Work Text:
Scully sleeps in his sweater every night, wraps herself with the comforting rain-and-forest smell of him. It soothes her distressed mind to a dreamless sleep, stays the desperate desire of having him near, and for a brief moment, she does not feel the loneliness so much anymore. She can pretend that he is here with her, lie to herself. And if her intentions are strong enough, all is well.
His smell is fading now. Days became weeks, then turned into months. Blurred are the memories of his body spooning hers, and cold are the nights. When was the last time they shared a set of pyjamas? She would wear the shirt, literally drowning into it – into him –, and Mulder would keep the bottoms. Then he would pull her against his chest and she would curl up close and breathe him in.
Skin to skin.
Heart to heart.
When she was feeling really brave, Scully would look at pictures she took of them.
But not tonight, no.
Tonight, she buries her face in the soft grey cotton and wishes she’d be in a warmer place to sleep.
Home is a place she cannot reach.
Home is a person she cannot kiss.