Work Text:
The burn of the whiskey down Mulder’s throat disappeared before it could have any effect on the pit in his stomach. It was funny, he thought, he had never been much of a drinker; perhaps that was why these whiskey on the rocks were going down so easily, why his body was feeling light and dreamlike rather than heavy with regret.
That was the only thing he found funny about this situation.
Mulder was sat in a booth in a dive bar in downtown DC, the kind of bar that circulated the same dozen or so regulars and everyone looked as lonely and miserable as each other. Everyone was sat apart and too caught up in their own sorrows to notice anybody else. He fit in quite well. From the booth nobody could see how dishevelled he looked or how broken he felt; his shirt was wrinkled and stained with sweat, his tie long discarded and crumpled into his pocket. Mulder gingerly ran his hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day, aware it had become unkept and was standing up on end as though he had been electrocuted.
Cancer?
Every time the word barged its way into Mulder’s thought process, he ordered another drink. How could he have let this happen to her? Scully was brilliant. She was young, intelligent and had her whole career ahead of her. Her whole life ahead of her. But she ended up stuck with him, the least he could have done was keep her safe. Mulder pressed his knuckles into his stinging eyelids and ordered another drink.
“Hey buddy c’mon, I gotta close up.”
Mulder opened his eyes and was immediately met with the sight of his own vomit spattered in a toilet bowl. He groaned as he attempted to move away from the mess, his neck was stiff and his back was aching profusely – how long had he been here?
“C’mon, man, let’s get you out of here.”
Mulder felt an arm hook him under his arm pit and pull him roughly to his feet. The bathroom lurched violently, causing Mulder to stagger backwards. Two hands gripped him firmly by the shoulders, the face of a young bar tender slowly came into focus. Mulder’s cheeks began burning hotter than the bile in his throat.
“I’ve got you, man, don’t worry about it,”
The bartender frog marched Mulder back into the bar and planted him on a chair, “You got somewhere to go? You need to sleep this off.”
Scully was woken up by the aggressive buzzer of her apartment intercom, the continuous noise suggesting it was being constantly pressed. Annoyed, Scully threw her dressing gown over the baggy t shirt she slept in and hurried towards her front door. Living so close to downtown sometimes led to drunken college students thinking it was highly appropriate to play a game of ding dong ditch in the early hours of the morning. Scully had never seen the funny side.
“What?” She asked groggily into the intercom. “Hey lady, your boyfriend has puked all over the back of my car and one of you owes me $75.”
Mulder could only watch on dumbly as Scully counted the notes in her purse and handed a particularly annoyed taxi driver a wad of them. He promised himself that if he was to remember one aspect of this disastrous night, it was that he owed Scully $75 and then some.
“Come on, Mulder.”
Scully wrapped an arm around his waist and escorted him into her apartment, allowing him to gently sag some of his weight on to her. His once white shirt was now covered with damp and sticky vomit, and he was certain the smell mixed with dried sweat and the stale air of the dive bar was far from appealing. A wave of embarrassment crashed into the misery and despair he already felt in his stomach, Mulder focussed on making sure he didn’t vomit it out in Scully’s home.
"We need to get you out of these clothes, Mulder.”
He was sat on Scully’s sofa now with little recollection of getting there, he felt as though he kept entering black holes and being spat out at his next destination, as though time was speeding up by light years every time he closed his eyes. Mulder became vaguely aware of Scully unbuttoning his shirt; she was sat very close to him despite how awful he was certain he smelled. She smelled wonderful, of course, like perfume and fruits from either shower gel or bubble bath. Cold air hit Mulder’s now exposed chest and he embraced it like a glass of ice water. He could feel Scully’s breath on his chest hair as she removed his shirt entirely and cursed his cock for twitching with excitement.
“Scully...” He tried and failed to speak, his tongue felt fat and lazy in his mouth.
“Can you stand, Mulder?” Scully interrupted him gently; she ran a hand through his hair and locked her eyes onto his. Mulder was certain this was to see if he was able to keep his eyes in focus, but it created a warm feeling inside of him all the same.
“Yeah,” he managed.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Mulder began to sober up whilst sat on Scully’s toilet lid. His head began pounding as Scully wetted a flannel with warm water and soap before working it around his face like a mother would do to with a toddler. He just about managed to stop a hum escaping his lips when Scully started to massage the warm flannel into his chest, suddenly he felt very sleepy. Scully handed him her mouth wash and he swirled it around his rotten mouth gratefully. He spat the remainder of the vomit into Scully’s sink as carefully as possible, desperate not to make more of a mess than he already had that night.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted finally as he watched Scully ring the flannel out, “I...I don’t want you to see me like this, Scully.”
“I’ve never seen you like this, Mulder,” Scully said, sitting on the rim of the bathtub and shooting him a concerned look, “What happened to you?”
Mulder shrugged, unable to meet Scully’s eyes. What could he possibly say to her? You got diagnosed with cancer and I had to drink myself into oblivion to deal with the thought of losing you...Mulder decided he had already embarrassed himself for one evening. With Scully’s help Mulder made his way back to her sofa, they had silently agreed he had no chance in hell of making it back to his own place tonight. Besides, Scully’s sofa was big and soft and smelled like her, it was like a luxury hotel compared to his old, lumpy sofa that he passed out on most nights.
“Are you erm...will it be comfortable to sleep in your suit pants, Mulder?” Scully asked meekly.
She made herself busy gathering spare pillows and a blanket whilst Mulder kicked his shoes off and gingerly undid his belt and pants. When Scully returned to the living room, she found Mulder sprawled across her sofa in nothing but his boxers and his eyes closed. He looked almost angelic, Scully thought, with his normally gelled hair swept across his forehead and his long eyelashes practically tickling his cheeks. His naked chest rose evenly beneath his coarse chest hair whilst his hands rested over his toned stomach; Scully was thankful that Mulder’s eyes were closed as she allowed herself to take in the rest of his body. Suddenly she felt very hot under her thick dressing gown.
Mulder’s eyes fluttered open as Scully wrapped a blanket around him, he watched sleepily as she poured a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table. Scully smiled when she noticed that he was awake.
“You’re going to need this when you wake up,” she murmured, perching herself on the middle of the sofa.
Mulder wanted nothing more than to curl his body around hers and wake up with her hair in his face and his arm around her waist.
“I should be the one looking after you,” Mulder croaked, he reached up and cupped her beautiful face in his hand, “Not the other way round.”
Scully squeezed his hand against her cheek and smiled, Mulder would have given anything in the world to have stopped time in that moment and never start it again. “
You can look after me tomorrow by buying breakfast,” Scully said, “Goodnight, Mulder.”
“Goodnight, Scully.”