THIS WORK IS IN COLLABORATION WITH ANNIE, admiralty (Ao3), admiralty_xfd (Twitter), admiralty-xdf (Tumblr)
ii. wake up call
If Mulder had gotten there thirty seconds later, Scully would have been beheaded. For once, timing seemed to be on his side, and instead of lying in the morgue, she was in her motel room lying down. The paramedic had said Scully was lucky she didn't have a concussion and that she'd just need to take care of the small cut on her head.
Lucky.
Would they have eaten her? Or was she tainted meat to them?
He let out a low breath as he roughly rubbed his hands over his face. Even though she was safe and in her room a few feet away from him, he still couldn't stop thinking about how close he'd been to losing her tonight. So close to losing her again .
By the time they'd gotten back to the motel it was well past midnight. Sleep usually evaded him, but tonight he knew he didn't have a chance in hell. Every time he so much as closed his eyes he could see her bucking wildly against her restraints while an axe glinted above her head in the firelight, her screams muffled by the gag in her mouth while her fingers scratched desperately at her bindings. Her eyes had been wild and frantic like a caged animal until she met his gaze, but even then he could tell she was shaken. Not that she'd tell him as much.
After he'd freed her hands she retreated back into herself. She was responsive when the officers came to take their statements and when the paramedic checked her out, but when it came to him trying to check in with her, she'd hidden how she was truly feeling behind a myriad of failed comforting grins and empty reassurances of "I'm fine."
As much as he wished that were true, he couldn't imagine anyone walking away from something like that unscathed. Since she wasn't forthcoming, all he could do was trust her and hope she was as fine as she wanted him to believe she was, or at least, that eventually she would be. Aside from the late hour, all the noises coming from the other side of the thin wall sounded like her usual nightly routine, something he'd become accustomed to hearing during their cases together.
A few gentle knocks broke that normalcy and his startled gaze darted to the adjoining door.
"Scully?" he called out, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"Yeah, it's me," she replied from the other side of the wood. Her voice sounded strained to him and he was pulling the door open before he registered that she'd said anything at all.
Mulder's eyes initially met the crown of her head before dropping down a few inches, forgetting how short she was without her heels. Her hair was wet from her shower, her crimson tresses muted and leaving what looked like tear tracks on her silky pajamas as water dripped off the ends. She was playing with her nails and, aside from an initial fleeting glance to his face, she was either staring at his chest or the floor. "Can I come in?" she asked before clearing her throat.
"Of course," he nodded, stepping aside and motioning in towards the lamp-lit room.
He closed the door behind her and watched as she looked around the room with unabashed curiosity. "You weren't sleeping, were you?" she asked.
"N-no," he stammered, using his foot to kick a pair of boxers under the bed before she could see them. "I was just watching TV."
Scully turned her head and watched the Potty Putter infomercial play out on screen. Turning back to him, a small smile played on her lips as she teased, "Riveting stuff."
"It's always slim pickings after three," he chuckled, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck before scratching his chest through his T-shirt. Scully let out a little 'ah' sound before turning back to the man trying to golf on the toilet.
He felt a little awkward in spite of himself. Scully hadn't even said why she'd come to his room, yet it felt oddly momentous. She'd been through so many traumas this past year and she'd never once turned to him. It didn't matter to him if he was her only option at three in the morning in the middle of nowhere, he wanted to make her feel better if he could.
"You can sit anywhere you want," he offered, easing himself onto the bed to sit cross legged.
Scully looked like she was going to choose a chair in the corner of the room, but ultimately decided on crawling onto the bed next to him and reclining with her back against the headboard, her knees drawn up to her chest. Being this close to her, he could smell her lavender shampoo permeating the air around them and the small intimacy almost brought a smile to his face.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous about having a woman in his bed.
"Is it insomnia?" she asked out of the blue, her gaze mindlessly resting on the television set.
"Hm?" he prompted, turning to her.
She didn't turn to meet his gaze as she clarified, "Do you have insomnia? Is that why you never sleep?"
"I sleep," he replied automatically before adding, "-sometimes."
"I can hear you through the walls. I don't think I've ever heard you sleeping," she challenged.
