Scully awoke with a slight jerk of her head, which she immediately regretted. A sharp twinge of pain shot down the right side of her neck into the hollow where her collarbone joined her shoulder. She reached for the offending muscle as she lifted her head off the couch, where she had fallen asleep sitting up. A frown creased the space between her eyebrows. She was on Mulder's couch, in his darkened apartment, where the only light glowed from the fishtank in the corner. What the hell…
Ah yes. She remembered now. The long, exhausting day. The philosophical conversation over Irish whiskey sipped out of ceramic coffee mugs. The warmth of the room, the comfortable spot on the couch. She must have drifted off while he was talking! She couldn't prevent a smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. Served him right. That's what you get for talking determinism so late in the evening.
She stretched, allowing the warm (but slightly scratchy) blanket that covered her to fall down to her lap. A blanket? She didn't have a blanket when they sat down here. She quickly realized that he must've covered her up. She fell asleep in the middle of his sentence, and he responded by tucking her in. She dropped her chin to her chest and failed to contain her grin. Heaven knew she gave him very few opportunities to take care of her.
She felt a little overheated. Between the blanket and her suit jacket, it was too warm in Mulder's tiny apartment. She slipped her arms out of the jacket and folded it neatly in half before laying it on the coffee table in front of her.
She swept her hair back from her face and stifled a yawn. In spite of his gallant efforts at keeping her comfortable, she just couldn't sleep for very long in a sitting position. Cat naps on planes and in cars (and on the occasional couch), but a few hours is the most she could hope for. She looked around.
Mulder must have gone to bed. She imagined that he didn't want to disturb her, so he covered her with the blanket and crept off to bed in the next room. At least he finally got rid of that stupid waterbed. Scully couldn't suppress the image of him, tangled in his sheets, one arm flung over his head. He never seemed like the type for pajamas. She imagined him sleeping shirtless, the long curve of his spine, the fine hair across his belly...
She sighed. Settle down, she told herself. He's probably wearing that ratty old college sweatshirt with the hole in the armpit.
She pushed her blanket onto the arm of the black leather couch, smoothing it into a neat shape without making it look like she actually folded it. She looked at the fish, aloof in their bubbling tank. She thought for a moment about getting a glass of water, but quickly remembered how unlikely it was that there would be any clean glasses (or mugs, or even bowls) to drink out of. Mulder is a lot of things, but he's no housekeeper. She glanced at the mugs on the coffee table in front of her, but suspected they would still taste like whiskey. She considered washing them, but the fact is that she wasn't really thirsty anyway, she was just looking for something to do.
She could lie down on the couch and try to go back to sleep. She sighed. It occurred to her that this couch was where Mulder would normally sleep. For some reason, she felt a tiny ripple of satisfaction at the fact that she was sleeping in his spot. It even smelled like him. She rubbed her hands down her thighs and then stood up to stretch her back.
At the same moment, she heard a low, guttural groan from the neighbouring room that made her freeze in alarm. Concerned, she stepped into the doorway beside the couch and peered into his bedroom before she knew what she was doing.
She heard him breathing, even before her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Mulder's breathing was distressed, heavy. Something was wrong. She stepped into the room and peered toward the bed. The first thing she could make out clearly were his hands, gripping the white sheets in fists. He was on his back, his face turned away from the doorway. His chest rose and fell rapidly with his laboured breathing. One knee flexed upward, then lowered. He groaned again. Scully approached his bedside. Was he sick? Feverish? Having a nightmare? She was genuinely concerned.
Just as she reached his bedside, Scully realized that the sounds Mulder was making were not entirely distressed. His lanky form shifted under the rumpled sheets and he drew his breath sharply, then hummed faintly on his exhalation, a slight smile spreading across his sleeping features. Scully froze.
"Mmmmmmhmmmm…", he breathed.
Oh no.
Mulder wasn't in danger, he was… he was dreaming. Scully had to stop herself from laughing out loud with relief. She let out the breath she'd been holding. After so many close calls, she realized that she had become a little too quick to believe that her partner was in danger. She felt suddenly embarrassed. Silly for getting worried over nothing. Just a dream. He was okay.
