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“Let’s just go home, Mulder.” Scully sighs, tugs at his jacket. He is dirty and he reeks. She probably does, too.
“Our flight isn’t until…uhm. We don’t have a flight.” Mulder stops to look around. Scully tugs at him again, exhausted, and he follows her. The drugs, whatever Sheriff Hartwell gave her, wear her down still. She just wants to sleep. Take a shower, maybe, but sleep. A lot. Forget all about this. One day, she decides, she’ll show interest in a man who is not crazy.
“Scully, did we book a flight? Where is the hotel?”
Or maybe crazy in a more charming, less harmful way. She takes Mulder’s hand into hers and leads him to their hotel without incident.
Scully is certain that they have two rooms. They must have. Mulder, now freshly showered with damp, spiky hair, sits in her bed surrounded by several pieces of paper. This is her room, she is sure of it. He’s chewing on his pen (he’s all out of sunflower seeds) and trying to figure something out. So is she; what is he doing in her room? In her bed?
“Mulder?” Her tongue feels too big for her mouth. She tries to tame her own damp hair; her arms too heavy to even attempt to hold the blow dryer. It’s not like she needs to look her best here in this Vampire-infested town anyway. Or whatever these people are.
“Hm?”
“What are you doing?” Scully wants him to leave. Go wherever. He used her shower, fine, and if her nose is not mistaken, he also used her shampoo. She doesn’t care. All she cares about right this moment is sleep.
“I’m working on our report for Skinner. He wants to see us first thing in the morning.” Scully groans and Mulder eyes her curiously with the pen hanging from his mouth like a cigarette. There’s nothing left of his own confusion. Without her, he wouldn’t even have found his way back here. Now he looks as chipper as if he’s just returned from a vacation.
“Mulder, can we do this tomorrow, please? I’m tired.” She puts emphasis on the word hoping he gets the hint. He doesn’t. Instead he scoots over to make room for her on the bed. He’s got to be kidding.
“Skinner expects the report.”
“Since when do you care so much about reports?” Scully is too tired. She sits down next to Mulder, tears the folder out of his hands and looks at what he’s written down so far. None of it makes sense to her.
“Scully, I’m sorry they didn’t have any flights for tonight,” Mulder’s voice takes on a soft tone and Scully, against her better judgment, feels herself relax. “I know you want to go home. So do I. But we’re stuck here for another night and the sooner we deal with this,” he takes the folder back out of her hands, “the sooner we can file it away and forget about it.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Dear diary, today Agent Scully-”
“Mulder.” Her voice is sharp as a knife and he shuts up immediately. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees him grin.
“So how about you tell me exactly what happened with you and Sheriff Buck Teeth.”
“Didn’t we go over this already?” Scully’s eyes refuse to stay open. The bed is surprisingly comfortable and Mulder is like a big, warm, soft pillow. One she shouldn’t use, but her body is drawn to his and she is just too exhausted to fight it.
“Uhm, no. Not this time. What did you two do in the car, Scully?”
“Hm?”
“In the car,” she hears Mulder’s voice somewhere near. I can do this with my eyes closed, she reasons, and lets them drift shut. “What did you two talk about?” Mulder’s voice feels wonderful, Scully thinks with a small smile. Why can she feel it? Oh right. Her head is on his chest. She is not sure how it got there or if she should move away from him. Her body is no longer cooperating and Mulder, apparently, doesn’t mind.
“Hmmmm.”
“So you didn’t talk? In the car? What did you do with that guy, Scully?”
“Nothin’.” She mumbles against his t-shirt clad chest. He smells good. So very, very good. “Why are you in my bed, Mulder?” She asks him, taking in more of his scent, and sighs deeply. This must be a dream, she thinks. They don’t cuddle like this in reality.
“Actually Scully, you’re in my bed.”
“Hm. No. My room.” He chuckles and the gentle lift of his chest feels wonderful. He puts his arm around her, tentatively at first, but she doesn’t even think about asking him to remove it.
“You and Sheriff Buck Teeth, Scully.”
“Hartwell.” She mumbles, fighting against the pull of sleep.
“Hm. He had buck teeth, Scully. What did you see in him?”
“This for the report?”
“I need to understand it, don’t I?” Scully snuggles closer into his side beginning to feel cold. He lets her go of her for a moment so he can put a blanket over her. She sighs in contentment when his arms go around her again, holding her close.
“He was interested.”
“Ouch, that’s all it takes for you? Good to know.”
“Shut up, Mulder.” She wants to get up, stare at him, hit him, but he’s too soft under her cheek.
“Did you just talk, Scully, or did you…”
“He talked and then he drugged me, Mulder.” When she feels his whole body stiffen, she puts her hand on his stomach. Gently caresses him until his muscles relax again. “Nothing happened, Mulder.”
“How do you know if you were drugged?”
“Was checked out at the hospital.”
“When?”
“Before I found you.”
“You didn’t even think to look for me?”
“Mulder,” she whines, “I was drugged. You… slept it off.” Which, she figures, is why he is so wired now and she is everything but. He is quiet and she breathes in tandem with him. In and out, in and out. Scully feels herself drift off, safe in Mulder’s arms, when he leans away from her. She wants to complain, but he merely turns off the lights, and then she is back in his arms.
“The report?” She asks into the darkness.
“Can wait. Goodnight, Scully.” He holds her tightly, not even thinking about going to his – or her room – and she finds herself smiling before, finally, she falls asleep.