Stanford-1989
Stanford-1989
by 19
RATING: G
CATEGORIES: M/S UST, AU
ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know where please and thank you.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own, never will.
SUMMARY: Your typical agent-meets-doctor AU with a time travel twist.
****
Stanford-1989
by 19
****
The method hadn't quite been perfected. It's aim was imprecise - sometimes the poor hapless travelers ended up as far as five years from their original destination. Yet, it was a tool that could not be ignored.
Something had to be done about them. The infernal duo that they encountered in every move of the human rebellion. The irritating twosome they just couldn't quite shake. The vexsome pair that would be their undoing.
Unless they got to them first.
Thus, their thoughts turned back towards their newest weapon.
Divide and conquer. How quaintly apt.
The simulations were nearly unanimous. She was the target, no doubt about it. Without her, he would still discover the plans. In fact, he would force them to work harder, faster. Then he would, somehow or another, in every simulation, end up getting himself killed by rushing headlong into a dicey situation. The perfect solution - he causes a nuisance, speeds up the project, gets himself dead.
Kill him, however, and shit hit the simulated fan. She rises in the FBI and refuses to be influenced by the conspiracy, regardless of endless threats, attacks, even attempts on her life. Then she uses her status at the FBI to parry their every move, quash their every motion, interfere in every plan.
The simulations did not lie.
She was the target.
****
1986
The man hit the ground with a thud. There was nothing gentle about the landing process - another improvement that could be made. That, and actually getting the time right more than one in ten tries. At least he knew where he was - that was the only consistently functioning part of the process. The park he landed in was, to the best of their research, in between her apartment and the Stanford Hospital. He had even landed near dusk - perfect for his purposes. He wondered what year it was as he wandered towards the medical building. They had been shooting for 1990 - killing her too early may change parameters in simulated outcomes. It was best to strike just before they met, to ensure validity of the simulation.
He picked up a newspaper as he waited and groaned as he read the date. 1986. Missed by four years. At least she would have started at med school already and he wasn't clear across the country from his target. That would have been just peachy.
He had been waiting for a tedious while when he finally spotted her splitting off from a group of students. Surreptitiously, he followed her as she headed towards the park where he had landed. His hand was moist with anticipation as he gripped the cool metal object in his pocket. Pulling it out, he pressed a button and heard the familiar swishing noise as the pointed end popped out ominously. He was generally glad guns didn't survive the time travel process very well. He preferred the sleek steel stiletto.
He waited for the right moment and approached as she neared a dark area of the park. His technique was sure as he lunged out and grabbed her forcefully, one hand covering her mouth as the other aimed the stiletto at her heart. It was all working perfectly until she slammed her foot down on his, causing him to momentarily loosen his grip on her. By the time he regained his grasp on her, she had managed to scream for help and he could hear approaching footsteps. Harried, he stabbed her with the sharp metal object but without the precise aim with which he usually wielded his weapon. She screamed in pain but still managed to elbow him hard in the cheek as he readjusted his grip on her. He was just about to stab her again when he heard the whine of a police siren. Determining that discretion definitely was the better part of valour, he dropped his victim and ran.
****
1989
The small female medical student left the Stanford Hospital and walked towards the nearby park, glancing around with more nervousness than generally warranted. The area around the university was fairly well-to-do, as was most of the adjoining town of Palo Alto. However, after the nearly fatal attack on her three years ago, she had, of course, been a little wary of the park, especially at night. And it didn't help that the normally ennui-infusing town of Palo Alto had, until yesterday, been the scene of a FBI serial killer/arsonist hunt.
Her wariness was normally unfounded but that night, the student noticed a staggering shadow slowly making its way towards her. Adrenaline instantly flooded her already twitchy nervous system and she was nearly overwhelmed with the impulse to make a run for it. However, she held off of running until her rather large rational side finally kicked in and she forced herself to take deep breaths until the desire to flee was under control.
She was not going to be attacked by a stranger with a bizarre stiletto weapon. She was not going to lie gasping for breath in puddles of her own blood. She was fine. And the man staggering towards her was either drunk or in pain. He was not going to hurt her.
She approached the man slowly, trying not to startle him although she really needn't have bothered. He didn't seem to notice as she called out to him, asking him if he was okay. Instead, he just kept stumble-running away from her.
The student considered letting the man be but her conscience kept nagging at her irritatingly to make more of an effort. So she sighed dramatically to the universe at large and jogged after the impaired man.
It took less than a minute to catch him and this time she approached from in front.
"Hey, are you okay?" she called loudly.
This time her voice managed to prick it's way through whatever substance was clouding the stranger's brain and he looked up in confusion as if he were not used to being spoken to. He then muttered something unintelligible and tried to continue on in his pseudo-ambulatorily manner.
"Hey, why don't you sit down for a minute. You don't look so good," she tried again, now a bit annoyed that she had involved herself in this situation. Maybe buddy was just drunk and high and walking it off. She had just done an extended shift and was dead on her feet. She needed a hot shower. She needed some sleep. She did not need to be hollering at stoned strangers in the park.
"Mmm, I'm fine," the man muttered as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to pick up his pace. He then took about ten floundering steps before passing out mid-step with mildly disastrous results. Without the sentience required to break his fall with less valuable parts of his body, he took the brunt of the fall with the side of his head.
The student sighed again at the loud crack of bone meeting pavement - why couldn't he have fallen somewhere out of sight? It wasn't exactly the most considerate thought to have ever passed through her grey matter but, damn, was she ever tired.
Pushing aside her cranky, whiny self, she set her little feet to motion and knelt beside the rumpled heap of still-possibly-dangerous-but-currently-only-semi-conscious stranger.
"Lie still sir, I'm here to help you. I'm a medical student. That was quite the fall you just took," she said rather cooly, inspecting him for the telltale signs of alcohol and drug misuse.
Surprisingly, his breath was alcohol-free and his arms showed no sign of injection drug use. Not that he couldn't be on a myriad of other drugs but upon closer inspection, he was rather clean cut, young, even passably cute. Without the stumbling, he would have just been another upper-middle-class Stanford-prissy-boy jogger.
The jogger was slowly regaining a semblance of consciousness, the haze clouding his green-flecked eyes clearing as he registered the situation. He was sprawled out uncomfortably on a hard surface, his head was pulsating painfully, and a disembodied voice was asking him if he wanted an ambulance.
The 'A' word finally got his attention. He definitely did not want to go to the hospital.
"No, no ambulance," he managed to mutter as he tried to sit up.
It wasn't the best idea he had ever had. Little birdies started to fly about his head nauseously and his stomach attempted to leap out his esophagus as the blood rushed to his pounding head. If a pair of small, strong hands hadn't gripped him gently but firmly but the shoulders, he would have likely passed out again.
