Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, and Fox Mulder are the copyrighted inventions of Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions.  I'm just borrowing them for a bit of imagination time.  And yes, I do take long walks in the pouring Nor'Easter rains from time to time... =)
 
Historian's Note: This takes place somewhere between "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose" and "Revelations" in the third season.
 
This one's dedicated to Rob, who's probably the closest person I know to how I  see Mulder here.  Thanks for the late night philosophy talks last year, Rob. . .  I wish we lived in the same dorm so they could continue.
 
And here we go...

 She turned on the Weather Channel, hoping that the announcer would proclaim that the skies would open and it would turn into a wonderful night.  But when the weatherman said that New England was experiencing its first Nor'Easter of the  season and would probably be wet for at least two more days, she nearly screamed.
 
Before emitting a sound that would scare the rest of the hotel, she quickly threw her frustration on a mental back burner.

<>  her conscience argued.
 <> she shot back, but knew that she *did*  need to cool off.  The case they'd been working on had hit too close to home.  A woman named Kathryn Lieb had been abducted, and couldn't remember a thing that had happened for the past two months.  Scully had returned to the hotel mentally shaking, having refused to discuss any similarities between  Kathryn's case and her own with Mulder over dinner.  And while Scully could understand her partner's interest in the case for professional and personal  reasons, she couldn't understand why he'd allowed her to come along without the usual "Are you sure you're okay with this, Scully?"  Especially considering how overprotective he normally was since her own abduction.
 
She looked back at the window.  The rain looked like it was letting up a bit. Maybe a walk to relax and clear her mind was what she needed, she figured. She knew that long walks always seemed to help her on stressful cases, and she remembered from her last visit to Boston how pleasant the city was to walk through.
 
She grabbed the parka that Mulder had loaned her for the night and her Walkman before slipping a note under the adjoining door.  She wanted to avoid his worry  when she got back.  <> she figured.
 
She prayed that she'd get out of the building before he stopped her.
 
It really wasn't a bad night to be walking, she decided as she took her first breath of the night air.  It was a little chilly, but the rain didn't feel too cold. . . yet. And the wind wasn't blowing the forty miles per hour that the weatherman had said.  Best of all, she had the city sidewalks mostly to herself.
 
Scully pulled the hood over her headphones and headed toward Kenmore Square. Her feet hit the pavement perfectly in time with the music, quickly passing the college students heading the opposite direction toward Boston University.  She  hardly saw them, refusing to focus on anything except her thoughts and the  sidewalk in front of her.
 Most of the small shops along the Brookline streets had closed hours before,  either because of the rapidly approaching storm or simply because of "normal" nine to five operation hours.  Now they sat, dark except for the occasional neon beer advertising sign, with sturdy chain links locked to the pavement that  protected the windows.  From the look of the neighborhood at night, Scully could tell she wasn't in one of the tourist attraction areas of metro-Boston.  But she didn't care.  She had a pissy attitude, a gun, and a mission to absolutely nowhere.  She forgot the locked-up shops as soon as she saw them.
 
The rain continued to fall, soaking through her jeans and stinging her face  and hands.  The drops seemed to get larger, and with each one, felt like they were hitting harder.  She was positive that Nature was subjecting her to its version of the Chinese water torture.  But she continued to trudge on, heading toward the lights a few blocks ahead.
 
She picked up her pace when she saw a number of cars cross an intersection ahead of her.  Signs of traffic meant a possible subway/streetcar line, and an escape from her "walk."  Finally, she reached the intersection and quickly  glanced up at the sign between raindrops.  "Harvard Street and Fuller Street." She turned right onto Harvard, hearing the rumble of the streetcar nearby.
 
She looked at her watch. . . eleven-thirty.  She'd been out here for 45 minutes.  No wonder she was soaked through.  The rain and wind picked up again and blew directly into her face.  The water had completely soaked her jeans, numbing her thighs where the wet material had stuck to her skin.  She jealously peered through restaurant windows at people dining in the late-night bistros.  They were in dry, comfortable warmth, unlike her.
 
The walk was definitely not helping her mood.  Time to figure something else  out, she figured.
 
She saw the streetcar stop and decided to run.  Hopefully Mulder had change in his coat pockets so she could take the train back to the hotel.
 
<>
 
The streetcar finally arrived, and she clomped up the steps, receiving stares from other patrons as she left puddles behind her.  She stepped into the middle of the car, still in a bad mood, and now dripping wet.  She ignored the whispering and giggling of two students beside her and stared out the window at the rows of brownstones as the train began to move.
 
"Blanford Street," the monotone, heavily-accented voice of the streetcar driver announced over the intercom.
 
Feeling a little better after the short ride, Scully carefully exited the train and returned to her hotel room.  She quickly peeled off the drenched clothes and threw them to the makeshift laundry room in her bathtub before she noticed that none of her other clothes were still in the tub.
 
<> Scully groaned and rubbed her temples in frustration.  Why did everything seem to happen at once?

 She sighed and wrapped herself in the spare blanket from the closet.  She hoped  that there was something good on TV tonight that would cheer her up.  But before she switched on the TV, she noticed a new pile upon the chair in the corner.  She took a closer look, and closed her eyes in relief and surprise.
 
All of her clothes were neatly folded on the chair, clean and completely dry, with a handwritten note placed gently on top of them.
 
<>
 
For the first time during their trip up to Boston, Scully smiled.
 
<>