He wondered idly if that meant perhaps she found it hard to sleep sometimes, too. "Do I keep you up? I'm sor-"
"No," she interrupted. "It's comforting."
He smiled lightly at her reply, but she still wasn't looking at him. "I've never been diagnosed, but I probably do. I just... can never turn off my mind enough to sleep," he replied honestly.
He didn't really believe she'd come in here to talk about his sleeping habits, but he was curious if her asking had anything to do with herself. "How come you're not sleeping?" he asked, trying to make sure his tone was light so she didn't take it the wrong way. "Not that I'm complaining about the company," he added as an afterthought.
She offered him a weak smile before returning her gaze to her lap. "I-I don't feel good," she sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead.
"Is it your concussion? Do you think we need to go to the hospital?" he asked, sitting up straighter.
"No," she interjected, placing a hand on his forearm to stop him. He settled back in the bed and she put her hand back in her lap, starting to play with the hem of her pajama shorts. "I'm not injured. It's just been a long day."
"Wanna talk about it?" he offered.
"I'm fine, Mulder," he predicted her saying. He was so used to the answer that he could hear it vividly in his mind as if she'd spoken the words out loud.
But the words didn't come. Instead, she took a deep breath and grabbed a pillow to place on her lap, hugging it to her chest lightly. He felt himself subconsciously mirroring her body posture, showing his willingness to listen - an old Oxford trick manifesting itself.
"I can't shake this feeling," she admitted. "No matter how hard I try, I just feel so bogged down."
"Near death experiences can-" he began, but was interrupted by her shaking her head.
"It's not that. Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds ridiculous," she explained with a huff of mirthless laughter. Then, almost to herself, she added, "I was almost beheaded and it's not even what's bothering me most."
"What is bothering you most?" Mulder prompted softly.
Scully pursed her lips tightly and moved her attention down to the bed spread. "I woke up in a trunk," she began. "I couldn't see anything. I just felt the gag in my mouth and that my wrists were bound."
He felt his stomach churn when he started to connect the dots. He'd been so concerned about what he'd seen in the field tonight that he didn't even think of it in the context of her other traumas. "Did you have a flashback?" he asked.
She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Not really. There was just... a moment, um, when I woke up. I was a little disoriented and confused and I had this overwhelming fear that I was back there," she explained slowly, as if not wanting to admit it to herself, let alone him.
"In Duane Barry's trunk?" he asked, making sure he was on the same page. The fact she was even talking to him about this felt surreal, like this moment was only brought upon him by the precise mix of adrenaline, middle of the night anxiety, and the comfort that anything she said would be left in this random motel room.
"Yeah," she nodded, a few drops of water from her hair falling onto the pillow. "But then I realized, it wasn't. It was just another person abducting me, shoving me in their trunk to transport me to god-knows-where to do who-knows-what."
"Oh, Scully," he murmured.
He felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her - to throw his arm around her and pull her to him. But he didn't want to make her uncomfortable or, even worse, make her retreat back into herself. He knew he didn't want to just stay still and not offer her any kind gesture, so biting back his nerves, he placed a hand on her back so he could rub circles against the fabric of her nightshirt. He was a little taken aback by how damp her shirt was and how much it was clinging to her skin.
She didn't say anything in response and just stared straight ahead, her face reflecting an array of colors as the television played. "You said you couldn't shake 'this feeling'," he stated softly. "Are you scared?"
"No," she mumbled, her lips barely opening. "No, not scared. I feel-" she paused, searching for the right word, "-defeated."
His brows furrowed and he felt himself frown. "Defeated?" he repeated, the word bitter on his tongue. Scully was one of the most resilient people he'd ever met. To hear something like that come out of her mouth made his heart ache.
"I hate not knowing what's happened to me. I mean, I was gone for two months and my admission records did nothing to fill in the blank. Two months and I can't remember a single thing. My muscles weren't atrophied, so I had to have been doing something ," she explained, her admission tumbling from her lips despite her apparent discomfort.
