Mulder sometimes wondered if he was damaging his brain with the amount of time he spent on his cell phone. He would have it pressed to his ear and it would get warm and uncomfortable and after about twenty five minutes he would think to himself: This is probably unhealthy.
And yet, here he was, the phone against his ear and his brow furrowed in concentration, focused sort of mock intently on the far-away-seeming voice of his superior who was relaying information on a new case in that special way that always made Mulder feel like a small scolded child. The government’s work is never done, he thought sardonically. Scully tilted her head at him in impatience and shifted against the wall she was leaning on in the hallway of Pam Beesly’s apartment building. She checked her watch in an unsubtle attempt at speeding him along. He held a finger up and mouthed the words “Hold on,” which only made her more irritated.
“They’re expecting your arrival by noon tomorrow.”
Mulder grimaced in Scully‘s general direction and cleared his throat, not bothering to shield his mouth from the reciever.
“Yeah, uh, sir we won’t be able to be there at that um…that soon,” he mumbled, shifting on his feet and pursing his lips in anticipation of the Assistant Director’s anger.
“I was under the impression that the Scranton case was wrapped up, Agent Mulder,” the Assistant Director responded, his voice sharp and irritated. Mulder nodded.
“Almost, sir, almost. We just have some, um, some interviews to finish up and some, uh, technical type of technicalities to kind of…work out…so, it might take us a day or so. Because of the technicalities,” he finished, grimacing again. Kersh sighed.
“Agent Mulder,” he spat.
“Yes, sir?”
“Once you’ve wrapped up these so called ‘technicalities’ I would expect you to be on a plane to North Carolina as soon as humanly possible. No stops. No stalls. No X-Files,” he barked, and Mulder glanced at Scully and rolled his eyes. “Am I understood, Agent?”
“I think you’ve made yourself pretty clear, yeah.” The response was dry and half-hearted, and Mulder almost cracked a smile as Scully’s eyes narrowed at him in warning.
“That’s all,” Kersh informed him before abruptly ending the call. Mulder closed his cell with a sigh, slipping it into his pants pocket and approaching Pam’s door. He was raising his hand to knock when Scully’s voice interrupted him.
“Mulder?” she questioned. He paused and turned to her.
“Yeah?” His face dripped of feigned innocence and he watched, somewhat amused, as her cheeks turned red in annoyance.
“What did Kersh want, Mulder?”
“Oh! Um, he wants us to giddy-yap down to North Carolina to investigate the case of the stolen manure, but I told him we were kind of busy here wrapping up this…actual…case,” he told her, his voice laced with a combination of disdain and amusement. She, however, was mostly just full of disdain…he could tell by the scowl on her face.
“We’ve already wrapped this case up, Mulder, why would you tell him that?” He turned toward her and let his head dip down in an obvious kind of challenge.
“You really want to go investigate stolen manure?” he asked her, and she sighed, shifting on her feet and planting her hands on her hips in defeat.
“No,”
“Ok then,” he responded victoriously, “enjoy your vacation and don’t complain.” He lifted his hand and, decisively, he knocked.
***
Pam’s kitchen was small and warmly lit and Scully stood beside her casually, arms crossed and cool blue eyes fixed on the barbequed chicken Pam was preparing. She thought back to a time when she used to cook things like barbequed chicken, or beef tips and egg noodles, or pork chops and homemade applesauce, back when she was in medical school and had casual friendships and casual dinner parties and a book full of her mother’s old recipes. She wondered if those friends ever thought of her and where she’d ended up. She wondered if she still had that book somewhere…
“Please give me something to do,” she murmured dryly, “Uselessness makes me irritable, and I’m really trying to keep up my professional façade, here.” Scully crossed one ankle over the other and grinned, picking up a wooden spoon and tapping it on the counter lightly. Pam glanced over at her and chuckled, rinsing off her barbeque-covered hands in warm water.
“Don’t keep up your professional façade,” Pam instructed warmly, “I’m dying for some normal company, cause in case you didn’t notice, I don’t really have a lot of girlfriends at work.” Scully chuckled once and raised her eyebrows.
“I wonder why,” she offered, and Pam laughed, handing her a head of lettuce and a cutting board which Scully took gratefully. “Why do you work at Dunder Mifflin? If you don’t mind my asking.” Her fingers worked at the lettuce, choosing to rip it apart instead of using a knife to chop it. Pam sighed.
