Mulder leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Scully as she sifted through the latest reports, her hair catching the light of the fading sun through their office window. It was late, and they'd both been here far longer than they needed to be on a Friday. Finally, he broke the comfortable silence between them.
"Hey, Scully," he said casually, but there was that hint of invitation in his voice, one that she'd grown intimately familiar with. "Any plans for tonight? I was thinking... maybe you'd like to come over?"
She glanced up, trying to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. God, she knew this script by heart. It had become almost routine—long hours, shared glances, dinner at whichever place hadn't closed yet, and then back to his place or hers, where they'd end up tangled in each other until the early hours of the morning. They had a kind of rhythm, one that was comfortable but intensely charged, and yet... as good as it was, she found herself pausing this time.
"I was actually thinking about spending the night in," she said, her voice softer than she'd intended. She wasn't sure how he would take it. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him—she always wanted to see him—but tonight, she craved something quieter, something that belonged to just her.
"Oh." He didn't look hurt exactly, but his eyes flashed with something she couldn't quite place. "Sure. I mean, that makes sense. You must be sick of seeing me by now." His tone was light, teasing, but she could tell he was masking a small edge of disappointment.
Scully sighed contentedly as she unlocked her apartment door, relishing the rare stillness. She slipped into a pair of soft yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and her favorite fluffy socks, feeling the day melt away. In the kitchen, she set to work on her comfort food—a warm pot of mashed potatoes, sautéed vegetables, and a rich, creamy sauce simmering on the stove. Just as she started to relax into the quiet, a knock sounded at her door.
Curious, she opened it to find Mulder standing there, hands in his pockets, looking almost… sheepish.
"I know you wanted a quiet evening," he said, voice soft, his eyes filled with a hint of vulnerability. "But I missed you."
Her heart softened instantly, and she stepped aside, inviting him in without a word. Sometimes, she thought, quiet could be shared.
Scully smiled softly, motioning toward the kitchen table. "I'm really not doing anything special tonight," she said, pulling out a second place setting and setting it across from hers.
Mulder gave a small, apologetic shrug. "That's alright. You don't have to ask me in, Scully."
She shook her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "After you came all the way across town? Sit. Have dinner with me."
He hesitated only a moment before he took the seat she'd offered, the warmth of her kitchen already wrapping around him. She turned back to stir the mashed potatoes, glancing over her shoulder to see him watching her, and she felt a quiet contentment settle over them both.
After dinner, they moved to the sofa, where *Anne of Green Gables* had been playing softly in the background. As they settled in, Mulder stretched his arm along the back of the couch, fingers grazing Scully's shoulder as she leaned back beside him. They watched in comfortable silence, the flickering light casting a warm glow across the room.
A small smile played on Scully's lips as Anne unleashed her fury over being teased about her hair. "I always sympathized with her for getting angry about the colour of her hair," Scully confessed quietly, glancing at Mulder.
He chuckled, nudging her shoulder gently. "I can see why," he said with a grin, giving her a look that held both amusement and a touch of tenderness. "I hope you never broke a slate board over someone's head because of your hair."
She shook her head, laughing softly, but let herself relax against him, knowing that he understood her in ways she rarely needed to explain.
Mulder noticed how Scully was leaning more and more into him, her body gradually relaxing as she rested her head against his chest. The gesture was so unguarded, so perfectly comfortable, that he couldn't help but smile. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her a little closer.
They stayed like that, nestled together in the warmth of her living room, letting the quiet evening fill the spaces between them. Mulder breathed in the soft scent of her hair, savoring the rare stillness, grateful for this quiet evening in that felt, in its simplicity, like everything he'd been missing.
As the credits rolled, Scully stirred, stretching slightly before standing up. "I feel snackish," she said with a smile, glancing down at Mulder. "How about you pick another movie, and I'll grab us something to nibble on?"
Mulder nodded, watching as she padded into the kitchen. He chose a movie almost at random, barely glancing at the screen before he got up and followed her. When he reached the kitchen, he slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her close.
