the woman is the king, part 9

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana / part 3: emily / part 4: scully / part 5: samantha (the interlude) / part 6: them / part 7: maggie / part 8: maggie, part 2 

part 9: maggie, part 3

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

----

A scenic walking trail and two pairs of thrift store hiking boots blossoms into their first mutual hobby. Scully sees the benefit of a daily exercise regimen. She still acknowledges the possibility she just appreciates his display of athleticism in cut-off running shorts.

Mulder breaks into a vigorous run with her on his back. She squeals his name, tightening her grip around his neck. A scraped-up knee may be an indication of her skill level; she encircles his waist with her uninjured leg. 

While Mulder unlocks the door, Scully rests her cheek between his shoulder blades, and allows him to deposit her on the kitchen counter. It is nothing more than a completely superficial surface scrape; it barely requires a bandage. He still gives it a thorough cleaning with cool water and flashes her small smiles of reassurance.  

He dusts his hands together, admiring his work. “My hero,” she praises him. She wraps her arms around his neck to meet his lips. She discovered within three days of their arrival that his earlier jest to defile this place was wholly serious. 

She cannot actually complain about his voraciousness. She endured the same unending dry spell he did. While quickly rectified upon reuniting, Scully nor Mulder could deny an ever-present fear of federal agents barging through the door. Not exactly an aid for soul-stirring romance. 

“I have things to do, Mulder,” she mumbles between kisses with her hands cupped over his jaw. He grumbles his disbelief that anything else could be so pressing. “We’re almost out of clean clothes...it takes forever to do everything by hand...” 

“You’ve been injured,” he purrs. He masterfully tongues a hypersensitive nerve underneath her ear; she melts into the cabinets. His mouth momentarily unoccupied, he continues, “Gotta kiss it. Make it better.” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

Her intention to play along becomes very clear. He nods at her dreamily and drops to a kneel at her feet. She forgets about her knee instantly. 

the woman is the king, part 8

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana / part 3: emily / part 4: scully / part 5: samantha (the interlude) / part 6: them / part 7: maggie

part 8: maggie, part 2

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

----

No more than two days in a motel is their first self-imposed rule to protect their identities. After 36 hours at the Leisure Inn, she spreads a map across the bedspread. 

Already clocking hundreds of miles trapezing across the Southwest, Scully is tired of the long stretches of desert. Mulder sits behind her, tracing his finger from their current location near Salt Lake City, and up toward the state of Washington. He stops a few inches short of Seattle. 

“That’s a little populated, don’t you think?”

When running from the law, an ideal location boasts less than five thousand people. Scully once found the unforthcoming communities of a small town infuriating. She now takes the silence of the populous as an advantage. 

“It wouldn’t be Seattle proper,” Mulder amends. “I have a contact in the area with a cabin. I’ve stayed there before.” 

An interconnected community of like-minded people, as Mulder would explain, have fed him information for years. He categorizes his contacts as creditable allies. Scully wonders where these people source their information to gain their expertise and resources. She heeds their abilities with caution. 

He attractively describes not-Seattle-proper by recounting his memories of a lake view, an impressively restored stone fireplace, and unequivocable privacy. It only takes an hour to map their route and pack their gear into the SUV. 

the woman is the king, part 7

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana / part 3: emily / part 4: scully / part 5: samantha (the interlude) / part 6: them

part 7: maggie

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

----

Her oldest, her Billy, inherited many qualities from her late husband, but a less reserved nature. With a much quicker temper, and the vagueness of Dana’s letter, Maggie expected his phone call. 

She only listens. William referred to them as the oil and water of their brood; never any use in trying to mix them. Even when a mother is always trying to keep peace among her children. 

“She lets people ruin her life,” Bill very nearly froths. She worries for her son’s heart and an untimely demise akin to her husband’s if he doesn’t get his temper under control. “How can you sit here and be so indifferent while Dana allows that man to steal away her goddamn future yet again, Mother?” 

