I'm thinking this is set sometime in Season 3, but not really. Definitely early MSR vibes
1535 words. G. Read on Ao3.
Tagging @today-in-fic
**********
He calls her at 8 pm on a Sunday, entranced by the way the light from his desk lamp reflects off the bald, shiny, back of head of his apartment super, a man named Glen who always seems to be wearing a flannel button-down and a frown.
“Scully, how do you feel about sleepovers?”
“That depends. What snacks are you bringing to the party? Will you let me practice braiding your hair while we gossip?”
“I’ve got a tender scalp, Scully.”
“Why are you asking, Mulder?”
“Heats out at my place.”
“And you want to stay over here.” It’s a question but comes out sounding like a statement.
“You’re so kind to offer.”
She gives a long-suffering sigh, but her next words come out a little too cheerful for it to be believable. “How long?”
He puts one hand over the speaker. “How long ‘til I can come back, Glen?”
“I can have you back in here by tomorrow.”
He takes his hand off the speaker. “Two days, Scully, maybe even three.”
**********
She pulls out fresh fluffy bedding from the third shelf of her hallway closet. Folded neat and organized, like most other things in her life. The sight of them makes guilt prick at his neckline. He knows if roles were reversed, he’d never be so prepared for an overnight stay.
Following her into the living room, he makes a grab for the sheets.
“Give me.”
“No, I’ll get this set up.”
“Nah, Scully, come on. Give me a chance to show off my domestic skills.”
She snorts but hands him the bundle of sheets.
“Just what every woman wants. A man who can drape two sheets over her couch.”
**********
She takes one look at his legs hanging over the arm of her sofa and invites him to sleep in her bed. It would be rude of him not to accept the offer.
“Aren’t you glad now you didn’t spend time getting the couch ready?”
His taunt goes ignored.
He listens to the sounds coming from the open bathroom door. She had let him go first, courteous host that she is. Perched on the end of her bed, he plays with the fringe of the blanket that lays beneath him. Sitting in Scully’s bed, waiting for her to come to bed feels… inappropriate. Intimate. Illicit. He grins to himself, just a little.
She comes out in the silk pajamas and he convinces her to change into something more relaxed.
“Aw, Scully, you can’t come out here wearing the silk while I’m like this.” He gestures down to the white Hanes and gray sweatpants he wears. “I feel terribly underdressed.”
She rolls her eyes, disappearing back into the bathroom. He struggles to contain a smile when she reappears, still in her silk top, in pajama pants branded with a pattern of Garfield the Cat.
“Scoot over, you’re on my side.”
**********
He wakes up tangled with her, her breath puffing over the skin of his clavicle and one arm trapped underneath her.
And so, he lays there, and soaks in it, and tries his hardest to commit every sensation to memory so that he can keep this moment forever. Birdsong filters in, easy to hear even through the closed window. He hopes this moment comes back to him anytime he walks past a nest.
He’d love to stay right there, wishing he could drag out the moment for as long as it can last, but his bladder is screaming.
“Scully wake up,” he says into her hair, rubbing her back with the hand that’s free. “Scully,” he repeats when she stays unroused.
A deep pull of breath marks her wakefulness, the press of her chest against his own a delightful sensation. She squirms beside him, soft sounds coming from her that are familiar, the comfortable sounds she always makes after naps taken in car passenger seats or on his living room couch after a long night going over case files.
“Mulder,” she says on the end of another deep breath, voice still raspy from hours of non-use.
“Scul-"
Lips brush across his neck, settling firmly in a spot beside his Adam’s apple, cutting short his reply. Her nose nuzzles beneath his chin.
‘Holy shit' is about the only thought that pushes through the sparks lighting up his mind. The heat of her breath from before is nothing compared to the warmth of her lips against his skin.
She’s across the bed before he can really process what just happened. Glowing the morning sun streaming through the window, redness trickles down from the tips of her ears onto the rest of her face. He thinks touching her cheeks might burn.
Eyes wide, she stares at him, and he wants to laugh at the look on her face, but he knows his can’t be much better. He feels his mouth still gaping, caught on the last syllable of her last name, but he finds himself too preoccupied to close it.
