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This evening calls for her white robe. Somewhat of an aficionado when it comes to bedtime attire, Scully buries her nose in its thick lapel as she ties it around her waist. Her mother had bought it for her from Harrods – the real Harrods, not the airport Harrods – on her trip last year. A true masterpiece in engineering, it’s as lightweight as it is fluffy, and every time she wears it, Scully feels like she’s wrapping herself up in her very own cloud.
Steam from her bath has turned her cheeks into two shiny, rosy apples. She rubs serum over her face, and then her night cream, and is pleased to note that the bruise from the case last week is no longer tender. It’s barely visible anymore: just a yellow shadow over her left eyebrow. The calendula cream has worked its magic.
A knock at the door draws her from the bathroom. Lightheaded as she passes from her hot bathroom into the cooler apartment, she knows she’ll be in bed in thirty minutes at the most. Last night she managed to get a solid nine hours straight, after a week of only getting four to five hours on average. She woke that morning with her head crystal clear, like she was climbing out of a cold pond, but her sleep deficit caught up as the day progressed, and by five o’clock she was stifling yawns once more. She can’t wait to climb into bed before nine o’clock, all warm, clean and full, and slightly tingly from the time she’ll spend with her vibrator.
She relieves the delivery boy of her Thai food. Her favorite feature in her whole apartment are the low, under-cabinet lights in her kitchen and the hallowed sensory respite they create. Her fridge is clear of all the old food, and she knows its shelves are clean and ready for her big shop tomorrow. A small plastic bag sits by her trash can, ready to receive the remnants of her dinner so the new bag in her trash can doesn’t get spoiled. Her suits are already at the dry cleaners, and every so often she gets a whiff of clean laundry from where her sundries are drying in the spare room.
The day after a case often has a strange, other worldly feel to it. She’s always struck by how life goes on while they’re away: food goes off, memos pile up, flowers fade and wilt. She hates leaving D.C. in one season only to return a few days later to find herself in a completely new one. Sometimes their case follows her home, and she hears the voices of victims in the quiet of the night. She has crafted a number of rituals to extricate herself from the clutches of that which seeks to unbalance her as she returns to civilian life.
A crisp glass of Chardonnay cuts through her spicy noodles. She foregoes the kitchen table, preferring to curl around her coffee table, legs crossed and elbows surrounding her plate. Arvo Pärt’s soft piano lands like rain in a puddle around her.
She can’t bring herself to sully her empty dishwasher yet, and so she washes her plate by hand. The shrill call of the phone sends ripples through the calm of her apartment.
‘Hey, Scully, it’s me.’ Her heart sinks at the enthusiasm on the other end of the line. ‘Listen, I know we’ve just got home. But there’s something in Oklahoma that I think we need to check out before we do anything else.’
‘What do you mean? Mulder, we haven’t finished our current case! We still have to file all the paperwork!’
‘I know, I know. But this local Sheriff got in touch about a spate of livers being removed. Livers, Scully, do I need to say more?’
‘It’s not him.’
‘But it could be someone like him,’ Mulder says triumphantly. ‘Wouldn’t that be something? Anyway, I’ve booked us on the 7am from D.C.to Tulsa tomorrow.’
Scully sighs. The candles in her living room beckon. They whisper hang up the phone. Her travel suitcase is by the closet, standing dutifully ready for its next assignment. She rubs the bridge of her nose, which is still moist from her night cream.
‘Sure Mulder. I’ll guess I’ll go re-pack.’
‘Attagirl, Scully! Just think of the journal article you’ll get if I’m right.’
He’s right. Excitement creeps into the darkest depths of her stomach and spreads its warmth. She grabs her suitcase, blowing out the candles as she passes.