High Street was dark.
The darkness was usual for 3 AM. Oxford mornings were darker than most, foggy and wet, blurring the streetlights in a haze.
That's why Mulder noticed the apartment in the first place. In the near-pitch black of Wednesday morning, its lit window was like a beacon. He stopped mid-run, brown hair clinging to his forehead, his sweat cold in the October chill, and stared up at it from across the street.
The second-floor apartment to the left of the Grand Cafe was pale pink on the outside, with white Ionic capitals, a Bacchus peering over them. A circular blue plaque was affixed to the left of the large window. From this angle, illuminated by the overhead light, the entire room inside the apartment was crystal clear, all the way to the packed bookshelves on the opposite wall.
There was nobody in the room.
That was the second thing Mulder noticed. Why the light, if nobody was making use of it?
The cold crept down his neck and into his grey Lincoln College sweatshirt as he stood there. Shivering, Mulder picked up his pace again. He pushed through the fog of High Street, [something something, but seeing only the window.
"I saw something strange on my run last night."
"By last night do you mean this morning?" Scully said without looking up from her biology textbook. She sat across from him at Blackwell's Bookshop, two empty coffee cups sitting on the small table between them.
"You think you know me so well."
"Two am?"
"Three."
She raised an eyebrow, short red hair falling in her face. "I was close."
"Anyway, I was on High Street, coming from Magdalen, and I saw a light on in one of those apartments above the shops. You know, the ones the university uses for student housing now."
"A student had a light on in the middle of the night?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "That is strange."
"There was nobody in the room."
"That's good, or you'd be considered a stalker." She flipped a page. "Or a Peeping Tom."
Mulder shook his head. "Look, if it was a student reading by the light of a lamp, I'd agree with you. But the overhead light was turned on. When's the last time you turned on the overhead lights in your apartment?"
Scully's blue eyes finally looked up. She shut her textbook. "Okay, never. Only the lamps."
"Exactly. And the room is completely empty? Something isn't right. Call it my Spidey senses."
"Mulder, did you have Spider-Man fantasies as a child?"
"It was probably a ghost."
Scully groaned. "There's no such thing as —"
"Oxford is ground zero for ghost stories." Mulder leaned forward in his seat. "The librarian in the Bodleian, the Phantom Cavalier. The Exam Schools are right next door, there's been rumors of ghosts there, too. Maybe one came over for a spook. Practicing for Halloween."
Scully leaned in as well. "So did your academic ghost kidnap this person or just knock on the door and say 'trick or treat'?"
"Please, Scully. Ghosts aren't corporeal. They can't knock."
"My mistake." She rolled her eyes.
Mulder was used to these kinds of reactions. Both his peers and his professors in the Psychology department had learned to expect his out-of-the-box opinions, and Mulder in turn expected their side glances and dismissive scoffs.
Scully was different, though. Oh, she never believed him — nobody did — but unlike everybody else, he desperately wanted her to. She respected him enough to say to his face when she disagreed. She respected him enough to argue with him, to dedicate any use of her stunning brain to disproving his theories. But she never crossed the line and joined him on his side. It was more than a little frustrating.
"There was one of those blue plaques on the building. You know, the ones recognizing significant people or places. Maybe it'll give us a clue as to who the ghost is."
Scully groaned again. "Us? When did you drag me into this, Sherlock?"
"I believe it was one rainy September night, Doctor Watson."
"Yes, I regret that rainy September night often," she teased.
Mulder's eyebrows went up. "Do you remember the day we met?"
Scully looked away and packed up her books. "It's always raining here, Mulder."
"Come on. Let's go look at the plaque." He gave her a dramatic pouty face and begging hands.
She held his gaze impassively for several seconds, then stood up. "Fine. If only to shut you up."
They walked to the entrance of the bookstore together. "Admit it, Scully. You love the sound of my voice spouting ridiculous theories in your ear." He held the door open for her.
"Right, Mulder."
The window on High Street was an eight-minute walk away. Autumn had fully gripped the city: the streets were perpetually dark with rain, the infrequent tree was a shocking yellowy-orange, and every person they passed had taken their wool coats and hats out of storage. Even at midday, the sky was an overcast gray.
Mulder and Scully crossed High Street and approached the apartment. Mulder gazed up at the iron balcony and the window, but Scully walked a few steps ahead.
