Scully had barely gotten through her second cup of coffee when she heard the familiar knock at her door. It wasn't their usual urgent, coded tap—just an easy, unhurried rhythm. She glanced at the clock. 11:45 a.m.
She sighed, setting her mug down. She knew who it was.
Opening the door, she found Mulder standing there, but not in his usual work attire. Instead of a suit, he wore well-worn jeans and a thick, dark sweater that looked both soft and warm. His hair was slightly tousled, and the casual look made him seem younger, more at ease. She blinked, caught off guard. He looked... handsome. Relaxed. Like someone who belonged to a normal life.
He, on the other hand, took one look at her oversized sweater and pajama pants and felt a quiet pang of concern. Scully was always put together, even on her days off. Seeing her like this—still in sleepwear at almost noon—told him more than her usual deflections ever could.
"You're not working today, Mulder," she said, crossing her arms.
"And neither are you," he countered smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "But judging by your wardrobe choices, I'd say you had no plans of leaving the house."
"Maybe I wanted a quiet day," she said, watching as he placed a brown paper bag and two coffee cups on her counter.
Mulder made a noncommittal noise, glancing at her again. She looked... cute. Comfortable. But that wasn't the point. "I figured you'd say that. That's why I've planned something better. You, me, lunch. And before you say no, I brought offerings." He nudged one of the coffee cups toward her.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Mulder, you don't have to—"
"I know," he said, his voice softer. "But I want to. You've been carrying that last case around with you, and I don't like seeing you like this. You need a real day off."
She hesitated. Mulder wasn't always great at subtlety, but this... this was different. She could see it in his face—he was worried about her. And maybe he was right to be.
"Where are we going?" she asked finally.
He smirked. "That's classified."
She shook her head, but her lips twitched in something close to a smile. "Fine. Give me twenty minutes."
Mulder's smirk softened into something warmer. "Take thirty. I want you to be impressed."
As she turned toward her bedroom, she realized the weight she'd been carrying felt just a little bit lighter.
Scully had no idea where Mulder was taking her, but she knew two things for certain: he was enjoying the mystery, and whatever it was, it wasn't going to be normal.
They drove in comfortable silence, the winter sun casting pale gold through the windshield. Mulder, in his jeans and soft sweater, seemed unusually at ease. Scully, now dressed in a simple but put-together outfit, glanced at him as he hummed to himself.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going, or am I supposed to just blindly follow you into the unknown?" she asked dryly.
Mulder grinned. "Scully, if I had a dime for every time you've blindly followed me into the unknown—"
She rolled her eyes but let the corner of her mouth twitch up.
A few minutes later, Mulder pulled up to a small, tucked-away restaurant with a rustic wooden sign. It wasn't anything fancy, but it had a charm to it—warm light glowing through the windows, the kind of place where people lingered over their meals.
They stepped inside, and Scully immediately noticed something odd. There was a section in the back where people were hurling ceramic plates into a reinforced corner, the sound of shattering porcelain filling the air. Some people laughed as they threw, others looked intense—focused. One woman wiped tears from her eyes before launching a dish with surprising force.
Scully turned slowly to Mulder. "What... is this?"
Mulder, looking way too pleased with himself, handed their coats to the hostess. "This, Scully, is the perfect combination of food and catharsis. You eat, you drink, and when you're done—" He mimed a throwing motion. "You deal with your emotions in the most therapeutic way possible."
She arched a skeptical eyebrow. "By throwing plates?"
"By throwing plates."
Scully sighed. "Mulder, this is ridiculous."
"Is it, though?" He gave her a knowing look. "Because after that last case, I have a feeling you could stand to break a few things."
She wanted to argue, but the words didn't come. Maybe it was ridiculous. But maybe Mulder also knew exactly what she needed before she did.
They ordered lunch—simple comfort food, warm and satisfying. Scully found herself relaxing more than she expected, listening to Mulder ramble about some half-baked theory while the occasional crash echoed through the restaurant.
When they finished eating, a waiter came by with a stack of plates and gestured toward the designated area.
"Would you like to give it a try?" he asked.
Scully hesitated, glancing at Mulder. He didn't push her. He just sat back, watching her with an unreadable expression.