In fact, she began to realize that he was more than just okay. He seemed to be really enjoying himself. His low hum turned into a soft sigh, as his back arched almost imperceptibly. Scully quickly looked away, but she couldn't prevent the familiar rush of desire deep inside her body. Her heart, already kick-started by the fear that had hurried her to this spot, thrummed strongly in response to seeing him like this. Aroused. She knew she should leave, and spare them both the embarrassment that would inevitably occur if he was to wake up and find her standing over him. But she didn't leave. She wrapped her hands around her middle, and after a moment, she let herself look at him.
His chest was almost smooth, with just a smattering of fine dark brown hair at the centre. She wanted to touch him, to see if that hair was a soft as it looked. He lifted his chin slightly, and she looked at the curve of his strong jaw, especially at the place where his jawline met his neck, just below the tempting curve of his earlobe. She knew exactly what that part of his neck would smell like, and she was unable to stop herself from biting softly on her bottom lip as she imagined how his light stubble would feel on her lips, against her fingertips.
Was he dreaming about her? When he gripped those sheets to his body, was he imagining her in his arms? Something inside her flipped over at the thought. Sometimes, she thought they shared a moment. In those brief seconds, she wondered if ever thought about her like that, the way she sometimes thought of him. He was her partner, in the truest sense of that word. In every way but physically. She loved to see him like this, but she was painfully aware of how inappropriate it was to be in his bedroom, watching him dream. Especially if he was dreaming about her, that just made it worse. She had to leave. Reluctantly, she turned away.
As she moved to sneak back out of the room, the floor squeaked noisily underfoot. She froze to the spot and winced. Why couldn't she have stepped on that particular spot on her way INTO the room? She waited, but heard no sign that she'd woken him. She waited several more seconds, then took another cautious step.
"Where exactly are you sneaking off to, Agent Scully?", Mulder asked, his sleep-foggy voice carrying an unmistakable note of amusement.
She spun around. Her mouth opened, then closed. She raised her eyebrows.
"Well, I was…", she abandoned that, and tried to start again. "It seemed like… but you were… "
She gave up. Shrugged. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."
He smirked a little, and said simply, "You fell asleep on the couch while we were talking, and I didn't want to wake you".
Mulder pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He was indeed shirtless. Not a college sweatshirt in sight. She knew she was blushing, and she was counting on the darkness of the room to hide it.
"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry about that." Scully looked at the floor for a moment. Then at the clock. Then the lamp. "I guess I was just exhausted. It was a hell of a day."
"Did… something wake you up?"
She answered quickly, "No, no. I just… I guess I just woke up. Kink in my neck." She smiled wryly as she rubbed her neck and shoulder again.
"So you came in here", Mulder said, "To check on me."
"Yes." She swallowed, "Well, I thought I heard... something." Another pause. "But I didn't, and you're fine."
She smiled a bit sheepishly, and he did too. It was awkward as hell.
"Did you want the bed?", he said, gesturing to the rumpled white cotton expanse. He was still guessing why she was in his room, "I can take the couch, it's no problem."
"Oh, no! No, that's not… I mean, no. It's your bed.", she stammered. "I think I'll probably just get a cab home."
"Scully", he squinted at the digital clock on the bedside table, "It's nearly 3 o'clock in the morning. You are never going to get a cab to Annapolis at this hour." He stood up, pushing the sheets back onto the bed. He really didn't want her to leave.
Mulder seemed to be completely unaware that he was standing in front of her in nothing but his underwear. It was dark in the room, but not that dark. Light trickled in from the window, past the disarranged blinds. Scully looked back at the floor, and then, refusing to be completely cowed by him, she looked directly at his left shoulder. She refused to be embarrassed by something as trivial as his clothing (or lack thereof), but she couldn't quite bring herself to look him in the eye. She was a doctor. An FBI agent. Underwear was not going to be enough to rattle her composure.
Her peripheral vision was excellent, however, and she steadfastly refused to shift her gaze to his black boxer briefs. She looked at his face, just for a moment, and then back at his shoulder. It really was quite warm in his apartment.
"Right, right…", she said, "Well, maybe I'll just sit up and read for a bit." Trying to stay casual.
