It was a lot like roleplay, in a way.
She played her part flawlessly, wore it under her clothes and then left it behind somewhere between the hotel and home. Scarlet was imaginary, a figment of every client's imagination; their dream girl.
Kennedy chose when Scarlet existed and when she didn't. Scarlet, like every man's darkest fantasy, didn't make any choices at all.
Okay, yeah, that was disturbing. But Scarlet's lack of choice gave Kennedy more options, and afforded Harper opportunities they could only dream of otherwise. All things considered, it was worth it, even if it was far from ideal and more than a little uncomfortable.
Scarlet was an easy enough mask to wear, and it was better that she wore it. A shield for Kennedy, a performance for the clients.
Everyone was happy.
Or at least, they had been until recently. Now, Kennedy wasn't so sure. She was no stranger to love— or the delusion of it at least— but no one had ever sincerely cared about Scarlet before, and now…
It seemed that Saul had fallen and fallen hard. That was something to worry about.
Maybe a thousand other clients had thought they loved Scarlet, and she just never knew. There was no way to be sure really. But Saul was different. He was more obvious, more open, more persistent, and more dangerous. Dangerous to the persona that was Scarlet as a whole, because Kennedy liked him too
She couldn't afford to feel anything like that right now. Ever, probably, or at least for a very long time. And certainly not a client.
Not sure how to come back from, 'fine, let's go out. First thing you need to know— my name's actually Kennedy.' He wasn't stupid enough to believe she'd use her real name for the service, was he?
Well, regardless, if that didn't do it, just about every other fact of her strange sorry life would. There was no good ending to this little story, of that much she was pretty sure. Besides, even if a relationship could work, that would leave her without her main source of income; asking him to sit back and be fine with it as she left every night to do her work was beyond the pale, she was pretty sure.
There were so many reasons it couldn't happen, it was useless to even think about it.
But here she was, thinking about it.
Fuck, she'd even wondered if Harper would like him, for crying out loud. She refused to pursue the line of thinking far, but she knew that was just because the answer would encourage her to do something dumb.
No matter how comfortable he thought he was with being this cliche, this caricature that he was, Saul always managed to surprise himself when he stooped lower.
This was, admittedly, a spectacular new low.
Falling in love with your hooker is just pathetic, he thought. Did it make it better or worse that, at the beginning at least, he'd tried to guard against this very thing? There had been a time, believe it or not, that he didn't hire the same girl twice. No matter how gorgeous she was, how charming, how… well, talented. He wanted to keep this exact thing from happening, for fuck's sake!
And all it took for her to fuck all that up was one visit.
He'd like to flatter himself by imagining it had taken longer; that his fall had been a slow burn, the fire in her hair and under her skin warming him over the course of months.
But if it had taken more than that first night, there would never have been a second, would there?
If you were half as smart as you always think you are…
Starting down that road might actually kill him now, so he decided he wouldn't.
He knew better. He knew better, and he went right ahead and fucked it all up anyway. He knew he shouldn't make it a regular thing and he kept seeing her every week for years now. He knew he shouldn't tell her his real name— or anything real about himself really— and he handed her everything but his social security number, it felt like.
He knew he shouldn't ask Mike to do a damn thing, and yet…
And yet, in the creepiest move you could make without explicitly breaking about a trillion laws, here Saul sat with a picture of Scarlet on her way out of a coffee date with her daughter.
Could be a niece, he supplied, absurdly and unhelpfully. He shouldn't assume anything. He shouldn't have even known this girl existed. If he'd heard this shit about someone else he'd be trying to make a hundred-thousand-dollar suit out of it already. Fuck. This had to be the point where he was too far gone, right?
But if he already had it, well…
She did look nice, didn't she? He could almost delude himself into thinking there was room for him next to the happy pair on the sidewalk. If Francesca called at the precise moment that photo was taken, he would have pointedly and cheerfully said it can wait and reached for Scarlet's hand.
It started, as most office drama did, with Tom.
"I'm telling you man, Ron's seeing someone," he said. "And by how giddy he came in the other day, she must be hot."
"Why are you paying so much attention to who Ron's seeing?" Jerry asked. Coming from him it was probably completely innocuous. The intention was warped dramatically when April gleefully seized the question, however.
"Yeah, why do you care?" she asked. "Are you trying to seduce him for a raise or something?"
