I first wrote this nearly a year ago and have been editing and adding to it very sporadically since then. I've been in a writing slump lately, but I'm hoping posting this may help me rediscover some inspiration/motivation. Also posted on AO3
"It's clean." Scully paused and dropped her head before muttering "Someone had to feed the fish. And sometimes I would… never mind." She swallowed hard, and tentatively met Mulder's gaze for a brief moment. "Welcome home."
They were on unknown ground here. There was relief, but so much tension. Affection, but uncertainty. She should let him be, she thought. Make sure he had everything he needed for the night, and then go home. Conversation would come, but for now Scully felt that maybe the best thing she could do was shut up.
From his perch on the edge of the desk Mulder watched his partner as she stood uncomfortably in the living room doorway, seemingly lost in thought.
"Sometimes you what, Scully?"
Scully started slightly and her eyes darted from their studious perusal of the floor to Mulder's curious face. "I, uh… well, sometimes I would sleep here."
She didn't tell him about the nights she fell asleep on his couch, waking the next day with a crick in her neck, but somehow a fraction happier than if she had been in her own bed. She didn't mention that first morning Agent Doggett had found her here, clutching Mulder's shirt. She didn't tell him that that same shirt was now folded neatly under her pillow at home and hadn't been washed in months. She stayed silent about the night she came over to find one of the fish had died. He wouldn't know how she had sobbed as she ceremoniously flushed its small body down the toilet. He wouldn't know about the mornings she woke to become intimately acquainted with that same toilet bowl as the new life growing inside her left her body in turmoil. Not now.
Snapping her attention back to the man watching her from across the room, Scully spoke again, words tumbling out in an anxious rush. "I washed the sheets last night, though, so you should be all set. And there's some food in the kitchen. Unless there's anything else you need, I should probably go. Let you rest."
Mulder's eyes widened at the abruptness of her last words, but he remained silent.
Scully waited a moment for a reply before sighing wearily and turning for the door. The last thing she wanted to do was let him out of her sight. But she would. She would give him back his space. Let him readjust. Remember how to be home. Even though it would physically pain her – she could already feel her chest tightening as she reached for the doorknob – she would go. If there was anything she'd learned in the past few months, it was how to work through the pain. So she walked out the door.
Mulder still sat perched on the edge of his desk, staring at the door that had just closed on his partner, his best friend, the other half of the most complicated relationship in his life. Whatever she was, whatever they were to each other right now, she didn't deserve this. He had let her walk away without a fight, without so much as a thank you. But that was all he knew how to do right now. Somehow everything and everyone had gone on without him, yet at the same time, nothing had changed. Here he was, alone in his apartment, fretting over Scully.
As soon as Mulder's door closed behind her, Scully leaned heavily against the wall beside it. She told herself she wouldn't cry. Not now. Not until she was alone, in the safety of her car. Or better yet, her apartment. This hallway was not the place for tears. She so wanted to just let her legs go, to slide slowly and gracelessly down the wall until she sat on the cold floor. But she knew if she did, she likely wouldn't get up for a long time – and not just because of her unwieldy belly.
She was pressing the heels of her hands to her prickling eyes, willing them not to overflow when the door opened.
Mulder's face appeared around the doorframe, peering down the hall. "Scully? Scully, are you alright?"
"No," she said quietly, hiccupping as she suppressed tears.
Mulder stepped fully into the hall, looking alarmed.
"Scully? Are you… What's wrong? Is it the baby?" he asked, tone rising to an anxious fever pitch as he hesitantly reached out to brush his fingers over her arm before quickly and awkwardly pulling away.
Scully almost laughed at the absurdity of their situation. Instead, her breath hitched once more and she ran a hand through her hair.
"No. No, Mulder, the baby's fine."
Mulder still looked alarmed. "Then…?"
Scully let out a long, shuddering breath and whispered "I miss you."
It was as though Mulder was a balloon, and Scully's words a straight pin. He sagged against the door frame and scrubbed a hand over his face.
"You're back. Against all odds you're standing right there in front of me, and I still miss you. After all this time…" Scully trailed off, a guilty look on her face. Too much. She'd let too much slip.
Mulder watched as the walls went up once more behind Scully's eyes. Her back straightened, she took a deep breath, brushed an errant lock of hair from her eyes. She was again battle ready.
"Anyway, I'll, uh – I'll call you tomorrow," she pushed out, voice firm, with only the slightest hint of a waver, one only those with years of experience would be able to detect.
There'd been gaps, but Mulder had those years. Those years told him to reach out, to stop her.
"Scully, wait."
She started, and looked down sharply at the hand suddenly grasping her wrist.
"I miss you, too."
The silence that followed was heavy. After what, to Mulder, felt like an unbearably long time, Scully twisted her arm gently out of his grasp and gave his fingers a quick squeeze before pulling her coat tight around her and turning once more for the elevator.
"I know. I'll call you tomorrow, Mulder."