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“Did you have them when we left the motel?” Scully asked, trailing Mulder through the door.
“I mean, I think so, I…”
She watched as he rummaged in his coat pocket for the third time, feeling for his keys. His hand emerged clutching fluff and an old dry cleaning stub.
Scully slid out of her jacket and hung it on the coat stand. “I have your spare here, somewhere.” She turned back to Mulder, who was now checking his other pocket. He twisted awkwardly and she saw he had inadvertently caught his coat belt on the cupboard door handle.
“I just can't understand where I left them, Scully, I…” He wriggled more violently, unable to comprehend his restricted movement. Hearing a familiar giggle, he looked back at his partner.
Scully moved forward and released his belt from the handle. She grinned, brushing his wet hair from his face.
“Jeez, I feel so jetlagged,” he muttered.
She spun him around, reaching on the very tips of her toes for his coat. “Let me take this.” He gratefully shimmied out of it. “You sit.”
“Thank you.” He slumped into her sofa. “That flight…”
“I know, Mulder. Promise me you won't make me work a case like that again followed by a 12-hour flight home. Next time can we make it a local zoo, please?” She kicked off her shoes and walked around the coffee table.
Mulder grinned, lining up a joke. “Hey, I thought you-”
Scully's yelp sliced through his sentence as she twisted her foot around the table leg and almost hit the ground.
“Steady, girl…” He reached and caught her arm.
“What is wrong with us?”
“I think you better sit down.” Mulder patted the space next to him.
Scully hobbled to the sofa and threw herself on it.
“Don't move,” said Mulder, turning his head. “It's too risky.”
Her head lolled to the side, her eyes meeting his. After a moment they fell on the wet shirt that was clinging insistently to his chest.
She looked up to find him following her gaze. His eyes had a look she had only seen a few times before. The jetlag, perhaps. After a moment of silence, his lips parted and he murmured, “Scully…”
Quickly she said, “Oh, your key.”
She moved to stand up and instantly gripped her ankle. “Ouch!”
Mulder pulled her back down by the shoulder. “I'll get it. Which drawer?”
“By the stove,” Scully said, grimacing. “Can you get me some water and some Tylenol?” she called, leaning back in the chair.
She heard Mulder rummaging in various cupboards and decided that was more fun than telling him where to look.
Until she heard something smash against her tiled floor.
She sat up with a jolt. “Mulder?”
“Dammit! Don't come in here, Scully. Broken glass. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay, let me-”
“DAMMIT.” Mulder drew air into his teeth.
“Mulder? What did you do?” she called, pulling herself up by the table edge and hobbling toward the kitchen.
“I told you it was safer if we stayed on the couch.”
“Mulder, your hand…”
Mulder stood sheepishly, his hand outstretched, blood spreading into the cracks of his skin.
Scully surveyed the floor, a scattering of glass shards glittering under the ceiling lights like giant confetti.
She leaned on the doorframe, lifting the weight from her bad ankle, and cupped his bloody hand with hers. “We need to get you some bandages.”
Mulder turned to head back into the kitchen.
“No! You sit back down.”
Mulder obediently shuffled away and resumed his spot on the couch.
Scully reached to a drawer near the doorway. She yanked it open and pulled out a first aid kit.
Limping to Mulder she said, “How is it we’re in the field 24/7, pursuing dangerous leads and God knows what, yet in the last ten minutes I’m down to 50 per cent mobility and you’ve lost the use of your hand?”
Mulder smiled as she sat facing him on the edge of the couch. “Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”
She smiled and looked away, then down at his hand, running her thumb gently over the wound. She took a small bottle of disinfectant from the kit and soaked a cotton ball. As she went to press it on his hand, she stopped.
“What?” asked Mulder.
“I think you have some glass still in there.”
She fished in the bag and brandished some tweezers.
Mulder flinched backward, taking his hand with him.
Scully stifled a laugh and placed her free hand on his knee. “I’ll be as gentle as I can. It’s not a bullet, Mulder.”
“I know those hands,” he quipped, nodding at the one resting on his leg.
“I have good hands.”
Seeing that Mulder’s mouth was about to betray his thoughts she hastened, “Do you want to bite down on something?”
Realising her puns had gone from bad to worse she shook her head and shielded her eyes. “I’m just going to start.”
She touched the tweezers to the wound and Mulder drew in a sharp breath. “Mhm…”
“Sorry… There are quite a few pieces in there…”
Mulder winced and gripped the couch. Spidery lines crossed his face as he grimaced from the pain.
She shuffled closer, their knees touching. “Talk to me. It’ll distract you.”
“Okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you could have any job, except this one, what would it be?”
Scully held the tweezers still for a moment. “Stunt driver.”
“What?” Some of the lines disappeared from his face. “Really?”
“No. Next question.”
The tweezers pinged back to work.