"Hey, hey. Not so fast," the voice said. "You need to get to a hospital. I'm going to call the ambulance."
"No ambulance," he repeated stubbornly as his vision finally cleared enough to take in the sight of his interlocutor.
She was tiny and young and was probably pretty but looked nearly as ragged as he felt. But her hands felt strong on his sagging shoulders and he was nearly overcome with the odd sensation of being thankful that she was there. He wasn't exactly accustomed to human contact and he certainly wasn't in the habit of accepting help.
"Fine. Then you're going to have to get up because the hospital is a block that way and I certainly can't carry you," she said in exasperation.
"No hospital," he argued tiredly.
"Look. You just hit your head. Hard. You definitely have a concussion and you need to be checked out. The hospital is only a block that way and if you really are okay then I will let you go on your merry way. But, whether you walk or I call an ambulance, you are coming with me and I'm making sure that you haven't done any major damage to your brain," she said emphatically.
Christ. 'Who the hell was she and why the fuck did she care what happens to me?' the jogger thought with annoyance. He just wanted to be left alone. It had been a particularly shitty week. Two weeks. However long they had been there. Now it was over and he just had to make it back to the motel so someone could make sure he made the plane home the next morning.
But it didn't sound like she was going to let it go.
"Okay, okay. Holy bossy. I can walk," he said as he pathetically tried to push himself to his feet. Unfortunately, his muscles had sneakily been replaced with some sort of gelatin product and he wobbled precariously as he rose.
Again, a firm grip around his waist held him steady as he finally achieved an upright position. He looked down at his irritating saviour, realizing he towered over her. However, she didn't seem to have any trouble shoring him up as they started towards the hospital.
"Are you always this persistent with strange men you find in the park?" he asked sarcastically, still annoyed at being forced to go to the hospital.
"Only the unappreciative ones," she replied sharply, irked at the attitude of her impromptu patient. It wasn't like she wanted to go back to the hospital after having spent the last 12 hours there.
He looked at her askance, a bit taken aback by the iciness of her response. But as he leaned into her, head threatening imminent implosion, stomach barely holding onto its meager contents, unable to walk without stumbling, he came upon the realization that he was being a complete ass. He truly felt like shit and going to the hospital was actually not the worst idea. Meekly, he shut his unappreciative trap and let her drag him into the emergency room.
The waiting room was full with people in various states of misery but she pulled him authoritatively past the line and lead him to a small, not-exactly sterile-looking storage area containing lots of linen and one dingy cot.
Sitting him down on the cot, she tiredly pulled off her coat before turning to eye him carefully.
He looked like he was close to vomiting but otherwise seemed to be a lot more conscious than he had been fifteen minutes ago.
"How are you feeling?" she asked in a concerned tone as she shone a light that she had somehow obtained from out of nowhere into his eyes.
"Peachy," he replied dully.
"Headache? Nausea?" she replied, ignoring his response.
"Check and check. You're batting a thousand doc," he muttered.
"Okay, I'm going to ask you a few questions now," she continued efficiently. "What's your name?"
"Mulder," he said tiredly.
She looked at him askance but didn't miss a beat. "What day is it?"
"My lucky day?" he asked, glancing up at her with a squint, trying to avoid her little light saber.
Her unimpressed expression didn't do much for his ego.
"Okay, fine. October 19, 1989."
"What happened to you in the park?" she asked, finally putting her pupil-inspection weapon away.
Mulder thought about how long he had been up for. He mused about how they had been in Palo Alto nearly three weeks and he hadn't slept more than three hours consecutively in that time. He recalled his frame of mind as he had tried to sleep that night. He barely remembered running to Stanford. His next coherent memory was a stranger with blue eyes waking him up.
"I was trying to sleep but I was too wired so I went for a run. It was okay until I got to the campus and then I started feeling light-headed. I guess I passed out and hit my head after that," he replied sheepishly.
"You sure did," she said with raised eyebrows and the barest hint of a grin. "You must have a pretty hard head though because it could have been a lot worse. I'd say you have a grade 3 concussion. I would suggest seeing a neurologist tomorrow just to be safe. Otherwise, I'd like to keep you here overnight for observation."
"Is that all you'd like to keep me for doc?" he replied with an obviously-fake leer. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'll take a raincheck. I have to go."
She fought the grin off her face and tried to scowl at her recalcitrant patient. Even in the garish storage room light and pale as a ghost, this Mulder guy was rather eye-catching. And strangely charming in a rather off-putting sort of way.
"Look, you're exhausted, dehydrated, probably malnourished, and you have a head injury. You came here on foot and I am not letting you leave like that. If you have someone you can call who will stay with you and wake you up throughout the night, then you are free to go. Otherwise, I'm keeping you here for observation," she argued tiredly. Her voice was still firm but her demeanor suggested exhaustion.
"Okay, fine. Where's the phone? I'll call my boss - he'll come to get me," Mulder grumbled. He hadn't wanted to involve Patterson in the affair, but he didn't have any other choice.
She sigh-yawned. Perfect, she could get rid of this guy and finally get home to bed. She had to be back at the hospital early the next morning. 'Oh the joy of being a medical student. And a sucker with a conscience.' she thought dully.
"Hey doc, you look pretty tired. Go home, I'll be fine," Mulder said, his voice quickly shifting from its previous growl to a gentle tone as he got up from the cot and let her lead him out of the storage room.
She smiled wanly, knowing that he couldn't see her expression. He was persistent all right.
"I'm not a doctor yet you know," she replied as she showed him to the phone. "Meet me over there when you're done. I'll get you a real bed to lie on and maybe a saline drip until someone comes to get you."
"Ooooh, saline drip. With an offer like that..."
She made a face at him even though she suspected, correctly, that it would only encourage him.
"So if you're not a doc what do I have the honour of calling you, my fair saviour?" he continued, ignoring her expression.
Narrowing her eyes in an admonishing manner, she considered her response carefully.
"Scully," she finally answered. "You can call me Scully."
He grinned broadly at her response, the result of which was a quiet tremor reverberating down her spine. He certainly was odd, this Mulder she had happened onto.
Scully let him make his telephone call in private but kept an eye on him from a distance, suspecting that he would escape at first opportunity.
The conversation was short and, when it was over, Scully wasn't surprised to see Mulder glance around slyly, looking for his chance to flee. However, when he espied her giving him the dubious eye, he merely shrugged in a 'had to try' manner and followed her to an empty bed, sitting down without complaint.
"Lie down Mulder. You look terrible. When's the last time you ate?" Scully asked.
