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Not surprisingly to Mulder, Scully put up an admirable protest about coming home with him, but he’d learned over the years the best way not to take no for an answer from her was just not to take no for an answer. Besides, she wasn’t in much of a position to really argue about it anyway. He actually hadn’t intended to insist upon it, but as soon as he laid eyes on the extended-stay hotel she directed him to, the weak agreement he’d made to help her get settled and go home went out the window.
When they arrived, he didn’t even let her out of the car. The argument on that point lasted as long as it took for him to let her regurgitate all the reasons why it was unnecessary for him to take care of her and he effectively ended that by simply taking her key and slamming the car door against her protests. Less than ten minutes later, he was back in the car with her dog and a bag he threw together. She was red-faced and silent for the hour-long drive to the house.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be sensitive to her needs, or their current situation, but the second he realized she was not living in an apartment as she’d led him to believe, but at a hotel, was the second he also realized that this separation was as temporary for her as it was for him. Until that point, he’d thought it was only in his mind and he’d lived on that slim hope for months.
Enough was enough. This wasn’t twenty years ago when they had to tiptoe around each other and pretend their feelings didn’t exist. They’d been friends for half their lives now and lovers for half the time they’d been friends. He didn’t care if she had moved out on him, neither of them had moved on and he knew as well as she did that they never intended to.
Daggoo was the first one out of the car. As soon as Mulder opened the door, the dog had leapt from Scully’s lap to his and jumped to the ground. He’d been to the house a handful of times and enjoyed exploring the bushes beneath the porch. He was well-trained enough to be trusted not to run off, but still required supervision.
“Stay by the house, Daggoo,” Mulder called, crossing in front of the car to the passenger side. He opened Scully’s door and she eyed him warily as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Doc said to stay off the foot for at least 24 hours,” he said.
“He said to try to,” she answered.
“Really, Scully?”
“Just give me your arm, I’ll use you as a crutch.”
“Nope.” He ignored her in favor of sliding his arm under her knees and pulling her out of the car, mindful to clear her injured foot from the door.
“Mulder!” she exclaimed, grabbing onto his shoulders as though he might drop her even though he lifted her cleanly and easily. “Put me down!”
“Sorry, Scully, overruled.”
By the time he’d carried her up the porch and through the door, her scowl had vanished and he could tell she was relieved she didn’t have to attempt to make it up the steps on a sprained ankle. Even with support, it would have been quite difficult.
“Bedroom or couch?” he asked, pausing in the living room and waiting for her decide where she wanted to be settled.
“Couch,” she answered, and he loosened his hold on her next to the coffee table until she was standing on her good foot with her arm over his back as he bent to clear the disheveled couch of the newspaper he’d been reading that morning and the afghan that was pooled haphazardly half-on and half-off the edge of the cushions.
Scully was able to pivot on her good foot and Mulder held her by the elbows as she lowered herself down to the couch. She scooted herself back to lie down as he put a pillow behind her head and then lifted her leg as he slid another under her foot. She gingerly relaxed her leg and let the weight of her wrapped foot sink into the pillow with a grimace. She didn’t want to admit it, but even the short trip from the car to the house had caused her ankle to throb painfully and she really needed to just be still for a moment.
Mulder draped the blanket over her and let her get adjusted while he went back to the car for her bag and to call the dog in. He kissed the air twice and slapped his leg and Daggoo emerged from under a bush, shaking dirt off his coat and panting happily.
“Come inside, mutt,” Mulder said, and the dog beat him up the stairs, wagging his tail as he waited to be let in the door.
Daggoo trotted in ahead of him like he owned the place, wasting no time in hopping up onto the easy chair adjacent to the couch and curling up for a nap.
“That dog needs a bath,” Mulder said as he set Scully’s bag by the door. She opened her eyes. He could see that they were bleary and damp and he knew she must be in pain. After all this time, he could still trust her to stoically bear an injury as though she had something to prove.
“Do you want a pain pill?” he asked.
She started to shake her head in the negative, but her brows drew closer together and her eyes winked shut as her forehead wrinkled. “Just the Ibuprofen,” she murmured.
“Coming right up.”
He got her a glass of water and retrieved an ice pack from the freezer while he was in the kitchen. She took the pills and glass of water gratefully, but winced as he set the ice pack of top of her foot, even though he’d tried to do it as gently as possible.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.” She gave him back the glass of water and sat up to adjust the placement of the ice pack.
“Why don’t you take a nap?”
“I think I just might.” She smiled a little and then her eyes moved past him, deeper into the room. “Mulder what happened to…?”
Mulder looked over his shoulder towards the open door of the office. The room was nearly bare. He’d cleaned it out weeks ago.
“The clutter?” he asked.
She turned her eyes back up to his and he shrugged.
