Chapter Text
A bead of sweat forms at Scully’s temple.
It’s barely noon, but her eyes are already beginning to blur. Undoing the top few buttons of her blouse, she slides a palm across her collarbone, feeling the damp skin there. Something’s gotta give , she thinks, as a frustrated sigh escapes her lips. Removing her glasses, she closes her eyes and tries to breathe through the heat and futility of what she’s doing out here.
It’s been 10 days since she arrived in Côte d'Ivoire, and she still isn’t a single step closer to finding a cure for Mulder.
Glancing back at her desk, she takes in the photographs competing for space amongst her books and crumpled notes. Each photo is practically seared into her brain at this point, regardless of the fact that they all depict the same thing: an inexplicable metallic craft covered in thousands of symbols that no one seems to understand . She’s spent hours tracing the curious curves and halted lines of each marking hoping to extract an ounce of understanding. And so far it’s been exactly as useless as expected.
Still, something keeps pulling her back to them.
Even when her days are spent researching alongside some of the most brilliant scientists, archeologists, and engineers she’s ever met, she still finds herself back at this desk morning and night, pouring over the images, trying to find patterns – trying to find anything.
Tugging at her shirt, she fans humid air onto her chest and tells herself that she needs to regain her focus. But that’s easier said than done when the memory of Mulder’s face hangs constantly in her mind. He’d been screaming from a padded cell when she left him, deranged with fear, desperation written in the whites of his eyes. For some reason the neurologists couldn’t explain it. His brain activity was unlike anything they’d ever seen before and devastatingly, they had no idea how to stop it.
In that moment, watching madness take hold of him from the inside out, Scully had stood helplessly at the viewing monitor as her whole world retreated into the dark void of his pupils. And suddenly she’d been bowled over by the realization that this could all so easily disappear.
He could disappear.
Just like that.
It had taken her a few hours to pack. Then, before she’d known it, she was halfway around the world tracking down the origins of a mysterious artifact. After all, it was the artifact that had started it all; the murders, Mulder’s brain activity, everything. If she could find the answers to the artifact, maybe she could find the cure for Mulder’s illness.
Of course, she hadn’t expected her search to lead to a recently discovered spacecraft on the shores of Western Africa. Nor had she expected to stay and study it for two weeks under the security and observation of a government sanctioned operation. But upon arrival, it had become abundantly clear that whatever answers she’d been looking for, they weren’t waiting for her back in D.C. And while days have passed, and she might not have much to show for it, she’s confident that this place – the craft – holds the key. She wouldn’t still be here trying to make sense of this infuriating puzzle if she wasn’t absolutely sure of it.
Still, something’s gotta give , and it better give soon.
She can’t think of what the consequences might be if it doesn’t.
“Dana, are you coming?”
Startled, Scully looks up to see the expectant face of her friend Dr. Amina Ngebe poking through the opening of their tent.
“Hm?”
“The new arrivals are here.”
“New arrivals?”
“The ones I told you about last night,” Amina laughs, rolling her eyes. “I knew you weren’t listening. Come on, everyone’s about to greet them.”
Without giving her much of a choice, Amina vanishes from the tent leaving Scully reluctant and confused. “I was too listening,” she mutters, somewhat annoyed to have to leave her research even for a brief introduction. After all, time is precious and she’s running out of it. Every interruption could make the difference between her next discovery or falling asleep empty-handed. Again.
But Amina’s been a godsend since Scully arrived – not to mention the fact that she’s also the director of the excavation site. At the end of the day, what she says goes. So, Scully swallows her irritation and stands up from her desk, crossing the threshold into the midday sun.
Shielding her eyes, she blinks the bustling encampment into view. There’s sound and movement everywhere as a few dozen researchers emerge from their designated work stations to gather at the edge of camp. Waves of welcoming cheers echo across the crowd near the northern perimeter, and it's there that Scully spots a cloud of dust settling around the wheels of a military jeep.
How strange , she thinks. Even though there haven’t been any new researchers lately, she certainly doesn’t remember provoking this kind of response when she arrived.
Cautiously approaching the crowd, she’s able to identify three passengers from afar — one she recognizes, and two she doesn’t. At the wheel, the familiar face of Dr. Ebo Oduro smiles warmly as he kills the engine. To his right, Scully notices an older man wearing a wide brimmed hat who saunters confidently from the vehicle. His distinguished jawline and booming laugh are hard to miss as he stops to give out charismatic handshakes to those within reach. It’s the kind of confidence that’s presumptive and charming all at once. Shaking her head, Scully bites back a laugh thinking that his whole Indiana Jones getup is a little too on-the-nose.
