Title: Things That Make Mulder Wonder or The Enigma That Is Dana Scully
Category: X-Files (MSR)
Summary: A whole pile of post-eps for episodes in season 6 and 7 (not necessarily every episode), revolving around Mulder's thoughts, particularly about Scully.
Rating: PG-13 for some relatively mild sexual terms (this might change per chapter)
Spoilers: Spoilers up to seasons 6 and 7. You'll know if you read the title of each chapter which episode it pertains to.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
I started these a long time ago, part of my "old" collection of fanfics. I've found them, tweaked them a bit (if I could), and added a few episodes as inspiration struck. Some are better than others, but I hope you like them. Warning: they are pretty sappy, most of them.
Feedback is always much appreciated. Thank you in advance for any comments/criticisms. They put a smile on my face always. :)
He knows he isn't mistaken. He kissed her, and he kissed her hard, roughly shoving his tongue into her mouth. Taken by surprise she didn't respond, but then she yielded to him, kissing him back for one glorious, too-short moment before pushing him away and punching him.
Her punch was strong, as he always knew it would be. She'd bested him in a lot of things FBI, the psych exam, the hand-to-hand combat, the fire arms test. His logic and reasoning is only slightly higher than hers, and it's only because she takes long to carefully consider options on the test while he zips though it on instinct.
He's glad he's never given her reason to hit him before, though maybe she's generous in her restraint.
She didn't believe him when he said he loved her. He doesn't believe he said it. The drugs rid him of his inhibitions, the little that he has on a normal day, and the idea that she came and rescued him made his heart swell. Even in another life she trusted him though she didn't truly believe him. She believed *in* him.
She calls him in the morning and he complains about the lumpy and bland oatmeal he was forced to eat for breakfast and that his nurse may get off on hurting men. She indulges him and he talks as long as he can before she tells him she has to go. He misses her all morning, especially since the television has only three lousy channels.
When she calls again at noon she tells him she's spoken to his doctor. He reports his doctor hasn't even come in to see him. She suggests it's because of his attitude with the nurse.
Either way, he's being discharged today and she'll be by this afternoon to pick him up and he only hangs up with the promise that she'll hang around long enough to tuck him into bed.
He's all set when she comes, sneakers and everything. He's grumpy because they won't let him walk down, instead they insist an orderly escort him out in a wheelchair. He's even grumpier when she agrees, and throws her a look before sitting down. She doesn't seem fazed at all.
At home she walks him straight to his couch. He's exhausted but doesn't want to admit it. He can be as tough and stubborn as her when he wants to be. She lays him down and asks him if he can strip off the jeans he has on. He gives her a grin and says he'll need help.
She complies and he's a bit pissed that he's so exhausted and drugged that he doesn't even get hard when the sight of her reaching for his zipper turns him on so much. She leaves him in boxers and his T and pulls a blanket over him.
"Get a bed, Mulder."
"I think I have an old mattress in the bedroom somewhere, under the boxes. You can help me dig it out if you want? It's a big one, plenty of room for two."
"What do you do when you entertain women, Mulder?"
"Not too many women coming around here, Scully. Just you, and I think I can safely bet that you like the feel of leather on your skin. Am I right?"
She just rolls her eyes at him and runs an affectionate hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and almost purrs. "Go to sleep, Mulder. I'll make something for you to eat and leave your meds out."
"Don't go, Scully. I want to tell you about what happened."
"Mulder, you were hallucinating. You were deprived of oxygen for at least three minutes, if not more. I'm just relieved you didn't suffer any brain damage."
"How do you know for sure?" he asks, his eyes heavy, his brain fuzzy. He sleeps as she strokes his hair.
When he wakes next he hears her in his kitchen. That, or someone has broken in and is very hungry.
"Scully," he calls, and she comes out of the kitchen to him. He notices she's only in her stocking feet.
"How are you feeling?" she asks, sitting on the coffee table across from him. She touches his face and he's positive she's not really checking for fever. "You've got an angry welt on your face."
Oh right. "You punched me. Hard. Look." He takes her hand and folds it into a fist, and places it over the sore spot on his cheek.
"I didn't punch you," she says, turning her fist flat and holding it against his face. "I can get you some ice for it?"
"The finger marks line up, Scully."
"You probably hit yourself on something. God, Mulder, you could have been killed. If I hadn't been able to find you…."
"I knew you would find me. You always have my back."
"Just because we're not partners on the X-Files doesn't mean you can ditch me like that, Mulder. Next time I may not be so generous."
He doesn't answer because he's scared that one day she'll mean it.
"Are you hungry? How is your head?"
"Hurting. Is it time for the painkillers?"
"I'll bring you some food and you can take your medication. Then I think you should rest for the evening. I'll leave you alone."
She brings soup and some pills and he wraps her up in a conversation about Nazis and spies and Thor's Hammer and a brave, beautiful, short red-headed woman who took no crap from anyone, including him.
"She definitely sounds like me."
"Yeah," he says. His VCR shows 11:47 PM, and though he generally never sleeps before one in the morning, he finds himself drifting off.
When he wakes, she's not there, but she's left a note next to his pills:
'Mulder – take two of these with breakfast, not on an empty stomach. Be careful because they will make you drowsy so don't even think about coming in today. I'll call you later.
ps – at least now you know not to mess with me. I've got a mean right hook.'
He smiles and folds the paper and keeps it somewhere safe. He wonders if he'll ever have the guts again to tell her that he loves her.