Having to knock on a door should be the least of her problems, she knew very well it was going to be, but at that moment, standing there with her fist raised mere centimetres above the door, it seemed a greater problem than it was worth.

If it were any other day, any other moment, she would walk right in.

But she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t right. 

If she were to simply go barging in it would create the worst possible impression.

I need a good first impression, to make this work, to make this situation bearable for the both of us.

She finally knocked on the door.

Once. It was barely a tap. She doubted it could be heard.

Twice. Firmer this time, more confident. Good. Goes toward my good impression.

“You’ve reached the FBI’s most unwanted. Keep left for the lift and you’ll find your way back to where you came from.”

The voice almost sounded like an answering machine. Odd, considering all I’ve done is knock the door. 

She knocked again, two firm, certain knocks against the wood that was gradually becoming more tempting to push open. It had no markings, nothing on the door, nothing to distinguish what would possibly be inside. Only reputation, and that’s what I’m going off of. God help me.

“FBI’s most unwanted, leave your trash by the door.”

The voice sounded less robotic, more male this time, and it sounded slightly irritated. She was growing a little that way herself, standing out in an all too narrow, poorly lit corridor in a floor she had never even heard of before that day. 

“Your statement’s illogical.” She found herself muttering under her breath, dropping her hand back from the door. This whole thing is illogical.

“Oh really, and why might that be?” The voice seemed closer to the door than before, she flinched, not having meant for her words to be heard. 

“If someone’s knocking at your door it means they want something.” She took a breath to compose herself, sweeping a hand down the front of her red, loosely pleated skirt. “Rendering your previous statement illogical.”

“And… What do you want?”

“To not converse through a closed door, for a start.”

There was a creak and then the door opened a crack, there was nothing distinguishable through it except for darkness. She steeled herself. Great. He sits in the dark. That adds to one rumour I was trying to not believe in. 

“The door’s no longer closed. What do you want?”

She cleared her throat. “I thought I’d be expected.”

“Depends… Can I see your badge?”

Great. Paranoid… Check.

It was strange to have heard so many things, to expect so much of a person without having a single clue what they looked like. Although, the more she considered it, which felt like a lot given the minuscule stretch of time that really did pass, it wasn’t a completely unreasonable request. 

“Sure.” She unclipped her identification badge and held it out toward the door, only for it be slammed unceremoniously in her face. Heat flushed in her cheeks, she had never been so rudely interacted with before. The badge slipped through her fingers only to be caught mid-air by a hand. Her eyes widened to see a crouched man, around early-thirties, with scruffy brown hair hastily swept back, a few strands escaping into his blue eyes as he looked up at her. “Hi there.”

“…Hi.” Okay, first impression, here goes. “Agent Mulder? Nice to meet you.”

He straightened up, flipping her badge around to read her name. “Nice to meet you, Agent… Scoo-ly.”

“It’s Scully.” The gentle correction was instinctive, and thoughtless. It made her wince inwardly. I’m going to sound like a proper bitch now aren’t I? 

“Oh, I know who you are.” His breathy chuckle made her more nervous than ever before. “I just wanted to see if you’d give me your badge.”

“Why?”

“Tells me more about you than what I already read in your file.”

“How did you- You don’t have the clearance!”

“X-files may as well exist outside normal clearance. Therefore I technically have a level of my own.” He held the badge out to her. “And I take it that’s why you’re here.” 

She took her badge back, fixing her attention on pinning the badge back onto the front of her sweatshirt. She focused too much and her finger slipped, pricking the tip with the pin. Her sharp intake of breath drew his attention. “Don’t they use clip-ons these days?”

“I prefer old-fashioned.”

“Fair enough.” Mulder nudged the door all the way open with his foot. “Come on in, and we’ll see if we can find something to patch that old-fashioned wound up.”

“Just like that, you’re inviting me to the sanctuary of the X-Files?”

“Just like that,” He flashed her a crooked smile, “Now are you coming in? I’d hate for a spider to work its way in here while we wait.”

“You’re the one that made me wait with that door-voicemail business.” She smiled mildly and stepped out of the corridor, moving into a place only a select few had ever glimpsed, a place even rumour was incapable of touching.

Once she stepped through that door, nothing was believable, and everything would be possible.