Chapter Text
Scully was sore. She had this funny feeling in her muscles, too, almost like she just got back from a massage therapist. But mostly she was sore. And sweaty.
She stretched out in bed, reveling in how soft and plush the pillows felt against her head. God, her skull felt like it had been split in two with the headache she was experiencing, but these pillows were piecing it back together. The mattress also cradled her in just the right way, deep and warm. She didn’t remember her bed ever being this comfortable.
Stretching, one of her legs bumped against a wall of more pillows. Hmm. They were so oddly warm. She was almost tempted to roll over and wrap her arms around them so she could close her heavy eyes and sleep a little longer.
That was, until they moved.
The non-pillow groaned, sewn with sleep, and rolled onto his stomach. His limbs were sprawled out awkwardly, but he seemed comfortable enough. His arm crept up from his side to rest on Scully’s shoulder as though he thought she was the pillow.
She froze. Her blood was ice. She couldn’t see his face from here. She didn’t need to. Whatever late-night hookup this had been, she was going to extract herself from it as if it had never happened. It had been initiated by sleep-drunkenness, and it would end with wide-awake rationale. As it always did. She should probably be a little more concerned about waking up with a stranger she had no memory of, but her head was pounding and the first thing on her mind was just to get some proper clothes on.
Her shirt, a dark blue blouse, was easy enough to find. It looked like it had been tossed on the floor on her side of the king-sized bed. Slipping out from under the covers, ignoring the way the man’s hairy arm brushed against her skin, she accidentally stepped on the blouse. She carefully picked it up, cold and cottony, and looked around for her other garments.
It seemed like they had fallen asleep with the lights on. Both the shaded lamps on the nightstands were lit, casting a moody yellow light across the room. It was almost like candlelight. From what she could tell, this was definitely a hotel room. It was more like a suite. Aside from the bed, there was a slick, glass coffee table in the middle. A divan sofa sat opposite it, and beside that were soft, white chairs and a TV. The carpet underneath her feet was plush and patterned, leading the way to a kitchenette in the corner with see-through cabinets and a tall island. A dark, ebony-looking door next to the kitchenette led to what she assumed was a bathroom, possibly a closet. Spanning most of the wall was also a floor-to-ceiling window with the curtains drawn. The more she looked around, the more spacious it all seemed to get, and the smaller she felt in nothing but her underwear. Whoever paid for this must have had a huge dent in their wallet.
She found her suit jacket thrown across a low-backed chair near the main door. Her pants were discarded at the foot of the bed along with her belt. Her shoes somehow ended up on opposite sides of the room, one by the main door and the other by the bathroom. As she collected them and worked her legs into her pants, she tried not to imagine the choreography leading to her clothes being strewn about in such a way. She had come across some of the man’s clothes, too. His shoes seemed like they were the first to go, kicked off by the main door. His button-up shirt made itself at home on the marble kitchenette island along with his tie. The only piece of clothing she couldn’t seem to find was her bra.
The man snored, making her heart jerk. She glanced behind her shoulder to find him blissfully burying his face in pillows. He teetered precariously near the edge of the mattress, but he was still sound asleep. She sighed and started doing her belt buckle.
Out in the hotel hallway, she heard a party of people clamoring out of the elevator, liquor thick on their tongues. They laughed so loudly she was afraid it might wake the man. They seemed to be trying to remember which room was theirs. Would she rather wake up drunk and laughing like these people or sober and painfully aware of the world like she was? She couldn’t decide.
One of the people seemed to tell a very funny joke, so the rest erupted in whoops and booming laughter again, and was that clapping?
Thud.
“Jesus!”
Scully jumped as the man spoke. He had tumbled out of bed, smack onto the floor. She guessed the racket had startled him out of his sleep.
“Are you okay?” she asked before she could stop herself.
The man groaned, rubbing the back of his head and trying to sit up. Hopefully he didn’t have a concussion.
“Scully?” he asked, low and mumbly.
Wait. No. No, no, no, no.
Brown, mussed-up hair, toned limbs tangled with the bedsheets, hazel eyes still drowsy and clouded with dreams.
She was suddenly very aware that her chest was still bare and clutched her blouse to herself.
It was Mulder.
She almost would have preferred a stranger.
“Scully?” Mulder asked again, still trying to sit up properly.
“Yeah,” was all she managed to say. She hoped her voice wasn’t as shaky as it felt.
This could not be happening. What in the hell could she have missed in the past twelve hours that would lead to this? One moment, she was going to sleep alone on a Thursday evening and the next she was waking up in a hotel suite with Mulder of all people in bed with her.
Her bra. Yes, she needed to find that. Then she could figure out what was going on. Bra first, Mulder and his sleepy head later.
“Uh, Scully?” Mulder asked.
“What?”
She was on the other side of the room, searching under the coffee table and scanning all the chairs.
“I think this belongs to you.”
She looked over to where Mulder sat in a heap on the floor. He was holding something up with one hand. Stepping closer, she realized what it was.
Oh, God.
He tossed her the bra in his hands. Mildly mortified, she turned around so she could put it on before Mulder could gain any more clarity of thought. As she clasped it on and adjusted the straps, the carpet in front of her showed the shadow of him standing up and turning around to give her some privacy. She buried any ounce of self-consciousness she could with a deep breath.
“Do you remember anything from last night?” she dared to ask, still facing away from him.
“No,” he yawned. “Do you?”
“No.”
She put her blouse on after that. Over her head, one arm after the other. Mulder didn’t move. The silence felt louder than the party of people next door.
“Your shirt’s on the island,” Scully said quietly. “So are your pants and tie. I don’t know where your suit jacket is, if you had one.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Can I turn around?”
“Yes.”
Scully went to put on her jacket next, but as she collected it from one of the small white chairs, something caught her eye. She hadn’t noticed it at first. A little band of silver. A little loose. On her left ring finger.
“Mulder…”
She slowly turned around to where he was in the little kitchen in nothing but his boxers. She almost apologized for looking, but that was when she noticed him looking down at something on his left hand, too, mesmerized. Or confused. Maybe both.
He glanced up at her for the first time since they woke up.
He had a matching ring.