Chapter Text
Scully was naked and muddy, and the water coming out of the showerhead felt like it'd been refrigerated. The knob was all the way to the left, all the way H, but the water was not H at all and Scully wanted to kick something.
Slapping the shower off, she wrapped herself in a towel, grabbed her key and stormed next door to Mulder's. Knocking with one hand, she clutched her towel with the other. It was possible the entire parking lot was staring at her, but she didn't turn around to look.
Mulder answered the door with the phone pressed to his ear.
"I'm using your shower," she announced, pushing past him. He was bare-chested and only wearing his dirty jeans.
"Nice towel," he said.
"Nice hickey," she smirked.
"Scully!" Mulder clapped a hand over his chest like he was being forced to pledge allegiance.
"Heh." Scully whipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
*****
Mulder's shower had hot water. It had hot water for almost an hour, right up until the time it ran out, at which point Scully was already squeaky clean and realizing she hadn't brought over any clothes with her.
She poked her head out the bathroom door, aware her towel barely covered the important parts. Mulder was stretched out on the bed, TV on, phone still to his ear.
"Mulder?"
He looked over at her, rolling his head on the pillow and accidentally dislodging the phone.
"Yes, Scully."
She hitched her towel up higher, then tugged it down again. "Mulder, could you go next door and get me my bag? I need my clothes."
"Your clothes?" Mulder repeated, tucking the phone under his chin. The phone said something that sounded like "wha-WHA?"
Scully nodded. "My bag's in the closet."
"No, she took a shower," Mulder said to the phone. "I don't know. I'll ask." The receiver back under his chin, he asked, "Why is Scully using my shower?"
"Because Scully's shower is broken," she told him, assuming he was talking to Sue and wondering how she would take the news that Scully was practically naked in his motel room.
Mulder relayed this information to the phone. Scully pulled her towel up again, holding it at the knot between her breasts and shivering. "Mulder," she growled.
"Yes," he said. "I've got to go. I do too, bye." Throwing his arm out to the side, he replaced the phone on the nightstand, then propped his head up on one hand and examined her.
She shivered again. "You can close your mouth, Mulder."
Mulder blinked at her, then cleared his throat. "So, you planning on getting dressed at all this evening? Not that this isn't a good look for you--"
Making sure she had a firm grip on her towel, she chucked her key at him. He ducked, shielding his eyes.
"The things I do for you," he complained, collecting the key and shoving his feet into his running shoes. "Fetch me my underwear, pick out something sexy--" He disappeared out the door, still muttering.
Scully stayed in the bathroom, dancing from foot to foot on the warped linoleum. It danced with her, bubbling up and down and making plasticky noises. She'd used Mulder's shampoo and soap, and in the steamy air of the bathroom, she smelled like him, like his zesty green soap and his surprisingly girly shampoo that was made with honey and oatmeal. It was like he was standing right behind her. She scraped the side of her hand against the mirror and caught a glimpse of her face before the fog crawled in and ate it up again. She smelled like Mulder, but she still looked like herself. Only wet.
There was a knock at Mulder's door and Scully stuck her head out of the bathroom again, skin protesting at the rush of cold air. "Mulder?"
More pounding. "Scully, I forgot my key! Hurry up, it's snowing out here!"
Dripping and shivering, she padded across the room and opened the door, but it wasn't snowing.
Mulder pushed inside, bringing the smell of cold rainy air with him. "Cheer up, Scully, your towel's slipping."
Scully's hand automatically went to the knot of her towel.
"Clothes?" Mulder said, displaying her navy suit and its matching shoes.
She bit back a laugh. He was standing there, half-naked, all cute and cockeyed, with the ridiculous wool suit hanging from his arms, and she loved that he'd done this for her. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for Mulder to come inside and shut out the cold. She wanted his smiles and his bad jokes; she wanted him familiar and Mulder and hers.
But he wasn't. He was Sue's, and it was new and different and unpleasant, and she hated it because she'd never had to compete for his attention before. She'd never thought she'd want to.
"You taking me out to dinner, Mulder?" she asked, almost hoping he would.
He blinked. "What? No!" he denied, sounding offended.
