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“Ok, give me a call when he’s fully booked in and we’ll put a rush on those DNA results,” Mulder says to the retreating backs of DC’s finest as they haul Eddie van Blundht off to jail. He closes what he can of Scully’s door, pulling over the plant stand to rest in front as a feeble excuse for a makeshift form of security.
“Um, I already spoke with your landlord and uh, I told him I would take care of the cost of a new door installation,” scratching the back of his neck as he talks, he keeps his gaze low as he circles to the front of the couch where his partner rests, subtly rocking back and forth. “I asked him to do whatever he could to see that it’s replaced quickly. I’m hoping for tomorrow, but I don’t know, maybe I should help grease the wheels a little, I have an extra twenty in my wallet. Um, in the meantime, I have the plant keeping the door closed at least, but if you don’t mind I would like to stay...Scully?”
He comes to a complete stop, both in word and foot, to see his partner with her head cast down but her eyes wet and open wide, body rocking to and fro, her breathing quick and shallow. Both knees bounce endlessly and he can see the skin of her crossed arms pucker up around the crescents of her nails as she digs them deep.
“Scully? Scully, are you alright?” he asks as he bends down to catch her eyes, but she looks right through him.
“I can’t… I can’t…” she gasps, one hand coming up to grasp her chest. “Can’t...breathe…”
Springing into action, he jumps up and runs to her kitchen. “Scully, I think you’re having a panic attack, just hold on. Breathe!” He opens the cabinet to grab a cup and his rush nearly sends down a cascade of glasses and mugs, but he manages to shove them back onto the shelf and slams the door shut. He fills the cup with water and opens her freezer to grab the ice packs he knows she keeps in there for him and his myriad of accidents.
Sliding on his knees in front of her, he puts the cup on the coffee table behind him and reaches to place the ice pack on the back of her neck, his free hand pushing her hair behind her ear. He can see she is sweating and trembling. “Scully, you’re ok. You’re here in your apartment. It’s just you and me.”
“I can’t… I can’t…”
“Yes you can,” he assures her, his voice as calm as he can manage. “C’mon, look at me, Scully, slow down. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”
Her eyes dance wildly about the room, tear tracks now evident on her face.
“Scully,” he repeats. “ Scully... Dana. Dana, look at me.”
Like a secret password for her attention, her gaze finally lands on her partner’s eyes.
“Good. Good, Dana. Ok, breathe in through your nose and out through you...yes, good! That’s it, just try to slow it down, Dana. Inhale like you're sniffing a flower and exhale like you’re blowing out a candle. Good.”
Her heart is pounding so hard he can see the skin of her neck pulse to the rapid beat, but she seems to gradually be calming. Her color begins to come back and her breathing slows back down to a normal, if not slightly heightened pace.
“Tell me five things you see in this room.”
Her eyes flit away from him as she takes in her surroundings. “Fireplace. Wine bottle. Picture of Melissa. Light switch. You.”
“Good.” He rewards her with the cup of water. “Don’t gulp it all down at once, make sure you just sip it. You ok?”
She nods and he gets off his knees to sit next to her on the couch. She leans forward to deposit the cup and the ice pack on the coffee table and sinks back down into the cushions, her shoulders dropping and her body letting go of the tension.
“Who woulda thought I’d be using your technique for getting me through motel nightmares, huh?” He swipes his thumb under her eyes to wipe her tears. “See, I do listen.”
“God,” she exhales, “Thank you, Mulder. I’m sorry.”
“What the hell do you have to be sorry for? I’m just glad I was here to help. There’s no--- shit, Scully.”
“What? Oh, goddamnit,” she curses as she notices the tell-tale warm trickle sliding down her top lip. She jumps up and runs to the bathroom to staunch the flow with tissues.
Mulder rises and follows her down the hall. He turns the corner into her bathroom and sees her leaning back against the sink, a wad of tissues pressed firmly to her nose. “Should we call your doctor?”
“No, no, this is just because I got worked up, it’s fine,” she reassures him. “It’s already stopping.”
He nods and watches her dispose of the bloody tissues and turn to wash her hands. He speaks to her in the mirror.
“So, I don’t know if you heard me earlier, but I don’t like the idea of you staying here alone while your door is busted, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay, or we could go to my apartment, or I can take you to a hotel, or…”
“It’s ok, Mulder. Stay.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “I uh, just let me get a shower real quick. Make yourself at home.”
He pulls the bathroom door shut and makes his way to her living room, looking around not knowing what to do to occupy himself or his thoughts. What the hell is going on with this night? He comes to in a locked cage of some kind, and when he finally manages to escape his first thought is “what the fuck is that thing going to do as me?” He couldn’t shake the growing pit in his stomach as he demanded his taxi speed through D.C. to get to her apartment. He nearly swallowed his own tongue when he saw his own car in the parking lot. He had lept from the taxi, throwing an obscene amount of cash at the cabbie, not wanting to waste the time to count. When he got to her floor and could hear the soft notes of Al Green seeping from her closed door, he didn’t think. He just raised his foot and kicked his way in and saw… shit he didn’t know what he saw.
