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For the Final Record

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Anne Link Interview with former FBI Agent Dana Scully

As part of the NAU Writer's Project: Interviews of Old Republic Employees

August 7, 2062

Interviewer's note: I recorded my series of interviews in Dana Scully's home between September 4, 2061 to March 11, 2062. Although nearing 100 years old, she appeared to be in good health, of clear mind, and was able to consciously consent to these interviews. What follows are excerpts from October 12-14, 2061, in which we discussed her mysterious and ambiguous relationship with her former partner, the late Fox Mulder (d. March 14, 2041). I have dubbed this series "For the Final Record." Although we touched on Mulder in previous sessions and after, I have decided not to compile those interviews into this particular one. The rest of the interviews will be provided upon Dana Scully's completion of her Privacy Wavier.

Anne Link: It is Sunday, October 12, 2061. About 10:05 am. I am in Dana Scully's home, [redacted], NAU. Dana, do I have your permission to record this interview?

Dana Scully: Yes, you do.

AL: Thank you. Well…where did you want to begin today?

DS: You should know by now that this is your ship (laughs). You're in total control.

AL: I feel like you know what I want to ask you today. We've talked a little about it already?

DS: Yes. Yes, we have.

AL: Okay. (Papers shuffling. Sound of DS's coffee cup sliding on the table.) When did your relationship with Fox Mulder begin? Romantic relationship?

DS: I don't know if it was romantic…maybe it was. We never had candlelight dinners or any of that. And I'm not sure if "relationship" is the right way to say it. It was more than that. There's a special bond you have with someone that you've saved and they've saved you. From death, from darkness, from everything. I don't know what that term is. Someone should come up with it. I'm too old to think of new things now. But….it was intimate, affectionate long before it was romantic.

AL: When did that start?

DS: Intimacy?

AL: Yes.

DS: Probably from the first case we worked. Well, the first few anyway. I had to learn to trust him. Quick. There was a case we worked, in the early days, in Alaska, well…what used to be Alaska. There were these worms, these organisms that if they got into your brain they'd make you go crazy. A person could become completely different. Aggressive, angry. A killer. Not themselves at all. And I was worried it had gotten into him and he was changed, no matter how many times he denied it. It turned out that someone else there with us had been infected with this parasite, not him. He was right. I learned then, in some ways, that he wouldn't lie to me. He wouldn't put me or anyone else in danger, no matter how it seemed. I suppose when you learn to trust someone that way that you also begin to love them. But I always tried, no matter how strongly I felt in any fashion, to keep it, you know, business between us. At some point, it became impossible to do that anymore. For either of us.

Pauses. Quiet for a few seconds.

I first admitted to myself that I loved him when I thought he loved someone else. Isn't that how it goes? You always want what you can't have? I didn't want to lose what we had, the trust and the intimacy that we'd created. But as soon as this woman, this other Agent, seemed to take him away from me, that was when I could admit it to myself, even though I'd known I'd loved him for a long time.

AL: Who was the other Agent?

DS: It doesn't matter now. She died in the line of duty.


 

Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1998, Dana Scully

I feel like we've been in this dance, floating around something, but never crossing the boundary into what it could be. What it should be. Does he have any idea how much I want to cross that line? How much I think about it? There is no advice column in the world that could handle this situation. No psychologist or therapist that would remotely understand or would be capable of talking me through this. It's like we've unofficially pushed the pause button on the intimacy between us, so it doesn't grow or shrink, it's in this perpetual suspension. Waiting. I didn't think there was anything that would come along and mess it up, and now there has. If I could go back, just a couple of days or maybe even a year, I would not have let us push the pause button.


 

Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1999, Dana Scully

And now, if it ever becomes even remotely possible that I'll lose him, I don't think I'll be able to bear it…

He left this morning, but my shower, my bed still smells like him hours later. Still warm from what happened last night. He's come to my home many times and left my home many times. But the other night I didn't want him to just leave. I told him I didn't want him to go. I walked across the room and kissed him. He kissed me back as if he'd been expecting it; absolutely no hesitation. We didn't say anything. We didn't take time to measure out the risks or even consider how this would impact the future. I just took him into my bedroom. When I close my eyes and concentrate I can feel him undressing me again, feel myself on top of him, my thighs rubbing against his hips, my hands guiding him inside of me.

