Shower Time (PG-13)

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He had turned around and automatically looked down.  Not automatically because she was a beautiful woman, automatically because she was Scully.  He hadn’t had the opportunity to shower with Scully before, even in other decontamination events.


She was a beautiful woman and he took every opportunity to look at her, okay gaze at her.  She’d caught him but she hadn’t seemed angry, just lowering her eyes demurely and turning away.


Things had deteriorated rapidly from there.  Diana had joined them - how had Scully put it - dressed to the nines - while their clothes were burned.  
He had thought Scully was coming on a little strong at the time, now . . . She’d been pissed at him for trying to clam her down.  He should have listened.  
He should have trusted her insight.
Oh no, he’d had to be himself, the stubborn, arrogant asshole, always right.  He’d dismissed the work she’d done, the investigation she had 
instigated because . . . why?  Because he thought she was jealous?  Damn it, Scully wasn’t that petty.  But he’d put her down in front of their friends.  
“Scully, you’re making this personal.” Even though he hadn’t admitted it to himself at the time, Byers’ expression had cut him.  He’d embarrassed them 
as well.  What was wrong with him?

He had checked into her information, or tried to, once Scully had walked out on him.  Would he ever get over the fear of her walking out of his life?  He’d done

it; he’d gone to Diana’s apartment to check on things.  Scully didn’t know it, he didn’t even know if she would care at that point.


Then he had shown up.  Cancerman.  He’d walked into Diana’s apartment without hesitation.  He’d obviously been there before.  How many times?  He’d made some crack about him being in Diana’s lingerie drawer.  It hadn’t crossed Mulder’s mind where he was looking; he’s just wanted evidence. Diana’s underwear was of no importance to him.  He’d felt slightly disgusted even thinking about it.


Had the man thought he was being honest this one time?  Hand over Cassandra to show that we weren’t on the alien rebels’ side.  Hell, why did he keep hesitating?  A bullet in that bastard’s head could only help the planet.


Then Diana herself had arrived; still playing the game, still trying to make him believe she was on his side.  She’d said all of the right things; that she was with him, that she’d always believed in the X-Files . . .


Then she’d kissed him.  And he had seen Scully in his mind, her hair slicked back, turning away from his gaze in that dingy, industrial shower.  It hadn’t felt right.  Diana was too tall, too . . . Scully was petite, she, she fit when he held her.


Diana had taken the note from his hand, El Rico, and somehow convinced him to come with her.  Again he had immediately thought of Scully.  Why be saved, why bother to survive without her?  He’d called her and she had saved his life again, defying him about checking out the train yard.  If he had gone with Diana . . . he shuddered, seeing again the burnt bodies in the hanger.  He didn’t know if Diana was alive.  Scully had muttered something he wasn’t supposed to hear, about nine lives and stale cigarette smoke, but he hadn’t said anything that time.


Now they had the X-Files back, Spender actually defending them, Diana no where to be found.  He should be elated.  They’d been vindicated, kind of.  Instead he stood here, uncertainly, just outside of Scully’s door.


What the hell, it wasn’t a victory unless he was with her.  He knocked and waited.  It took a couple of minutes, but then the door opened and there she stood in her oversize white terry cloth robe, her hair slicked back from the shower, and her expression concerned.  “Mulder?  Is there a problem?”


He shook his head.  “No, I, I just wanted to see you.”






Author’s Note:  Happy Muldermas!

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Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunman and Skinner all belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. No infringement intended.