The three knocks on her door that late in the evening told Scully it was Mulder. She exhaled, setting her rosary aside, fingers lingering on the smooth beads for just a second longer before she stood and crossed the room. The hallway light spilled in as she opened the door.
Mulder was standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, eyes flickering over her face, then lower. Scully suddenly registered that she was already in her pajamas, a well-worn pair and her robe loosely knotted at the waist. The thought of how casual, how vulnerable she looked in that moment made her shift on her feet.
"Is it too late?" he asked, his voice quiet, rough with the edges of whatever was weighing on him that night.
She shook her head. "What's going on?"
"The case…" He started, then paused, his expression shifting with sudden awareness. "Sorry, I didn't even ask—how was your doctor's appointment?"
Scully tightened her jaw, a habitual response. It wasn't a lie when she answered, "He said I was fine." She met his gaze, daring him to press further.
Mulder hesitated, something flickering in his eyes, before he relented. "The case," he continued, his voice lowering. "Only people close to death could see the next victim." A beat. His brow furrowed. "And if one of us—"
She didn't let him finish. The words alone carved through her, a sharp reminder of something she kept locked away. Scully swallowed down the knot in her throat, straightened her shoulders. "I'll get ready and meet you at the crime site."
Mulder barely got his thanks in before she stepped back and closed the door between them. He stood there for a moment, staring at the wooden barrier, hearing only the faint rustle of movement inside. Then he sighed and turned away, his mind already spiraling through what he hadn't said out loud.
Mulder's voice cut through the silence, sharper than he intended. "Why can't you be honest with me?"
He saw the impact immediately. Scully's face barely changed, but he knew her well enough to recognize the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly. He had hit his mark, but instead of feeling vindicated, it crushed him. Hurting her was never his intention.
His voice softened. "I know what you're afraid of. I am afraid of the same thing."
She looked at him then, and he knew his words had reached her. But instead of breaking down the wall between them, they only seemed to reinforce it.
"The doctor said I am fine," she said, her voice steady, though her eyes told a different story.
Mulder searched her face, wanting to believe her, needing to believe her. But the weight in his chest told him otherwise. "I hope that's the truth," he murmured.
Scully blinked rapidly, her control slipping for just a moment. "I'm going home," she said, voice thick with unspoken emotion. And then she turned, walking away before he could say anything else.
Mulder exhaled sharply and leaned back against the wall behind him, staring at the ceiling as he tried to steady himself. He took a few deep breaths, the sting of their conversation settling in. Maybe he had been out of line, maybe he had pushed too hard. But he couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time.
Mulder decided to follow Scully. He couldn't just leave it like this, couldn't let her go without trying one more time. He pushed off the wall and made his way outside.
When he stepped into the parking lot, he expected to see her taillights disappearing into the night. But her car was still there. And she was still inside, sitting in the driver's seat, her head tilted slightly downward.
Then he saw it—her shoulders shaking.
Mulder stopped in his tracks, his stomach twisting at the sight. He had seen Scully upset before, seen her angry, seen her afraid. But this—this was different. This was her breaking down in the one place she thought no one would see. And that meant something.
He knew how important it was for Scully to keep her composure, especially in front of him. He had never fully understood why she guarded herself so fiercely, why she refused to let him witness these moments of raw emotion. Normally, he would pretend he hadn't seen it, allow her that privacy.
But not tonight.
This was different.
Carefully, he stepped forward, approaching her car with slow, careful movements, as if afraid she might disappear if he startled her. He had no idea what he was going to say. He just knew he couldn't let her sit there alone.
Mulder lightly knocked on the driver's side window.
Scully looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, her face wet with tears she couldn't seem to stop. As soon as she saw him, she hastily brushed them away, her breath shuddering as she tried to compose herself.
Mulder felt a flicker of relief when she reached for the door handle. But her fingers fumbled, too shaken to get it open on the first try. Without hesitation, he stepped in and opened the door from the outside, crouching down in front of her.
"Oh, Scully," he said softly, the ache in his voice unmistakable. "I didn't mean to…"
Scully cut him off, her voice raw as the emotions she had been holding back finally burst out of her. "You've already given up on me."
