A/N: I never own. This story is meant to be, my login captcha was CSM today!
Demons?! Honestly, what's next?
You tuck a red curl behind your ear as you stare out of the car window. You wonder at the fact that even after everything that's happened, to you and between you, Fox Mulder is still able to become obsessively determined to solve a case that clearly has no evidence of demons. But then again, maybe you're the strange one. You're not much less skeptical now than you were when you first set foot in Mulder's office, and think of the things you've seen.
This case really does take the bacon, if you do say so yourself. What is obviously no more than a tragic double homicide has triggered an eager ear somewhere and sure enough been passed on to Mr. Spooky himself for thorough investigation. Maybe that's the more tragic thing, that you're spending your weekend chasing imaginary creatures.
You watch as the world passes by around you, and wonder what your life would be like had you chosen a different path, or whether you ever could have been anyone else.
You've done your eye rolling and your berating and you finally agree just to go along with it, as you always do, and secretly you'd have it no other way, although you'll never tell Mulder that. You cast an eye at him as he drives, a little too fast down the freeway, and he shoots you a smile that you're only just starting to get accustomed to. Ever since he kissed you at new year he's looked at you differently, and you wonder if you've done the same. Not intentionally at least, although he surely knows by now that your feelings go a little deeper than they should for colleagues, or even for best friends.
As you arrive at the station the officers there brief you on the details of the case, telling you only a few details extra to the knowledge you gained in the car - a double, admittedly strange but brutal murder of a husband and wife in their own home. They'd been nailed to the wall upside down, the rusty metal in places penetrating muscle and bone, and they'd slowly bled to death together. Your stomach squirms as you recall the images you saw earlier, and imagine the last thoughts of the couple.
Despite the brutal way in which their lives had been taken there is nothing about the case that leads you to think anything paranormal had occurred - you'd have classified it as a reverse crucifixion if anything, but Mulder seems to have entirely the opposite reaction.
The two of you are lead into a room where you meet the young couple's 6 year old daughter Cassie, a pretty, pale girl with long blonde hair, who's clutching a scruffy blue stuffed rabbit to her breast. You smile down at the girl and she smiles back hesitantly, but it's Mulder who she seems to hit it off with more or less immediately. He starts by doing his painfully familiar Mr Potato Head impression and it only brings back memories of a dark time in your life, images of a daughter you barely knew fill your mind for an instant until you suppress them bitterly.
After a few minutes of entertaining the girl Mulder catches your arm in his hand and gestures for you to follow him outside. He looks you dead in the eyes and in them a passionate concern radiates, one you only see in him when he's totally sure of what he's saying, a look you associate with his deep belief in the paranormal. He starts to speak with urgency, gushing out his already deep rooted certainty that the child you've just left is in danger. You start to protest, because nothing in his argument is making sense, but after everything you've seen and all these years of being wrong and having your Occam's Razor constantly disproved, you've learnt to cut Mulder a little slack, and you know his instincts are often keen.
When you start to formulate a plan to keep Cassie out of harm's way, as it is already 8pm on Friday night, you assume that Mulder simply intends to keep her in police custody, but you should have known better, and before you know it the safe house is arranged and the two of you have cancelled your motel reservation in order to babysit a child that's more than likely no more at risk than you. You figure that it's probably a more normal way to spend your weekend as a thirty-something, playing house rather than chasing aliens, and so you reluctantly follow the plan, cringing at the size of the cramped 'master' bedroom with its small double bed and cramped sofa bed. Typical that the one time you need a safe house only a 2 bedroom is available within 50 miles, but you can't complain about the generous en-suite.
Mulder tries out his sofa bed, because that's definitely his problem since he's insisting on this charade, and you mock him as he gets poked by dodgy springs and narrows his eyes at mysterious stains on the mattress. You don't dare to look under the sheets of your own, adequate double.
Deciding just this once to play housewife, you cook up a quick dinner of spaghetti bolognese for the three of you, using ingredients you stopped for on the way. Mulder had promised to help, but you were hungry, he was in the shower, and you didn't mind really. He does look a bit guilty when he comes down the stairs sniffing up the signs of impending dinner, but you're more distracted by the fact that he opted to leave his t-shirt off than the smells of the cooking. You flush a bright red when he catches you staring, practically drooling.
Before you retire, after Cassie is soundly asleep (drifting off perhaps a little too easily for a should be traumatised child, the skeptic in you notes), Mulder props himself up on your bed, under the covers, and starts flicking through the channels on the television, which of course is positioned opposite your bed and out of sight of his makeshift arrangement. You roll your eyes when he offers his arm out to you with a goofy smile, but you take him up on his offer all the same, smiling as you take in his scent and lean against him. After some time you look up at his face, noting with no surprise that he's fallen asleep. You can't say you blame him really, you wouldn't want to sleep on that sofa and there's no way you're going to. You decide that you'll let him off too. A night in the same bed won't hurt. You pry the remote from his fingers and switch off the TV, sinking back into the bed as you slowly embrace sleep.