Scully found it hard to take her eyes off the landscape now that the train was out of the city. There was so much green, and the villages that went by seemed like something out of a different time. It was so far removed from Washington that it almost felt like she'd been whisked out of one world and dropped into the lap of another.
"I've always preferred the train to flying," Stella said quietly into her ear as she leaned into Scully's space to peer out the window alongside her.
"Me, too. You have no idea." She felt a strange combination of calm and excited, but none of the usual nervousness she had on airplanes. It felt ridiculously freeing to be doing something simply because she wanted to. "I hate flying. Thank God for Dramamine."
"I don't have to do it much, thankfully."
"I do." Scully made a face. "I'm envious of the European railway system."
Stella was a warm and comforting presence by her side as the pair of them watched the world roll by outside the window, neither one feeling the need to fill the silence. Scully gave her a brief glance when Stella's hand found her own, twining their fingers together as it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This okay?" Stella asked with a slight lift of her eyebrow.
Scully looked down at their hands. It felt good, it felt right. "Yeah." She nodded, seriously tempted to lean her head against Stella's for a moment, but she settled for a gentle squeeze of her hand instead as she met her eyes before leaning back against her chair and tilting her head to gaze out the window once more.
Scully caught herself dozing off more than once during the four hour train ride. When it happened for the third time, the book she'd been attempting to read slipping from her slack fingers to fall to the floor, Stella picked it up and handed it back to her with a smile.
"I guess I'm more tired than I thought," Scully said with a smile of her own.
"Sleep then. I don't mind."
"Maybe I will. Just for a few minutes."
Scully rested her head against the window, wishing she had something to ball up and use as a pillow without sacrificing the warmth of her jacket, but the gentle vibration of the glass was soothing and rhythmic. With her eyes half closed, she watched Stella go back to her own book. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail today — it was the first time Scully had seen her look slightly more relaxed, her hair not in its usual cascade over her shoulders — and it made her look softer, younger. She rarely wore her own hair pulled back for the same reason. Looking younger and softer wasn't exactly ideal when you were battling against decades of ingrained professional misogyny. It looked nice on Stella though, especially the way the few strands that had escaped were curling loosely around the frame of her face.
She was beautiful. Scully had always thought that women were inherently more beautiful than men, although she could certainly appreciate a good-looking man. Like Mulder, she thought hazily through a slow blink of her eyes. Tall and lean with just enough muscle to give him definition, but not too much. His eyes that could be hazel or mossy green or sometimes nearly a golden brown. His hair, especially when it was wet and sticking up all over like a hedgehog's quills after he'd had a shower but it hadn't had time to dry.
Her eyes closed, and she listened to the lullaby around her — the rumble of the rails beneath them, the low hum of conversation, the occasional rustle of turning pages. She dozed on and off, never fully falling asleep, but hovering in the halfway lands between consciousness and dreams, until they arrived.
The hotel Stella had booked, the New Caledonia, was closer to a guest house or bed and breakfast than a formal hotel, as it had only ten rooms spread over four stories. It was part of a traditional tenement building which, although it looked rather unassuming from the outside, was beautifully decorated inside. The door at the entrance was enormous, originally constructed to allow for a sedan chair to pass through it, so the wealthy wouldn't have to dirty their feet by stepping on the road outside.
Simultaneously posh and inviting, the lobby area was completely unlike the rundown, side of the road, motel variety of American lodgings that Scully was used to, with a floor of black and white checkered marble and an antique desk repurposed as a check-in counter, although with a very modern looking computer perched on top of it. There was a small dining room in a room off the lobby along with a sign that the included full Scottish breakfast was available between the hours of six thirty and ten every morning.
They each paid for their rooms and then lugged their suitcases — Scully was grateful that she'd packed light enough that she'd only brought the smaller of the two she owned — up the ornately carpeted stairs to the third floor. Their rooms were next to each other, with an adjoining door between them, and Scully was happy to see that each room had its own bathroom, including a bathtub.
Scully took full advantage of the bathtub, and the assortment of complimentary scented bath oils, before meeting up with Stella in the lobby two hours later to find somewhere to go for dinner. They chose a random street in the direction of the Royal Mile and ended up, after about twenty minutes of walking, at a delightful Indian restaurant. The restaurant was friendly and cozy, the food was delicious, and Scully felt loose and relaxed by the time they had worked their way through the more than generous portions.