Maggie shakes a colander full of strawberries from her garden of their excess water over the sink with the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. “Your father would roll in his grave if he heard you use the Lord’s name when you speak about your sister,” she scolds him. Bill only mumbles an excuse. She thinks he expects, eventually, he will get her to take a side, his side, as he always has. 

Billy is a strong, successful military man, with achievements and commendations, and still, he could never let his little sister win. As children, he stormed off during board games, and pushed her off her bike when she finished first in races, but Maggie wonders what he intends to win if Dana were to leave her life with Fox. 

“This isn’t like Melissa running off to California for six months,” he finally sighs.

She avoids the subject any further. 

the woman is the king, part 6

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana / part 3: emily / part 4: scully / part 5: samantha (the interlude) 

part 6: them

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

----

A hospital bed is arguably worse than a coffin. It could easily be just a tease. Scully may soon have to bury Mulder all over again. 

While Scully notes the well-meaning discouragement of her colleagues, she maintains that she must accept the risk. His battered body nearly brings her to her knees. 

She stood dutifully by for long months of uncertainty; remaining an honorable partner, despite assumptions of instability from pregnancy and grief. It may seem horrific to stand by him as faithfully as ever. 

Scully was only beginning to entertain the concept of their child existing in a world without him. She jerks to attention by the unreal sensation of his hand curling around hers; as if to remind her to never count him out too quick. 

It is already poised on her tongue--I’m your wife--before he cracks the faintest of smiles. Mulder knows how much she hates when he does that. But she loves it too, or possibly more accurately, she missed it heartachingly so. 

His hospital room becomes a whirl of activity; whisking him off for scans and x-rays and questions. The reality of what he has been through still has yet to set in. She lingers in the hard hospital chair with her usual inclination to observe stifled by the excruciating fear of finding this all to be a fantasy. 

It is many hours before an orderly finally rolls Mulder back into the room, appearing as exhausted as she is. She finally lets her longing for sleep win. “I’ll be back in the morning, okay?” she assures him, her fingers at his temple as she is suddenly reminded of a lost debrief from long ago.

His eyes follow her as she begins to leave. “Wait,” he whispers. 

Scully turns, watching as Mulder nudges her jacket aside with his knuckle, revealing the swell of her stomach. His blank eyes never meet hers; no flash of realization like she imagined.

After a few moments, he drops his hand. 

the woman is the king, part 5

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana / part 3: emily / part 4: scully 

part 5: samantha (the interlude)

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

------------

A blizzard overtakes Alexandria in blustering flurries, snow following them from the hospital to Hegel Place. Recovering from the chill, Scully watches sliding cars and whooping partiers on the streets below. 

His sling already abandoned, Mulder stands completely still as she closes the distance between them. She holds his elbow, right below the bandage. “You weren’t supposed to take that off,” she reprimands. 

“You should know by now that I’m a rebel, Doc.” 

Mulder may fancy himself a rebel. Scully might classify it as a professional rebellion; insurgency in the face of injustice. It is nearly a requirement of their work that he be the instigator of such acts and she stand skeptically by as a reminder of protocol and reason. But Scully has her own commotion below the surface; a radical girl left on pause that would easily deem her partner a square.

A youthful Dana steals her mother’s cigarettes at thirteen; wields boxed dye and a pierced navel at twenty-three. When she’s thirty-three, she marries him, and she doubts she would have looked at him twice at any other point in time. 

Opportunities to kiss her were always plentiful; seven years worth of fated moments and flirtatious exchanges. Yet he chooses New Year’s Eve. 

“Why tonight?” 

“The world could’ve ended,” he murmurs, so close to her that she can feel his breath on her cheeks. 

“And that’s the way you wanted to go?”

Mulder nods in bashful memorization. Their mirrored movements happen so easily; her eyes flicker down to his lips just as he does the same. She expects the first touch of their lips to be awkward. Perhaps their heads would move in the same direction, or their noses would bump, but it is completely synchronous, and unrestricted in a way no other kiss with him has ever been. 

And what a rarity, for one kiss to feel like such adoration. A moment of pure contentedness; a chance encounter with no heartache between them.

the woman is the king, part 4

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana / part 3: emily 

part 4: scully

read on ao3 

@today-in-fic

———

Scully showers in the very hottest water and douses her skin with three-in-one body wash. She intends to bleach his tub before she leaves. 