Mulder smiled wanly. It had been two or so weeks of day upon night upon day looking for yet another modern day monster haunting the well-to-do streets of Palo Alto. Eating had not exactly been much of an option.
"Dunno," he shrugged as he lay down.
Scully raised her eyebrows in admonishment. "Why haven't you been eating?" she asked.
Mulder sighed. She wasn't going to let it go. "I'm here on a case. I've just been really busy. I'll be okay now that it's over."
"A case? What kind of case?"
"The Palo Alto arsons," Mulder said quietly, trying to keep the images that had imbedded themselves into his infallible memory at bay.
That successfully got her attention.
"You're FBI?" she asked.
Mulder nodded, a bit bashfully, as he heard the hint of admiration in her tone.
"That's where I've seen you before - you were on the news. You were the profiler they brought in, weren't you?"
Mulder continued to carefully study the dull olive curtain with sagging shoulders as he actively avoided her curious expression. He resented his eerie ability to delve deep into the minds of psychopaths but at least his aptitude for understanding the desire to kill was doing some good in the world. However, being respected for his ability was not something he had ever been able to accept.
Scully studied her patient, her mind suddenly flooded with possible futures and past traumas. She had seriously considered going into the FBI at one point but after she had nearly died, her direction had been refocused towards medicine. Now, looking at the ragged agent sitting in front of her, her usually stoic heart went out to him. He wasn't just a complete moron - he hadn't slept or eaten properly in weeks because he had been out catching a sadistic killer.
"Well, thank you then. You did a good job," she finally said quietly when he didn't deign to answer. She could tell it was due to some atypical character quirk and she tried to catch his averted eyes, to let him know that she appreciated his efforts.
Mulder looked up with a glint of something unreadable in his eyes and a wisp of a wry smile on his lips. It wasn't often he heard a genuine compliment, one not cloaked in expectation, sarcasm, or barely hidden scorn. He was working out what to say next when he heard the painful sound of his name being bellowed through the emergency room.
"I'm looking for Fox Mulder. Yeah, Fox Mulder. Where the hell is he?"
Cringing, Mulder shrugged helplessly as he caught the the smirk on Scully's face. "Don't bother - I've heard them all. And no, I do not know what my parents were thinking," he said tiredly.
At that moment, Bill Patterson strode mightely past the curtain and looked Mulder over with a scowl of disdain.
"What the hell happened to you Mulder? We've been looking for you for hours. Plans changed - we're going to Chicago tonight. Flight's in two hours so get moving," Patterson barked in his usual no-nonsense manner.
Mulder groaned and tried to push himself to his feet but his forward motion was easily thwarted by a small hand pressing him back into a prone position.
"He's not going anywhere tonight, especially not to Chicago. He's exhausted, malnourished, dehydrated, and has a serious concussion. He needs to be observed overnight," Scully said emphatically, glaring at the older man without reservation.
"It's okay Scully, I have to go," Mulder said pathetically, again attempting to get up.
"You're not going anywhere Mulder," Scully insisted, turning her icy look towards him.
"Look miss, I'm the Director of the Behavioural Science Unit of the FBI and my agent is needed in Chicago tonight. This is non-negotiable. He is coming with me," Patterson snarled as he set his shoulders and stared steely lasers first at Mulder and then at Scully.
The man may have exuded authority but something she didn't quite recognize had set itself up in her gut. She was not going to let this one go.
"I don't care who you are, he is my patient and he is not going anywhere tonight. I have no doubt that he is needed but he can go tomorrow morning after a good meal and night's sleep. You're not going to get anything out of him today anyways," she retorted.
Patterson upped the intensity of his glare and continued. "You may be his doctor but I'm his supervisor. He looks fine and he's coming with me now. If you refuse to let him go, I'll just go over your head and speak to your supervisor."
"Scully, it's fine. I'll just go. I'll be okay," Mulder tried to interject.
"No you're not," Scully said to Mulder before again turning towards Patterson.
"I'm sorry, you must be hard of hearing or just incredibly obtuse," she sputtered. "He is staying here for observation. He will meet you in Chicago. Now if you would kindly leave, he can get some rest and may actually be able to function tomorrow."
Mulder took in the scene with a feeling of delight that he hadn't felt in an eon or so. Patterson was goggling at Scully in a way that perfectly expressed complete befuddlement. People did not argue with Bill Patterson. He was a BSU god amongst mere mortals. Mulder couldn't remember a time when Patterson hadn't gotten what he wanted. Yet here he was, storming out of the hospital, so astounded and irritated he didn't bother to ask for a supervisor. And all because of a mini med student who looked like a teenager but who, apparently, possessed some serious balls.
"Holy shit. That was incredible," Mulder stated flatly, still not quite able to comprehend what had just occurred. "Will you marry me?"
"So is that what does it for you, Mulder?" Scully retorted, humouring him with a sly smile.
"Hells yeah, Scully. I will watch you go mano a mano with Bill Patterson any day," Mulder replied.
Scully gave him a partially-amused look and an exaggerated pat on the head. "Now, I want you to get some rest. I'll be back to wake you in a bit," she said.
"Yes, ma'am," Mulder replied, soldier-like.
Giving him a mock-scowl, she only let a real smile hit her face as she turned the corner. She, unlike many of the other med students, had never been one to be attracted to her patients but this Mulder was irritatingly alluring. For whatever reason, his particular combination of reticence, stubbornness, and jerkishness was rather appealing and she was, surprisingly, no longer annoyed that she was spending the night watching over him.
****
Scully took some time to re-caffeinate before giving into the temptation of checking in on her intriguing new patient.
She got there just in time to catch him getting dressed. He was pulling his shirt over his head as she pulled the curtain open.
"Where exactly do you think you're going?" she demanded.
He at least had the good sense to look chagrinned as he responded. "Uh, Chicago?" he said questioningly.
Scully didn't bother to respond verbally - the look she gave him was sufficient to convince him to sit back down.
"Look, Scully. I'm wired, I can't sleep and Patterson's going to flay me alive unless I get there soon. I'm sorry but I have to go. I'll be okay," he explained pleadingly.
Looking him over, Scully sighed sympathetically. "Lie down, Mulder," she said gently yet authoritatively.
Scowling at her, he lay down and tried not to fidget as he envisioned small children dying because he chose to sleep instead of flying to Chicago. No wonder he couldn't get to sleep.
Scully sat down beside him and hesitated for a moment before taking his hand in hers. He automatically tried to pull away, but she held it firmly and wouldn't let it go. It wasn't exactly 'by the book' but she couldn't give him a sedative due to his head injury and he really needed some sleep.
"Relax, Mulder. You'll get to Chicago tomorrow. Nothing bad is going to happen because you got one semi-decent night's sleep. Your body needs this," she murmured as her thumb automatically drew calming ellipses on his palm.