Then her eyes shift to the third passenger and her smile falters.
Struck by the sight of a woman stepping down from the convoy, Scully stops in her tracks and blinks abruptly. Maybe it’s because she and Amina are the only two women onsite – or maybe it’s because this woman is so objectively beautiful, even at a distance – but Scully feels utterly shocked by the sight of her.
Taking in her sharp stare and careful smile, Scully thinks she has the svelte beauty of someone walking onto a film set. She manages to look effortlessly wind-blown without appearing disheveled, almost as if her blonde hair is supposed to be sweeping across her face like that. And while she’s dressed in an appropriate palette of sensible neutrals and strong shoes, she couldn’t look more out of place in this context – at a remote extraterrestrial excavation site hundreds of miles away from the nearest city.
Still stunned, Scully watches the woman tuck an unruly wave behind her ear while she assesses their surroundings. From her own time at the site, Scully knows that it’s just canvas tents and temporary work shelters for as far as the eye can see all poised around a large metallic object looming on the shore. Any moment now, Scully half expects her to turn around and climb back in the jeep. Surely there must have been a mistake. This woman’s supposed to be somewhere else.
But much to Scully’s surprise, that’s not what happens.
Instead, the woman greets those who step forward to introduce themselves with genuine interest and makes light conversation with Ebo. And while her demeanor is more reserved than her companion’s, it’s obvious from the response of the researchers nearby that her presence is just as captivating – if not more so.
It’s almost as if everyone exists around her in slow motion.
Then something catches in Scully’s middle, twisting her stomach terribly.
“Amina, wait!” she calls, trying to catch up with her superior. Thankfully Amina turns around and waits for Scully to jog closer. “Who did you say these people are?” she asks with a weighted breath as they fall into step. But when no answer comes and Scully clocks Amina’s smug eyebrow, she immediately realizes what she has to do. “Okay, okay, you were right, I wasn’t listening. I don’t know…my thoughts must have been elsewhere when you told me.”
“Oh, were they?”
“Yes,” Scully admits with a self-deprecating laugh as they draw closer to the crowd. Squinting, she looks back at the strangers and feels the ominous pull tighten within her. “Who are they?”
“Dr. Allen Isaacs,” Amina explains through a satisfied grin. “He’s a linguist at Cambridge specializing in ancient texts. One of the most revered experts in his field actually. I have no doubt that he’ll be a great help in deciphering the symbols on the craft.”
“Oh,” Scully nods. “And the woman?”
“He requested a research assistant. I’m sure that must be her.”
“She doesn’t look like a research assistant.”
“Dana–”
“What? You can’t think–”
“And what would you say to those who don’t think you look like a doctor? Or that I don’t look like the director of this excavation site?”
“Amina, I…”
“We should know better than anyone to avoid making those kinds of assumptions.”
Scully stops walking. She feels like shit, frustrated with herself and a bit lightheaded. Amina’s absolutely right. Regardless of Scully’s intrusive thoughts or the sick feeling in her gut, she has no right to judge this person based on appearances alone. Even if Scully finds her presence here bizarre.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says wiping her brow. “Probably need some water.” It’s a pitiful excuse, but it’s the only one she’s got.
“It’s hot today,” Amina responds, placing a hand on her arm. She looks worried, but Scully has a feeling that her concern has more to do with Scully’s obvious lapse in judgment rather than the afternoon possibility of heatstroke. “I have to go make my introductions but I’ll come check on you after.”
“I’ll be fine,” Scully dismisses, embarrassed by her own behavior. “Really.”
“Remember, as scientists, it’s our responsibility to greet every moment with an open mind. Especially out here,” Amina offers with an encouraging smile. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Sure.”
Scully’s eyes follow Amina as she makes her way through the group of dispersing scientists to approach Isaacs and his assistant. Of course they receive her well, smiling politely as she introduces herself. Shaking her hand, Isaacs leans in with a strange sort of familiarity while the woman offers a confident handshake. All in all, they both seem respectful enough, listening attentively to Amina’s overview of the site before they begin their tour.
