#day two!

His first thought was Scully. How she must be feeling in her own room without heat. He waited for her to come knock on his door, or at least text him. An hour later and no Scully. Mulder slips out of his improvised cocoon and reaches for his phone. No new messages. Should he be worried? What is he allowed to feel? They’re not just exes, after all. They’re partners. They never stopped being friends. Hell, it’s his job to make sure she’s okay.

Are you as cold as I am?

He sends the text to Scully, hoping the internet still works. Mulder keeps staring at his phone, waiting for the dots to appear. The longer he stares at his message, the more he wonders if Scully is ignoring him by choice. If he’s honest, his text does read like he’s coming on to her.

Fuck.

Nothing happens. There are no dots, no anything. He gets out of bed, cursing under his breath at how cold the floor is. He pockets his phone, wraps the comforter around him and leaves his room. There is no one else in the hallway and he’s thankful for that. He knocks as quietly as he can and waits. There’s no noise on the other side of the door. Fear starts niggling at him. What if Scully is not well and she’s all on her own? He knocks again, this time more forcefully.

“Mulder?” There she is. The love of his life in a winter coat and a comforter that almost dwarfs her.

“I was worried,” he says. “I texted you and then you didn’t open the door.”

“It’s 2 a.m.,” she says with a yawn.

“Can I come in?” Scully opens the door for him and he steps inside. Her room is just as cold as his and he tightens the comforter around him. He sees her teeth chatter as she faces him. The last 20 years fall off him and he sees a younger Scully standing in front of him, her ordeal written all over her body in bruises and frostbite.

“You look like you have Antarctica flashbacks, too.” He’s glad that she’s the one voicing his thoughts.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “Wondered if you could.”

“I was trying.” There’s a certain kind of way she looks at him sometimes. Like right now. As if she were trying to figure something out. He doesn’t remember when it started. Maybe after their breakup. A time in their lives he still doesn’t like to think about.

“You know what I’m going to suggest.” It has been on his mind. And maybe, if he’s judging her expression correctly, it’s on her mind too. Warmth floods him for the first time in hours. “Remember what I said about sleeping bags once?”

“It is an effective method to warm up,” she says.

“You’re the doctor,” he replies with a smile while trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

“Skin to skin transfers the heat faster,” she says now as she puts the comforter back on her bed. She looks him up and down. What he sees on her face is something he knows well: it’s her you’re-wearing-too-many-clothes expression. “The blankets will trap the heat. It’s only logical.” Mulder just nods and sheds his clothes, not caring about folding them. They end up in a pile on the floor. All he wants is to crawl into bed with her. He still remembers how quickly she can get out of her clothes if she’s determined. Right now, she is. So he only gets a glimpse of her naked body before she’s back under the covers.

“Get in here,” she says, obviously shivering. He doesn’t have to be told twice. Their bodies move on their own volition. She hisses when skin meets skin and he wraps his arms around her.

“You’re like an ice block,” he says.

“That’s why we’re doing this.” Mulder tries not to think too much about what’s touching what. He feels her thighs against his. Her stomach. Her breasts. It’s everything and everywhere. His breath catches. He’s held her a million times and yet, it will never be enough. It has been too long. Way, way too long.

“You’re warm,” she murmurs against his chest.

“So are you.” He’s stopped shivering and just holds her to him. His eyes flutter closed. He wishes they didn’t need a snowstorm and a sub-zero motel room to do this. He wants to hold her every night, tell her how much he loves her, and be there for everything.

“Is this how you imagined it?” she asks him, her breath tickling his skin. “Your naked-in-a-sleeping-bag fantasy?”

“It’s not a sleeping bag, but I can’t complain.” He kisses her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It’s just one of the ten thousand things he misses about her.

“I missed this.” Her voice is so soft that for a second, he wonders if she’s really said it or if it’s just in his mind. But he’s always wanted to believe.

“I miss you every day,” he says anyway.

“Maybe next time we can do this without a snowstorm,” she says, kissing his chest.

“I would like that.”

did you know such a map existed?

have you seen where the x marks the spot?

dear creator, i wonder (what is that)

if it pains you inside of your heart

to have created a character so clueless,

an empty sketch on a page not to miss,

but to wait and watch and beget myself

uncharted waters are scary and blue