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This had got to be the most ridiculous thing that’d ever happened to her, and that was saying a lot, Scully thought. She had been through events more suited to comic books and dime store paperback novels than real life. Now though, as she rinsed the cheap shampoo out of her curling hair and revelled in the slight burn of the crisp water, she barked a laugh and thought of her mother. How Maggie would shake her head at Dana now, cleaning off after a long day of investigating a man who could “control the weather” and now having to share a room with her partner because a flying cow had crushed the adjoining roof. Scully stepped into a towel and mentally corrected herself. The cow hadn’t been flying, although it had obviously been airborne for at least a short period of time. She wasn’t going to think about that now. The more pressing issue was smirking up at her from a double bed covered in a cheap but cheerful duvet. Her double bed, to be exact.
“Mulder, I’m just grabbing my pajamas, you can stop staring at me like that,” she huffed, not leaving him any time to answer before she scurried back into the bathroom, making sure to securely shut the door. The scratchy towel grated against her freshly shaved legs (she didn’t stop to think why she had chosen tonight of all nights to shave) and Scully breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into her well-worn boxy pajamas. A pale hand reached out to wipe condensation from the cracked mirror, and Scully saw her small face flushed from the hot water, and maybe something else, as well. She banished the first stirrings of butterflies from her stomach with a stern clench of her abdominal muscles and shoved her hair up into a messy half ponytail. The towel was folded neatly and hung back up on the rack to dry; she hoped Mulder wasn’t planning on showering because there wasn’t an extra towel and she wasn’t about to phone down for another.
She padded out onto the thin carpet of the bedroom and scooted Mulder’s gangly limbs to one side of the bed, making space to sit. “Well hello Mrs. Spooky, that’s a fine pair of pajamas you have there,” he grinned at her, pulling at one loose sleeve.
“Just because this whole town seems to think we’re married doesn’t mean you get to comment on my sleeping attire. Besides, it wasn’t like I was expecting company. These are comfortable.” Upon reflection Scully thought her tone might have been a bit sharper than the occasion warranted, but Mulder didn’t seem to mind. He settled back onto one of the flat pillows and crossed his arms behind his bed, heaving an exaggerated sigh of contentment. A second later, he sat back up and reached into the bag that was resting beside the bed, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and cocking his head at her in a silent question.
“I’m not even going to ask where you got that. We shouldn’t.”
“I won’t tell Skinner if you won’t.”
//
“Bet you never thought you’d end up here, huh Scully.”
“What do you mean?” Scully was still thinking of her mother.
“Spending the night in Kroner, Kansas after rescuing your partner from a flying cow,” Mulder gazed over at her, the dim light dancing in his eyes and reflecting off of the significantly emptier bottle.
Scully thought he was being a bit chipper for having just narrowly avoided death. “The cow did not actually fly, Mulder. But I suppose you’re right. I could never have predicted my current situation.” Her back was lined up with the headboard, and her legs jutted straight out on the bed, close but not touching his. She told herself to relax; it wasn’t like this was the first time they had shared a motel room, although this was the smallest bed. The whiskey was swimming along her veins, adding significant appeal to the thought.
“What did you see yourself doing? What was tiny-“ he paused, “well, tinier, Scully’s dream?” She glanced over at his face, hovering close beside her (she was ramrod straight and he was slouched so far down they almost met in the middle) and noticed the sincere tint to his gaze. He really was interested.
She had to take a moment to think through the alcohol, and then an involuntary smile spread across her face. “Well, when I was really young, before I discovered my passion for science, I wanted to be a Prima Ballerina,” Scully looked down at her lap, embarrassed. If Mulder was laughing at her, he was quiet about it, so she rumbled on, “Melissa, Mom, and I used to go see the Nutcracker every Christmas. Melissa could never sit still the whole time but I thought it was the most magical thing I had ever seen. It seems silly now, but something about the way that little girl glided across the stage- I was mesmerized. I wanted to be her. She was so beautiful and graceful. Then when the prince takes her hand and shows her all of the different creatures from his kingdom; talking mice, sugar plum fairies, all whirling and swirling around. I have very vivid memories of sitting on the very edge of my seat, feet swinging,” at that, Mulder did let out a snort, but Scully kept going.