Mulder rambles and paces while she sits at the foot of his bed. He spews his stream of consciousness about their dinner order and doesn’t stop moving long enough to give her the mug of tea meant for her. “I thought this might help,” he says, finally halting his feet. “But I’m realizing now that’s really stupid.” 

“It’s okay, Mulder,” she assures him. “I’m fine.” 

No words are needed to express what he thinks of her response. Not long ago, she was making a more concerted effort to be emotionally open. Now, it is safer to be guarded. 

Whenever Mulder has been an ass in the last six years, she has been able to give it right back to him. They possessed well blended humor and their level of professional compatibility was almost strange. But their partnership has evolved into something so tempestuous; ever changing between cordial and cold. 

the woman is the king, part three

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

i’m very excited to finally share this! definitely the most difficult part to write so far and i hope everyone enjoys it!

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana

part 3: emily

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

———

Two years on, sometimes Scully believes she will be able to survive without her other. A forgotten voice travels from immortal nirvana to her brother’s residential line. She wonders if what she tells herself is true. 

1994; the lost year that exists between them. On an evening in March, returning from a field assignment with Mulder, Melissa leaves a message on her answering machine that Scully can still easily recite. 

Things are too hard right now, Dana. I’m safe, I’m with friends in California. I’ll call soon. I love you.

Dana would never have been the golden child. No one surpasses a squid, especially not a fed with some shifty assignment. A shifty fed fares better than a filthy sinner. Charlie wears excommunication with unsweetened pride. And Melissa, the silly new ager, well, she could take no more.

No one thrives at the center of a Scully family scandal. Scully tries to create a rational narrative. It is 1994. Melissa is pregnant; she doesn’t want the baby. She knows plenty of people on the west coast. It was believable. 

Her beloved sister, Dana, is abducted, and in the four weeks she is missing, Melissa gives birth, and the baby is adopted. Dana resurfaces in a hospital; left practically for dead. Her sister returns to stand vigil at her bedside. 

It becomes a question of mindset. Maggie believes Melissa would have told her; Dana disagrees. Subversion of expectations was the ultimate sin for a Scully child as it was a denouncement of the parenting of William and Margaret. She can attest to her mother’s softening on certain expectations since the death of her father. She still disagrees. 

No time for sulking, only pushing through. Working the case through Christmas clearly infuriates Bill. He keeps it to hushed whispers and snide remarks out of Tara’s earshot. Scully often wonders how privy Tara is to anything going on in the Scully family. 

Her infertility stings when she looks at her sister-in-law. With her cancer now in remission, the other medicals horrors Scully faced start coming back to the surface. It is another slap; the thought that her sister gave away such a sweet little girl while she will never carry a child. 

Scully is a mother. She struggles to quantify what Emily is. 

Emily, a living and breathing child, with the face of a Scully, is a violation of her body that someone stole from her, and yet must be fiercely protected. Perhaps Emily is the missing piece. 

Scully hurriedly fills out the application for temporary custody. It consists of the normal, straightforward questions found on any application, until her hand is hovering over that box. Single or married. 

The only thing happening in sunny San Diego is a completely mundane family Christmas, as far as Mulder is aware. Her words froze during her singular phone call. It seems like reaching out now is more of a bombardment than a simple debrief.

Scully is not in a position to presuppose the enigmatic thoughts of Fox Mulder. Yes, it was by his own volition to marry her and she can even believe that Mulder does love her. It is a mutual respect and a fond devotion. It is not spousal love; not a man that loves his wife. 

If she checks the box, Mulder would have to be a father figure to Emily, and it is not her place to make that decision for him. Their marriage was playing house because she was destined to die and Emily does not deserve to be a flour-sack baby in their labyrinthian game. 

