Chapter Text
1. appetizer
They were definitely going to arrive early at Mrs. Scully’s house. Before they left her apartment, Scully had been worried about being late, and there had been some tense moments, but now Mulder was estimating at least fifteen minutes early. In no way was this a problem – Mrs. Scully seemed likely to have some kind of generous appetizer situation going on – but Scully had not relaxed.
Mulder was driving. Back at her apartment, he had offered to drive to try to be helpful, and to his surprise, she had accepted. She had spent the ride so far sitting rigid in the passenger seat, watching the road ahead with pressed lips, hugging a salad bowl sealed drum tight with plastic wrap. A bottle of red wine – his host gift – was wedged at her side.
“We’ll be there with time to spare,” Mulder assured her, after he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Traffic’s been a cakewalk. We’re making great time here, g-woman.”
“You’re speeding.” She readjusted the salad bowl, shifting her legs slightly. “So yes, of course we're making great time.”
He glanced at the speedometer: exactly two miles over the speed limit, hardly notable. “Hey,” he said as casually as he could, “are you ... possibly having second thoughts about me tagging along today?”
“No,” Scully said. She pushed out a breath and glanced at him, and finally everything about her seemed to soften. “No, no, I’m sorry, Mulder. Mom has been inviting you to dinner for years. I’m just … anxious.”
“Anxious about what, exactly?”
“Well,” she said, “I was under the impression it was going to be just you and me at dinner. But Mom mentioned on the phone this morning there would be two other guests. These friends of hers.”
Mulder, his grip on the steering wheel, gave her a keen look. He assumed this was not yet the full story. Her foot, he observed, was now ever-so-slightly tapping. “So who are these friends, exactly?”
“A pair of women she met at a grief group at church. Mrs. Nunn and Mrs. Wexler. Both widowed. Both Mom’s age. The three of them always have ... a very good time together.”
“Ah, Mrs. Nunn and Mrs. Wexler,” Mulder repeated, as though this meant something to him. A pause. “Should I be afraid, Scully?”
“You? No. They will love you. They’ll want to pat your head, feed you too much pie, and set you up with everyone they know.”
“All right, well, that doesn’t sound too terrible. The pie, especially.”
“These women are lovely individually. But when paired up, and together with my mom, I find them to be … a lot,” Scully said.
“How do they act with you?”
“They want to pat my head, feed me too much pie, and set me up with everyone they know.”
Mulder couldn’t help but laugh.
“They always ask me about a thousand uncomfortable questions,” Scully said. “I hope they won’t do that with you there … but I can’t promise that.”
“What kind of uncomfortable questions?”
Scully exhaled. “You name it. My future plans. My job. My love life, for certain.”
“Have you let them set you up?”
“No,” scoffed Scully.
“Why not?”
“I don’t really want my mom’s friends involved in my dating life, Mulder.”
Mulder nodded again, sympathetically, but his mind was elsewhere. He wondered what the words she chose – “dating life”– were meant to signify. Was this something that existed, actively, in the world? Or was her “dating life” more of a hypothetical, a theoretical dating life, more like his? He usually assumed the latter, since there were no real indications of her dating. But you always had to consider the possibility that Scully was just very discreet.
“Scully, you can stop worrying,” Mulder said. “I’m here, and I’m always charming with the ladies.”
The smallest lift of an eyebrow.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mulder said. “My charm with the ladies: classic theory with no evidence. But trust me. Your mom’s guests will not want to talk about your life after I start talking about my latest reading material.”
A bigger lift of the eyebrow.
“Not that reading material, Scully.” Mulder said. “What do you take me for? I meant my research on the Missouri Monster.”
He paused, but there was no immediate response.
“I’m supposed to ask, aren’t I?” she said wearily.
“Only if you want to find out more about tonight’s fascinating dinner party discussion topic, Scully.”
“What’s the Missouri Monster, Mulder?”
“A swamp ape, a hairy beast with a distinctive pumpkin-shaped head, commonly known as Momo, spotted by several residents of Louisiana, Missouri in 1972.”
“Commonly known as Momo.”
“Yes, Momo,” Mulder nodded.
“Momo … the pumpkin-headed swamp ape.”
“His head isn’t literally a pumpkin, Scully. That would be ridiculous.”
Scully smiled, an actual full-blown smile, and Mulder felt himself relax, too. “It will be better that you’re there,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m coming for the pie, obviously,” Mulder said. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I am clear-eyed about your motives.”
He smirked, but risked another glimpse at her profile. The road turned, and the late afternoon sun lit up the rim of her hair; she was outlined in gold. Her lips were still curved in a little smile.
Mulder turned back to the road and said nothing. He was clear-eyed about his motives, too.
Scully, Mulder decided, had been unfair to her mom’s friends. Maybe she had just not given them enough of a chance, or maybe she just was a more private person by nature than he was.