She could smell the cotton candy Melissa got at intermission, and hear the rustle of her own silk dress she got to wear on special occasions (it was also her communion dress). “All the colors and sights were so incredible. And there was the little girl, Clara, right in the middle of it all, being shown a brand new world by the handsome Prince. It was the best thing I could imagine.” Scully trailed off, vaguely unsettled by how well she remembered this, even though she hadn’t thought about the Nutcracker in years. She was silent, picking at a bit of skin on her index finger until Mulder nudged her with his shoulder and prompted, “What happened?”
Scully nudged him back and said, “Turns out I was too short and uncoordinated to be a successful ballerina. I took classes for six months and was too scared to perform onstage at the showcase, so my father decided I should be doing something more constructive with my time.” There was a tinge of regret to her voice that surprised her. Scully cleared her throat forcefully and let some of the tension out of her back, shifting more comfortably onto her side.
“I could see you as a dancer.” Mulder turned onto his side too, so that they were curved away from each other, heads almost touching but bodies angled chastely apart. Scully thought Mulder was probably just being polite and giving her space, but Scully was feeling vulnerable, thoughts of sugar plum fairies still dancing around her brain, and she didn’t think she could handle physical closeness as well. She appreciated the gesture. He continued, “I mean, you run so well in heels, it’s only a natural progression.”
Mulder’s words were playful but they landed with a sort of heaviness that suggested that he wished she had succeeded. Scully’s head was propped against her arm and she let her eyes close, just for a moment. Something about the stuffy heat (not alleviated by Mootz’s posturing and oozing) combined with the silky alcohol was making her body feel like it was floating an inch above the mattress, held down to the earth only by the proximity of Mulder’s heartbeat. She saw herself as a ballerina, but not like Clara in the Nutcracker. More like the tiny figurines you could find in jewelry boxes like the one her mother bought her for her eighth birthday. Miniature plastic women held forever in one spot, waiting in the dark until someone wound them up, opened the box, and watched them spin. Round and round and round and round they went until the spring was loose, then plunged back into the dark where they guarded treasure before being let into the light again.
She started humming to herself, letting her mind whisk itself in calming circles, feeling hands around her waist, lifting her high into the air; strong arms compensating for her lack of height or finesse. She had left the stillness of the jewelry box and there was a longing to take flight…. like the damned cow. That thought jolted Scully from her dream-like reverie and she stopping humming, startling and looking at Mulder.
He had scooted farther away from the edge of the bed and closer to her, his t-shirt clad torso brushing the buttons of her pajama top. His head was perched on top his hand, mirroring her position, as always. A hand tentatively reached out to tuck back a strand of copper hair that had escaped while she dozed off, and Scully felt his fingertips just barely graze the her ear, and was thrilled to realize she didn’t shy away from his touch. The warmth of his body was finding its way into her tired bones joining the strength granted by the whiskey, and she was no longer embarrassed of the story she had told.
Mulder pulled his hand back and said softly, “You have a good voice, you know. You pretend you don’t but it’s nice. It could make a nice lullaby one day.” Now he was the one to break her stare, glancing bashfully down at the shiny comforter, but not decreasing the closeness between them. They both let the moment pass.
“So now that you know my secret Mulder, fess up. What did you want to be when you grew up?”
Mulder looked at the freckles dusting her nose and smiled, appreciating the ease of the conversation. “Are you telling me I’m a grown up, Scully?”
“Close enough.”
“Well, I had a very clear idea. I was going to be the world’s first and best cowboy magician.”