In hindsight, someone should have picked up on her subject change and seen it for what it was. But it was skillfully done; everyone was too busy enduring Tom's affirmations of heterosexuality to worry about who Ron might or might not be sleeping with.
Later, it would come as a surprise to no one that April had actually been the first to know about Ron's girlfriend. She hadn't found out on purpose; she wasn't lying when she said she didn't care what any of them got up to.
But she tried to stop a pretty red-haired woman from entering Ron's office and he told her to let the lady in. He stood up the moment she entered. Then they both left through the other door with his hand on her waist. That was pretty much a dead giveaway.
She never said anything about it; mostly because of the aforementioned apathy, but also because unlike some people, she had manners.
:=:
Donna was the next to find out.
It was no secret to anyone that she enjoyed a fine meal, even by herself. Though on this occasion, she wasn't; there was a fireman from Eagleton joining her. If I get seen with an Eagletonian, Leslie will actually murder me, she worried. But he was hot enough that she deemed it worth the risk.
Would have been a perfectly normal evening for her if it hadn't been for who she saw at the restaurant.
"Is that…" She trailed off. Publically calling Ron Swanson's name while he was doing something he'd rather not be seen doing was a great way to make those three syllables your last. And judging by the fact that she had never seen or heard of the red-haired woman across from him before, she was pretty sure he'd rather not have attention called to him just now.
Of course, she was almost as nosy as Leslie— though luckily way more subtle— so she waited until Ron's pretty date walked off to the bathroom and then happily sidled up to his table.
"You must really like this one if you're taking her somewhere like this," she started without a second of preamble. "Didn't you say once that any establishment with a French name is a front for the socialist invasion of America?"
"It wasn't my idea; I was skeptical of the whole thing in fact," Ron answered stiffly. "But my companion enjoys their sauted onions." And you enjoy seeing her happy, Donna heard the unspoken addition.
Just then, the woman herself reappeared. It was truly remarkable how pretty she was; rich red hair and striking green eyes set in freckled pale skin, with a petite but voluptuous frame. Unless she somehow worked at City Hall, Donna couldn't think of anywhere Ron Swanson frequented that this woman would likely be found at.
"You must be Donna," she guessed. At the raise of Donna's eyebrows, she continued. "He doesn't know anyone from outside work and he's said enough about you all that I took a guess." And smart, too.
"I am," Donna said. "And since you know your man so well I'm sure I don't have to apologize for having no clue who you are."
"No, you don't," she laughed.
She introduced herself, and Donna decided she liked this woman for Ron.
"I should be heading out— you're not the only one on a date tonight— but it was good meeting you. And don't worry Ron— I'll let you keep this one to yourself for now."
:=:
"Ron! We need to talk about-"
Leslie stopped dead in her tracks. She had been mad that Ron's budget proposal for the Parks Department this year suggested cuts to three of her personal projects and two that she had (reluctantly) delegated. Mad enough to stay up all night revising his budget proposal and go to his office first thing in the morning to hector him into signing her new (better) version.
That was completely forgotten; she had something else to be mad about.
"You're seeing someone and you didn't tell me? How could you start seeing someone and not tell me? Who is this woman? Where did you even meet her?"
"'This woman' is right here and can hear you losing your mind about her existence," Ron supplied helpfully. The woman next to him waved, and Leslie changed tack.
"I see her, I know she's here— so sorry, my name's Leslie."
"The infamous Leslie, I figured as much. Ron's told me a lot about you."
"All good things, I hope."
"As good an opinion as he has of anyone, I'd say." Her smile was nice; she'd have to put that on the list of things she approved of about the new woman, next to the endearing dimples, the dazzling green eyes, the Harlan Coben novel under her arm, and the I Voted sticker that was slowly peeling off the front pocket of her sweater.
Of course, in the opposite list of things she didn't approve of, she'd have to write that Ron never mentioned this woman existed before now. Though she was mad at him for that, not her.
:=:
Jerry found out similarly, by forgetting to knock before entering Ron's office and seeing him with her. He politely promised not to tell anyone, although he did fondly reminisce about when he first started seeing Gale.
Ben and Ann knew by then; presumably, Leslie told them, although she had the decency not to tell anyone else.
When Tom finally found out, he wasn't mad he was the last to know. Weirdly, the only thing he was mad about was that Jerry knew before he did.
One thing to be counted upon in the American Southwest: the air was dry. It was, after all, a desert. Until monsoon season, at which point the air was still dry most of the day, and then it rained buckets in the afternoon.