Scully turned in his embrace, meeting his gaze before their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. She felt herself melt against him as his hands roamed to her waist, lifting her onto the kitchen counter, her legs wrapping around him instinctively. The kiss deepened, drawing them both in until all thoughts of snacks and movies faded away.
In a swift, graceful motion, Mulder lifted her again, carrying her through the dim apartment and into her bedroom, the quiet warmth of their evening shifting into something electric.
Mulder lay there, his breath slowly evening out, as he felt Scully's fingertips tracing light, meandering paths along his spine. She pressed a series of gentle kisses along his neck, the warmth of her lips making him shiver. He wanted to sink fully into her touch, into the softness and quiet intimacy of the moment, but a small voice of doubt tugged at him.
Finally, he propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her. "Sorry," he murmured with a sheepish smile. "Didn't mean to crush you."
She gave a soft, familiar laugh, the kind that always made him feel like he was exactly where he belonged. "It's ok," she reassured him, leaning up to kiss him. But this time, he barely returned her kiss, the briefest press of his lips before he rolled off her to lie on his back.
Scully hesitated, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. She propped herself up on one arm, studying his profile in the dim light. "You ok?"
"Sure," he said, meeting her gaze, his tone casual but his eyes searching hers. "You?"
Scully nodded, giving him a soft, almost tender smile. "Yes, I'm ok." But her eyes held something else—something she wasn't saying. Her smile didn't quite reach them, and Mulder felt the smallest pang as he realized it.
For a long moment, they lay side by side, a quiet tension settling in the space between them, as though each of them was waiting for the other to speak, to name something that lingered just out of reach.
As the room settled into darkness, Mulder lay beside Scully, feeling her breathing slow as she drifted into sleep. He wanted to let himself follow her into that quiet, restful space, but his mind wouldn't quiet. A faint unease gnawed at him, a lingering echo of her unreadable expression just moments ago.
He turned slightly, watching her face in the dim light, softened in sleep. She looked peaceful, so effortlessly close beside him, yet his thoughts kept circling, unraveling fragments of doubts he couldn't ignore. He wondered if something in her quiet, half-hearted smile had meant more than she was letting on, if the comfort of their recent intimacy was missing something for her that he hadn't noticed.
Mulder's thoughts drifted back to all the unspoken layers of their relationship. It had only been a few weeks since the first time they'd crossed the boundary from partners and friends to lovers. They'd found themselves entwined in bed as naturally as they'd once been sharing Chinese takeout at their desks, as if the transition had been inevitable. And yet… perhaps it hadn't been everything she'd hoped.
As he lay awake, it dawned on him that maybe she wasn't entirely happy with the arrangement they'd settled into. Maybe she'd been looking for something he hadn't given her—or maybe he'd missed a deeper hesitation, something she hadn't yet found a way to say.
The thought sat heavy with him, filling the dark silence with a quiet ache. Mulder wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and tell her everything he'd never said aloud. But as he listened to her breathing, he stayed still, the weight of his uncertainty keeping him awake long into the night.
Hours later, Scully stirred awake, the quiet absence of Mulder beside her a familiar sensation. She blinked into the darkness of her room, taking a moment to adjust. It was always like this. When they were at her place, she'd wake up to find herself alone, a lingering warmth where he had once been. And when they were at his place, it was the same—she'd quietly slip away in the middle of the night, always leaving before the first light of morning.
The first time it had happened, when she had woken to an empty bed, she'd told herself it was fine. She was certain that Mulder had felt the same way when she had left in the middle of their first night together. They weren't in a relationship in the traditional sense, after all. They were partners, friends who had found something more in the heat of shared moments, nothing that required holding each other until dawn.
But that had been before. The more they spent time together, the more they shared—not just in bed, but in quiet, stolen moments between cases, the little gestures, the looks that lingered longer than they should—the more she found herself hoping for something else. Something more.
Scully sighed softly, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. The desire to wake up with him, to have him there beside her in the morning, had crept up on her slowly, quietly, until it felt like an ache she couldn't shake. She wondered if he felt the same, or if he, like her, had started to want more but was unsure how to take that step. Or maybe, just maybe, he hadn't thought about it at all.