"Are you coming on to me, Scully?" he said with his eyes still closed and his features beginning to visibly relax.
"Shhh. Breathe. Feel your muscles relax. Clear your mind. You did a good job here and you'll do fine in Chicago."
He stopped resisting her soothing voice and let it flow through his body. Her thumb felt warm on his hand and his breathing began to settle. He was just grasping at wisps of sleep when a harsh voice reverberated through his consciousness.
"Dana. What are you doing here? Weren't you off hours ago? Let's go. I'm finally done."
Mulder opened his eyes and saw an older male doctor frowning at Scully.
"You go, Daniel. I'm staying. I'll see you tomorrow," she answered.
"Dana, don't be unreasonable. It's late, you're tired. Let's go. Someone else can take your patient," the older man grumbled.
"That's not necessary. I'm staying," Scully responded testily.
Feeling more and more embarrassed by the second, especially when the older man obviously looked disapprovingly at the way Scully was holding his hand, Mulder pulled his hand away and pulled out his most convincing tone of voice.
"It's okay Scully. You do look tired - go home. I promise I'll be a good boy" he implored.
"Mulder, it's okay. Daniel is leaving. I'm fine and I'm staying. I'll see you tomorrow Daniel," she declared, glaring at the older man.
Mulder grinned inwardly as he watched the older man capitulate by turning and, without another word, leaving in a huff. Scully didn't even bother giving him another look.
"Trouble in paradise, Scully?" Mulder asked only half-teasingly.
"He'll get over it," she replied lightly. "Now you close your eyes and get to sleep."
"Okey dokey doc," Mulder said in a lilting tone as he tried to relax again. He felt her hand timidly move towards him and he reached out invitingly. He knew he was giving more of himself than he usually did to anyone, much less a virtual stranger but he sensed that she too was acting in an unaccustomed manner. When she took his hand and resumed making gentle rhythmic circles he felt his breathing slow down and his eyelids begin to droop.
****
She woke him every two hours but when he finally woke on his own in the morning, Mulder was shocked to realize that he actually felt somewhat rested. As he let the muted waves of daylight filter through his half-open eyelids, Mulder spotted his extraordinarily stubborn doctor sleeping in the chair close beside him, her head resting on his bed.
"Morning doc," he murmured into her ear. "You're drooling on my bed."
Scully startled awake with an embarrassed expression on her face but immediately changed it to a pseudo-scowl as she noted the soft teasing in his voice.
"Morning Mulder. How do you feel?" she responded neutrally, refusing to take his bait.
"Better than I have in weeks. I guess I sleep better with company," he replied with what she was already understanding to be his trademark comic leer.
"How's your head?" Scully asked, again ignoring his suggestive comment.
"It's down to a dull ache. I'll be fine," he muttered uncomfortably. He looked apprehensive and Scully wondered if he was lying about the pain. She was about to accuse him of fudging the truth when he spoke again.
"Look, I have to book a flight to Chicago but I think I owe you some breakfast or something..." he said hesitatingly.
Scully finally gave in to the smile that had been perched at the ready since his hot breath had awoken her that morning. He really was both irritatingly brash and infatuatingly shy at the same time. It was nearly impossible to resist his charm. But as she checked her watch Scully groaned. It was almost time for her next shift and she both resembled and felt like the living dead.
"Sorry, I can't. My shift starts in an hour and I need to shower. Besides, I'm not really supposed to go out with patients..." she said tiredly.
As Mulder digested her words, a desolate look spread across his face. "You can't seriously be working in an hour. You just stayed here all night in a chair - you're exhausted!"
Smiling sardonically, Scully shook her head in exasperation. "Well someone had to make sure you stayed here," she replied with mock annoyance.
She hadn't meant to hurt him but saw her words stab painfully into him before she could retract her statement. His entire countenance deflated and melancholy quickly spread from his chest to his every extremity.
"I'm sorry Mulder. I didn't mean it like that. It was my choice to stay and I made that choice knowing I had to work in the morning. I did it because... because... because it seemed like you really needed someone to take care of you. And because I wanted to make sure you would be okay. So don't worry about me - I'm fine. I may need a caffeine drip but otherwise, I've survived much worse," she explained carefully.
He still looked dejected but was at least able to stop staring at his toes. "Okay, fine. Then I'm taking you for a quadruple shot something and there's nothing you can do about it." he replied emphatically.
She raised her eyebrow questioningly at the pseudo-threat but let a small grin worm it's way onto her lips. She definitely needed coffee and it wouldn't be completely unethical to go out with him once. It wasn't like she was ever going to see him again...
"Okay, fine Mulder. But only if you eat," she declared.
"Deal. Let's go," Mulder replied with a satisfied smirk.
****
Breakfast was an amiable affair, full of small talk and verbal jousting more suited to old friends than new acquaintances. There was a level of familiarity that both felt but neither could explain when she insisted he choose whole-wheat toast and he made her eat a greasy strip of bacon.
As they exited the restaurant, Scully felt a light pressure on the small of her back and she nearly froze in her tracks. She had never been one to believe in fate or destiny but there was no other way to explain the feeling that had arisen in her as Mulder gently lead her out of the restaurant. She knew, in the deepest abyss of her private being, that there was an ethereal connection between them. She wouldn't have admitted this for any amount of anything but she knew it all the same.
As Mulder turned to say goodbye, he caught the faintest glimpse of something unnameable in her expression. But she quickly covered it up with a hint of a frown and whatever he had seen was vanquished instantly.
He knew she had felt it too - the certain je ne sais quoi that hung between them. But he also, somehow, knew it would make her uncomfortable if he were to bring it up.
Facing her in the glare of the early morning sun he was struck by her aura of toughness apparent even in the soft light of dawn. Mulder suspected he had been given a rare opportunity to see the depths of tenderness that lay just under her impassive exterior and he felt honoured to have been deemed deserving of such a prize.
Taking her hand in his, he gallantly brought it to his mouth and placed a soft kiss in her palm.
"Thanks Scully. I feel better than I have in ages," he said simply.
"Good - you need to take better care of yourself, Mulder. Don't make me worry about you," she replied with a sigh, her hand tingling in response to his dashing gesture.
It took a nearly superhuman effort for her to pull away from him and she willed herself not to look back. Which was fine until she heard his unmistakable voice beckon her with a loud "Hey Scully!".
She turned to see him standing beside the open door of a cab with a canary-eating grin plastered on his face.
"Yeah Mulder?" she yelled in reply.
"Til we meet again!" he called confidently.
He knew she raised her eyebrow questioningly even though he was too far to see her do so and he smiled to himself for knowing such a thing.