“If you could have another partner, who-”
“Really, Mulder? You don’t want to dig any deeper than that? Why don’t you let me ask the questions.”
“Okay, fine. Go ahead, Evil Knievel.”
Scully pulled his hand onto her thigh to get a closer look at the wound. The rain outside hammered hard against the window.
“What’s your biggest regret?”
Mulder looked at her, wetting his lips. “I only get one?”
Keeping her eyes locked on his hand, she shrugged silently.
“Letting Skinner boss me around. Cancelling my Elvis fan club membership.” He swallowed. “Diana.”
The tweezers jabbed at the deep cut in his hand.
“Mother-f!”
“Sorry…” She took his arm gently. “Sorry, Mulder. Just the mention of that name…”
He chased her eyes as they slid back to the wound. “I really messed that up, didn’t I?”
Scully breathed steadily. “It wasn’t your fault. Diana was a force to be reckoned with.” She shifted her weight in the chair. “She had a hold on you.”
“And I let her.”
She lifted a fragment of glass from the cut and deposited it on a tissue.
Mulder glanced toward the kitchen. “I’m sorry about the mess.”
Grateful for the change in conversation, Scully said, “It’s okay. It's just a glass.”
“Glasses.”
She smiled and nodded. “Guess I'm drinking my juice out of a wine glass.”
Mulder looked sheepish.
“You smashed my wine glasses?”
“You know speaking of alcohol, I could use something to take the edge off, if you’re going to keep poking around in me.” He waved his wounded hand in the air.
“I’m not going in the kitchen - you can swig from the bottle.” She hobbled to a tall cabinet and retrieved a bottle of whisky from the back.
Mulder looked at the damp patch where she had been sitting. “Scully, you’re still soaked from the rain. Why don’t you go change.”
Standing, she said, “I’m sorry that I can’t offer you anything,” she said, gesturing to his shirt. “I don’t think I have anything that fits.”
“It’d only embarrass you when it looks better on me.”
Scully returned from the bedroom in jeans and a sweatshirt, both navy, conscious of ruining any blood-wary clothes.
Mulder was standing by the coffee table, shoes now discarded by his feet. His big toe poked through the fabric of his sock.
He screwed the cap off the whisky and brought it to his lips. He swung it back and just as quickly brought it back down again, snatching his lips from the bottle.
“What’s wrong? Oh God, is it old?”
“I think I cut my lip.”
“Seriously?” She looked at him in disbelief. “I’m starting to think that my apartment is rigged,” she mumbled, walking over to him.
She peered at his mouth, taking his hand away. “Let me see.” She brushed her thumb against his lip and felt his breath quicken. “It’s okay. No blood.” Her thumb rubbed gently as he looked down at her.
“Your key,” she said, turning away.
Mulder caught her arm as it slid from his lip. “Scully…”
She turned back, her breath catching in her throat. “And your hand. I haven’t finished getting all the glass out yet.”
Mulder’s gaze lingered, and for a split second she saw his eyes dart to her mouth and back again.
He stepped closer.
“Mulder…”
“Scully, I-”
“Sit down. I need more cotton.” She turned away, walking to her bedroom knowing full well she hadn’t even used any of the cotton on his hand yet, and that he probably knew that too.
Out of his eyeline, she leaned against the wardrobe and exhaled deeply. She suddenly felt like she was swimming against a current, resisting its pull, knowing if she let it take her she could never go back. She knew this moment had been coming for a while - the growing looks, touches, soft words - but not tonight.
Her mind wandered to his chest, soaked and just discernible underneath that shirt. His chestnut hair flopping and dripping into his schoolboy eyes. The hole in his sock.
“Scully, is everything okay?”
She threw her weight from the wardrobe, steadying herself on the bed. She made it to the dresser just as his head poked through the door.
“Just getting the cotton,” she breathed, barely audible.
Mulder jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Scully… it’s getting late. I think I’m going to go.”
“What about your hand?” she stuttered.
He walked into the room, stopping on the opposite side of the bed. “You know, this doesn’t hurt so bad.” He flexed his fingers, flinching slightly. “I think I’ll live.”
“There might still be some glass in there.” She walked round the bed and took his hand again.
He shook his head softly, and she saw a glint of sadness in his eyes.
“Do you think it’s time we found that key?” he said.
She wanted time to stand still for just a moment. Just long enough to figure this out. She stared into the cut in his hand, wishing it would swallow her up.
Mulder tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear with his good hand. He smelled earthy, of rain and whisky.
She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch of his fingers as they tentatively curled around her neck.
“Mulder…” she whispered.
“Sorry…” he muttered, his hand sliding to her shoulder.
Suddenly she pulled him down, touching her lips on his.
Mulder started kissing her back then murmured, pulling away. “Scully, are you sure?”
“No regrets, Mulder.”
She pulled him close and kissed him deeper this time, letting the current take her and swallow her under.
The rain pattered gently on the window.