II
When she got home that evening she found Mulder sprawled asleep on his back on the couch, wearing a pair of bright blue nylon sweat pants with the Knicks logo on the hip and a loose grey t-shirt. The sheets and blankets were still folded beneath him although rather mussed, and she wondered how long he'd been out. His arm was in the sling across his chest and his bandaged foot rested on the floor on its heel although she saw the throw pillow she'd placed at the foot of the couch still there with an indent in it. As much as she wanted to put his foot back on the pillow, which was undoubtedly more comfortable, she also didn't want to wake him up and break the peace and quiet.
Moving quietly she set her laptop bag on the kitchen table, then went into the bedroom and changed into a pair of comfortable gym shorts and an Academy t-shirt, then padded silently barefoot into the kitchen to start dinner. Every once in a while she heard a soft snore or the sound of him moving, and reflected that it actually was nice to have someone else around for a change. At least while he was asleep; when he woke and got under her feet it was going to be another story.
But in the meantime she buried herself in cooking, something she enjoyed and so rarely got to do. While onions, green peppers, mushrooms and the ground turkey browned in a frying pan, a Dutch oven held the simmering sauce and a saucepan boiled for the pasta. On the counter was a loaf of frozen garlic bread waiting for its time to go into the oven, and nearby a bottle of the good Australian merlot that she knew Mulder liked was breathing.
"Wow, you didn't have to go all out."
She turned to find Mulder standing at the end of the table, leaning on the back of one chair on the forearm of his injured arm, the other holding a crutch to his side. His hair stuck up in dark spikes and his eyes were still at half-mast. He was so handsome in a tousled sleepy way that she felt her heart turn over despite herself. "I don't get much chance to cook since I rarely bother just for myself. It's..." she shrugged, "nice to be able to. So no bother."
"Can I do anything to help?"
"Stay out from underfoot so we don't have another accident in here," she smiled over at him, stirring the sauce with a long-handled wooden spoon. "I'll do the rest. And when you're back to one hundred percent we'll do this again except you get to set the table and do the dishes."
He sketched her a little salute, smiling, and pulled out the chair. "You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"
"Why, isn't there anything on TV?"
"I have no clue," he said as he sat down, leaning the crutch against the table. "I'd rather watch you. Just like you don't get many chances to cook, I don't get many chances to see you in a domestic setting like this. Like you said, it's nice. If nothing else I'll keep you company."
At first she was a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but before long their friendship came to the fore and soon they were discussing cases and doing their usual back-and-forth banter. He helped to set the table from his spot, then poured the wine when she brought it to the table and helped dish out the pasta and sauce, which Scully preferred to be served al dente and separate.
When she sat down Mulder handed her a wide-hipped wineglass and raised his. "To us, Scully—no matter what, let's remain friends."
"I'll drink to that." She tapped her glass against his, took a sip of the excellent win and then dug in. For a time the only sounds were of chewing, the clinking of silverware against china, and a murmured voice asking to pass the garlic bread or parmesan.
"Scully, I'm not saying this just because you cooked it but damn, this is probably the best spaghetti I've ever had. What all did you put in it?" Mulder said, mopping up the last of the sauce on his plate with a garlic bread crust.
"Well for one thing I use lean ground turkey instead of beef; that gets rid of any greasy taste," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "And for the sauce, I use Newman's Own and add red wine, fresh oregano, stewed tomatoes, fresh grated parmesan, and a little balsamic vinegar to it. One of these days I'll make lasagna like I learned from an Italian friend, you make the sauce for that from scratch and it has to simmer all day."
"Really from scratch?" Mulder grinned. "Hopefully you don't have to grow the tomatoes and all as they're kind of out of season right now. Not to mention that you have no room here for a garden."
She gave him The Look as she got up and began to gather the plates. "You keep it up you'll never taste that sauce."
He was instantly contrite. "I wish I could help, Scully. I did get basic training in being a good guest and know how to clean up and do dishes."
"Don't worry about it, that doesn't count when you're injured. Besides, this is far from the first time you've been here for dinner."
"Yeah, but we get carry-out or order in and there isn't that much to clean up."
"That's because we're usually working," she pointed out, filling the sink with hot soapy water. When she turned around to get the rest of the serving dishes Mulder was holding the empty platter from the garlic bread out to her with his good arm, and she smiled her thanks as she took it. "Here's something you can do: put the rest of the spaghetti and sauce in this container so I can have it for dinner tomorrow night."
He took the Tupperware bowl and lid from her. "You kicking me out already?"
She turned to look at him, surprised. "No, I just didn't think... I'm not used to--"
"No worry, Scully. I don't want to be an impos--"
This time she interrupted him. "You aren't, Mulder, despite the fact that you talked your way into staying with me. I rather like having you here... when you're not being a sarcastic pain in the ass, that is."
They grinned at each other, all being well in their world again. Scully turned back to the sink. "You can have the leftover spaghetti for lunch tomorrow and I'll think of something to make for dinner, it'll be nice to cook again. As I was saying before you interrupted me, I'm not used to thinking about anyone but myself for meals."
"I know, me too. That's why I like leaving what we have for dinner up to you when we eat together, I get tired of making that big decision between having something delivered or stopping to get take-out every single night."
She finished cleanup with a last swipe of the dishcloth over the table, then said on the spur of the moment, "I was going to go for a run, can I get you anything before I go?"
His puppy-dog eyes were classic. "Yeah—a new ankle so I can go with you."
"C'mon, I'll help you back to the couch instead." She stood beside the chair and helped him up, putting one arm around his waist and bracing the other hand against his lean ribs as he balanced carefully on one foot beside her. "And no funny stuff," she added as she looked up to find him gazing down at her, their faces only inches apart.
"Damn," he said softly, smiling down at her as they moved slowly towards the couch, "This would have been the perfect time for some funny stuff if you hadn't put a stop to it."
"That's what I was afraid of," she retorted.
He let go of her and sank down on the couch with a whistled sigh of relief. As she went back to the table to get his crutch she asked, "Are you in pain? Do you need something?"
"Yes, and no," he said. "I don't like those painkillers the ER doctor gave me. They make me dizzy and knock me out; the pain isn't that bad."
Scully picked up the bottle from the end table as she set the crutch against it. "Tylenol Three with Codeine," she read from the label. "Pretty powerful stuff. Would you rather have plain Tylenol, Mulder? It's not as strong but it doesn't knock you out, either."
"Yeah, that'd be great," he agreed, smiling up at her. "You're a good doc as well as a good friend."
She smiled back then shook her head at him as she moved away. "Flattery will get you everywhere but into my bed, Mulder." Now why did I say that, she wondered as she went into the bathroom and got the bottle of regular Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet. It's one hell of an opening into that stupid let's-have-sex discussion that I'd rather not have. I just bet he'll jump on it.
But he didn't remark on it when she returned with the pills then brought him a glass of water. She made sure he had the remote near to hand before donning a pair of white cuff socks and her Nike cross-trainers. "I shouldn't be gone too long and I've got my cell if you need me," she said, patting the fanny pack around her waist as she went through her warmup stretches.
He waved her off but was watching avidly as she stretched. "Go," he said shortly, but was still smiling. "See you when you get back."