Summary: Two-parter of the "lonely night" implied by the Shadow Man in Trust No 1. Pretty much fluff, with a twinge of angst in the beginning. Spoilers for Millennium and Trust No 1, and a teensy bit of Fight the Future and bits of seasons 5-6. This is one of several of my versions of headcannon, and I think the episodes following Millennium have a quality to them that makes it hard to dispute it. Especially a few little moments in Rush.

A/N: I'd always meant to write something for this, but never did. I was inspired by Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over", which I highly recommend, and the cover image of this fic. The long lines denote a change in perspective between Mulder and Scully, or to the omniscient narrator. My goal is for it to be fairly self-explanatory who is narrating, and hopefully I've succeeded.

Please read and review. And enjoy!

(Obvious disclaimer: I don't own them.)

PART 1.

Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know

When I'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight, child you know how much I need it
Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

So I'll wait for you... and I'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him
My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Well maybe I'm just too young
To keep good love from going wrong

Oh... lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

~Jeff Buckley, "Lover, You Should've Come Over"

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1, 2000

10:37 AM

Dana Scully stirred in her bed, the beginnings of consciousness slowly coming to her as she began to mentally sort out whether to begin the slow process of opening her eyes and crawling out of bed, or to cling to her oversized pillow and remain under her down comforter for just a little while longer. The haze of memory from the last few days started to come back to her, as she realized that moving her body amplified her soreness. She had fared better than her partner, however, as he had ended up with a nasty gash on his upper arm. Her partner… Mulder…

Oh! Her eyes opened wide when she finally remembered what had happened at the hospital. She smiled briefly, remembering the way her accelerated heartbeat pounded in her chest while he leaned in close to her, the feel of his lips against her own when they finally made contact. It was surreal. She supposed deep down, she knew she wanted it, but always the professional, would never allow herself to fully consider it, until it just… happened. That's when her smile faded. Surely she had read too much into it. He hadn't kissed her again—not when she smiled and told him "Goodnight Mulder" sweetly when she dropped him off at his car. He'd just nodded, said a quick "goodnight" with what looked like a wistful smile, got in, and drove away. She supposed now, that what happened was a one-time thing—an appropriate, friendly gesture, one permitted by tradition.

Groaning, she sat up in bed and committed herself to enjoying her day off, and not thinking about how she was spending yet another weekend alone. She swung her tired legs to the floor and plodded to the bathroom to draw up a hot bubble bath, grabbing her cell phone from the dresser along the way. At the very least, she would relax.

FOX MULDER RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1

11:21 AM

Pick up, Scully, he thought with impatience as he listened to the fourth ring. Just when he was about to give up, he heard a click, a little splash of water, and a mumbled "Hey Mulder."

"Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?" He hoped he hadn't—he needed her expert advice, and he sure wouldn't mind hearing her voice.

"No, not really. I was just hoping this bubble bath would help ease some of my sore muscles. How about you? Are you feeling okay?"

"Scully, I feel like I got hit by a bus full of shambling corpses. I can barely move. Speaking of which… I'm having trouble dealing with this gash on my arm. I know it's New Year's day and all, but I was hoping you wouldn't mind coming by to… doctor me up in a little while." He said this last bit with a waggle of his eyebrows and a playfulness of tone that he knew wouldn't be lost on her, even if he wouldn't let his own thoughts actually wander to that place right now. She was so used to them by now that she would all but ignore them.

"Mulder—I…" She paused. Crap, maybe she had plans. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"I'm sorry Scully, I should have asked if you had plans. I didn't mean to presume that you didn't. Look, if you've got something going on, I can manage on my own. You may just have your work cut out for you on Monday."

"Oh! No Mulder—it's not that at all. I was just thinking..." Huh, she was thinking. Wait, did he actually manage to trip up the ever cool and collected Agent Scully with that doctoring comment? Before he could ponder that line of thought too long, she continued. "Sure, I can stop by this afternoon and check your dressings. How's the pain?"

He groaned as he took his arm out of the sling he'd been given at the hospital. Moving his sore arm in its socket hurt more than the gash. "Actually, not too bad with these Lortab they gave me."

"Go easy on those, Mulder. Only take them if you really need them." Of course she would say that. But he actually hated those pills—they always managed to make him feel dizzy and nauseous, and he'd honestly rather experience the pain. "So, I guess I can be at your place in about an hour, if that's ok with you."

