His eyes, green as the forest (or perhaps alien goo), were always questioning the world around him, as if that was the only thing they were programmed for. To seek the unexplainable and supernatural occurrences that the government tried so desperately to hide.
But, his eyes have also lied to him, causing him to find conspiracies where there were none. There were days when he would look at you, with a countenance of a scientist studying a specimen, instead of a gaze filled with intimacy and tenderness. It was far from the look of a lover.
After a while, he treated you as if you weren’t to be trusted. He would make his own food, like he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t lace it with a toxin of some sort.
He would practically give you the third degree whenever you went somewhere, and it got to the point that you wouldn’t feel surprised if one day you found a tracker in your car. Nowadays, he refused to even touch you if he could avoid it. And one day, you had enough.
He had come home from another X File case, trying to be quiet as he assumed you were in bed. Barely looking at the leftovers you had left out for him, he had gotten to work on creating a sandwich when you turned on the kitchen light, saying, “I didn’t poison them, ya know.” Turning around, he feigned confusion, “What do you mean, love? I just wanted a sandwich.”
Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Oh really? You’ve refused to eat anything I’ve made in months. Don’t screw around with me, Mulder, you know I have a degree in psychology just like you. I can tell when you’re lying.” Slumping his shoulders in defeat, he continued making his sandwich, not bothering to respond to your (correct) accusation.
You sighed, and walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning against him. He stiffened, but relaxed after a few moments.
“I’m not an undercover agent, Mulder,” you murmured against him. It hurt that he thought it, but you were trying to make his worries go away. “I’m no X File case you need to study. I’m not driving to secret meetings to plan your demise. Or secretly an alien sent to study humans. I’m just me. And I love you, which is the truth.”
You felt a few tears run down your face, as you pulled him close, saying “I love your spookiness, and your humor, and the drive you have when you look for the truth, and everything else about you. I love you, Mulder. And I’ll keep telling you that until you realize that this love is no conspiracy.”
You were sobbing at the end of your lecture, causing his shirt to be soaked and stained with your tears. He slowly turned to face you, and enveloped you into a hug. Murmuring soft words of apology and remorse into your hair, it was clear to tell that he was hating himself for ever doubting you, one of the few people he could trust. Only then did you smile, happy that you finally had your Mulder back.