Her pen swipes across the paper. Single. 

the woman is the king, part two

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part of this story! writing again has been so great and i’m excited for everyone to read where it goes from here! 

part 1: melissa

part 2: dana

———

The exam room is harshly lit, brutally overclean. When the doctor gives the diagnosis, it knocks the breath out of her, and she has the audacity to declare her gratitude. How could she.

The fragility of her age comes to mind on the drive home; her eyes prickle watching her copy of her oncology referral slide across the dashboard.

Dana is only thirty-three. Melissa was only thirty-three. She ponders her mother, Maggie, at thirty-three. Her destiny already decided; along for the military ride. She was carrying the fifth Scully child that year. Their matrarical line is cursed by the thirty-third year.

She simmers with the news for a few days; plotting methods of delivering impending doom. Mulder, the usual harbinger of bad news, is the one she tells first, and she believes using a clinician’s touch might soothe her.

The pronoun that binds them, the “we” travels from his vocal cords to their air between them. When he pauses, she can fill in the blanks of how he wants the sentence to end. We can do something about this or we can fix this. The problem is, there isn’t anything to be done.

Inside her head is a glass and cancer is the water from a faucet turned all the way on. They are merely waiting for the overflow.

the woman is the king

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened. 

this is a revamped version of my unfinished wip chain reaction. some of it will be familiar but don’t worry, there’s plenty that’s brand new. it’s been a minute and i wanted to give the idea what it deserved. i’m hoping to post a new part every friday for the month of october! so with that we have

part 1: melissa

----------

Her door is barely open enough for a hushed conversation.

“It’s Friday night, Mulder.”

Scully keeps attempting to have a separation between work and home. After the underwhelming experience with Rob, she is sure Mulder is aware of this; that she wants to have a semblance of a personal life, even if she is dedicated to their cases. He is making it prove difficult, with his work and his interests so intertwined. It never ends.

“I know, but these reports just came through,” he insists. “You need to see them before…”

A cacophony of flatware and curse words comes from the kitchen. Scully continues to stare up at him, unperturbed, but Mulder’s eyes flash upward over her head. Behind his eyes, he is creating a story; putting together puzzle pieces that do not exist. 

“Got a date in there, Scully?”

A female voice, its volume raising in comparison to the muttered expletives, calls, “Dana, is that the pizza?” 

“My sister,” she corrects. 

Scully has seen Mulder reserved in the face of criticism, but he seems sheepish, maybe even embarrassed, at the idea that his obsessive nature was exposed to this audience. She finds the bashfulness radiating from him to be endearing in a boyish sort of way.

He gives her the stack of papers held together with a binder clip. Not one of the small ones, no, one of the big ones meant for thick analysis that will take an entire weekend to sift through. “Just look them over when you get a chance,” he tells her.

She nods, and when the door is shut, Melissa appears behind her like a graceful apparition. “Working on a weekend,” she marvels. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going to ask him out?”

Scully turns away, retrieving her wallet from her purse, and starts counting out bills for their soon-to-arrive dinner. “It isn’t like that with Mulder, our relationship is professional,” she babbles. “I already got caught up dating in the bureau before and people that really matter in the FBI are finally starting to see my value after two years of paying my dues at the Academy, I’m not going to jeopardize my future by consorting with my partner.”

"Consorting?” Melissa retorts. “Come on, Dana, be honest. If he were just a guy on the street, would you?”

She thinks. Mulder is ambitious, brilliant, and has an unrivaled sense of humanity. His dedication is frighteningly thrilling. It gives her an enthusiasm to strive for more.

Scully realizes the list could go on. Mulder’s positive qualities are more than can be said about most of the men she’s been involved with and in only a short amount of time knowing him.

Yes, she probably would. If he were just any guy.

The doorbell rings.

“No.”

conduct of friends

ages ago someone in my inbox asked for some college au and i’ve had this sitting ever since and i picked it back up today and edited down to my favorite part so i’m posting xf fic again, who is she? 

--

A warm day during the first week of the fall semester, on a walk from the science building to the library, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully become instant friends. Courtesy of an exterrestrial believer that sets up shop at the dining hall entrance that had them sparring on its validity for half a mile. 

