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She’d been at work for seventy-three hours when he picked her up. Bone tired and dead on her feet she had slumped into the passenger seat, pulled her seatbelt across herself and dropped her head to the window, gaze empty.
The hospital had recently had a spate of illness going around the wards, both patients and staff coming down with it, and so longer shifts with less sleep was taken by everyone still healthy. She’d insisted, when she called him, that she just needed to go home for a proper shower and change of clothes and real food, but as soon as the key was turned in the ignition she was fast asleep.
He’d driven the long way home, adding an hour to their already hour and a half long journey, just to give her a little more uninterrupted sleep. She didn’t stir when he hopped out to open the gate, nor when he turned the ignition off after he parked right outside their front steps. She mumbled his name in her sleep when he lifted her from the car and carried her up into the house, laid her on their bed whilst he jogged back to grab her bag and stuff her clothes in the washer.
He woke her with a kiss on the cheek, a murmured apology as he tugged on the hairband struggling to hold her messy bun in place, ‘you need a shower before you can sleep properly, Baby.’
‘Hold me?’
‘Sure,’ he nodded, helping her up and guiding her through to their bathroom, sitting her on the toilet lid and smiling when she dropped her head back and closed her eyes, ‘can’t sleep yet, Sweetheart. Just fifteen more minutes.’ She hummed softly, tunelessly, as he turned the shower on, undressed and helped undress her. Dirty clothes in the hamper and towels hanging on the radiator, he helped her under the stream, letting her relax back into his chest as the hot water ran in rivulets down their bodies.
She remained with most of her weight against him as he washed and conditioned her hair, scrubbed her body down with the strong-smelling soap she always used when she came home from the hospital. He kept it quick, and in eight minutes they were out of the spray and wrapped in warm, fluffy towels – the good ones she kept for special occasions.
He sat her on the edge of the bed, dried her off as her head drooped. Dragged pyjama bottoms up her legs and one of his softest t-shirts over her head. Sat behind her as he combed her hair through, ran a blow dryer over it until she started sagging more into his arms.
‘It’ll tangle if I don’t, Scully.’ She just gave a weary shrug and he kneaded her tight shoulders for a moment before reaching over to her nightstand and grabbing a scrunchy, ‘sit up for one more minute and you can sleep, Baby.’
She complied somewhat, shifting forwards whilst keeping slumped over, and he ran a soothing hand down her back before turning his focus to her hair.
Sam used to get him to braid her hair before they went swimming. She always said he was better than their mother at it. During Scully’s chemo he’d plait two stubby little braids, loose enough that they didn’t pull at the roots and her sensitive scalp, but enough to keep her hair from her face when he wasn’t there to hold it back during the daytime. He’d play with it when they were on the run, braiding it and counting how many twists he could get; how much it had grown since they’d left.
Her hair was much longer now, falling halfway down her back. His fingers found their age-old rhythm, securing her hair so it wouldn’t tangle. So, whether she came down with the bug that had been going around the hospital or she had to rush back to the hospital to start another shift, it would be tidy and easy to work with. Back in the nineties, her plaits would only last a night, her hair too short to hold anything longer, but now they stayed put, albeit getting scruffier as time wore on and she tossed and turned in her sleep.
But given how tired she was, he didn’t think tossing and turning would be a problem tonight.
He tied her hair off, tucked it over her shoulder, then eased her back down onto the bed, tucking the covers around her.
Her hand reached out for his as he made to leave and he smiled, patted it with his own, ‘I’m coming back. I just want to put the washing to tumble and turn off the lights. I’ll be back.’
Ten minutes later and the washing was on to dry and she was out like a light as he spooned up behind her. It may have been midday, but what else did he have going on that he couldn’t guard his partner’s back as she slept?