You'll Believe in Anything
Everyone in town gathered for the opening ceremony of Abduction Season. It was a silly affair, with people wearing green big-eyed alien masks and shirts adorned with statements like “I want to believe.”
The Mulder parents were asked to speak, and they graciously accepted. Teena Mulder wrote for the local newspaper and was already well known for her work, and Bill Mulder worked in city hall. With the combination of their two professions, everyone in town already knew of them, and now were giving them all the attention and glory given to the parents of the first abduction of the year.
Bill Mulder wore his best suit, charcoal black jacket, complete with tie. Alien print. They both acted as if they were being commemorated for some great award or deed. Waving and blowing kisses, they walked to the stage and greeted the crowd with enthusiasm.
For the first time, Fox Mulder didn’t go. He watched Return of the Jedi with the other Gunmen, nursing a beer. The other three had thought about going, but opted out to comfort their friend. They argued over theories and plot holes, debating which of the three movies was the best.
The town was in celebration. Business would be booming again soon, Abduction Season was in! There was barbecue and corn on the cob and music playing, everyone eager for another incident.
Mulder would say later how insensitive it felt. A family was grieving, and they were celebrating. A child’s life was at stake, and they were licking their fingers clean of BBQ sauce. They were dancing in the grass, socializing with neighbours, conveniently forgetting the suffering that had to occur for this.
Samantha didn’t really matter to them. She was just a face on a screen, a page in the newspaper, one other person gone who they didn’t have to think about.
The ugliest part about the whole affair was that the Mulder parents went along with it. They were popular and worshipped. Of course! They were bringing business back to Federal! Their smiles weren’t strained with exhaustion and crying to the late hours, they were relaxed and easy, the smiles of people basking in their newfound fame.
Afterwards, they were treated to a steak dinner by the Mayor, as if they were commemorable for their child’s abduction. And they laughed and enjoyed the whole thing.
Mulder hadn’t spoken to them since the day he’d left. He didn’t have anything to say, because they hadn’t changed, they’d only gotten worse. They kept calling, begging to let them explain, to come home and talk, “I’m making your favourite and I want you to be here.” Everything they could do to get Mulder to come back, they’d try.
The Gunmen weren’t giving their opinion on the situation. They knew the culture, but they were seeing it firsthand, and the anger it created upon Mulder. So they kept quiet, offering support where it was needed. But otherwise, their opinion wasn’t shared.
Mulder had progressed from feeling everything to feeling numb. If he felt anything, it was anger. Pure rage, which dissolved into heaving sobs by the end of the night. The rest of the time, he just wanted to drink and watch movies.
He’d hadn’t been outside in weeks. Something dark and consuming had swallowed him, and he wasn’t fighting to get out anymore.
---------------------------------------
Scully was thinking she would get people to start calling her Katherine instead of Dana. The latter seemed just too soft, too vulnerable and it reminded her too much of Monica. Everything reminded her of Monica. The vast desert, the stars, her bed, every song. It ached. When it didn’t ache, it stabbed.
Melissa said the pain would soften after some time, she just had to be patient with herself, and take good care. But the problem was that she didn’t want to wait for the healing. She wanted it done and over with already, and didn’t want to have to think of or address Monica ever again. Scully wanted to get along with her life, to bury all the feelings and never have to unearth them again.
So she kept busy. She went for work at the Observatory and sold keychains and mugs with a bright smile and a cheery attitude. After a while, she found that the more she worked and the less time she had for her mind to consume her, the better she felt.
At first, she had to resist Monica’s advances. The side looks given from across the room, the apologies, the midnight texts. But it lessened as the days continued. Scully assumed because she was making it pretty clear that she didn’t want anything to do with her, and that was final.
In her productivity, the displays shined. The shelves were completely organized, color coded and perfect. She cut her sandwich in perfect triangles, and avoided even a single speck of dirt on her shoes.
But God, sometimes it was unavoidable. She would break down with a heaving sob and a blanket on her shoulders, unable to calm the tidal wave inside her. No amount of rearranging the shirt display could fix the pain she was feeling, but she kept trying despite.
Every day she prayed. Prayed for the pain to go away, for some relief in the storm, for the constant ache she sheltered to waver. But nothing changed.
Although she had few friends, she reached out to those who she had kept close to. In her time with Monica, she’d closed off from many of her friends because “Monica was the only thing she needed.” It was a dumb mistake, but the future was unforeseeable. Everything had seemed perfect, at the time. She had been in love, and love was blinding.
It was Wednesday. Scully was sitting on a barstool drinking a milkshake. John was supposed to be at the diner at six. It was 5:45.
Sadness wasn’t sharp around her anymore. Lately it had just been the subtle cloud, a constant rain keeping her soaking wet while she just wanted to lay in the summer sun. Losing her felt so stupid. Monica, Monica, it could’ve been different.
The bell jingled. Scully looked behind her and John stood with his hands in his pockets, scanning for her. She waved. When he saw her, he smiled.
It was a bittersweet moment. She was less alone, but it was less alone by a different heart. Monica wasn’t there to keep her company anymore, and Scully felt like crying. With a sweep of her hand, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and stood to meet him.
John was significantly taller, and the hug was like falling into bed after a long day. When they broke, Scully had to wipe stray tears away. John’s smile was soft and genuine. Scully felt like she was breaking, just a little bit. She had a lot to say, and a lot of apologies to issue, and nothing could really make up for the distance she’d let fall between them.
Scully had forgotten what it was like to need someone other than Monica. She had forgotten what it was like to feel dependent.
“Hey.” He said.
“Hey.”
There was a moment of awkward silence.
“Milkshakes on me?”