He is the easiest friend she has ever made. All their social energy is quickly devoted to each other. Fox doesn’t seem to pay anyone else much mind since they started hanging out, but he is undeniably quite handsome, and it is unsurprising that other people may think the same thing. 

Dana still finds herself feeling possessive when he announces his Friday night plans. 

She doesn’t ask him anything about the girl, or the guy, because he confided that in her. She does not want to know who they are, what they are like, or how they met.

It still doesn’t stop her from arriving at his room half an hour before the date to offer the womanly advice he seeks. His words. She finds a comfortable spot on the floor beside the bed, amongst the pencil shavings and cracked sunflower shells. 

"Where are you headed?”

“Book reading at that new coffee place in town,” he answers. He adjusts his glasses nervously. She gets up, digging through her bag that she threw down on his bed, and walks to stand in front of him.

She tilts her head at him and reaches up to remove his glasses. “You have such nice eyes, Fox,” she comments, uncapping her eyeliner pencil. “Kneel down and look up.” 

Dana swipes a thin layer on his bottom lashline, holding his chin in her fingers.

He adjusts the collar of his jacket as she admires her work, the denim one with the sherpa collar from the little thrift store she took him to when they first met. She hooks his glasses into the front of his shirt.

“You can, um, stay here if you want,” he tells her. “There’s beer in the fridge and you can read my books or whatever.” 

She nods, her mind idly wandering to the thought that he already isn’t planning on bringing anyone back here. 

“Good luck,” she says, smiling.

They are very nearly chest to chest, her neck craned up to meet his eyes. It is entirely clear that neither of them are thinking when he leans down and presses his mouth to hers. There is a shyness there, a gentleness from his thumb stroking her cheek. It is as right as it is wrong.

“I--I have to go,” he stammers when they part. He retreats backwards toward the door, stumbling over a pair of running shoes before feeling around for the doorknob. “I’ll be back.”

Dana won’t be there when he returns. And as they lie in their separate beds, listening to street noise and snoring roommates, they both internalize the massive fuck-up that just occurred. 

the process by which time passes

REPOST. you guys. @lilydalexf is the true mvp of this saga. she happened to have the story still open and was kind enough to send it to me. i owe her so much gratitude (as well as the other amazing xf bloggers that reached out to me). although i don’t interact much socially around here, it is amazing to be a part of a fandom that is so kind and supportive! writing xf fic is a creative outlet i enjoy so much and i love sharing it. now back to our regularly scheduled reading. (also if you guys wouldn’t mind boosting this new version so i can see the feedback, i would be so grateful.)

this is something i’ve been writing (at this point) for probably almost a year, which is one reason i’ve been pretty quiet on the fic-posting front. i’m so excited for everyone to finally see it but terrified at the idea that it’s not just an idea that only i know about anymore. it was originally the back half of a wip i abandoned but i couldn’t let this part go. enjoy!!

Mulder gives her a tight hug on the side of a desert highway. Scully presses her forehead to his chest, hoping her thoughts might leave her mind, reach his heart, and convince him to stay. He still gets in the SUV and she never sees him again.

In true Fox Mulder fashion, his physical presence isn’t needed to be a constant reminder. Government officials that she once exchanged pleasantries with at the coffee machine bang down her door and rip apart the life he abandoned.

“Have you heard anything?”

Skinner rifles through papers until the door clicks shut. Her badge feels heavy on her lapel. It feels wrong to be here.

“Only the official warrant,” Skinner answers. That was weeks ago. She has to frequently remind herself that he is doing the best he can. He can’t make it too obvious he’s interested in the hunt. She certainly can’t go digging herself.

“They’re closing the X-files,” he informs her. “There is an appeal process…”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully interrupts. “My assignment was to assess the validity of Mulder’s investigations. There is nothing to assess.”

“You believe in the work.”

“I’m a scientist,” she reminds him, offering nothing else.

Her final report is a jumble of words that states, no matter what she believed, the X-Files should never be reopened.

chain reaction, part 6

summary: how do our decisions change the outcome?

took a little break but now this is back. 

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

Mulder treats Scully like a wife. They’re married, after all.

