Disclaimer: 1013 owns it all, I own none of it. Except the phrase 'fizzy symphony'.
The only sound in the steamy bathroom was of the bubbles in the bath bursting at breakneck speed, a fizzy symphony that transported Dana Scully far away from her lonely apartment, her dangerous job, and her unpredictable partner.
She lay there, transfixed by the way the flickering candles picked up the color of the glass of red wine on the tub's edge and threw it around all corners of the room. The shadows and patterns ignited her imagination. The warm water tempted her towards sleep.
The sound of her front door creaking open drove her out of the tub and had her diving for her gun. And a towel.
She wrapped the towel around herself, tucking the corner in as tight as she could. Why she always managed to forget her bathrobe was beyond her. Maybe some subconscious desire to be uninhibited enough to walk around with nothing on. But now was not the time for self-analyzing. There was someone in her apartment. Someone who didn't belong there.
She eased the door open, the advantage of the hallway on her side. Creeping out the door, gun drawn, she saw a shadow move across the living room. She hesitated, drawing a breath, holding it. Peering into the darkness, she spotted the shape, by the lamp on her end table. She brought her 9mm up and assumed a modified Weaver.
"This is your warning," she shouted, firing off one round. A thud sounded out above the report of the shot ringing in her ears. The sound of a body hitting the ground. Hard. Final.
She waited a few heartstopping minutes. Hearing nothing, she flipped the switch that flooded the living room with light.
Mulder lay next to her couch, blood pooling out from a single, fatal chest wound.
She had shot the intruder. Served him right. She had told him the key was for emergencies only.
She crossed the room to the linen closet, bringing out an old bedsheet. Carefully, she spread it out over his cooling body before turning and going back down the hall.
Her bath was getting cold.