"Sure Scully, sounds great. Oh, hey. Thanks. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me. It's what I do. See you soon."

He sighed as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table. He really wished he had been able to overcome his nerves last night and invite her over, but he was too afraid of what a rejection would have done to him. He knew the only way he'd be able to actually make the move was if he could excuse himself out of it by way of friendship or tradition. But truthfully, he'd wanted to take her in his arms—correction, arm—right in that hospital lobby and kiss her as if it were the last night of their lives. In the end, though, he'd restrained himself. He wanted to make it known that he was open to the possibility, but he wanted to be sure she really wanted it. That way there was an easy, not too awkward way out if she didn't feel the same. He knew it was one of the better decisions he'd made, but there was still a niggling of doubt that said she had misread his intentions.

FOX MULDER RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1, 2000

12:32 PM

She stood at the door of Apartment #42 in a comfy pair of jeans, a fitted light green sweater, and a tailored black jacket with her basket of medical supplies—gauze, absorbent padding, medical tape, antiseptic wipes, various kind of bandages, antibiotic ointment, latex gloves, tweezers, and a small pair of scissors. Ever prepared, she kept a spare kit in her car for just such a need. Conspicuously poking up out of the basket was a small package wrapped in gold foil paper, adorned with a glittering red bow. Taking a quick deep breath, she reached up and knocked. She was quickly greeted with a smile, and ushered into his quirky apartment.

"Aww, you shouldn't have, Scully!" He eyed the gift, grinning from ear to ear.

"What makes you think this is for you?" she countered. She couldn't see it herself, but her eyes sparkled with mischief, giving away her lie.

"And what makes you think this," he paused to pull out a larger flat box, covered in a silly reindeer print, "is for you?"

"Because it says, 'To Scully' on it." She grinned smugly, and set her basket of supplies down on the kitchen table.

"Touché." He handed her the larger box, and looked expectantly at the small, CD-sized package. Relenting, she handed it to him, and began to tear into her own gift.

Unwrapping the layer of decorative paper with care, as she did most things, she arrived at an unmarked white box, taped at two ends. She carefully began to tear the tape off when Mulder excitedly yipped.

"Scully! This is great! I've always meant to listen to this CD, but I never got around to buying it. The man can sing." Scully smiled shyly, shrugging. For some reason, they could talk about the great mysteries of life, the universe, and everything, but had never spent time talking about music. Her brother, Charlie had mailed her the same Jeff Buckley CD for her for Christmas a couple of years ago—one of the years he couldn't make it to the family gathering. She liked it so much she decided to buy another copy for Mulder, but wasn't even sure what kind of music he liked. "Charlie got it for me a few years back, and since I liked it so much I thought you might enjoy it, too."

"Thanks, Scully." With that he tore into the clear plastic, opened the jewel case, and pulled out the inner booklet, flipping through the pages quickly before returning his attention to her.

She pulled at the last remaining piece of tape, opened the box, and unfolded the tissue paper to find a beautiful mottled peach colored crocheted sweater. She fingered the open shell pattern, open-mouthed, before pulling the sweater from the box and holding it up to eye level. "Mulder, this is beautiful! I love it. Thank you."

"It's hand knitted. I picked it up in one of the little artsy shops downtown last week. I saw it and thought of you."

"Thank you. I'll make sure and wear it sometime soon." He was smiling awkwardly and only barely meeting her eyes with his own. Fox William Mulder was being shy around her—mark this day on the calendar. She only briefly feared that he was worried he had offended her in some way last night, or that he felt he had made a mistake, before she cleared her throat and resigned herself to change the subject entirely.

"Ok, let's get down to business. Have you changed your bandages yet?"

He looked at her sheepishly and shook his head 'no'. "I was, ah…. waiting for you. I should be a pro at this by now, but I'm always afraid that I'll pull it off the wrong way and take my skin with it." His face contorted with disgust, and he shook his head to shake off the thought.

"Ok, good. You probably only need to change it once a day. Let me get this off, then I can clean it off for you, or you can jump in the shower." She stepped into the kitchen to wash her hands, then came around to his side and began to tug gently at the bandage, as he winced at the pull of the tape on his arm hair.

He gave out an exasperated groan. "Just rip it off in one go! This is torture." He was looking anywhere but his arm. Years in the FBI, and he still shuddered at the sight of his own blood.

