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On A High Note

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She wakes up in the morning with her cheek stuck to Mulder’s leather couch and music coming out of the bathroom. Why would Mulder turn the radio on this early in the morning? A squint at her watch tells her it’s 8 am. There’s no work today; or at least she thought they weren’t going into work today, considering it’s New Year’s Day and Mulder’s injured.

Scully touches her neck, where her own wounds itch like insect bites. Who knew that zombie bites and insect bites were actually similar? She saves that info in her brain and stretches her sore muscles. The shower is still running and she hopes Mulder leaves enough hot water for her. She yawns, thinking about hot showers, hot coffee and Mulder. It’s only then that she starts listening to the music and realizes that it’s not exactly music. Or rather, it’s not the radio.

Mulder is singing.

She doesn’t plan on barging into the bathroom, but her curiosity gets the better of her. The closer she gets, the louder his voice sounds.

“If you want my body,” he sings loudly, “and you think I’m sexy, come on sugar let me know.” He’s no Rod Stewart, that’s for sure. Scully giggles listening to him. She’s never heard him sing, not like this.

“Something-something-something,” he sings – still somewhat in tune, “come on honey tell me soooo.”

The water shuts off and Scully sits on his unmade bed, waiting for him to come out. She hopes he remembers she’s here and has the decency to wear something. When the door opens, steam whooshes out, followed by Mulder, who’s wearing… a towel. Better than nothing, she figures.

“Good morning,” he says with a smile so bright as if he’s just returned from a vacation. His hair is wet and he shakes his head like a dog. “Sleep well?”

“Mulder?” she asks. “Are you okay? How is your arm?” She shouldn’t be surprised he’s not wearing his sling. She only told him last night to always the sling. She thought he’d been listening.

“It’s good. Look.” He moves his arm up and down and Scully gets a strange feeling in her stomach.

“Mulder… did you take the painkillers I put on your bedside table?”

He nods. “Sure did! All three of them.”

“Oh Mulder,” she says, reaching for his hand and making him sit down on the bed. “You were supposed to take one every day. Not all of them at once.”

“Huh,” he says, touching his jaw. “I feel good.”

“Of course you do,” Scully says gently. “You’re as high as a kite.”

He turns and grins at her. His pupils are the size of saucers. “I am?”

No wonder he’s been singing in the shower. She’s thankful he didn’t slip and hurt his head. Or worse.

“I know you’re not in pain now, Mulder. But you need to wear your sling. Okay?”

He sighs. “Okay. I left it in the bathroom.”

When Scully returns to the bedroom, sling in hand, Mulder is where she left him. Only now he’s swinging his legs and humming. The same song he sang in the shower earlier. She bites his lip.

“Here, let me put it back on.” She’s gentle with him even though she knows he’s currently floating on some cotton candy cloud. The thought makes her smile. Mulder must have seen it and taken it as encouragement. His humming picks up and he starts singing in earnest.

“He’s acting shy, looking for an answer,” he sings and she looks at him, wondering if those are the actual lyrics or if he’s making them up. “Come on honey, let’s spend the night together.”

“We already did, Mulder,” she says, securing the sling. “I slept on your couch.”

He groans and pouts at her. “I kiss you and you sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t hurt yourself next time,” she says, feeling brave. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow.

“You mean that? Do you think I’m sexy, Scully?” He sings again, staring at her so earnestly that it floors her.

“You know, he doesn’t even sing that line?” She deflects from his question. “The song is called ‘Do ya think I’m sexy’ but he never sings it.”

“I do,” Mulder says.

“What?”

“I do think you’re sexy. Very much so.”

“That wasn’t-”

“No, no. I mean it. It’s not because I’m high.” He puts the word in quotation marks. “You’re sexy, Scully.”

She considers arguing with him but decides against it. Maybe they can have a conversation when he’s no longer high.

“Well, thank you, Mulder. So are you.”

“I knew it,” he says with a grin.

“Now let’s get you something to eat and then you have to rest.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

“You’re compliant today,” she says, walking to the kitchen with Mulder in tow. He’s still only wearing a towel.

“I like you,” he says with a shrug.

“I like you, too, Mulder.” A lot, she thinks.

They share breakfast, and then she helps Mulder put on sweats. She goes out to get them coffee and upon her return, she finds Mulder dancing and singing in his living room. To Elvis this time.

All she can do is watch and smile.