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Night number seven, marking an entire week of sleeping on this uncomfortable, sagging sofa that Mulder - for the life of him – couldn’t comprehend why Scully would buy. Mulder had given up on sleeping around night number three and even lying down on night number five; now he just sat up and wallowed in self-pity all night, replaying the argument that had occurred the day before constantly until daybreak when he could try and start again. Sometimes he read, sometimes he flicked over the porn channels with the volume practically on zero to take his mind off everything. Nothing worked, he was tired.
In the six months that he had been back in Scully’s life he thought he must have spent at least four of them on this sofa, whilst spending the other two mindlessly fucking her until they both fell asleep, sticky and intertwined. She was always up before him in the morning though, back to tight lipped conversation and jaw clenched tolerance and disappearing in silence for hours on end. The wall that caged them together was tall and rough; Mulder was at a loss at how to knock it down.
His spine collided with yet another lump in the cushions and something inside of him snapped; it was 3:30am and he was fully aware that Scully would be up in just three hours, but he didn’t care. This couldn’t wait any longer.
She was propped up by numerous pillows, book in hand. The bedside lamp illuminated her face in such a way that she was positively glowing and despite everything she was wearing one of his old, faded T-shirts. God, he wanted nothing more than to crawl through the nest of blankets she had wrapped herself in and curl up around her, she didn’t even look up when he entered the room.
“Scully…” Mulder started.
“Not now, Mulder,” She sighed, still not looking up, “It’s late.”
“Yes, now,” He took a deep breath, for the first time since he returned, he wasn’t going to back down to her demands, “What the fuck is this, Scully? What are we doing?”
Slowly, she put her book down and squeezed her temple, “You tell me. What are you doing?”
“No, cut the shit,” He figured he must have found the balls to talk to her like this down the side of her ugly sofa, “I didn’t come home to be condemned to your sofa and your silent treatment, Scully.”
“Then what did you come back for?” Scully’s voice remained monotone and even, Mulder was adamant she did this wind him up, “What were you expecting, Mulder?”
“I get it,” He spat, “Don’t you think I fucking get it? I know what I did,” He raked a sweaty hand through his hair whilst she continued to stare at him blankly, “I get you’re mad, Scully, I do. But you’re not giving me anything to work with,” He sighed, “Do you even want me here?”
It was a question that had stung the tip of his tongue since the first night he had reunited with her, when Scully held him so close he thought he was going to burst and fucked him way into the next day. But with daylight comes realisation, a shadow came over her face that was yet to leave. Scully hid herself away in silence and fear almost immediately, finding comfort in punishing him by polarising anger and sex whenever she felt like it.
“Do I want you here? I always wanted you here, Mulder,” Scully finally shifted her tone to anger and Mulder felt a sick triumph, “You left me, Mulder. I thought you were dead and then you come strolling back into my life thinking that everything was going to be the same? That’s not my fucking problem, Mulder,” She took a rattling breath to prevent her voice breaking, “You left us with nothing. How am I supposed to forgive you?”
She struck him with intentional force and caused the desired effect; Mulder felt his heart plummet to his stomach like a stone in the ocean.
“I left for you!” Mulder yelled, “I did this all for you, I left my baby for you! To protect you both, and this is what I get, Scully? I did my fucking best for all fucking three of us!”
The glacier-like face and tone of voice Scully had forced herself to maintain had finally melted; the tears that fell down her face hit Mulder like daggers.
“Shut up,” She whispered, “Just shut up, Mulder.”
And he did. Silently, he lay down on top of her blankets whilst she curled herself up into the foetal position and sobbed into herself; he pressed her back into his chest and his face into her hair.
Tonight marked night number one of sleeping in the bed; he didn’t know what that meant, but it had to mean something.