Chapter Text
He pretended it was about chasing away the cold, like mulled wine in Aspen, when he was a kid, on holiday with his parents. But it was not, it was bourbon on rocks and the trees only just started to change colors.
His buddy Jack was good company; didn’t talk much, listened well and gradually let his mind go blank. That was the best part, because above else, Mulder wanted the images erased from his mind, at least for a while. Phoebe perched on the edge of the desk, with her skirt hiked up and a man on his knees between her thighs.
“You’re a good man, Jack,” he murmured, looking at the amber colored liquid, “or at least you father was. Can’t say that about mine.”
There were moments, when Mulder stopped long enough, to look into the depths of his life’s fucked-up-ness, wondering, what went wrong, but tonight, a sharp knock broke the bitter spiral.
“You expect someone?” He asked the glass and hauled his ass off the floor, zeroing in on the source of the pounding.
“Coming!” He yelled, letting the booze run a bypass around his patience. “If you lost your key again, Marcus,” he began, twisting the locks to reveal a little redhead, livid, waiting on his doorstep. “Hey Scully.”
“Mulder,” she pushed past him, going straight for the living room, clearly, not there for him.
“Marcus’s out,” he said, closing the doors.
“Where is he,” she demanded, standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, fuming. Someone was about to have as bad a day as he had.
“From the state you’re in, I think you suspect where.” He sank into the couch, the ice in the tumbler almost gone. “If not know it already.”
"Don't analyze me, just tell me," she hissed, crossing arms over her chest, classic defensive posture.
"He's with Phoebe." Mulder sighed and let alcohol wash the words away.
Quality of tension changed. He looked up to see Scully's shoulders sag, her expression changed from angry to horrified. She knew that Marcus was with someone, but not exactly who that someone was.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I shouldn't barge in like that."
"It's okay," Mulder smiled and saluted her with his drink, "I'm sorry too."
"I came to tell him it's over," she said out of the blue, looking around sheepishly, hands hidden in the pockets of her jeans. He wouldn't mind watching Marcus get his ass chewed out, and besides, he always liked her.
"You can wait if you want." He got up and headed for the kitchen, "have a drink with me."
"I really shouldn't," she said, but didn't move from her spot.
Smiling when their eyes met again, he guided her to the couch, gentle hand on the small of her back. "C'mon, take a mental health day."
"Okay, one drink, but to what?"
"To our poor romantic choices?" He suggested, placing a tumbler in her hands.
"Faulty radars."
"Yes!" He laughed, raising his glass, "to faulty radars."
They clinked glasses and tossed back their drinks. Scully's face twisted and she coughed, but reached out, silently demanding a refill.
"That bad?" He asked, pouring, meaning the drink as much as her state of mind.
"Don't try to shrink me," she warned.
"Why would I, you're a perfect 8."
"Four!" She bristled, slapping his shoulder and making him laugh.
"No, you're an eight," he grinned, seeing her catch on, "trust me on that."
"You and your faulty radar?" She sipped her drink, slower this time, finally smiling back.
"Touche." Mulder toasted her again, and added, "you got somewhere to be?" Scully shook her head, watching the bourbon whirl around tumbler.
"Hang around for a bit," her arched eyebrow looked cute, or maybe it was the drink, "I wouldn't mind some like-minded company."
Setting down the glass, she shrugged out of her jacket, folding it over the armrest. "This isn't some half-assed attempt at payback, is it?"
He gave her his most non-threatening smile. "Definitely not."
"So my brothers are in the army and my sister is somewhere," she made a vague gesture in the air, "California, maybe, and you?"
"My sister was abducted when I was 12, no word, no note, she just disappeared," he played with his glass, feeling the mood sink as he spoke, "parents got divorced not long after, I lived with my mom on the Vineyard for a while, then moved to DC. Dad wanted me to go to Georgetown, I went my own way." Heavy silence followed. "I'm a mood killer, aren't I."
He glanced at her, ready to counter anything from ridicule to pity, but not sincere compassion he saw in her features. Their eyes locked for a long moment, until Scully looked away, her turn to look for words at the bottom of a glass.
"I should stop asking you questions," she said wryly.
"I don't exactly broadcast these things, you couldn't have known." He nudged her a little. "It's okay, really. You wanna talk something else? I heard that they found six dead cows in a small town, 30 miles west from here, completely drained of blood."