Mulder opened his mouth to protest, to tell her that wasn't true, that he could never—
But Scully shook her head, her breath hitching as she forced herself to say the words that had been gnawing at her insides. "You asked me to come here because you think I'm dying. And only dying people can see the next victim." Her voice broke. "And I did."
As bizarre and uncomfortable as his position was, Mulder didn't hesitate. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, holding her as she let out a sob against his shoulder. He could feel her shaking, her fists clenching into the fabric of his coat.
"I have not given up on you," he whispered against her hair. "I have not given up on you."
He kept repeating it, over and over, willing her to believe it, to hold onto it. Because if she gave up, if she truly believed that he had already let her go—then none of this would mean anything.
Scully sniffled against his chest, her breath uneven. Then, with a quiet, almost broken voice, she whispered, "One of us has to believe it. Because science… I will die."
Mulder stilled. He didn't know what to say. Believing in aliens, in ghosts, in things no one else could see—that was easy. But in miracles…
That was something else entirely.
Then, after a pause, he found his voice again. "I believe we'll find you a cure. As a scientist, you can believe that too. We'll dig up all the experts on this type of cancer, and I'll drag you to each and every one of them until we find one who can get rid of this tumor."
Scully pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. There was doubt there, pain, but also something softer—something that told him she wanted to believe him.
She nodded, just barely. A small, hesitant movement.
Mulder gave her a half-smile, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Come on. Let me take you home."
She shook her head.
Scully: "I can take myself home."
Mulder exhaled slowly, pressing his lips together. He didn't agree with her—didn't want to leave her like this—but he understood. She needed this space, this moment to reclaim some sense of control.
Mulder: "Just… call me when you get home. So I know you made it safely."
Scully looked at him, something unreadable in her eyes, then nodded—small, but enough.
He lingered for a second, as if searching for something else to say, but there was nothing that wouldn't feel like too much or not enough. So he stepped back, watching as she gripped the steering wheel, grounding herself.
With a final glance, he turned and walked away, the sound of her engine starting up following him into the night.
Scully's name lit up his phone screen just after dusk. Mulder had just gotten back from a grocery run, arms full of frozen dinners and more orange juice than any one person needed. He fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it.
"Scully?" he answered, the tension in his voice impossible to miss.
"Hi," she said. Her voice was quiet but steady, familiar in a way that made something tight in his chest loosen.
He hadn't heard from her in days. Not since she'd insisted on driving herself home from the hospital. Not since the doctors had finally said the word remission, and she'd accepted it with the same guarded grace that she accepted everything else — stoically, with a nod, like it had cost her something to even hope.
"I wasn't sure if you'd—" he began, but stopped himself. "I'm glad you called."
There was a pause on her end, just long enough to make him wonder if she was going to hang up.
"I need you to meet me," she said finally. "Outside town. That old overlook near the state line."
Mulder blinked. "Are you okay? Do you need something?"
"No," she said. "I just… I need you to come."
He was already reaching for his keys. "I'll be there in twenty."
The overlook was mostly deserted when Mulder pulled in, the sky above just beginning to shift from deep blue to velvety black. A few stars blinked through, faint and scattered. His headlights swept over the tree line, then landed on her.
Scully stood near the edge of the gravel lot, bundled in her coat, a knit hat pulled low over her ears. A folded blanket was tucked under one arm, and beside her sat a picnic basket and a slim telescope bag resting against the bench.
Mulder parked and stepped out, squinting in the dark. "Am I interrupting a date with Galileo?"
A small smile tugged at her mouth. "You're right on time, actually."
He approached, glancing at the basket and then the telescope. "Should I be concerned that you brought food and optics but not backup?"
She rolled her eyes lightly. "No backup needed. You'll do just fine."
"Flattering," he said, eyebrows raised. "But I don't recall astronomy being in the job description."
Scully bent to grab the telescope, nodding for him to take the basket. "Tonight's a bit of a rare event," she said as they began walking toward the trailhead at the edge of the woods. "Unusual stellar activity—multiple meteor streams converging, some planetary alignment. According to the experts, we should be able to see it perfectly from here. Clear sky, high elevation."