Perhaps they’re entirely reasonable and intelligent people. Just because they don’t quite look the part, doesn’t mean they won’t be meaningful additions to the team. But it’s not that, is it? It’s their energy, Scully decides, lofty and enigmatic as if their mere proximity might alter the course of whatever comes next while they’re all secluded away in this paradise-hellscape. Looking around, Scully thinks it’s as if everyone else can feel it too. As if some hidden current is suddenly running through the site and they’re all subject to its whim.
Watching them closely, Scully’s so lost in her own thoughts that she barely registers the moment when the tables turn, and she’s being observed as well. It’s only a matter of seconds, a fleeting blink of the eye. But the sheer intensity that Scully feels as the blonde woman’s gaze delves directly into her own is enough to make her stop breathing.
Without warning, Scully feels the tear in her stomach open wider.
Then the stranger's stare vanishes as quickly as it came when she shifts her attention back to Amina. Unphased by their spell of connection, she easily slips back into the flow of conversation, interjecting a thought, a question, or some intriguing observation perhaps.
And just like that, Scully feels like the one who doesn't belong.
Six hours later it’s as if Scully never left her desk. Her findings are just as stagnant and her frustration just as high. And to make matters worse, the uneasy feeling rolling through her has only increased with each dragging minute. If it weren’t for the lantern casting a flickering glow across the walls of her tent, her exhausted mind might be tempted to wonder if it’s morning or night.
Rubbing her eyes, she leans back from her work and stares at the canvas ceiling. She knows she should go to dinner. Even though she still feels queasy, her stomach’s rumbling and she can hear the distant clamor of everyone communing over their evening meal. But for some reason, she hasn’t been able to bring herself to join them.
The invisible tear aches.
God, she’d made such a fool of herself earlier. She’d said things she regrets, and what’s worse is that she can’t stop fixating on the same thoughts now. It’s embarrassing and unlike her. Scully’s never felt threatened by women before…
Well, not without reason , she thinks, her mind immediately conjuring the image of Diana.
But that was completely different.
Diana’s loyalties were questionable at best. Not to mention the fact that she’d had some sort of relationship with Mulder that he’d never bothered to disclose. And she seemed to relish in holding it over Scully, like it was some sort of trump card. Like she’d shared something with Mulder that Scully never would and she didn’t want her to forget it.
He said I was the only one he could trust .
Her eyes slam shut at the memory.
Deep down, where Scully safeguards her self-esteem, she knows it isn’t true. Diana’s assertion that Mulder saw her as the only one he could trust was a load of bullshit then, and it’s a load of bullshit now. She just wishes he were here, and sane enough, to confirm it.
She misses him.
She misses the days when she didn’t have to question where they stood. After six years of working together, she never thought she’d have to question his dedication to her, to their work, and to everything they’d built together. She never thought she’d have to question how well she knew him. But these days, Scully oscillates between thinking that she knows everything there is to know about Mulder and wondering if she’s even scratched the surface. Sure, they’ve spent more time together than with anyone else in their adult lives, but what did it really amount to in the end?
Scully knew that Mulder trusted her with his life. But he had trusted Diana with his heart. Maybe they really did have a connection that was beyond Scully’s grasp. Maybe Diana did know him better, and maybe he trusted her in a way that Scully would never understand.
Maybe Scully never had his trust at all.
“Hey there,” Amina says, coming into the tent and Scully jumps. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she lies, taking off her glasses and trying to appear as if she hadn’t just been circling a drain of toxic thoughts. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“We all have our moments,” Amina says kindly, offering Scully more grace than she probably deserves. “You should come to dinner.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize the time,” she lies again.
“Even the best scientists need to eat. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to meet our new additions.”
Nonchalantly clearing her throat, Scully forces the muscles in her face to form an interested expression. “How’d it go today?” she asks.
“It went well. Isaacs is… enthusiastic,” Amina says, like she might want to choose a different word. “And I’m anxious for you to meet Stella. I think you’ll find her quite impressive.”
“Impressive?”
“Yes, I think you’ll like her.”
“Stella?”
“Yes.”
“What are her qualifications then? To be here, I mean.”
Amina smirks.
“You’re just going to have to ask her yourself.”
“Amina, really?”