"Mulder," she said. "Look at this."
He reached her in two long strides. Her chin tilted up to point at the blue plaque.
SARAH COOPER
1848-1932
First made
Oxford Marmalade
here in 1874
"Do you think your ghost enjoys marmalade on his breakfast toast?" Scully asked, barely contained laughter in her voice.
Mulder stared at the plaque. "Marmalade! Did you just murder this whole mystery, Scully?"
"With the power of sight and common sense?"
"Yes," he said, a bit of his pout returning, but no longer a joke. She patted his upper arm over his black coat.
"Maybe it's not a ghost, but there's something wrong here, Scully. Did you notice the light's still on?"
He pulled her to the edge of the sidewalk and they looked up. He was right: the overhead light still shone inside the window, though in the daylight, it was easy to miss.
"Why would someone have their light on in the middle of the afternoon?" he said.
"Maybe they died and their ghost left the light on."
Mulder made a face at her.
Scully touched his arm again. "I've got a lecture in 20. I'll see you later?"
"Yeah," he said, gazing up at the window again. Scully sighed and dropped her hand. She'd walked three steps when he called out. "Hey, Scully!"
She turned back to him. "Yes?"
He stuck his hands in pockets and gazed at her for a moment. "Having dinner at Lincoln?"
"Yes."
"Save me a place?"
She smiled a little. "Alright."
Her text alert went off just as Professor March dismissed them. The once-quiet lecture hall rumbled to life as students gathered their belongings and chatted with their neighbors. Scully reached into her leather tote and fished her phone out.
MULDER: Free tonight?
She felt the unbidden swoop of butterflies in her stomach and pushed them down immediately.
Maybe, why?
Her text alert chimed again.
MULDER: 6:15. I'll pick you up outside your place.
A hopeful flap in her navel. What is this, Mulder?
MULDER: Trust me.
She sent off a simple "Ok" and the butterflies beat against her ribs.
"A ghost tour?" Scully whispered fiercely into Mulder's shoulder, pulling the audio guide out of her ear. They brought up the tail of a group of American tourists, all following a local guide down a lamplit side street. At six-thirty, Oxford had fallen into a deep darkness.
"Your Oxford ghost knowledge was severely lacking," he whispered back. "I had to rectify the situation."
She pulled her long coat tighter around her baby blue cashmere sweater and loose black trousers. "You know, most people go to the movies."
"Most people are boring." Mulder draped an arm around her shoulders, towering over her despite her heeled boots. "Come on, Scully. You learn about medieval history and you get dinner after."
She looked up at him. "What about medieval science? Are we ignoring that, yet again?"
"You know, medieval scientists were a lot more open to extreme possibilities," he said. "Belief in an intelligently created natural world was the framework for the discipline. And medieval alchemy, a precursor to chemistry, combined science with mysticism and philosophy."
"Oh yeah, talk science to me, Mulder," Scully said.
Mulder's eyes widened and she laughed, popping the earbud back in to listen to the guide. He left his arm around her as they walked on.
The tour ended back at the Oxford Ghost Tour offices on High Street. As Scully returned their audio guides, Mulder nudged her and pointed across the street.
The window, again. She gave him an exasperated glare.
"Mulder, did you plan this?"
He put up his hands. "Swear to God."
"You don't believe in God," she reminded him.
"True, but I don't really disbelieve in him either — or her, as the case may be." Mulder winked. "Look at the window."
The light was still on. The room was empty.
They exchanged looks. The Americans had dispersed and the tour guide was locking up the offices.
"When he finishes," she murmured, glancing at the guide. He nodded.
Once the tour guide had turned the corner, they crossed the empty street to the narrow red door that led up to the second floor apartments. Mulder tried it and it swung open.
"Not criminals so far," Scully said. They went in and climbed the narrow staircase. At the top was a wooden door with a brass 83 on it.
He knocked on the door. Ten, then twenty seconds of silence. Mulder reached for the doorknob and tried it. Locked.
Scully's hand went to her hair. "Here." She took two hairpins out and handed them to him, red strands falling in her face. Mulder stared at her. "What? You were about to ask."
"Did you know I could pick locks?" He took the pins and began to bend them out of (or into) shape.
"I haven't forgotten the story about Professor Fell's office."
