Later that day, Scully approached the meeting room for the special task force handling her case, her pulse quickening as she tried to slip in unnoticed. She expected the meeting to have already started, hoping to fade into the background. But to her surprise, the room was still buzzing with quiet conversations as agents shuffled papers and set up for the session.
Before she could settle into a corner, Pat Micucci, the agent in charge, spotted her immediately.
"Agent Scully, there you are!" Pat called out, striding across the room with purpose, her voice carrying just enough authority to make Scully freeze. "You thought you'd sneak in after the meeting had started, didn't you? Well, a certain someone wouldn't let us begin without making sure you were safely on your way." She nodded toward the front of the room where Mulder sat next to Diana Fowley.
Scully's gaze flickered toward them. Mulder glanced up briefly, meeting her eyes for just a second before turning his attention back to whatever was in front of him. Diana, on the other hand, didn't bother to hide her displeasure, her lips pressed tightly together as if the very sight of Scully irritated her.
Scully felt a wave of awkwardness wash over her, but she managed to offer Mulder a shy smile and a small wave, though he didn't seem to notice.
Pat, however, was still focused on her. "Would you like to sit up front, right next to me?" she asked with a warm, welcoming smile that, to Scully, felt like an invitation to stand in the spotlight.
The thought horrified her.
"I'd rather stay here in the back, if that's okay," Scully replied quickly, her voice steady but quiet.
Pat chuckled softly, sensing Scully's discomfort. "Of course, Agent Scully. Stick to the original plan of hiding in the back, then." She gestured toward the rear of the room, where Reyes and Doggett were seated. "They've got your back."
Doggett immediately stood up, eager to accommodate her. "Here, take my chair, Agent Scully," he offered, his usual seriousness softened by genuine concern.
Scully shook her head. "No, thank you. I'd rather stand."
Reyes quickly followed suit, standing beside her in solidarity. "Sounds like a good plan. I'll stand with you."
Pat raised her eyebrows in amusement, clearly pleased with the camaraderie among her team. "Well, now that we're all here, let's begin," she said, her voice lifting above the room's murmur.
Just as the room was settling, one of the agents near the front, trying to inject some humor into the tense atmosphere, called out with a grin, "Agent Scully should have just jumped on her broom to get here. That would've been faster!"
The laughter that followed was short-lived. Before anyone could react, Pat's voice cut through the room, sharp and immediate. "You're off the team."
The agent, his smug expression faltering, looked at her in disbelief. "Come on, Pat, it was just a joke," he protested weakly, his tone more uncertain now under the weight of her unwavering glare.
"I'm not laughing," Pat replied, her voice cool and resolute, making it clear that the matter wasn't up for debate.
Scully stood in stunned silence, watching the exchange. She leaned slightly toward Reyes, whispering, "What just happened?"
Reyes gave a slight shrug, her lips curving into a small smile. "She's been doing this all afternoon. Pat kicks off anyone who isn't treating your case with the respect it deserves."
Scully blinked, a flicker of admiration sparking within her for Pat's fierce protection of the case and, by extension, of her. The swift, no-nonsense way Pat dealt with disrespect felt like a balm to the raw emotions that had been gnawing at her all day. Scully took a deep breath, grounding herself in the small sense of solidarity she felt in that room—a reminder that she wasn't fighting this battle alone.
As the meeting progressed, Skinner and Micucci laid out various pieces of evidence related to the ongoing investigation, their voices clear and measured over the quiet murmur of agents exchanging theories. A profiler stepped forward, gesturing to a projection of crime scene photos as he offered his analysis.
"This appears to be a copycat scenario," the profiler began. "Years ago, there was a serial killer who abducted police officers, forcing them into a horrific situation where they had to shoot at each other. The pattern here suggests that our suspect is mimicking those events, possibly someone who's studied the original case extensively."
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on everyone. Agents exchanged looks, the murmur of discussion fading as the implications of the profiler's words settled in. Just as Skinner prepared to move the meeting forward, he cleared his throat, drawing all attention to the front of the room.