Sitting cozily close to his partner on her mother’s sofa, wolfing down crackers and cheese like an unrestrained child, he liked Mrs. Nunn and Mrs. Wexler just fine.
It was true that they were very focused on asking him questions. But that meant he could heroically distract their attention from Scully. She could sit at his shoulder and sip her glass of wine, smiling her most enigmatic smile. He was just playing defense, guarding her, like in basketball. That’s what it was.
It really wasn’t that bad, either. Actually, it was nice to have two (three, if you counted Mrs. Scully) women asking him unending, eager, interested questions. No doubt it said something telling about his psychological profile that all this maternal attention felt so good. Something else to thank Mom for, probably, he thought wistfully.
Mrs. Nunn was smiley and round and petite, shorter even than Scully. She offered him the plate of appetizers again, and again, and again. He just kept on accepting it. Mrs. Wexler was well-coiffed and clever and spoke with a slight Southern accent. She laughed loudly at all his jokes. He just kept on making them.
The three older women -- Mrs. Nunn, Mrs. Wexler, and Mrs. Scully -- laughed loudly at one another, too. They told little stories, teased each other lightly. Mulder was used to seeing Mrs. Scully under more somber circumstances, and he enjoyed seeing her so at ease.
He thought Scully enjoyed it, too. At one point, when her mom’s face had turned pink laughing at one of Mrs. Wexler’s surprisingly off-color quips, Scully reached out and touched his arm lightly, which he took to mean she was having a good time. Eying her, he decided his partner now looked fairly relaxed: wearing a fitted sweater, jeans, not a suit, her lips stained just a touch with red wine. He wondered why Scully didn’t seem to have female friends like this, a cadre of younger women she hung out with.
For the first time there was a lull in the conversation, and Mulder wondered if it was a good time to bring up Momo the Swamp Ape. Mrs. Nunn preempted him.
“So Maggie says you’re from Martha’s Vineyard, Fox?” Mrs. Nunn said, holding the plate of food out for him automatically again. “It’s so lovely there. My late husband and I vacationed there once.”
“Yeah, it was a good place to grow up,” Mulder said, taking another cracker. That was true, for the most part.
“You must be a wonderful swimmer, growing up on the beach like that. Did you lifeguard?”
“I did, as a matter of fact,” Mulder said, smiling self-consciously. “For only one summer, in high school. I was always a pretty decent swimmer.”
“What a wonderful experience for a young man,” said Mrs. Nunn admiringly. “Did you save anyone’s life?”
“Well,” Mulder considered. “Probably not. That was the summer that Jaws 2 was being filmed at the Vineyard, so mostly, I just rescued hysterical kids from killer sharks that turned out to be floating logs.”
The loud laughter in response startled Mulder, since it was more than the anecdote really deserved. Even Scully smiled. Mulder inclined his head modestly and nibbled daintily at a slice of pear.
“So are you single, Fox? Seeing anyone?” Mrs. Wexler said, arching her head to look at him sideways.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Scully shoot her mother a quick, significant look.
“Camille,” Mrs. Scully said, wagging her finger.
“I am sure he doesn’t mind a few questions about his romantic life, Maggie,” Mrs. Wexler said. “Do you, Fox?”
“I’m not seeing anyone, no,” Mulder said, smiling. “And no, I don’t mind questions.” He gave Scully a little reassuring nudge with his elbow.
“You must be too busy, like our Dana,” Mrs. Nunn said. “She has no time to date either.”
Her tight-lipped smile firmly in place, Scully gave a noncommittal shrug.
“I have to imagine it’s entirely your choice, Fox,” Mrs. Wexler said with a wink. “There must be so many women interested in you, as dashing as you are.”
“Not really, Mrs. Wexler,” he said sheepishly. “I work a lot. An unhealthy amount, probably. So I rarely meet women, and when I do, I think I come off as a little strange.”
“I don’t believe that for one second. Tell us, Dana, is that the truth?” Mrs. Wexler said, playfully, turning to Scully. “How could Fox come off as strange? It’s hard to imagine.”
“Not that hard,” replied Scully dryly. “That’s fairly accurate.” Then she looked at Mulder, and, taking in his face a moment, she seemed to reconsider. “But you’re right, too, Mrs. Wexler, there are always plenty of women interested in him. He’s just busy — and a bit oblivious.”
Mulder regarded Scully back blankly, wondering what on earth she was talking about. He would definitely not say there were many interested women in his life, and he was certain he would notice this himself. She simply shrugged, as if to imply he should know.
“Do we need more pear slices? Cheese?” Mrs. Scully said, her tone businesslike. “Anyone need another drink?”
“I think we’re good, Mom,” Scully said. “Do you need help with the —?”
