An earsplitting roar of thunder rumbled through the darkening twilight sky, startling Fox Mulder awake from his slumber. He immediately sat up in his bed, slapping one of his hands against his chest to feel the rapid thudding of his heart. He felt his chest rise and fall quickly, his breathing almost matching the drumming against his rib cage.
Mulder had come face to face with supernatural and extraterrestrial phenomena yet, it was a clamor of thunder that scared him straight this time. It was sort of pathetic if you think about it.
A bright bolt of lightning flashed across the bedroom window. The blinds were up, giving Mulder a perfect view of the electrical discharge. Another night of lousy weather to match the lousy feeling in his body–the feeling being a terrible case of the flu that he had picked up somewhere along the line on a recent X-files case. Scully had loosely joked that he probably caught a bug from an extraterrestrial entity. Mulder had laughed along, though a part of him had suspected she may have been genuinely concerned about the possibility. It wouldn't be the first time an investigation affected their physical state. She worried too much, or maybe he didn't worry enough.
Slowly, he laid back down, trying his best to steady his breathing, though with stuffy nostrils, this proved to be a tedious task. After a moment, he closed his eyes, desperately hoping that somehow he could sink back into his sleep. Unrealistic, since it had taken him an hour and a half to fall asleep before.
He was still willing to try, but that deteriorated immediately when the starting sound of twinkling patterned piano notes drifted into the bedroom. He sat up once again, and this time when he did, his head spun with dizziness.
He gave himself a second to recuperate, then he pushed the fleece blanket he was wrapped in off of his body, and clumsily pushed himself off of the bed. In doing this, he realized he lacked warmth and balance. The cold chill that ran through his body while he lay bedridden had gotten worse since standing up. He groaned while staggering out of the room, listening as the pretty piano notes changed into a whimsical trumpeting tune.
When Mulder finally managed to exit the master bedroom, his mostly useless nostrils managed to break through the thick walls of germy debris to take in a savory scent that wafted through from the kitchen. He followed the aroma and the melodic sounds until he found himself standing in the doorway of the cooking space; warm air settled around him, almost enough to melt the aching chill currently living inside of his weak body. But only almost.
He leaned against the wall of the doorway, for support and for observation.
Dana Scully stood in front of the sink, her strawberry hair placed in a ponytail with a baby blue scrunchie, matching the oversized light blue shirt that obviously belonged to her partner. It looked far too big for her, practically devouring her whole. It was something like a metaphor; Mulder's shirt swallowed her in the same way that his love did and Scully would dive into both of them endlessly every single time.
Scully's hands were submerged in warm bubbly dish water as she scrubbed away at used cooking utensils. She was so focused on the task at hand that Mulder's presence wasn't noticed, which Mulder didn't mind. He delighted in doing things like this, observing her while she was doing her own thing in her own world. He liked it even better when she let him be in that world with her.
The trumpet notes continued and Mulder couldn't help but break out into a grin when Scully began slowly swaying to the sound. As horrible as he felt, he couldn't resist anymore. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked deeper into the kitchen until he was standing behind her. Still so distracted, Scully hadn't even realized he was there. She looked at peace, like she was the definition of tranquility.
The delicate piano notes trickled back onto the track and Mulder—just as delicate as the keys—wrapped his arms around Scully's waist, pressing their bodies so close together that the two of them could have molded into one at that moment.
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..."