The stillness of the room seemed louder now, as if the space between them was growing wider the longer they danced around the edges of something neither of them had been willing to define. She tried to push the thoughts away, telling herself it wasn't a big deal, but it was hard to ignore the pang of longing that twisted in her chest.
Scully slipped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cool floor. She picked up sweater, trying to shake off the lingering sense of uncertainty. The quiet of the apartment enveloped her as she made her way to the kitchen, hoping the cool water would help clear the thoughts swirling in her mind. She filled a glass and took a sip, leaning against the counter, eyes unfocused as she stared out at the night.
At first, she didn't notice anything unusual. The apartment felt like it always did at this hour—empty, silent. But then she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, and there, half-dressed, standing by her desk near the window, was Mulder.
She blinked, surprised. "Mulder, you're still here?" Her voice caught, a mix of surprise and something else—relief, maybe, or happiness—that she couldn't entirely mask. The moment felt unexpectedly intimate, like a small, unexpected gift.
But when Mulder turned to face her, that happiness slipped away. His expression was distant, troubled, like he'd been lost in thought for far longer than he should have been. His eyes didn't meet hers directly at first, and when they did, they were filled with something unreadable, a tension she hadn't seen before. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but then he didn't, his gaze shifting down to the floor, like the weight of something unspoken was pressing down on him.
Scully's heart sank slightly. The moment she had hoped for—Mulder staying the night, staying with her—felt suddenly fragile.
"Mulder…?" she said softly, trying to catch his eye, but his gaze drifted away again. Something was off, and she couldn't help but feel it.
"I didn't mean to…" he started, his voice quieter than usual. But he trailed off, the words not quite coming together. Instead, he gave a small shake of his head, as if trying to shake off whatever was pulling at him.
Scully's stomach twisted, the small, tentative joy she'd felt moments ago fading as she took a step toward him. "What's wrong?" Her voice was gentle, but the concern was there, creeping in. She wanted to close the distance, but something in his posture made her hesitate.
Mulder didn't answer right away. His eyes found hers again, briefly, but he didn't say anything. The silence between them hung heavier than it ever had before. And for the first time, she wasn't sure how to bridge the gap.
Mulder's words hung in the air, slicing through the silence between them. His voice was quiet, but the question was sharp, as if he had been carrying this thought for a while. "Since we started this… how often have you slept with me even though you didn't want to?"
Scully felt the weight of his gaze, a tightness in her chest, like she'd just been caught in a truth she wasn't ready to confront. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. *Had he sensed something?* She'd tried so hard to keep her feelings in check, to keep the boundaries clear, but now… now it was out there in the open.
"I wanted it every single time, I assure you," she replied, perhaps too quickly, her voice steady but betraying a hint of uncertainty. She paused, her gaze falling to the floor as she searched for the right words. "It's just that…" she trailed off, the weight of her thoughts coming to the surface, uninvited. "Lately, I've found myself hoping…"
Mulder didn't speak, his eyes waiting for her to continue. She could feel his presence, his eyes on her, waiting for something more.
All they ever did now was work or have sex. That was the pattern they had slipped into, one she wasn't sure how to break. She wasn't sure she wanted to, but at the same time, she couldn't ignore the ache in her chest, the longing for something else—something deeper, more meaningful. Something beyond the physical, beyond the case files and the brief touches that lingered in the dark.
Her voice softened as she spoke again. "All we do, Mulder, is either work or have sex."
There was a long pause. Mulder's eyes searched hers, and for the first time, she could see the vulnerability in him that matched her own. He wasn't angry, or even frustrated, but something else—the weight of his own thoughts, his own unspoken desires.
"What are you hoping for?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The question settled over her like a cloud, heavy and all-encompassing. She wanted to say something simple, something easy, but the truth was tangled up in ways she hadn't yet figured out.
"I don't know," she admitted quietly, meeting his gaze. "I just… I want something more, Mulder. Something real."
