#limnsaber

Fox Mulder’s life is good, albeit boring. His job is one he likes, but not loves. He knows where he stands with his students, his girlfriend, and his bimonthly calls to his mother. It’s enough. 

It’s a Tuesday, a cold, snowy day in February, second period AP Psychology, when everything changes. 

It’s rare that anyone knocks on the door to his classroom. He’s known as a pretty chill guy; his students slip in and out as long as they keep up their grades, and several students who are working on personal projects with his guidance come in at will during their free periods. He even has a cozy nook set up for them in the back of his classroom. 

Still, he calls for the unknown knocker to enter, and when he looks over to see who it is, his world goes a little blurry. It’s a young redheaded woman, perhaps a year or two younger than him, so mid-to-late twenties, an oversized, tan jacket thrown casually over her arm with wet patches where snow has melted. Her hair is a little tousled, and he spots the culprit easily: a beanie lying on top of the coat. Her posture is straight, her expression serious, and he immediately pegs her as some sort of black suit, government employee type. Only, she has a tote bag thrown over her shoulder, not a briefcase, with her car keys twined in her fingers. Mulder’s first thought is that she’s astonishingly beautiful. His second is that the abstinence motivational speaker is not due for another week. 

“Fox Mulder,” he greets as he strides over, reaching out his hand to shake hers. She returns the gesture with a firm, but warm, handshake. Her palms are shockingly soft. 

“Hello,” she murmurs, her voice low and deliberate. 

“You must be Pam. I didn’t think you were coming until next week, but I suppose I can let you do your thing a little early,” he rambles, not letting go of her hand. His class looks on with amusement. 

“Mr. Mulder-”

“Just Mulder, please. I can just head over to the teacher’s lounge -” 

“Mr. Mulder,” she interrupts firmly, and he can just feel his chances slipping away. He already feels like a bastard; Diana had asked him just last night to be exclusive, and yet he’s willing to risk it all for this beautiful motivational speaker who’s about to preach abstinence to his class of students who would never practice it.  

Her hand slips from his. 

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” she says quietly, fixing him with a small smile. “My name is Dana Scully. I’m a transfer student, and AP Psychology is my second period.” 

Oh no. He’s not a bastard. He’s just an absolute idiot and lecher that’s been eying his eighteen year old student. He feels a faint wave of nausea, swallowing hard.

Just then, her composure fades for a moment, and her eyes begin to twinkle. “But fair’s fair. You should call me Scully.”  

“Nice to meet you, Scully,” he manages to pull together in the wake of his blunder. She does look young, but not that young. He takes a brief moment to lock any thoughts of beauty away. Instead, he redirects: she looks sweet. A new student with a self-possession and a good sense of humor. “Welcome to AP Psychology,” he adds firmly. “I think I have an extra textbook if you haven’t been by the library-” He watches as she pulls the textbook out of her bag, sticky notes already protruding from the chapter they’re on, along with a recommended text that he’s sure no other student has even considered buying. She smirks at him, and he stops talking. “When’s the apocalypse?” He says dryly. 

“Depends on which culture you ask,” she responds, crisp and clear, and he swallows hard. His faint hope that she had been held back, and perhaps is closer to twenty at least to make him feel better about this own mind, fades away. She’s witty, quick on her feet, with an unusual spark of confidence and intelligence in her eye. There’s no way this girl would allow herself to fail a grade.

Pushing aside his thoughts, he directs her to an empty desk and rebegins his lecture for her benefit. “Okay, so as you all know, criminal psychology is not on the AP exam.” Groans circle the room again, but Scully just raises her eyebrow. “However, it’s what I studied in college, so we’ll do a fun unit to warm you guys up after Winter Break.” He pauses, scanning the room. “Any questions?” 

No one raises a hand, so he leans back on his desk, beginning the lecture. “Can anyone tell me what a serial killer is?” 

Monica raises a hand, and he calls on her. “Someone with a high body count,” she offers. 