"That brain of yours, it's as dangerous as it is beautiful." He held the pins out to her. "You want to do the honors?"
"Absolutely not," Scully said. "I need plausible deniability."
He clutched his heart over his navy cotton sweater. "You'd let me rot in jail alone?"
"I'd visit. Bring you Cadbury's. Eventually break you out."
"My hero." He grinned. "But you forgot the sunflower seeds."
A minute of bending and patient picking later, the lock clicked. Mulder pushed the door open wide and they both peeked in.
It was the same room they could see from the street, brightly lit by an overhead light fixture. Packed bookshelves lined one wall. A green armchair sat by the window, facing a small coffee table completely covered in papers and books. Clothes, more papers, and takeout containers lay all over the floor, on the back of the armchair, and on the kitchenette counter. A closed door at the opposite end of the room likely led to the bedroom.
"Hello?" Mulder called. No answer.
He stepped into the room, avoiding the items on the ground with difficulty. Scully followed. As they entered, the lights flickered and went out, plunging them in darkness.
"Must be your ghost, Mulder."
A beam shone in Mulder's face, blinding him for a moment. Scully held up her phone's flashlight. Mulder took out his own phone and copied her.
Scully pointed her light at a stack of unopened mail on the kitchen counter.
"Apparently an Ava Green lives here," she said.
Mulder looked over at her. "Ava Green? She's a Psychology student at Corpus Christi."
"You know her?"
"Nah, we just had a seminar together once. She's in the psychology, philosophy, and linguistics track."
"Quite the combination." Scully picked her way over a mound of laundry to reach the desk.
"Seems like she was having a hard time with it, though."
"Why do you say that?"
Mulder motioned at the dark disaster scene around them. "Hasn't done laundry, orders takeout, doesn't throw out the trash. Take it from me. This is not the room of someone who's not struggling."
"Have some experience with that, then?"
He laughed a little. "Nah, that was my first year, before I met you."
"Are those two things related?"
"You mean do you keep me sane? Yes."
Scully's gaze softened. "Not sane enough," she teased, turning back to the desk. "Mulder. Come look at this."
He walked over to her. Scully pointed her flashlight at a piece of paper. "Train ticket to London."
"Left two days ago," he added.
"It's the middle of the week, why would she run off to London?"
"Like I said. Struggling."
"Yes, but how do we know the cause?"
Mulder reached past her, but he didn't touch the ticket. Instead, he picked up a packet of stapled pages and flipped through it. "Easy guess." He turned the packet around: a syllabus for "Philosophy and The Psychology of Power," with a list of due dates printed on it. "She had a big paper due yesterday."
"She left town the day before a paper was due?"
"Mhm."
Scully looked up at him. "Sounds like she did have a breakdown." She sighed and backed up a few steps, taking in the whole scene. "I don't know, Mulder. We shouldn't make hasty assumptions here."
"But you've gotta admit, there's something going on. Look, let's ask" — he looked down at the syllabus — "Professor Harden how she's been doing. At least we'll have some idea if she's okay."
Scully considered him for a moment. "Okay. Now let's go. I was promised dinner."
Mulder followed her to the door. "The Bear?"
"Read my mind."
"I just know what you like."
"You didn't have to come with me if you didn't want to," Mulder said to Scully outside Professor Harden's lecture hall.
"You dragged me into this. Now I'm invested."
The door opened and students poured out, pushing between them. Mulder smiled at her over the passing heads. "My powers of persuasion are just that strong."
"Your powers of something."
They entered the emptying hall and went down the stairs to the front of the hall, where Professor Harden stood behind the desk. He was a middle-aged man, fit for his age and sporting a crisp three-piece suit; the kind of man Mulder's mother would've called a silver fox. He glanced up from collecting his notes. "Can I help you?" His voice was a smooth, deep baritone.
"Hello, Professor. I'm Fox Mulder, and this is Dana Scully." Mulder gestured between them. "You know Ava Green, right?"
"I'm Ava's thesis advisor," he said. "And she's taking my class."
"She had a paper due for you a couple days ago, I think, and I was wondering if she handed it in."
Harden packed his papers into an open briefcase. "She didn't, actually."
"Has she been struggling with your class?" Scully asked.