“Really,” she says, ushering Scully out of her chair and towards the opening of their tent. “Go on, get away from your desk. Everything will be waiting for you when you get back.” Scully grimaces, trying and failing to smile as she stands up to leave. She makes it a few steps, but when Amina doesn’t follow, she turns around confused.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“I already ate.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, I need to catch up on a few things here before tomorrow. Big day ahead.”
“Bigger than usual?”
“I need to assist Musa with finalizing his report, and I’m giving Issacs and Stella a tour of the craft first thing in the morning.”
Scully’s heart sinks. “You are?” she asks incredulously.
“Dana, you know I don’t make those calls. I don’t even know who does.”
“No, I know,” she assures, looking down at her shoes, unable to keep herself from wondering what the hell would qualify a linguist to access the craft when Scully’s barely been able to get within 20 feet of it. Upon arrival, she’d spent her first week absolutely fuming about it until she realized that no manner of persuasion, not even her FBI clearance, would make a difference. It was clear she’d have to find her answers elsewhere. The only thing that kept her going was the conviction that her time was better spent finding a cure for Mulder.
“If there was anything I could do, you know I would.”
“I know,” Scully agrees quietly with a small nod. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Then she steps out into the night air feeling heavy. Raking a hand through her hair, she turns toward the fiery glow at the center of camp. The lively sparkle of laughter and conversation drifts towards her, and she thinks that everyone seems to be having a lovely evening except for her. And why shouldn’t they? The heat has died down and the night is clear, the moon waxing above them like a watchful guide. For them, this is not life and death. Their entire world doesn’t hang in the balance of tomorrow’s decisions.
A breeze sweeps across the beach, rustling the flaps of the canvas tents and spraying sand over Scully’s boots. Closing her eyes, she lets the smell of salty sea air and smoke fill her lungs with a cleansing breath. There’s nothing left for her to do tonight. She just needs to recenter. She needs to relax.
And she really needs to get out of this fucking mood.
Deciding to shake it off, she starts walking towards the center of camp. It’s a short walk and when she arrives, she quickly takes stock of the researchers eating and socializing around the communal evening fire. Some are sitting on logs strewn across the sand, deep in discussion about their latest theories or anecdotes from home, while others stand and mingle.
Immediately, Scully notices a handful of her peers encircling the newcomers with wide eyes and eager questions, the pulsing current of intrigue beating all around them. Issacs stands at the center basking in the attention. He gestures between himself and his assistant, Stella was her name , smoothly weaving some tale or another and entrancing the small crowd. She fights the urge to scoff at them all, thinking how ridiculous it is that even the greatest minds still manage to fall victim to the shallow charms of a pretty face.
All the better for Scully to eat quickly without being noticed, she decides. Speeding things along, she darts to the meal station and approaches Femi, their local chef in residence. A delightfully mischievous man with kind eyes and a bright smile, he’s been there as long as Scully has. Truthfully, he might be the most brilliant scientist among them given the culinary wonders he can achieve with stews, rice, and plantains. Even if Scully doesn’t always know what she’s eating, she always enjoys it.
“Dr. Scully,” he greets her as she approaches, “It must have been a long day for you. I expected you sooner!”
“I’m so tired, it’s hard to tell if the days are getting longer or shorter,” she admits through a hint of laughter. She wishes it were funnier, she really does.
“I’ve got good news for you then,” he says, bringing a fragrant bowl to her hands. “This is sure to wake you up.”
Looking down at the dish, she notices an array of vegetables in a dark brown sauce that sends her senses tingling. Hesitantly, she asks, “Spicy?”
“Try it,” he assures.
Giving Femi a playful look, she takes a small spoonful and allows the mixture of unfamiliar flavors to hit her palet. “Spicy,” she confirms with a slight cough.
“But good,” he posits with a confident smile.
“Yes, very,” she laughs, feeling the heat spread through her from the inside out. “Thank you.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“I won’t keep you waiting.”
Taking her food, she sets her sights on a deserted log on the far side of the fire. She knows that Amina would be disappointed in her for not being social, but she reasons that she’s simply not at her best right now. Surely tomorrow will be better, she thinks, settling on the log with her stew. She’ll eat a decent meal, sleep, and wake up feeling more like herself. Then when she’s forced to introduce herself to the new additions she won’t have to worry about seeming like such a bitch. Because after all, she needs to find a way to work with these people. Mulder’s fate depends on it.
Her own sanity depends on it.