Taking a shaky breath she continued, "When Pfaster took me, I can't remember certain parts of it. I can't remember anything from the time I was run off the road to when I woke up in his closet. And now... I remember being in the Kearns' house, then I was in a trunk." As she explained herself he saw her eyes moving back and forth, as if scanning the files she'd no doubt memorized and trying to create an image to fill in the gaps of her memory.
"It bothers me that I don't know. It makes me uncomfortable that I've been taken so many times and these men had complete control of me and my body, to use me however they wanted," she explained, her voice hitching on the last word. She bit her lip to suppress the burgeoning emotions as she shut her eyes. Her shoulders curved inwards as she rested her chin on the pillow in her arms, as if she was caving in on herself.
The hollow despondency in her words chilled him to the bone and he found himself unable to shake his growing discomfort. "You don't think you were..." he trailed off anxiously, unable to say the word. He'd spent so much time looking over her statements that to think she'd leave out something so traumatic made his stomach churn.
"No," she stated firmly. She looked uncomfortable to even be having this conversation, but she continued regardless. "But they could have done anything they wanted and that's what I hate."
Mulder took his hand away from her back and tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, letting him see her profile better. "I'm sorry," he murmured softly, trying to make her feel better, but not knowing what to say. "I wish I could take your pain away."
A sad smirk graced her lips and she nodded softly. "I know you do," she whispered.
He noticed she started anxiously twisting and rubbing the red skin of her wrists as she opened up to him, and her roughness with herself bothered him. Tentatively, so as not to scare her, he took her hands and rested them on his legs - rubbing the abused skin tenderly with his fingers. He wasn't a doctor, and he was pretty sure this brought himself more comfort than it did her, but she smiled again at the gesture and he was grateful she was letting him.
Unsure of where to look, his eyes landed on her hands in his and he was blown away by how comparatively small they were. He felt like Lennie in Of Mice and Men holding something precious in his big clumsy hands, worried one move would hurt her. He was tracing over the red, bruised skin as delicately as he could, pleased when he could feel her pulse was steady and strong underneath his fingertips. He didn't want to make her nervous.
"Is this a feeling you often have? Or was it mostly sparked by what happened tonight?" he murmured, using his thumb to trace a blue vein on her wrist.
She swallowed thickly, taking her wrists back and putting them in her lap, but not grabbing at them anymore. "I still think about them all the time. That's what I hate more than anything. They all took time away from me, my sense of safety, and I feel like I keep letting them take more because I can't stop thinking about them," she punctuated the sentence with a sharp inhale, but she still hadn't shed a tear. Her body was tense and closed off, despite this being the most she'd ever confided in him, and he was worried she was only confessing because she'd reached her breaking point.
Not too long ago, he'd accidentally said something while trying to comfort her that stepped too out-of-bounds and she sternly told him never to psychoanalyze her again. He hadn't meant to, but it could sometimes be hard to shut off. Now, he felt like he was at an odd impasse. He was afraid if he told her that her reactions were totally normal and she shouldn't feel any shame, that she'd take it as him profiling her and regret opening up to him in the first place. But it was all he could think of to say. People didn't usually turn to him when they needed comforting - it was his job to be the mess. But he didn't want to make her regret coming into his room; he didn't want her to wake up tomorrow and feel embarrassed for opening up to him.
"After Samantha was taken-" he began, trying to find the words to express something he'd never confessed aloud. "I know it's not the same, but I couldn't do anything that reminded me of her abduction without having a moment of panic. Playing board games made me uncomfortable, the initial flash of lightning struck fear in me, the sound of a child screaming at a park made my knees weak, hell, the one time I experienced an earthquake I had a full blown panic attack," he explained with chagrin.
"What about now?" she asked, turning to face him as her eyes shone with curiosity.
"It depends. If it's broaching the anniversary of her disappearance, I find myself being reminded more and more, but over time it's diminished. What would have sent me into a tailspin decades ago is now just a passing thought. Sometimes a lightning storm will pass and I won't realize until later that I didn't have a flashback to that night, or I'll play a boardgame with the gunmen and actually have fun instead of feeling shame and guilt," he replied before shrugging. "It's impossible to predict trauma, but it gets more manageable over time."