"Yes, but Ava has been struggling in general," Harden said. "She just went through a breakup. It seems it was affecting her classwork and her thesis research." He shut his briefcase. "Why do you ask?"
Mulder shrugged. "She told me she was struggling with that paper, and I haven't seen her for a few days, so I was worried." He sensed Scully's blue eyes on him at the lie.
"You're not in my class, are you, Mr. Mulder?"
"No, sir, but I'm a Psychology student, so we know each other."
"Well, like I said, I didn't receive Ava's paper." Harden nodded at them. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get to an appointment."
He left through a side door. Mulder looked at Scully.
"Breakup," she said. "Do you know who she was dating?"
Mulder took out his phone. "What is social media for?"
Harry Broomfield was short and lanky, his Vulcan Salute t-shirt hanging off his frame. From his frown, he didn't seem happy to be interrupted in the middle of Brandon Sanderson's White Sand.
"Ava and I talked last week." He flipped a page, not looking up at the pair. "I thought we could be friends. But all that did was remind me why things ended."
"When did you break up?" Mulder asked.
"Almost a month ago now."
"Why, if you don't mind me asking?" Scully said.
Harry grunted. "What's it to you?"
Scully and Mulder exchanged a look.
Harry shut the graphic novel with a loud snap. "Look, Ava used to be cool. We'd go to cons together, we'd party, we had a good time. But she started acting weird. She'd be gone on the weekends, on weeknights. I'd ask her where she'd been and she acted like she couldn't remember. She was totally out of it most of the time. Just wasn't Ava anymore." He shook his head. "So we broke up."
"Do you have her number? I need to get in touch with her." Mulder shrugged. "Class stuff."
Harry pulled his phone out and shoved it at Mulder. Scully had a pen ready, and Mulder quickly jotted Ava's number onto his hand.
"If you do see her, give her this." Harry extracted a wispy white scarf from his messenger bag and offered it to them. "She forgot it last week."
Scully nodded and took the scarf. He gave them one last glare before disappearing behind his book again.
"And Ava's still not answering her phone." Mulder leaned far back in his desk chair and propped his sneakers on the desk: a bad habit leftover from middle school. Scully sat down on the edge of Mulder's bed. The sky outside the only window was a dusky blue.
"What did you think of Harry? He's no prince, but I don't think he's the type to do something to his girlfriend. He already broke up with her."
"Did he?" Mulder swung back upright and planted his feet on the grey carpet.
"What do you mean?"
"When a guy breaks up with a girl, he says I broke up with her. But that's not what he said."
Scully thought for a moment. "He said, we broke up."
"Exactly." Mulder stood up, pacing in the limited floor space in front of the bed. "Bet you anything she broke up with him. It hurt his pride. Maybe he's bitter about it and he did something to Ava."
"Oxford will be happy to know your psychology degree has helped you understand romantic relationships, Mulder." Scully smirked up at him. He spread his arms wide.
"Those who can't do…"
Feeling her face warm, Scully cleared her throat. "It's a fine theory, but very vague without any sort of proof."
"What if we could read her text messages with Harry?"
"Despite its highly invasive nature, that would certainly help. But Mulder, her phone wasn't at her place."
"No, it wasn't, was it." Mulder grinned.
She fixed him with her sternest look. "What did you do?"
Mulder opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a small iPad. "Swiped this when we were leaving her apartment."
"Mulder! You stole someone's property?"
"I'll give it back!"
"I really am going to be visiting you in jail one day," she groaned. "But how does an iPad help us?"
"What kind of phone did Harry have?"
"Um. An iPhone."
Mulder sat down and flipped open the iPad case. The lockscreen showed Ava with her arms around two younger girls at the previous month's fall festival, a gold bracelet shining on her right wrist. "Chances are, Ava did, too, especially if she has another, less significant device in the same ecosystem. And if two people text from iPhones…"
"The texts show up on their iPads and Apple computers." Scully jumped up and peered at the screen over Mulder's shoulder. He swiped and the iPad Home screen came into view.
"A lot of people don't put passwords on their iPads," Mulder said. He turned to Scully, her red bob brushing his nose. "Did you change shampoos?"
Now she was definitely blushing. "I — yes — can we just —?"
"Right, right." He tapped on the Messages widget. "And there it is."