Glancing up, her eyes find their way back to Issacs and Stella across the fire. She’s speaking now, saying something that makes Isaacs’ face light up with a hint of surprise – or maybe it’s pride. Amina had described her as impressive, and while Scully still doesn’t know anything about her education or professional history, everyone around her certainly seems impressed. It’s obvious that she’s engaging and intentional with her attention as she speaks to her peers. Even through the smoldering haze, Scully can see that she moves with all of the ease and none of the arrogance of her counterpart.
Perhaps Scully’s been too quick to judge. Who’s to say that this woman won’t be an asset to their team? Her beauty, no matter how strange in this context, shouldn’t preclude her from that opportunity. Even if Scully finds it distracting. Immediately, she scolds herself for being so terribly unfeminist when every muscle in her body comes to an abrupt halt, a rush of hot blood spreading up her neck and around her ears.
No. Not again.
Slack-jawed, Scully realizes that for the second time today she’s been caught staring as Stella’s intense gaze shifts focus and lands on her own.
POP!
Sparks fly up from the fire, crackling as they waft into the smoke.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Scully looks down intently at her food, staring at the few ingredients she recognizes – potatoes, carrots, chicken maybe – tethering herself to the only safe thing in reach. She tries to stir it, picking up a bit of potato with her spoon but it falls off and she can’t seem to work her hands. Before she can attempt it again, she accidentally allows herself to look up once more.
When she does, she’s horrified.
Flames of humiliation burn at the base of her skull as Stella’s eyes remain fixed on her own. Her expression is neutral but her stare is scrutinizing, as if assessing whether or not Scully is worthy of looking at her. Without adjusting her gaze, she says something to Issacs, briefly touches his arm, and breaks away from the group. And this must be a nightmare because much to Scully’s dismay, she appears to be heading straight for her.
Quickly shoveling a mouthful of Femi’s food into her mouth, she fights the urge to simply abandon her meal altogether and escape back to her tent. Instead, she moves her eyes from the bowl, to her hands, to the sand beneath her boots, and then up to the fire, praying that she might simply disappear. But before she can will herself to vaporize, a slim pair of trousers enters her unfocused field of vision, a smooth voice asking, “Is anyone sitting here?”
Scully tilts her chin up to find Stella with an unreadable expression standing over her. She’s motioning to the space on the empty log to Scully’s left.
“Oh, um, no.”
“Then would you mind if I join you?” comes her smooth voice again, a British accent warm in her throat and at odds with her cool countenance.
“Of course not,” Scully replies on instinct.
Scooting over to create more room, she cautiously observes Stella settle into the seat next to her. Although she’s been caught staring twice now, it’s impossible for Scully to look away as she gets her first real look at Stella, upclose, her features carved in the flickering shadows of the fire. Flashes of gold and amber flit over her face, illuminating a splay of freckles across her nose. A soft smile forms at her lips and Scully’s gaze slides down to them, studying the way the movement changes their shape.
“It’s extraordinary, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t what?” Scully asks dumbly.
Stella's eyes shift just over Scully’s shoulder. She turns to see the craft a few hundred yards in the distance. Sitting on the shore, waves lap up to its etched surface as if beckoning it back into the sea. Tantalizingly out of reach, the craft is surrounded by armed guards and powerful lights that create an eerie halo around its metallic exterior. From a distance, the combination paints an otherworldly picture for mortal onlookers, evoking the dominion of some ancient monolith, as mysterious as it is impenetrable.
“Yes, it is,” Scully replies with no choice but to agree.
“Makes you wonder.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
At that, Scully turns back to find Stella’s gaze hovering just below her collar bone. Surprised by the intimacy of it, a blush creeps across Scully’s chest as her fingers float towards the spot where her cross necklace sits stoically above her neckline. Regardless of all that she’s seen, she’s never had a moment of doubt about wearing it, but perhaps that’s abnormal. Perhaps Stella’s faith has been thrown into question. Perhaps she’s not as confident as she seems.
Curiously, Scully watches Stella’s brow furrow, something onerous swirling in the depths of her stare. Then she blinks. Raising her eyes to meet Scully’s, a noncommittal smirk forms at the corner of her mouth, and like a trick of light and shadow, the darkness gives way to a seductive shine. “I’m Stella by the way,” she says, extending her hand. Knowing that it’s meant to distract her from whatever she’d just seen, Scully narrows her eyes and scans Stella’s face to see if she can unearth it. But all she finds is a delicate fan of eyelashes sitting prettily along the curve of her sparkling stare.