Skinner didn't like it here much, but he didn't always have a choice.
He didn't have a choice in what happened either, often, and tonight was no exception; he could hear the questions he'd get when he made it back to DC.
Now how is it that you ended up stranded fifteen miles away from town, without your car or your gun? Bad enough that he'd almost gotten himself killed; his one saving grace was that he'd at least resolved the situation. Now he just had to worry about getting back where he was supposed to be.
Right as he thought that, like the world was just enjoying the chance to fuck with him, the sky cracked open with a sonorous boom and poured warm rain down.
Soaked within seconds and more than a little angry at the turn of events, Skinner trudged his way through a rapidly-flooding parking lot on foot and wound up at a twenty-four hour diner. Finally, some decent luck; he'd been hungry anyway. Not that he had much cash. Hope they have something cheap.
The splash and patter of light footsteps behind him got his attention and he turned to hold the door.
Following him inside was a woman; pale skin shining like glossy porcelain, red curls weighted and smoothed by the rain. The grateful smile she shot him as she ducked inside was pretty.
"I don't even have enough cash for a meal, I don't think," she said with a laugh. "I just had to get out of that rain." Skinner returned the smile half-heartedly.
"Same here."
"Well, the inside's for customers only," the hostess interjected.
Skinner sighed and grabbed his wallet. "Five dollars and change." The woman pulled out hers and did the same, coming up with an additional eight.
"This is going to sound weird, but do you want to split something? Thirteen's gotta get more than five and eight," the woman said. Skinner looked at the hostess, who wasn't likely to give them a break.
"Sure," he said. "Walter Skinner, by the way— I like to know who I'm sharing a meal with."
"Smart policy," the woman answered. Her name rolled off the tongue with a pleasant, almost melodic sound. "It's nice to meet you." Skinner could, for once, honestly say the same.
"Table, or booth?" the hostess asked.
"Booth," his 'date' answered before he had the chance. Skinner felt a sigh of relief ease his chest; booth was the right answer. Sitting with his back to an open space made him nervous ever since 'Nam, and the last thing he needed after this day was some needless anxiety.
They took their seats and looked over the menu.
"What are you in the mood for?"
"I'm not picky, but nothing sweet," Skinner answered. "You?"
"'Nothing sweet' works for me," she agreed.
He first saw her at a house party he hadn't wanted to go to.
Parties had never interested him, and especially not the ones in his neighborhood. Their crude form of bacchanalia was hard to stomach at the best of times; a remorseful newly-minted Death Eater had no place there at all.
But he was desperate for a distraction, and time away from his life.
Six houses down was as far as he could get and yet it was another world. Severus found fast that he had no idea who most of these people were.
He didn't flatter any of them, even in his own mind, by pretending he cared. He just took a drink. Just here for the free booze, he promised himself. You don't even have to talk to anyone, and as soon as you've had your fill you can sneak out without saying goodbye.
That promise he made himself was one he intended to keep at all costs.
Even as a rotating crowd of idiots joined him in the kitchen.
Severus hadn't found it worth it to leave; the drinks were here. Perhaps if he knew whose house this was he could know if there was a cat or dog worth following around a bit, but he didn't. He wasn't venturing out into the writhing crowd.
The first three to join him took the bottle of vodka he'd been steadily working his way through. He traded it for the nearby rum; when had that gotten here? He preferred it to vodka, actually, most of the time.
The group's leader tried to down a sizable fraction of the vodka in one swallow, pouring it straight down his throat. He'd overestimated his capabilities; retching and sputtering, most of what he'd tried to down ended up on the floor. Free booze and free entertainment; this night is the gift that keeps on giving.
The night felt so much warmer than it had when he first showed up, though the late hour meant it should only have gotten colder. Every light was tinged with a yellow glow, making the harsh artificial light he'd come to hate ever since Hogwarts seem more candle-like. Blurry edges had smeared the dank, cramped kitchen into a scene that approached cozy.
Okay, that was enough.
He was right about to go when the second group came in, her in tow.
She was the only single woman in a gaggle of couples, but that wasn't what got his attention. Nor was it the fact that she reached for the rum bottle he was drinking out of and poured herself a measure he'd call generous.
Something about her seemed so radiant. She wasn't especially his type, if he had to say he had one. He'd always liked redheads, and her hair was an especially alluring shade, but it wasn't what caught his eye first. Nor, though they were lovely, her eyes. A warm sort of green, that spoke to evergreen trees, with identical rings of gold like sunlight blooming from their center.