Scully swiped up through several months of blue text bubbles between Ava and Harry, then slowly scrolled back down. They were silent for a few minutes as they read. "Her attitude towards this guy certainly changed in the last few months. Shorter messages. Less emotion. No emojis."
"Aren't you morally opposed to emojis?"
"I am, but if you ever stopped using them, I'd call the police and report a kidnapping."
Mulder closed one eye and stuck out his tongue in imitation of his favorite one and Scully laughed before turning back to the screen.
"These read like two completely different people. Not to take his side, but I can see why Harry was frustrated. She's vague, confusing, or just downright robotic. Can't seem to answer a single question. All she talks about is her thesis and her class with Professor Harden."
Mulder swiped back to the Home screen. "Well, her work must be saved here somewhere. Maybe it'll tell us why she was so obsessed with it."
Scully settled herself on his bed and took out her notebook and biology textbook. "Maybe she left town to do research?"
"Professor Harden didn't seem to think so." He tapped on the screen. "I think I found one of her drafts. Give me a bit and I'll report back."
They fell into a companionable silence. Outside the window, the dusk deepened into a midnight blue night.
Mulder set the warm pizza box on his desk and stepped over to the bed. Scully had fallen asleep over his comforter, textbook still open next to her. He drank her in for a moment; it was rare that he got to stare at her face without her noticing (and demanding to know what was wrong).
Nothing was wrong, not while he was looking at her.
He'd found himself doing it more often. Looking at her. Staring. He'd always been interested in what she had to say, and god knew he'd found her attractive from the moment he'd laid eyes on her — he wasn't blind. But lately things felt different. He just had to take a step.
The question was when. And how. And god how do I not royally screw this up?
He brushed a red tendril off her forehead. "Scully, wake up."
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Ordered pizza." He opened the cardboard box. "Veggie?"
"Thanks," she said, sitting up. He passed her a slice.
"I finished reading Ava Green's thesis," he said through a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.
"And?"
Mulder flipped open the iPad. "It's called 'Objects of Power: Historical and Modern Uses of Amulets To Influence and Control.'"
"What does that entail?"
"She's exploring the history of jewelry and wearable objects as devices for mind control and influence, applying some of B.F. Skinner's work with behaviorism and operant conditioning, and discussing how these myths might present in modern-day, symbolically and, potentially, literally."
"Heavy." Scully tucked her legs underneath her.
"It's good," he said. "It also feels very…personal, if you ask me."
"What do you mean?"
"Just the way she writes about it. For something based in history and myth, it doesn't feel entirely…detached."
Scully chewed her crust for a moment. "Do you think she was experiencing this kind of control from someone in her life?"
"Captain Kirk back there? Doubt it. But someone else…absolutely. Let me read you this bit." The iPad went dark. "Hold on." Mulder clicked the side button, and the lock screen with Ava and her sisters appeared. He paused. "Scully? Do you see what she's wearing?"
Scully peered over at the screen he was showing her. "A bracelet." She gave him one of her Looks. "Mulder."
"What?"
"You don't seriously think —"
"Why not? These myths go back to Ancient Egypt, Greece — some hypnosis is done with objects as well. Maybe Ava was being controlled by someone through that bracelet." He scrolled through Ava's other photos. "She's only been wearing it for a couple months. When she starts to sound strange in her texts. Isn't that what you said?"
Scully let out a sigh. "I did. There's no question her behavior changed. But even if she was under 'mind control,' to use the pop psychology term, I'm sure there's a plausible explanation that doesn't involve a random bracelet."
"Like what?"
"Suggestibility could be caused by any number of drugs. Anticholinergics or benzodiazepines. Most likely scopolamine. Harry mentioned confusion, apparent memory loss, and if someone was giving it to her, it would make her easily compliant. Probably administered orally, maybe in a drink, though possibly through inhalation as well — what?" Scully demanded, looking up at Mulder.
"What?"
Scully raised an eyebrow. "You were staring."
Mulder shrugged, hoping it came off as casual. "I like hearing you spout theories, too."
She granted him a small smile. "Unfortunately, there's no way to confirm that unless we test Ava's blood. Which we…" She drifted off.
"What?"
She reached into her bag and took out Ava's scarf. "It's a long shot, but if Ava was receiving scopolamine through contact or inhalation, maybe there are traces of it on this." She brought the white fabric to her nose. "I definitely smell something, but I won't know what it is until I test it."