Scully took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. She had known, deep down, that this moment was coming. That the unspoken tension had been building, and it was only a matter of time before she had to face it head-on. There was no way back now, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn't sure whether she was afraid or relieved.
"When you came over tonight, and we had dinner, and watched that movie..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It was just so nice." Her voice softened, the weight of the simple truth settling between them.
She could feel the warmth of Mulder's presence, still so close, but somehow distant, as if he was bracing himself for what was coming next. She hesitated for a moment longer before continuing, knowing this would change things between them.
"I know I started the whole... running away in the middle of the night," she said, her eyes flickering briefly to the floor, then back to him. "But... I don't want this anymore."
There was a quiet sincerity in her words that seemed to hang in the air. She swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat. "I want to wake up with you. Not with the pressure that if we don't… you know…" Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. "If we don't, then it might not be interesting enough to spend the evening together."
Mulder was silent for a long moment, as if letting her words settle in. The stillness felt almost too heavy, but she could see it in his eyes—he wasn't surprised, just... thoughtful, maybe even relieved. He wasn't ready to put the pieces together just yet, but he knew, deep down, that they were both standing on the edge of something that neither of them had dared to name before.
Scully's heart thudded in her chest as she waited for him to respond, not knowing what he'd say, but knowing she couldn't take it back now. The quiet longing, the uncertainty that had been building between them for weeks, was finally spilling out.
"I'm not asking for anything drastic," she added softly, as if reassuring herself as much as him. "I just want... more than what we've been doing. Something real. And I want that with you."
Scully looked at him, feeling the weight of her own words settle heavily in her chest. She knew she had to say them, but they didn't come easily. The truth never did. "But I get it," she continued, her voice a little softer now, but the uncertainty still lingering. "You might not want this. And so far, it seemed to be enough to do what we do, instead of not having you around at all. But I don't know how much longer I can do this."
She could feel the silence stretching between them, thick and heavy. Every word she spoke felt like a step she couldn't take back.
Mulder let out a deep sigh, and Scully braced herself for the response she feared. But instead, he walked over to her, slow and deliberate, until he was standing right in front of her. His expression was a mix of regret and something more—something raw, vulnerable, and full of self-awareness.
"How self-centered am I that I didn't notice?" he murmured, filled with guilt. He reached for her, his hands gently finding their way around her waist, pulling her closer, as if to close the distance between them. His touch was warm, comforting, and it only deepened the ache in her chest.
"Scully, I am so sorry," he said, his voice tight with regret. "I fucked this up so badly." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, his hands holding her against him as if he never wanted to let go. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for you to feel like this."
The sincerity in his voice hit her hard. Scully closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the weight of his apology sinking in. She could feel the sorrow in him, a sorrow she hadn't expected, but that she was beginning to understand. She had never imagined him to be the one caught up in the confusion, but in that moment, it felt like they were both navigating something they hadn't known how to navigate from the beginning.
Scully pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him, her hands resting on his chest, still unsure of what exactly to say next. "I never wanted to make this harder than it needed to be, Mulder," she said softly, her voice steady despite the vulnerability she felt. "I just… I don't know if I can keep pretending I'm okay with just this."
Mulder nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "You shouldn't have to pretend, Scully. I'm the one who messed this up. I was so focused on what I needed, I didn't see what you needed. I'm sorry. I want to make it right."
Mulder's voice was low and earnest, his words coming slowly, as if he was afraid of the answer, yet hoping beyond hope that it would be what he desperately wanted to hear. He took a small step closer, his hands still holding her gently, but now with a sense of tenderness that spoke volumes.
"Please, let me wake up next to you tomorrow morning," he said, his tone almost pleading. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, and it made something inside her shift. "Let us watch that second movie we never watched."
Scully felt a small smile tug at her lips, despite the heaviness of the conversation. He remembered. She could hear the lightness in his voice, and it felt like a small lifeline thrown out in the middle of all the uncertainty.
"I'm running out of things normal couples do," Mulder continued, his smile sheepish but sincere. "But it'll come to me, I promise."