No, what got his attention was her laugh as one of her friends said some new mundane thing.
"Paul, that poor girl won't go out with you because you sound insane every time you talk to her," she chided him. "And she's a waitress anyway, it's her job to be nice." She rolled her eyes and took a drink from her cup.
An American. Those were rare around these parts.
Another couple had started arguing in low, hissed voices. Right, that was the girl who had been glaring at her man from sullen heavily-lined eyes all night. Periodically as he chatted up another woman, she would sidle up to him to hiss, "You promised this wouldn't be like last time," before stalking away darkly.
The argument suddenly turned to shouts. Severus half-flinched, briefly taken aback, and glanced for witnesses before his eyes met hers.
The woman from before. Bright and pretty and though the disgust she faced her friend— or perhaps only her friend's boyfriend— with was palpable, she smiled when she turned to him. Her eyeroll this time seemed almost genial.
"Enjoying the show?" She asked.
"As much as I ever am," Severus muttered. She laughed, just an exhale where her earlier laugh had been a gale. Still pretty.
"For me it's a rerun— they do this every time we come out. Almost enough to put me off going, but I'm a sucker for free drinks."
And that was how it all began.
Severus considered himself very introverted, and wasn't incorrect to do so, but he found himself slipping into conversation with her like it was only natural. Like he'd known her forever. Maybe it was the booze.
It was probably the booze.
Her name was Alex— short for Alexandria like the library, not Alexandra— as it turned out. She was on a gap year before starting college and wanted to see some of what the world had to offer. She liked England fine, preferred the northern parts and loved Scotland.
He had no fun stories or bright future to offer up in return, but he answered her questions with half-truths that sounded typical enough.
"Alex! Alex, we're leaving," her friend eventually insisted, wiping streaks of mascara from her cheeks and throwing venomous looks over her shoulder at her now-ex.
"If you say so," Alex sighed. "I'm not in town for much longer, but maybe I'll see you around anyway?"
"I start work soon," he answered. The disappointment in her eyes seemed almost genuine, which was odd; he couldn't have been good company, greasy streak of unresponsive misery that he was.
"What a shame," she said.
Yes, he agreed privately as he watched her escort her crying friend to the door. What a shame indeed.
A shame that she was destined for Europe and Tokyo and Columbia University, while he was destined to walk the tightrope between literal magical forces of good and evil until he'd outlived his usefulness to both masters and died. A shame that even if their paths were meant to cross again, he could hardly ask her to understand the world he came from, to become part of it knowing all the risks it carried, for the nothing he could offer in return.
A shame she'd probably forget the ugly man she found brooding in a stranger's kitchen two weeks from now, but he'd probably remember her for the rest of his probably short and painful life.
But if literally everything about both our lives was different, this could have been a very good day.
Rare pleasant mood thoroughly ruined now, Severus stalked out and started the walk home.
Now why was it that all the hippies who settled down picked the Southwest?
Well, surely not all of them, but that was what it felt like.
Frohike hadn't been here— not this city, not this region even. This was all uncharted territory for him, which wasn't a big deal. He wouldn't have minded if it hadn't been for the fact that old memories were getting brought up.
This isn't Miami, he insisted to himself. You don't even know that she settled where all the other hippies did.
For all he knew, she never settled at all. It would be just like her to stay nomadic until the very end. What was it she said once, that she had Irish Travelers in her ancestry?
It'd explain a lot.
"You all right, Frohike?" Byers asked.
"Just peachy," he answered. "Why? What's up?"
"You seem on edge, is all." Leave it to the kid to pick up on that when the last thing he wanted was to explain his feelings now. "If you have something on your mind, I'd rather know about it now."
"Yeah, don't go hiding stuff from us and then let it bite us later, man," Langly piped up.
"Both of you lay off, I'm fine."
"You don't seem fine."
"You too, Jimmy." Frohike sighed. "I'm sure I just need some air or something. I'll go get on that right now, give you all some time to worry about the scoop and not about hounding me." Well don't be mean about it. They lacked all sense of boundaries, but they were still his friends. Best and only.
Even in the past, he'd never had people as eager to look out for him as those three were. Not that he needed it— in fact, he'd have been offended if someone else had ever tried— but it was… nice. Kind of.
And speaking of his past, there were a lot of women in it.
