"I should have called first."

Scully looked down at herself, at her old jeans, US Navy
t-shirt, and bare feet, and shrugged. "I was just cleaning."
Had been doing so compulsively, in fact, ever since returning
from Antarctica a week ago. Not being much for self-
analysis, she wasn't sure what the compulsion indicated exactly,
except perhaps an intense need to exert a measure of control
over at least one small area of her life. She'd been scrubbing,
sweeping, dusting, and vacuuming almost non-stop for days.
Inevitable alien invasion was a bit daunting; mold in her
shower she could handle. Her apartment had never been more
spotless. But her fingers were beginning to get raw from all
the industrial strength cleaners. "What's up?" She stepped
aside to allow him entrance into the apartment.

He came in, waited for her to close the door behind him, then
broke into a smile that flipped her heart over. "I just got a call
from Skinner. The X-Files have been re-opened."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but the shock was quickly
supplanted by something close to giddiness. She grinned.
"Really?"

He nodded, his smile widening as he picked up her mood.
"Effective immediately."

"Wow. That's...that's great." She tugged self-consciously on
her shirt and looked up at him, feeling almost shy all of a
sudden. He looked back at her, uncertain as well, until he
shifted just a little bit closer to her, and spread his arms out
infinitesimally. She took the invitation and stepped into his
embrace. The hug was sweet and wonderfully familiar;
the cotton of his t-shirt was soft against her cheek, and beneath
it she could hear his heart beating. He squeezed her gently,
and she thought his lips furtively brushed the top of her head,
but she might just have imagined it.

They stepped apart, and looked at each other some more. Scully
began to get the feeling that they could stand there like that all day,
just watching each other. It occurred to her that she had not yet
defrosted the freezer. "Do you want a drink or something?"

"Uh, sure. Whatever."

"Let me see if I have anything celebratory." She went to the
kitchen and checked the wine rack. He followed close behind,
as if he didn't want to let her out of his sight. "How about some
rose?"

"Great."

She took the bottle out and began hunting for the seldom-used
corkscrew. When she found it, she realized the cutlery drawer
could use some re-organizing. "You know, it would have been
nice if Skinner had called to tell me."

Mulder dipped his head in a conciliatory gesture. "He was going
to. I told him I wanted to tell you in person."

Oh, really. "Oh?"

He looked at her steadily. "Is that okay?"

Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, stopped when
she realized he was watching her tongue. "Of course."

Their eyes locked again, and she had to tear her gaze from his to
go back to opening the wine bottle, slipping the cork out easily,
then pouring the dusky liquid into two glasses. His fingers
brushed hers as he took his glass, and when she maneuvered past him
to move to the couch, he placed his hand on the small of her back,
just for a second.

When she sat down, he did too, entirely too close to her, sipping
his wine, still watching her. She could feel herself growing flustered;
it delighted and maddened her all at the same time. "So where
will you be working?" At least her desk on the third floor hadn't
gone up in smoke with the rest of the X-Files division.

"We're going to be back in the basement," he said, emphasizing the
"we" ever so slightly. "A construction crew is there as we speak,
fixing it back up." He paused. "I think they're putting in two desks."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Mulder, if I had known that
all it would take for me to get my own desk was contracting a
deadly alien virus, I would've done it a lot sooner."

She'd meant it as a joke, of course, but the stricken look on his face
chastened her immediately. "God, Mulder, I'm sorry, I just --" She
reached out and covered his hand with hers, unthinking, merely
wanting to comfort.

"It's okay. It's okay," he insisted. He squeezed her hand, but
instead of letting go, began rubbing her forefinger with his thumb,
lightly, with a feathery touch.

She stared at their hands. "Would you...would you like to hang
out for a while?" she heard herself say. "I was going to watch
'Mildred Pierce' on AMC tonight. It starts in a few minutes."

He took a sip of his wine and released her fingers. "Yeah. I'd
like that."

"Okay." She picked up the remote and clicked the television on,
then settled back on the couch. She could feel his eyes on her,
again. They sat in silence for a few minutes, looking at but not
paying any attention to random car commercials, until she
tentatively put her empty hand down next to her on the seat
cushion, keeping her gaze straight ahead, feeling absurdly like
she was on a first date.

Time seemed to stand still. Just when she was about to withdraw
in embarrassment, she felt his hand brush hers hesitantly, then his
fingers laced through hers with a firm, warm grip. She squeezed;
he squeezed back.

They remained that way for the rest of the movie.

end.