"I think I need to walk for a few hours to burn this off." Scully groaned. "More like a few hours of running." The spice from the vindaloo was still making her lips burn.
Stella tugged her black wool coat around her and knotted the belt around her waist. "The Princes Street Gardens aren't far from here, if you wanted to walk for a bit."
"Yes," Scully agreed readily. "Let's do that."
They wandered through the park at a leisurely pace, stopping to appreciate the various monuments and statues. Scully liked the city already. It felt welcoming, and it seemed to carry the weight of its history easily. It didn't feel like anything she was remotely used to in the U.S., but she didn't feel like she was walking through a museum either.
As they walked and talked, Scully found herself opening up about what it was like working with Mulder and the strange aspects of the X-Files cases they'd worked on over the past few years, although she left out the details of Melissa's death, Duane Barry, her cancer, and the specifics of Samantha's abduction. In her case, she didn't want to get bogged down in bad memories and, in Mulder's, she felt that it was his story to tell if he chose to, not hers, and she wasn't about to break that confidence.
No, it was far more fun to discuss Satanic cults and circus sideshow attractions and the bizarre effects of planetary alignments. Stella had a dry sense of humour and shared Scully's pragmatic skepticism, listening avidly, picking apart the details of each case, and asking insightful questions. It was the most fun Scully had had in a long time, although it made her feel acutely aware of how much the loss of the X-Files had affected her. She missed the challenge of it, of never knowing where they could be headed off to at a moment's notice; just a quick phone call from Mulder asking her to meet him at the airport and then they'd be on their way into the middle of something that might be as mundane as teenagers playing a prank or as inexplicable as an unknown parasite that had been buried for millennia beneath the ice.
It was dark by the time they headed back to the hotel, and Scully was beginning to feel tired, despite her pseudo-nap on the train. It felt like it had been a much longer day than it actually had.
"I know it's early, but I think I'm nearly ready for bed," Scully said as they walked up the stairs to their rooms. It felt strange to be calling it a night already, though, so she offered, "Or, did you want to see if there's a movie on TV or something that we could watch together?" They had reached their respective doors and Scully paused, key card in hand, as she waited for Stella's answer.
"Sure. Let me change into something more comfortable, and then I'll come over to your room and we can see what's on."
"Sounds good." Scully smiled. "See you in a few."
Once in her room, Scully stripped off her blouse and bra and dress pants, swapping them for her favourite pair of blue satin pajamas made up of loose flowing pants and a long sleeve button-down shirt. She quickly washed her face using the bar of rose-scented soap by the sink and ran her brush through her hair to take out the worst of the tangles. She debated briefly about brushing her teeth but decided against it. She could do that right before bed.
There was knock on the adjoining door.
"Come in, it's open," Scully called from the bathroom. She'd unlocked it when they'd first checked in after years of accumulated habit with Mulder.
Stella had changed into a flowing silk nightgown in pale peach with a matching robe, and she smiled at Scully as she came out of the bathroom. She'd taken her hair out of the pony tail it had been in all day, and her hair now hung loose around her shoulders. "Shall we see what's on?"
"Sure." Scully snagged the remote from beside the TV and handed it to Stella before sitting down on the bed. "You pick."
Stella sat down on the bed on the opposite side, adjusting the pillows against her back as Scully did the same until they were both seated comfortably side by side, leaning against the headboard. "Anything in particular that you like, don't like?" Stella asked as she turned on the TV and began cycling through the channels.
"No sci-fi, I get enough of that at work."
Stella understood, after the evening's conversation, and chuckled. "Fair enough."
There weren't a lot of choices, but they settled on Breakfast at Tiffany's, one of Scully's favourites, which had fortunately just started. Part way through, they ended up pulling the covers back and over their legs, and it was lovely and snug. They were sitting close together, legs touching underneath the covers, and Scully had to again resist the urge to rest her head against Stella's shoulder.
For the second time that day, she felt her eyes grow heavy as each blink became longer and longer. She tried to pay attention to the dialogue, but Audrey Hepburn's voice had become a gentle murmur in the background. Her head drooped lower.
The sweet scent of jasmine.
Something soft beneath her cheek.
Her final memory as she sighed contentedly was what might have been a brush of the blanket, might have been her imagination or, possibly, might have been a gentle kiss on her temple.
As always, huge thanks to my amazing beta, Josie Lange! Thank you for all that you do!