The End. For now.
by 19
RATING: G
CATEGORIES: M/S UST, AU
ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know where please and thank you.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own, never will.
SUMMARY: Your typical agent-meets-doctor AU with a time travel twist.
****
Stanford-1989
by 19
****
The method hadn't quite been perfected. It's aim was imprecise - sometimes the poor hapless travelers ended up as far as five years from their original destination. Yet, it was a tool that could not be ignored.
Something had to be done about them. The infernal duo that they encountered in every move of the human rebellion. The irritating twosome they just couldn't quite shake. The vexsome pair that would be their undoing.
Unless they got to them first.
Thus, their thoughts turned back towards their newest weapon.
Divide and conquer. How quaintly apt.
The simulations were nearly unanimous. She was the target, no doubt about it. Without her, he would still discover the plans. In fact, he would force them to work harder, faster. Then he would, somehow or another, in every simulation, end up getting himself killed by rushing headlong into a dicey situation. The perfect solution - he causes a nuisance, speeds up the project, gets himself dead.
Kill him, however, and shit hit the simulated fan. She rises in the FBI and refuses to be influenced by the conspiracy, regardless of endless threats, attacks, even attempts on her life. Then she uses her status at the FBI to parry their every move, quash their every motion, interfere in every plan.
The simulations did not lie.
She was the target.
****
1986
The man hit the ground with a thud. There was nothing gentle about the landing process - another improvement that could be made. That, and actually getting the time right more than one in ten tries. At least he knew where he was - that was the only consistently functioning part of the process. The park he landed in was, to the best of their research, in between her apartment and the Stanford Hospital. He had even landed near dusk - perfect for his purposes. He wondered what year it was as he wandered towards the medical building. They had been shooting for 1990 - killing her too early may change parameters in simulated outcomes. It was best to strike just before they met, to ensure validity of the simulation.
He picked up a newspaper as he waited and groaned as he read the date. 1986. Missed by four years. At least she would have started at med school already and he wasn't clear across the country from his target. That would have been just peachy.
He had been waiting for a tedious while when he finally spotted her splitting off from a group of students. Surreptitiously, he followed her as she headed towards the park where he had landed. His hand was moist with anticipation as he gripped the cool metal object in his pocket. Pulling it out, he pressed a button and heard the familiar swishing noise as the pointed end popped out ominously. He was generally glad guns didn't survive the time travel process very well. He preferred the sleek steel stiletto.
He waited for the right moment and approached as she neared a dark area of the park. His technique was sure as he lunged out and grabbed her forcefully, one hand covering her mouth as the other aimed the stiletto at her heart. It was all working perfectly until she slammed her foot down on his, causing him to momentarily loosen his grip on her. By the time he regained his grasp on her, she had managed to scream for help and he could hear approaching footsteps. Harried, he stabbed her with the sharp metal object but without the precise aim with which he usually wielded his weapon. She screamed in pain but still managed to elbow him hard in the cheek as he readjusted his grip on her. He was just about to stab her again when he heard the whine of a police siren. Determining that discretion definitely was the better part of valour, he dropped his victim and ran.
****
1989
The small female medical student left the Stanford Hospital and walked towards the nearby park, glancing around with more nervousness than generally warranted. The area around the university was fairly well-to-do, as was most of the adjoining town of Palo Alto. However, after the nearly fatal attack on her three years ago, she had, of course, been a little wary of the park, especially at night. And it didn't help that the normally ennui-infusing town of Palo Alto had, until yesterday, been the scene of a FBI serial killer/arsonist hunt.
Her wariness was normally unfounded but that night, the student noticed a staggering shadow slowly making its way towards her. Adrenaline instantly flooded her already twitchy nervous system and she was nearly overwhelmed with the impulse to make a run for it. However, she held off of running until her rather large rational side finally kicked in and she forced herself to take deep breaths until the desire to flee was under control.
She was not going to be attacked by a stranger with a bizarre stiletto weapon. She was not going to lie gasping for breath in puddles of her own blood. She was fine. And the man staggering towards her was either drunk or in pain. He was not going to hurt her.
She approached the man slowly, trying not to startle him although she really needn't have bothered. He didn't seem to notice as she called out to him, asking him if he was okay. Instead, he just kept stumble-running away from her.
The student considered letting the man be but her conscience kept nagging at her irritatingly to make more of an effort. So she sighed dramatically to the universe at large and jogged after the impaired man.
It took less than a minute to catch him and this time she approached from in front.
"Hey, are you okay?" she called loudly.
This time her voice managed to prick it's way through whatever substance was clouding the stranger's brain and he looked up in confusion as if he were not used to being spoken to. He then muttered something unintelligible and tried to continue on in his pseudo-ambulatorily manner.
"Hey, why don't you sit down for a minute. You don't look so good," she tried again, now a bit annoyed that she had involved herself in this situation. Maybe buddy was just drunk and high and walking it off. She had just done an extended shift and was dead on her feet. She needed a hot shower. She needed some sleep. She did not need to be hollering at stoned strangers in the park.
"Mmm, I'm fine," the man muttered as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to pick up his pace. He then took about ten floundering steps before passing out mid-step with mildly disastrous results. Without the sentience required to break his fall with less valuable parts of his body, he took the brunt of the fall with the side of his head.
The student sighed again at the loud crack of bone meeting pavement - why couldn't he have fallen somewhere out of sight? It wasn't exactly the most considerate thought to have ever passed through her grey matter but, damn, was she ever tired.
Pushing aside her cranky, whiny self, she set her little feet to motion and knelt beside the rumpled heap of still-possibly-dangerous-but-currently-only-semi-conscious stranger.
"Lie still sir, I'm here to help you. I'm a medical student. That was quite the fall you just took," she said rather cooly, inspecting him for the telltale signs of alcohol and drug misuse.
Surprisingly, his breath was alcohol-free and his arms showed no sign of injection drug use. Not that he couldn't be on a myriad of other drugs but upon closer inspection, he was rather clean cut, young, even passably cute. Without the stumbling, he would have just been another upper-middle-class Stanford-prissy-boy jogger.
The jogger was slowly regaining a semblance of consciousness, the haze clouding his green-flecked eyes clearing as he registered the situation. He was sprawled out uncomfortably on a hard surface, his head was pulsating painfully, and a disembodied voice was asking him if he wanted an ambulance.
The 'A' word finally got his attention. He definitely did not want to go to the hospital.
"No, no ambulance," he managed to mutter as he tried to sit up.
It wasn't the best idea he had ever had. Little birdies started to fly about his head nauseously and his stomach attempted to leap out his esophagus as the blood rushed to his pounding head. If a pair of small, strong hands hadn't gripped him gently but firmly but the shoulders, he would have likely passed out again.