That first time was rather quick and frantic, but the second time was slower and more deliberate. His thrusts were slower, his kisses softer. We took our time, it seemed, because despite all that we'd been through, this was new for both of us. Just in case it never happened again, just in case it would be the last and only time, I forced myself to be fully present. I wanted to record every sound, every touch so I never forgot. I haven't forgotten how his skin felt against mine or the sound of his breath in my ear. Even though we have slept together for three nights now, we still haven't talked about it. It just happens, we fall asleep in each other's arms, and one of us leaves in the morning. Maybe this is part of the perpetual suspension, the allegorical pause button we seem to be unable to let go of: keep things the same for as long as possible until it becomes unbearable.


 

DS: There are only two reasons why you're asking me about Mulder and I. One reason is William, and the other is you just want to know if we had sex.

AL: …I…uh…well, I wouldn't put it that way….

DS: I can answer that second part of that very easily – yes. Yes, we did. I remember the second time better because the second time is always better. At first, you're both so nervous, seemingly unskilled, and unfamiliar with each other's bodies. But the second time the nervous energy is mostly gone, and you can concentrate on one another more fully.

Long pause. DS gets more coffee.

He would call me Dana. When we were together, making love, he would call me by my first name. I know that doesn't seem unusual to you, but it was for us. In our line of work we went by last names, so when he called me Dana it was special, meaningful. We married once we found out he had to go into hiding and I was pregnant.

AL: Are you sure you married him? I haven't found any licenses or -

DS: You won't. We didn't make it legal. It was…ceremonial. I knew a priest that would marry us, and we had three friends who would be our witnesses. It was the middle of the night. Ironically, I was wearing white – white pajamas. [laughs softly] It probably looked silly to anyone that happened to walk in.


 

Private Electronic Journal, c. 2001, Dana Scully

Our voices echoed off the cathedral walls, the only light were the candles and the moonlight when the clouds parted.

"I, Dana Katherine Scully, take thee Fox William Mulder…."

Frohike and Langly were sniffling, all the sounds blending together in that empty space in an eerie sort of way.

"…to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold…"

Byers stood up and handed Mulder a ring. I said I didn't have one for Mulder and he put his hands on my face, gently brushing away my messy hair, "It's okay," he said. He gently slid his mother's wedding band over my finger. "She would have wanted you to have this."

He kissed me before we were pronounced man and wife, holding onto each other because we both knew after tonight it would be a while before we saw one another again. We spent our wedding night in my apartment, carefully removing each other's clothes as if we'd never done this before. I suddenly felt very shy and vulnerable. I tried to wrap my arms around myself, worried I was already starting to show. He pulled my hands toward him. "Please, Dana. Let me look at you. Let me look at my wife." I didn't want to start crying, I didn't want to ruin this moment with sadness, but a couple tears escaped anyway. Looking back, maybe I was just happy that he called me his wife, and that we, finally, belonged to each other.

I kissed every part of him, and when he was inside me, I slowed him down because I didn't want it to end. He pulled me down on top of him, never losing eye contact. Afterwards, we held each other so close, our hearts pounding out our fear, our passion, our love almost in unison. His lips passed over my ear, his breath softly slowing from our lovemaking, "I love you, Dana. I love you more than anything."

"I love you, too." I said. Then we were quiet, holding onto each other, cherishing each second until he would have to leave; leave me and my child so we could be safe.


 

DS: We married so William would have a father. I didn't tell Mulder that William was his son. Not at first. I knew that if I did, he would try to stay. He would never leave us and he would be in danger. Actually, we would all be in danger.

AL: So, William was Fox Mulder's son?

DS: Yes.

AL: But you did see him again, right?

DS: Yes.

AL: Wasn't there another child? Didn't you have another baby?

DS: [getting up from the table] I'm tired. Can you come back tomorrow?

AL: Of course.

[End of recording.]