Chapter Text
Scully had barely made it out of the office before she felt the tears spill out, rolling down her cheeks with their familiar sting. Through the ringing in her ears, she could vaguely hear him calling after her, a tinge of concern in his voice.
God I’m stupid. She thought.
All he’d done was make some passing remark about what Diana thought they should do in regards to their latest case. Fucking Diana. Diana, who’s tall and brunette and busty. Diana, who he calls every lunch break, with that little smirk playing on his lips. Diana, who’s allowed to call him ‘Fox’.
She kept walking, her head pounding in time with the sharp click of her heels on the wooden floor, until she found her way to the first hiding place she could think of, in front of the mirror in the ladies bathroom, hunched over a cold, grimy porcelain sink.
Pathetic. This is pathetic Dana. Crying over a boy in the bathroom like some lovesick teenager.
She raised a shaky hand, wiping the tears from her face, which had turned a blotchy crimson, only a few shades off her hair.
My god, what’s wrong with me.
She knew, logically, that there was no reason to be this upset by Fowley. It’s not like anything was actually happening between her and Mulder, right? And besides, it wasn’t really any of Scully’s business who Mulder chose to pursue. They were friends. That was all.
So why does it hurt so much?
Occasionally, Scully’s mind wandered whilst they were doing paperwork, or in the car on the way to whatever wild goose chase Mulder had chosen this week. As her eyes drifted over his tall, tanned body, with those pouty lips, and muscular forearms (God, his forearms), her brain ran through all the different scenarios of what could be. She imagined coming home from work together, in the same car, to a house with both their names on the mailbox. She imagined cooking dinner, breakfast, whatever, in a kitchen where his favourite mug lay next to hers on the shelf. She imagined showering together, getting ready for the day together, in a bathroom with both of their toothbrushes above the sink. Scully longed for a sense of togetherness, fantasised of domesticity between the two (among other things, of course).
But that was all it was. A fantasy.
She wouldn’t let herself act upon her desires, too scared of rejection and too scared of the consequences. And this is your punishment Dana. This is what you get for being a coward.
She could almost hear Ahab’s voice in her head.
‘Shit or get off the pot, Starbuck. Make up your mind.’
Well she sure as hell couldn’t take the former option. Not without blatantly disregarding a million FBI protocols, not in the presence of Diana Fowley, not until she miraculously grew a pair of balls.
And so it was decided. Dana Scully was going to move on.