They used to make this drive - the bigger shape of it, the general D.C.-to-Nowheresville trip - so often. He finds himself thinking of it the whole way home, of other times he and Scully had driven along sleepy backroads to the home they'd made together. Hell, it's not like she's been a stranger in the last year or two - but she's met him out here. She's always had a clean getaway if she needed it, and he didn't begrudge her the metaphorical escape hatch; he was too happy that she was willing to drive out at all.
"You think so? I'm thinking of having it painted." More importantly: Scully still likes how the house looks. Pushing the lawnmower around is still paying off. "The color's called chartreuse - I don't know what it looks like, but it sounds good."
(Okay, he's actually planning on more of the same neutral tone - but maybe he'll make her laugh.
Inside, there's new furniture to replace what got shot up a while back - most of it not actually from Ikea - but it's all the same mix of homey and homely as ever. Dark wood and patterns that might be ugly colors and might not, because someone bought them purely for the visual interest of the fabric. Some new printouts from the internet tacked to the wall above his downstairs desk, some of the old ones. The sun's coming through the windows, though, and everything's reasonably clean, thanks to recent bouts of insomnia. To his eye, the place looks pretty good in the morning light, if more lived-in than Scully's broken jewel of a Bethesda condominium.
And anyway, she's been here a million times. She knows perfectly well what to expect from a Mulder abode. It just feels different, when she's going to stay longer than it takes to fall asleep on the couch watching TV with him.
"Make yourself at home," he tells her, tossing his jacket on a kitchen chair, and then wonders if that sounded half as needy as it feels. Stay, and don't leave.
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"You think so? I'm thinking of having it painted." More importantly: Scully still likes how the house looks. Pushing the lawnmower around is still paying off. "The color's called chartreuse - I don't know what it looks like, but it sounds good."
(Okay, he's actually planning on more of the same neutral tone - but maybe he'll make her laugh.
Inside, there's new furniture to replace what got shot up a while back - most of it not actually from Ikea - but it's all the same mix of homey and homely as ever. Dark wood and patterns that might be ugly colors and might not, because someone bought them purely for the visual interest of the fabric. Some new printouts from the internet tacked to the wall above his downstairs desk, some of the old ones. The sun's coming through the windows, though, and everything's reasonably clean, thanks to recent bouts of insomnia. To his eye, the place looks pretty good in the morning light, if more lived-in than Scully's broken jewel of a Bethesda condominium.
And anyway, she's been here a million times. She knows perfectly well what to expect from a Mulder abode. It just feels different, when she's going to stay longer than it takes to fall asleep on the couch watching TV with him.
"Make yourself at home," he tells her, tossing his jacket on a kitchen chair, and then wonders if that sounded half as needy as it feels. Stay, and don't leave.