She forced a smile. "Because it's almost eight, and the only way I'm putting on pantyhose at this hour is if I get to eat somewhere that has fancy napkins," she said, trying to forget about Sue and Sue's Mulder.
Weaving in around her and letting the door slam shut, he grinned and laid her suit over the back of a chair. "Feh, then you're on your own. Forage in my suitcase if you want. I'm taking a shower." He tweaked her towel on his way past.
"We're eating from the phone book tonight, aren't we?" she called after him, trying to gauge his mood.
"Only the best for you, Gypsy Rose." His voice echoed off the motel tiles, and the bathroom door swung shut.
Feeling strangely defeated, Scully went over to inspect the suit he'd brought her. He'd managed to reproduce one of her favorite work outfits: navy jacket and skirt, cream blouse, navy heels. Some pantyhose were wrapped around the hanger and a pair of cotton underwear was tucked in the pocket of the blazer. She pulled the underwear on and stared at her suit, wanting its complete opposite. In the bathroom, the shower came on.
Mulder's suitcase was on the floor near the closet. She edged closer and peered down into the tossed salad of boxers and socks and t-shirts. Poking through his clothes, she found soft flannel pajama pants she'd never seen him wear. She wondered if Sue had.
Scully had never been good at sharing. As a child she'd hid her crayons because Melissa broke them and Charlie ate them. In second grade, she'd hated show and tell because the teacher made them pass around whatever it was, and she'd have to sit there and watch while everyone touched her things. She'd never grown out of it. There was still a bratty little kid inside Scully that wanted to stamp her feet and cry "mine mine mine" anytime something of hers was out of her hands.
She wanted to be a grownup about Mulder and Sue, but her inner two-year-old had woken up and was throwing a world-class tantrum. "Mine mine mine," she was chanting.
Scully gave up and put Mulder's pajamas on. He'd offered, and even if she wasn't good at sharing, Mulder was.
The pants were too long, and she had to fold the waistband over several times before they'd stay up. She knew there was no excuse for this, no reason why she couldn't just go back to her room wearing her towel or her suit, but she didn't want to leave for fear she'd come back to find Mulder on the phone with Sue again.
The television said, "Meet the world's fastest insect."
Scully hopped a little, adjusting the pajamas on her hips as the British-accented voice introduced itself. A rhino beetle trooped across the screen. An ant wrestled with a potato chip.
Dropping her towel, Scully grabbed one of Mulder's t-shirts and pulled it over her head. Guilty and satisfied, she found the remote and went to sit on the bed so she could learn about bugs. The narrator talked about parasitoid broods, and Scully fidgeted against the scratchy coverlet, trying to get comfortable on a bed not worthy of the softness of Mulder's pajamas. Finally she got up, tore the first several layers of sheets off, tugged out the nice fuzzy blanket from the middle of them and then collapsed again in a messy pile of soft.
Halfway into her insect show, the shower shut off. A few minutes later, Mulder came out of the bathroom and took a running leap at the bed, landing on his stomach and sliding up against her like a luge champion. His boxers were spattered with pumpkins and a few suspiciously happy turkeys. He was warm and smiling and smelled just like her.
"You really do watch the Discovery Channel."
"It's actually public television," she corrected, retrieving the remote from under his arm.
He looked at the TV. "What is it?"
"It's like insect greatest hits. The biggest, the ugliest, the most blood-thirsty..." She pinched him.
"Ugh, you know I hate bugs," he said, burrowing into the blankets at her hip like a boll weevil.
"But this is interesting, Mulder. Did you know that the goliath beetle is the world's heaviest insect? It can weigh up to 100 grams, which is almost as much as a quarter-pounder with cheese," she explained, looking down at him. His hair was wet and spiky and she wanted to touch it.
Mulder wiggled. "Mmm, cheeseburger."
"Once again, your selective hearing comes into play."
"I'm hungry," he insisted, rooting around under the pillows, like he might find a stray grub or candy bar there.
"Why don't you use those fine hunter-gatherer skills of yours to hunt and/or gather us some food."
"If I had a dollar, I could slay the vending machine," he offered, flipping over and looking up at her.
She frowned. "I want real food, Mulder."