"Can you run those tests in the chemistry lab?"
"I think so."
"You're amazing." Mulder knelt on the carpet before her, bowed his head, and offered her another pizza slice. Scully snorted, taking the slice from him. "In the meantime, I'll try to find out who could be controlling her. Through methods ordinary or…extraordinary."
"Science or magical mind control bracelets." Scully bit into her pizza. "I wonder which it'll be."
"You wound me, Scully."
-
"Professor?" Mulder knocked once on the open door, poking his head in. Harden sat at a handsome walnut desk, reading something on his computer screen. He looked up and waved Mulder in.
"Mr…Mulder, was it?"
"Yes, sir." Mulder stepped inside.
"How can I help you. Again." He typed a few words on his keyboard. There was a seat opposite him, but Harden did not invite Mulder to sit.
"Sorry to bother you, sir. I was just reading Ava's thesis — she'd asked me to take a look — and I had a question about her research. If that's alright. As a psychology major, I'm fascinated by the interdisciplinary approaches you teach."
Harden raised an eyebrow, as if sensing that Mulder was laying it on a bit thick. "What's your question?"
"Well, her work applies a personal lens to a more general sphere of control and influence. What…or who…inspired it?"
Harden smiled humorlessly. "Ava would probably be a better person to ask, Mr. Mulder." He resumed typing.
"Yes, sir." Mulder's eyes drifted to Harden's hands.
On the right hand, middle finger, he wore a gold ring.
Mulder stepped closer. It had engravings. Circles —
"Can I help you with anything else, Mr. Mulder?" Harden's voice was harder now. Mulder's eyes shot up.
"Uh, no, sir. Thanks for indulging my curiosity."
Harden nodded, but his mouth was a hard, straight line as Mulder backed away and out the door.
"He's the one, Scully."
They were in Christ Church's dining hall for the informal 6:20 dinner sitting, facing each other at the end of one of the long tables. Mulder still hadn't touched his roast and potatoes, and he kept tapping his fork against his plate.
"I saw the marks on his ring, they were the same marks as the bracelet she's wearing in the photo. And he couldn't wait to get me out of there."
Scully pushed her salad around her plate. "What did the marks look like?"
"Ovals, with a line through them." Mulder pulled a receipt and a pen from his pocket and sketched it out for her.
"Could be a logo. They might just be the same brand."
"You've gotta admit, there's something going on between them," Mulder said, leaning forward. "He called her Ava, like he knew her well. It's likely that as she's the victim of his control, he's come to view her in a personal way. That can happen."
"We have no proof that they were anything other than advisor and student, Mulder. It just seems like a stretch to connect them through their jewelry." Scully sighed. "Look, I'm going to test the scarf after dinner. Let me see what I find and we can go from there."
"I saw that light in her apartment on Wednesday morning. I asked around. No one's seen her since Monday." Mulder tapped his fork faster against the porcelain. "She could be in danger and we don't even know who's responsible."
"We don't know a lot of things, Mulder." Scully reached over and grasped his hand, pausing his movements. "I'm worried, too, but we need more information."
He stood up and grabbed his coat. "Text me as soon as you have the results, okay?"
"Mulder, where —"
"I won't be long," he promised before disappearing out the double tall doors.
Scully sighed and dropped her fork onto her salad. She wouldn't be finishing her dinner either.
"I extracted the chemical and applied Ehrlich's reagent to some of it," Scully said into her phone. "If it was scopolamine it would've turned purple, which it didn't, but maybe there's not enough of the drug to cause a change. I'm going to do a TLC to confirm." Scully paused. "Call me when you can."
She took her finger off of the record button and her voice note sent to Mulder. Scully pulled on a new pair of latex gloves and coated a small plate with silica gel. She took the untested extraction, transferred a drop to the plate, and ran it through a solvent.
"The patterns don't match scopolamine," she muttered.
The lab door opened. Monica, another pre-med student, came in.
"Hey, Monica."
"Hi, Dana." Monica smiled. "Just left my keys here earlier." She walked to the corner and picked up a bunch of keys on a Trinity College keychain. "What are you up to?"
"Just testing something. I thought it was scopolamine, but the pattern doesn't look right."
Monica came over and looked at the plate. "Definitely not. If it was scopolamine, the pattern would be simpler."
