Work Text:
12/22/1997
Tolu Mountain Inn
Blue Ridge Mountains, North Carolina
Dana Scully is sitting at one of the big tables in the hotel restaurant, sipping from a glass of red wine and enjoying the dinner. Her eyes wander over candles, Christmas decorations and her family: her mom, who still radiates a little bit of displeasure about the whole bunch not spending Christmas at her house, despite the fact that her kids decided it basically to do her a favor. Bill and Tara, who are trying very hard to carry on conversations, but are spell-bound by their first born Matthew, who sleeps contentedly in a baby bouncer. He is five weeks old and cute as a button, it's hard to look anywhere else, Dana gets it. And then there is Missy, who is bouncing around the country most of the year. It's so good to be able to spend some time with her. All in all, it promises to be a very nice Christmas, maybe the first really good one since Ahab died.
Originally it was planned to spend the holidays in San Diego at Bill and Tara's, but with Matthew's birth they all felt it would be a good choice to outsource as much of the work as possible. So the decision fell on the Tolu Mountain Inn, a nice hotel in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's an old house with about 50 rooms, and as far as Dana is concerned, it's perfect.
The food is delicious, the rooms are beautiful, the staff is friendly and she plans to spend the whole holiday either with her family or reading in the old armchair at the fireplace in the library. She tries to remember when she last read something not work related. All those journal articles, forensic reports, her students’ homework, it piles up and then you blink and it’s been years since you laid your eyes on a novel.
“... and then he smiled at me and I thought I was going to die right on the spot.” Billy's voice makes its way in her consciousness and she looks up to see him fawn over Matthew, her mother nodding happily along. Dana isn't sure she wants in on the conversation, in the end she hasn't much to say about babies in general and Matthew in particular, and is relieved when she feels her sister's elbow slightly nudging her ribs.
“So, Dana, what's going on in your life?”
“Ah, you know, Missy, same old, same old. I work a lot.”
“So you're telling me you're not using your new freedom?”
“Oh, I do. I eat sitting on the floor while watching TV now. And I eat ice cream directly from the tub.”
“You've got to be kidding me, Dana! What about men? Sex? Parties? Do you even go out?”
“Of course I'm going out!” Dana says, irritated. “I had coffee with Ellen just last month."
“Coffee? Last month!? With Ellen!? You really are hopeless, Dana!”
“Missy, I'm not you, I don't need that kind of entertainment.”
“Nonsense, Dana. Everybody needs a little fun once in a while.” Her sister lets her eyes wander over the room and fixates on the hotel bar. Dana feels the elbow again.
“What about this guy? He looks delicious.” Melissa gestures covertly at a tall guy with brown hair who is sitting a little bit slumped on a bar stool with the back to them.
“Missy, I'm here to enjoy some free time with my family. Not to drag strangers into my bed.”
“You could easily do both, you know? All those slowpokes here hit the hay at 9:30. At the latest.” She gestures around the table.
Dana just rolls her eyes and huffs: “Let it go, Missy. I want to enjoy you and mom and the freshly baked parents. And I want to relax, read a good book, the last weeks have been exhausting.” At least she knows that Melissa is excited about her becoming a field agent, this could get her some leverage.
“Fine. I give up.” See, Missy can be reasonable, Dana thinks.
They finish their dinner, talk about Missy's latest spiritual journey and how it seems to include a reasonable amount of hallucinogens and a never ending stream of short term girlfriends. Dana really doesn't want to live Melissa's life, but it's fascinating stuff to hear over a nice meal and a glass of fine wine.
They are staring at the bottoms of their glasses for a while without someone in sight who they could order a refill from when they decide to go to the bar. Dana has forgotten about Missy's mission and needs a moment to realize that she has been set up when she hears her sister's voice.
“... she's a dangerous one, you know? An FBI agent!”
Dana accomplishes rolling her eyes and glaring at Melissa at the same time.
“What are you doing, Missy?”
“Nothing, just talking to this guy while we wait for our drinks.” She blinks innocently.
