He jumps up from his seat. “Grab your coat, Scully. I know a place, Mr. Yu’s Golden Memories, lame name, great service. Victor takes the best ID photos, hands down. While he develops the photos, we’ll grab lunch at the Jade Palace. We’ll get that fluorescent eggplant dish you like.C’mon, let’s go.”

He pushes her slightly and smiles at her with excitement in his eyes.

“I don’t want my passport photo airbrushed, Mulder.” She whines.

“He won’t; it’s not like you need it anyway. Victor will just use good lights, and he has way more experience than that 19-year-old at Eckerd. Trust me on this. I’ll even pay for it, but lunch is on you.”

Convinced, she follows him out to the door. He leans toward her. “There’s one condition, though.”

“You want the extra crab rangoon?” She asks smilingly, her eyes shining playfully.

“Nope, I want an extra print.”

He wishes that rueful pink would stay on her cheeks when Victor takes the pictures.

 -TWO-

“This is a good one to keep.” He hands her a small, square paper, with edges trimmed by a pair of scissors.

“Mulder, when was this taken?” She looks puzzled.

“On Skinner’s big day last month. Accardi took a bunch of pictures and I got this one from him.” He smiles a little shyly. “I thought it was a good picture of us, and maybe you’d want it.”

“Mulder,” she inspects the photo closely, “did you cut Skinner out from the photo?”

He presses his lips together, eyes full of mischief like an 8-year-old. “It’s wallet-size now.” He explains triumphantly.

She studies the photo and hears him: “You know, I see you almost every day, and you’ve met all my friends, so I shouldn’t want to carry a photo of you in my wallet like I do Samantha’s. But I do. So that's what I do. I thought maybe you’d like one as well.”

Years ago, he tells himself that carrying a most recent photo of Scully is for those dreadful emergencies when he has to show people what she looks like in case she is kidnapped. She looks like she’s 12 in her FBI ID photo; she’s grown more mature and more beautiful. He finds himself keeping a photo of the two of them together, not just her, in his wallet. He sees Samantha’s photo and reminds himself that he was once loved as a boy, and the photo of Scully reminds him that he is now loved as a man. He sees the photos and feels the love he has for both Samantha and Scully, in ways so different yet it is still the same: unconditional and relentless.

“Thank you, Mulder.” She tucks the photo carefully in her wallet and closes it. “It’s a nice picture.”

  -THREE-

“Mulder, this is embarrassing,” she comments as she scrolls down on his phone.

“What is?” He asks without looking up from his book.

“The photos on your phone. They’re all pictures of...me.” Her voice carries a tone of disbelief. “You have 1,726 photos and they are all of me?”

“Are they?” He added casually, “Scully, you have a whole album on your phone with pictures of Daggoo. You don’t hear me complaining.”

“I’m not complaining.” She protests, “Is this a photo of my hands?”

“Yes. I like it. It’s a nice photo.” He puts down his book and places his arm around her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

She shoots him a puzzled look, and he grins back at her. Taking his phone from her hand, he scrolls the screen all the way to the top. “It’s been a while since I gave you one of my slideshow presentations.”

“Oh, I remember those—slides after slides of dead cows. I think I’ve been to those presentations one too many.” She laughs at his mocked offense.

“Scully, do you know how long it took me to prepare those slideshows for you?”

She shakes her head no; she has never thought about that. She bites down on her lip to keep from laughing at the image in her head: Mulder working on a PowerPoint presentation and typing with two fingers. How she loves her Cavemen Mulder. Yes, those slides and that projector were so much kinder to him.

“No, Mulder, I’m sorry, I’ve never considered that.” She soothes the back of his hand as a tiny way to make up for his efforts spent long ago.

“Dana, here we go. I took this picture of you in front of that ice cream place in Virginia Beach. Do you remember? You ordered strawberry, but my blueberry ice cream ended up so much more to your liking? We ate a ton of ice cream and skipped dinner? I think you’re so pretty here. We should go there again, when the weather’s warmer.”

After all these years, his beautiful mind continues to amaze her; how he fills his stories with the tiniest details that bring her instantly there, anywhere.

“And I took this picture at Mom’s. You wanted to make that Irish cream with her, remember? And we got so tipsy from the whiskey? We made out on her couch, and in the morning she was not amused even though she’d told Bill that we’ve been together like any married couple for nearly two decades.”