Mulder looked over at her as they made their way through the trees, their boots crunching on the frost-laced path. "And you figured I'd be the only person weird enough to come stargazing with you on short notice?"
She shrugged. "You're the only person I knew who wouldn't ask why until we were already halfway here."
Mulder chuckled. "I'm honored."
They reached a small clearing nestled between tall pines, the sky above wide open and pulsing with early starlight. The cold air was sharp in their lungs, but not bitter. Mulder set the basket down and turned slowly in place, taking in the view.
"This is actually… pretty perfect," he admitted.
Scully was already unpacking the telescope, hands moving with practiced ease. "I used to come here during med school," she said softly. "When I needed to think. Or not think."
Mulder opened the basket, finding a thermos and a pair of mismatched mugs nestled between sandwiches and some kind of crumbly shortbread cookies. He let out a quiet laugh. "You brought snacks?"
"I brought provisions," she corrected. "You get whiny when you're hungry."
He held up a hand. "Fair."
As she adjusted the telescope's tripod, the first streak of light shot across the sky. Mulder glanced up, eyes widening. "Did you see that?"
Scully smiled faintly. "That's just the start."
They worked in quiet rhythm—her setting up, him spreading the blanket over a patch of dry ground. When she finally stepped back from the telescope, she motioned for him to take a look.
Mulder leaned in, peered through the lens. The night opened up—constellations, points of light layered like silver dust on velvet. And then—movement. A burst of brilliance cut across the frame like a blade.
"Whoa," he murmured.
Scully crouched beside him, watching his expression more than the sky. "Impressive, right?"
"Okay," he admitted, sitting back on his heels. "You were right to drag me out here."
She leaned back on her hands, looking up. "I've been waiting weeks to feel like I could breathe again. This seemed like a good night for it."
Mulder didn't say anything right away. Instead, he lay down beside her, hands folded beneath his head, eyes on the stars.
They sat like that for a while, sharing silence and starlight, the forest humming quietly around them.
Then, softly: "Thanks for calling me," he said.
Scully turned her head toward him. "I didn't want to see it alone."
The activity continued for some time, streaks of light crossing the sky in rhythmic intervals. Mulder was starting to lose track of the time, his gaze occasionally drifting from the telescope to the dark trees around them, then back to Scully, who seemed entirely focused on the constellations above.
Despite the blanket, the warmth of the thermos, and the layers of clothing, Mulder couldn't help but notice that Scully was shivering. Her breath puffed out in tiny white clouds, and her shoulders had drawn in closer to her body. He saw her hands, though they were tucked into her coat sleeves, clenched slightly, her fingers cold even with the gloves on.
He hesitated for a moment, then leaned toward her. "Scully," he said softly, his concern breaking through the quiet of the night. "We need to go. You'll catch your death."
The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately winced, mentally cringing at the unfortunate phrasing. His heart gave a little lurch, knowing the irony hadn't escaped either of them. He glanced at her quickly, the silence hanging between them like a suspended breath.
Scully blinked, then let out a soft chuckle, her breath shuddering slightly in the cold. "Thanks for the dramatic touch, Mulder," she teased. "But I'm fine."
He shot her a wry smile, shaking his head. "I'm serious, Scully. It's cold enough out here for frostbite. You will catch a cold, and I'm not going to be responsible for that."
Scully gave a dismissive wave of her hand but didn't stand up. "I'm not ready to go yet. It's a once-in-a-lifetime thing."
Mulder's gaze softened as he looked at her, the way her lips were pulled tight in that familiar, stubborn line, the way her breath came in visible puffs. He could tell she was trying to push through it, but it was clear she was getting colder, more uncomfortable. His voice softened with the weight of his concern.
"Come on, Scully." He reached out then, pulling her gently into his arms. "If you're not going to leave, then at least let me help you stay warm."
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to his for a moment, the vulnerability in them so fleeting he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. But then, she nodded. Without saying a word, she leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. Mulder wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest, offering the warmth he'd wished he could have given her sooner.
Scully, in return, grabbed the edge of the blanket and peeled it of the ground, pulling it around Mulder and herself.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The stars above, the quiet night around them, and the steady rise and fall of their breathing filled the space. The chilly air that had seemed to seep into everything before now felt like a distant thing.
