what_wings_dare | 🅧 Please explain to me the scientific nature of 'the whammy'

If it doesn't matter, he's off the hook.

(For now, anyway. He's going to have to figure out where this conversation fits into the larger picture of who Dana is. Someone who definitely doesn't want Fox Mulder to make jokes around her older brother. Concerned about what he thinks about her? Concerned about what people think about her, in general? Obviously some kind of Christian, judging by the necklace, so probably not a big fan of Satan.)

He clatters down the steps when they reach them, taking them two at a time. The floor they come out on is somehow even more stuffed full of bookshelves. Fox gapes at them, openly admiring. "Whoa."

Religion is only half of it; she might be less touchy about the Devil if he wasn't so buddy-buddy in her dreams. They've been worse since arriving in Craiger; more frequent, somehow more ominous. More significant in feel, even if the things she 'predicts' are vague nothings.

It's weird enough that she hasn't wanted to mention it to him, even though he's expressly here to dig into weird things. This feels different; and anyway, it's not like it helps with his real question.

The mood lightens when they make it down to the lower level, and she can't help but grin, feeling an odd pride.

"Told you!"

"You told me," he agrees, utterly delighted. Whatever frustration Dana might have had, it seems gone now. Back to what matters most: Looking for books on the strangest parts of the human experience. There are enough down here that he can almost believe one holds the key to finding Samantha. "Let's split up and see what we find. Anything related to psychic phenomena is fair game."

The idea of splitting up is not nearly as fun as looking together, but it makes sense. And it's probably a good idea, she reminds herself; this isn't actually a Hardy Boys book, he's trying an admittedly odd, unlikely thing in pursuit of a terribly real goal.

So she just nods, inclining her head toward the far end of the room.

"I'll go that way."

"I'll be over here." And fortunately, they won't be split up for long.

A few minutes into the search, he manages to wander into a set of bookshelves that cover everything from tarot cards to encounters with angelic beings. For a moment or two, he just stares, taking it all in. And then he turns and calls over his shoulder, just a little louder than he probably should. "Dana! Come look at this."

It's harder to put Bill's disapproval out of her mind when she's out on her own; she wanders down the room, between shelves, looking for-- anything.

When he calls her name, it's a relief. She hurries back-- just a little faster than she probably should. It's not technically running. Not if there's no one to see.

"What-- oh, wow." Her face lights up at the selection-- there's potential here. Something, maybe, to help find what Fox is really looking for. She grabs a title, more or less at random. Maybe intuition will guide her.

"Remote viewing, right?"

"Remote viewing." He can't help it: he's excited by the options. They're pretty varied, ranging from dime store horoscope books to thick, serious-looking discussions of the occult. Fox pulls one, glances at the cover, then reaches for another. "Or anything related to distance. If astral projection will get me where I want to go, I'll try that, too."

It sounds stupid, saying it out loud - but it's true. No one's been able to solve Samantha's kidnapping through conventional means. Why the hell would he not try the crazy stuff? Just to see.

She nods, and lapses into quiet as she starts paging through the book-- checking the index, flipping around. The first book has nothing more than brief mentions so she tries another.

"Do you really believe in all this?"

She can't help but be curious. She's never quite sure how much she believes, herself.

Prophetic dreams, reads a random page she lands on.

"I don't know," he admits, scanning the spines for any other relevant titles. When he spots one, he pulls it. They can take a big stack over to a table and start digging, he figures. "But if it's all fake, there sure are a lot of books about it."

Not that that means anything - there are a lot of books about the Bible, too, right? It doesn't feel like a good enough answer. "And I think...there's more to the world than what we know, right? There was a time when we didn't know what stars were made of, or that the Earth went around the sun. What if psychic powers are just one more thing we don't yet understand?"

"Sure," she muses, and flips away from the section on dreams without much more than skimming it. If it means anything, she isn't sure she wants to know. And it's not what they're here for.

"I mean-- why not?"

Dissatisfied with the offerings, she shelves the book, tries another. Certainly there's plenty of writing here, trying to understand it. That's a good sign, maybe? Even now she can't shake the sense that Carinda would know-- could point them so easily in the right direction-- but there's a part of her that desperately wants to figure it out on her own.

Fox pages through one book, and then another, but nothing quite hits what he wants. Even one with an entire chapter on remote viewing doesn't quite get where he wants it to go; it's about seeing places, projecting some part of yourself out into the world so you can visit Paris or something. And that isn't what he's looking for - he doesn't know where it is he's supposed to be looking.