“Dana, speaking of dating, I did run into that young orthodontist I was telling you about the other day again at the parish supper,” Mrs. Nunn interrupted. “Dr. Tilford. He’s still single. Just say the word and I’ll set you up on a dinner date.”
Scully uncrossed and recrossed her legs, setting her wine glass on a coaster. “Oh. I appreciate you thinking of me, Mrs. Nunn, but—“
“Please think about it. He is so attractive. And he was telling me he only works three days out of the week in his practice,” said Mrs. Nunn.
“That could come in very handy for a career woman,” Mrs. Wexler pointed out, reaching to lightly pat Scully’s hand with her own. “While you’re working all the time, he could be at home making you a nice stew and running you a bubble bath.”
Mrs. Nunn and Mrs. Scully chuckled. Mulder smiled weakly, swirling his glass of wine a little.
Maybe Scully should consider it. He could imagine how that might be good for her — coming home, after a traumatic case, to someone normal, someone successful, someone handsome who would help her slip out of her clothes into a waiting bath. Maybe hand her a glass of wine and a bowl of stew. Why wouldn’t she want that? He looked over at her, but she was only shifting in her seat in obvious discomfort.
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Nunn,” Scully replied.
“All right,” sighed Mrs. Nunn. “Well, you tell me if you change your mind.”
“Ah, Veronica, maybe she has more going on romantically than she is telling us,” winked Mrs. Wexler.
Mulder actually had the same thought. It seemed possible, at least, that Scully had some other reason she didn’t want to be set up – something beyond not wanting to involve her mothers’ friends in her romantic life. He wondered if there was any way she could already be seeing someone and not mentioning it, maybe to be kind to her lonely, single partner. He was dying to scan her face right now for clues, little telltale signs that only he might notice. He wondered what signs of that sort of love might look like written on Scully’s face, expressed in her voice.
But he didn’t want to focus attention back to Scully by looking at her intently right now when she was already so clearly uncomfortable. He was supposed to be her defense here.
“Hey, I hate to change the subject,” Mulder said, leaning back, forcing a jovial tone. “But I heard a rumor that there might be some pie for dessert. True or false?”
Next to him, he felt Scully edge subtly closer on the sofa. And as Mrs. Nunn began to enthusiastically detail the pie options, Scully covered her face with her wine glass to smile, meet his eyes and exaggeratedly mouth the word “charming” to him.
Before dinner, Mrs. Scully asked her daughter to help her get some china plates out. Mulder was about to face some very intense two-on-one with Mrs. Nunn and Mrs. Wexler when he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.
Feeling churlish, he apologized for having to step outside to take the call.
“Oh, don’t you dare worry about us,” Mrs. Nunn said, shaking her head in mock horror.
“It’s probably the FBI, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Wexler made a shooing gesture. “Go answer it!”
As it turned out, it was not the FBI. It was only Frohike, calling to ask him to play cards. There was evidently some sort of epic poker game being planned.
“I can’t tonight,” Mulder said, beginning to shiver, hopping from foot to foot in Mrs. Scully’s front yard. “I’m actually at dinner at Scully’s mom’s house right now. She’s roasting chicken.”
“Aha,” Frohike said meaningfully. “Gotcha. Dinner with the parents. Big step.”
“No big step, Frohike. Friend of the family. Friend.”
“Ahh, and there’s that implausible denial I enjoy so much. How is it going? You making a good impression?”
“As good as I ever do, I guess,” Mulder said, shrugging.
“I bet Mrs. Scully is a good cook,” said Frohike wistfully. “Roast chicken, huh?”
“And pie for dessert. But listen, I should probably go back inside. It’s freezing out here.”
“Say hi to Agent Scully,” Frohike said. “You can bring her by afterwards if you think she would be interested in poker. We can play any variation she wants. Emphasize any variation.”
“I will extend the invitation, but lower your expectations.”
“And Mulder? Don’t take the phone back to the table with you. Bad table manners, man.”
Mulder decided Frohike, who did show a surprising aptitude for etiquette and tact from time to time, might be right. He didn’t want his phone to ring at Mrs. Scully’s dinner table.
As he reentered the house, he discreetly stepped into the room off the hall to the kitchen that Mrs. Scully called her sewing room. Their coats had been laid out on a spare bed there when they walked in earlier. He found his coat next to Scully’s, and he wriggled the phone into his coat pocket.
It was at that moment that he heard the voices in the kitchen, as clear as a bell.
“So Maggie. Dana and her partner,” said Mrs. Nunn. “Are they actually ... involved? He is so handsome.”
“Oh my God, handsome, yes,” said Mrs. Wexler. “He is a Fox all right.” There was tittering. “I could turn that tail red. If you know what I mean.”
Jesus, Mrs. Wexler. Mulder felt his face flush.