Mulder watched as Scully took in what he said, nodding lightly to herself as she chewed on her lip. "For me, the biggest thing that sets me off is being in a bathtub," she replied softly.
"That's what triggers you?" he coaxed gently. She made a little sound of affirmation and nodded her head and he continued. "It reminds you of Pfaster?"
"I just-" she started before letting out a low breath to compose herself. "Why did it have to be that?" she asked, almost to herself.
Mulder waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. "What do you mean?"
"I used to love relaxing while taking a bath, and now it just makes me think of him," she explained with so much malice it made his hair stand on end. "Even tonight, all I wanted to do was get clean. I wanted to get the smoke out of my hair and the dirt off my skin, but as soon as I turned on the water… I thought of him. When I try to wash my hair I just think of him asking if my hair was normal or dry, and suddenly my hands are his and I have a moment of panic."
She started rubbing at her cheek, only stopping when he put his hands on hers to still her. She let her hands fall and he could see what she'd been idly picking at: residue from the duct tape that had been placed over her mouth. He'd tried his hardest to pull it away from her as gently as possible, but he'd been so desperate to hear she was okay that maybe he hadn't been as gentle as he thought. He let his hand stay there as he rubbed the residue lightly with his thumb, watching it roll into tiny clumps on her cheek before falling to the mattress.
She sighed, "I know how stupid that sounds. "
He returned his hands to his lap and shook his head. "It's not stupid at all."
"And-" she began before stopping herself, wiping her cheek quickly to hide the tear he saw fall down.
"What?" he prompted.
"Sometimes I wonder if, while he was carrying me to the car and into the closet, if he stroked my hair or played with my nails while thinking of what trophies he was going to take from me," she replied.
He felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him. It was an uncomfortable image, but it was one he'd thought of himself when she was gone. "Is that why you've been keeping your nails short?" he asked, glancing at her bare nails. For as long as he'd known her, Scully always had perfectly manicured nails, sometimes even coordinated to complement her outfit, but as of late they were always unpainted and all the white edges were cut down.
She nodded and examined her upturned fingertips for a moment. "From time to time, I think about it when I look in the mirror. I feel like I'm not even looking at myself. I'm just looking at the bad things that have happened to me."
"You're so much more than that," he replied instantly, watching as she subconsciously scratched the back of her neck where a little pink scar resided.
The movement caused him to notice something he'd been brushing off before. She wasn't just wet from her shower, she was absolutely soaked. That's why her hair was dripping so much, why her pajamas were clinging to her like that, and why the smell of shampoo was so strong. Looking at her hair, he realized something he hadn't seen before: suds .
Mulder felt a pang of sadness rip through his chest as he realized what had likely happened and what made her come to him tonight. "Scully, did you have a panic attack when you tried to take a shower tonight?" he asked, bending his head down with her a little bit when her gaze fell.
"I just-" she started, her face contorting into a pained grimace. "I was overwhelmed and I had to get out."
So she threw on her pajamas and ran in here, to him, for comfort. It made him happy to think she found some sort of solace in coming to him, but the thought of her being so fraught with distress she couldn't even take time to dry herself off made his heart break. "What do you do when this happens at home?"
"Have you ever been in the shower and you close your eyes for a moment, and for that split second you convince yourself something evil must be looking at you? So you snap your eyes open and all you see is how irrational you just were?" she asked, seemingly ignoring his question.
"Yeah," he nodded. "All the time."
"It feels like that, but the moment of panic is still there when I open my eyes. Taking a shower sometimes feels like I'm just enacting Donnie Pfaster's fantasies, and tonight-" she broke off as her throat clenched in defense for an onslaught of tears. She kept them at bay as she powered through. "Tonight I had a vivid idea of him sitting in his jail cell thinking of me doing exactly what I was doing at that moment. And it felt like I was playing out a sick fantasy for him and then I just couldn't breathe."
She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. "And then I was knocking at your door," she added with a shrug.
"You don't remember getting out of the shower?" he asked.
"I just remember wanting to feel safe," Scully mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself.