If he told the other Gunmen about every woman he'd ever loved and every shady thing they'd done together, the kids' heads would explode. Besides, he wasn't the type to kiss and tell. But oh, how much there was to tell if he were.
She'd been a remarkable woman, that was for sure. Brilliant and charming and tenacious. Everything you want in a partner-in-crime. They'd bordered on eco-terrorists, back then.
Frohike vividly remembered the look of righteous fury on her face when she got really invested in stopping something from happening. He was no artist, but he could have drawn it from memory.
Back when he was a sap, he'd wanted to marry her.
Maybe there was no white picket fence or yellow labrador in their future, but he hadn't been asking for that; all he'd wanted was to put a ring on her finger.
But she'd been opposed to marriage. Called it a glorified form of enslavement meant to establish women as a resource rather than people. He'd never been able to come up with good enough reasons why she was wrong; hell, maybe she wasn't.
That wasn't exactly what broke them up, but it was one of the reasons. There were a lot. But too many reasons were as good as no reason at all, once nostalgia painted his memories of her in rose gold. This wasn't the first time he'd thought of her since they parted ways, but it was the first day he'd been unable to tear his thoughts away from her.
He wondered what that meant. If it was just the hordes of turquoise-wearing patchouli-soaked fifty year olds he'd found himself surrounded by or something else.
I need a damn drink.
Uninvited thoughts about her chased that thought. What kind of beer she'd preferred— IPA, wouldn't take anything else. What she'd get if that wasn't available. How she hated Budweiser but loved those damn horses.
We're in the right state, he thought. I wonder if she's ever gone to see them.
Sitting down at the bar and ordering himself a drink— from the well, practically rotgut; he couldn't afford anything decent— he looked to his right and realized he could just ask her himself.
"Should've known you'd end up here eventually," she said. "Seems to be about a million of us in this town." Her voice had changed. Was it those damn menthols she smoked, or just years of use? Whatever it was, it sounded nice.
"Yeah, tell me about it," he chuckled. "Surprised you recognized me. Been what, a decade or so?" Fifteen years. But who's counting?
"Fifteen years, just about." Her, apparently. "Good time to catch up, don't you think?" Not unless I want to be hung up on you for the rest of my life, he thought bitterly.
He turned to the bartender, and ordered a second drink. "For the lady."
At a certain age, there are things a man learns to prioritize above others.
Love, in Iroh's humble opinion and extensive experience, is chief among them. Love of his family, yes— Zuko is better than ever, a bright young man on the rise. His sister is showing signs of improvement, as well, few and far between though they are. And with Ursa back, it's possible that the Fire Nation may finally heal.
But there are other sorts of love a man yearns for, when it had been lacking from his life.
He thinks of those things often, particularly when witnessing a relationship blossom. Tea shops like the one he runs are a good place to see love at all stages, so he now thinks of it far more often than one as lacking for romantic prospects as he is ought to.
But not today. Not when Zuko is here; their time spent together grows shorter with more space between visits now, as Zuko's responsibilities keep him.
"So, Uncle, how have things been?" Zuko asks. Guilt wrinkles his brow as he glares into his cup. "I know I haven't been able to be here as often as I should." It was a miracle he didn't have frown lines already, the poor boy.
Wouldn't have him any other way. It was his nephew's unrelenting seriousness that was restoring the Fire Nation's honor, after all.
"You get here when you can," Iroh insisted. "That's enough for me, Fire Lord Zuko." Zuko scoffed and glared at him, but the expression had no venom behind it.
"It's not," he said decisively. "And I wish you wouldn't call me that."
It is your title. Haven't I always called you by your title? Iroh dropped it, though. Maybe Zuko was right, anyway; his preoccupation with romance lately might indeed be loneliness manifesting now that he found himself without the responsibility he'd dedicated the last decade to.
"Ah, maybe you're not here enough," he admitted. "That's not such a bad thing— you have your own life now, Zuko. Now that you're on the right path, perhaps it's time I step back and look to my own life."
"Yeah, maybe." Zuko's mood looked marginally improved by the idea that Iroh might develop a life outside of him. He considered teasing Zuko— have I really been such a burden, nephew? But Zuko would take it seriously and rush to reassure him, so it was best not to.
"That Mai you have back home is good for you," he said. "Maybe I need a female companion of my own." The conspiratorial smile he gave Zuko shot for genial, and must have missed the mark because Zuko blanched.
