HANDS
MULDER
In their gloves sclicing and dicing, searching any tiny evidence, dancing and swinging over dead bodies, I could stare at her perfect hands all night long.
But what makes my heart melts is her fingers lingering tenderly in my hair, her palms enclosing my whole face, her hand reaching instinctively mine through her hypnosis and palping my entire body in search of injuries.
SCULLLY
His restless hands makes me smile when they show me slides of exsanguinated cows or manly woodcutters, when they dive into goo, and when they have just thrown pencils in the ceiling.
Gently cuddling my cheek when I'm in pain, readjusting a strand of my hair when I fall asleep on his couch, grasping me or pushing my back when I have to move on, I feel his warm hands on me every time I need them.
M&S
Waving FBI badges, aiming guns and flashlights in total sync, picking up our precious cells, and sometimes cuffed tight together, are our hands in action.
Struggling joyfully on a bat under a starry sky, tearing up wraps on a ghostly Christmas night, squeezing each other after a scary hide-and-seek against AIs, are our hands on a deserved rest.
But what we could do forever is just holding hands.