Getting Lucky
TITLE: Getting Lucky
AUTHOR: memories_child
SPOILERS: Detour
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 657
CHALLENGE: AU
DISCLAIMER: Although I may have used some extracts for the sake of continuity and authenticity it's purely in a loving sort of way; imitation being the sincerest form of flattery and what have you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was meant to be written for the xf_drabble AU challenge, but it went on a bit long and turned into a bit more than a drabble, so I thought I'd post it here instead.
The woods are cold and dank, their breath misting in the foggy air. The slightest rustle of leaves sends her reaching for her gun, senses on high alert for anything that could threaten them, and the adrenaline coursing through her body makes her both on edge and weary. She knows they need a fire, that Mulder needs to keep warm but she is unsure of how long she can go on for and the sticks are damp, the rocks cutting her palms into shards of broken skin. She struggles to keep her exhaustion from him, not wanting him to carry her worry, and how weary he sounds makes her heart ache.
"Mulder, you need to keep warm. Your body's still in shock."
He struggles closer to her, wrapping his body against hers and she shivers at his proximity. Even through layers of thick winter clothing she is aware of the strength of his arms and the way they have held her so many times before.
"I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat was to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with some body else who’s already naked."
He murmurs the words groggily and she resists the urge to pull him closer, stroke his forehead, kiss his hair. Instead she retreats to the comfortable, to the sarcastic; the acerbic comments that, really, are her way of telling him how much he means to her.
"Well, maybe if it rains sleeping bags, you’ll get lucky."
He laughs, or she thinks he does, and the sound gives her hope amid the dark trees. Struggling with the bullet she pulls from the gun, the muffled thud of some thing hitting the undergrowth takes her by surprise and she whirls to her feet, eyes straining against the pitch night. Mulder tries to struggle to his feet but she pushes him to the ground with a look and slips into the dark.
Seconds tick by, minutes unbroken by the sound of her tread through the undergrowth.
“Scully,” his voice echoes through the night air.
No answer. He rises to his feet, grimacing in pain at the wound in his shoulder and fighting to keep the panic down.
“Scully!” Louder this time, more urgent.
Silence, and then (through the black where the monsters of his imagination have torn her apart a thousand times) he hears her voice.
“Over here Mulder,” and as he hears the laughter in her tone he relaxes. She is safe.
“Scully? Where are you? What’s going on?”
She doesn’t answer and tries to peer through the trees, straining to see where Scully is as the sounds of something being dragged and bumped along the moss carpeted floor float on the air towards him.
Suddenly she is there, looming out of the trees, and she raises her eyes at him as she sees the pain on his face; the blood on his shirt. Before she can move to scold him his eyes drop to her hands as struggles to pull a blue sleeping bag from the undergrowth.
“Does this mean I get to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with some body else who’s already naked then Scully?” He queries, unable to keep the laughter (and delight) from his voice.
“Unless you want to lie on the cold floor while I get nice and warm Mulder, I suggest you help me drag this thing over there.”
Together (he wounded, her cold but both happy) they struggle with the sleeping bag, arms and legs twisting around each other as they pull and drag and manoeuvre the slick fabric onto the most comfortable part of the forest floor.
“Isn’t this better than building towers out of office furniture?” Mulder asks and Scully, cold and out of breath, laughs.
"Looks like I got lucky after all." He smiles at her, and within minutes they are curled in the warmth of the bag, their clothes scattered over the forest floor.
AUTHOR: memories_child
SPOILERS: Detour
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 657
CHALLENGE: AU
DISCLAIMER: Although I may have used some extracts for the sake of continuity and authenticity it's purely in a loving sort of way; imitation being the sincerest form of flattery and what have you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was meant to be written for the xf_drabble AU challenge, but it went on a bit long and turned into a bit more than a drabble, so I thought I'd post it here instead.
The woods are cold and dank, their breath misting in the foggy air. The slightest rustle of leaves sends her reaching for her gun, senses on high alert for anything that could threaten them, and the adrenaline coursing through her body makes her both on edge and weary. She knows they need a fire, that Mulder needs to keep warm but she is unsure of how long she can go on for and the sticks are damp, the rocks cutting her palms into shards of broken skin. She struggles to keep her exhaustion from him, not wanting him to carry her worry, and how weary he sounds makes her heart ache.
"Mulder, you need to keep warm. Your body's still in shock."
He struggles closer to her, wrapping his body against hers and she shivers at his proximity. Even through layers of thick winter clothing she is aware of the strength of his arms and the way they have held her so many times before.
"I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat was to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with some body else who’s already naked."
He murmurs the words groggily and she resists the urge to pull him closer, stroke his forehead, kiss his hair. Instead she retreats to the comfortable, to the sarcastic; the acerbic comments that, really, are her way of telling him how much he means to her.
"Well, maybe if it rains sleeping bags, you’ll get lucky."
He laughs, or she thinks he does, and the sound gives her hope amid the dark trees. Struggling with the bullet she pulls from the gun, the muffled thud of some thing hitting the undergrowth takes her by surprise and she whirls to her feet, eyes straining against the pitch night. Mulder tries to struggle to his feet but she pushes him to the ground with a look and slips into the dark.
Seconds tick by, minutes unbroken by the sound of her tread through the undergrowth.
“Scully,” his voice echoes through the night air.
No answer. He rises to his feet, grimacing in pain at the wound in his shoulder and fighting to keep the panic down.
“Scully!” Louder this time, more urgent.
Silence, and then (through the black where the monsters of his imagination have torn her apart a thousand times) he hears her voice.
“Over here Mulder,” and as he hears the laughter in her tone he relaxes. She is safe.
“Scully? Where are you? What’s going on?”
She doesn’t answer and tries to peer through the trees, straining to see where Scully is as the sounds of something being dragged and bumped along the moss carpeted floor float on the air towards him.
Suddenly she is there, looming out of the trees, and she raises her eyes at him as she sees the pain on his face; the blood on his shirt. Before she can move to scold him his eyes drop to her hands as struggles to pull a blue sleeping bag from the undergrowth.
“Does this mean I get to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with some body else who’s already naked then Scully?” He queries, unable to keep the laughter (and delight) from his voice.
“Unless you want to lie on the cold floor while I get nice and warm Mulder, I suggest you help me drag this thing over there.”
Together (he wounded, her cold but both happy) they struggle with the sleeping bag, arms and legs twisting around each other as they pull and drag and manoeuvre the slick fabric onto the most comfortable part of the forest floor.
“Isn’t this better than building towers out of office furniture?” Mulder asks and Scully, cold and out of breath, laughs.
"Looks like I got lucky after all." He smiles at her, and within minutes they are curled in the warmth of the bag, their clothes scattered over the forest floor.