“Hey, Scully. Can I borrow the stapler real quick?”
Something flits across her face, barely there a moment before it's gone again. If he hadn’t been looking right at her, he would have missed it -- the slight crease between her eyebrows, a momentary tension around her mouth. It’s almost an expression of pain, albeit fleeting, and he wonders if it has anything to do with whatever sent her to the ER in the middle of the night.
She looks over at him with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, holding the stapler out. “Here you go, Agent Doggett.”
It’s subtly deliberate, the way she says his name, like she’s mad at him but trying to hide it. Damned if he can figure out why she would be, though. All they’ve done this morning is exchange pleasantries and a few words about the field report they’re wrapping up. He can’t think of anything he could have said or done to upset her.
For the rest of the day, though, everything seems normal, and he decides he probably just imagined it.
It’s happened four times now. Four times he’s called her “Scully” instead of “Agent Scully,” and she’s trying not to let it bother her. By all rights, it shouldn’t bother her. Yet every time he does it, it sets her teeth on edge.
It’s completely innocuous, and she doubts it is even a deliberate choice on his part. A “thanks, Scully” here and there, asking her to pass the stapler yesterday and wishing her a good morning just now. Intermittent breaks from their established routine and not even a consistent change. Perhaps that very inconsistency makes them all the more jarring.
She’s angry with herself more than anything. It’s completely irrational for her to be bothered by this; he’s her partner, and this is a perfectly reasonable way for partners to address each other. Partners are supposed to develop a rapport, a familiarity that allows them to work seamlessly together in the field. What right does she have to continue insisting on a barrier of formality between them, even one as minor as never dropping titles when they call each other by name?
It’s just that in Mulder’s mouth, her name alone became an endearment. Maybe that’s a little bit ridiculous, but it’s true.
And even though she’s trying to continue living her life, to carry on despite his absence, there’s a difference between carrying on and growing comfortable. Something in her chafes at the notion that her current situation is anything other than a temporary one, and every time Agent Doggett calls her “Scully,” it serves as a stark reminder of just how much time has passed and how much less temporary her circumstances feel, day by day.
“Agent Scully, I don’t mean to pry, but is something bothering you?”
His question jolts her out of her spiral, and she turns to see him looking at her with quiet concern. Though her every instinct is to wave it off and tell him she’s fine, what she blurts out instead is, “Why have you started calling me ‘Scully?’”
He blinks; this was clearly not the response he was expecting. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Immediately, her face grows warm, and she looks down. This was a huge mistake. What kind of a partner is she, to ask this of him?
“Never mind, I… it’s nothing.”
“No, look, if I’m missing something here, I’d really rather you just tell me. Your shoulders have been up around your ears since I walked in here this morning, and if that’s ‘cause of something I did… or didn’t do… or what, I wanna know so I can fix it.”
She hadn’t even noticed the tension in her shoulders until just now. If she is really so transparent, there’s no way she will be able to convincingly brush this off. No, she has to finish what she started.
“I’m sorry, Agent Doggett. This isn’t really about you, and I’m… I’m somewhat embarrassed to say it’s not especially rational on my part. I haven’t said anything because I know it’s irrational. That it’s my problem to deal with, not yours.”
She dares a glance up at him, then, and he is watching her intently but seemingly without judgment. Taking a breath, she continues.
“Agent Mulder called -- calls -- me ‘Scully.’ Not ‘Agent Scully.’ And under any other circumstances, that distinction probably wouldn’t feel like such a big thing, but now that--” She falters, biting off the rest of the truth she’s only just realized as it was about to come out of her mouth.
The pregnancy hormones are likely at least partially to blame for the intensity of her emotion over this whole thing. Well, shit.
“But now that he’s gone, it feels weird, me calling you the same thing he did,” Agent Doggett guesses, and he’s not wrong. “I get it. You don’t have to apologize.”
“No, I do,” she says, relieved to have skirted the issue of her pregnancy once more. (She will obviously have to tell him eventually, but she is just not ready yet.) “It isn’t fair to you, and I am sorry to be having this reaction.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I know it must be hard, him still being gone. You don’t have to beat yourself up over feeling however you feel about that. Just part of being human. Sometimes the things we feel aren’t rational or reasonable, and that’s okay.”
She lets out a breath and nods, feeling as though a weight has been lifted. “Thank you, Agent Doggett.”