“It’s hard to explain,” Pam confessed, and Scully‘s brow furrowed in concentration and honest interest, “but I think it’s because I, um…” Pam shook her head down at the chicken in her hands and shrugged, “I guess because it’s home. To me.” Pam looked up and the honesty nestled into her eyes made Scully smile softly at her in understanding. “What about you?” she wondered, “Why are you with the FBI?”
“Oh,” Scully sighed, dropping the ripped lettuce into a bowl, “Why am I with the FBI, uh…I think it’s because there’s something…” she paused and tilted her head at the counter top, considering it, wondering what her honest answer really was. Finally she raised her head and met Pam’s gaze with a resigned one of her own. “I think I stay with the FBI because it’s home,” she confessed, a tiny lilt of a chuckle laced in her words and Pam’s eyes lit up in humor. “To me,” Scully clarified warmly and Pam nodded, sliding the chicken into the oven and setting the timer.
“I know what you mean,” she promised, standing up and leaning against the cupboards beside the oven and crossing her arms in consideration. Scully began to cut a tomato into quarters and lifted a shoulder loosely.
“Plus,” she admitted, “Mulder isn’t exactly hard to look at,” she murmured quietly and grinned when Pam’s mouth dropped open in shocked accusation, laughter pouring from her mouth easily, girlishly, and Scully couldn’t help but laugh too. Her jeans were soft against her hips and the green cardigan she was wearing felt comfortably warm against her shoulders and she was glad she’d thought to pack some tennis shoes, even though they squeaked against the tile floor of Pam’s kitchen. Everything about her felt better than before…easier. She felt relaxed and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the decisions she’d made in the bomb shelter or if it was the company. She thought maybe it was a little bit of both.
“I have been thinking that all week,” Pam admitted through her laughter and it only made Scully laugh harder, tossing the tomatoes into the salad and leaning forward conspiratorially.
“Sometimes he wears these turtlenecks, Pam, and I am telling you,” Pam shook her head, smiling, and Scully wondered if this was how Pam was with her sisters. She thought probably. “I swear he was a useless professor in a past life,” Scully told her in a whisper, and Pam laughed again.
“You should buy him one of those jackets, you know, with the patches on the elbows,” she suggested and Scully couldn’t help the way that she threw her head back and laughed. “And wire framed glasses,” Pam added.
Suddenly Scully’s laughter was stolen from her lungs at the feeling of a very familiar hand against the small of her back, and her breath came out in a gush as she glanced over her shoulder at Mulder’s confused grin. His hand was hot against her and Scully wondered if it would burn a hole right through her sweater with the way that it was searing against her flesh. She looked away from him and met Pam’s surprised stare with a panicked one of her own.
“What’s going on in here?” Mulder wondered, reaching around Scully to grab the bottle opener from the edge of the counter, and she swallowed visibly, feeling the warmth of his body as it brushed up against hers.
There was a twinkle in his eye that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Just a little female-bonding,” Pam answered casually, crossing her arms across her chest and smiling innocently. Mulder hummed and bent down low to Scully’s ear.
“Scully, you’re so short,” he whispered, “Nice sneakers.” His voice vibrated low and delicious against the bones of her ear and she licked her lips, her face draped in a look of warm irritation as he breezed back out of the kitchen, bottle opener in hand. She inhaled audibly and looked at Pam in desperation.
“I’m gonna kill him,” she admitted and Pam laughed, stepping to the fridge and handing Scully a bottle of Italian dressing.
“Or throw him down on the nearest flat surface,” Pam muttered, and Scully rolled her eyes and nodded in concession.
“Yeah, or that. You don’t want me to put this on here yet, do you?” she asked, gesturing with the bottle toward the salad. Pam shook her head.
“No, I guess wait until the chicken is done,” she instructed and Scully pursed her lips in acquiescence.
“Right,” she murmured in response, offering up one last chuckle at herself and setting the dressing down. “Right. So, tell me,” she prompted, “What…is Jim doing here?” Pam looked over at her and tilted her head, her eyebrows raised in discomfort and Scully felt the grin reappear on her face.
“Um,” Pam stuttered, “Let’s go back to talking about Mulder…” she suggested and Scully shook her head and thought that this feeling was definitely the company. Most definitely.