Dana looks for the first time directly at the man's face. He has strong features, a prominent nose, a perfect jawline, beautiful eyes and his lips are … delicious pops into her mind, everything about him is, but she isn't sure how Missy could have known this just from seeing his slumped back from behind.
“I'm sorry. My sister has had a little bit too much this evening.” It's not true, but she feels embarrassed and a need to retaliate.
“It's okay, I'm an FBI agent myself, I can defend myself.”
“Oh, really?” No way.
“Yes, my name is Mulder, I work for the VCU.” He doesn't smile, but there's a glimmer in his eyes. He is not lying.
“Wait! What? You are Fox Mulder?” He grimaces but nods, and the next thing Dana remembers is Missy triumphantly walking away with only one glass in her hand, while she herself is reaching out her right hand to Agent Mulder and simultaneously pulling a stool to her with the left one to sit upon.
“I've been performing autopsies for you for years! Dana Scully. Mind if I sit for a moment?”
He shakes her hand and his head. “Please, Dr. Scully, be my guest, I always wondered who was behind those meticulous reports - sometimes I wish I could request you specifically.” He grins and oh my god he really is beautiful.
“I’ve gotten your cases since, gosh, at least 1994, what are the odds that we never met at work and instead here, in the middle of nowhere while on vacation?”
“Must be kismet,” he answers and there's this twinkle in his eye again. “But to be honest, while I'm technically here for vacation, I'm pursuing a case.”
“A case? Here? Is anybody in danger?”
“No, no, just a ghost, nothing to worry about.”
Dana is distracted as she sees her mom gesture at her from the corner of her eye and decides that if he's staying in the same hotel, they can easily continue their conversation in the next couple of days. She lays a hand on his arm and leans in. “You have to tell me more about this, but I have to go back to my family now, my mom is making those mom-faces, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean, Dr. Scully. It was nice meeting you in person after all these years!”
*****
“Dr. Scully.” When Dana looks up from her late breakfast she sees her bar hugging colleague from the evening before. He's balancing coffee and a bowl of cereal in his slender hands. “Do you mind?” His tousled head gestures at the place opposite her. She smiles.
“Agent Mulder! Please, sit.”
She observes how he folds his lanky frame into the booth. He really is hot, even in the daylight, and maybe Melissa has a point after all. She decides to give it a shot.
“You know, I do have a first name. It's Dana.” She turns on her flirty smile. It feels oddly wrong. As if there's no need for it.
“Dana.” He rolls her name over his tongue, lets it slide against his teeth. She watches him as he tucks it away deep in his throat. She wants to haul it back into the open but he shakes his head: “I'd rather call you Scully. That's who I always think of when I read your reports.”
She laughs. “Fair enough. If I can call you Mulder. That's what I write on my envelopes.”
He chuckles. “By all means, I even made my parents call me Mulder.” I'm sure you didn't, at least not successfully she thinks but doesn't say anything.
“Mulder it is. So, what are you doing here, Mulder? You were talking about ghosts yesterday? That was a joke, wasn't it?”
“Oh, not at all, Scully.”
“You're spending your Christmas holidays alone in a hotel to look for ghosts!? Like in A Christmas Carol?”
“Not like in A Christmas Carol. And not ghosts. A ghost. The ghost of Betty Stone.”
“Betty Stone?”
He hums. “She was killed here on Christmas night in 1923, in the basement. Her murderer was never found and so she still haunts the premise. It seems she is particularly active around Christmas.”
“You can't be serious!” Dana doesn't know what to think of this guy. He doesn't look like a total nut, not even like a half baked one. On the contrary, despite a self-deprecating whiff about him he radiates self-confidence, intelligence, empathy. He is the most attractive thing she has seen in years.
“I assure you, I am, Scully.”
“But …” She is at a loss.
“Look, I developed a special interest in the paranormal a couple of years ago. I worked some case files back then that defied any scientific explanation, but they shut me down pretty quickly and I went back to violent crimes in 1994. I kept the fascination for this kind of stuff alive and pursue my investigations whenever I can. In my spare time. It's a hobby.” He casually shrugs his shoulders and Dana immediately has a feeling there is something deeper to it than just a distraction he likes to spend his free time on, but she lets it slide. She doesn't know him well enough to openly question his motives.