"A video tape was delivered to my office this morning," he said, his voice steady but tense, every syllable resonating with the seriousness of what he was about to reveal. "It's labeled: 'Mulder and Scully's First Time.'"
The effect was immediate. Gasps, sharp intakes of breath, and whispers rippled through the room. Scully felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath her. Her stomach lurched, a cold dread settling in her chest. Next to her, Reyes instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a gesture of support as shock gripped the room.
"You haven't heard about this yet, have you?" Reyes asked softly, her voice threaded with concern.
Scully shook her head, her mouth dry. "What… What do you mean? What's on it?" The words felt heavy in her throat, as if forcing them out would make the nightmare more real.
The atmosphere in the room had shifted, tension thickening as Skinner exchanged a grave look with Pat Micucci. Their silence spoke volumes. Micucci stepped forward, her normally brisk, no-nonsense demeanor softened with the weight of the situation.
"We need to watch it," Skinner said, his tone grim but unflinching. "Whatever is on that tape, it's crucial evidence. It might give us insight into the mind of whoever is orchestrating this."
Scully felt her pulse quicken, a mix of dread and helpless anger swirling inside her. She could feel the eyes of the room on her—colleagues who had worked with her for years, now unsure how to look at her in the face of something so intimate, so exploitative. The thought of her private life being dragged into the light this way, used as a tool by a twisted mind, left her feeling raw and exposed.
Micucci's voice cut through the thick silence. "Let's get to it. We need to know what we're dealing with."
Scully nodded, her expression tight, her mind barely processing what was happening. She steeled herself, knowing that whatever the tape contained, she had to face it—if not for herself, then for Mulder and for the case that had dragged them both into this nightmare. Every nerve in her body screamed to run, but she stayed rooted in place, her breath coming in shallow, ragged waves.
Reyes leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Breathe, Dana. You don't have to watch this if it's too much. We can go for a walk instead or get some coffee. You don't have to be hear and relive it."
But Scully's eyes remained fixed on the screen as the techs loaded the tape into the player. Her body tensed involuntarily, a coil of dread tightening in her gut. Her gaze darted briefly toward Mulder, and what she saw only deepened her anxiety. Mulder had buried his head in his hands, his shoulders sagging under the unbearable weight of whatever was about to be revealed. Diana Fowley, sitting beside him, rubbed his back in a slow, repetitive motion that felt out of place—both comforting and invasive at once.
Scully's stomach churned at the sight, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. The suffocating weight of the moment became too much.
"I… I'm going to be sick," she gasped, her voice trembling as the realization of what was happening crashed down on her like a tidal wave.
Without waiting for anyone to respond, she bolted from the room, her heart pounding in her chest as she stumbled into the hallway. Her footsteps echoed loudly against the tiles as she leaned against the cold wall, breathing hard, fighting to hold herself together. She pressed her hand to her mouth, willing the nausea to subside, but the suffocating dread only tightened its grip.
The air inside the bathroom was stifling as Scully rushed into the stall, locking the door behind her. She pressed her back against the cold tile wall, trying to steady her breathing, her heart still racing from the events in the meeting room. Her stomach twisted in knots, her emotions a whirlwind—anger, shame, disbelief—all colliding in a way that left her feeling disoriented and raw.
She slid down until she was seated on the closed toilet lid, her legs pulled tightly against her chest. The isolation of the stall provided a small, temporary refuge, but it did little to quell the rising panic within her. The video, the twisted mockery of her life, the invasive cruelty—it was too much. Her mind reeled with the horrific realization that her most personal, vulnerable moments had been turned into a spectacle for someone else's twisted game.
Scully buried her face in her knees, clutching them harder, as if holding herself together physically would stop her from unraveling emotionally. She could feel the tears threatening, but she forced them back, swallowing the lump in her throat. There was no room for breaking down right now—she had to stay composed, had to stay strong. But it felt impossible.
Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed softly against the tiled floor. Scully tensed, holding her breath, not wanting to be found. The footsteps stopped near her stall.
"Dana?" Reyes' voice was soft, full of concern. She hesitated, waiting for a response. When none came, she gently knocked on the door. "I know you're in there."