"I don't need to hear about that!" he blustered.
Abruptly, Iroh remembered just how young Zuko was, and in what ways most young men were mentally preoccupied.
"Nothing like that!" He laughed, incredulous. "What kind of man do you take me for? No, I only want a woman to share my days with and make tea for until the last surprise that awaits a man of my age comes."
In his imaginings, she'd have red hair and a fondness for the color green. She could cook, he'd make tea and clean up. Maybe she'd have children of her own, hopefully old enough to look after themselves but close enough to fill the house with laughter. He didn't need anything more extravagant than that.
After the life he'd led, who would?
If I were some southern lord, would I have to play nice with her kin all my life? He knew they despised him, it was plain in the way they looked when they saw him lurking past the edge of their camp.
Everyone south of the wall could keep their traditions; Tormund liked the ones he and most other free folk shared.
He didn't have to worry what some southern idiot would have to do. If his bride would come with him, that would be enough. Down south, they'd have to have some little wedding, too. Tie their hands together with strips of pretty fabric and have a man say some words that meant they were allowed to be together.
They could keep that, too; the moment he and his bride were over one of the four fires marking the borders of the camp, they were as good as wed.
He just had to get her over that fire. Shouldn't be too hard.
Dahilde, smart woman that she was, had chosen a sleeping spot not very far from the northern fire. Northward was a good direction for a woman and her man to travel immediately after they were wed; and the thick forest meant it would be familiar to Tormund, but not to the mountain-climbing folk Dahilde came from. They wouldn't be pursued.
What better sign did he need, to know he ought to steal her away?
She was guarded by the two on either side of the Northward fire; another smart choice by his bride. Tormund wouldn't even need to kill them to keep them out of the way, and since she was on the edge of camp, there was no one else to take on.
That was good, because stealth was no option for a man of his size. Hidden only by shadow, and then not for long, he rushed forward.
He'd been expecting to have to hit them both over the head at the same time so they wouldn't cry out for the others; but as he raised his club to silence the first, he saw Dahilde leap up. Her pretty little hands were well-padded and enlarged by the gloves she wore, and they smothered her second guard's cries with ease as Tormund finished the both of them off.
"Roll that up, quick." Dahilde had already crouched down to do so, bundling her things up fast. Faster than he could, since they weren't his and he didn't know how they were meant to be arranged.
The moment they were bundled up in her arms, she was bundled up in his.
Just like that, the hard part was over.
A mere three-step running start sent him high into the air. Smoke swirled around him, blinding him and Dahilde momentarily, before he landed hard on the ground and hit it running. It was nothing but forest and earth in front of them from here on.
Smoke, the scent of pure heat, clung to Dahilde. Kissed by fire, she is, he thought.
As they fled the firelight for the moonlight, he heard her laugh. "I can't believe it was so easy," she squealed. Tormund couldn't help but laugh. It is what you made it, he thought. Between the two of them, maybe everything could be this easy.
Now what is the point of working for the FBI if they won't let you use the FBI labs to analyze some damn samples? Wasn't that, y'know, what the labs were for?
All that time in college that Mulder wasted so he could have resources that, as it turned out, he did not have. He was only half-kidding when he said he should've just waited until the Lone Gunmen came around and joined their merry little band.
But he did have a backup. Private labs were almost as good and wouldn't give him nearly the hassle.
His go-to was a particularly neat one, nestled in the heart of Annapolis. Their techs never asked questions, which was good even if he did want to give them the answers anyway.
Luckily, he was pretty well-known there, so he didn't have to work too hard to get himself through the door. He wasn't entirely sure what he had was still usable to begin with, and he really didn't want to give it an extra few minutes to degrade further.
The door swung open into the lab, and a sudden yelp followed by a muffled curse reached him.
Gracefully, the tech he'd startled saved a couple slides from clattering to the floor and turned to face him. Her dark-lined eyes were still wide as saucers, showing off the little rings of gold in their green irises. They contrasted marvellously with the pink of her cheeks and the stunning red of her hair.
"Sorry, I should've knocked," he said. "You must be new here, I don't think we've met."
"No, no, I was just too focused," the girl answered. "I am new here, actually, yeah. Who are you, exactly? I thought I'd met all the other techs and analysts already."
"Oh, I don't work here, I'm dropping off some samples," he said. "Tissue from an unknown origin, my suspicions are extraterrestrial."