"Hey, hey. Not so fast," the voice said. "You need to get to a hospital. I'm going to call the ambulance."
"No ambulance," he repeated stubbornly as his vision finally cleared enough to take in the sight of his interlocutor.
She was tiny and young and was probably pretty but looked nearly as ragged as he felt. But her hands felt strong on his sagging shoulders and he was nearly overcome with the odd sensation of being thankful that she was there. He wasn't exactly accustomed to human contact and he certainly wasn't in the habit of accepting help.
"Fine. Then you're going to have to get up because the hospital is a block that way and I certainly can't carry you," she said in exasperation.
"No hospital," he argued tiredly.
"Look. You just hit your head. Hard. You definitely have a concussion and you need to be checked out. The hospital is only a block that way and if you really are okay then I will let you go on your merry way. But, whether you walk or I call an ambulance, you are coming with me and I'm making sure that you haven't done any major damage to your brain," she said emphatically.
Christ. 'Who the hell was she and why the fuck did she care what happens to me?' the jogger thought with annoyance. He just wanted to be left alone. It had been a particularly shitty week. Two weeks. However long they had been there. Now it was over and he just had to make it back to the motel so someone could make sure he made the plane home the next morning.
But it didn't sound like she was going to let it go.
"Okay, okay. Holy bossy. I can walk," he said as he pathetically tried to push himself to his feet. Unfortunately, his muscles had sneakily been replaced with some sort of gelatin product and he wobbled precariously as he rose.
Again, a firm grip around his waist held him steady as he finally achieved an upright position. He looked down at his irritating saviour, realizing he towered over her. However, she didn't seem to have any trouble shoring him up as they started towards the hospital.
"Are you always this persistent with strange men you find in the park?" he asked sarcastically, still annoyed at being forced to go to the hospital.
"Only the unappreciative ones," she replied sharply, irked at the attitude of her impromptu patient. It wasn't like she wanted to go back to the hospital after having spent the last 12 hours there.
He looked at her askance, a bit taken aback by the iciness of her response. But as he leaned into her, head threatening imminent implosion, stomach barely holding onto its meager contents, unable to walk without stumbling, he came upon the realization that he was being a complete ass. He truly felt like shit and going to the hospital was actually not the worst idea. Meekly, he shut his unappreciative trap and let her drag him into the emergency room.
The waiting room was full with people in various states of misery but she pulled him authoritatively past the line and lead him to a small, not-exactly sterile-looking storage area containing lots of linen and one dingy cot.
Sitting him down on the cot, she tiredly pulled off her coat before turning to eye him carefully.
He looked like he was close to vomiting but otherwise seemed to be a lot more conscious than he had been fifteen minutes ago.
"How are you feeling?" she asked in a concerned tone as she shone a light that she had somehow obtained from out of nowhere into his eyes.
"Peachy," he replied dully.
"Headache? Nausea?" she replied, ignoring his response.
"Check and check. You're batting a thousand doc," he muttered.
"Okay, I'm going to ask you a few questions now," she continued efficiently. "What's your name?"
"Mulder," he said tiredly.
She looked at him askance but didn't miss a beat. "What day is it?"
"My lucky day?" he asked, glancing up at her with a squint, trying to avoid her little light saber.
Her unimpressed expression didn't do much for his ego.
"Okay, fine. October 19, 1989."
"What happened to you in the park?" she asked, finally putting her pupil-inspection weapon away.
Mulder thought about how long he had been up for. He mused about how they had been in Palo Alto nearly three weeks and he hadn't slept more than three hours consecutively in that time. He recalled his frame of mind as he had tried to sleep that night. He barely remembered running to Stanford. His next coherent memory was a stranger with blue eyes waking him up.
"I was trying to sleep but I was too wired so I went for a run. It was okay until I got to the campus and then I started feeling light-headed. I guess I passed out and hit my head after that," he replied sheepishly.
"You sure did," she said with raised eyebrows and the barest hint of a grin. "You must have a pretty hard head though because it could have been a lot worse. I'd say you have a grade 3 concussion. I would suggest seeing a neurologist tomorrow just to be safe. Otherwise, I'd like to keep you here overnight for observation."
"Is that all you'd like to keep me for doc?" he replied with an obviously-fake leer. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'll take a raincheck. I have to go."
She fought the grin off her face and tried to scowl at her recalcitrant patient. Even in the garish storage room light and pale as a ghost, this Mulder guy was rather eye-catching. And strangely charming in a rather off-putting sort of way.
"Look, you're exhausted, dehydrated, probably malnourished, and you have a head injury. You came here on foot and I am not letting you leave like that. If you have someone you can call who will stay with you and wake you up throughout the night, then you are free to go. Otherwise, I'm keeping you here for observation," she argued tiredly. Her voice was still firm but her demeanor suggested exhaustion.
"Okay, fine. Where's the phone? I'll call my boss - he'll come to get me," Mulder grumbled. He hadn't wanted to involve Patterson in the affair, but he didn't have any other choice.
She sigh-yawned. Perfect, she could get rid of this guy and finally get home to bed. She had to be back at the hospital early the next morning. 'Oh the joy of being a medical student. And a sucker with a conscience.' she thought dully.
"Hey doc, you look pretty tired. Go home, I'll be fine," Mulder said, his voice quickly shifting from its previous growl to a gentle tone as he got up from the cot and let her lead him out of the storage room.
She smiled wanly, knowing that he couldn't see her expression. He was persistent all right.
"I'm not a doctor yet you know," she replied as she showed him to the phone. "Meet me over there when you're done. I'll get you a real bed to lie on and maybe a saline drip until someone comes to get you."
"Ooooh, saline drip. With an offer like that..."
She made a face at him even though she suspected, correctly, that it would only encourage him.
"So if you're not a doc what do I have the honour of calling you, my fair saviour?" he continued, ignoring her expression.
Narrowing her eyes in an admonishing manner, she considered her response carefully.
"Scully," she finally answered. "You can call me Scully."
He grinned broadly at her response, the result of which was a quiet tremor reverberating down her spine. He certainly was odd, this Mulder she had happened onto.
Scully let him make his telephone call in private but kept an eye on him from a distance, suspecting that he would escape at first opportunity.
The conversation was short and, when it was over, Scully wasn't surprised to see Mulder glance around slyly, looking for his chance to flee. However, when he espied her giving him the dubious eye, he merely shrugged in a 'had to try' manner and followed her to an empty bed, sitting down without complaint.
"Lie down Mulder. You look terrible. When's the last time you ate?" Scully asked.
Mulder smiled wanly. It had been two or so weeks of day upon night upon day looking for yet another modern day monster haunting the well-to-do streets of Palo Alto. Eating had not exactly been much of an option.
