The Hangover
Title: The Hangover
Author: 1breath
Pairing: Fox Mulder/ Dana Scully
Fandom: X-files
Theme: Country #1 Whiskey Lullaby-Brad Paisley/Allison Krauss for 30_ballads
Disclaimer: I don’t own X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, or any other characters. They are the property of Fox, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and Chris Carter.
The bottle of Jack lay tipped, it’s contents long spilled into the rug. The acrid smell of whiskey assaulted Scully’s nose as she reached for the one lamp in the room. Not that she needed it to know Mulder was out cold on his couch, his snores rang through the stillness, even though he lay face down on the leather cushions. With a flick of her wrist she brutally flipped on the light, causing the faintest of stirrings, a twitch of a hip, a slight pause in the rhythm of his breathing.
“Mulder,” she called. No sign of recognition.
“Mulder,” Scully repeated, her voice louder. A finger moved, perhaps, a flicker of one digit.
Scully could count on one hand the number of times she had seen her partner drunk. Mulder and alcohol went together about as well as ice cubes in hell. She had never seen him like this. Calling upon the part of her that was still very much navy captain’s daughter she moved to stand over her lanky partner, bending towards his one exposed and unprotected ear.
“Mulder,” she shouted so loud it bounced off his plain, white walls. It had the effect of a canon blast outside of his window, as Mulder reared up, narrowly missing Scully’s nose as wide, green eyes stared around in vague horror.
“Whafa,” he managed to warble, spinning around on the couch and attempting to sit up, his work clothes rumpled, his dark hair sticking up at unnatural angles. He rubbed blindly at his sleep-swollen face, groaning as Scully tapped one well-shod toe in front of him.
“What time is it?” Clearly Mulder couldn’t see the watch still on his own wrist.
“Ten-thirty, I waited that long because I had to field a meeting with Kersh by myself at nine.” Her tone clearly indicated that it was one of the last things she had wanted to do with her life. “Are you still in your clothes from yesterday?”
Slowly he looked down at his hopelessly rumpled shirt, half tucked into his pants, sans the ugly tie that was lost somewhere, and slacks that lay embarrassingly open at the fly. Mulder attempted to cover the front with the free tail of his shirt and looked up at her pathetically.
Scully wrinkled her nose delicately, not even wanting to begin the conversation of how he ended up like this. “Go, shower, you smell. Put something fresh on. Then we’ll get some water in you.”
“No water,” Mulder yelped, his voice like a rough road as he groaned with the effort, fingers attempting to hold his head in place. He blanched to a vague, gray color. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough without vomiting all over your pretty shoes.”
The shoe tapped violently response. “You will drink water, Mulder, you are dehydrated. It will help the hangover. And until you get the letters ‘MD’ behind your name, you will not argue with me.”
He whimpered in response.
“Go,” she ordered, reaching down to grab on elbow and haul her partner off the couch, pushing him unsteadily towards the bathroom. “I’ll think of a good excuse to give Kersh about your absence.”
“Tell him he’s an asshole who drove me to drink, that should do it.”
Yeah, Scully breathed as the bathroom door slammed behind him, she would tell their supervisor just that. A hangover may waylay Mulder physically, but it certainly didn’t dim his pissy attitude.
Author: 1breath
Pairing: Fox Mulder/ Dana Scully
Fandom: X-files
Theme: Country #1 Whiskey Lullaby-Brad Paisley/Allison Krauss for 30_ballads
Disclaimer: I don’t own X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, or any other characters. They are the property of Fox, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and Chris Carter.
The bottle of Jack lay tipped, it’s contents long spilled into the rug. The acrid smell of whiskey assaulted Scully’s nose as she reached for the one lamp in the room. Not that she needed it to know Mulder was out cold on his couch, his snores rang through the stillness, even though he lay face down on the leather cushions. With a flick of her wrist she brutally flipped on the light, causing the faintest of stirrings, a twitch of a hip, a slight pause in the rhythm of his breathing.
“Mulder,” she called. No sign of recognition.
“Mulder,” Scully repeated, her voice louder. A finger moved, perhaps, a flicker of one digit.
Scully could count on one hand the number of times she had seen her partner drunk. Mulder and alcohol went together about as well as ice cubes in hell. She had never seen him like this. Calling upon the part of her that was still very much navy captain’s daughter she moved to stand over her lanky partner, bending towards his one exposed and unprotected ear.
“Mulder,” she shouted so loud it bounced off his plain, white walls. It had the effect of a canon blast outside of his window, as Mulder reared up, narrowly missing Scully’s nose as wide, green eyes stared around in vague horror.
“Whafa,” he managed to warble, spinning around on the couch and attempting to sit up, his work clothes rumpled, his dark hair sticking up at unnatural angles. He rubbed blindly at his sleep-swollen face, groaning as Scully tapped one well-shod toe in front of him.
“What time is it?” Clearly Mulder couldn’t see the watch still on his own wrist.
“Ten-thirty, I waited that long because I had to field a meeting with Kersh by myself at nine.” Her tone clearly indicated that it was one of the last things she had wanted to do with her life. “Are you still in your clothes from yesterday?”
Slowly he looked down at his hopelessly rumpled shirt, half tucked into his pants, sans the ugly tie that was lost somewhere, and slacks that lay embarrassingly open at the fly. Mulder attempted to cover the front with the free tail of his shirt and looked up at her pathetically.
Scully wrinkled her nose delicately, not even wanting to begin the conversation of how he ended up like this. “Go, shower, you smell. Put something fresh on. Then we’ll get some water in you.”
“No water,” Mulder yelped, his voice like a rough road as he groaned with the effort, fingers attempting to hold his head in place. He blanched to a vague, gray color. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough without vomiting all over your pretty shoes.”
The shoe tapped violently response. “You will drink water, Mulder, you are dehydrated. It will help the hangover. And until you get the letters ‘MD’ behind your name, you will not argue with me.”
He whimpered in response.
“Go,” she ordered, reaching down to grab on elbow and haul her partner off the couch, pushing him unsteadily towards the bathroom. “I’ll think of a good excuse to give Kersh about your absence.”
“Tell him he’s an asshole who drove me to drink, that should do it.”
Yeah, Scully breathed as the bathroom door slammed behind him, she would tell their supervisor just that. A hangover may waylay Mulder physically, but it certainly didn’t dim his pissy attitude.