Timeline: 5x12 Bad Blood
Category: Post-episode fiction
Mulder didn't think law enforcement types were Scully's bag. Whatever Scully's type was. Granted, there was Jack, but that was years ago, and Bucky the Beaver cowboy boots wearing Sheriff Hartwell was no Jack. And Scully didn't normally seem taken away by members of the opposite sex. She didn't gaze and smile. She certainly didn't moon and gape at him. And he was also a law enforcement officer. But it had been Hartwell that had really done it for her, not him. Of course, he wasn't a vampire. Maybe Scully was into blood sport. The thought made him chuckle.
He hadn't really thought that she would compromise his account of the events—not in any meaningful way that would get him into trouble. No, she'd be more likely to nitpick him on the details, which might have been enough to undermine his veracity. Yes, he'd wanted to make sure that she didn't say anything unwittingly that would buy him a ticket down the river. He'd made her repeat her version of the events word for word, correcting her when he felt necessary.
He had been in a full on panic for several hours, snapped a number of times, and batted her hand away when she went to straighten his tie. He usually liked it when she did that—the feeling of intimacy as her hands gripped his tie and lightly tugged, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of tidying him up while his life hung in the balance. But, surely she didn't want him to go to jail. They'd gotten too comfortable with each other for him to sincerely believe her capable of throwing him under the train, even if it meant she'd have to share a cell with Big Marge.
"I knew you wouldn't let me go to the pokey," he said over his sandwich, grinning at her.
Scully wiped her mouth with the scratchy paper napkin.
"I wouldn't have been the one sending you, Mulder."
"You were never going to let it happen."
"You overestimate my powers of persuasion."
"I'd like to get to know your powers of persuasion, Scully," he whispered huskily.
Scully continued, ignoring him, "And I didn't need to save you: Ronnie wasn't dead."
"No, but you wouldn't have done it anyway," Mulder repeated, smiling broadly, as if he'd caught her in something.
"You were drugged," she replied balling up the napkin.
"Yeah, you mentioned that a time of two."
"It was your best defense at the time."
"Insanity is usually my best defense."
Scully shrugged: "Close enough, I guess."
"So, if you weren't going to protect me…maybe you were going to protect Sheriff Hartwell," he teased.
Scully didn't respond.
"I mean, you really took to him."
Scully raised her eyebrows: "Mulder," she said in a warning tone.
"What? I'm just asking," he tried innocently.
"Whatever Sheriff Hartwell's role, we knew nothing of it when we were set to meet with Skinner."
Mulder rocked in his chair, thinking. "But, are you disappointed that he turned out to be a vampire?"
"None of those people were vampires," she replied, clearly irritated.
"Okay…are you disappointed that he thought he was a vampire and drugged you?"
"Mulder, I'm always disappointed to find out I've been drugged."
Mulder snorted. "Fair enough. I guess you didn't keep his coat as a memento."
"No, I didn't."
"And…bear with me here, Scully. Just curious. Did he give you his coat before or after…"
"Mulder!" she interrupted him sharply.
He sighed heavily. "So…if it had nothing to do with Sheriff Hartwell, then that means that you were only protecting me."
"I wasn't protecting anyone," she stated firmly. She cleared her throat. "Besides, if you were brought up on charges for doing the…with the…" Scully made a knifing motion before continuing, "I would be an accessory to the crime."
"You would have lied for me," he said, his eyes dancing.
"I would have done no such thing. There was no need."
"How'd you think I'd look in orange?" he asked, taking a swig of water from the bottle on his desk.
"Better than I would, Mulder."
"No jury would ever convict you, Scully."
"Not a chance. You have a look about you."
"And what look is that, Mulder?"
He stalled, not knowing what to say. After a brief pause, he leaned back in his chair: "The Federal Bureau of Prisons doesn't allow conjugal visits."
Scully choked, turning crimson.
"You okay, partner?" he asked, sitting forward in his chair, ready to be of assistance.
Blinking, she regained her composure. "Would that have posed a problem for you, Mulder?"
Mulder stood up, gathering up his trash before coming over to get hers as well. He leaned over her slightly: "hopefully," he said with a wink.