“What are we toasting, Mulder? That’s our furniture you’re burning…” She felt weighted and heavy, surprisingly sad burdened by loss both material and emotional. “Cheers,” he said, eyes glowing with the light of the fire before them and the stars above them. He took a glass of wine and sat beside her. Mulder already had the fire going, and threw two splintered chair legs on the growing pyre. Scully set a bottle of Malbec and two glasses on the small table and settled herself on the adirondack bench. So they’d decided to burn everything and say goodbye on their own terms. The couch, the shelves, the lamps… they’d chosen them together all those years ago, and it stung a little to see them shattered, thrown in a dumpster and forgotten. They’d gotten things cleaned up and replaced pretty quickly, but it was hard to part with their broken belongings. She found Mulder hauling the last of the wreckage over to the fire pit in the yard behind the house. And it didn’t escape her that they’d both said “we.” So she’d bought the canister set. “Scully, we don’t keep flour and sugar at all…” But maybe they’d start, because she liked pancakes on the weekends, thought about surprising him with sweet potato pie sometime, needed to make a roux for the cheese sauce. “We can’t just keep flour and sugar in the paper bags, Mulder,” she’d chastised. She hauled in the bags, filled with inane items: a pepper grinder, a spoon rest, four throw pillows, a vase, and a canister set.
X files home scared the shit out of me plus#
Plus today, so maybe five? Five trips to IKEA to replace everything those Russian assholes had destroyed, and as she pulled up the long gravel drive she swore they’d just survive with what they had because she wasn’t going back. They had been to IKEA so many times she’d lost count… four maybe? It was the third trip when she’d caved and tried the meatballs, and they’d gone at least once more since then.
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