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Scully checks the radiator in her crappy motel room again, even gives it a solid thawp for good measure, but no such luck.
Worcester, Massachusetts. In February. With no heat. Lovely.
She wakes with a start in the middle of the night shivering violently. Apparently the heat had copped out at some point and the temperature in the room had plummeted. She flips the lamp on. The clock reads 3:19 AM.
She weighs her options as she blows warm air into cupped hands, then realizes she doesn’t have many. Her flannel pajamas aren’t warm enough, so she dons her trench coat as well. She can’t seem to keep her fingers warm enough, even with gloves on. They stick and jam as the blood struggles to circulate. She flexes them often, shoves them under her arms, presses them against her neck, but they never stay warm for long. She sighs and lets out an Oh for fuck’s sake when she can see her own breath.
She turns the TV on low, knowing she doesn’t have the finger dexterity to turn pages of her book, but still not fully adjusted to consciousness at this strange time of night. She curls back up under the covers, chin-deep. Maybe she can trick her body into falling asleep again. She tries to relax, deepen her breathing, focus on the feeling of–
“Knock knock.” Mulder says, aloud, as he raps unabashedly on their connecting door at three in the morning. Scully groans, knowing she has to leave the warmth of her bed to let him in. She tucks her chin to her chest, crosses her arms, and darts to the door.
She opens it to see Mulder bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, wrapped head to toe in the comforter of his bed. He clutches it to him with a vengeance.
“Welcome to New England,” he says, nodding towards the room she still hasn’t let him into. “I come bearing gifts.”
She stands aside and he barrels straight for her bed. He takes a running jump and lands near the headboard, legs stretched long on a diagonal.
“Unless you’ve brought the gift of fire,” she says, pushing his legs over to make room for herself, “I’m not interested.” She scoots back under the covers, pulls them up to her chin. He sits up, crosses his legs to face her, and readjusts his comforter. From somewhere in his cocoon he produces two crinkly bags.
“Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, Mulder? Really?” She can feel him jiggling his legs through all her layers and she rolls to bump into him.
“I do what I can,” he says, or at least she thinks that’s what he says, because his face is buried in his blanket. She does notice it’s significantly warmer with Mulder sitting on the bed next to her.
“It’s fucking cold, Scully.”
“How shrewd.”
“Hey,” he says, poking his face out and bumping Scully with his knee. She is under the comforter up to her eyes now and cocks an eyebrow in response. “Remember what you said in Florida abut regenerating body heat?”
“I still don’t see it raining sleeping bags,” she replies, not willing to admit that she thought of that the second he flopped onto her bed. They’d certainly be a lot warmer than they are now.
“Suit yourself.” He shimmies his shoulders and she chuckles, unsure if it’s meant to be seductive or for warmth. He grabs her remote and starts flipping through channels. News, static, the local station…
“Not much in the way of entertainment here, huh?” He lands on a channel and elbows her rapidly.
“Scully, check it out.” Scully lifts her head briefly to glance at the television.
“My Favorite Martian?” she lets her head drop. “What, no I Dream of Jeannie?”
“Well actually, did you know that the common conception of genies–”
Scully reaches out from under the covers and yanks the top of Mulder’s blanket down over his head. He protests half-heartedly, laughing and gathering it around himself again.
“Seeing as it’s this or a rerun of the Worcester city council debate…” he says, scooting up against the headboard. She hums her acquiescence and adjusts herself to be able to see the TV. The rush of cold air as she changes positions makes her muscles shake and her teeth chatter.
With a soft thud, Mulder plops down next to her (half on top of her really) on his stomach and throws his comforter over the both of them. His breath is warm and sweet on her cheek. She unconsciously draws herself closer to him.
“Better?”
“Yes, actually. Much better.”