If she didn’t want to experience the newlywed life, she would have let that moment of vulnerability on the phone pass. 

Instead, with this new bond, he joins her every evening at her place, and when he expects her to give him the boot, she picks up her remote, hands him her copy of TV Guide, and asks him if he has a preference between Letterman or Leno. 

Mulder’s clothes pile up in her closet and a blue toothbrush sits next to hers in her bathroom. She buys a more masculine smelling soap to keep in her shower but finds he likes the scent of hers more. He carefully transferred half of his mollies from their spacious aquarium to a cozier home on her kitchen counter. 

after

@how-i-met-your-mulder made this post and then this happened. 

Scully knows how it feels.

Of sensing the passage of time but completely unable to quantify what has occurred, like coming out of a long stretch under anesthetic. It’s a blankness beyond anyone’s understanding. 

But she does understand. Eight years together, her and Mulder, and she wonders how God keeps finding more ways to tie them together. 

At her own insistence, they never talked much about her abduction. In the smaller picture, that is. She waved off her jumps when windows rattled in the rain, her brief moments of hesitation before walking into their dark office before they flicked the switch.

Scully wants to be an optimist for him. Impart him with some kind of consummate wisdom that the trauma will heal. It doesn’t. It loses some of its all consuming power, yes, but it will creep in even when life is at its best. 

She visits Mulder every day after work. God help her, she actually longs to have one of his theories to rebut. She would love to stand over him, prod him through the bureaucratic elements of his job, and chide him at lunch for the disgusting way he inhales his sandwiches. 

Being the believer in the office is exhausting. 

Scully is telling him as much, even giving some actual merit to being one with the unbelievable views, when she notices Mulder is sleeping upright, his head propped up with his hand.

She slides herself to the edge of the couch to push herself up but feels his hand on her arm. 

“I’m awake,” Mulder insists, “I was listening.” 

“What was I saying?” 

“Agent Doggett trying, and failing, I might add, to reign you in,” he summarizes. His eyes remain closed, his arms now crossed over his chest with his head leaned back. “Which isn’t a fight he’ll ever win. Doggett’s alright for trying, I guess.” 

Scully lets him pull her back. Before everything, while they never outright stated it, she would have called them a couple. Or, at least, heading in that direction. It is ridiculous to say she doesn’t know where the line is, considering the situation due in a few months. 

He moves to rest his chin on her shoulder. Mulder’s affection is so sporadic. She doesn’t ever know if he’ll sit with space between them or cling to her like a scared animal. 

She puts her hand on his knee, then offers her lap for him as a pillow, if he’s willing to task the risk of possible suffocation by her stomach. He is. 

His cheek is warm against her thigh and she notices his wince when she runs her fingers over his cheek. 

“What do you think of Robert?” she casually poses. He opens his eyes and raises one of his eyebrows. “For the baby.” 

“Sounds like a nerd,” he replies.

She laughs. She almost forgot how he could make her laugh, the distinctive one she has for him. God, she missed his humor, his refreshing honesty, and all the other stupid little parts of him that are just part of her life.

“I better go,” she finally sighs. He seems reluctant to let her up but swings his feet onto the floor to stand up anyway. He offers his hands to pull her up. 

Scully is barely on her feet before Mulder hugs her tightly in front of the couch. She melts into it. 

She still can’t believe she has him back.

where it goes, part 2

summary: early 90s x files au where fbi agent fox mulder is set up on a blind date with medical resident dana scully.

part one

Say something. Come on, Fox.

Oxford Fox Mulder behaved in this way. This brooding shy boy American routine that could barely hold on a conversation between stammers and blinking eyes. As an FBI agent, he’s confident, cool. He’s had an easier time talking to murderers than a hopefully sweet and intelligent girl to his left. He has fallen victim to the psychological dangers of instant attraction.

Fox makes a decision. He’s just going to ask how she knows the hosts, with a follow up about if she’s enjoying herself so far this evening. Snow in November, that’s always worth a few back and forths. “So...”

“Excuse me,” she says suddenly, throwing down her napkin. She leaves the table in a rush.