Work Text:
They had two weeks … two week of pure, happy, saccharine-sweet nonsense between them before Mulder’s foot was declared safe to use, his therapy going well, his pins removed, his swelling down and his spirits up.
Then the phone rang.
Looking up at her, chin perched on hip, “why does Skinner always call? I mean, he’s got a secretary for a reason. Seriously, you’d think that man would delegate crap calls like this to someone else.”
Scully, looking down past her chest to see him, hair-tousled, eyes half-drunk with want of both sleep and her, “maybe he likes the sound of your voice.”
Dropping his head sideways into the dip of her thighs, he debated, “it does sound rather nice.”
With a smile, she wiggled her legs, rolling his head back and forth, “come on. We’ve gotta go bully our way onto a flight for Butte.”
Mulder groaned as he flopped off her, “I’m calling it ‘butt’ from now on.”
&&&&&&&&&&&
Thirteen days later, Stan Parker had killed six people, two by beheading, one by dull axe and three by draw and quarter. He’d crashed Scully’s car by draining the brake fluid, kidnapped two children of the local sheriff, raped one very lucky tourist who managed to get away instead of become beheading victim number three.
He gave Mulder nightmares that drove him to 5-hour energy and Red Bull and Scully to sleeping in the police station, showering at the motel only when the door was double locked with a chair jammed under the knob. Nobody joked, nobody ate, nobody did anything but fear what would happen next.
Taking it as his personal mission, Mulder ignored everything but Stan Parker, delving into their suspect’s mind with such fervor that when Scully touched his shoulder to get his attention, he smacked her hand off him, growling ‘go away’ without ever looking up. She knew it was the work and not her but given she was trying to tell him about the accident, she got pissed, slammed her palms on the table, knocking water and soda over in the process and sending a jolting pain through her arms, “do I have to be openly bleeding for you to turn around!?”
He didn’t.
She walked away, using the ladies room to clean up, answering another detective’s questions and letting Mulder hear about the incident from someone else.
Scully settled uncomfortably in a small conference room, her side bruised and aching, her head pounding, her mind running circles around itself, burning trails of half-formed thoughts colliding and exploding one after another, a scream building at the base of her throat, never sounding, never dissipating, just waiting.
“Scully?” He saw her eyes glittering in the half-light, open and hard and when she didn’t answer, he crouched in front of her, face cast up, hands on thighs, “I’m sorry. I … I’m sorry. Benedict just told me.” Running his fingers over her jeans, squeezing her muscles lightly, “I’m going to get him. I’m going to get him and catch him and beat him and kill him. Easy as that. I just need to get further into his head. I’m almost there, I can feel it. Just another day and I’ll have him. We’ll have him. Just one more day.”
Anger with him dissolved, hands sliding quietly over his, “you need some sleep.”
“I need to catch this guy.”
“We will but you on caffeine for four days straight isn’t going to help anyone do anything.” Moving up to elbows, “will you sit with me? Maybe take a nap?”
Knowing the stimulants in his system wouldn’t allow him to sit, let alone close his eyes, he shook his head, “later. Right now, I need to know if you’re really okay?” He reached up, touching her shoulder and immediately, she sent a wincing grimace and a muttered ‘fuck’ out into the universe. Face creasing in concern, he stood up, pulling gently at the loose shirt she had on, “how bad?”
Too tired to care at the invasion by her partner for the world to see, she tilted her head as best she could, showing him the already dark, foreboding bruises crawling down her shoulder and back, “nothing’s broken. Just took a large chunk of the back door to my side. It’ll be fine in a few days.”
Kissing her lightly below the left ear before standing, “at least it’s not your shooting arm.”
“Spoken like a true FBI agent.”
He wouldn’t be able to say anything right tonight so he simply kissed her again, this time on the forehead, “take a nap. Find me when you wake up and we’ll see what more we can do to get this bastard.”
Snagging him by the belt loop, “hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
This time it was the swiftest of kisses to her mouth, “I love you, too. Now go to sleep.”
