Chapter Text
"Federal agent, I am armed." His voice was forceful, filling the dark room in front of him. He heard the statement bounce back from the room, only recognizing it as having come from him as he recognized the voice to be his. The adrenaline coursing through his body was electric. He felt strong, like he could run a marathon, even though his regular runs didn't exceed a couple miles at most. He could feel the pressure subsiding in his foot, the one who had seconds earlier kicked open the front door. But there was no pain, only a fuming rage, an unshakeable fear, and an immense relief as he made eye contact with Scully. She was alive. He wasn't too late.
Yet, she also was not safe. She was pinned to the ground in the middle of the foyer. The man pinning her down was average size, definitely not taller than Mulder, but he looked disproportionately large compared to Scully's small frame underneath him. Mulder saw the wear of struggle in her face, along with the gratitude in her eyes when they met his. The fact that she was pinned down only paces away from the front door meant that this was not part of her captor's plan. She was almost out, not by any mercy on his part. Mulder saw the lust in his eyes. The contrast stark against Scully's. Maybe lust was the wrong word. It wasn't just a sexual lust, it was a primal lust for power, for control over someone else. As if the inflicted fear and helplessness in others was its own heroin. Like a tall glass of water after being parched in the desert.
He watched as other agents tackled the perp, only lowering his gun when he realized they had it under control, and those in his firing range were now his colleagues. He found himself stepping forward as he secured his gun in its holster, crouching down and extending his arms to retrieve Scully. As she stood, she used his body to brace herself, almost like climbing a tree. When she was standing, she hesitated for a moment, looking up at him, their hands on each others’ forearms. He held her gaze, reminding himself to breathe, and watching the tears well in her eyes and her chin quiver. He lifted a hand to her face, gently moving his thumb across her check, which was swollen and had blood on it.
He let go of her other arm, opening his own to the rest of her. The gap was closed as she almost fell into him, her arms grasping around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, enveloping her into him. He could feel her sobbing into his chest, as if she hadn’t let herself feel any emotions since entering the house. Because having done so would have been overwhelming to the point of immobility, solidifying her fate. Knowing her, she was not one to accept her fate, especially at the hands of another, as many other victims likely did in this very house. One of the things Mulder admired most about her was her strong will, her authority over her own destiny. Her refusal to accept seemingly inevitable circumstances. Sure, it was annoying when that showed up as stubbornness and being a stickler for the rules in cases where he was certain of a “woo woo” explanation. But it was also grounding, and centered him when he felt himself being drawn into the unexplained. As a federal agent, he had gone through all the trainings, had it drilled into him that nothing was operable without evidence and proof. Tangible proof. He tried his very best to follow those procedures, but also knew that his certainty in some cases would always be without that sort of evidence, or without warped evidence at the very least. His whole tenure at the FBI had been to find the proof necessary to convince others of things he had known to be true all along. But he struggled with it. He knew what others thought of him. He knew Scully had been sent to spy on him. It was unexpected to find her ease with evidence, proof, and procedures to be something he had come to appreciate, to depend on. She tethered him to reality.
He dared not let go of her first. Physical contact between them was rare. He found himself generally avoiding initiating physical contact with others, especially women. He was aware of his stature, of how intimidating he could be to women. He always wanted to regard the women in his life with respect before all else, and was hyper aware of the ingrained power differentials of gender in a society build around the patriarchy. So his tendency was to be more responsive than authoritative when it came to physical affection. But this felt different. This was Scully, who likely would have been gone forever had he arrived even minutes later. He rubbed her shoulder and put his face on the top of her head as he thought about this. He could feel her heart beating against his stomach, gradually coming down to her normal resting heart rate until he could no longer differentiate between hers and his own.
He felt her relax in his arms, sigh, and turn to look up at him. He met her gaze, waiting for her to say something. She blinked, not breaking eye contact, her mouth opening slightly to let the words out, but no words came.
“Let’s get out of here.” He said softly, an offering to voice what she couldn’t.
Mulder drove them to his motel. Scully didn’t have a room anymore, as she had already checked out in plans to head home earlier that day, when she was intercepted.
—
“It’s not much of a dinner, but should hold us over.” He said, tossing a variety of single serve, highly processed snacks from the vending machine onto the bed next to her. She was in exactly the position he had left her in a few minutes ago. Sitting on the edge of the bed, staring forward expressionless. Frozen.
“Thanks.” She watched him lock the door, and slide a chair in front of it. She appreciated the gesture of the snacks, but couldn’t bear stomach any food right now. Her nausea was dissipating, and she knew she should eat, but not for a little while anyway.
Noticing she didn’t even look at the snacks, he grabbed them and placed them on the nightstand, and handed her a water. He always kept bottled water at the ready while staying in motels. It’s not that he didn’t trust the tap water, it was fine to drink. He had definitely put more harmful things through his body. But he had realized as he’s gotten older, the taste of water is something he has become very particular about. He always gets at least a few large bottles of Smart Water from the airport when he lands. Of course, with airport prices, this seems absurd. But worth it to him. Motels don’t often have vending machines with beverages, he’s noticed, and when they do, they are most definitely not the good ones. He remembers a motel he stayed at early in his work on the X files that only had Dasani. That was when he realized just how picky his palate had become. He hated it, but is also not a wasteful person, so did end up drinking it all. It all seemed so trivial now, seeing his partner somehow both lifeless and full of life.
