by: mldrgrl
rating: PG
Summary: For the @xfficchallenges Fic is Medicine Number 9 prompt. Set a week after Irresistible.
She’s anguished a lot about knocking on his door, almost turning back several times on the drive to his apartment, but it’s something she needs to do because she hasn’t slept in over a week. Not really. Maybe she’s gotten in a few minutes here and there, but she always jerks back to consciousness, paralyzed and terrified that the reality is that she’s still trapped in the trunk of Duane Barry’s car or Donnie Pfaster’s closet, and her escape was the dream.
Tonight, as she trembled in bed after a brief and fitful nap, she remembered the week before when Mulder had untied her hands and touched her chin, how she fell apart and he put his arms around her and held her together. She’d felt relieved and protected and safe. She wants to feel like that again. No, she needs to feel like that again, just for a little while.
She knocks softly on his door, almost hoping he won’t answer. Maybe he’s asleep, maybe he isn’t home, maybe he won’t hear her. She can walk away and tell herself that she tried, but it’s only moments later after her knuckles have lightly rapped in triple succession next to number 42 above his peephole, that he opens his door.
“Hey,” he says, his brows shooting skyhigh. The blue dress-shirt he wore to the office today is unbuttoned, revealing a white undershirt. He’s barefoot and his hair is rumpled, flat on one side and spiky on the other.
“Sorry to show up like this,” she says, dropping her eyes. She presses her thumb into the jagged edge of her car key and closes her hand into a fist.
She hesitates before stepping across his threshold, keeping her gaze on the floor. “Did I wake you?” she asks.
“I was just listening to some late night infomercials. Or maybe I was just dreaming that Cher was trying to sell me hairspray.”
One corner of her mouth twitches into a slight smile.
“Everything okay, Scully?”
She’s too embarrassed to ask him if he’ll put his arms around her again, so she lifts her face and lets him see her bloodshot eyes and the telltale dark smudges of sleeplessness that she’s been hiding under carefully applied foundation and Visine. He blinks at her with an expression of stunned silence. She averts her gaze again and then steps close enough to lightly butt her head against his chest.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispers at their feet.
His hands rest lightly against her back and her body shudders as she takes a deep breath. Before she knows it, his arms wind around her like strong vines. His lips press into her crown and she sighs. When she unfurls her fists, her keys clatter to the floor and they both ignore it. Her hands are numb and her thumb throbs, but it’s okay because she can still hold on to the back of Mulder’s shirt.
When she closes her eyes, she doesn’t feel trapped or claustrophobic, she feels sheltered. When she takes a deep breath, she doesn’t smell exhaust fumes or mothballs, she smells Mulder’s cologne. When she turns her cheek, her face doesn’t sting from carpet-burn, there’s only the softness of Mulder’s t-shirt. She sags against him, so tired.
“Come sit down,” he says.
She doesn’t want to let him go, but the exhaustion is starting to overwhelm her and she knows she won’t stay upright for too much longer.
“I should go,” she murmurs. It’s reflexive though and only a half-hearted protest. She can’t leave now, even if she wants to, she’s liable to pass out at the wheel.
“Come on.” Mulder keeps an arm around her as he guides her to the couch. He sits them down together so she’s leaning against him.
Scully squints at the flickering light of the television and rubs one eye. It’s muted, but Mulder was right, Cher is on a loveseat, surrounded by hairspray. She chuckles and rubs her eye again. Mulder reaches away from her for the remote to turn the TV off and she clings to him, suddenly panicked at the idea of being away from him.
In the dark, he twists back towards her and tucks her under his arm. He pulls a blanket over them and leans back so they’re a little more reclined. It takes a few minutes to calm the racing of her heart, but eventually it slows. Her head gets heavier. Sleep starts to pull her under.
In the morning, she’ll wake alone on his couch, rested and content. Mulder will be showered and shaved and there will be a bag of bagels on the table and coffee to go. The bag she keeps in her trunk for sudden excursions out of town will be by the door. The only acknowledgment they’ll give to last night is when she whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ to him as she picks apart an everything bagel, and he’ll say ‘anytime’ and they won’t speak of it again. She’ll know though, should she ever need his arms again, he’ll be there.
yousharknotpass
germansingergirl
2087
jacobvanloon
titsay
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
areudirty