Scully remained silent, her grip tightening on her legs. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to face anyone right now.
After a long moment, Reyes sighed. "It's okay if you don't want to talk. I just wanted to check on you." She paused, her voice quiet but firm. "You don't have to watch that tape, Dana. You don't owe anyone that."
After a few moments of waiting, Monica realized Scully wasn't ready to talk, not now. With a quiet sigh, she stepped back and returned to the meeting room, her steps purposeful, her thoughts already on what needed to be done next.
As Reyes entered the meeting room again, she cast a quick glance at Doggett. Their unspoken communication was clear—he needed to be ready. She made her way directly to the front of the room, toward Mulder, who was still hunched over, his head buried in his hands. His shoulders trembled slightly with suppressed emotion, and Diana Fowley continued to rub his back, her touch calculated, as if she had the right to comfort him in Scully's absence.
Pat Micucci watched the exchange from across the room, noticing the tension building as Reyes approached. Although Micucci couldn't hear what Reyes said, she could see Mulder violently shake his head in response, his refusal evident. Fowley, as always, was there, leaning into the moment, her expression unreadable but unwavering in her support.
Reyes' expression hardened as she stepped closer to Mulder, her voice low but cutting through the stillness. "Pat, I'm off the team," she said firmly, her eyes locked on him.
Micucci blinked in surprise, her brow furrowing in confusion, but before she could respond, Reyes turned to Mulder, her voice steely and cold.
"You're a dick."
The words hung in the air, sharp and unmistakable, leaving the room in stunned silence. Without waiting for a reaction, Reyes stormed out, her heels clicking against the floor with a fierce finality. Doggett, who had been watching quietly from the back, gave Mulder one last look—disappointment etched in his features—before following Reyes out of the room.
Micucci crossed her arms, watching them leave with a bemused expression. She turned to Mulder, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I assume your middle name is Richard?"
Mulder didn't respond. He sat there, still and silent, left to stew in the aftermath of Reyes' blunt confrontation and the undeniable truth that hung between them all.
Reyes and Doggett stood just outside the bathroom stall, exchanging a look of shared concern. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken urgency.
"We need to get her out of there," Reyes whispered, her voice tight with worry as she glanced back at Doggett.
Doggett nodded, determination flashing in his eyes. "I'm on it." He pulled out a small tool from his pocket, quickly working the lock. With a soft click, the door swung open.
"Whoa there, Agent Scully," Doggett said gently, stepping forward cautiously. His eyes widened as he saw her, huddled on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. The cold tile seemed to swallow her small form. "There are better places to sit than here," he added, his voice tender but steady.
He approached her carefully, giving her space as he knelt down, unsure how she might react to any sudden movement. "I'm going to help you to your feet, okay? Monica's right here if you need her."
Reyes knelt beside him, her expression soft and understanding as she reached out toward Scully. "You're not alone, Dana," Reyes said gently. "We're here for you."
Scully stayed still for a moment, her body rigid, as if she didn't quite know how to move. Doggett extended his hand, steady and patient, while Reyes stayed close, her presence warm and calming. After a long, tense pause, Scully slowly reached for Doggett's hand, allowing him to gently guide her to her feet.
As they led her out of the washroom, the hallway seemed to close in around them. Scully's head was down, her expression dazed, her mind still reeling from the overwhelming emotional weight of the meeting. Reyes stayed by her side, close and protective, while Doggett supported her on the other.
Just as they neared the end of the hall, Skinner stepped out of the meeting room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. His concern was immediate, but his tone remained professional. "Take her to my office," he instructed firmly, nodding toward the door at the end of the corridor. "There's a sofa. Do we need medics? A psychologist?"
Reyes shook her head, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I think we've got it," she said softly, her tone steady but kind. She exchanged a glance with Doggett, who gave a subtle nod.
Together, they guided Scully toward Skinner's office. Reyes stayed close, her hand brushing lightly against Scully's arm, offering silent reassurance, while Doggett kept a steadying grip on her other side. It was a delicate moment, and they both knew how important it was to create a safe space for her, somewhere away from the chaos of the meeting room.
