Wuthering Lake

-Pilot

FBI Headquarters, Washington - DC
Feb 27, 1993.

- Agent Y/N Clark.

Your heels clack on the polished floor, the cold air with a hint of eucalyptus sanitizer hitting your lungs as you identify yourself at the reception desk at FBI headquarters. With your ID scanned you enter the building following the so familiar path to your floor.

During your second year as an agent you felt like quitting. Being an FBI agent was never part of your plans, after all. The opportunity was sudden and although it paid well, the exhaustion was still a significant factor.

The exposure was also, at the very least, uncomfortable. While the life of an agent was a constant target of glamorization you quickly learned that working for the FBI meant seeing limbo every day. Some cases were excessively brutal, and dealing with certain situations often felt like a burden - faces of John Doe's haunting you, begging for solutions that you very frequently felt like you couldn't find. Fidgeting with the arrest warrant you carried under your arm, you were determined to resign by the end of the week. Despite already holding a relatively respectable position at the bureau, the dark circles under your eyes begged for mercy and the idea of being a doctor didn't feel that horrible considering everything you've already seen.

You place a stack of papers down on your desk, sitting in your chair relieved. Closing a case always brought a sense of satisfaction. Not just the praise from your superiors, but the feeling of "one less thing to do"- plus the bonus days off you earned after completing each case - And now the feeling of closing what you thought would be your last case made the situation even more exciting. Your only concern at the moment was preparing a convincing speech with valid arguments for why you wanted to resign.

That is, until a cardboard box brushes the back of your chair

- I got something you need to see. Are you busy right now? - Agent Mulder asks as you reach for a plastic UFO figure he dropped on the floor.

- Yes, I mean, kinda. - You answer, resting the figure on your desk. - Got a few things to do. Y'know, my last case.

- Are you joking? Everyone knows you solved that. - He says, his elbow nudging your chair in a gesture that would most likely be a pat on your shoulder if his hands weren't full. - That was fast, really. I bet you really need a couple free days.

- You could say that.

You take a sip from your cup of coffee, glancing down at your papers pressing your lips together. No one knew you were planning on leaving, and you most definitely didn't want to tell anyone. You were already thinking about clearing your desk on a Sunday afternoon to avoid questions, and with Mulder standing there in front of you, part of your plan went out the window. You knew he was there for professional reasons only; the guy was a workaholic, after all. And that basically meant he wanted to open a case with you.

- So? You coming or what?

- What, you still got an office? - You ask with a hint of a smile, resting your chin on your palm.

- Come on, and take that with you. - He says, pointing at the UFO figure with his chin, silently but surely expecting you to follow him. He was insistent and you knew it. He wouldn't let go of it and you would be forced to tell him the truth.

Perfect.

You sigh, taking the figure in your palm as you stand up, following him to his office while keeping a safe distance for the sake of your reputation.

Speaking of reputation - that was pretty much all you knew about Mulder - in other words, "Spooky Mulder". He seemed even more agitated after the X-Files were closed, and you kinda felt bad about it. You wanted to ask more about it, but you weren't sure if it was the right time. Mulder never seemed to care much about how his colleagues and superiors saw him, but part of you felt like he was trying to leverage himself somehow. Despite everything, he really liked the job. And you respected that.