&&&&&&&&&&
Stan Parker was shot by Mulder, dead center of the forehead, as he attempted to slice through a crying woman’s throat with a butter knife. Scully dropped to her knees beside the hysterical woman before Stan hit the ground, trusting in Mulder’s shot more than she trusted in her mother’s ability to make a decadent strawberry pie. Accompanying her to the hospital, Scully didn’t see Mulder again until nearly 2am, when she found him leaning on a wall in the semi-dark hallway, hands in pockets and eyes shut. Without pretense to warn him of her arrival, she slipped her arms through his, pressing against his chest while he first jumped at the shock of warm body then curled around her, recognizing scent, feel, breath and heartbeat without assistance of vision.
Nestling his face in her hair, “can we go home yet?”
“Just as soon as I return a call to Skinner and take a shower and take a nap. How are you doing? All the paperwork done?”
“Sure … except for the signatures, descriptions, weapons report and final summary.”
Pretty sure it was the exhaustion, she chuckled, then laughed into his shirt, which smelled of gunpowder and sweat, “we are stuck here tomorrow then, aren’t we?”
“Depends on if we want to go back to the station now. It’ll probably take us a few hours at most then we can sleep tomorrow.”
Rarely did he suggest paperwork over slumber. Shifting her head, looking up at his chin and nose, “are you still on your caffeine high?”
“I think I just want to get it over with so I can lay down with you and rediscover skin and sleep without giving a shit about butter knives.”
She could wait a few hours to sleep.
&&&&&&&&&
Returning Skinner’s call was the gleeful highlight of the 4am hour, which immediately crashed and burned once Scully learned they were leaving as soon as possible for Arrington, Louisiana, the right now home of somebody who enjoyed feeding live people to rabid and starving wolves through the lure of peanut butter. “Where the hell do these people come from, sir? Seriously, peanut butter?”
Skinner, groggy but alert enough to sympathize, “they come from Hell, Agent Scully, fifth or sixth level minimum.”
She could hear the apology in his voice. Contrary to how Mulder complained about their boss, Skinner really did take care of them, giving them leave when necessary, at least a day or two off between cases if possible, making sure to warn them he was coming down to their hovel so he didn’t catch anything he didn’t want to see, even though he had no idea if anything he didn’t want to see was happening in the first place but he really didn’t want to come across them accidently so he took careful preventative measures. “It’s okay. Mulder might curse you for a few hours but once he gets some sleep, he’ll be fine.”
“What about you? Wishing me dead yet?”
“Naw. Maybe a minor chest cold or a light bout of food poisoning but that’s it.”
Chuckling, “let me know how things are going.”
“Will do.”
Hanging up, she drew a deep breath, knowing Mulder would do more than a little cursing about their boss once he heard their plans for the next week or so.
And he did.
Luckily, they were in the car at this point and she was the only one privileged enough to hear his slanderous string of emphatic prose, complete with two fist-beatings on the passenger door and a forceful huff of growled air.
Better than she’d expected, actually.
&&&&&&&&&&
They stumbled, literally, onto the plane, Mulder nearly taking out a nice old man in the process of tripping on the lip of the gangway door. Scully steadied him instantly, regretting it when her shoulder pulled but glad she saved the older man from certain crushing death by FBI. Mulder apologized as best he could, then navigated to their seats, stowing carry-ons before dropping heavily into his chair, motioning her to sit down, “so I can lean on you and take a nap.”
They were both soundly out before the plane finished boarding, sleeping through take off, snacks, drinks, turbulence and landing, only stirring once the flight attendant shook them awake, “you might want to think about exiting or the cleaning crew is libel to haul you away with the trash.”
Penetrating Scully’s brain first, she roused Mulder the rest of the way, then got them off the plane and into the lobby, where Mulder stopped dead, “can we just sleep here?”
Taking both hand and luggage handle, “come on. We’ve gotta get a cab to a hotel somewhere so we can sleep for three hours before we go back to work.”
“Where are we again?”
“Louisiana.”
“Remind me to hit Skinner at some point for this.”
Two rooms paid for, Mulder followed Scully into hers, dropping bags and jeans in one swift stroke. Holding the wall for support, he pulled shoes off through pants and leaving shirt on, crashed to the bed, “if anyone wakes me in the next five hours, they’re going to wish they never heard the name Fox Mulder.”
Following suit, she shedded sweater, shoes and slacks, trading them for a cold breeze that gave her goosebumps and then a warm Mulder who pulled her close, “what if I wake you up in the next five hours?”
“We’ll renegotiate the threat.”