"Dunno," he shrugged as he lay down.
Scully raised her eyebrows in admonishment. "Why haven't you been eating?" she asked.
Mulder sighed. She wasn't going to let it go. "I'm here on a case. I've just been really busy. I'll be okay now that it's over."
"A case? What kind of case?"
"The Palo Alto arsons," Mulder said quietly, trying to keep the images that had imbedded themselves into his infallible memory at bay.
That successfully got her attention.
"You're FBI?" she asked.
Mulder nodded, a bit bashfully, as he heard the hint of admiration in her tone.
"That's where I've seen you before - you were on the news. You were the profiler they brought in, weren't you?"
Mulder continued to carefully study the dull olive curtain with sagging shoulders as he actively avoided her curious expression. He resented his eerie ability to delve deep into the minds of psychopaths but at least his aptitude for understanding the desire to kill was doing some good in the world. However, being respected for his ability was not something he had ever been able to accept.
Scully studied her patient, her mind suddenly flooded with possible futures and past traumas. She had seriously considered going into the FBI at one point but after she had nearly died, her direction had been refocused towards medicine. Now, looking at the ragged agent sitting in front of her, her usually stoic heart went out to him. He wasn't just a complete moron - he hadn't slept or eaten properly in weeks because he had been out catching a sadistic killer.
"Well, thank you then. You did a good job," she finally said quietly when he didn't deign to answer. She could tell it was due to some atypical character quirk and she tried to catch his averted eyes, to let him know that she appreciated his efforts.
Mulder looked up with a glint of something unreadable in his eyes and a wisp of a wry smile on his lips. It wasn't often he heard a genuine compliment, one not cloaked in expectation, sarcasm, or barely hidden scorn. He was working out what to say next when he heard the painful sound of his name being bellowed through the emergency room.
"I'm looking for Fox Mulder. Yeah, Fox Mulder. Where the hell is he?"
Cringing, Mulder shrugged helplessly as he caught the the smirk on Scully's face. "Don't bother - I've heard them all. And no, I do not know what my parents were thinking," he said tiredly.
At that moment, Bill Patterson strode mightely past the curtain and looked Mulder over with a scowl of disdain.
"What the hell happened to you Mulder? We've been looking for you for hours. Plans changed - we're going to Chicago tonight. Flight's in two hours so get moving," Patterson barked in his usual no-nonsense manner.
Mulder groaned and tried to push himself to his feet but his forward motion was easily thwarted by a small hand pressing him back into a prone position.
"He's not going anywhere tonight, especially not to Chicago. He's exhausted, malnourished, dehydrated, and has a serious concussion. He needs to be observed overnight," Scully said emphatically, glaring at the older man without reservation.
"It's okay Scully, I have to go," Mulder said pathetically, again attempting to get up.
"You're not going anywhere Mulder," Scully insisted, turning her icy look towards him.
"Look miss, I'm the Director of the Behavioural Science Unit of the FBI and my agent is needed in Chicago tonight. This is non-negotiable. He is coming with me," Patterson snarled as he set his shoulders and stared steely lasers first at Mulder and then at Scully.
The man may have exuded authority but something she didn't quite recognize had set itself up in her gut. She was not going to let this one go.
"I don't care who you are, he is my patient and he is not going anywhere tonight. I have no doubt that he is needed but he can go tomorrow morning after a good meal and night's sleep. You're not going to get anything out of him today anyways," she retorted.
Patterson upped the intensity of his glare and continued. "You may be his doctor but I'm his supervisor. He looks fine and he's coming with me now. If you refuse to let him go, I'll just go over your head and speak to your supervisor."
"Scully, it's fine. I'll just go. I'll be okay," Mulder tried to interject.
"No you're not," Scully said to Mulder before again turning towards Patterson.
"I'm sorry, you must be hard of hearing or just incredibly obtuse," she sputtered. "He is staying here for observation. He will meet you in Chicago. Now if you would kindly leave, he can get some rest and may actually be able to function tomorrow."
Mulder took in the scene with a feeling of delight that he hadn't felt in an eon or so. Patterson was goggling at Scully in a way that perfectly expressed complete befuddlement. People did not argue with Bill Patterson. He was a BSU god amongst mere mortals. Mulder couldn't remember a time when Patterson hadn't gotten what he wanted. Yet here he was, storming out of the hospital, so astounded and irritated he didn't bother to ask for a supervisor. And all because of a mini med student who looked like a teenager but who, apparently, possessed some serious balls.
"Holy shit. That was incredible," Mulder stated flatly, still not quite able to comprehend what had just occurred. "Will you marry me?"
"So is that what does it for you, Mulder?" Scully retorted, humouring him with a sly smile.
"Hells yeah, Scully. I will watch you go mano a mano with Bill Patterson any day," Mulder replied.
Scully gave him a partially-amused look and an exaggerated pat on the head. "Now, I want you to get some rest. I'll be back to wake you in a bit," she said.
"Yes, ma'am," Mulder replied, soldier-like.
Giving him a mock-scowl, she only let a real smile hit her face as she turned the corner. She, unlike many of the other med students, had never been one to be attracted to her patients but this Mulder was irritatingly alluring. For whatever reason, his particular combination of reticence, stubbornness, and jerkishness was rather appealing and she was, surprisingly, no longer annoyed that she was spending the night watching over him.
****
Scully took some time to re-caffeinate before giving into the temptation of checking in on her intriguing new patient.
She got there just in time to catch him getting dressed. He was pulling his shirt over his head as she pulled the curtain open.
"Where exactly do you think you're going?" she demanded.
He at least had the good sense to look chagrinned as he responded. "Uh, Chicago?" he said questioningly.
Scully didn't bother to respond verbally - the look she gave him was sufficient to convince him to sit back down.
"Look, Scully. I'm wired, I can't sleep and Patterson's going to flay me alive unless I get there soon. I'm sorry but I have to go. I'll be okay," he explained pleadingly.
Looking him over, Scully sighed sympathetically. "Lie down, Mulder," she said gently yet authoritatively.
Scowling at her, he lay down and tried not to fidget as he envisioned small children dying because he chose to sleep instead of flying to Chicago. No wonder he couldn't get to sleep.
Scully sat down beside him and hesitated for a moment before taking his hand in hers. He automatically tried to pull away, but she held it firmly and wouldn't let it go. It wasn't exactly 'by the book' but she couldn't give him a sedative due to his head injury and he really needed some sleep.
"Relax, Mulder. You'll get to Chicago tomorrow. Nothing bad is going to happen because you got one semi-decent night's sleep. Your body needs this," she murmured as her thumb automatically drew calming ellipses on his palm.