“Additionally, it's a way to be more in the field. As a VCU profiler I sit on my desk most of the time, and I always liked being out there.”
“Very out there, if I get you right,” she laughs and he smiles back good-naturedly.
“I'm used to people making fun of me, you know? They even call me Spooky.”
“Mulder, they call you Spooky because you are incredibly good at profiling, I heard that moniker back when I went to the academy. It never was connected to paranormal stuff. At least not back in the day.” He looks surprised. Did he really not know?
“Huh. I always thought they meant me chasing after aliens.”
Aliens? What the heck? While Dana is sure not once in the history of this planet an extraterrestrial life form has set foot on earth, there is nothing paranormal about the idea. Is this guy just believing in everything impossible?
“So basically, you're looking for everything that …” she tries to find a nice way to say this and decides to use a phrase he used earlier “... defies scientific explanation and then you run with it?” She is not mean-spirited, just curious.
“That's a great way to put it, Scully, yes!” He beams at her.
Oh boy.
*****
One and a half hours later the both of them are still sitting in the breakfast room, drinking coffee and chatting. Dana has told Mulder how she recently decided to bring some spice into her life and therefore got certified as a field agent only weeks prior – fearing she would perform autopsies in front of students until the end of time otherwise –, about her divorce from Ethan, the death of her father, the way she's refusing to be told by her brother which of her choices are right and which are wrong, her happiness about her new nephew and how much she likes to spend time with her sister. He was mostly smiling and nodding, chiming in with the occasional anecdote, but in the end she doesn't know much more about him than that his parents are divorced. Despite his appearances he seems to be introverted, spending most of his free time alone or with some oddball friends who sound like the caricature of nerds in an 80s movie. He has a strangely focused energy around him and Dana suspects him to be obsessing over his work most of the time. She likes him. The mystique that covers him like a cloak she likes even more.
“So, Scully, what do you think? Are you interested in some actual proof for a paranormal phenomenon like a ghost? Dip your toes in some actual field work for the first time?”
She thinks about how everything in her life feels pale and boring sometimes and how everything about this man in front of her is new and exciting.
“You know what, Mulder? I am. Not because I think you will find actual proof, but I could use a little bit of adventure over the holidays and I didn't work for that field certificate for nothing.”
*****
Dana spends the day mostly with Maggie and Tara faffing about Matthew, admiring how everything about him is so small and perfect and smells fantastic, and the way he smiles, and did you hear these little sounds – as you do as an aunt. She wants to have a baby too, sometime in the future. Maybe even more than one. Ethan was always grating on her nerves with the topic. He wanted children from the very beginning and couldn't understand that she wasn't in the right mindset in her twenties. It was one of the reasons their relationship went south. It didn't help either that he just couldn't understand why she loves her job. For her the slicing and dicing is a way to bring justice to the victims, he always saw it as something appalling that she should be happy to leave behind as soon as possible. The last straw was his reaction to her decision to become a field agent. She would have understood if he had been worried, or even a bit mad at her for planning to risk her life on a regular basis, but he was furious, and that he didn't even try to put himself in her shoes, to understand why she was doing this, tipped the scale. She left. And filed for divorce as soon as possible.
Hilariously enough, they hadn't even been married for long. They had used the ceremony to try to repair something that was already broken. As soon as she was alone she realized how much of place holders they had been in each other's lives. Not the partners they really wanted, just silhouettes of them. Canvases to project their respective wishes. She doesn't even miss him, Ethan. Sure, sometimes a person to talk to over dinner would be nice, or a warm body to curl around in the evening, but it is a very generic feeling. She assumes it's the same for him and she wouldn't be surprised if she heard in the near future that he would marry again, and, by the way, his fiancée is pregnant.
Maggie doesn't like any of it (Ethan gone, the divorce, her daughter preparing to run around with a gun in her hand all day instead of having kids like she did back in the day) but she's her mother and the love runs deep.
Melissa on the other hand loves it – her little sister finally breaking out and living her best life. It's just that, in Missy's eyes, Dana's best life could be so much better. More sex. More drugs. More rock'n roll. Fewer Friday evenings spent reading articles about forensic pathology on her sofa.
