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After almost two years on the run, they get the house. Situated on an eleven-acre plot in the foothills of western North Carolina is a cozy two-bedroom ordeal with a cold, damp basement. There’s a strange abundance of cardinals, flitting about in the corner of one’s eye almost constantly. Scully thinks of the old saying, “cardinals appear when angels are near.”
While moving in, Mulder remarked that the paint-peeled walls were too bare. “I wish I would have brought my poster,” he lamented, and Scully laughed at the idea of making a pit stop in between military prisons and New Mexico to get the poster displaying the all-sacred tractor beam. She also thought about how much that poster has seen in its lifetime.
On the way in, hauling all their belongings (Scully, a single black backpack, and Mulder, a leather duffel bag he got at a goodwill in Iowa), they stopped at a Walmart to throw themselves a housewarming party, at Mulder’s insistence. “We can’t really invite anyone, so we’ll throw it ourselves. and also buy all the gifts ourselves,” he had proposed somewhat sheepishly. And so they meandered down the labyrinthine aisles, picking mismatched plates and a glassware set, packs of silverware, and spending a good half hour in the candle section.
She had tried to dissect how she felt. She had always longed for this sweet domesticity with him, but the circumstances made her gut churn. Would they have done this anyway, eventually? if it weren’t for having to run away? Would they have retired like “normal,” keeping William and raising him in the “normal” way? She corrects herself; nothing with mulder has ever been or ever could be normal. But would he have done it? For her? If only she had asked? She faintly worried that he’s only still with her because this is how it’s always been. He's only been with her, just Scully, no other women, for almost a decade. She thinks about Diana, then stops. She doesn’t have the energy. To calm herself, she looked at him.
He had his nose lowered into a candle claiming to smell like “tropical breeze.” His head lifted, nose faintly wrinkling. He looked at her. “What atmosphere are we going for? I personally like warm and cozy coffee shops over coastal beach cafes,” he mused, a childish smile on his face. She nodded absently. “i’ve always liked candles that smell like fall,” she says, reaching for one that read “crisp apple.” It had reminded her of her mother’s apple pie she always made on the fourth of July. She sat it in the cart. He snagged one more as she walked further down the aisle.
When they arrived at the house, it was eerily dark inside. The white shutters are stained with the years, and the rickety porch faintly made Scully worry she would fall through as she trudged up the steps, walmart bags in tow and mulder ghosting behind her. She stopped in front of the door, waiting for Mulder to produce the key.
They had attained the house through the help of the Gunmen, over a few months of calls from payphones and coded letters somehow reaching them at their various motel doors. They had gotten the key at a 7/11 outside of Lexington, Kentucky. They pulled up to a gas pump, and not 30 seconds later, an old VW van pulled in to the other side of the pump. Smiles shared, but no hugs. No words. a flick of the wrist while waiting for the tank to fill, and the piece of brass was his. It was real. A home, waiting for them. As they pulled out of the gas station, Scully could see Frohike give her a warm smile and soft nod. She holds on to this, still.
He pulled it out of his pocket, the lone key dangling on a keyring. He inserted it, turned the lock, turned the knob, and the door creaked open. it’s musty, and it’s dark, but its arms stretch wide to welcome them into its gaping mouth. It's a plain house, really. It's unremarkable. but it’s home.