"Strong opener." This radiant copper-haired fairy he'd found himself talking to held out her hand to receive the samples eagerly. Her eyes pierced the transparent container with an alertness like she was expecting great things from them. "What makes you think that? This could easily be detritus from any forest, pretty much."
"Well sure, if it hadn't been taken from the lungs of a guy who spent his whole life indoors in a city," Mulder said. "All I need is an analysis— what's it got traces of, that sort of thing."
"I'll look," she agreed. "But don't get your hopes up. You'd be surprised how many people come here thinking they found bigfoot fur or something and it's just a bear." She laughed. "Actually, pig men turn out to be bears too generally. So do yetis. Everything might be a bear."
"Well no matter what this is, it won't be a bear," Mulder replied. "Didn't catch your name, by the way."
"I didn't give it."
"Well, I can't just say 'hey you' every time I come in here." The lab tech set the sample container on one of their workstations and started unpacking.
"Jolene Sage," she answered. "And you?"
Jolene Sage had a nice name. It was rare that someone's name fit them quite like that, but it just worked.
"Mulder." The raised brows and slightly quirked mouth that earned him were worth the mild embarrassment that his first name was Fox. For what must have been the millionth time, he spared a passing thought to wonder what his parents had been thinking.
"Now that's not fair, I gave you both of my names."
"I just have the one; kinda like Madonna."
Jolene Sage's laugh was very pretty. A brisk Autumn wind, scattering dry red leaves over the gray-brown earth.
"You come in here, give me alien goo, and compare yourself to Madonna? Is this the first impression you give everyone, or am I special?"
More than you know, Mulder thought.
The samples are in!
Mulder felt like a kid on Christmas. What a good excuse to see Ms. Jolene Sage. And, of course, yet another chance to find and prove evidence of the paranormal. That was the more important part.
"Mulder, you're almost skipping," Scully observed. "You're really that sure they found what you're looking for?"
"I was sure I found what I was looking for or else I wouldn't have even brought it to the lab," he said. "But Ms. Sage called the findings 'remarkable,' Scully, so yeah I think there's something there even you won't be able to explain away." No other reason, of course.
Jolene Sage was waiting outside the lab. In the sunlight, her hair looked even more radiant. The golden light brought out the amber-golden ring at the center of her eyes. She was wearing a green shirt under her lab coat, too, like she was trying to bring them out. As if the eyeliner wasn't already doing that just fine, he thought.
But the case came first.
"Well, if it isn't 'hey you,'" he called.
"Well, if it isn't Madonna," she answered. He laughed in spite of himself. Scully's eyebrow raised, and she made a noise somewhere between a snort and an incredulous scoff. "You've brought a friend."
"My partner, Scully," Mulder introduced her. "She doesn't think it's aliens either."
"Aliens or not, it's definitely something," Jolene started. "I couldn't wait for you to come all the way into the lab, I had to meet you out here." She grabbed her lanyard— green as well, it must be a favorite color— and led them inside.
"See, at first I was pretty sure it was just going to be the fluid that builds in the lungs during a bout of pneumonia or something else characteristic of a pathogen; you mentioned you found it in a guy's lungs so I figured you had a rare— but not extra-terrestrial— disease on your hands."
"That was the FBI's conclusion as well," Scully said. "Which was why they asked Mulder to stop pursuing the case, and barred him from using FBI resources to do so."
Her look of disapproval was scathing, but she had to know he was never going to listen when they told him that.
"Well, I knew anyone who brought me lung goo and claimed it was aliens right off the bat was probably raising more eyebrows than just mine." Jolene shrugged. "And anyway, what I found wasn't a disease.
"Not only were there no traces of any disease that would cause the production of that fluid, the DNA in the sample was…" Jolene explained. "I initially thought it had degraded too far to be studied, but it's not. You said you found it in a man's lungs, which means that even in the weirdest of similar cases, it should be more or less indistinguishable from yours or mine. Humans do all share about 99.9% of our DNA, after all.
"But the thing is— it bears about as much similarity to my DNA as it does to a fruit fly. That's not some weird hyperbole, either; it is as genetically similar to tissue taken from me or you or any other human on Earth as it is to an insect. I'm half tempted to start testing it against random bugs."
"So the new best theory would be…" Mulder began.
Mentally, he ran through a list of cryptids. There was always Mothman— and really, how far away was West Virginia from Virginia when you got right down to it— but he didn't want to jump right to that and scare her off.