And that's exactly the reason Dana doesn't tell her anything about her “date” with Mulder. Because, it's not a date. Just two agents having a bit of an investigation. Okay, sure, there's no case. And they both are on vacation. And everything about this vacation-non-case is absolutely ridiculous, but she won't tell Missy that either. Missy would make the whole thing about sex. How she should climb that tree – Dana rolls her eyes just thinking about the phrasing she knows would be part of the conversation.
In the same way Dana felt at breakfast how superfluous her flirty smile was she knows this isn't about sex. Maybe sex can be a part of it, she sure as hell wouldn't mind trying, but there lurks something bigger in the shadows, and she really wants to see it.
*****
She meets Mulder just short of midnight, feeling giddy and bold and foolish all at once. Her only preparations are some sneakers and a flashlight in her pocket. He has changed into an all black attire, now only a ski mask short of a burglar from a bad movie. She huffs a little bit as she sees him and eyes his black leather jacket.
“You know, we're not really breaking and entering. We have rooms in this hotel.”
“Ah, come on, Scully, where would be the fun in just traipsing through the basement in our bath robes?”
“We could at least say we're looking for a sauna.”
Mulder hums noncommittally and fumbles with the equipment in his hands.
“What's that?” Dana asks.
“This one here is a normal camera, I would like you to take it. I guess we won't have enough light to take good pictures, but better safe than sorry.” Mulder shoves the camera into her hands. “And this one here,” he gestures at a device that looks like an oversized Geiger counter “is a ghost-o-meter.” He looks smug. In a very boyish way.
“A what?” Her brows climb nearly up to her hairline.
“A ghost-o-meter, my buddies built it for me. It combines a Geiger counter, an infrared thermometer and an EMF meter. Also, it includes a recording device, so maybe we can document EVPs.” Her brows still haven't come down. He plows on. “You know, electronic voice phenomena, it's when you can hear the ghosts in static noise, or in the background.”
“Mulder, it's just your brain making things up, it's called auditory pareidolia. Like you see a face in two dots and a line, or this stupid photo of a random hill on Mars that looks like a face when light and shadow are in the right places.”
His right hand flies to his heart and he shoots her a mock-hurt look. “You mean, Face on Mars is not a real alien?!”
The tension that has built up in her vanishes instantly and she laughs. “Okay, Mulder. So, you handle your proton pack and I make nice pictures.”
“As long as we don't cross the streams,” he quips back at her and they begin their descent in companionable silence.
*****
They aren't even at the bottom of the stairs when the temperature drops significantly. A cold breeze wafts over the back of her neck and Dana suppresses a shudder. She closes in on Mulder and gestures at his gadget. Mulder looks back at her wide-eyed and mumbles “The temperature just dropped from 77 to 50 degrees. From one step to the other.”
“That's … irritating.”
“I told you, Scully, there is something down here.”
“Mulder, there are a thousand scientific explanations for rapid temperature changes in buildings, especially in basements.”
“Maybe, but this one here is Betty Stone, I'm sure of it.” He looks happy in a I-told-you-so-way and while she doesn't want to take this from him she begins to be very interested in how his neck would feel under the pressure of her bare hands.
They make their way into the hallway. The only light source is a flickering neon light around a corner and the irregularly clicking noises grate quickly on her nerves.
“You know, I heard her yesterday.” Mulder's whispering voice yanks her from her musings a minute later.
“Who?”
“Betty Stone. She was moving around in the room above me last night, I could hear footfalls, and a female voice. Later on there were sounds of a struggle, like somebody was pushing furniture over.”
“Why haven't you done something? What if somebody really was in danger up there, a real person?”
“Oh, I went. The floor above my room looked like it hadn't been entered for decades. You know, stale air and dust on the floor, on the door handles, everywhere. All the rooms were locked. And as soon as I was up there, I couldn't hear anything anymore. I picked some locks anyway: nothing, just more or less empty guest rooms.”
“And why are we in the basement right now if you heard something on the third floor last night?” And why on earth are the rooms on the third floor not used? she thinks but doesn't ask.