His heart went out to her and he wished he could go back and prevent himself from ever accepting that case and exposing her to that monster. He knew it wasn't his fault, and that he couldn't fix the past, but he could try his hardest to make a better future for her.
He had an idea, but he wasn't sure if she'd go for it. "When was the last time you took a bath? Do you just take showers now?"
"I'm a military brat, Mulder. I know how to be in and out in five minutes, and that's what I do now. I… um… I haven't taken a bath since before," she made a hand gesture as if to say 'that night'. "I tried once, but I couldn't tolerate the sound of the running water."
Mulder expected as much and nodded in acknowledgement. "Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?" he asked.
Scully looked at him skeptically but answered nonetheless. "I think so? A person is afraid of spiders, so you get them to hold a spider so they can see there's nothing to be afraid of."
"That's right," he praised. "I think it might help you."
"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked slowly.
He took a deep breath before explaining, "I hate that he took your sense of safety away from you, Scully. I hate every awful thing that's happened to you, but it makes me extremely uncomfortable to think that something that once brought you happiness has been tainted." Scully's eyes were locked on his and, even though she was nervously chewing her bottom lip, he was hopeful she was open to what he was saying. "I think it would be beneficial if you tried exposure therapy by taking a bath. I'd be right here to talk you down if you got overwhelmed."
"But I just took a shower," she replied with furrowed brows.
"This isn't about getting clean," he murmured.
She nodded a bit apprehensively and then steeled her resolve. "I don't want to be scared anymore," she seethed with a strained voice. She looked over at him again and murmured, "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this."
He was shaking his head as she said this and immediately responded with, "No, I want to do this. I want to help you in whatever way I can."
She smiled at him before slipping off the bed. "So, what's the plan?" she asked, fidgeting with her nails again.
He stood up on the opposite side of the bed and thought out loud. "I want to respect your privacy, so I can be wherever you prefer: on the other side of the door, in the other room, whatever you want. This is all on your terms. All I'd recommend is that you talk it out with me. If you get uncomfortable, let's talk it through."
"Okay," she nodded. "I'll go into my room quickly and change into my robe. Then I'll be right back."
Mulder tilted his head in question. "You mean… you want to do it in my room?"
She paused for a moment, then nodded seriously. "I'd feel more safe, I think."
He nodded in agreement and said, "Okay."
Scully disappeared into her own room, and he turned to head into his bathroom. It wasn't too shabby as far as motel bathrooms went, but it was still pretty cramped. He sat on the lip of the tub and turned on the faucet, putting his hand underneath the stream to make sure it would be a good temperature for her. Even though he was the one to suggest this, he was in disbelief they were actually doing it. He was used to Scully turning down his ideas, so for her to take him up on this so readily just told him how much she wanted help.
He looked around and couldn't find any luxury items, so the best he could do was pour some of his body wash into the stream and mix it up with his hand in an effort to produce bubbles.
"Mulder?" she called from behind him.
He turned around and saw Scully drowning in a fluffy bathrobe. "Hey," he greeted, wiping his hand on his pajama shorts.
"I don't have any dry pajamas," she stated, her eyes focusing on the sight of the rising waterline.
"Do you want to borrow something of mine?" he asked.
"I'd really appreciate it," she responded with a small smile.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," he replied, standing up and moving past her to find her something. He paused when he felt a small hand grab his wrist. He turned around and saw Scully looking at him. "Thank you, Mulder. For all of this. It means a lot to me."
He didn't know how to react to such honest praise, so he found himself blushing and laughing it off. "You might change your tune when you find yourself wearing an old shirt and boxers."
She rolled her eyes and let go of his wrist so he could retrieve those very items, which he triple checked to make sure they were both clean. "Here you go. I'll just lay them out on the count-" he stopped when he turned around and saw her standing at the side of the bathtub, just looking down at the water.
"You okay?" he asked, setting the pile of clothes down on the countertop.
"Yeah," she replied with a quick nod of her head, looking over her shoulder.
He reached around her and turned off the tap, figuring it was full enough and he didn't want them to have to yell over the sound of the running water. He stood up straight and took a step back, waiting for her instruction. "So, where do you want me?" he asked.
