Without Measure
by heartsfilthylesson

Email: paolam13@gmail.com
Rating: NC-17

Summary:  
"Do you feel fifty?"  
"Not fifty," she says and closes her eyes, "fifty-one."
Notes:  these are short and unrelated but they've been on my
mind for awhile so why not. all vignettes are set around the
time of the revival.



There are three missed calls from Mulder when she checks her
phone. He picks up on the first ring.  "We have a big problem."

Scully presses the phone against her ear and feels something
heavy settle in her heart at his words. It could be nothing (they
might be out of coffee or the washer broke down again or he
can't find his favourite wool socks) but it could be everything
(a mysterious call or an unexpected visit or bugs in their home)
so she takes a breath and counts to five before asking, "what?"

It's a moment too long before Mulder replies and her anxiety
climbs even as she hears water running and pans and pots
clinking, even once she knows everything's okay. "Did you just
play an eighty-eight point word?"

"Damn it, Mulder." Scully sighs and pours herself a cup of
terrible coffee. She adds more sugar than usual because she
deserves it. "Stop doing that."

"Stop playing eighty-eight point words." His tone falls short of
petulant and she can picture him then: shirtless and barefoot in
front of the sink, worn-out fleece trousers low on his hips, a
smile pulling at his mouth.

"Never," she whispers, managing to slip some threat into her
voice, and she thinks she hears glass breaking when he laughs.

"Don't be late tonight," he says after a few quiet seconds and
she nods though he cannot see her. "I'm making my special
pasta"

They don't say *goodbye* because they don't have to. They
don't say *I love you* because they don''t need to.

-                    
                     
"Do you feel fifty?" Mulder runs his fingernails along her scalp,
his breath hot on the cooling skin of her neck.

"Not fifty," she says and closes her eyes, "fifty-one."

He shakes his head and the hideous brown sheets (his favourite
set) ruffle with the movement. "You know what I mean."

Scully thinks of the collection of supplements in one of the
kitchen cupboards -- glucosamine for the joints and flaxseed oil
for the digestive system and saw palmetto for prostate health
and black cohosh for perimenopause,-- she thinks of the dull
ache in her lower back after every surgery and she thinks of the
new wrinkles she's found lately. Fifty year old bones are a
heavy load to carry.

"Sometimes," she tells him and feels him shiver when she turns
and presses her lips under his jaw, hears his breath quicken
when she slides a hand between them and wraps her fingers
around the base of his cock. "But not right now. Not with you."

-
                     
"Scully?" His voice is rough from sleep and she remembers the
time difference, that it's nearly five am in Virginia."You okay?"

Scully sighs because she should tell him that yes, she is okay
and she should hang up and let him sleep (he sleeps less and
less these days, they both do.) Instead, she sighs again and tells
him she misses him.

"It's only three days."

She knows he's trying be comforting but his words hurt because
yes, she'll be back in three days and it's a bit irrational but she
still misses him: she misses his chest pressed to her back, his
wiry hair scratchy against her bare skin, and she misses his
breath warming her skin. "I know."

"How was your night?" He sounds more alert now and she
wonders if he'll stay up after their call ends, if he'll make a pot
of coffee and go for a run, if he'll be disappointed when he
returns to their bedroom and remembers she's away.

"The last conference was dull," Scully says and sits up on the
bed, her back flat against the plush headboard, "but the hotel is
nice."

The line is silent for a minute or two before Mulder speaks. "I
miss you too."

"Good."

-
                     
"Do we really need these many yoghurts?" He looks at her like
she's crazy, the same expression she often wore when aliens
and mothmen and flukemen were routine, and shakes his head.
"This is overkill."

"We need the casein," she says and adds a bag of chia seeds to
their trolley. "What we don't need are sponge cakes. These are
terrible."

Mulder shrugs and rips open one of the boxes. He bites into
one of the small cakes and offers her a piece . "I don't know,
Scully. They taste pretty good."

She rolls her eyes and swats his hand away. "I'm not touching
that."

He shrugs again in a*more-for-me* sort of way that makes him
look much, much younger than fifty-something. "Chicken stir
fry for dinner," he says and grabs the bottle of extra virgin olive
oil she's struggling to reach. "What do you think?"

"Okay," she says and checks another item off the shopping list
on her phone, "but we'll need more noodles."

-
                     
"You're still so tense, doc.", he says, fingers digging below her
scapulae, mouth close to her ear. "Could I interest you in a
happy ending?"

Scully hums. "I don't know."

His hands leave her shoulders and then he's in front of her,
between her legs on the cold kitchen floor. Her silk pajama
pants barely get past her knees before his lips are on her,
leaving tiny kisses along her inner thighs until he reaches her
underwear and back down again.

"Happy ending?" He mutters the question into her skin and
slips a finger past her underwear.

"Please," she breathes and inches forward on the chair, closer
to his mouth, closer to him.