Scully's chest tightened at his words. She could feel his sincerity, his earnest desire to make things right, and it resonated deep within her. His apology wasn't just words; it was the start of something more—something that felt like it could finally give them both the clarity they needed.
For a long moment, they just stood there, their eyes locked, her hands still resting on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, steady and reassuring, as if he was trying to prove to her that he was in this, really in this, for whatever came next.
Finally, she exhaled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay," she said, a note of relief in her words. "Let's do that. Let's start with tomorrow morning."
Mulder's face softened, and he gently cupped her face in his hands, brushing his thumb across her cheek, as if savoring the moment. "Thank you," he murmured, his eyes filled with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken.
And for the first time in a long time, Scully felt the weight lift—just a little—and the possibility of something more felt real.
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Scully slowly woke up, the quiet, comforting presence of Mulder beside her pulling her from her dreams. Her head was nestled against his chest, and she could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, steady and reassuring.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the morning light, and as she lifted her head slightly, she saw that Mulder was already awake, his gaze soft and warm as he looked down at her. His lips curved into a smile, a small, content smile that made her heart flutter.
"This is really nice," Mulder murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, but full of sincerity. "I like waking up like this."
Scully couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. She felt a sense of peace settle over her, a warmth that had been missing in the nights before. This—waking up with him here, with no rush, no unspoken tension—felt right.
"I like it too," she said softly, her voice a little sleepy but full of happiness.
For a moment, they just lay there, the world outside the room fading away as they shared a simple, quiet moment. It wasn't complicated, but it felt like everything they both needed.
The peaceful moment lingered between them as their lips met in a soft kiss, slow and unhurried this time—no pressure, no expectations, no rush. Just the simple pleasure of each other's company. It was just the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of the morning.
But then, out of nowhere, Mulder's stomach let out a loud, unmistakable growl, breaking the quiet.
Scully pulled away slightly, her eyes wide as she couldn't help but laugh. "I guess someone's hungry," she teased, her smile tugging at her lips.
Mulder looked a little sheepish, rubbing his stomach with a mock grimace. "Guess I got a little carried away with all the... well, *this," he said, gesturing between them, his grin broadening.
"Let's make some breakfast," Scully said with a playful twinkle in her eye. She slid out of bed, stretching as she stood, before looking over her shoulder at him. "You're on toast duty today."
Mulder raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "No room service?" he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips.
Scully shot him a mischievous glance. "I'm afraid not," she said, a teasing edge to her voice. "Come on, we'll start small. Toast is a good place to begin."
Mulder chuckled, sitting up and stretching himself. "Toast duty, huh? I can handle that. You're lucky I'm a pro in the kitchen."
Scully laughed again, the sound light and carefree. "We'll see about that," she teased as she made her way to the kitchen, Mulder following her with a grin.
They sat at the kitchen table, the quiet hum of the morning surrounding them as they ate their breakfast, the conversation flowing easily between bites. Scully could feel the calm settling between them, a welcome change from the tension that had been hanging over their recent interactions.
Mulder put down his fork for a moment, his gaze lifting to meet hers. There was a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he were processing something in his mind. "So," he said slowly, his voice a little more serious, "how does this whole new thing between us work now? I leave after breakfast?"
Scully glanced at him, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't sure why, but she could feel the weight of this question—this shift—settling into their conversation. "If you want to," she said simply, not wanting to complicate things further.
Mulder tilted his head, his brow furrowing in a way that was equal parts curious and sincere. "I don't," he replied, his voice a little quieter now. "So, what do we do?"
Scully leaned back in her chair, her hands resting on the table, as she considered the question. "What do you usually do?" she asked, her tone light and teasing, trying to shift the mood back to something more comfortable.
Mulder smiled and chuckled lightly, clearly relieved by her response. "Hmm," he said, leaning back as well, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I go to the supermarket, drop off my suits at the dry cleaner, maybe go for a run, or play basketball at the YMCA. You?"
Scully raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Same," she replied with a small nod. "Except for the basketball." She grinned, her voice dropping into a playful tone. "I'm too old for the little league."