"That's what I thought," Scully said. "This has too many spots in too many places. It looks more like perfume. That tends to have complex patterns." She sighed. "Thanks."
Monica waved a hand. "I did nothing. I'll see you in class."
"Yeah, see you."
-
He still had the makeshift pick and tension wrench made from Scully's hairpins. Professor Harden's office was dark. The only light was a sliver of moon in the window, illuminating the walnut desk and crowded bookshelves. Mulder crept over to the desk and opened the top drawer.
"Looking for something?"
Light flooded the room, temporarily blinding him. Mulder squinted as the room came back into focus. Harden filled the doorway, a cold look in his grey eyes.
"Get away from my desk."
Mulder slowly walked around to the other side of the desk. Harden strode in and took his place behind it.
"I should've known your questions about Ava had nothing to do with concern."
"They had a lot to do with concern," Mulder said. "No one's seen her for days."
"But that's not what really interests you, is it? I've heard about you, you know. From other professors. Always full of batshit ideas and theories." Harden laughed, but it was not kind. "So what is it this time?"
Mulder held his steel gaze. "Were you controlling Ava through her bracelet?"
Harden snorted. "The stories were not wrong." He smirked at Mulder. "You really believe all that hogwash?"
"You have a ring with the same markings. Ava seemed to think —"
"Ava, like me, knew that true control doesn't come from magic or witchcraft," he cut in. "It comes from something much more basal, in fact."
"Mulder, it wasn't scopolamine on the scarf. It's most likely some expensive perfume. Where are you?"
Scully sent the voice note and walked another circle in Mulder's bedroom. She worried about him when he got this way. Obsessive.
Then again, obsessive didn't always mean wrong. When it came to Mulder, his gut often turned out to be right.
"Do you think she was experiencing this kind of control from someone in her life?"
"Absolutely."
Scully's gaze fell onto Ava's iPad. She picked it up and opened Messages again, scanning the conversations there: Mom, sister, a girlfriend.
Scully's finger stopped on one thread. No name. Just an unsaved phone number at the top.
She tapped on it.
Whatever emotion had been missing from her conversations with her ex, they were certainly not missing here. No wonder she'd broken up with Harry. She and Mulder hadn't considered a secret affair, but it fit the profile: someone who could change her behavior, who could manipulate and control her, without the need for drugs or amulets.
Scully tapped out the number on her cellphone and pressed Call.
Two rings. Then a man's voice, familiar, deep.
"Hello?"
Scully's hand flew to her mouth, barely muffling her gasp.
"Hello?" Harden said into his cell again, his eyes still on Mulder. He hung up and tossed the phone down. "Forgive me. Where were we?"
"The bracelet. What was it really for?"
Harden laughed. "Trust an American boy to lack taste." He walked around to the front of the large desk. "It's Cartier. A Cartier Love bracelet. Very expensive. Incredibly recognizable. Same collection as this ring." He tapped the band. "Except for one detail. The bracelet's impossible to take off alone. It requires a miniature screwdriver to unscrew the hinge and take it apart. Meanwhile…" He slid the ring off his finger, then back on.
Mulder's eyebrows shot up. "You were in a relationship with her."
Harden's smile was cold.
"What did you do to her? Where is she?"
"Now why would you think I did anything? Poor girl ran away. The work was too much for her. Too demanding. She cracked."
Mulder shook with rage. "I don't believe you. Tell me where she is. Or I'm sure the administration would love to hear all about how you've been having an affair with a student."
"Try it. Your word against mine." Harden stepped towards him. "Me…and an overzealous American boy, trespassing on university property."
Mulder balled his fists but said nothing. Before him was a grown man, charming, brilliant, a full professor at the best university in the world, with twenty years of experience and numerous accolades.
"And even ignoring your blatant criminal activity, there's your tendency to spout ridiculous conspiracy theories."
And he was just…Fox Mulder.
Harden's twisted smile widened. "Who would believe you?"
"I would."
Her voice was always a balm, but right now, it felt like his damn salvation. Mulder whirled around. Scully stood in the doorframe, red hair mussed from running the whole way there, clutching Ava's iPad. He wanted to fall at her feet in worship.
"And so will the administration, when they read this email Ava wrote," she continued, holding up the iPad. "Where she attached all the evidence of your relationship."