Finally, she stood, took a plate, and walked to the throwing area.
She held it in her hands, feeling the weight of it.
Then she thought about the last case. The victim they couldn't save. The things she'd seen. The helplessness that sat heavy in her chest.
She exhaled sharply—and threw.
The plate shattered against the wall, fragments scattering. The sound was sharp, loud, final.
And satisfying.
She stared at the broken pieces, then slowly turned back to Mulder.
"...Okay, that did feel kind of good."
Mulder grinned. "Told you."
Scully picked up another plate. This time, she didn't hesitate.
Scully had to admit it—throwing plates had helped. More than she'd expected. There was something freeing about the destruction, about putting all the frustration and helplessness into one simple motion and watching it shatter.
Now, as she and Mulder walked back to his car, she felt lighter than she had in days.
"Alright," she said, stretching her hands into the sleeves of her coat. "You were right. I needed that."
Mulder flashed her a satisfied smirk as he unlocked the car. "You know, you saying those words—it's like music to my ears."
Scully rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. She assumed he was taking her home now, that their little outing was over. But as they drove past the turn for her apartment, she glanced over at him.
"Mulder… where are we going?"
"You'll see," he said casually.
Scully sighed, leaning back into her seat. "Do you ever just do the normal thing?"
Mulder grinned. "Normal's overrated."
A few minutes later, he pulled up to a small museum tucked away on a quiet street. A banner outside read: National Museum of Health and Medicine – Bone Exhibit Now Open!
Scully blinked at the sign, then turned to Mulder, arching an eyebrow.
"A bone museum?"
Mulder shrugged, his expression deliberately neutral. "I thought it might be something you'd find interesting."
She studied him for a moment, something warm and fond settling in her chest. He didn't elaborate, didn't try to sell her on it. But she could tell—this wasn't just some random choice. He'd picked this for her.
And that meant more than she wanted to admit.
Inside, the museum was quiet, the kind of place where people spoke in hushed voices. The exhibit featured everything from ancient fossils to modern forensic reconstructions, each display a puzzle waiting to be solved.
Scully fell into step beside Mulder, and before she knew it, she was talking. About the way bones could tell a story. About fractures and healing, about trauma and pathology. She traced the fine lines of a skull fracture on display, explaining what might have caused it. Mulder listened, asking questions—not to challenge, but to hear more.
He didn't tell her the real reason he'd brought her here.
That he'd noticed how much she came alive when she got to explain the science behind things. That after days of seeing her weighed down by their last case, he wanted to remind her of the part of herself that found answers, that solved mysteries without all the horror attached.
That he simply liked listening to her.
But as Scully continued speaking, something unexpected happened.
Other visitors, drawn by her calm authority and effortless knowledge, started gathering around them. At first, it was just one or two people lingering nearby, but soon a small crowd had formed.
A woman whispered to her husband, "I think she's a guide."
An older man leaned in closer as Scully discussed how certain fractures indicated defensive wounds. A teenager pulled out their phone, recording as she pointed out the telltale signs of malnutrition in a set of ancient remains.
Mulder crossed his arms, barely hiding his amusement as he watched people nod along, captivated. He leaned toward Scully and murmured, "I think you've been promoted."
Scully glanced up, finally noticing the crowd. She blinked, then let out a soft, breathy laugh. "Oh, God."
The actual museum guide—an overwhelmed-looking young woman in a staff polo—hovered nearby but made no attempt to intervene. If anything, she seemed relieved.
Scully cleared her throat. "Uh—I don't actually work here."
Someone in the crowd chuckled. Another voice said, "Well, you should. That was fascinating."
Mulder smirked. "See, Scully? You missed your true calling."
She shot him a look, but there was no irritation behind it—just quiet amusement. And something else. Something lighter than she'd felt in weeks.
As the crowd dispersed, Mulder tilted his head at her. "Feel better?"
Scully exhaled, shaking her head. "Yeah. I think I do."
Mulder just nodded. "Good."
And somehow, he knew—she'd be okay.