Scully's shivers began to slow as she nestled further into his embrace, and Mulder found himself holding her a little tighter, feeling the weight of the moment. He was acutely aware of how much he cared for her, how much he'd always cared for her, in ways that had never fully been expressed.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice low as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.
She let out a slow breath, a slight smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm fine now."
Mulder chuckled softly, pressing his cheek to her hair. "Good. But if you catch a cold and end up sneezing all over our office, I'll be holding you responsible."
Scully pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. "I'll make sure to only sneeze on you, Mulder. You deserve that much."
He laughed softly, the sound breaking the lingering tension in the air. "I'll take it. As long as you're warm."
The night stretched on in silence, the occasional meteor streaking across the sky, neither of them in any hurry to leave. In the end, it was the cold that drove them back to the car, but for now, Mulder wasn't sure he'd ever felt more at peace with Scully than he did in that moment, surrounded by stars, warmth, and quiet understanding.
Mulder reluctantly helped Scully to her feet as the night air grew even colder. The stars above had faded slightly, hidden behind a veil of clouds now drifting in from the west. Together, they packed up the telescope, folding the blanket, and gathered the remnants of their makeshift stargazing kit. The forest, once alive with the hum of nocturnal creatures, now felt eerily still in the quiet aftermath of their shared moment.
They walked slowly back to the car, their footsteps crunching softly against the frost-laden earth. Scully's arm brushed against his, and Mulder caught a glimpse of the faintest smile on her lips, something more relaxed than what he'd seen in the past months. It was as if, in that quiet clearing under the stars, they had left behind some of the weight they had both been carrying for far too long.
When they reached her car, Scully stopped, turning to face him. There was a vulnerability in her eyes that Mulder wasn't used to seeing—so much more than the usual calm reserve she wore like armor. But here, in the soft light from the headlights, she allowed herself to be open.
"Mulder," she said, her voice quieter now, but steady, "I want to thank you."
He frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. "What for?"
"For everything," she said, the words careful, measured. She hesitated before continuing. "For being there when I didn't want you to be. For not giving up on me when I—when I couldn't even accept that I needed help."
Mulder's chest tightened at her words, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Scully wasn't finished yet.
"I know it wasn't easy. You were just trying to help me, trying to make sure I was okay, and I… I didn't make it easy for you." Her voice faltered a little, but she steadied herself quickly. "I want you to know how much I appreciate you, Mulder. How much I needed you. Even when I couldn't say it."
He looked at her for a moment, her words settling in, deeper than he expected. She had been so closed off during that time—so sure of her own strength that she had pushed everyone away, including him. And yet, here she was now, a softer, quieter version of the woman he had known for so long. A version that was willing to acknowledge how much they meant to each other.
Mulder swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, a lump of emotion he didn't know how to dislodge. "Scully," he started, then stopped, shaking his head a little. "I didn't do anything that anyone wouldn't have done."
She shook her head gently, her eyes unwavering. "You did more than that. You stayed. You kept me grounded when I wanted to float away. You never gave up on me. And I couldn't have done it without you."
The silence that followed was deep, profound, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It felt like the words had been said, and now, they only had to exist in the space between them. Mulder, for the first time in what felt like ages, didn't know what to say. But somehow, that didn't matter.
He reached out, resting his hand briefly on her shoulder. "You don't have to thank me, Scully," he said quietly. "I'm always going to be here. Whether you want me to be or not."
Scully smiled softly, her eyes glistening in the low light, and nodded. "I know."
She stepped toward the car, her hand resting on the door handle. Mulder lingered for a moment, watching her, the silence comfortable in its own way. There was no more fear of what the future would bring, no more distance between them. Whatever came next, they'd face it together.
Before she climbed into the driver's seat, she turned to look at him one last time.
"Goodnight, Mulder," she said, her voice full of quiet warmth.
"Goodnight, Scully," he replied.
And with that, she pulled the door shut, the engine starting softly in the cold night air. Mulder watched her car pull away, the taillights disappearing into the darkness. For a moment, he stood there, feeling the weight of the past months lift just a little.
But most of all, he felt something new—a tentative hope. A belief that, somehow, things between them had started to heal.