The idea, however preposterous, earned him a bewildered smile. "How?"
"Through two small puncture wounds in the jugular." She rolled her eyes, he laughed.
"A prank." She declared, making herself more comfortable.
"Right, have you seen a 900-pound Holstein? Not to mention 6 of them? That's a lot of steaks and hamburgers. Oh, and did I mention two human victims?" He left the best part for last, but she refused to be impressed.
"If not a prank, then what is it?" Scully challenged, finishing her slice of pizza.
"C'mon Scully," Mulder smirked, pouring the next round, "it's classic vampirism."
"Please," she mumbled, washing down dinner with coke, "there's like a hundred other things it could be."
"Well, doctor Scully, and what might those be."
"First of all..."
She lunged into a lecture about psychological fixations and genetic afflictions, and Mulder was positive, he never had that much fun in his life.
Two hours later he was contemplating her small feet, stretched out and resting next to his on the coffee table.
"Can we just throw his stuff out the window? So we'd never have to see him again?" Scully mumbled, leaning against his side sleepily.
"No," he sighed, though quite down with this plan, "he paid for three months upfront."
His voice came slow, as if finding it's way through haze of alcohol, only to be met with comfortable silence.
"Anyone ever told you, you got cute feet?" He asked, apropos of nothing, just as her head touched down on his shoulder.
From the moment she sat down on the couch, he never once thought about Phoebe, or Marcus for that matter. Now it was 2am and he couldn't bare to kick her out. So, very gently, freeing himself from her warm weight, he eased her down resting her head on one of the pillows and draping a blanket over her. Relaxed in sleep, her features became innocent and sweet, cupids's bow above slightly parted lips, a beauty mark to one side, lightly flushed cheeks from the bottle of bourbon they almost killed.
He dropped the other pillow on the floor and settled beside her, like a sentinel, in case Marcus came back and got ideas about giving her grief or something. Last thing he remembered, was a gentle snore, coming from somewhere above him.
The next morning, Mulder woke up stiff, but not freezing. Half of the blanket fell to the floor or rather over him, right with Scully's hand, now lightly rubbing at his chest.
"Hey," she smiled sleepily, looking down at him from the edge of the seat.
"Hi," he patted her hand and sat up, pushing the blanket back up.
"Why did you sleep on the floor?"
"So I could watch the show," he chuckled, rubbing his face, "or kick Marcus's ass, or whatever. How are you feeling?"
"I think the pizza saved me," she sat up, straightening her hair and clothes, "but I wouldn't say no to coffee."
His eyebrows went up, but the snarky reply died killed by her small smile. What was a little coffee and straight-forwardness between friends.
"Milk, sugar?" He asked, getting up.
"No sugar."
"Okay, the bathroom is yours."
Gathering mugs and plates, kitchen smelling of breakfast, they bantered over the last issue of The Lone Gunman.
"Mulder, the technology doesn't exist." Scully argued, wiping the last of egg with crust from her toast. Mulder grinned.
"Easy there, you want mine too?"
"Sorry, it's just so good."
"Right, just don't let me catch you loving my cooking again, or..."
"Dana?" Marcus appeared in the doorway, making them both look up. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, hi," she smiled, unfazed, but the smile faded fas. "Wait, what time is it?"
"Almost 9:30," Mulder said, glancing at the clock behind her.
"Shit!" Scully jumped as if burned, scrambling for her things. "I've got a study group in one hour!"
"Jacket on the chair, shoes by the couch." He offered and she paused long enough to peck him on the cheek.
"Thanks."
Leaving Mulder grinning like a kid she rushed out, only to have her way blocked by Marcus. Barefoot, she stood almost a foot shorter, but it didn't stop her from staring him down. "You and me, we're done." She said coldly and stepped past him.
The two men stared at each other, waiting for hurricane Scully to pass, and with a yelled, "Later Mulder!" the doors slammed shut. Campus radio filled the heavy silence.
"So, you're nailing my leftovers now?" Marcus finally spoke, hiding behind false bravado.
Mulder snorted, and started gathering dishes. "You're clueless man."
"Yeah? How?"
"Scully is no leftovers, she's a whole three course meal, with desert." And you just made, the greatest mistake of your life. He thought, hiding a smile as he washed and rinsed the mugs, stacking them in the drier.