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"So, how did you find meeting the luckiest man in the world?"
Scully asks, throwing her overnight bag down on Mulder's couch. The apartment door swings shut behind them, and at the sight of the place, she almost breathes a sigh of relief. It's been a bizarre couple of days in Chicago, and she's not sure how to put a scientific basis on anything she’s seen. Aside from paraphrasing Looney Tunes and completing an in-depth analysis into the randomisation of Rube Goldberg machines, she isn’t sure what to say in her field report. But regardless. It will have to wait. Right now, she's just looking forward to a relaxing weekend of doing a whole lot of absolutely nothing. The relative solitude will wash over her blissfully for the next 48 hours until the working week begins again.
Behind her, Mulder shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the coat stand.
"I'd say we were lucky that that much luck was given to a sensible guy.”
Dumping his stuff in the corner of the room, he heads through to the kitchen, clattering around in cupboards. “Y'know, Henry Weems just wanted to look after his neighbour's kid. He didn't want fame or fortune, or anything most people would kill for. If one of Cutrona’s men had survived a plane crash and been granted eternal luck, we would have run into a whole load of problems."
Calling back over his shoulder, he downs a glass of water in one go, trying to rid the taste of stale cabin air from his mouth. The drive back from the airport had not been quick by any means, and they’d been caught up in all kinds of traffic tailbacks along the I-495. The road ahead had turned into a parking lot, and it had seemed to last forever. With the flight on top of everything, he’s just glad to stretch his legs.
"But I think you're wrong."
Slouching back out into the front room, he gives Scully a pointed look, watching as she stands in a patch of Friday night sunlight, setting gently through the window. He’s promptly met with one of her well-practiced raised-eyebrows.
"What do you mean?"
Pursing her lips as if she can’t believe he’s dared to call her wrong in a situation like this. ,Scientific or not, she knows a lucky streak when she sees one, black or white or otherwise.
But all Mulder can do is shrug. Leaning against the side table, waiting for her to realise what he’s talking about.
"Henry Weems is not the luckiest man in the world."
Scully rolls her eyes. As if he’s going to get off on some kind of technicality.
"Not anymore, maybe, but he had a pretty good run when-"
"No, not even then."
"But-"
Walking over to her, closing the gap between them, Mulder takes Scully by the waist in an attempt to stop her talking. He’s found running a thumb over her hip usually does the trick.
"You're not understanding me."
"Well if you tried making sense-"
"Henry Weems is not the luckiest man in the world." Mulder repeats himself. "Not by a clear mile. Even if he did survive a 30ft drop and win $100,000."
"...I don't know what you mean.” She’s completely baffled. He grins.
"No kidding. But I'll give you a clue.” Where he’s standing now, his eyes sparkle in the glowing sunset. He smiles right at her. “Mr Weems was, for brief periods, standing in the same room as the luckiest man in the world."
At his hint, Scully scrunches up her nose and nearly lets the word Cutrona? slip out of her mouth, but Mulder stoppers it with a kiss. Leaning in, making her step back on her feet, she’s not expecting it, but he’s been waiting for it ever since they got off the plane. Ever since they first picked up a case involving lucky streaks.
He’d known Henry Weems wouldn’t make the cut even before he’d read the memo that had found its way into his desk. There’s simply no contest here. He deepens their kiss until he hears her moan, feeling her nails digging at his shoulder blades. She wants him to keep going. But he’s not going to. Not until he tells her the truth. Not until she stops being so oblivious.
He eases off and just looks at her.
"It's me, Dana.” Still holding her hips, pulling her closer like she might just believe it. “I am the luckiest man in the world.” With as much sincerity as he can muster. “No one else even comes close. Not when I have you.”
He’s whispering into her lips and her eyes grow wide at the realisation; she reaches out and puts her hands in his hair, running fingernails through warm brown strands. "...Keep talking?"
He’s more than happy to oblige. Ducking his head towards the nape of her neck:
“You’ve made me feel like a person again. You’ve saved me, made me honest-”
“I think you said that bit before.”
Scully teases, her mouth touching his earlobe, thinking back to their interrupted kiss in his fourth floor hallway two years ago that wasn’t nearly as good as this.
Arms around each other, Mulder just rolls his eyes.
“Fine, can I start over?”
“Mm. ‘Kay.”
“Alright.” Lifting his head again, he gives her an abundance of little soft kisses all over her skin, starting with her forehead, covering every inch of it, taking his time. Swaying gently, she deserves all of them, and he’ll gladly give them to her in an endless supply. These little kisses cost nothing but are still worth every cent of lost time. He’d spent seven years not being able to touch her like this, and he’s still internally shouting at himself that he shouldn’t have waited so long. Savouring every one, trailing down her cheekbones, feeling the smile beneath his lips, he gravitates slowly back to the corner of her mouth.
At the curve of his own smile, she leans up and kisses him again, locking their lips and moulding into him, hitching her breath. Fingertips playing with the hair at the back of his neck, he’s in one mind to lift her off her feet altogether, take her in his arms and hold her there.
But instead, he decides to take things slowly.
After all, he’d been given the chance to start over again, and he still hasn’t given her the answer yet. Pulling away gently, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Okay. How about: I'm only managing to stand here on my two feet because of you?” Raising a slight eyebrow. “That I only made it because of you?” Tucking red hair behind her ears, caressing freckled skin, he glimmers right at her in the split second of time that seems to last forever. “That there’s no way in hell I deserve you, but here we are?”
“Oh, now you’re just going overboard-”
Wrapping arms back around his waist, crumpling his shirt and grinning into his mouth, Scully whispers into his ear: “Tell me again?”
And he obliges without a second thought.
“I am the luckiest man in the world.” Mulder affirms, lost somewhere in a blissful haze that Henry Weems could never even dream about.
Tugging at his collar, he knows he’s said the right thing when Scully pulls him in for their final kiss, their faces flushing, hearing nothing but the sound of each other catching their breath when they eventually come up for air again.
He’s said it before and he’ll say it again.
He’s the luckiest man in the world.
No one else even comes close.
Not when he’s with her. Not when his weekends look like this.
He’s entirely sure of it.