Mulder’s eyes were clear and earnest, his expression so sincere Scully couldn’t bring herself to laugh, although bubbles of air did rise up in her throat. She choked them back and let him go on. “Samantha loved watching me do magic. I wasn’t very good, but I could make a coin appear behind her ear, and I knew a couple cool card tricks. Plus, whenever I messed up, which was often, she loved to tease me. I didn’t mind, because she had the best laugh in our family. Actually the only laugh in our family. Sometimes I would mess up on purpose just to hear her whine ‘Fox’ and have her pull at my hair,” Mulder was looking directly into her eyes now, and she didn’t dare look away.
“And the cowboy part?” She gently spurred him on.
“Well, there’s nobody cooler than cowboys right?” Scully dutifully nodded, and he continued, “I always loved the idea of riding into a town in trouble and saving the day. Basically I thought I would roam the desert with my trusty steed (his name would be Lightning or Rusty) and eat beans out of a can. Then I would use the empty can to practice my sharpshooting. I would be able to sense any trouble on the horizon, riding in, spreading Justice and Magic to the fair townsfolk.”
“Magic?”
“Yes, Scully. I am a cowboy magician. After I vanquished the dastardly villain in a shootout I would host a magic show in the saloon.” Mulder was teasing her, but she knew he was also very serious. She could easily see little Mulder, egging on Samantha and dreaming of saving people. Although she doubted Teena Mulder ever let her son have a toy gun.
“Well, Mulder. You really had this planned out, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am!” Mulder had his puppy-dog face on, puffing out his chest and crossing his eyes. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter, he looked so ridiculous sprawled out on this small bed and pulling faces. Then she realized that was the point. Mulder wanted to hear her laugh. As she reached out to slap his chest lightly, Scully reflected she should probably try to indulge him a little more often. Maybe she could buy him a pack of cards at a gas station on their way home (if they ever left this town).
“Well, you didn’t end up far off.”
“How so?”
“You do sense when people need you. You go riding off into the sunset to protect the people that need your help. Maybe it’s not as easy as a pistol duel, but you do have a gun, and it even has a holster. Not to mention, the diner food you eat isn’t much more nutritious than a can of beans. I’ll tell you what. You can even name the car Lightning if it makes you feel cool.” Scully’s cheeks were red again, and she felt his grateful smile fall on her shoulders like a soft, comfortable blanket. She thought he would point out that she had never been so complimentary, but he ignored this.
Mulder locked eyes with her, a gentle smile still on his face. He suddenly sat half up, reaching both arms around Scully, turning her around so they were smushed in a sort of playground embrace, Mulder crushing her to his chest, his hands around her waist and his chin resting on top of her head. He was giving her a bear hug while they were lying in bed. Scully shrieked shortly before dissolving into a fit of giggles and shoving her arms awkwardly behind her to try and find some purchase on his chest to tickle. She managed to get a hand under his armpit and wiggled her fingers around, expecting him to laugh and let her go.
Instead he nestled closer and drawled in her ear in an exaggerated John Wayne accent, “Sorry Ms. Ballerina, I’m afraid you’re outta luck. This here cowboy aint falling for no ticklin’ fingers,” He hands did let go of her waist though, giving her plenty of room to scoot away if she wanted. Scully, still giggling, disengaged her hands from their futile quest and guided his own back around her waist. She lined herself up more comfortably with his much larger form and let out a sigh. They wouldn’t talk about this tomorrow, but for now, well, the whole town thought they were together anyways.
She fell asleep mere minutes later, cradled in the embrace of her partner, the one who would always be there to lift her and steady her when she needed. The cowboy, for his part, breathed in the warm scent wafting from her, mixed with terrible shampoo and whiskey. He lifted one hand from her waist to brush the still damp hair away from the collar of her shirt, and then laid it back down in its proper place. For Mulder really did think that was where his hands belonged, and Scully’s sleepy sigh of contentment suggested she agreed. Mulder thanked his lucky stars for flying cows and made a mental note to stop off at a gas station for a pack of cards. He had a trick he wanted to show Scully. As he drifted off, he dreamed of her laughter.