“Trying to keep work at work,” he answered. “Call it a spring cleaning.”
She looked like she wanted to say something. Her lips started to form a word, but she remained silent. He left her alone, calling for Daggoo to follow. While she napped, he gave the dog a bath and then assessed the shelves in the kitchen. He could probably stand to make a trip to the store if he was going to have her with him for a few days. He left a note on the table for her and took the dog with him so he wouldn’t bother her. One hour later, he and Daggoo were back from the store and Scully was still asleep.
Not knowing what she would be in the mood for when she woke, he refrained from starting dinner. Instead, he grabbed his abandoned newspaper and his reading glasses and kicked back in the recliner to wait for her to wake up. Daggoo jumped up onto the chair and made a bed for himself on Mulder’s lap.
Scully woke about a half hour later, rousing slowly with a stretch and a hiss as she accidentally flexed and pressed her sprained foot against the couch. “Shit,” she whispered, her face contorting with the sudden pain.
“You okay?” Mulder asked, tipping his head down to peer over the rims of his glasses at her.
“Fine, she breathed, rubbing a hand across her face and tired eyes. Her foot throbbed from the accidental jostling, but not unbearably. “Um, would you…?” She struggled for a moment to move up on her elbows and push up to a sitting position. “Can you help me up? I need to use the bathroom.”
“Of course.” He tossed the paper down beside the chair and dropped his glasses on top of it. Daggoo sighed and let out a whine, upset by being displaced from his nice, warm, comfortable lap bed.
Mulder bent to pick Scully up, but she held her hand out to stop him, shaking her head to indicate she would rather stand and walk.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said, grasping her hand as she swung her legs over the edge of the couch. She put her weight on her good leg and kept her bad foot hovering above the floor.
“It’s just a sprain, Mulder. I’m not an invalid.”
“I know, but why put yourself through the pain if you don’t have to? You’ll heal faster if you just let me help you.”
“I didn’t know you had a medical degree now.”
“I got one through osmosis from all my years with you.”
She gave him a wry smile and squeezed his hands in a tight grip to pull herself up to stand. He shuffled backwards as she hopped forwards, knee bent slightly to keep her sprained foot safe.
“You look like a flamingo on a pogo stick,” Mulder said.
She chuckled and stopped for a moment to swat his arm. “Don’t make me laugh,” she said.
“Boing,” he whispered on her next hop. “Boing.”
“Mulder, stop!”
He took advantage of her good mood and scooped her up while she was laughing, carrying her to the bathroom door before she could put up a fight about it. “Quicker and easier,” he said, setting her down in the doorway. There were plenty of things to hold onto in the bathroom and he knew going any farther would be pushing it.
“Just call for me when you’re done,” he said. “Please.”
She hopped inside and shut the door. He walked away to give her some privacy and went to fold the blanket and take the melted ice pack back to the freezer. Daggoo snored softly from the chair and Mulder paused to scratch the dog behind the ears. He liked this dog much better than that hairball, Queegqueg.
“Mulder?” Scully called.
Mulder was back down the hall in two seconds flat. “You rang, milady?”
“You got new towels?”
“I did. Why, did you want to take a bath? Shower’s obviously out of the question, for now.”
“Maybe later. I just noticed they were different.”
Mulder picked her up again and she wrapped her arms loosely round his neck. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I actually went to the store while you were sleeping.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“Something light?”
“Soup and salad okay?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
Mulder stopped, turning his head and shifting Scully in his arms to look at her. “You’ve got to stop implying that you’re some kind of burden on me, Scully. This is us. This is the deal. Sickness and in health and all that.”
“I just…I want you to know you’re not obligated…”
“And I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Have you ever felt that way? Obligated?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, then.” He shifted her again and started for the couch, but stopped when she squeezed his shoulder.
“I want to sit in the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll put my leg up on one of the chairs.”
“Okay.” He took her into the kitchen and set her up at the table by the stove. He went back to the living room and got a pillow for her foot to prop it up on the chair across from hers.
He’d bought pre-made salads from the store and several cans of soup. He flashed the selections at her from the cupboard and she chose the minestrone. While the soup was heating, he brought out bowls and silverware and set the table with everything they might need to eat.
They ate together keeping quiet conversation. Daggoo woke up and came to investigate the kitchen part-way through the meal, and Mulder got up to pour him a bowl of dog food.
“I didn’t know you kept dishes here for him,” Scully said as Mulder sat back down. “Or food.”
“I got them last time you had to stay late. Just in case.”
“Oh.”
Scully stayed in the kitchen while Mulder did the dishes and cleaned. When he was finished, he took her back out to the couch and pulled the coffee table closer so she could sit back and keep her leg up. He gave her the remote for the TV and then took Daggoo out for a short walk.
