EX ANIMO (FROM THE HEART)
The X-Files
I feel time like a heartbeat, the seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning. The luminous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage...
1. Like This
It's funny, the things that you remember and the things you don't.
Scully remembered car rides.
He'd used to drag her all over the country in rental cars; rental cars that smelled either way too clean or like wet dog. Usually, he was driving, and most of the time, this wasn't even annoying her.
It wasn't because she couldn't reach the pedals. He knew damn well that she could.
One day, he'd stopped driving.
She was glad at first; glad that the endless forks in the road of her life didn't lead to creepytown and scaryville anymore.
Then she noticed that they didn't lead anywhere.
Didn't lead anywhere for a long time.
She'd missed it.
Her face pressed to the side window, eyes closed, Scully pondered car rides; pondered her hopes and dreams in the pocket universe of his car.
A sigh left her lips. Her head hurt.
The engine noise and Mulder's breathing were the only sounds in the otherwise silent car. She could feel his eyes on her every once in a while, could feel every turn of the road, every stop of the vehicle.
He was taking her home from the hospital. But, home... where was that exactly?
Scully thought about her house. It was still as clean as it had been the day she'd moved in. It never got messy. There was hardly ever one mug in the sink and never more than one. Sometimes, when she couldn't stand it anymore, she left a shirt on the floor just because.
She shifted in her seat, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. His gaze on her was almost palpable, but he didn't say a thing.
When the car finally stopped, Scully opened her eyes, blinking once, twice. Turning her head, furrowing her brow.
"Mulder?"
"Yes?"
The unremarkable house was glowing in the afternoon light, the porch looking as inviting as always.
"You were supposed to take me home."
"I know," he simply said while unfastening his seat belt.
This wasn't her home anymore... was it?
"But..."
"I'm not letting you alone, Scully."
And he hadn't.
He fixed soup for her. He even helped to wash her hair.
He didn't say a thing, but she noticed how much it cost him to see dried blood plastered to her skin once more.
Later, much later that night, Scully found herself in sheets that smelled like Mulder; that used to smell like her as well. The bedclothes looked deeply familiar, and Scully noticed that she'd bought them herself a long time ago.
She could hear him rummaging around in the living room, making himself a bed on the couch.
The floor was littered with socks and books, the shelves were in desperate need of a dusting.
It was messy and comforting and wonderful.
Dana Scully slept eight hours straight and awoke to the smell of coffee.
xxx
He kept her for three days, feeding her, talking to her, taking care of her. Being the sole object of Fox Mulder's focus was exhilarating, had always been, and Scully could feel his attention like sunshine on her skin.
The pull was back.
Scully found herself gravitating towards the little house, and more than often, they ended up having dinner and watching a movie at his place. She noticed that the dust bunnies were gone. The laundry piles had migrated to the utility room.
Her favorite beer moved back into the fridge, and so did vegetables.
Like back in the days, she fell asleep on the couch next to him, their feet resting on the table.
"Our home."
She didn't even notice the Freudian slip, but Mulder did.
And something inside of him cracked wide open.
Just like this.
To be continued...