She turned a little so she could look and weigh her options. "Could you sit on the toilet?" she asked, looking at his face to gauge his response.
He blinked. "You mean… you want me to stay in here with you?"
"If that's okay," she replied shyly.
He shut the seat, and sat down awkwardly. "No, of course. I'll, uh, I'll just shut my eyes right now if you wanna…" he trailed off.
"Oh, um. Yeah. Thank you," she stammered equally as awkwardly.
He made an exaggerated show of clamping his eyes shut, just so she'd know he was being serious and not taking any peeks at her while she was trusting him. Even so, it was a moment before he heard the sounds of the sash of her robe being undone and the soft swoosh of terry cotton falling to the ground.
Mulder listened as she took a step into the bath, followed by another, and the sound of the water accommodating her body. He wished he could open his eyes just to see how she was reacting, but instead he had to listen to the small gasp and sound of her even breathing. He startled a little bit at the sound of scraping metal until realizing it was her drawing the shower curtain against the rod. "Can you see me?" she asked.
"No, I promise my eyes are closed," he reassured immediately.
"Oh, sorry. You can open them. I mean can you see just my face?" she clarified.
His eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly to get rid of the purple-hued color distortion as he turned to the tub. Sure enough, the curtain was pulled to completely preserve her modesty, but with her back reclined against the slope of the tub, he could see just her face and the tops of her bare shoulders. "Yep, you're all good," he affirmed.
She smiled before turning to face the wall in front of her. "I can't help but imagine myself in the place of the hypothetical me that didn't get away," she admitted.
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't imagining the same. Seeing her in the tub just reminded him of the mental images he'd had while she was gone - entering Pfaster's lair only to find Scully dead, her body bobbing lifelessly in the ruddy water. This was about her, he wasn't going to divert from the task at hand, but he internally acknowledged this was also therapeutic for his own trauma. "I understand the instinct to imagine that, but I want you to describe how you're feeling right now. Take the mental aspect out of it and detach yourself for a moment. How does your body feel?"
"I feel warm," she stated. "The temperature's perfect."
He smiled softly and nodded in encouragement. "What else? Use sensory details."
"I didn't realize how sore my body had been after tonight, but right now I can feel my muscles relaxing from being submerged in the water." As she said this, he heard the water sloshing and he imagined she was swishing her arms and legs in the water. "It smells like you," she added.
"They didn't have any bubble bath, so I had to improvise with my stuff," he replied.
"I like it," she stated kindly. An irrational swell of pride blossomed in his chest at the small compliment and he couldn't keep a smirk from crossing his lips.
She sniffled once and continued, "Pfaster filled up the tub with something that smelled like artificial fruit."
He swallowed thickly and shifted on the seat, the lid creaking in protest. "What's your favorite type of bubble bath?" he asked.
"Um, my mom got me some lavender stuff not too long before it happened, and I really like it," she answered.
"Did she get it for you because she knows you like baths?"
He risked a glance at her and saw her nodding. "Yeah, my family always teased me about it because I was notorious for taking long baths," she said with a huff of laughter.
He smirked at the small levity. "Why do you like baths so much?"
"In a family of six it was the only time I really had by myself. I guess I always equated it with a job well done, too. After a long day, or finishing something stressful, or when I finally have time to myself, taking a bath is like a reward. A moment to relax and just enjoy myself," she responded.
"Is that why you got an apartment with the world's biggest bathroom?" he teased.
"It is not," she laughed. "But yes, the bathroom was definitely a major selling point."
"Have you tried maybe playing a radio while trying to take a bath?" he asked. "It might help drown out the sounds of the running bath water if it bothers you, but also hearing the disc jockeys and commercials might help cement you in the present while your mind is focusing on the past," he offered.
She made a little sound of approval in the back of her throat. "That's good, I'll try that when we get back to D.C."
He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Hey, listen to you, talking about your next bath," he praised.
"I won't let him win," she stated, her words more confident than her tone.
He pivoted on the seat and leaned forward towards her. "As much as the traumatized part of you will always remind you of what could have been, the unshakable, undeniable truth is that you survived. Even if you feel uncomfortable while taking a bath, you're in control. You'll get out of the tub, you'll be in your home, and Pfaster will be wasting away in some prison cell. He will never touch you again."
