With a knot in her stomach, Scully approached the office the next day, dreading the encounter with both Mulder and Fowley. She had finished her forensic work for the ritual and hate crimes case, but the thought of facing either of them felt like a weight pressing down on her. As she stepped into the familiar space of the basement office, she immediately noticed Fowley sitting at the small table that Scully usually used.
On Mulder's desk, a stunning bouquet of roses in a myriad of colors caught her eye, their vibrant hues contrasting sharply with the dimly lit room. Fowley glanced up, a smirk playing on her lips. "They are for you," she said, her tone dripping with condescension.
Scully stepped closer, her heart racing as she approached the bouquet. "Really?" she asked, surprised. She leaned in to examine the flowers and spotted a card with just her name—"Scully"—written on it. It wasn't Mulder's handwriting, and that piqued her curiosity.
"They're beautiful," Scully murmured, feeling a mix of confusion and appreciation. The vibrant colors seemed to glow in the fluorescent light of the office.
"Fox does have good taste in flowers," Fowley remarked, a hint of something darker lurking beneath her words. As Scully reached out to pick up the card, she felt something sharp jab into her finger. With a startled gasp, she pulled her hand back, realizing she had cut herself on one of the thorny stems.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, inspecting the small but painful wound. Unable to find a tissue or anything to staunch the blood, she quickly made her way to the basement bathroom, her heart racing not just from the injury but from the anxiety of facing her colleagues afterward.
Once inside the bathroom, she turned on the tap and held her hand under the cool water, watching as the red liquid swirled down the drain. Her thoughts raced. Why was Mulder sending her flowers? Was it an apology? She couldn't help but feel that there was more to it, especially given Fowley's presence.
As she cleaned her hand, she tried to push thoughts of Mulder and Fowley aside, focusing instead on the sting of her cut. The pain was a welcome distraction, a physical reminder that she was still grounded, still here, despite the emotional turmoil swirling around her. After washing off the blood and applying a bit of paper towel to the cut, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever awaited her back in the office.
Fowley was sitting at the small table, rifling through some papers when a loud thud echoed from the bathroom. Her head snapped up, instantly alert. "Are you okay, Scully?" she called out, her voice laced with a hint of concern that felt oddly out of place.
When she received no response, Fowley stood up and hurried over to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, she was met with a scene that sent her heart racing. Scully was sprawled on the floor, her face pale and her eyes closed, as if she had collapsed while washing her hands.
"Shit," Fowley muttered under her breath as she bent down to check Scully's vitals. She placed two fingers on Scully's wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but it was weak and thready. Panic surged through her as she quickly assessed the situation. "Come on, Scully. Wake up!" she urged, shaking her shoulder gently.
With no response, Fowley knew she had to act fast. She bolted back to the office, her mind racing. "We need help! Agent Scully is down!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls as she reached for the phone.
As she dialed for assistance, her mind flickered with worry. She couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was happening to Scully was more serious than a simple fainting spell. The tension in the air from the past few days weighed heavily on her, and Fowley couldn't help but feel a surge of guilt for the role she might have played in it.
"Please, hurry," she urged the dispatcher, her heart pounding in her chest. After hanging up, she rushed back to the bathroom, kneeling beside Scully and monitoring her breathing. "Hang in there, Scully. Help is on the way," she whispered, hoping that somehow her words would reach the unconscious agent.
When the medical team arrived, Diana quickly led them from the elevator down the narrow corridor to the bathroom. Her heart raced as she recounted the events, hoping to piece together what had happened.
"I swear she was just here," Diana insisted, urgency coloring her voice. "She cut herself on the flowers on Agent Mulder's desk, then went to the bathroom. I heard a thud and found her unconscious on the floor."
As they entered the bathroom, Mulder and Skinner appeared at the door, breathless and alert. "What flowers?" Mulder asked, confusion evident on his face as he pointed to his now empty desk.
Diana furrowed her brow, glancing back at the floor where Scully had lain just moments before. "I didn't imagine that. She was right there—on the floor, passed out."
Skinner stepped forward, scanning the area for any signs of Scully. "If she had gotten up by herself, we would have bumped into her. There are only so many ways in and out of here," he pointed out, concern etched on his face.
Diana nodded, anxiety creeping into her voice. "I can't understand it. She was fine when I saw her last. Maybe she—"
"Maybe she went to get some water or something," Mulder interjected, though the worry in his tone suggested he didn't believe his own words. He moved further into the bathroom, looking around as if Scully might magically appear.
Diana felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "No, I don't think that's it. She was in distress before. I shouldn't have left her alone."
Skinner's eyes narrowed as he took in the situation. "Let's split up. We need to find her before anything else happens."
Mulder nodded, urgency taking over. "I'll check the break room," he said, already moving back toward the office area.
As Diana and Skinner exchanged glances, both aware of the growing sense of dread, they took off in different directions. With each passing second, the fear that something was terribly wrong gnawed at them all.
Mulder's heart raced as he turned to Skinner, confusion etched on his face. "How could she just disappear? The paramedics should have found her!"
Skinner shook his head, frustration evident in his posture. "We need to check the CCTV footage and every exit in this building. There must be something we're missing."
They hurried to Mulder's office, where the tension hung thick in the air. Mulder began replaying the footage in his mind, trying to remember every detail of Scully's movements that day. He felt an overwhelming sense of dread and helplessness gnawing at him.
"I'll check the supply room," Skinner said, turning to leave. "You stay here and see if you can piece anything together."
As Skinner stepped out, Mulder sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair. The weight of Scully's absence pressed down on him. He needed to find her—something was terribly wrong.
Just then, a sudden sharp pain hit the back of his head, and before he could react, darkness closed in around him. He crumpled forward, the last thought in his mind was of Scully and the danger she was in.