Mulder had just finished rinsing the last of their breakfast dishes when he heard the shower turn off. Picking up a kitchen towel to dry with, he went about the task while listening to the soft, albeit muffled, sounds of his partner drying off and dressing in the bathroom. He hoped that she hadn't over exerted herself. She was feeling better, had even eaten actual food just a few minutes earlier, but he knew it would be a while before she completely recovered. Putting the dishes carefully back in the cupboard, he slowly began to realize that he didn't have much in his kitchen to fill them with come lunch time. Or dinner.
Tossing the dish towel over his shoulder, he walked back into the living room and raised the volume on the TV, watching as the weather radar danced across the screen. A large area of dark purple, indicating heavy snow, seemed to be approaching the D.C. area rapidly. Rather than the foot and a half of predicted snow fall, the newest data indicated that up to three feet of snow could accumulate with the approaching storm. Mulder glanced out the window and saw the flurries and flakes as they dropped quickly to the ground. It hadn't actually stopped snowing since it had started the day before. He was going to have to make a trip to the grocery store, and he was going to have to go soon, in order to avoid the heart of the storm.
As he walked back to the kitchen to put the towel back, Scully exited the bathroom, wearing her yoga pants and Navy sweatshirt, her hair still damp and beginning to curl. She looked refreshed and exhausted at the same time.
"How was your shower?" he asked.
"Good," came her reply.
"Tired?" he asked, handing her a glass of water and more Tylenol.
"A bit." She took the medicine he offered and made her way over to the couch, her eyes tuned to the television.
"Well, you rest up for a little while, I'm going down to the market for a few things."
"Mulder?" she questioned, not bothering to hide her alarm. "You can't go out in this, the roads are barely drivable-- they're saying it's going to--"
"I'll be fine, Scully," he interrupted. He didn't want her to work herself up. "It's right down the street. Twenty minutes, tops. Besides, there's nothing to eat here. Unless you want to eat toast for the next three days."
She didn't look convinced, but she relented, lacking the energy to put up a good fight. "Okay, but if you're not back in half an hour I'm calling The Gunmen and giving them permission to hunt you down, carte blanche."
He chuckled as he got his coat and boots on. "Understood. Want anything special?"
She looked at him funny for a split second, then seemed to think about his question for a moment. Mulder dared not try to interpret what that glance could have meant, but he could have sworn--
"Some non-fat vanilla ice cream and more chamomile tea," she requested, cutting his train of thought short.
He nodded in acknowledgment and grabbed his car keys. "I'll be back soon," he told her, walking out the door and locking it behind him.
He blindly jammed his key entered the lock twenty-eight minutes later, carefully juggling the several bags of groceries that hung from his arms. He was certain he was about to lose all circulation in his entire upper body when he felt the key slide into the lock, twisted it, and let himself in to his apartment.
Completely oblivious to the commotion and, once again, sound asleep on his couch, Scully lie wrapped up in his Navajo blanket. It was an endearing sight, and though weight of the groceries was turning his arms blue, he stood for a moment and took it all in.
Not for the first time since their partnership began, he was struck, quite suddenly, with how attached he was to this woman. She had started out with him as a spy, he had been sure. Sent in by the higher-ups to take notes and file reports on his activities; to do their dirty work and shut him down. He had never been more wrong. He had quickly discovered her integrity; her tenacity; her courage. It had been gradual, but his quest had eventually become hers as well. Not because the Bureau had assigned it to her; not because he had thrust it upon her, but because she was just as stubborn as he was, at times more so, and because she too had a desire for Truth. She had risked her career, her relationship with her friends and family, and her life for this quest, at times coming far too close to ending up on the losing side. He had told her once that he owed her everything, and it was true.
Before he collapsed, he walked as quietly as he could into the kitchen and set all of the grocery bags down. Not having much in the way of culinary skill, he had picked up several items that were ready to eat or easy to assemble. He had tried to stick with some bland food items as well, knowing his partner was still recovering from a stomach ailment. Among other things, this included fruit, cereal, instant oatmeal, several frozen dinners, saltine crackers, orange juice, sandwich fixin's, and even some non-fat yogurt for Scully. Her ice cream and tea had been purchased as well. He was glad he had gone when he did, and that he had gotten a good amount of groceries. If the forecast was correct, and the current weather was any indication, things were only going to get worse. Much worse.
After putting all of the groceries away, Mulder walked back into the living room. He paused by the couch and tucked an errant strand of Scully's hair behind her ear, causing her to stir just slightly. He brushed her forehead in doing so, and noticed it was still slightly warm, though nothing like it had been the night before.
"Mmm. Mulder?" she asked sleepily.
"Hey. You won't have to send the search party after all, Scully." Rather than sitting up, she continued to lie on the couch as Mulder crouched down next to her. "You feel okay?"
"I'm fine," she answered. "Just tired."
Hiding a cringe, he nodded. "Go ahead and take a nap."
"I can go back into the bedroom, Mulder."
"No," he replied. "Stay."
And for the second time, she did.