Once inside Skinner's office, Scully sank onto the sofa, her body stiff with exhaustion and emotional strain. Reyes crouched in front of her, her eyes soft with empathy.
"Come on, Dana," Reyes said gently, trying to coax her out of the fog. "You have the words for this. I mean, if I were you, I'd be so angry. I'd feel exposed. But I'm not you, so… nice six-pack, by the way," she added with a playful grin, trying to inject a bit of levity into the heavy moment. "You work out a lot?"
Scully managed a faint smile, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. "It just hit me out of nowhere," she murmured, her voice still fragile. "It's one thing to relive it in my head, but seeing it from an outward perspective…"
Before she could finish, there was a soft knock on the door. Both Reyes and Scully looked up to see Mulder standing hesitantly in the doorway, his expression filled with concern and regret.
Reyes straightened up, her eyes flicking between Mulder and Scully. "I'm going to check on John. You never know what he's doing with that multi-tool of his," she said with a light tone, trying to give them space. As she passed by Mulder, she cast him a knowing look.
Mulder nodded at her, a brief flicker of gratitude crossing his face. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I needed that."
Reyes gave him a small smile, pausing at the door. "Anytime. Just don't screw it up now," she added playfully, before slipping out, leaving them alone.
Mulder pulled a chair over to sit across from Scully, his brow furrowed in concern. He studied her, the fragile quiet between them more telling than words. "This was rough, wasn't it?" he asked gently, his voice soft but steady.
Scully's eyes, heavy with exhaustion and unspoken fears, met his. "Do they know why it was filmed?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she feared the answer.
Mulder shook his head, the uncertainty weighing on both of them. "It's too early in the investigation," he replied, wishing he could offer more. The feeling of helplessness gnawed at him as he watched her retreat into silence once again, lost in her thoughts.
The room felt impossibly still as Mulder struggled to find the right words. He wanted to help, to ease her pain, but nothing seemed enough. "I wish I could just give you a magic hug and make it all go away," he said quietly, his voice laced with emotion.
Scully's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked up at him, her vulnerability breaking through her stoic exterior. "Could you try, please?" she asked softly, the plea raw and aching.
Without a second thought, Mulder rose from his chair and moved to her side, wrapping her in a gentle embrace. His arms encircled her, holding her tightly, as if his embrace alone could shield her from the torment of the past few days.
Scully, unable to hold back any longer, buried her face in his chest and began to sob, her entire body trembling as the weight of her emotions came crashing down. The sound of her anguish was heart-wrenching, each sob shaking her more violently than the last. Mulder's own heart shattered in the face of her pain, his throat tightening with emotion as he blinked back his own tears.
"I'm so sorry, Scully," he whispered into her hair, his voice breaking under the strain. "I'm so sorry you're going through this." Each word was a desperate attempt to convey the depth of his regret, his helplessness. He tightened his grip around her, silently wishing he could take her suffering away, even if it meant bearing it himself.
As Scully clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt, Mulder felt the full force of her sorrow, her fear, her anger. They remained that way, locked in each other's arms, sharing the weight of their collective trauma. There were no words left, no easy answers to be found. But in that moment, the only comfort they had was each other.
Eventually, the exhaustion of the breakdown overwhelmed Scully, her sobs slowing, her breathing evening out. Mulder felt her body grow heavier against him as she drifted into a restless sleep, spent from the emotional storm. He carefully adjusted himself on the sofa, cradling her in his arms, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
Mulder sat there, holding her as she slept, his heart aching for her. The world outside felt distant, unimportant. All that mattered now was that, for the moment, she was safe in his arms. As her breathing steadied, he whispered, "I've got you, Scully. I'm not going anywhere."
And though the road ahead was uncertain, in that quiet room, they found a fragile peace—however fleeting—just being together.
Pat Micucci entered Skinner's office quietly, her footsteps soft as she immediately took in the heavy atmosphere. The room was dim, the air thick with unspoken tension. Her gaze fell on Scully, sound asleep in Mulder's arms, her face peaceful but tinged with the exhaustion of her breakdown. Mulder sat on the sofa, his arms wrapped protectively around her, his eyes dark with fatigue.
