Connecting Threads
Fox Mulder was all limbs, and when Scully woke up, she was tangled in them. The sun fell through the tiny basement gutter window over his sharp features, illuminating not just his beauties but his imperfections.
Scully did not like how she felt, looking at him.
She peeled herself out of the nest of Mulder and the couch. He smelled like deodorant and fabric softener, with a hint of something indescribably masculine and him. Mulder made a sound and shifted but did not wake up. Scully thanked her lucky stars.
She did not like how she was feeling.
Scully went to the bathroom and remarked on herself. Messy hair, tired eyes. Just like after dad left. She raked her fingers through her hair. It had little impact.
She hadn’t checked in last night, but she was pretty sure that Mom wouldn’t care. Scully feared though, that she would be papering the walls again with yellow string and photographs of those reported missing, newspaper articles of UFO sightings in local areas. She would lose herself again, so desperate to prove everyone wrong.
So desperate to find Dad.
The basement door slammed open and Frohike came stomping in with Langly and Byers close behind. Mulder, apparently something of a heavy sleeper, did not wake.
Scully pressed a finger to her lips and the boys were quiet. Frohike looked around the room, nodding at her when he saw Mulder asleep on the couch. “Let’s go upstairs.” He whispered.
She followed them upstairs. Scully hadn’t taken much notice to Frohike’s house the past night, but it was far nicer than the basement. On the coffee table in the living room, the boxes from Mom were empty, the folders, notes, and assorted samples spread out. Several pieces of paper with notes and other snippets - presumably from the boxes - were as well. There was an open stapler on one cushion.
Scully yawned. “How long have you guys been up?”
Frohike bent down to examine the materials on the table. “A few hours.”
Scully looked at the clock on the mantle. It read 9am. She wasn’t too much for using her brain before at least 8. She moved to closer examine the wall. A map of Federal, seemingly from an Atlas, was tacked on the wall. A few locations had been highlighted in yellow -- the cave, the general location of the Mulder house, a few other locations on streets she hadn’t recognized: presumably the houses of other abductees?
A feminine voice entered the room. “I made breakfas-- MELVIN FROHIKE WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY VINTAGE WALLPAPER!”
Scully snapped around and saw who she assumed to be Frohike’s mom. She turned around again and watched as Frohike dropped the stapler and the newspaper article. Abduction Number Three Occurs this UFO Season. June 1983.
Frohike bowed his head. “Newspaper stuff.”
She stormed to the wall and inspected what was there. “Newspaper stuff? Staples and thumbtacks?” She glared at him. “Melvin, do you KNOW how long this house has been in our family?”
He looked at her sheepishly. Under his breath, he said, “Since 1945.”
“You will spend your next weekend fixing the holes in this wall, Melvin.”
He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. “Yes, Mom.”
She nodded curtly. “Breakfast is ready.” With that, she left.
The four of them were still eating when Mulder came upstairs. His eyes were still sleepy and his hair was stuck up in almost every angle imaginable.
“Good morning, Fox.” Frohike’s mom greeted him warmly.
“Morning everybody.” He took a buttered biscuit off Langly’s plate, ignoring his objection as he took a bite out of it.
Scully couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to fall asleep with him. She shoveled another plate of eggs into her mouth.
Mulder took a seat in the open chair next to Scully.
“Marghning,” he struggled to say through his bite of biscuit. Scully grimaced, thinking about how boys were much nicer when they were sleeping -- they couldn’t speak or make fools of themselves.
“Mulder, we’ve been working on the stuff for the new article.” Frohike said, his voice raising at the end in hope that Mulder would get the hint.
He stayed quiet. “Cool.”
Frohike kicked him under the table. “You know, the new article? The really special one?”
Mulder gave him a quizzical look. “Yeah…”
Scully couldn’t help but laugh, earning a warning look from Frohike. His mom didn’t notice. Still, Scully smiled at the confused look on Mulder’s face. Lost but loveable.
-------
Mulder followed his friends into the living room. He observed the wall and the scattered papers, the stained and beaten up cardboard boxes.
It was like being in the FBI or something.
He went to examine the wall. He recognized his house- starred in yellow highlighter. Others were marked, too, the date of their addition marked next to them. 1947, 1949, 1952. Federal had been on the map for abductions for a long time. 1995.
Mulder didn’t feel so good. He kept examining. Newspaper articles were pinned as not to hide the map of Federal. Disappearance, missing, abduction. Theorized kidnapping. Eventually the notes about police investigating stopped. It was an imagine of irony, the investigations stopping and the celebrations starting.
He wondered, if the investigations had never stopped, if they could’ve found some of the missing people. The anger in him ached. Bitter, sour, twisting, turning, swirling. Sickness in his heart.
But there weren’t obvious answers. There were never really fingerprints or evidence or testimonials or really anything to base an investigation off.
Wait--
“Frohike, does your mom have string?”
“She knits. She has yarn.”
“That will work.”
When Frohike returned, Mulder took the ball of yarn in his hand and started connecting the victims. He carefully wrapped the string around every thumbtack, a purple-strung game of connect the dots.
When he was finished, Mulder stepped back. The thread crossed over itself and made sharp turns and straight corners, but he couldn’t discern anything from it.
He put his head in his hands.
Dead ends.