Mulder laughed out loud, the sound warm and genuine. It was the kind of laugh that told her he wasn't just humoring her; he genuinely found it funny. And it was a sound she hadn't heard from him in a while—a laugh that was unburdened, unguarded. It was a relief to see him so at ease, to see that tension from earlier fade away.
Scully felt her own heart lighten at the sight of him smiling so freely. She hadn't realized how much she missed it until now, how much she missed the ease between them that didn't feel complicated by anything else. They were just *themselves* again, and it felt… good.
"Okay, so no basketball," Mulder teased, his grin still lingering. "Guess we'll find other ways to stay in shape."
Scully shot him a sly look, still smiling. "I think we can manage."
They both settled back into their meal, the conversation flowing naturally now, as if the weight of their unspoken thoughts had lifted for the time being. There was something comforting in the simplicity of it all—just breakfast, just the two of them, figuring out what the next step would be.
Later that day, Mulder and Scully strolled side by side down a quiet street, the brisk February air nipping at their cheeks. The cold didn't bother them, though—it felt refreshing, the kind of weather that made you feel more alive, more in the moment. They were comfortable, enjoying the easy rhythm of their walk, the simple pleasure of being together without the weight of expectation.
Mulder, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, glanced at Scully with a mischievous grin. "You know," he said, his tone playful, "this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing is easier than I thought."
Scully raised an eyebrow, shooting him a sideways glance. "Maybe I'm just easy," she replied with a teasing smirk, the words light but not without a hint of affection.
Mulder chuckled, a low, amused sound that seemed to carry effortlessly through the quiet street. "You should needlepoint that on a pillow," he said, his grin widening. "I'm sure it would make a great conversation piece."
Scully laughed, shaking her head. "Well, speaking of crafts," she said, her eyes lighting up with a sudden thought. "There's a craft fair at the local community center today. We could check it out."
Mulder stopped walking for a moment, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "A craft fair?" he repeated, as if considering the idea. "I didn't take you for the arts and crafts type, Scully."
She gave him a mock stern look. "What's wrong with a little knitting, Mulder? Or maybe I could pick up a few hand-painted ceramics to liven up your apartment."
Mulder chuckled, the idea clearly amusing him. "You're right," he said, his grin returning. "I *do* need more colorful ceramics in my life. Lead the way, Scully. I'm all in."
Scully smiled, pleased by his willingness to go along with it. "It's not just about the ceramics," she teased, nudging him with her elbow. "You might just find some treasures you never knew you needed."
They continued walking, Scully leading the way toward the community center, both of them content in the simplicity of the moment. It wasn't anything extraordinary, but it felt like everything they needed right now—a walk, a little humor, and the promise of a quiet afternoon spent together.
After browsing through the craft fair, Mulder and Scully took a leisurely walk back through the park, the cold air biting at their cheeks and noses. The snow from the previous days still lay thick on the ground, making the park look peaceful and pristine. The trees were dusted with a fine layer of snow, and the world around them seemed quiet, almost magical.
As they strolled along the path, Scully's gaze caught something up ahead, and her eyes immediately brightened. "Look," she said, pointing with a smile. "A snowman!"
Mulder followed her gaze and saw a small, lopsided snowman standing proudly in a patch of open snow. It was far from perfect—its body uneven, its arms little more than twigs—but there was something charming about it. It looked like it had been hastily built, but it had character.
"That's cute," Scully remarked with a soft laugh. "It's a little... off-center, but it has personality."
Mulder grinned, the mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, "I think we could do better."
Scully raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Oh really? And how do you figure that?"
"Well," Mulder said, looking around with exaggerated seriousness, "we're experts in the field of solving mysteries, so surely we could handle a snowman, right?"
Scully chuckled, shaking her head. "I think you've got it all figured out, Mulder."
Without missing a beat, Mulder gestured toward a clear patch of snow. "Come on, let's build our own. I think we could create a masterpiece."
