton stood just feet away, his smug presence tainting the air, it took everything in him not to explode.
Monforton, standing with his hands shoved casually into his pockets, glanced at Mulder with a smirk. "How long does it take for a frozen-off dick to grow back?"
Mulder stiffened, his eyes flicking to Scully, who was staring straight ahead, her face an unreadable mask of calm. He could see the tension in her shoulders, though, and it fueled the anger already boiling inside him.
Without missing a beat, Mulder turned back to Monforton, his voice sharp and unwavering. "How long did it take your bruised ego to heal after you tried to assault Agent Scully?"
The air in the elevator instantly grew heavy with tension. Monforton's smirk faltered, his bravado cracked as Mulder's words hit him squarely. Scully's gaze finally shifted toward Mulder, a mixture of surprise and quiet gratitude flashing in her eyes, though her face remained calm.
For a moment, Monforton seemed at a loss, his cocky attitude replaced with something darker, more dangerous. But he said nothing, his gaze hardening as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
Without another word, he stepped out and disappeared into the hallway.
As the doors closed, Mulder let out a breath, his fists unclenching at last. He turned to Scully, his expression softening, an apology in his eyes for bringing it up in front of her.
Scully gave him a small, appreciative smile, a silent thank you in return. "You didn't have to do that, Mulder," she said quietly.
"Yeah, I did," he replied, voice firm but tender. "No one talks to you like that. Ever."
Mulder settled onto Scully's couch, a playful glint in his eye. "I thought I had some sort of encounter when I heard your voice on my answering machine. If I wanted to see the season finale of *Deep Space Nine* with you tonight."
Scully looked at him with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You didn't have to come over."
Mulder leaned back, grinning. "And miss out on some takeout and seeing you watch *Star Trek*?" He emphasized the title with a mock dramatic flair. Then he smirked. "I am disappointed about your outfit, though. I thought that towel dress from the other day was very avant-garde."
Scully's cheeks flushed slightly as she arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't push your luck. Besides, you saw me in underwear on our first case in Oregon and just a few days ago in a towel. How can I possibly top that?"
Mulder leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, you really hit our partnership off with a bang there."
He paused, then continued, his voice softer. "I never told anyone about that."
Scully looked at him, clearly surprised. "Really?"
Mulder nodded, his eyes meeting hers. "Yeah, really. It's not just about keeping a secret—it's about respecting the trust we've built. What happened on that case, those moments, they're personal. They're part of our story, and it's something I've always felt should stay between us."
He shrugged slightly. "It's not just about keeping quiet; it's about honoring the connection we have. No one else would get it, and it's not something I want to trivialize or share out of context. It's ours, and that's how I want it to stay."
Scully, deeply touched by Mulder's words, gently squeezed his hand. "So, how up-to-date are you on *Deep Space Nine*? Will you be fine watching the finale, or should I catch you up on what's been happening throughout the season?"
Mulder gave her a sheepish grin. "I have to admit, I'm a bit behind. I think I might need a refresher."