“Because Betty Stone died in the basement. I reckon our chances are higher to actually find her here.”
Just as Scully starts to explain to him how all of this is utter nonsense she hears voices. No, a voice. A whispering, whining and groaning voice. All the hairs on her neck stand on end instantly. Mulder stops in his tracks and she bumps into him. He doesn't look at her, but he taps her hip twice with the back of his trigger finger and mutters: “Did you hear that?”
“In fact, I did,” she breathes in response, warmth radiating from the place he touched her. “Somebody is down here with us.”
“Betty Stone,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Mulder, there is no such thing as ghosts.”
“Why did you bother to come with me if even proof doesn't change your mind?”
“Mulder, that's not proof. We passed a thermal bridge and now we hear someone talking to themself, nothing here indicates something paranormal is goi…” she is interrupted by a faint scream and the equally faint voice of a woman pleading for her life. Her new life as a field agent hasn't ingrained itself in her enough to make her subconsciously reach for her gun, but she wishes she had one nonetheless. But why would anybody bring a gun to a Christmas family holiday?
She grabs Mulder's upper arm and whispers in his ear: “Do you have a gun?” Dana can feel a light shudder run through his body and he nods. “Ankle holster,” he murmurs and starts off in the direction of the sounds. She still doesn't believe she's confronted with a ghost here, but that's no reason to stay alone and unarmed in a drafty basement with flickering lights where a woman is being assaulted. Plus: She is a field agent now, it's her job to save this woman. She hurries up to follow him.
When they turn around the next corner they hear the voice again, but it's even more muted than before, as if they had walked past the source. They look at each other, Mulder pulls his gun and they turn back. There is no door, no other hallway from which the sounds may have emanated from. Very slowly they walk their way back. Mulder is staring at his ghost-o-meter, but as far as Dana can see there is nothing unusual indicated, no EMF, no radiation. The thermometer shows 75 degrees, until it doesn't. While she is looking at the scale she feels a second temperature drop and sees the number fall to 55 degrees at the same time. In the same moment the voices are back, now directly above their heads. Dana suppresses the need to whimper and closes her hand around Mulder's arm again. “What is going on here, Mulder?”
“I told you, the hotel is haunted. Don't you want to take a picture?”
“Of what, Mulder? Your thermometer? There is nothing to see here!”
“I don't know, Scully, but I want proof!”
That's the moment Dana's common sense kicks in. Fact 1: There's no such thing as ghosts. Fact 2: Something is going on here. Fact 3: Whatever is going on, there has to be a source. And she will find that source, no matter what. She feels something inside her shift from family holiday Dana to Agent Scully, the person Mulder is talking to the whole time.
“Okay, Mulder, we will get you your proof.” She loosens her grip around Mulder's biceps, retrieves the small flashlight from her pocket and marches off to the foot of the stairs where the first cold wave hit them. Mulder follows in her wake.
Scully starts to scan the walls thoroughly, the light beam wandering meticulously over the whole surface. She finds nothing. There is an old pipe directly under the ceiling but she's too short to inspect it properly. “Mulder, can you give me a hand, please?”
“You mean, pick you up, so you can reach the ceiling?” She nods.
“Okay.” He shrugs. “Sure.” He folds his hands to give her a boost, which doesn't develop into a stable enough position that she can search for anything other than some hold and after some awkward fumbling she ends up on his shoulders like a little girl at a parade. She ruffles his hair and laughs, despite her uneasiness. “They never told us at the academy how much fun field work can be.”
“Sure thing, Scully, it's not that often that you can climb your partner like a tree.” At the way he stiffens under her she knows he didn't intend the double entendre but is aware of it in the aftermath nonetheless. She herself changes her color faster than a cuttlefish, so she only clears her throat and concentrates on the old pipe in front of her. It takes her mere seconds before she produces a triumphant little noise.
“What is it?”
“Here's a vent. Could you hand me your proton pack for a minute?”
As soon as she aims it at the opening in the wall she sees the needle dropping to 45 degrees. “The cold air comes out of the vent. Nothing paranormal about it.”
