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It was bad enough that she had to be here in the first place. It was bad enough that her dog got eaten by some unknown creature (probably an alligator, if you asked her). And it was bad enough that her partner dragged her out on a boat in the middle of the night, only hours after her dog died. But now after all that, now that the boat had sank after being struck in the middle of the lake, she was trapped on a rock with none other than Fox Mulder, the man who brought all this upon her in the first place.
To say he brought this upon her may be a bit harsh, actually. It wasn’t like he dragged her out here against her will. He had called her early that morning, even though she had told him the night before that she was taking the weekend to relax. Sure enough, shortly before 8am, Mulder called with plans for the two of them to take a little road trip to Georgia that morning. Scully didn’t exactly want to go, but she couldn’t say no to Mulder. There was something so charming about his adventurous nature and his need for her to come along with him that made her feel confident in following him anywhere.
Of course, there were times like now where she began to question why she had come along on this trip in the first place. Sure, it had been spun to her as a missing persons case, but she knew there was more to it. There always was.
Unfortunately, this was one of the journeys she had followed him on in which she suffered more personal loss than usual. Her sweet little dog was dead. Eaten suddenly by some beast in the woods, gone just like that.
“Poor Queequeg,” Scully sighed. She and Mulder had been having an entirely different conversation, but she couldn’t help but think about the dog.
“Why did you name your dog Queequeg?” Mulder asked, turning to her. It was the first he had shown even a slight interest in the dog since she had adopted Queequeg.
“It was the name of the harpoonist in Moby Dick,” Scully explained. “My father used to read to me from Moby Dick when I was a little girl, I called him Ahab and he called me Starbuck. So I named my dog Queequeg. It's funny, I just realized something.”
“It's a bizarre name for a dog, huh?” Mulder joked.
“No, how much you're like Ahab,” Scully said. “You're so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or mysteries, everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology.”
“Scully, are you coming on to me?” he smirked.
She ignored him. “It's the truth or a white whale. What difference does it make? I mean, both obsessions are impossible to capture, and trying to do so will only leave you dead along with everyone else you bring with you. You know Mulder, you are Ahab.”
He paused, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue with what he was about to say. “You know, it's interesting you should say that, because I've always wanted a peg leg. It's a boyhood thing I never grew out of,” he explained, though she sighed and looked away as he said it. “No, I'm not being flippant, I've given this a lot of thought. If you have a peg leg or hooks for hands then maybe it's enough to simply carry on living. You know, bravely facing life with your disability, it’s heroic just to survive. But without these things you're actually expected to make something of your life, achieve something, earn a raise, wear a necktie. So if anything, I'm actually the antithesis of Ahab, because if I did have a peg leg I'd quite possibly be more happy and more content and not feel the need to be chasing after these creatures of the unknown.”
“And that's not flippant?” Scully asked, looking at him incredulously.
“No,” Mulder laughed, “no, flippant is my favorite line from Moby Dick. 'Hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple dumpling', yeah?”
She mouthed the quote along with him as he said it, giving him an impressed smile as he chuckled quietly to himself. She looked at him for a beat, really looked at him. There he was, Fox Mulder--not her partner, just Fox Mulder--reclined on a rock in the middle of this foggy lake. Fox Mulder, the man who she would follow to the ends of the earth, was sitting next to her discussing her favorite book. Not just discussing it, but quoting it, sharing with her his favorite line. How had she not known he also loved Moby Dick? Of course she wouldn’t know, they never discussed things like this. They would die for each other but didn’t even know each other’s favorite color.
She continued to gaze at Mulder, not caring if he was aware of her eyes on him, but began to focus on him physically. He reclined atop his discarded life vest, slightly wiggling his legs to stay warm, arms folded. Her eyes landed on his Timberland boots, dragged themselves up his long jean-clad legs, up to his army green jacket.
He has a nice body, she thought to herself. Sure, she had noticed before; it would be hard not to. But this was the first time she allowed herself to consciously think about it.
As her eyes trailed up his torso and onto his face, she saw the day-old stubble and his damp, tousled hair in her peripheral vision. Her eyes lingered on his lips, particularly that plump lower lip. When she finally risked looking at his eyes, she was met with his staring back at her. Instead of feeling like she was caught, she felt like a fire had ignited in her chest. He was gazing at her like he was also really looking at her, like he too was just realizing the depths of this connection between them. Her breathing became labored as she couldn’t focus on anything but how his lips were slightly parted, how his damp hair flopped gently on his forehead, how his green eyes were taking her in.
Before she realized it, she and Mulder had slowly gravitated towards each other. As she put a hand on his shoulder to pull him closer, he put one hand on her waist and cupped her cheek in his other hand. Their lips slowly met, and she took his plump lower lip between her own. The kisses began soft but grew deeper each time their lips parted. She opened her mouth to his, and he accepted the invitation, his tongue slipping in. His palm cupped the back of her head as her hands slid into his slick hair. As the moment grew more heated, she swung her leg over his hip, straddling him. She lowered herself onto his lap, feeling the evidence of his desire for her. She moaned into his mouth as the sensation went straight to her core. In turn, he pulled her impossibly closer, running his hand under the bottom of the back of her shirt. The touch of his skin on hers nearly overwhelmed her as she threw her head back, gasping for air. He took the opportunity to explore her neck, gently nibbling on a sensitive spot below her ear.
“Oh, Mul--” she began, but was interrupted by a ripple in the water.
He pulled his face away from her neck and locked eyes with her for the first time since they were drawn together. They heard another ripple and began frantically looking around the immediate area surrounding their rock.
“What was that?” Scully asked.
“I don’t know, but it ain’t no duck,” Mulder answered as they pulled apart from each other, drawing their guns and pointing them in the direction of the splashing.
As luck would have it, their lamp ran out just as a figure came into view. In response, a light was pointed in their eyes.
“I thought I heard voices,” the figure said. “What are you two doing out here?”
“Doctor Farraday?” Scully called.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Farraday responded, looking at them suggestively.
“No!” Scully yelped. “No, we had a little trouble with our boat.” She hoped she had recovered, but felt mortified getting caught in the act.
“Actually, it sank,” Mulder chimed in.
“How'd that happen?” Farraday asked.
“It was my fault,” Scully sighed as Mulder tucked his head down, avoiding eye contact with Farraday. “We would have been out here all night if you hadn't answered our distress call.”
“Oh, I didn't. I was walking by, I heard you talking,” Farraday shrugged.
Scully’s jaw dropped. “Walking by?”
“Yeah, the shore is just a stone's throw from here,” Farraday said while pointing his flashlight at the nearby shoreline, showing that the fog had cleared. “Come on, I'll take you back.”
Scully hung her head in shame as Mulder glanced over at her, but she avoided returning the look. As they abandoned their rock and waded through the knee-deep water, Scully felt Mulder’s eyes on her back, just as she was sure he could feel her thinking. She decided that she did not want to speak about what had just transpired between her and Mulder, instead choosing to focus on the case at hand. As they reached the shore, she slowed down and Mulder passed her. She allowed herself one more glance at him when she was sure he wasn’t looking, admiring his tall, lean frame from behind, before swallowing the feeling down and promising herself to forget about this whole night.