"Hmm," Mulder said, tugging at her blanket until he exposed the plaid flannel of her hijacked pajamas. Fighting him for it, she pulled the blanket back up, embarrassed.
"Ah, Scully," he chided. "All this time, I had no idea you wanted in my pants."
"You clearly weren't paying attention," she said, forcing a smile.
"Mmm," Mulder said, rolling off the bed and to his feet. "Just say the word, Scully."
Watching him bounce around in search of the phone book, she wondered if "please" would work.
*****
They were in the woods again. It was still raining.
Mulder had spent the last four hours trying not to move because it just reminded him how wet he was.
Deek had brought them official Fish & Wildlife ponchos, and all three agents were sitting under a tree, looking perfectly natural in the bright yellow nylon that was doing little to keep them dry. They'd been there since noon, waiting to see if Deek's critter would return to her burrow. It was now four o'clock and Mulder was suffering from a variety of problems, including wetness, boredom and the need to pee.
He squirmed.
Next to him, Scully put down her binoculars. "I know that look, Mulder."
"So I drank too much coffee at lunch." Mulder shrugged, causing a stream of water to run down his neck. His shoulders came up to meet his ears.
"I told you--"
"What's that, Scully?" Mulder faked having something in his ear.
Scully gave him a disgusted look from under the bill of her borrowed baseball cap. Deek had given it to her to help keep the rain out of her eyes, and with her oversized poncho and wet, curly hair, she looked like the bratty little sister who'd tagged along simply because she'd been told she couldn't. He smiled at her.
"What? What!" she asked defensively.
"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," Deek broke in calmly, "you two really don't need to be out here in the rain. I've got people posted in the area, and Sergeant Harwood has some officers watching the trails. Why don't you go back to your motel? I can call you if we have a sighting."
"I want to be here for dusk," Mulder explained. "I've got a feeling--"
Scully smirked. "You sure that isn't the coffee?"
Mulder pretended to laugh. "You're real cute. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta take a leak."
"Stay within our line of sight," Deek cautioned.
"Hear that, Scully? No peeking." Mulder stood and his knees and back reminded him he'd been sitting on the cold ground for four hours too many.
Scouting out a likely tree, Mulder walked far enough back that Deek and Scully were just yellow blurs. His own poncho seemed to be working against him, but by holding the yellow plastic between his teeth, he finally managed to reach his zipper.
A twig snapped behind him, and Mulder only had time to hope there weren't bears in New Jersey before he hit the ground.
Whatever it was, it was smelly and snarling and weighed less than Scully on a fat day. Probably not a bear then.
"Scully," Mulder called out conversationally, stretching her name so that it sounded like he was calling a lost dog.
The thing on his back didn't like that. It growled and spat and bounced on his ribs.
"Scuhleeee," Mulder yelled. As a reward, he got a jab in the kidney and his head bashed into the ground.
"Mulder!"
Throwing his arm back, he felt his elbow connect with something solid and the weight disappeared. Getting to his knees, he reached for his gun but got nothing except slippery wet plastic.
Twisting around to look behind him, he saw matted hair and dark brown eyes. Using both hands, he pulled up his poncho, but the tiny beast knocked him to his back before he could free his gun from its holster. Perched on his chest, she grinned at him in the way baboons do, and then lunged, grabbing his head and knocking it against the ground while she bit into the meat of his neck. Mulder howled and tried to push her away, but she clung to him, worrying his skin between her teeth and trying to open a vein.
Something red whizzed over his head. He heard Scully shout, then the explosion of her gun discharging. The beast disappeared into the woods screaming.
Flat on his back, Mulder reached for his neck, but Scully was already there, examining the wound and using a handkerchief to apply pressure.
"Zat clean?" he asked her, taking deep breaths, but still not finding enough air.
"I just can't let you out of my sight, can I?" she said, touching his forehead and running her fingers back through his hair. He winced when she hit a sore spot.
"Ugh."
"Guess who gets to go to the hospital?" she whispered.
"All...because...I had...to pee." He decided to stop talking, it just made him dizzier.
"I told you not to drink all that coffee," she said, hovering over him with a smile.
Three more words wouldn't kill him. "Shut up, Scully."