It was unlike him to take any form of vacation days off, but for the past 13 days Mulder had been enjoying the sights of Guatemala. That is, if secret government bases and UFO hotspots count as "sights".
Currently, Mulder sat in his apartment looking through the pictures he had taken on his trip.
Normal people take pictures of their friends and family. Pictures of wildlife and tourist attractions. And there I went taking shitty photos of flying saucers and millitary bases.
These thoughts were unusually cinical for Murder, but then again it was 2 am and he had jet lag. But now that he thought about it: Did he have ANY sentimental photos?
Mulder stood up and started rummaging through his desk. In a small tin in the bottom left drawer, he found a total of three photos. One of him and his sister, one of his old pet dog, and one of his parents.
What the hell?
It wasn't the amount of photos that startled Mulder, more the fact that there was not a single photo of Scully.
She is just as important as everyone else in there! What if she went missing and I forgot what she looked like? What if she got old and wrinkly and I couldn't remember how pretty she was? I mean, she'll always be pretty, but that's not the point! There has to be one somewhere...
After 10 minutes of angrily tearing through his desk drawers, Mulder had found nothing. He knew he wasn't a terrible friend, but it sure felt that way. She had to have at least one photo of him.
She really is more thoughtful than I am. Even if it makes me a sap, I'm gonna get a nice picture of her and I'm gonna frame it!
And so, at the next possible opportunity, Mulder took a photo of his partner. It was, in actuality, a terrible photo and of course Scully made a fuss about it. She wanted him to take another and teased him for being sentimental. Her hair was blowing everywhere and she looked mildly surprised, but to Mulder it was perfection. She was perfection. And that was all that mattered.