She...Me… he thinks to himself, taking in the evidence of the evening. He gathers up the two wine glasses and the empty bottle and brings them to her kitchen, quickly washing, drying, and storing the glasses out of sight and tossing the bottle in the garbage. He heads back to the living room to gather up the empty water cup and the melting ice pack. After cleaning what he could, he opens the cabinet where he knows Scully stores her tea and proceeds to make a pot of soothing camomile.
His feet are propped up on her coffee table next to two steaming mugs of tea when she makes her way out from the back of her apartment, her hair tied up in a pink towel and a soft terry cloth robe hanging over her slight, silk pajama-clad frame. She settles next to him on the sofa and he inhales the scent of clean Dove soap and fresh Scully-scent that wafts his way as she reaches for the mugs, handing one to him.
He lifts the remote to turn off the TV, but Scully places her hand over his. “You can leave it. It’s fine.” He nods his head, thumbing down the volume a bit, leaving audible room in case she wants to talk. “Who’s playing?”
“Yankees, Mets. A subway series. Thanks be to the gods of the Major League for blessing us mere mortals with the gift of interleague play.” He tosses a sideways glance her way, but he sees that though she is facing the screen, she is looking more through the television than at it.
“Mulder…” she starts and stops, taking a shaky yet grounding breath. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking.”
“Funny, that’s what I was going to say. Look, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Silence hangs between them for a moment before she responds.
“I’m not,” she whispers, small and quiet. A sob breaks from her lips.
He flicks the television off and turns to wrap her in his arms. He closes his eyes against the sounds of her weeping and he rubs his hands in soft circles along her back when she buries her face into the crook of his neck.
“I would tell you it’s okay, but I know it’s not, Scully,” he whispers into her hair. “But I’m here.”
She sniffs and sits up, wiping her finger through the tears on her cheeks. “I just...Mulder, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this constant sense of-” she pauses, trying to find the word in the space between them. “This sense of violation .”
That word hits him in the face like an open palm. He hates that she feels this way. He hates that she’s right.
“I’ve been taken, my body has had things done to it I still don’t even know what, I’ve been given this, this...this disease and now, to just potentially be used for some freak to--” the rest of the sentence is choked up in the back of her throat. “Especially like this,” she continues, “with wine and firelight and your…”
“What?” he presses.
A moment passes. Then two. Until she looks into his eyes and whispers, “...your face. I thought it was you, Mulder. I wanted it to be you.”
He who always seems to have a response or a remark is rendered speechless. His heart breaks for her. Breaks with hers. All he can do is continue to rub her back as his eyes begin to fill.
“Scully,” he breathes. A tear drops onto his leg and he doesn’t know if it’s from him or from her. He stares at the wet mark on his knee. “I wish it had been me.”
She looks up at him. An entire conversation travels back and forth between their eyes.
“I don’t think I’ve exactly hidden my feelings from you very well, Scully. I’m fairly certain you know exactly how I feel about you.” He catches sight of a corner of her lips pointing northward.
“I know. And honestly, this has been on my mind for a while now. Ever since my diagnosis I have been trying to summon the fortitude to have a night like this with you. My priorities have shifted, Mulder. And I had been trying to figure out how to take the next step, but now… God, I’m just so angry. He stole this from us, Mulder. He stole this night from us, and that to me, is the worst of his offenses.”
“I’m angry that he had the balls to do what I have wanted to do for four years now. Why couldn’t I have just told you what you meant to me? And now it’s…” he lets the rest of that sentence hang from a gallows in the silence.
“We still have time, Mulder. I know what you’re scared of and you know I’m scared too.”
“All the more reason for us to quit wasting time,” he says as he leans toward her lips.
She leans softly in his direction too, but stops before they can make contact. “Mulder, I’m sorry. I know what I’ve been saying to you, but tonight…”
“No, you’re right. This isn’t the night. You deserve more. You deserve a real night of wine and conversation and honesty, Scully.”
She smiles for the first time since Mulder broke down her door hours earlier. “Mulder, I know I said you could stay, but I think I’d rather be alone tonight. I just need to process. A lot has happened tonight.”
He chuffs a small laugh, “Yeah, no kidding. At least let me pay for a hotel room for you. You know, with your door all--” he motions behind them.
“No, I got it, Mulder. I want to take care of it. To have some control. But I do promise you, I’m not staying here tonight.”
“Ok, Scully. I can understand that.” He rises to his feet and straightens his tie, making his way over to the plant stand that is barely holding the door closed.
“Mulder,” she calls out from the couch. He stops and turns. “Thank you, for everything you did tonight. And everything you said.”
“I meant every word. Including taking this night back. You better prepare yourself, Scully. You’ve never been properly wooed until you’ve been wooed by Fox Mulder.” With a wink, he turns and leaves her.
She shudders for not the first time this evening, but this time it's not from fear or disgust, but from anticipation.