la vie en rose

life in pink °｡⋆⸜

A small squeaky gasp escaped her. She flinched against him and he couldn't help but chuckle, the familiar laugh immediately calming Scully. "Mulder," she groaned, pulling her soapy hands from the sink, "you're supposed to be in bed. You're going to make your fever worse." She reached for a nearby drying towel, trying her best to ignore the butterflies fluttering freely throughout her belly. She was a woman of science, though she couldn't explain why every time Mulder touched her, every time he was this close to her, or why every time she heard his voice—she got a jittery yet blissful feeling in her.

Of course, it was as simple and as complicated as love. She loved him, she was in love with him. It was still something that left her in awe; their romantic relationship and their mutual love.

She dried her hands, then spun around to face him. Mulder reluctantly removed his arms from around her, staring down at her and into her bright blue eyes. "It can't possibly get any worse than this."

Scully let out an exasperated sigh, reaching up and placing one of her hands on Mulder's forehead to attempt to check his body's temperature. "Well, you're not as hot as before but you're still pretty warm."

"Mhm," Mulder hummed, moving his partner's hand from his forehead and pulling it up so her arm could wrap around his neck. He did the same with her other arm and soon he had snaked his own arms around her waist once again.

"Mulder—" Scully began to protest. He should be in bed resting. She was going to join him in their bedroom and help him consume something to fill his fragile stomach; hence the pot on the stove. Scully had dug up one of her mother's old recipes for homemade chicken noodle soup in hopes that it would help Mulder feel somewhat better.

Instead, here he was, caressing her as they slowly teetered through the kitchen; their foreheads pressed together tenderly as Louis Armstrong's voice flowed softly through the speaker of the record player that sat in the far corner of the kitchen. Jazz wasn't Scully's usual music choice, but her mind had been so frazzled lately, she discovered that music genres such as blues and jazz had helped a significant amount when trying to clear out the anxiety that often fogged her head.

La Vie en Rose had been one of the handfuls of jazz songs that stood out the most to her.

Translated in literal terms, it meant 'to see life in pink'. Though it was also translated to 'through rose colored glasses' which was what the song was about. It was an idiom that meant seeing things in a positive way, even if that positivity was unrealistic and painted in naïveté.

Louis Armstrong sings about being deeply in love and how thanks to that love, everything in the world seems pretty and promising. The pair could relate to this in a way that they couldn't have before. Everything looked appealing when they were looking through the other's gaze.

"Mulder–" Scully tried again, hesitantly following along with him as they slowly moved throughout the kitchen in a slow dance.

Mulder chuckled again, he moved his forehead away from hers and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Just dance with me, Dana."

Dana.

Scully could feel the immense feeling of warmth rise to her face. Mulder, the literal sly fox that he was, knew what he was doing. He didn't always call her by her first name, but when he did he knew it made Scully squirm and hide due to the intimacy of it. She had no doubt that if she was standing in front of a mirror right now, her cheeks would be a shade of scarlet. Additionally, she knew that if Mulder saw her face, he would tease her to no end, which is why she opted to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like a mix of vapor rub, cough syrup, and the raspberry and her amber body wash that she always suspected he secretly used without her permission.

"We're so close together. You're gonna get me sick." Scully said, her words slightly muffled because of the way she was pressed against his feverish skin.

Her moving lips against his abnormally warm skin felt like cool sweet kisses. There was a fuzzy feeling in his chest that made him tighten their embrace. "Getting sick isn't the worst thing that could happen to you. At least you have me to take care of you, that sounds ideal, doesn't it?"

"Oh Mulder," Scully sighed, slipping out of his arms. "No one wants to be sick." She made her way back over to the stove and tended to a boiling pot, steam pooled from underneath its metal lid.

Mulder stood at a distance while watching her. He still felt like complete crap, his fever still running high, his stomach weak, and his head aching; but this... watching Dana Scully maneuver through the kitchen while humming along to the last few lines of la vie en rose, made him feel better.

He could sit there and watch her all day. Maybe he could do it for the rest of his life.

He focused on Dana, his love for Dana, and then on the lyrics drifting through the room. "Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be, la vie en rose..."