"Not a chance. Unless you want me to rip your skin off with it." She caught his eyes with a stern look. He gave a slight pout, but nodded and looked away again.

Once the bandage was off, she went back to the kitchen to wash up, then popped on a pair of gloves. Then she was able to inspect the wound, which was surprisingly clean and healing up rapidly. Even her prodding barely produced a flinch out of him.

"Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say this gash is days old. You might even be able to get those stitches out in a couple of days. Why don't you hop in the shower? I'll re-bandage it when you get out. Just lightly wash the affected area with soap and water. Don't scrub."

"Ok, doc." He stood up slowly, no doubt sore from his encounter the previous day, and sauntered towards the bedroom, attempting to shed his T-shirt along the way, getting hit halfway off before realizing that he would have to be more careful not to aggravate his wound. She rushed to his side to help peel the shirt over his injured arm, trying not to eye his shirtless form too closely. With that, she shoved him gently towards the shower, the contact with his bare skin sending a shiver through her fingers.

A cold shower was what he needed. He needed to keep his mind off his partner until she sorted out or gave him some indication of what she wanted. His usually keen insights were failing him today. He couldn't tell if she was acting awkward because she was uncomfortable with what he had done, or if she was just nervous and jittery because she enjoyed it and was expecting more. He had to figure out a way to let her know that she needed to make the next move, but he didn't know how.

Opting for a hot shower instead, he hoped it would soothe his soreness. He stood under the shower spray for some time before soaping, both to contemplate his next move, and to let the liquid heat penetrate his tired muscles. When he finally chanced a look at his wound, the sight barely registered instead of making him gag. She was right. It looked as if new skin was already growing, and it actually didn't look half bad. He shrugged before rubbing a bit of soap on it and rinsing it as per doctor's orders, then turning off the tap.

He had decided on a course of action, and planned to follow it.

Scully waited patiently at the kitchen table as the shower ran, preparing a few items that would be needed to treat the injury. Still looking to fill time, she picked up the CD booklet that he had left on the table to flip through. She hadn't looked at it since she'd first received the CD, but as soon as she glanced through the lyrics, the songs played through her mind as if they were playing through the air.

Soon, Mulder appeared in his bedroom doorway, sporting a pair of jeans and no shirt. She looked away awkwardly, hoping he wouldn't notice her distraction. She instead reached for the gauze before meeting his eyes and directing him to sit.

She swiftly bandaged him up, using only a small piece of gauze and a few pieces of tape to hold it in place. She noticed that he even kept from wincing while she applied the ointment—clearly he was feeling better. "Can you move your shoulder okay?"

He tested the movement of his shoulder by rolling it in its socket, and in its final movement, landing his arm around Scully. He quickly brushed his lips against her cheek and whispering a quick "yep, thanks" into her ear before removing his arm from her shoulders. In that instant Scully froze, unable to react. He had kissed her forehead or check plenty of times—why did this feel so different? Or was it her reaction that was different? Why was she having so much trouble reading him today? Surely her feelings were clouding her judgment, and she hope she wasn't royally fucking this friendship up by acting strangely.

Shit. She had frozen up. This delusion really needed to stop. By now he was sure that he had made a mistake in thinking she would be open to this change in their relationship. But that was okay. It wasn't too late to save their friendship. He could live with that, as long as he got to keep her in his life. It wasn't too late to pretend that this is what friends do for each other.

He cleared his throat. "Hey Scully, thanks for coming over and taking care of this for me. I really appreciate it. Why don't you go home and enjoy your day off?" He tried to mask the pain in his words with a smile of appreciation. A proper, friendly smile, that friends give to one another after they help each other out of a jam. Although, this time, she had done all the helping.

"Yeah, I uh…" She looked away for a moment before stammering. "I… need to do some laundry, and some cleaning. Try not to run in to any more zombies, okay?" She gave a tight-lipped smile, looking as if it were a real chore to keep the mood light.

"Yeah, I'll try." He smiled, probably somewhat sadly, he supposed, and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. Maybe in a few days this uncomfortable situation will have passed, and they would go back to the way things were. He hoped they could do that.

She packed up her supplies and he ushered her to the door, where he told her goodbye, and she left him standing there alone. Again.

As soon as the door closed, Scully leaned back silently against the door, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, steeling herself before she lost her composure. On the other side, Mulder put his fists up against the door, wincing both at the soreness in his body, and the pain in his heart.

A/N: Will update with Part 2 very soon.