"How is she doing?" Pat asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her concern evident as she looked at Mulder. There was something deeply vulnerable about the scene, and she treaded carefully.
Mulder let out a heavy sigh, his voice rough with emotion and weariness. "It's going to be a long and rough road for both of us," he admitted, the weight of their situation hanging heavily in his words. His gaze never left Scully as he spoke, his hand gently brushing over her arm as if to reassure both her and himself that she was still there.
Pat's expression softened with sympathy. "I can imagine," she replied quietly, fully understanding the enormity of what they had endured.
Mulder's eyes flickered toward a wool blanket draped over a nearby chair. "Could you hand me that blanket, please?" he asked softly. "I don't want her to get cold."
"Of course," Pat said, reaching for the blanket. She moved to drape it over Scully, but Mulder stopped her gently with a small, insistent shake of his head. "I'd like to do it myself," he said, his voice firm but kind, his need to care for Scully evident in the protective way he held her.
Pat paused, recognizing the depth of his emotions. She understood that this was more than just a gesture—it was Mulder's way of holding onto the one thing he could control in the midst of all the chaos. "You had no choice, Mulder," she said softly, trying to ease the burden of guilt she sensed lingering beneath the surface. "We reviewed the video. There was no way out of there without compromising your or Agent Scully's safety."
Mulder looked up at her, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. He appreciated what she was trying to do, offering him a lifeline of understanding in a situation that felt overwhelming. Without a word, he carefully took the blanket from her and draped it over Scully, tucking it gently around her to ensure she was warm and comfortable.
For a brief moment, the room was silent, the only sound being Scully's steady breathing. Mulder leaned back slightly, his expression softening as he watched her sleep. There was a tenderness in the way he touched her, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.
"If you don't need us anymore tonight," Mulder said after a pause, his voice steadier now but still laced with exhaustion, "I'd like to take Agent Scully home as soon as she wakes up."
Pat gave a small nod, offering him a reassuring smile. "Of course," she said gently. "Take her home. You can give your statements another time."
A small but significant weight seemed to lift from Mulder's shoulders at her words. He gave her a grateful nod, his focus returning to Scully. All he wanted now was to take her home, to give her a sense of safety after everything they had been through. He knew the days ahead would be difficult, filled with more questions, more challenges, but for now, his only priority was her. Together, they would face whatever came next.
When Scully finally stirred, a wave of self-consciousness swept over her as she shifted slightly in Mulder's arms. The weight of her vulnerability—falling asleep in front of him, after everything that had happened—settled on her like a heavy blanket.
"Hey," Mulder's voice was soft, his eyes warm and reassuring as he noticed her discomfort. "Don't worry about it. Let's just go home. They don't need us tonight. Let them work."
Scully took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment. The fatigue still clung to her, making everything feel a little heavier than it was. "I just need to freshen up a bit," she said, her voice steady but edged with exhaustion. "Then we can leave."
Mulder nodded, offering her a small, understanding smile. "Take your time. I'll be right here."
As she moved to stand, he gently loosened his hold, letting her go but remaining close, ready to follow her lead. Scully appreciated his patience, the quiet way he gave her space without making her feel rushed. It was these small gestures of care that meant the most to her now.
Scully made her way to the bathroom, hoping a moment alone would help her regain her composure. But as she slipped into a stall, she overheard voices at the sink.
Diana Fowley stood there, fixing her makeup as she spoke to another agent. Her voice was low, but the cutting tone was unmistakable. "Honestly, I don't know what her problem is," Fowley scoffed, her eyes flicking to the mirror. "They've been making gooey eyes at each other since I joined the X-Files. I mean, Fox is a great lover, and first, she pushes him away, and now this?"
The other agent, shocked, turned toward Fowley. "Did we just watch the same video?" she asked, incredulous.
Fowley shrugged dismissively, continuing without a care. "Given their feelings for each other, it should've been some sort of rough sex and he's practically a master at it. I'd kill for him to go down on me. Trust me, his enthusiasm extends well beyond his job. But something's seriously off with that Scully. If Fox had even a fraction of that interest in me, I wouldn't be hiding behind a stall like a scared little girl. I'd go out there and make him do me again."