He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop. But he was afraid to move, afraid to go anywhere and risk drawing attention to his presence now, which would be humiliating. Maybe they would leave the kitchen and go into the living room, and he could come in in a moment and pretend he hadn’t heard.
“No,” said Mrs. Scully firmly. “They’re not like that.”
“You’re sure? He sits very close to her.”
“They aren’t,” Mrs. Scully said again. “Just very good friends. That’s what she says.”
“You sound frustrated, Maggie.”
Mulder sat on the edge of the guest bed, wary and insecure. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Mrs. Scully thought about this. She was always kind to him, but he knew he probably wasn’t the kind of guy she would choose for her daughter to hang out with.
“Well, I admit, a little frustrated, yes,” Mrs. Scully said. “I always thought there was more there. To their relationship, I mean. I can tell -- I just think she wants there to be more.”
Mulder went very still, every part of him now on alert.
“You think she has feelings for him?” came the hushed response.
“Oh, she’d never tell me that,” Mrs. Scully said. “Dana has a hard time opening up like that. But he’s her whole world, you know? You can just see it in her face, when she speaks to him. When she speaks about him. She thinks he hung the moon. It’s been like that practically since she started working with him. It’s funny – her sister noticed it, too. We talked about it before she died.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Mrs. Wexler. “Bless her heart.”
“So what about him? What do you think is going on there? He seems very fond of her.”
Even though he was alone in the sewing room, Mulder looked down, immediately self-conscious.
Mrs. Scully paused. “I do think he loves her. He would obviously do anything for her. He is one of those … all or nothing sort of men, you know. And he seems all in on Dana, no matter what kind of relationship they have.”
“Oh, I could just eat him with a spoon,” moaned Mrs. Wexler.
“So if that’s true of both of them, Maggie, then why aren’t they involved?”
“I really couldn’t say,” said Mrs. Scully. “I just don’t know enough about the situation, about what goes on with Dana. I wouldn’t want to pry. But I do wish — I wish they were. I like him very much, and I think he would be good for her.”
“I will just ask her,” Mrs. Wexler said impatiently. “What’s the hold up, honey? Why don’t you just put on something silky and sexy and go jump that good-looking man’s bones? He won’t turn you down.”
More tittering. Mulder, mortified, put a hand over his face.
“Please don’t, Camille,” Mrs. Scully said, gently. “She would be horrified.”
“Fine, fine, I won’t,” promised Mrs. Wexler. “But Maggie, you know, sometimes people go for years not taking action on these things without a kick in the pants.”
“I know,” Mrs. Scully said. “It’s been years, actually.” She sighed. “But it’s Dana’s life, and — you know? Let’s don’t talk about it any more while they’re here. It’s just asking for trouble. Help me get the food on the table.”
The other women murmured their assent, and Mulder listened as they seemed to move out of the kitchen.
This was his moment to escape the sewing room without being busted. He should move quickly, take a deep breath, smile, act normal, and put all of this conversation in a file in his mind to think about carefully later, once he was safely at home.
But when he stood up off the bed, he found himself standing, rooted, in one place.
He needed to just think about the question properly before he left the room. For just a fleeting second. What if Mrs. Scully was right? It was her own daughter, after all. What if Scully was hoping for more?
A dangerous, spring loaded question.
He moved silently to the door of the sewing room, and he looked back and forth down the small hall to the kitchen to make certain he was really alone. He had the sensation, curiously, that he was on the job, doing some field work. Then he took a cautious step into the hallway.
And … practically ran into Scully.
She was quietly opening the basement door approximately three feet across the hall, moving quickly with her head down, her arms full of a stack of white china dessert plates. Her brow was faintly creased, and her face was a deep pink.
When she looked up and saw Mulder, she froze in place. He could see realization creep over her face, and as it did, her eyes went very wide and fearful.
At first he could think of nothing to do but stare, stupidly, back at her.
“I was just ... putting my phone in my coat in the sewing room,” he tried.
She nodded slowly, her mouth hanging slightly open. He wondered if she was weighing the option, as he was, that the two of them could just pretend they had not heard what they had, that they did not know the other had heard, that this had not happened.
“Fox, is that you?” came Mrs. Scully’s voice from the other room. “Is Dana there? Dinner is just about ready, if you all are ready to join us?”
“We’ll be right there,” he called back.
“I found the dessert plates, Mom,” Scully called. She looked down at the plates cradled in her arms, faintly confused, as if surprised the statement she just made to her mother were true. Somehow, her face had stained yet deeper pink.
“Scully?” Mulder said. “We should go have dinner, right?”
Not quite meeting his eyes, she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Following behind her, he reached out to place his fingers at the base of her back, as was his long habit. But she slipped away from him, walking quickly ahead into the kitchen.
He trailed along after her, uncertain what to do with his hands now.