She let out a little shaky huff of laughter and looked away from him. "I wish I could personally thank your Oxford professors. You're good at this," she joked.
"Just calling it as I see it," he mused with a smile. "Are you ready for the hard part?"
Mulder didn't need to elaborate what that was. He heard her reach over and grab a bottle of something followed by the sound of it squeaking from use. "3-in-1, Mulder? Really?" she asked, mirthful judgement heavy in her tone.
"Hey, it's efficient," he replied with a grin.
"I'm not sure that's the word I'd use," she teased, before setting the bottle down.
He heard her take a deep breath before the sounds of her washing her hair filled his ears. He was silent while they both waited to see how this would go, but he could rejoice in the fact she hadn't panicked yet. He'd glanced over once, but he'd accidentally caught a glimpse of her exposed back and his gaze quickly darted to the floor, counting the tiles to keep himself occupied.
A big swishing sound filled the room and he realized she'd dunked herself underwater. She stayed like that for a moment, the bathroom feeling eerily still until she emerged with a big gasp, like a baby's first breath.
"Are you okay?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," she replied softly.
He knew they both knew this wasn't over. Doing it once didn't mean the next time would be easy or that she'd never think of it again. But she'd done it once, and that's what mattered. Small victories.
He knew she'd pulled the drain plug as the sounds of the water leaving the tub gurgled loudly. Taking his cue, he stood up and stated, "I'll let you have a moment alone, okay? I'll be in the other room."
"I owe you one, Mulder," she answered, gratitude lacing every word.
He laughed and made his way to the door. "You've already repaid me a thousand times over, Scully."
Mulder shut the door and made his way over to the bed, crawling back into the same position he'd been in before the bath. A few minutes later, Scully emerged, looking fresh and pink. She was wearing one of his old Oxford shirts, her shoulders swathed in grey until the shirt switched colors and a rich oxblood red draped down, settling at the middle of her thigh. He could see a bump on the side of her hip from where she'd no doubt had to tie the shorts in a knot to keep them from sliding down her legs, and he was struck with the evidence of just how much larger he was than her, physically. He saw her as a beacon of strength and power at work, and this reminder that she was truly a petite, tiny woman struck him and he had to resist smiling. "That's a good look for you, Scully."
She rolled her eyes and made her way to the bed. "Thanks," she replied with a laugh. Mulder chuckled and watched as she slid under the top sheet of the bed with grace. At his look she stopped and explained, "Sorry, I was cold."
He put a hand up immediately and shook his head "No, no, be my guest," he stammered, turning to the television so as to not make her uncomfortable.
In his periphery, he saw Scully shift the pillow that she'd been holding earlier behind her head and shoulders, propping her up. They sat there in silence for a while, watching the television play a commercial for a local psychic. Occasionally he saw Scully's little feet move beneath the covers as she got comfortable. He wasn't sure quite what to do with himself. He hoped she was feeling better, but he wasn't sure if she was since she was still in here. Did she want to sleep in here? If she did, that was fine with him, he just wasn't sure if he should go to the couch or if she'd be offended if he laid down next to her. So instead, he continued sitting up straight while his gaze flickered from the television to her outline under the covers.
He was certain that their relationship was getting stronger the more time they spent with each other, but he couldn't shake the guilt that she'd been feeling this way and he hadn't picked up on it. He hadn't been oblivious, but she always played it off. " I'm fine, Mulder." Why had it taken a near-death experience influenced panic attack to get her to confide in him?
"Why didn't you tell me you've been feeling this way, Scully?" he murmured softly.
Scully was silent for a moment and he was afraid he'd crossed a line. "I didn't want you to know it bothered me."
"I'd be more concerned if it didn't," he admitted. "You're the strongest person I know. Even so, you're only human."
"I just don't want you to feel like you need to protect me," she murmured, glancing over to him with even eyes to gauge his response.