It was nearly dark when Mulder brought the dog back inside. Scully had a black and white movie on that he didn’t recognize. Daggoo jumped up on the couch to sit with her and Mulder went to the kitchen to get the surprise for her he’d got at the store.
“Oh, Mulder,” she said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice as he handed her a bowl of chocolate ice cream. “You shouldn’t have.”
“You don’t want it?” he asked, moving the bowl only slightly out of her grasp as though he was going to take it away.
“Of course I want it,” she answered, tugging the bowl out of his hands. “I shouldn’t have it, but I want it.”
Mulder sat down on the other side of the couch to watch the movie with her, Daggoo between them with his head on Scully’s leg and his tail thumping against Mulder’s hip. They finished the ice cream, and the movie, and Mulder took the dishes away just as North by Northwest started.
Not very long into the second movie, Mulder noticed Scully getting restless. She rubbed the knee of her damaged leg and looked like she was trying very hard not to move her foot.
“You want more ice?” Mulder asked.
She shook her head.
“Painkiller?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Mulder got her another round of Ibuprofen and a glass of water. Shortly thereafter, she began to slump towards him and her head eventually found his shoulder.
“Are you ready for bed?” he asked.
“I think so,” she murmured.
“All right, up you go,” he said, lifting her once again and moving slowly down the darkened hall, partially to protect her foot and partially to prolong the experience as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head against his chest. Daggoo trailed behind them, sniffing Mulder’s heels as he made his way to the bedroom.
He dropped her off on the bed and went back to get her bag. He’d been quick about packing for her, but he was pretty sure he’d grabbed the essentials. Her toiletry kit had fortunately been in the bathroom and he’d thrown in a toothbrush and hairbrush from the sink.
“Do you need any help?” he asked her as she dug through the bag to find the pajamas he’d tossed in.
“I think I’m…I think that….yes.” She looked up at him, holding a pair of flannel pajamas in her grip.
“Relax,” he told her, softly rubbing her shoulders. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“I know, but…”
“I won’t look.”
She huffed a short laugh and turned her back on him to remove her shirt. “I’ve heard that before,” she said, quickly unhooking her bra and pulling the flannel shirt onto her arms. She buttoned it up before she turned back around and then he helped her scoot back onto the bed.
With a little less finesse than he would have liked, Mulder was able to get Scully’s pants off after she’d unbuttoned them and raised her hips for him. It took more than one try as her arms were somewhat in the way and there was no easy way to avoid touching her. He had to apologize several times as his hands grazed her backside and her thighs and her calves. Getting the flannel pants on was a lot easier.
“You need anything?” he asked, feeling more embarrassed than he should have at the awkwardness between them. For the hundredth time in a matter of weeks he thought that it shouldn’t be this way.
“I think I’m okay.”
“Then I’ll say good night.” He got his own pajamas from the dresser and on an impulse, kissed her cheek. “Just yell if you need me, I’ll leave the door open.”
“Good night, Mulder.”
“Night, Scully. Night, Daggoo.”
Before heading to the couch to go to bed, Mulder changed into sweats and a t-shirt in the hall bathroom and brushed his teeth. The lamp was still on in the bedroom and he looked towards the door longingly before sighing quietly and turning for the couch. He turned the TV off on the iconic image of Cary Grant being chased by a biplane across a deserted highway, musing that he’d had a few similar experiences he could’ve shared with the guy.
It was never easy for him to fall asleep, but he was tired and the thought of having Scully in the other room was comforting. It made it easier to close his eyes and not feel so discontent. He had begun to drift, to catch the sound of his own soft breathing just before falling asleep, right there on the brink of falling over when he heard a thump and a rustle.
Sleep beckoned him, but another thump and rustle and his heavy eyelids lifted a fraction. Thump and rustle. He turned his head towards the sound and squinted into the dark.
“Mulder?” Scully whispered.
He was awake immediately, his eyes snapping open to find her silhouette hovering next to the couch. He couldn’t even comprehend how she’d made it that far without him really noticing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his hands. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t sleep in there,” she answered.
“Is it too cold? Do you need another blanket?” He pushed the afghan over his legs aside and made a move to get up.
“I need you,” she whispered, and he froze. “That’s our bed, Mulder. I can’t sleep in it without you.”
“I haven’t been able to sleep there since you’ve been gone,” he whispered back and then he stood, letting the blanket fall to the ground. She held herself up unsteadily with a hand pressed to the arm of the couch, staring up at him with dark, shimmering eyes. It was too dark to read her expression, but he felt a wave of peace wash over him like the world had shifted and righted itself in his favor.
Scully straightened and reached for him, gripping his forearms to hold herself steady. “Come to bed, Mulder,” she said, her voice clear and strong.
“Yes,” he answered, lifting her up into his arms.
The End