Mulder stared into the half-drank glass of whisky, letting the drink dull his mind and fuzz out the sounds of the other patrons. The typical Friday night crowd had begun to spill in, filling booths and barstool alike with people ready for a good time. The FBI agent was here for the opposite reason.
Skinner had been on his case about the Folkstone voodoo case all day, wondering just how a Colonel in the United States army was killed by a dead man on his watch. He eyed his glass curiously before downing another mouthful of the stuff. The problem with working on the X files was that there never was an easy to swallow explanation. Or a believable one.
At least, he thought, he could drink himself to sleep and not think about it for a few hours.
The sound of his phone ringing crushed those hopes. He hung his head, letting it ring more than once before grudgingly taking it out from his coat pocket. "Mulder," he answered with a hint of annoyance.
"Mulder, it's me."
Mulder blinked, rubbed the side of his head and sat up straighter. "Yeah?"
"I went to your apartment, but they have it blocked off. They said something about the exterminator?"
"Uh, yeah, someone on the third floor was breeding an army of mice. Apparently they broke free."
"Where are you now?" He could hear her flipping through papers in the background. "I have the results of Colonel Wharton's autopsy."
"I'm at Ripley's."
"I can be there in fifteen minutes."
He heard the line click dead. Mulder put the phone down and slumped forward. With Scully coming soon, he would not – or should not – order another drink. He folded his coat and laid it over the open stool next to him.
Perfectly punctual, Scully arrived in fourteen and a half minutes still dressed in her work clothes with a manila folder tucked under her arm. She looked around the bar in the entry way before spotting him sending her a small wave.
Scully navigated the constant traffic of waiters and waitresses buzzing from table to table over to him. She placed the folder in front of her partner, handing him his coat as she took her seat. "They're opening up a new investigation."
Mulder blinked a few times, trying to make sense of Scully's report through his hazy mind. "On what?" he asked, scanning down each page.
"There was no conclusive evidence on the body that it was indeed Bauvais who killed Wharton. In fact it seems he died from suffocation."
"I know what I saw Scully."
"I'm not saying you don't." She was leaning towards him, fully absorbed in the topic. "To your credit, they are looking for someone looking similar to Bauvais."
"Like that'll help."
"The interesting thing," Scully continued on, ignoring his remark. She flipped through the file and pointed to a paragraph of data. "You had said that some powder may have been the cause of death." Mulder scooted forward. "The coroner states here that he found a substance in his bloodstream."
"What was it?" Mulder asked. The bartender motioned if either of them wanted a drink and he waved him away.
"That I don't know. It doesn't say in the report," she tapped the paragraph again, "but I can call him first thing Monday."
Mulder nodded slowly. Depending on what the coroner found, it could lend some credence to his account of what happened. He pondered the implications. The cogs in his brain moved as if stuck with molasses. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temple.
Scully looked up from the report. "Mulder?"
"Hmm?" He blinked opened his eyes again. Scully looked concerned. Mulder braced himself for an 'are you sure that was what you saw?' or something along those lines. He seriously wondered sometimes what her medical opinion was on his 'apparent obsession' with the paranormal as a nonbeliever.
Instead, she asked, "where are you staying tonight?"
"Uhm," Mulder shrugged after a moment of deliberation, "I don't know."
She gave him her look of vacant exhaustion. Mulder looked away and fiddled with his glass.
Scully sighed, "alright." She filed the report back into the folder and stood up – eye level dropping slightly with her feet now on the floor. Placing her hand on her partners arm, reluctantly, "come on."
Mulder followed her out. Neither said anything as Scully hailed a cab. Excited late teens and twenty somethings ran down the street in search of their current Friday night adventure. Loud venting from disgruntled nine-to-five workers echoed as they moved to the next bar on their list. The city was alive with motion and noise, but between the two partners laid a blanket of silence.
He was glad Scully didn't bother with idle chit chat as they rode to her apartment. Mulder was frustrated. Nothing new, he thought. He would have liked to feel relieved about the autopsy's findings, but he knew it wasn't going to lead to anything. This part of his job was the worst, when he had to turn in the reins. The Bureau could twist and abuse his work under policy, practice and impersonal diction.
It was the alcohol talking, he knew, but it was days like these he wondered if he could ever make even an inch towards the truth. It was too much for one man. But that was just the long-brewed background of his mind.
Mulder was frustrated because he had forgotten to think ahead about his apartment situation and would be putting Scully out. He was grateful, but that only made it worse.
The agent stared out the window of the cab, watching as they pulled up to Scully's Georgetown apartment. He did not deserve her kindness, the depressant advised him, and she probably felt obligated.
Scully, however did not seem put out at all. A little exasperated in her partners lack of planning sure, but he would do the same and she knew sleep on her couch was about the same Mulder would get at his own place. She moved about her apartment finding a few extra sheets and a pillow for him as he stood in the entryway, unsure what to do. He often felt out of place at her apartment. Everything was orderly, in it's place. Mulder was afraid he would knock over or spill something, make some kind of mess and ruin the calm.
He failed to notice the stacks of papers around her computer, the books and folders about every surface, the occasional half empty glass or the pile of laundry beginning to spill out from her room.
