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It was one of those late night decisions that made no sense - to do, or even to think about doing. But tonight, while searching his kitchen for coffee, the situation presented itself. A small jar labeled Apollo 13.
A purchase made during Scully’s illness. Fortunately, before he could think of a way to say, “Hey, want to spend our last moments together completely stoned?” the circumstances changed.
Now Mulder instead found himself alone in his apartment with an eighth ounce of weed on a Sunday night. He chuckled to himself.
No.
It would be irresponsible.
You have work.
But he didn’t let go of the jar.
He couldn’t remember a lot about the last time he’d been high. It must’ve been that night at Oxford. All he could recall clearly was how connected he felt with the spider web in the corner of the room…how he was so sure that it meant something…
But it didn’t. It was just a spider web. Being high didn’t give him answers, it only confused his sober mind more and distracted him from what was really going on. Now, more than ever, he needed to hold onto was what was really going on. The truth was the most important thing.
Sure.
Of course it was.
But it wasn’t a lot of pot. He had only planned to give Scully a few nights of lessened pain, maybe the simple enjoyment of eating something again. What was the worst that could happen?
He was digging his cheap glass bowl out of a dusty forgotten box before his conscious mind could argue. The world owed him one night of peace, godamnit.
The hit was rough, but he laugh-coughed his way through. He had not felt like this in a long time and suddenly realized how far he had come since then.
His head fell back into the couch, feeling heavier than usual. Heavy, but comfy. Like he was supposed to be here. On this exact cushion. At this exact moment. This was Mulder’s Space.
He was appreciating the intricate bubbling world of his fish in a way he had never known before when he heard a knock at the door. He made no move to answer it. If they were meant to come inside, they would. All was as it needed to be.
“Mulder?”
He turned to look at her, his smile impossible to hide. “Scully.”
She looked from him to the coffee table. “What are you doing?”
He was pretty sure she had just asked a question, but hell if he knew what it was. “I like your nose.”
He expected her to smile at the wonderful compliment and was confused when she sighed and folded her arms instead.
“How much have you had?”
Mulder held up a finger.
“One hit?”
Mulder nodded and closed his eyes. It didn’t even need to be said. Like she could read his mind. Maybe she could.
Shit.
Maybe she could.
His eyes snapped open. How much did she know, that she merely pretended not to?
“Scully...you should let me explain.”
“Explain why you’re high?”
“No, no, no, no.” God, why was she still stuck on that? This was so much more important, didn’t she understand? He grabbed her hands and pulled her down next to him.
Wow.
How had he never noticed the way the turquoise hue of the tank fell on her face? He could practically see the mollies swimming in her eyes. Was that even possible? Was she an alien? He had been so wrong about them. All this time he had been looking at her, yet never actually seeing.
“Okay...I thought up until now this went without saying, Mulder, but you really should not smoke weed. Ever.”
He felt her try to move her hands from his, but he held them closer. “You’re like the spider web.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He placed a hand on her cheek. “You’re always here. I always see you here. So often that I forget…”
“You forget?”
He blinked. “I forgot what I forget.”
She smiled empathetically and curled her hand around his to guide it from her face. “You should get some sleep.”
“Wait.” He grabbed the bowl and lighter and held them out to her.
Scully’s eyes bulged.
“It’s yours, Scully. I bought it for you when you were sick. To help.” He opened her hand and placed the items there. “I want you to see what I’m talking about. Just once.”
Scully turned the gifts around in her grasp. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t.”
“Scullyyyy. Why?” Why the hell did she have to be so damn Scully-y all the time?
“It would be a bad idea.”
“I am speaking to you from the other side and I can most certainly confirm,” - he paused to let his eyes slide closed and enjoy the way his body floated through the vastness of space and time - “...it is not a bad idea.”
By the time his eyes opened again, the smoke cloud dissipated and a sputtering, red-faced Scully avoided his gaze to set the bowl back on the table.
“Shut up!” She covered her mouth with her fist as she coughed.
He rubbed her back, fully accepting that this was just what his face looked like now – forever brandishing an idiot’s smile. How could it ever change when his best friend just leaped up into the night sky with him? “The burn means it’s working.”
Her ocean eyes found his and he felt the breath catch in his throat.
Fuck, was it working. Too well.
He stood, the couch suddenly feeling like it was swallowing him whole. “I’m gonna get some water, you want some water?”
She coughed a few more times and nodded.
In the safety of the kitchen, Mulder leaned over so far that his forehead grazed the counter. It was at least twenty degrees cooler in here, where his mind could clear up just enough to try to process. Where was the night taking them?
It was impossible to tell how long he let himself ponder this. It made him feel too many things at once, so he gave up, poured some water, and sauntered back into the living room.
She had taken off her jacket and collapsed back into the couch. Into Scully’s Space.
“Here,” he nudged the glass into her hand.
“Oh. Thank you.”
He watched the delicate rhythmic dips of her throat as she drank. His own water remained forgotten in his hand until the condensation dripped onto his foot. He took a sip, then set it down and sat next to her again. The temperature shifted abruptly back in the warmer direction.
She too set down her glass, and slumped beside him. “I forgot about this.”
“What?”
Her fingers searched for his hand and tugged it to her chest. Beneath his palm she rose and fell like a wave. He welcomed her other hand as it reached up to feel the same in him.
“What it feels like to just breathe.”
“Breathing is underrated.”
“It really is.”
They both breathed some more.
“Scully?”
“Hm?”
“You said this would be a bad idea.”
“Mm.”
“Is it?”
Silence.
“Scully?”
Maybe she was responding telepathically. Maybe she was dead. Maybe they were both dead. Was this the afterlife? Floating on a leather coach through the night with your best friend and a fish tank? A little unorthodox, perhaps, but not a disappointment.
No matter what direction his thoughts dispersed though, they inevitably came back to the thud-thud-thud of her heart. His constant. His touchstone. Yeah. Those words exactly. He’d have to remember to tell them to her later.
He couldn’t tell her now because they were kissing. He took his sweet time pulling away.
“Was that you or me?”
“Does it matter?”
Lips touched through space-time again.
No, it didn’t matter at all.