Unsure what to make of her, Scully bites her lip.
“Scully,” she responds, taking her hand. “Well, Dana actually.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dana.”
“You as well,” Scully replies, mirroring her tone before realizing how flirtatious it sounds. Wait, what? What the hell was that? she thinks, slightly panicked by the echo of it ringing in her ears – the low intonation, the inviting lilt. Scully retracts her hand and reaches for the first thing she can think of. “So you’re a linguist?” she fumbles uncomfortably.
“No,” Stella laughs as if Scully couldn’t have asked a more ridiculous question. “Are you?”
“No,” Scully balks, “I’m – I’m a medical doctor.”
“Doctor?” Stella muses, eyes beaming with genuine interest. “Impressive.”
Out in the field when Scully introduces her credentials, most people look at her with an air of doubt, wondering how a woman, let alone a woman her age, could possibly achieve such a title. They challenge her openly, throwing out snide comments and snickering platitudes. In front of her colleagues, in front of anyone. Misogynistic pricks . But here, Stella looks at her with such unbridled esteem that it catches Scully off guard. So much so that a radiant blush warms Scully’s cheeks and she has the urge to say, “thank you,” but ultimately decides against it.
After all, she still has an ounce of dignity left.
“So if you’re not a linguist,” she starts with a small self-conscious smile, “then what’re you doing here with…”
“Issacs?” Stella asks, looking towards him across the fire. “He used to be my professor at university. It was a long time ago,” she concedes, “but he’s brilliant.”
“But – you’re not a linguist?”
“No, I’m an investigator.”
“Oh.”
An investigator. An investigator working with a linguist. The linguist some people might argue. Who used to be her professor. A long time ago. Okay, well, none of this makes sense to Scully and she certainly has more questions about Stella now than she did when they started, but she’s tired of making herself look foolish. So she accepts this answer, quietly contemplating what on earth this woman must be doing here.
“I’m taking a break though,” Stella admits softly into the silence. Nodding toward the craft, she doesn’t meet Scully’s gaze. “Seems as good of a distraction as any.”
Of course, Scully immediately registers the weight of what that must mean. If Stella is anything like her, she knows that taking leave in their line of work isn’t something that happens lightly. And although she really doesn’t know her at all, she can see the disappointment hanging on her face. Something serious must have happened to bring her all this way. Perhaps Stella’s answers don’t lie within the craft at all, perhaps they’re waiting for her back home.
If so, Scully’s not sure which of their situations is worse.
Hoping to bring a bit of levity to their conversation, Scully playfully scrunches her face and asks, “Did you know what you were signing up for?”
“Absolutely not,” Stella laughs. “Not sure I would’ve made the choice if I had.”
“That’s fair,” Scully replies, unable to keep the laughter from her voice at Stella’s answer.
Starting out, she never would have imagined that excursions like this could seem routine. But after six years by Mulder’s side, she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge the absurdity of what she did day-to-day. It had become too real, too devastating, not to be taken seriously. Back then, if she had known what she was signing up for, she might have made a different choice as well.
“I’m actually an investigator, too,” Scully offers as a consolation, all too familiar with the kind of darkness that choice can bring. “Well, an agent actually. F.B.I.”
“A doctor and an agent?” Stella hums with the warmth of an ember, her well-placed smirk appearing right on cue. “And to think I was impressed before.”
Unable to stop herself, a wide smile breaks across Scully’s face. Embarrassed that her affections can be bought so easily, she looks down at her knees to hide it from view. Clearly she shouldn’t have been so harsh on her peers for fawning under Stella’s attention. A bit of light praise and she’s a puddle in this stranger’s hands. “I’m not sure any of it is going to help out here though,” she reasons, shaking her head more demurely than she’d like.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
Scully looks up at Stella, unsure what she means, but her companion doesn’t elaborate. Instead, Stella simply stares at her, quietly taking in the planes of her face without scrutiny or pretense. Her clear eyes wander freely from the arch of Scully’s brow to the slope of her cheek, sliding over her nose and down to her lips. Carefully absorbing her features, she takes her time, as if Scully’s face was obviously meant to be studied this way and she simply didn’t know it.