After the unexpected success of Scully's impromptu museum tour, they stepped outside for a quiet walk around the block. The air was crisp, the late afternoon sky painted in soft winter hues. They didn't talk much, but the silence was easy, comfortable.
Mulder kept his hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing at Scully. She looked more like herself—shoulders looser, expression lighter. He could still see the weight of their last case lingering in her eyes, but it wasn't as heavy as before.
A short drive later they reached her building, dusk had settled. Mulder walked her to her door, hesitating just slightly as she turned to face him.
Scully contemplated something—he could see it in the way her fingers toyed with the keys in her hand. For a brief moment, he thought she might invite him in. Instead, she stepped closer, standing on the tips of her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you, Mulder," she murmured. "For today."
He blinked. He knew he was blushing, but there was nothing he could do about it. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool, but the pleased, slightly stunned expression on his face probably gave him away.
His plan had worked.
As Scully pulled back, he met her gaze and let a small smile tug at his lips.
"And tomorrow," he said, his tone teasing, "we go alien hunting again."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a quiet laugh.
Mulder took a step back, hands still in his pockets, before turning to leave. As she watched him go, Scully found herself smiling—just a little—as she unlocked her door.
As Mulder walked back to his car, hands still tucked in his pockets, he felt the ghost of Scully's kiss lingering on his cheek. He wasn't sure if the warmth he felt was from that or from the fact that—for the first time in days—he'd seen her genuinely relax.
He had planned this. The restaurant, the museum. He'd thought it through, considered what might help her process everything. But he hadn't been sure if she'd actually go along with it. Scully didn't do catharsis the way he did. She held things in, compartmentalized, moved forward without ever really looking back.
That was why today had mattered.
He hadn't known if she'd laugh at the idea of throwing plates or roll her eyes at the museum, but she'd surprised him. She'd let herself enjoy it. And that meant more to him than he was ready to admit.
Mulder had never done anything like this for a partner before.
The thought stopped him for a moment.
In the early days, when Scully had first been assigned to the X-Files, he'd assumed she wouldn't last. That she'd be like the others—agents who cycled in and out, tolerating his work but never really understanding it. Never understanding him.
But she had.
She'd challenged him, yes. Argued with him. Debunked him at every turn. But she had stayed. Through abductions and conspiracies, through unspeakable horrors and near-death experiences, she had stayed.
And now? Now she was the most important person in his life.
He exhaled, shaking his head at himself as he reached his car.
Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe it was just friendship. Partnership. Loyalty built over years of trust.
Or maybe—
He stopped that thought before it could go too far.
As he unlocked the door, he allowed himself one last glance up at her apartment window, the light glowing softly behind the curtains.
Then he smiled to himself, climbed into the car, and drove off into the night.
Back in her apartment, Scully let out a slow breath and threw herself onto the couch, sinking into the cushions. She stared up at the ceiling, the quiet hum of the city outside the only sound in the room.
She felt… better. Lighter. And that surprised her.
She hadn't been sure about today. When Mulder had shown up, all casual in jeans and a sweater, she'd assumed he was just being Mulder—dragging her into something ridiculous to distract her from the weight of their last case. She hadn't expected it to work.
But it had.
The restaurant, the museum, even just the walk afterward—it had pulled her out of her own head in a way she hadn't realized she needed.
She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face.
She almost wished she'd asked him in.
But no—this was better. She needed this quiet moment to go over the day in her mind, to let herself process not just what they'd done, but what it meant.
Mulder had planned this. For her. He hadn't just dragged her along on one of his usual whims. He had thought about what she needed, about what might actually help. And in his own unconventional, slightly ridiculous way, he had given her exactly that.
She smiled a little, shaking her head.
Mulder had a way of pushing her outside of her comfort zone—of getting her to try things she never would have considered on her own. Sometimes it frustrated her. Sometimes it made her roll her eyes.
And sometimes… it was exactly what she needed.
She glanced at her phone on the table, debating texting him. Just a simple thank you.
Instead, she sighed, stretched out on the couch, and let herself close her eyes.
Tomorrow, she'd be back to chasing shadows, to piecing together the unexplainable. But for tonight, she could just be.
And maybe—just maybe—she'd let Mulder pull her into something unexpected again.