Even if she can't see Mulder's face she knows he's not too happy about this news.
“Could you please walk along the pipe? I want to search for other openings.”
He does as asked and while she's looking behind the pipe her hand glides along its backside. They still can hear the disturbing sounds, but Scully is so focused on her task that she doesn't react to them anymore. After just a handful of steps she feels an unexpected protrusion and motions Mulder to stop. “There is something attached to the pipe here.”
The sounds are very near now, the woman pleading almost directly in Scully's ear and she feels Mulder shift uncomfortably under her. She fumbles behind the pipe.
“Mulder, look!” As he looks up she shows him a little speaker that emanates a scream in this moment. “Here's your Betty Stone. Stuffed neatly into a small box.”
“Shit,” Mulder murmurs and gestures to bring the speaker with her before he pushes her over his head to set her on the ground again. They look at the thing, their foreheads almost touching.
“Somebody is orchestrating a haunted house? Why?” Their eyes meet.
“Beats me, Scully. But we could try to talk to the owner tomorrow. How are your interrogation skills?”
“Maybe not good enough for a psychopathic serial killer, but for a meager hotel manager they should suffice, I guess.”
“Never underestimate the regular folks, Scully!” he chides softly and puts his hand on her lower back to guide her back to the stairs.
Later when she's lying in her bed she will think about this touch, as unnecessary as they come, but welcome in a strange way. She's got the feeling it's not establishing a connection rather than emphasizing an already existing one. She looks forward to the next day, very much so.
*****
They hadn’t arranged a specific time for their next venture, so Scully is keeping a close eye on the door of the breakfast room the next morning. Bill and Tara are already gone for a stroll through the woods, little Matthew strapped to his daddy in a baby sling. Both looked like they had seen a ghost and they probably didn't sleep much the night before. Scully doesn't envy them.
Maggie and Missy have gotten themselves in a conversation about how Missy is not interested in going to church on Sundays and a slight annoyance is wavering around them both. Scully tries her hardest to stay out of it. While she is going more or less regularly, she really doesn't see the point in judging her sister, whose whole life would be openly frowned upon by her Catholic peers.
She's on her way to refill her plate with some fruit and cheese, when she sees Mulder entering. His eyes almost immediately land on her and he grins. Changing course she walks up to him and greets him with a small smile and a hushed “Morning, Mulder.”
“Still up for the interrogation, Scully?”
“Of course! Do you know where we can find the owner?”
Mulder hovers over her, entering her space like they have to hide something and she is surprised to find that she likes it. He radiates warmth and smells good and she wants to wrap herself in his presence.
“… this afternoon.” She realizes she was so busy relishing that she stopped listening. Get yourself together, what are you? Fifteen?
“Sorry, what? I didn't get the first part.”
He looks at her quizzically but repeats: “The owner is a Mr. Scott Andrews, he bought the Tolu Mountain Inn in 1996 and is part of the crew. He will be working the reception this afternoon.”
“Huh, that's convenient.”
“It is, isn't it? – So, what do you think? 2 p.m.?”
Scully sees Maggie and Missy stare at her flabbergasted, obviously unified in a new found topic. She decides to stay clear of their bombardment of questions, waves at them with a smile, nods at Mulder and scrams.
*****
When she arrives on schedule, Mulder is already sifting through some pamphlets at the reception, his eyes covertly trained at the man behind the counter. As she's reaching him she feels like she is slotting in the right place by his side. She touches his arm fleetingly and he looks at her.
“You ready?”
She nods.
They step over to the counter and Mulder starts: “Mr. Scott Andrews?”
“That's me.” His smile is open and friendly.
“Can we talk to you for a moment?” Mulder presents his badge and adds: “Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI, and this is my …” the pause is almost imperceptible “… partner, Special Agent Dana Scully.” Scully blinks. Nice. Very nice. She blinks again.
“Erm, yeah, sure. What's this about?” Andrews seems nervous but it's more of a red flag if people are not nervous when questioned by the FBI. He gestures to a small room behind the counter. So he doesn't want to be overheard by other guests, but that's not odd either.