Finally her gaze darts away.
“Mulder.”
She's breathless. But she also sounds like she’s about to give a formal presentation. Kind of the way she sounds like when they are in trouble with Skinner. Shoulders squared and tight up to her neck, he sees the tension grow in her by the second.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to do anything. I wasn’t really awake. That was completely unprofessional.” He snorts internally at that, peeking down at the Garfield’s that grin lazily on her legs. “ I didn’t know-"
“Scully.”
It’s apparent that she would keep going if he didn’t stop her. Lucky for him, her moment of panic gave him time to get over his own shock.
“It’s alright.” The nonchalant tone is a little forced, and he hopes she doesn’t notice. He’s still reeling, can still feel the ghost of her kiss, but he knows the only way to keep her calm is to downplay this as much as possible. “Don’t worry about it.”
Now it seems she’s had time to get over her shock. She chews away at her bottom lip (the same bottom lip that he is now intimately acquainted with), regarding him with narrowed eyes. That’s a face he knows. That’s the way she looks when she’s trying to tell if what she’s hearing is bullshit or not.
“I mean it,” he reassures, sitting up now to finally take care of his full bladder. “I’d spend more time reassuring you but nature’s calling.”
**********
The day passes normally (although the car ride in is quieter than their rides usually are, but that could be due to inadequate caffeine levels on her part), 5 o’clock comes, and they get ready to return to her apartment. He figures she must be over it if she’s letting him stay another night. She lets him drive, as is usual.
As soon as they get in the car, her shoulders raise. Up to her ears like they were in her bedroom this morning. She’s nervous. He catches her eye at a red light.
“Gonna give me another ‘special’ wake-up call tomorrow morning, Scully?”
“Mulder,” she groans, hiding her face in one hand.
“Too soon?”
Her withering glare tells him that it is.
“I’ve definitely been woken up in worse ways.” But he thinks he sees a hint of a smile under that frown.
“Can we not talk about this?”
“Okay.” Maybe that wasn’t a smile he saw.
Great job, Fox. He should have known better than to bring it up. Now she’s even more uncomfortable than before.
“I’ll take the couch tonight.” She holds up a hand to stop him when he starts a sentence. “I’m smaller and can fit better, so you’ll take the bed.”
“Scully, it’s your bed!”
“That’s not relevant.”
“Of course, it is!” He frowns at her.
“I just don’t want it to be weird.”
“You’re the one that’s making it weird.”
“You’re the one that brought it up again!”
“I was just trying to lighten the mood! You went stiff as a board the second we got in the car!”
Her head falls into her hands, fingertips massaging the roots of her hair. “This is so stupid.”
“We’ll both sleep in the bed again, okay?” Her head stays in her hands. “So what, you kissed me.” The statement hangs in the air. “Nothing has to change. We’ve slept in the same bed before this, and we’ll do it tons of times after this. Tonight will be the same.”
“Fine.”
She’s obviously done with the conversation, body turned to face the window.
He watches her out of the corner of one eye, watches her cross and recross her ankles, watches her fingernails and the edge of her skirt. It’ll be a rough night if this was the way things were going to go. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking of something to say, something to break the tension.
“Will you wear the Garfield pants again?” He glances over but she still facing the window. “For me?” he adds.
Her eyes are amused when he looks over.
“Yeah, I’ll wear them again.”
“Thanks for letting me stay over. For making space for me.”
This form of misdirection is necessary to prevent Dad from doing things like scooping a bunch of the pie filling out with his bare hands.
He did an exaggerated Elmer Fudd "I'm hunting wabbit" tippy-toes walk over to the cinnamon roll and then dashed away with it, smirking as though getting away with something. Had a freshly-baked pie been visible to him in this state of mind, I feel confident that he would have burned himself.
I don't want my cellphone to have AI I want it to have 3 days of battery time. I don't want my computer to have AI preinstalled I want it to have seven usb ports and high ram at affordable price. I don't want my games to have AI built levels I want them to be so optimized I could run them on a nokia.