Breath hitching, Scully thinks it’s a strange thing to be observed so openly. Then, as Stella’s gaze drags across her lower lip before flitting up to meet her eyes, Scully thinks it’s an even stranger thing to find it thrilling. To enjoy it even. A shallow breath escapes her, and then another, and suddenly she feels like she might never catch it.
“It was nice to meet you, Dana,” Stella says after a long moment, seemingly content with her findings. “I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And with that, she leaves Scully alone by the fire.
The night air swells as Stella walks briskly from the center of camp.
Navigating the small labyrinth of tents and research stations, she tries to steady herself. All things considered, she’s done a fair job of holding it together since they arrived. But now she desperately needs to be alone. After all, it's not every day that you arrive on assignment to find an extraterrestrial spacecraft on the shores of a deserted beach in western Africa. Christ, she can’t believe that’s even a sentence in her vocabulary, let alone the reality of her situation right now.
A week ago, when Isaacs called offering a unique opportunity to assist him on a classified project, this was the last thing she’d expected. In all honesty, she wouldn’t have even imagined this scenario in the realm of possibility. But here she is, mingling with aerospace engineers and mentally fortifying herself to walk through a spaceship tomorrow.
How the hell had she agreed to this?
It probably had something to do with the fact that she’d been placed on mandatory leave and was doing fuck all to address it. No, instead of completing her psych evaluation and required psychotherapy hours, she hasn’t done a single thing to initiate her return. And why would she? Six months ago, she’d managed to bring down one of Britain’s most infamous serial killers of the last decade and today, she wasn’t sure she even had a future at the Metropolitan Police Service – or anywhere, for that matter.
All it takes is one fuck up. One mistake.
So, yes, when Allen rang up out of the blue with this mysterious opportunity to continue avoiding her problems, how could she refuse? He’d said he needed an assistant with investigative experience for a highly classified operation. So classified, in fact, that he couldn’t reveal any details about it until they arrived on site. Enthralled by the chance to escape and throw herself into literally anything else, she’d only asked one question: When do we leave?
Of course, now she regrets not asking a few more.
Passing a pair of researchers tucked into a small workstation, she catches snippets of their conversation as they compare notes beneath one of the lanterns. It’s all ‘ anti gravitational force ’ this, and ‘ zero dynamic equivalent mass ’ that, like something out of a terrible sci-fi film. Only this isn’t a bad date at the cinema from her college years, stuck suffering through shitty visual effects while a wandering hand inches up her skirt. No, as far as she can tell, this is real. Not some elaborate prank or social experiment.
Somehow, this is a job. A job that she’d agreed to, no less.
It’s fitting, actually. She’d just destroyed her entire career, so why not obliterate her foundational understanding of reality along with it?
Thankfully she’d managed to keep a straight face as Dr. Ngembe walked them through the site earlier today, explaining the logistics of their operational workflow and what to expect for the next few weeks. In assisting Isaacs, she would be transcribing the characters found on ‘the craft,’ detecting patterns, analyzing those patterns, and using her background in cultural anthropology to provide context. So, however surreal, her professional approach was still the same in most ways, and her end-goal would be as it always had been: Uncover the truth. But that didn’t stop her from wondering whether or not there was actually a truth to be uncovered.
What did truth even mean under these conditions?
Who benefited from their findings?
What justice could possibly be served here?
Questions blazing through her mind like wildfire, spitting smoke and ash and clouding her ability to think straight, she eventually passes Station 13, and from there, she’s able to locate her tent to its left. When she’d dropped her things off earlier today, she’d tried her best to memorize how to find her way back through the overwhelmingly homogenous landscape of beige canvas and sand. Now, squinting through the darkness, she’s able to identify a series of small numbers stitched into the fabric above the entrance, 131. She breathes a sigh of relief.
She’s found it.
Adrenaline prickling at her fingers, she makes quick work of the ties that secure the opening before secluding herself inside. It’s dark. So dark that she can barely make out her trunks sitting at the end of the cot. But at least she’s alone. No one asking her questions. No one prodding her to sign yet another document avowing her silence. No craft hovering on the horizon.
Closing her eyes, she lifts the bottom of her tank top to feel the familiar curve of her ribs and the flat plane of her stomach, grounding herself in the touch. Her body is real and solid. Even if everything around her is telling her she’s through the looking glass, at least this much is true. Sinking into the rhythmic motion of her diaphragm as it expands and contracts, she tries to focus on her breathing. Only her breathing. In and out. And as her heart rate slows and she sinks deeper into a feeling of safety, moments from the day begin to come and go in a soft haze.
