He’s seen Scully as a great many things over the years. Serious and somber, fiercely loyal and intelligent, brave as hell—even flirty and smiley. Over the past three months he’s been blessed to see her aroused and passionate. He loves all of the Scullys he’s been introduced to since knowing her.
But this Scully is new to him. This Scully is drunk and adorable. That’s the only way he can describe it. It’s been a long, pissy week full of set backs, dead ends and supervisor reprimands, leaving them both more than a little worse for wear.
“Let’s go to Casey’s,” she had suggested on the way to the parking garage, and he was pleased and surprised she knew one of his favorite haunts. Of course he agreed.
And now they’re settled against each other in a booth sharing fries, drinks, and smiles. He can’t believe only two years ago he was in this very seat hounding a Martin Landau look-alike for information on a global conspiracy. Now he’s snuggled up against a very warm, flushed, giggly woman who will definitely be coming home with him tonight.
She picks up the half empty glass of her third G&T, staring intently at the smudgy fingerprints marring its glinting, smooth surface. He’s essentially sober on two glasses of Merlot, gleaning his intoxication more from her company than from the nectar of ethanol.
“Di’ you know, Muller,” she smiles sleepily at him, then back at the glass, “That in the past alcohol was believed to be a non-specific pharmacological agent affecting many neurotransmitter systems in the brain. But it’s actually only a few primary targets…mostly just the central nervous system.”
He chuckles. Even inebriated, she’s still his dependable, knowledgeable Scully.
“If I remember my driver’s ed classes correctly, it takes very little alcohol to affect your cognitive ability,” he adds needlessly. He knows she knows that—everyone knows that—he just wants her to keep talking in her cute little drunk doctor way.
“Only twenty to eighty milligrams per deciliter,” she nods like a toddler emphatically insisting the sky is blue.
“Mmhm…mostly at that point it just causes loss of coordination and euphoria…but I get that just when I kiss you, Muller. And no hang over in the morning, either!” She claps her hands together once and grins and he melts. Oh yeah, he definitely likes drunk and adorable Scully.
“You wanna go home?” he asks as he watches her slam the rest of her drink. She nods and he closes their tabs. Her hair gets adorably mussed as she flips her scarf over her shoulders.
“Watch it, Scully,” he says affectionately as she tries to wrestle on her coat while teetering down the handful of steps to the sidewalk.
“Muller, I’m fiiine! Don’t be a pooper!” Her voice is high pitched and playful as she proceeds to trip on nothing. He grabs her elbow before she manages to roll an ankle. She nestles against his side as they walk. She smells like gin and salt and Scully.
They stop and she turns to look at him. She’s beautiful and drunk and happy and she loves him. In spite of everything that has happened in their lives they’re together and she loves him. He doesn’t think he can get any happier than this, and it’s not the alcohol talking.
She kisses him warmly with a surprising amount of coordination.
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