All she could have seen was the look of confused surprise that crossed his face. At the beginning of their relationship, he'd seen her defenses up, built as high as they could go. As a woman in two male dominated fields, he understood her need to prove herself as equal to those around her. But he'd hoped by now she knew she didn't have to do that with him. "Scully, I'd be dead several times over if it wasn't for you," he stated firmly.
She smiled softly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. He continued. "You know I'm right. You're the best partner I've ever had; and if I've ever done anything protective of you, it's because I never want to see you hurt, not because I think you're some damsel in distress who needs it," he explained. "Hell, even hypothetically referring to you as a damsel in distress makes me cringe."
An actual smile graced her lips and she let out a huff of laughter. "Good," she stated softly. "And… thank you."
"Besides, if it weren't for me you wouldn't have-" he started, only to get interrupted by her pointed look.
"I'm your partner, Mulder. Anywhere you go, I go. We're a team," she stated firmly. "I'm only in these places because I choose to be."
He nodded, though he still felt guilty. "Would you have gone to the Vikings Game with me?" he asked with a playful lilt, wanting to keep her spirits up.
She pressed her hand to her mouth as she yawned, withdrawing it to reveal a contemplative look. "I would have," she mused. "But not before giving you a hard time first."
She nuzzled further down onto the mattress, eyes not leaving the screen, as her damp hair fanned out like licks of fire against the stark white of the bedding.
"How did you even get those tickets?" she asked.
"The Gunmen," he answered with a grin.
"Of course," she chuckled. Then, a few moments later: "Why did you want to take me?" her soft voice croaked.
He was glad it was dim in the room as he felt a flush spread over his face. I wanted to spend time with you, just having fun. Instead of saying that he shrugged and said, "I figure one of these days I can get you to see the beauty of sports."
"Sweaty men on a field throwing pig skin around. Yeah, beautiful," she replied sarcastically, yawning through the last word.
Mulder let out a small huff of laughter as he sat up straighter on the bed. "Tease me all you'd like, but I think one day I'll convince you. Some people may not like sports because they find them violent or boorish, but… I like watching the teamwork of it all, the camaraderie. All of these guys probably dreamed of winning the superbowl or making an amazing catch- but only until someone is there to throw them the ball and play alongside them are they able to achieve those dreams," he explained.
He felt a swell of embarrassment in his chest as he realized he'd been rambling and he added, turning to her, "I know it sounds corny but-"
Mulder stopped mid-sentence as he turned towards her and saw her eyes were closed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as her breath came out in measured exhalations. She fell asleep. A smile crept onto his face as he saw how serene and peaceful she looked, as if years of tension had left her face.
Scully turned her body a bit so that she was lying down properly and facing him. She looked so comfortable and vulnerable that he felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness swell in his chest alongside an urge to lie down and draw her into his arms.
The thought that anyone could look at her like this and think of doing her harm or taking advantage of her made him want to barricade the two of them in this motel room forever, to keep her safe by his side.
I love her.
The thought hit him like a freight train and once it hit, he couldn't get out from under it. He looked down at her sleeping form, so trusting and so open with him, and the thought went through his head like a mantra.
I love her. I love her. I love her.
A soft snore broke his thoughts and he immediately felt guilty. The last thing Scully needed was her weird partner leering over her while she slept. He wiped his face with his hands, as if he could brush away his newfound realization. Standing up, he grabbed his side of the blankets and tucked them over Scully as lightly as he could so as to not wake her, cocooning her with the comforter.
He kept the television on so she wouldn't wake up to blackness before heading into her room, keeping the adjoining door open. The sounds of the for-hire psychic followed him as he stood in the doorway.
"Your future is right in front of you. You just need to know what to look for."
Her bed was littered with some of her clothes, and he scooped them up carefully and piled them on the chair next to the bed before easing himself under the covers. The bed smelled like Scully and he wondered briefly if she'd smell him when she woke up. He wondered if she'd find comfort in it.
A blue glow was starting to emit from behind the curtains as the birds outside began to chirp and sing. Mulder rubbed his palm across his forehead in frustration at his thoughts defaulting to her in this way. She needed him to be her partner, her friend, not some guy obsessing over her.
With a sigh, he rolled to the light and flicked off the switch.