"Are you coming on to me, Scully?" he said with his eyes still closed and his features beginning to visibly relax.
"Shhh. Breathe. Feel your muscles relax. Clear your mind. You did a good job here and you'll do fine in Chicago."
He stopped resisting her soothing voice and let it flow through his body. Her thumb felt warm on his hand and his breathing began to settle. He was just grasping at wisps of sleep when a harsh voice reverberated through his consciousness.
"Dana. What are you doing here? Weren't you off hours ago? Let's go. I'm finally done."
Mulder opened his eyes and saw an older male doctor frowning at Scully.
"You go, Daniel. I'm staying. I'll see you tomorrow," she answered.
"Dana, don't be unreasonable. It's late, you're tired. Let's go. Someone else can take your patient," the older man grumbled.
"That's not necessary. I'm staying," Scully responded testily.
Feeling more and more embarrassed by the second, especially when the older man obviously looked disapprovingly at the way Scully was holding his hand, Mulder pulled his hand away and pulled out his most convincing tone of voice.
"It's okay Scully. You do look tired - go home. I promise I'll be a good boy" he implored.
"Mulder, it's okay. Daniel is leaving. I'm fine and I'm staying. I'll see you tomorrow Daniel," she declared, glaring at the older man.
Mulder grinned inwardly as he watched the older man capitulate by turning and, without another word, leaving in a huff. Scully didn't even bother giving him another look.
"Trouble in paradise, Scully?" Mulder asked only half-teasingly.
"He'll get over it," she replied lightly. "Now you close your eyes and get to sleep."
"Okey dokey doc," Mulder said in a lilting tone as he tried to relax again. He felt her hand timidly move towards him and he reached out invitingly. He knew he was giving more of himself than he usually did to anyone, much less a virtual stranger but he sensed that she too was acting in an unaccustomed manner. When she took his hand and resumed making gentle rhythmic circles he felt his breathing slow down and his eyelids begin to droop.
****
She woke him every two hours but when he finally woke on his own in the morning, Mulder was shocked to realize that he actually felt somewhat rested. As he let the muted waves of daylight filter through his half-open eyelids, Mulder spotted his extraordinarily stubborn doctor sleeping in the chair close beside him, her head resting on his bed.
"Morning doc," he murmured into her ear. "You're drooling on my bed."
Scully startled awake with an embarrassed expression on her face but immediately changed it to a pseudo-scowl as she noted the soft teasing in his voice.
"Morning Mulder. How do you feel?" she responded neutrally, refusing to take his bait.
"Better than I have in weeks. I guess I sleep better with company," he replied with what she was already understanding to be his trademark comic leer.
"How's your head?" Scully asked, again ignoring his suggestive comment.
"It's down to a dull ache. I'll be fine," he muttered uncomfortably. He looked apprehensive and Scully wondered if he was lying about the pain. She was about to accuse him of fudging the truth when he spoke again.
"Look, I have to book a flight to Chicago but I think I owe you some breakfast or something..." he said hesitatingly.
Scully finally gave in to the smile that had been perched at the ready since his hot breath had awoken her that morning. He really was both irritatingly brash and infatuatingly shy at the same time. It was nearly impossible to resist his charm. But as she checked her watch Scully groaned. It was almost time for her next shift and she both resembled and felt like the living dead.
"Sorry, I can't. My shift starts in an hour and I need to shower. Besides, I'm not really supposed to go out with patients..." she said tiredly.
As Mulder digested her words, a desolate look spread across his face. "You can't seriously be working in an hour. You just stayed here all night in a chair - you're exhausted!"
Smiling sardonically, Scully shook her head in exasperation. "Well someone had to make sure you stayed here," she replied with mock annoyance.
She hadn't meant to hurt him but saw her words stab painfully into him before she could retract her statement. His entire countenance deflated and melancholy quickly spread from his chest to his every extremity.
"I'm sorry Mulder. I didn't mean it like that. It was my choice to stay and I made that choice knowing I had to work in the morning. I did it because... because... because it seemed like you really needed someone to take care of you. And because I wanted to make sure you would be okay. So don't worry about me - I'm fine. I may need a caffeine drip but otherwise, I've survived much worse," she explained carefully.
He still looked dejected but was at least able to stop staring at his toes. "Okay, fine. Then I'm taking you for a quadruple shot something and there's nothing you can do about it." he replied emphatically.
She raised her eyebrow questioningly at the pseudo-threat but let a small grin worm it's way onto her lips. She definitely needed coffee and it wouldn't be completely unethical to go out with him once. It wasn't like she was ever going to see him again...
"Okay, fine Mulder. But only if you eat," she declared.
"Deal. Let's go," Mulder replied with a satisfied smirk.
****
Breakfast was an amiable affair, full of small talk and verbal jousting more suited to old friends than new acquaintances. There was a level of familiarity that both felt but neither could explain when she insisted he choose whole-wheat toast and he made her eat a greasy strip of bacon.
As they exited the restaurant, Scully felt a light pressure on the small of her back and she nearly froze in her tracks. She had never been one to believe in fate or destiny but there was no other way to explain the feeling that had arisen in her as Mulder gently lead her out of the restaurant. She knew, in the deepest abyss of her private being, that there was an ethereal connection between them. She wouldn't have admitted this for any amount of anything but she knew it all the same.
As Mulder turned to say goodbye, he caught the faintest glimpse of something unnameable in her expression. But she quickly covered it up with a hint of a frown and whatever he had seen was vanquished instantly.
He knew she had felt it too - the certain je ne sais quoi that hung between them. But he also, somehow, knew it would make her uncomfortable if he were to bring it up.
Facing her in the glare of the early morning sun he was struck by her aura of toughness apparent even in the soft light of dawn. Mulder suspected he had been given a rare opportunity to see the depths of tenderness that lay just under her impassive exterior and he felt honoured to have been deemed deserving of such a prize.
Taking her hand in his, he gallantly brought it to his mouth and placed a soft kiss in her palm.
"Thanks Scully. I feel better than I have in ages," he said simply.
"Good - you need to take better care of yourself, Mulder. Don't make me worry about you," she replied with a sigh, her hand tingling in response to his dashing gesture.
It took a nearly superhuman effort for her to pull away from him and she willed herself not to look back. Which was fine until she heard his unmistakable voice beckon her with a loud "Hey Scully!".
She turned to see him standing beside the open door of a cab with a canary-eating grin plastered on his face.
"Yeah Mulder?" she yelled in reply.
"Til we meet again!" he called confidently.
He knew she raised her eyebrow questioningly even though he was too far to see her do so and he smiled to himself for knowing such a thing.
The End. For now.