In, two, three…
Arriving at the airport in Abidjan.
The taste of burnt coffee on her tongue.
Edo’s brilliant smile.
Out, two, three, four…
The intensity of the sun.
So many different faces. Eager eyes.
Amina’s calm assertiveness.
In, two, three…
The sound of waves crashing.
Armed guards in the distance.
The craft gleaming brightly.
Out, two, three, four…
Endless paperwork. Cramping in her fingers.
The heat of the fire.
Dana’s red hair.
Breathing slowly, she opens her eyes.
It was the first thing she’d noticed about her, that specific shade of red. Something about it had captured Stella immediately. Gloriously warm and vibrant, the color seemed to thrum through her like a living memory. She’d noticed it when they first arrived, and then again at the evening meal. Dana wore it pulled back, soft pieces hanging around her face, framing her guarded stare. That was the second thing she’d noticed. There was something torrid beneath her eyes, nearly combative, anger perhaps.
She was an embodiment of flame, stone, and earth.
A temporal vision.
“Knock, knock!”
Stella jumps. Whipping around to the entrance of her tent, she sees Isaacs grinning at her sheepishly from the opening. “Christ,” she breathes, a hand flying to her chest.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he laughs, holding one of the tent flaps nonchalantly to the side. He looks her over with an evaluating scan before making a show of peeking around at her accommodations. “Rather dark in here, isn’t it?”
“What’re you doing here?” she asks warily, stepping toward the threshold. Instinctively, Isaacs backs up, making room for her as she pushes her way through the entrance and into the moonlight. It’s still outside, almost strangely so, except for the lull of the ocean stretching out and splashing against the shore.
“You left dinner in such a rush,” he explains, his voice taking on a soft air of concern, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“I’m just a bit tired from the trip,” she sighs. It comes out sounding irritated and impatient without meaning to. After all, she’d known what she was signing up for when she agreed to this arrangement, Allen had always been this way. Even in her early days at university, he’d always been somewhat overfamiliar, occasionally pompous, and a bit intrusive. Of course, back then he’d worn these traits with a particular charm that easily won her over as a young twenty something.
First as her professor, and then as her thesis advisor, his validation had ruled much of her academic motivation and self-worth in those days. So it’s no wonder that she’d been attracted to him; a brilliantly renowned scholar who valued her opinion and bolstered her belief in herself at such a pivotal time. But, despite all that, their relationship had always remained professional. Sure, they’d kept in touch over the years, swapping stories over the occasional lunch or flirting under the influence of the odd drink. A few months ago, after news of the Moon case broke, he’d sent her a bottle of wine with a rather cheeky note, congratulating her on finally making it to prime time. Even after all these years, she’d still felt a burst of pride upon receiving it, pleased to have impressed him.
She wonders what he would think of her now, if he knew how quickly she’d fallen.
He’d laugh , she thinks self-deprecatingly. Then he would pressure her relentlessly to work with him on more of these anomalous excursions. She supposes that wouldn’t be the worst thing, but she’s not sure how much more universe-altering information she can take in this lifetime.
“I know it’s a lot to swallow,” he concedes, glancing back toward the center of camp. She notices a fleeting grimace at his brow before he smiles back at her, eyes bright and expectant. “But what an adventure!” Mercifully, she tries to reflect some of that enthusiasm back at him, forcing a smile in agreement, and while not entirely convincing, it seems to do the trick. Satisfied that she won’t run off into the night, he says, “Well, I’m glad you’re alright. We’ll debrief more in the morning. You have everything you need?”
“Hardly,” she smirks, “but it will do.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” he laughs earnestly, and she imagines this isn’t exactly what he’s used to either. “Thank you though,” he continues, turning a bit serious. “For being here.”
“‘Course,” she says quietly. “Is that all?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Sleep well, Stella.”
“You, too.”
“Oh, before I forget, we’ll touch base first thing before we tour the craft. And we’ll need to collect images – I know they’ve already captured quite a few. Perhaps we can start with those and then take our own for good measure.”
“I’ll track them down.”
“Great,” he beams at her. “See you then.”
“See you then.”
Turning back into her darkened tent, Stella ties the flaps shut, trying to tell herself this isn’t a mistake.