Twenty minutes pass, and he doesn't find anything. Which isn't reason to give up, he knows - but maybe they aren't going to get what they want out of the Craiger library. With a sigh, he puts his latest book back on the shelf. "Think Carinda's back at Beyond Beyond?"

It's hard not to feel disappointed by that. Though she's not sure what she was hoping for. A treasure map? This way to Samantha Mulder scrawled in code? She's fifteen, how can she really help with a missing person?

"Probably," she says, sliding her last book back onto the shelf and trying to stay optimistic. Carinda can help if anyone can-- at least, so Dana wants to believe.

"I'll walk you back."

It's probably for the best, he tells himself. He couldn't check anything out anyway - and even if he could, returning the books would be a bitch. Besides, Dana's willing to come back with him, and that feels like a plus right about now. Every time he fails to turn anything up, it sucks to be alone with his thoughts.

"If you need a ride," he says, on the their way back upstairs, "I can get you home. So you don't have to spend another dime on it."

Otherwise, he assumes, she'll be calling around for her sister and waiting around for her to show up. It's a small town, but there's plenty of countryside around here; they might live out in the sticks.

It's a kind, chivalrous offer on his part, but she can't help a little laugh. Bill had been so suspicious of seeing her visit the library with a stranger, she can't imagine the drama if they caught her getting out of Fox's car.

"I'll be fine-- I can walk. It just would've been on her way. We don't need to give Bill something else to complain about."

Fox can't help a sly smile. "I don't know, Dana. I think he'll complain no matter what we do."

People like that are the worst. Assuming he's a bad influence, refusing to hear him out, insisting everything has to be exactly the way they want, and anything else might as well be hippie radical bullshit...okay, he might be projecting. But Dana's brother kind of sucks.

That's probably true. Everyone deals with change their own way, Bill's way is apparently to be insufferable.

"He's trying to look out for me," she points out. "Or at least he thinks he is. But really-- we're just in town."

"Nice that he cares." He's only a little sarcastic. It probably is, when he's not being a jerk about it. And since she's sure - and knows what's going to get her in trouble better than Fox could - he lets it go.

The walk back over to Beyond Beyond isn't all that notable - he asks her if she likes Craiger, and conversation goes on from there. By the time they're back, he's antsy to talk to Carinda, as nice as it's been to have company. He pauses near the entrance. "Thanks for showing me the library."

It is nice, even if it's annoying. She gets it enough not to complain about it. She loves Bill, after all, even when she doesn't like him.

They walk, and it's nice, but there's an air of sadness as well. It's only a matter of time before they part ways; there's nothing more she can do to help him out, and she likely won't know if he ever finds his sister.

Somehow standing in front of the store feels like the end of a date. At least she sort of imagines so.

"I hope Carinda can help," she says, with a little smile.

"Yeah," he says, looking down at that soft little smile of hers. It feels like the end of a date for him, too - he took a girl to eat something and then to someplace interesting. Which makes it awkward, if not totally unpleasant, that he can't really do anything except shove a hand in his pocket and try not to get his hopes up.

For Carinda, that is, not for a kiss. He already knows the latter's not happening.

"Good luck with yoga," is all he can come up with as a final comment, and with that, he walks into Beyond Beyond and out of Dana's life. Probably forever.

Probably forever.

For a few days she thinks about him a lot. And then less. And then a long, long time goes by when she doesn't think of it at all. Everything that happens at Beyond Beyond sours her on thoughts of the occult; a pleasant day with a stranger researching psychic phenomena loses its shine when a psychopath is trying to manipulate you into believing you're gifted and joining his bizarre crusade of bloodshed. So it goes.

She doesn't think of him for a long time, but then in the academy she reads a monograph and thinks-- there cannot be two men in the world named Fox Mulder. By then, it's much easier for her to look into it. She'd found the articles about the murders after they'd met, but none had mentioned him by name-- there's little officially to tie him to it even now-- but it's easy enough to draw lines of cause and effect. Funny, a little bit.

And one day someone asks her, Are you familiar with an agent named Fox Mulder? And what she says is not a lie, exactly; if it's not the full truth, it's only because she doesn't think it's worth trying to explain. She knows him by reputation. He's brilliant, they say.