Mulder stepped closer. By now, she was sure he had guessed what she'd heard. He knew what he was dreaming about. He's a healthy guy, she thought. Nothing strange about it.
His voice seemed just a little lower than usual. "Sure. But let me take the couch. You relax in here." He was insisting. This was so awkward.
Scully glanced between his shoulder, the floor between them, and his face. She huffed out a breath, and relented. "You're not gonna let me out of this, are you, Mulder?"
He cracked a smile. "Nope."
She laughed, and he stepped closer again. She looked at his face, and the familiar twist in her chest happened, like that feeling when you go flying over a bump in the road a little too fast. He was always giving her that feeling. Right behind the spot where her ribs met, somewhere above her stomach but below her heart. She felt her pulse quicken another notch. He was smiling right into her eyes.
"Did you hear me dreaming?", he asked quietly, "Is that what you heard?"
She nodded once, slowly. He stepped forward again. She didn't back away.
He continued, "Did I say something? I've been told that I talk in my sleep sometimes. My college roommate hated me."
She took a breath to explain, but instead she just shook her head, not wanting to explain what she heard.
He didn't need her to explain, she knew. She was sure that he could see it in her eyes, like he always did. He could look there and see whatever she was thinking, whatever she wasn't saying.
As always, her instincts told her to look away, but she didn't. Maybe, for once, he should see what she was thinking. She let her breath out.
And then he crossed the last of the space between them. Without any pretext, he leaned in and kissed her. A soft, deliberate kiss. It was part question, and part dare. It was the thing they never talk about.
Scully lifted her hands to his lightly stubbled face. She looked into his eyes with an expression of very mild surprise, one eyebrow arched, and the corners of her mouth curled slightly as she tried not to smile. Really, she thought. Just like that.
So she kissed him back.
She brought his face slowly down to hers, and then suddenly wasn't sure where to begin. Her heart was pounding in her chest, in a combination of arousal and nervousness. All the times that she'd thought about this happening, and this was it.
Their breath mingled in the scarcity of space between their lips. Mulder's hands came up to her arms, lightly touching, as if he was afraid she would disappear. She tilted her chin up and slightly to the left, and brushed her lips across his.
He waited, letting her find her way. He wanted to let her do this. He breathed.
She kissed him again, just as lightly. Her full lips teased his, brushing, then lightly kissing. A bit bolder, a bit more pressure. This was happening.
His hands smoothed across her upper arms, across her shoulder blades, pulling her toward him. Her soft green shirt crumpling against his bare belly as his arms went around her. One of his hands came up to her hair, cradling the back of her head. The kisses deepened.
Scully's fingers were in his hair, her nails raking lightly across the hairline at the nape of his neck. Her thumb caressed his cheekbone. He tasted very faintly of whiskey, and his clean, spicy scent filled her lungs. His hand at the small of her back drew her body against his, lifting her torso against his own. She could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, she could feel his own heart thudding in time with her own.
She dropped her chin slightly, opening space between them. Breathing space. Thinking space. Enough distance to look into his eyes.
As always, they could communicate almost more clearly this way. Words are sometimes much too cumbersome for what they need to say. She wanted him to see that she wasn't sure they should be doing this. That sometimes the answer you think is right, is actually leading you in the wrong direction. She was worried that they were crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed, one that they wouldn't be able to find their way back from. Her gaze travelled to his lips, and she felt the strength of her desire for him blossoming in her chest. She let him see it. She looked him right in the eye and let him see it.
The two stayed lost in that gaze for several minutes. He stroked her hair. His eyes told her that nothing mattered except this. This was the truth they'd been seeking all this time. This was exactly what they should be doing, what they probably should have been doing for some time now. He brought his warm hand to hers, beside his face. He wrapped his fingers around the palm of her hand and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them while he watched her absorb the meaning behind his eyes. This. This is the right choice.
Scully decided to take the bed after all. For each step she took forward, Mulder went with her, never looking away from her eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, raising his eyes to match hers, now slightly taller than he was. He pulled her toward him, between his knees, lifting his mouth to hers once more. She welcomed him as if he was returning home.