Scully hesitated for a moment but then smiled, the idea of building a snowman suddenly feeling like the perfect thing to do. "All right, let's see if you can live up to your snowman-building hype."
Mulder grinned and immediately dropped to his knees, rolling the first ball of snow. Scully joined him, and soon they were both laughing as they worked together. It didn't matter that it wasn't perfect, or that they were a little out of practice. The snowman slowly took shape under their hands, with Mulder making the bottom half and Scully crafting the top.
Once they had the snowman standing, Mulder grabbed a couple of twigs from a nearby tree and added them as arms, while Scully dug around in her pockets and found a stray button, which she placed as one of its eyes. They took turns improvising with whatever they could find—a small stone for the other eye, a half-broken twig for a nose, and finally, Mulder spotted a discarded scarf on a nearby bench, which they wrapped around their creation's neck.
When they were finished, they stood back and surveyed their work. The snowman was far from perfect—lopsided in places, with uneven snowballs and a crooked nose—but it had a kind of charm. It was their snowman, and it felt like a small, shared victory.
Scully grinned at Mulder. "Not bad, Mulder. Not bad at all."
Mulder gave her a smug look, clearly pleased with their creation. "I knew we could do it."
They stood there for a moment, enjoying the sight of their snowy creation, the sound of laughter and the soft crunch of the snow beneath their feet the only noise in the stillness of the park.
"Well," Mulder said, breaking the silence with a grin. "That's one mystery solved."
Scully rolled her eyes, but her smile was wide and genuine. "I think we've done enough snowman building for one day."
They shared a laugh before continuing their walk through the park, feeling lighter than before, the simple joy of the moment still lingering between them.
After their park adventure, Mulder and Scully made their way back to her apartment, the cold air still biting at their skin. Scully had a small smile on her face, her cheeks rosy from the walk and their impromptu snowman-building session. There was something refreshing about the simple joy of the afternoon—a kind of carefree moment that felt far removed from the usual seriousness of their lives.
Once they were inside, Scully immediately went to the kitchen, shedding her coat as she went. "I'll make us some hot chocolate," she said, the warmth of the apartment already starting to sink in as she moved to the counter.
Mulder, meanwhile, walked over to the fireplace. "I'll get a fire going," he said, kneeling down to tend to the logs. He fiddled with the kindling for a moment, pulling a match out of his coat pocket to light the pile of dry wood.
Scully smiled to herself as she opened the cabinet to pull out mugs and cocoa mix. It was nice—this routine, this feeling of being at home, of sharing these little moments together. She filled the kettle with water and set it to boil, the soft sound of the whistling kettle soon filling the space.
Mulder's voice broke through the quiet. "Need help?" he called over his shoulder, his tone still playful but with the faintest hint of concentration as he worked on the fire.
"I've got it covered," she called back, setting the cocoa mix into the mugs. "But thank you."
A few minutes later, the fire crackled to life, its warmth beginning to spread across the room. Mulder stood up, brushing his hands off as he looked over at Scully, who was now pouring hot water into the mugs. The sight of her moving around her kitchen with such ease, the soft glow from the fire lighting her face, felt almost peaceful in its simplicity.
"Fire's good," he said, walking over to the couch with a satisfied smile, his fingers still tingling from the warmth of the flames. "The hot chocolate smells delicious."
Scully shrugged modestly, handing him a mug of hot chocolate as she sat down beside him. "It's just some store-bought mix," she replied with a grin taking a sip of her own, letting the warmth spread through her.
Mulder settled next to her, taking the mug from her hand with a soft "thanks." He leaned back into the couch, letting the quiet warmth of the fire and the hot chocolate wash over him. "I think I could get used to this," he said, his voice low as he looked at her with a soft smile.
Scully's gaze softened as she looked back at him. "Yeah, me too," she said, her words carrying the same quiet weight of the moment. "It's nice. Simple."
They sat there for a while, in the peacefulness of the apartment, the fire crackling softly, each of them content in the shared silence. Every so often, Mulder would glance over at her, a small, genuine smile still on his face, and Scully would meet his gaze, her eyes reflecting a quiet happiness.