Mulder gets comfy in an armchair while Scully stays standing at his side.
“Mr. Andrews, are you aware of rumors that your hotel is haunted?”
“Oh.” He seems surprised. “Yes, actually, I am. You know, this is an old house. Story goes that a young lady was murdered here in the early 1920s, and that she is haunting the house since then. A lot of my guests have heard her, it's really creepy.” His face doesn't match his words at all. Somebody is a little bit too excited here.
Scully decides to chime in. “Are you aware that your basement has been fitted with a cooling system and speakers to fake paranormal activities?”
Andrews goes pale. “Erm.” Mulder lifts his brows. “Maybe? I mean, I may or may not have heard about something like that?”
“Mr. Andrews, we're from the FBI. This is a serious situation,” Scully says with furrowed brows.
The hotel owner slumps in his chair and huffs a big breath. “Yes, okay. It was me. I have installed those things.”
“Would you care to explain why?”
“What do you think, why? To make the hotel more attractive. I only have the first two floors in use now, but to hold the hotel and make it profitable, I need to use the third floor, too. 16 more rooms. I need more guests, and haunted hotels are a pretty good way to lure some customers in. How could I have known that literally the first one attracted by this would be the FBI!?” Mulder looks somewhat offended by this.
“So, the hotel isn't haunted?” Scully feels a little smug.
“Oh, it absolutely is. But good old Betty is too unreliable to function as a tourist attraction. She only pops up around Christmas, and not even every year. I need a ghost at least once a week, or too many guests will call the hotel a hoax.” The irony of this sentence is obviously lost on him.
The smugness leaves Scully as she sees Mulder becoming more alert. After all of this he does still believe the ghost is real? She decides to let Andrews dig the grave for Mulder's childish hopes.
“Mr. Andrews, I would like you to explain to me in full detail what kind of tech you have installed.”
Andrews’ fingers comb through his hair and he exhales again loudly. “Okay. Right. So, in the basement, that's basically it. Cool air is blown through four different vents to simulate cold spots. Then there are a couple of speakers, the voice is from a friend of mine who helped me to set this up. And the flickering neon lights of course. Always good to set the mood. The more important part is on the third floor at the moment, because the guests can hear it at night. I have speakers in every room on the third floor and I haunt another room every night. I move the furniture, let books drop, things like that.”
“But the third floor looks like nobody has been there for years.” Mulder is not amused.
“It does, right? I have to say, I'm especially proud of this.” Andrews is afloat again. “It's Fuller's earth, a kind of dust that's used in film and theater productions. Every time somebody has been up there I renew the layer in the hallway, so it looks untouched again.”
Scully has to admit, she's impressed.
“And what is your plan if you use the third floor for actual guests?”
Andrews shrugs. “Betty has to move to the attic, I guess.” He fiddles with the seam of his shirt. “What will you do now? I mean, will you shut me down?”
Mulder and Scully exchange a look.
“No, Mr. Andrews. None of the things you are doing here are illegal. I mean, I can't say I like it, but it seems to be a solid business plan, if you ask me,” Mulder answers.
*****
They have actually solved the case: A case Mulder would probably not have solved alone, because he isn't interested in debunking the paranormal, and a case Scully would have not solved alone, because she would have dismissed it from the get go.
Both of them are sitting at the bar, Scully acutely aware of her family gawking in the background, and they're celebrating their victory.
“To Betty Stone,” Mulder says, “a ghost who's not ghosting around hard enough to make her landlord rich.” He lifts his glass.
Scully clinks it with her own. “You mean, a ghost who's not existing hard enough to make her landlord rich.”
Mulder mockingly glares at her but sobers up after a moment.
“You know, Scully, if I had had someone like you on the X-Files, maybe they wouldn't have shut me down so easily back in the day.”
“Hmmm, Mulder. Maybe you should try to get them back. You could request a specific field agent as partner, someone who is teaching at Quantico at the moment.”
She watches his eyes widen and his jaw drop. “Really? You would be interested?”
Scully takes a sip, never breaking eye contact with her would-be partner.
“Oh yes, Mulder,” she says. “I would be very, very interested.”