After she found the things she was looking for, Scully stood there, joining Mulder in not knowing what to do. It was too early to go to sleep on a Friday night. While they considered each other friends, it wasn't as if they ever did anything outside of work other than more work. It felt at the time a strange prospect to suggest a movie, and particularly so comparing her small VHS collection to his.
"Well," Scully said, looking up at him from where her eyes had zoned out somewhere between the lamp and the armrest, "goodnight Mulder." She swung her arms slightly as she moved, grabbing a book off the end table on her way towards her room.
"Night Scully."
Not as if he could sleep. He hadn't had enough to drink for that and, now that he was lying down with a place to sleep, Mulder remembered that he had not eaten any supper. His stomach fought with itself anticipating something to devour and digest. He tried to fix his mind to other things, distract himself as he stared up at the ceiling, but it tended to wander to worse things.
More often than not his thoughts would drift back to his sister and when they did not, he felt guilty for it even after all these years. Normally Mulder could sleep during weekdays, but on the weekend when it would be just him it was hard to leave himself alone.
And so, wide awake, Mulder did not fail to hear the shout from Scully's room. He was up, instinctively rushing over to the sound hesitating only to place a short knock on the door before bursting into the room. Scully was sitting up in bed, sweat on her face and down her back, wearing a surprised look.
They stared at each other, wide eyed, for a moment.
Scully let out a deep breath. She rubbed her temple, eyes down, her voice wavering a little as she said "it was just a nightmare. I'm…I'm fine."
Mulder glanced around the room quick anyway, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He started out, doing a double take. Something was off. He noticed the pile of laundry near his feet. The books that were normally so neatly organized on her shelf were scattered around the floor near her bed. A box of Benadryl sat on her nightstand, but Scully hadn't been sick.
He frowned as he returned to the living room. Scully stepped out, throwing on her robe as she padded over to the bathroom. She glanced back at him and he caught the look on her face in the light. Without the day's make-up on, he could see the dark rims under her eyes.
She wasn't sleeping.
Mulder was going to sit down when he noticed the open files by her computer. He glanced into the hallway, checking that she was not still out there. The coast was clear. He moved over, placing a hand on the files. He recognized them immediately. The Donnie Pfaster case.
A letter sat on the corner. A notice of court date. Mulder had received the same letter earlier that week.
It made sense. It hadn't been that long ago and he had seen how scared he had been, how dire it was. Mulder had not asked her about it, and she hadn't told him much. He only skimmed her police report, it felt like an invasion of privacy. No, he had been scared. Like with her abduction earlier that year, there was a part of him that didn't want to know. It was that part of him that blamed himself for what happened to her.
Mulder was no stranger to nightmares. What happened to his sister, his parents splitting, some cases he felt he fell short on, they all played behind his eyes at least once or twice a week. Scully's abduction had joined in as an occasional new horror. A strong sense of guilt stayed with him after he woke. These things were his fault, or something he could have prevented, he thought, and there was nothing he could do to make things right with them and with himself.
He heard her coming out of the bathroom and quickly moved away from the desk. His eyes followed her as she moved to the kitchen. She opened a cabinet and took out a glass. Scully hesitated for a moment before putting the glass back and grabbing two beers from the fridge. She didn't speak as she walked passed him and sat on the couch, placing the drinks out in front of her. She leaned forward, eyes locked on nothing.
Mulder sat down next to her and placed a hand on her back. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.
Her mouth twitched, but she said nothing.
The silence felt thick. Scully wanted to talk, he could tell, and she also didn't. He tried to think of something funny to say to ease her tension, but his mind focused on the knowledge of who was in her nightmares. Mulder rubbed her back absently, losing himself in thought.
"What if," she finally spoke in a low voice. "I don't know…what happened when," she hesitated, blinking, "when I went missing. And that scares me."
In took him a moment to realize she was talking about something else. "Your abduction?"
"It's Pfaster. I thought not knowing would be the worst." She popped the top off one of the beers and held it in her hands. "but its much worse knowing definitively what could have happened." Scully shook her head and took a sip. "I shouldn't let it get to me."
"You've been through a lot this year," Mulder said taking the other drink. "I would worry more if it wasn't." He nudged her shoulder with his. Scully half smiled in spite of herself. "Don't be afraid to tell me if something's bugging you Scully, I will always listen."
There was a wetness in her eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she drank. "That's a first," she said with a hoarse laugh.
Mulder feigned being appalled, "when do I not listen?"
"How about every time I need to remind you of proper procedure?"
Mulder shrugged in response.
Scully shook her head.
A silence fell between them. It would be easier, perhaps on both of them, if they had talked. Swapping stories of what haunted them in the night, letting it out in the confidence of someone they could trust with their lives.
They didn't. Scully said nothing more on the subject. Mulder would not press her, nor would he admit to his own fears. Instead they sat in silence, finishing their drinks.
Scully had stopped shaking and had relaxed with her back against the couch by the time she was done. She placed a hand on his knee and lightly squeezed before getting up.
Thank you.
"Night Mulder," she said again before returning to her room.
"Goodnight," Mulder replied.
He felt good as he laid down, fitting himself into the crook between the back and seat cushions. He laid there for a few moments, eyes half open before he drifted into a peaceful sleep.
A/N: I first posted this on my Tumblr blog this summer, it was the first txf thing I wrote