Mulder chuckles. “Fair enough. And why do they do it? Any guesses?” 

“They’re clearly just evil,” Jeffery throws out without raising a hand. 

“Okay, Jeff,” he says, laughing internally at Spender’s face at his hated nickname. That’s what he gets by speaking out of turn, “that’s one theory: nature.” 

“Because they were hurt as kids?” Katie offers after Mulder nods at her to proceed. “Like they had a bad upbringing?” 

“Yes, also a possibility. It could also be a combination. How so?” 

Everyone avoids eye contact. “It’s okay,” Mulder smiles, turning to flip his projector on. “This is a little advanced-” 

“Neuroscience,” Scully says, and he stops short. Turning back to face the class, he gives his new student his full attention despite her speaking out of turn. 

“Go on,” he urges her, curious. 

Scully takes a deep breath. “From a neuroscientific perspective, it is hypothesized that the neural networks that encode for deviant fantasies follow a certain, unique pattern of activation. One hypothesis that has been posited is the pathological neural watermark hypothesis, which suggests that once a fantasy has been enacted, it becomes an autobiographical memory, which requires a specific pattern of activation, usually through exposure to a related item. This elicits an emotional response.”

Mulder just stares at her. 

“That's the reason why investigators, during interviews, hold with them items that they know will elicit the fantasy in the suspect, hence make it more likely for him to show deviant behavior.”

“Him?” John Doggett asks from beside her, clearly as awestruck as Mulder himself is. 

Scully treats his question seriously, turning to her classmate and speaking with a lecturelike, knowledgeable tone that Mulder has only heard from his college professors. “Current cases show that women account for between five to seven percent of serial killers,” she says. “In profiling, you might make an educated guess.” 

Mulder sits back on his desk but leans in, narrowing in on this new apparent serial killer expert. He tilts his head, and the rest of the room seems to fade away. “Well, Scully, when might you not rule out the possibility of a female serial killer?” He asks.

“When money or power are clear motivators,” she responds without skipping a beat. “Gratification and pleasure are likely to be much farther down on the motivation list for female serial killers than men,” she pauses here, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she pretends to ignore the awe of the boys around her for finding a way to bring up what's always on their minds in a high school classroom. “We females tend to take a more pragmatic approach to killing people off,” she adds, smoothing her face out until it is expressionless, though her words certainly suggest some fire. 

Mulder ignores the teenage twittering and laughter from the edges of his vision. “Are you saying women can’t be interested in... gratification or pleasure enough to kill for it?” He argues.

Scully scoffs. “I am not saying any such thing. I’m making a generalization. In reality, when time is of the essence to prevent an UNSUB from committing another crime, generalizations are appropriate. There are, of course, those who do not fit the pattern.” 

Mulder wants to push this new, fascinating student harder. He’s glad she’s brilliant and stubborn, because it makes all thoughts of how pretty she is fade for good. His thoughts from when she first stepped into his presence feel distant now, and he feels nothing but excitement to have someone who is willing to argue with him, to push back against him. He opens his mouth to continue, but he flinches at the sound of Principal Blevins coming over the intercom. 

“Will Coach Colton please report to the main office. I repeat, will Coach Colton please report to the main office.”

“It’s probably about that harassment charge,” Monica murmurs under her breath, and Mulder tells her to hush despite agreeing with her. 

“For those of you that are unaware,” he adds, carefully, “UNSUB stands for unknown subject. It’s a term used by the FBI to refer to an unknown perpetrator of a crime. How’d you come across it, Dana?”

“Scully,” she repeats, those for the first time, she looks discombobulated. There’s a color to her cheeks, and she avoids his direct gaze. “It’s a topic I’m interested in, I suppose,” she adds, and Mulder’s brows furrow at the small tell-tales of misdirection. But why would she lie about something so innocent? 

“Fair enough,” he offers, letting her off the hook, before turning to start the projector for the second time. This time, he’s successful.