Things were just getting good.
"You tell me, you're the paranormal expert," Jolene shrugged. "But keep me posted— whatever it is, it's fascinating. Don't get me wrong, almost definitely not aliens, but… we have something after all."
Yeah, we sure do.
"How the hell is it cold here? We didn't go that far north."
"Well, I did say you didn't have to come," Mulder replied. Not, of course, that he had actually wanted her to stay behind.
"If you actually find what left those samples you gave me, I need to see it," she insisted.
"Even if it's not an alien?" he asked. Sage rolled her eyes.
"Well, yes, since it isn't an alien," Scully interjected. "But it's definitely something worth documenting; a new species of insect perhaps? If it's venomous that could explain the fluids we found in our body."
"We are in West Virginia," Sage pointed out. "Maybe it's Mothman."
"Not you too," Scully groaned.
"Kidding," Sage said. "Mostly."
Since night time is the best time for cryptid-hunting, they waited until it was dark out to start their search. Three idiots with flashlights wandering around the Appalachian wilderness, what could go wrong?
Surprisingly, Sage didn't seem too far out of her element. He'd pegged her for a city girl through and through, but she seemed to thrive in the forest.
He said as much, and earned a scoff in return.
"As long as I get to go back inside at the end, sure." She padded over a patch of thick moss. "What about you? City slicker or basically a cryptid yourself?" Mulder's turn to laugh.
"Those are my only two options?" he aimed his flashlight a little higher, since hers was keeping their path lit. "City slicker for the most part, I guess."
"Hate to interrupt your small talk, but I've found more of that fluid," Scully called. "This tree, here."
From about waist height to shoulder height, the trunk of the damn thing was coated. The patch looked thick, thick enough that he couldn't make out the texture or color of the bark under it. Mulder reached out a hand, dipped the tips of his fingers into it, and brought them up to his face to examine.
Or at least, he'd have examined them if Sage hadn't scrunched up her nose and grabbed his wrist to stop him.
"Don't put it near any of your orifices," she said. "How d'you think it gets in places like lungs?" She laughed again. "Your self-preservation instincts always this off?"
"Only when I've got two hot redheads watching my every move."
"I have always wondered why your first instinct when we find a strange substance is to get it as close to your face as you can," Scully said as she started putting on her gloves. "You're the one who believes that anything could be dangerous or cause all manner of maladies, and yet here you are-"
An inhuman (but also not very moth-like; moths are silent, take notes you creepy son of a bitch) screech ripped through the air, and something way too big to be a bug swept down from the sky.
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur. He remembered them in flashes.
He remembered Sage had her legs under her fast, sprinting for cover with one hand locked around his wrist. Even running for their lives, Mulder noticed the way the silvery moonlight glinted off her hair.
"Hey, you're not the FBI agent here, I'm supposed to be protecting you," Mulder hissed. Whatever clever retort she had for that was lost to time.
There was a good dark spot to hide, sheltered by trees and rocks, where the damn thing couldn't get to them. He remembered Scully crouching at its mouth, gun in hand, and taking out his own while still trying to keep an arm around Sage.
"Do we just wait it out until morning?" Sage asked. "I mean, moths don't come out during the day time."
"Something tells me that's not a normal moth," Mulder replied. "Maybe the fact that it's about my height." Sage elbowed him.
"Then what do we do?" He appreciated the trust, but it wasn't like he knew.
He remembered that the damn thing managed to fry itself with about a million volts in the end. Maybe it wasn't a moth, but it died like one. He remembered Sage, when all was said and done, was mostly upset that she hadn't ended up getting a clearer tissue sample.
"Well, that's the danger of working on an X file," Mulder told her. "The truth is out there, but you don't always get to find it." She rolled her eyes.
"I guess it doesn't matter, as long as the damn thing's dead," she said. "Call me next time you need something analyzed, we'll see what it is."
"You almost get yourself killed and you want a next time?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Sure." Never had a monosyllable sounded so sweet.
All of these things are (almost) exactly your same age.
Random trivia about the pets we've had over the years.
Insane, offbeat, or otherwise hilarious things you have said that I have written down.
Interesting or questionable things you have done or that have happened to us.
Places we've been and one or two things about them.
Various famous people, movies, or music that I specifically remember in connection to you.
Random food trivia from our family or from you specifically.
Things and people you loathe to a degree that I find extremely memorable.