"Sure. We'll find you something clean." As he heads toward the stairs, he adds, "And we'll go shopping before we dig into the investigation. Or I'll drop you off at Nordstrom with my credit card."
Assuming he's going to be in on building Scully's wardrobe, he realized halfway through assuming it, is probably overstepping.
Upstairs is worse than downstairs, simply by nature of the fact that there's less chance of someone seeing it. He pulls down a set of clean bedsheets from a linen closet in the hall, then walks them both over to the bedroom, where it's hard to see the floor under the clothes scattered over it. He kicks them aside as he enters, clearing a path to the unmade bed. Fortunately, he does know how to make a bed; he just never bothers. The work is quiet, Mulder's expression back at a neutral that means he's embarrassed.
The old sheets, he bunches up and tosses in a corner. Onto the new sheets, he tosses a clean t-shirt and tries not to think of what the room looks like from Scully's perspective. No one's vacuumed or dusted in a year; he does his laundry once a month or so. The sheets might have been the same ones that were on the bed when Scully left.
"I'll, uh, leave you a toothbrush in the bathroom," he tells her, heading toward the door. (The bathroom hasn't been cleaned in a year, either. Sorry, Scully.)
no subject
Assuming he's going to be in on building Scully's wardrobe, he realized halfway through assuming it, is probably overstepping.
Upstairs is worse than downstairs, simply by nature of the fact that there's less chance of someone seeing it. He pulls down a set of clean bedsheets from a linen closet in the hall, then walks them both over to the bedroom, where it's hard to see the floor under the clothes scattered over it. He kicks them aside as he enters, clearing a path to the unmade bed. Fortunately, he does know how to make a bed; he just never bothers. The work is quiet, Mulder's expression back at a neutral that means he's embarrassed.
The old sheets, he bunches up and tosses in a corner. Onto the new sheets, he tosses a clean t-shirt and tries not to think of what the room looks like from Scully's perspective. No one's vacuumed or dusted in a year; he does his laundry once a month or so. The sheets might have been the same ones that were on the bed when Scully left.
"I'll, uh, leave you a toothbrush in the bathroom," he tells her, heading toward the door. (The bathroom hasn't been cleaned in a year, either. Sorry, Scully.)