Harden sneered. "She hasn't sent any email."
"Not yet. It was in a draft in her Gmail." Scully tapped on the screen. "And…Sent." She looked up at Harden, blue eyes steady. "Oops."
Mulder could've kissed her.
Bright disco lights danced from the floor to the ceiling of the large room, pulsing in time with the music. Devils, angels, movie characters, and one mustachioed Edgar Allan Poe with a stuffed raven attached to her shoulder roamed the room, plastic cups in hand. Scully made her way through the crowd, seeing all of them but searching for only one. She wore green cargo pants, a cropped black long-sleeve, and black combat boots, a holster wrapped around her hips.
"Scully!"
She turned. Mulder headed towards her. He'd tucked a pair of jeans into tall black boots and thrown a black vest over a cream henley.
"Hey, nerfherder."
"You came!" He kissed her cheek. "We both have guns!" Mulder took his blaster out of the holster on his waist and pointed it at her playfully.
Scully held up the toy gun she'd spray-painted orange and rigged with three wires. "Actually, it's a grappling hook. But I can still take you."
"I don't doubt it." He put his blaster down and took in her outfit. "I like the choice. It's badass. I would've suggested Daphne from Scooby-Doo."
"Cause she solves mysteries."
"Mhm. Or maybe Ginger Spice."
"Wanted to see me in a mini Union Jack, Mulder?"
He had the decency to blush. "No, I mean — this is — it suits you — although I wouldn't be opposed —"
She laughed and he relaxed.
"You want a drink?"
"I think we deserve one after the last few days," she said. He led her to the bar, one hand on her lower back.
"Speaking of," Mulder said as he opened two bottles of beer. "I talked to Ava earlier."
"You did? How is she?"
"She's fine now. Local police picked her up at Harden's country cottage. She didn't have cell service and it's miles from the nearest town. When she told him she was ending things with him, he left her there." Mulder handed Scully one of the beers and clinked the neck with his own.
"My god."
"Mhm. He'd convinced her to drop out and never send that email to the university."
"And her apartment?"
"When he got back, he staged it to look like she'd had a breakdown and left town. So that when she dropped out, that was the excuse. But…he forgot to turn off the light."
Scully shook her head. "I guess you were right about him."
"What do you mean? Harden wasn't doing any mind control with bracelets."
"No, but he was controlling her. Power dynamics and emotional manipulation are strong psychological forces. The bracelet was just a physical representation of his control, like Ava's thesis posed. So, ultimately…you were right."
He gave her a surprised smile. "Maybe."
"What happened to Harden?"
"Oh, he's uber fired." Mulder drew his thumb across his throat. "Ava's email and what he admitted to me were enough to send him packing. Now she can finish her degree in peace…with a different advisor."
"That's great."
"It's all thanks to you," Mulder said, stepping closer and grabbing her hand.
"Me?" Scully shook her head. "Mulder, you saw that light on, you insisted something was going on, and you didn't stop until you made sure she was okay."
"Yeah, but you figured it out in the end. Followed your nose." Scully groaned at that joke. He grinned for a moment, but sobered almost immediately. "If you hadn't come into that office when you did and stood up for me…Harden was right. Who would've believed me?"
Scully squeezed his hand. "I would. Every time. Even when I think your ideas are a little crazy…I believe in you."
He gazed down at her in awe and the butterflies in her gut flocked in full-force. "Yeah. You do." He dropped her hand, but only to rummage in his knapsack. "I got you something. As a thank you." He took out a small jar and presented it to her.
Scully let out a huge laugh. "Marmalade?"
"An Oxford original. Did you know Sarah Cooper made the first batch on High Street in 1874, where it eventually became a breakfast staple?"
"You're ridiculous," she said, still laughing.
"And you're incredible." He was staring at her again, but this time, she didn't ask him why.
She couldn't tell if he reached for her waist or if she stepped into his arms first — maybe both at once, like shiny, quivering magnets — and then his other hand was on her cheek and hers were around his neck — and he pressed his lips to hers — and all the devils and angels and heroes and poets disappeared, and it was just them.
It felt as natural as breathing.
After a few long seconds, or nine minutes, or 11 years, they broke apart.
"Hey, Scully?"
"Yes?"
He shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. "I remember the exact day we met, too."