Scully sat frozen in the stall, the hurtful words crashing into her like a physical blow. Her throat tightened, tears welling up in her eyes as her bottom lip trembled. She fought to steady herself, but the cruel, casual way they spoke about her felt like a violation of its own.
Outside, Mulder waited patiently, but the muffled commotion from inside the bathroom caught his attention. Before he could react, the door swung open, and the two female agents walked out, their expressions uncomfortable. Close behind them, Pat Micucci stormed out, her face livid. "What on earth, Agent Fowley?!" she snapped, fury evident in her voice. "You're a profiler, a psychologist! How can you possibly say something like that? You're both off the team!"
The second agent, caught off guard, protested, "Why am I off the team? I didn't say anything!"
Pat's voice was cold and steady. "Exactly. You stood by and said nothing. You should know better than to discuss a victim like that."
Mulder, growing more concerned, stepped closer, catching the tail end of the argument. His instincts flared, sensing something was wrong. Pat turned to him, trying to contain the situation. "I assume you're taking Agent Scully home now?" she asked, her tone calmer but still sharp from the confrontation.
Mulder nodded, his eyes darting toward the bathroom door. "I'm just waiting for her to come out of the washroom," he replied, his unease mounting.
Pat's expression shifted instantly, concern replacing her anger. "She's in there?" She moved toward the door, her voice softer now. "Agent Scully? Are you in here?" She began checking each stall, knocking gently. "Agent Scully? It's Pat. Are you okay?"
Mulder's heart raced as he realized Scully must have slipped past them during the commotion. He bolted down the corridor, nearly colliding with Reyes. "Have you seen Scully?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.
Reyes, catching his alarm, frowned. "No, I haven't. What's wrong?"
"She's not in the bathroom," Mulder replied, his breath coming quicker. "She's gone."
Reyes' expression shifted, immediately understanding the gravity of the situation. "We'll find her," she said firmly, her tone filled with quiet determination. Together, they moved with purpose, their search for Scully becoming more desperate with every passing second.
"John!" she called out, her urgency cutting through the tense atmosphere as she searched for her partner. Doggett emerged from a nearby office, his brow furrowing at the sight of Reyes's distress.
"What's going on?" he asked, quickly assessing the gravity of the situation as he took in Mulder's haunted expression.
"Scully's missing. We need to find her," Reyes replied, her voice steady but laced with urgency.
Mulder took a deep breath, pushing down the rising tide of fear that threatened to overwhelm him. "Let's check the break room and the parking lot," he suggested, already moving towards the nearest exit with purpose.
As they rushed through the building, the weight of dread settled heavily in Mulder's chest, each tick of the clock amplifying his anxiety and making every second feel like an eternity.
When Mulder descended the stairs to the parking lot, a wave of relief washed over him as he finally spotted Scully heading toward her car. "There you are! I thought we'd meet outside the ladies' room," he called out, trying to keep his tone light and reassuring. But as he scanned her face and demeanor, his heart sank; it was evident that they had just hit a major setback.
Scully stopped abruptly, her voice trembling as she spoke. "You said it was okay that we didn't... that night."
Mulder's confusion deepened, his heart racing as he tried to grasp her sudden shift in emotion. "Scully, what brings this on?"
She inhaled sharply, her breaths coming out in shaky hiccups. "I told you I was sorry, and you said it was okay. You did say it was okay! Why did you have to tell her that? Her, of all people?!"
Understanding dawned on Mulder like a cold splash of water, regret crashing over him in waves. "I needed someone to talk to," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "She and I, we used to have conversations like you and I do. I didn't expect her to twist this against you."
He stepped closer, urgency punctuating his tone. "Let me take you home. Please."
Scully shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes as she fought to maintain her composure. "I can't."
"Then let me find Reyes," he pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice. "You can't drive like this. You shouldn't."
He reached out, gently taking her arm to guide her back, his grip firm yet compassionate. The weight of her pain was palpable, and all he wanted was to shield her from it, to help her regain her footing in the turmoil that surrounded them.