He took her jacket from her, and tossed it on the foot end of the other bed, hoping this might prompt her to get more comfortable. He walked into the bathroom, returning after he had gotten a washcloth damp with warm water.
He kneeled in front of her, gently wiping the blood of her wounds. She felt almost as if he was wiping away the stress of it all too.
“How did you find me?” Her voice broke the silence. Not that the silence was uncomfortable, it had just filled the room.
He found this question curious. Had that been what she was thinking about? The logistics of how they knew where she was? There wasn’t any judgment in his thinking, just a small bit of shock. He didn’t let this show on his face.
“It was his mother’s house. The house he grew up in.”
She looked at him, eye-level, which only happened when they were in a car, since most of their work happened to be on the move and not at a desk. Her silence waited for him to continue.
“Most fetishists that we encounter that are rooted in violence stem from some villainization of mothers. Men who have this compulsion to deface women is merely a compensation for the powerlessness they felt as children. A way to make up for being emasculated by their mothers, of a lack of nurturing.”
She was only half listening to his words, but the rhythm by which he spoke gave her great comfort.
He continued, “His mother passed away almost a year ago. The house has been up for sale for a while. I would bet he has declined any sales because he has found his own use for it. A place not tied to his name. A vehicle not tied to his name.”
She thought about the car who ran her off the road earlier that afternoon. The one whose trunk she would be tied up and stowed away in. She flinched thinking about it.
Mulder knew Scully was fact-oriented. He had kept the conversation on that ground so far, providing the information she had asked for. But he had to probe, “How are you feeling?” He sat on the bed opposite her, facing her. His elbows were on his knees, the washcloth still in his hand.
She sighed. Then spoke as she took off her shoes and pulled her legs up onto the bed, crossing them in front of her. “I… better now.” She hesitated, and looked as if she was trying to untangle her feelings in order to share them. He was patient, giving her his whole attention, but softly. “I can’t stop thinking about the other women. About how scared they must have been. How they must have felt when they realized this was how they would die. How they were trapped, likely with no one knowing they were there, that they would only be…here,” she said gesturing around her, “for only moments more. There’s a survival instinct, absolutely, when you are faced with a situation like that, but to experience it. Not only to experience it, but to know you share that experience with others. Others who are now buried in the ground. Others, who we don’t know if they were conscious and forced to endure the… extraction.” She looked down at her hands as she said this. “Or if by any mercy, that part came later.”
“He was a monster, Scully.”
“A monster.” She echoed back, as more thoughts came to the forefront of her mind. “I knew there were people out there who did terrible things. I always liked to imagine those people were misguided, troubled, in some search for a purpose. A purpose that they mattered. That knowing the power they had over other people was just the way they coped with feeling powerless, that fear-inducing power was still power, and some affirmation that they mattered. That their life had meaning.”
He knew Dana was a compassionate person, absolutely. But to hear her speak like this was rare. It felt vulnerable to hear. His heart ached for her. He knew the atrocities people were capable of. He had seen cases like this before, and had emotionally prepared himself for it before they left Washington. This wasn’t an “X-file” to him, this was just an outlier in the dark side of human capability.
He didn’t know how to respond, almost hoping she would just continue so he didn’t have to. He admired her perspective, but didn’t agree with it. Sure, a lot of people who do bad things are indeed misguided. But some know exactly what they are doing. They want to hurt people. It’s a game to them.
“You are much more gracious than I.” He offered a small smile.
She was curious what more he had to say, but was much too tired for it right now. “I need to call my mom.” She said suddenly, standing, realizing that she had been with Mulder the whole time since they found her, so he hadn’t called her, and her mom was probably worried sick. She made her way to the other side of the small room, and sat at the table while dialing her mom.
Mulder sat against the headboard of the bed he was sitting on. He ate a bag of chips while Scully was on the phone. Part of the reason he believed in the darkness of some people was because he had found some of that darkness in himself. In passing thoughts that he was ashamed to have had, to remember, to continue to think about. Thoughts that would die with him, as he could never bring himself to share them with others.