Taking the elevator down to the basement-- okay, that's a little inauspicious-- she feels excited, really. How could she not? It's an odd assignment, but they picked her for it, and she's thrilled to feel useful. Having a bit of a personal connection is just the icing on the cake.

She takes a breath, and she knocks on the door.

Everything's changed, and nothing has. Fox Mulder has jettisoned the "Fox," lived abroad, shot a gun, and nearly lost his mind tracking serial killers...but Samantha's still missing. His father's still an asshole. And he hasn't given up on the occult.

He has, however, come to trust that any knock on his door at the J. Edgar Hoover building is going to lead to trouble. The best days are those when he doesn't have to see any other agents, much less old colleagues from Violent Crimes. The worst are when the elevator ride's interminable and someone wants to know if he's captured Bigfoot yet. When's his next trip to Roswell. Funny stuff, all of it - if they weren't busy chasing criminals, they could have an excruciating open-mic set downtown.

"Sorry," he calls to the door, making no move to leave his chair. "Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted."

The only reason he turns around at all, straightening up from his lightbox, is because the footsteps are lighter than he expects. And for good reason: The woman walking over is petite and pretty, with the kind of eager smile that screams fresh out of Quantico. For once, he doesn't have an acerbic comment to offer. The bastards upstairs wanted to catch him off-guard, and they succeeded.

Sarcastic, but the tone is familiar. Good to know the intervening years haven't changed much-- she remembers him and Bill in the library, and oh God, that's not a great thing to have between you and your new boss, is it? Maybe she should've said something. Still, too late now. (It was one day, Dana, you'll laugh it off and it'll be fine.)

The office inside is... not, actually, what she was hoping for from her first assignment. For starters she has no idea where she's supposed to sit; if there was ever a second desk in here he's clearly moved it out in favor of extra cabinets and boxes and a scattershot array of equipment.

Even if she hasn't run into him at the Bureau, before this, she's been peripherally aware of him. It feels like everyone's vaguely aware of Spooky Mulder; knowing what little she did, it doesn't surprise her that he's still chasing unconventional leads. What everyone's agreed on-- and maybe it's really the spooky part-- is that he gets results.

She approaches, offers a hand. "Agent Mulder. I'm Dana Scully." There's no way he remembers her, thinks, but there's a little part of her that can't help but hope. "I've been assigned to work with you."

Mulder doesn't take her hand, staring up at her like he's not sure where she came from or why she's in here. Sure, she just explained it - but why?

(The answer's obvious: Someone up there wanted her down in the bowels of the building, watching him spend the Bureau's money. She's here to report back on his investigative techniques, his demeanor - hell, maybe his neckties. The whole package. Which just leaves one question, and he has to admit he's curious.)

"You must've drawn the short straw." When he gets out of his chair, pulling off his reading glasses and folding them up in the process, he towers over her. "Who'd you piss off to get X-Files duty, Agent Scully? You can name names - I won't tell."

Under other circumstances, maybe he would...but at this point, who would he tell? Even if he stopped burning bridges at this very moment, he'd be left with a lot of fire-damaged wood.

Irrational hope aside, she didn't really think he'd remember her-- or be thrilled about the coincidence if he did. But she wasn't expecting outright hostility. She doesn't mean to wear that surprise on her face, but can't keep her eyebrows in check.

He stands, and she has to look up to meet his eyes-- but it doesn't cow her at all. The upside of being short is she's used to this, and holding her own.

"I don't know what you mean," she answers, her tone much more neutral after a moment to gather herself. If nothing else it confirms he has no idea who she is, which is fine-- but it hardly feels like the moment to tell him.

"Your record speaks for itself, Agent Mulder. I'm looking forward to working with you."

It's a nice sentiment, but under the circumstances, it doesn't mean a damn thing. The quality of his work is a double-edged sword: It's the only reason anyone's letting him at these cases, but it's also the reason they all want him back on serial killers, rapists, and robbers.

She doesn't hesitate when he questions her, though. He does like that - the way she stands there like she could fill up the whole room if she wanted to. It's easy to see how someone would recruit her to the FBI.

"My record," he repeats, dubious. "See, I was under the impression you were here for some inter-departmental espionage."

[ n a m e ; ]	Dana Katherine Scully
[ c a n o n ; ]	The X-Files
[ g a m e ; ]	spicy times in noctiumrp

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BUT THEN, IN THE 90s . . . .

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