He thinks about his girlfriend in college, who was similar in stature to Scully. Much smaller than him. He loved her with his entire being, and didn’t think he would be able to love someone so deeply and wholly after they broke up. Of course, upon reflection after the breakup, he would learn that maybe it wasn’t as true of love as he had always thought. Maybe it was just activating his attachment style in a way that felt important, that led him to believe it was love. Anyway, one time, they were making out in his apartment at the time. They had had sex before, and it seemed like that’s the direction this was headed. They were only partially clothed, hands roaming over each other. He had paused to reach for a condom from the bedside table. Opened it and put it on before positioning himself above her. She had been watching him with impatient desire. It was only when he was on his elbows, his face directly above hers and about to put himself inside her that she had told him she was tired and gong to head home. He couldn’t help thinking that this was an intentional punishment for an argument they had had earlier that day. She had done things like that, and was petty about any sort of disagreement. She wanted the power in their relationship and knew she could have it. She had been telling him all afternoon how much she was looking forward to getting back to his place. She had initiated the intimacy as soon as they were inside. Almost like she had been planning this moment of retreating. He was annoyed at himself for thinking this way. He also remembered thinking how easy it would have been to just hold her down and have his way. It was almost as if his mind had projected him doing this, of seeing the fear in her eyes, of reclaiming this power for himself. That’s not the way it went though, because the amount of guilt and shame he experienced in that moment of just thinking about it was enough to make him fall onto his side next to her. He was soft just as soon as his body came into contact with the bed. She got up, gave him a look of pity and victory as she got dressed and left. That was the beginning of a long and treacherous heartbreak. That was the beginning of him realizing he had felt used throughout that relationship, and that he didn’t feel respected by her. And that the had never wanted to get close to someone who made him feel that way. And he never wanted others to feel that way about him.
“Ok, mom, yeah I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
The phone call had been short. He still had half the chips left in the bag, which really is like the entire bag not accounting for the packaged air.
“Is she okay?” He tried to redirect his attention back to the present.
“Yeah, she is okay. I just didn’t have any energy left to keep talking. I just wanted to let her know I am ok. That you found me.”
She returned to the bed she was previously sitting on. And sat down, but almost as if she was going to stand again.
Mulder sat up, “Oh, I can call the front desk and get you a room. Judging by the emptiness of the parking lot I don’t think that will be any problem…” he drifted off as he picked up the room phone between the beds and reached for the numbers.
“No…”
He placed the phone back down, and looked at her.
“Would you mind if I stayed in here? Just for the night. There are two beds and I really don’t think I will be able to sleep if I am alone.”
“Sure. Of course, yeah.”
“Can I borrow… a t shirt or something?”
“Yes!” He bounced up, grabbing his duffel and digging through it before adding, “Actually, Scully, I have your suitcase in the car. I grabbed it from the rental car when we found it on the side of the road.”
“That’s ok, we’re already… barricaded for the night.” She smirked, glancing at the chair in front of the door.
He sniffed a couple of t shirts before tossing her one. “You know, I pack light and we’ve been here for a couple extra days. So I’m afraid this is as good as it’s going to get. Sorry it’s already been worn.”
“That’s ok, it will work.”
—
She was laying there, and could smell him on the shirt she was wearing. She could hear him breathing just a couple meters away. But the juxtaposition of his scent being so close and the rest of him feeling so far. It had been silent for probably an hour. She was sure he was asleep at this point.
“Mulder?” She said softly over her shoulder.
“Yeah?” he responded only a second later. Either he was a light sleeper, or he was still awake. She had no way of knowing, she didn’t think she’s ever been around him while he was asleep. Not even in late night stakeouts. It seemed she had drifted of many times around him, but she had never known him to do the same.
His response almost startled her. She was gambling with herself, and she knew it. If he had happened to be awake, she would ask, but if he had been asleep, she would have let it go.
She was quiet for a few seconds. “Um, do…” she was quiet again, trying to choose her words very intentionally.
“What is it, Scully?” He sounded more alert now. There was a concern in his voice, as if he assumed something was wrong.
“Um, would you mind, holding me, just for a few minutes?”
The pause before his response felt like minutes, probably just because his first response was without hesitation. “Yeah, I can do that.” He sounded like he was trying to figure out the appropriateness of this. Not of the ask, but of his agreeing too.
He crawled out of his own bed, and hopped over to hers. She scooted over to make room for him. He laid on top of the covers, leaving a clear buffer between them. She had said ‘a few minutes’ and he didn’t want to assume anything beyond that.
She felt his arm wrap around her from behind. “What are you doing?” she asked, flatly.
His arm retreated, “oh sorry, I thought you meant—“
“Why are you on top of the covers?” she cut him off. “You’ve seen those things under a blacklight.”
He chuckled at that. “Oh. I just wanted to give you some space. And thought I’d be less likely to wake you once you fell asleep…” he was rambling, just hoping not to say the wrong thing.
She rolled onto her back, and pushed at him to get him off the bed so she could open the covers for him.
He obliged. He got in the covers, and laid next to her again, though leaving quite a bit of space between them. His arm was outside of the covers, still, and he put it around her.
She sighed, grabbed his hand, and pulled it around her under the covers. She shimmied back just enough to feel his chest on her back.
“Thank you.” She whispered.
He felt her relax, and could feel himself finally getting tired.
“What are those?” He instinctually pulled himself away, not sure what she was referring to.
“What?”
“Are you wearing socks?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’re wearing socks.”
“Yes, I’m wearing socks.”
“How do you sleep with those on?”
“Just fine.”
“Apparently not, you haven’t fallen asleep yet.”
“Ha, well, usually just fine.”
“Do you always wear them?”
“Well not these ones. These are my special motel socks.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Am I?”
She laughed just enough to shoot air out of her nose. “Goodnight, Mulder.”
“Goodnight, Scully.”
He was graciously thankful for the levity his socks provided. They were both asleep and getting some much needed rest before too long.