Tofurkey on Rye

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Tofurkey on Rye by Helen Quilley
Originally Posted: 13 January 2002
Summary: a late night snack

She awoke with a stir and a feeling of pure contentment she had forgotten she was missing. In a flash, the events of the previous evening came flooding back to her and she smiled a small, shy smile. Clumsily, Scully reached for the other side of the bed to touch him and what she found caused a weight to develop and sink in her chest. Confusion, fear and dread all enveloped her in one quick breath; the bed was empty. For an instant her mind was stunned silent. Then, she pondered, *was it a dream?*, but realized it was too real to have been imagined. Quickly she sat up on the edge of the bed, one leg on the floor, the other folded beneath her and wondered why he would leave. *Oh God, does he regret this? What’ll I say when I see him?* As these and other thoughts infiltrated her mind, a quick movement by the doorway caught her attention…

“Oh, hey, did I wake you? I tried to be quiet.” Mulder, clad only in his boxer shorts, glided into the room, plate and sandwich in hand. Relieved and surprised, she shook her head no. “I got hungry so I thought I’d make myself a sandwich – tofurkey and cheese on rye with pickles, mustard and lettuce. Want some?” he rambled as he climbed back into bed.

Trying to hide her moment of anxiety from him she chided, “Ugh, Mulder, it’s 4:35 a.m.! How can you eat that at this hour?!”

“Suit yourself,” he quipped and took his first bite. “Mmm.”


He had noticed as soon as he entered the room that she was sitting tensely on the edge of the bed, but it was the look on her face that concerned him more. This was not quite the greeting he had anticipated. Now it was his mind’s turn to race with insecurity. *Maybe she wants me to leave. Maybe she didn’t want this to happen. Maybe she’s pissed because I used the last of her cheese…*

Not sure he wanted her to answer, he tentatively asked, “What’s wrong?”

Feeling silly and more like a love-struck schoolgirl than a grown woman who carries a gun most of the time, she hesitated, then replied in a hushed and embarrassed voice, “I thought you’d left.”

Pausing for just a moment in relief, he met her worried blue eyes and gently and matter-of-factly said, “No.” He didn’t have to say another word.


Scully glanced downward and smiled with relief. Mulder was quietly amazed at her vulnerability and fragility and fell in love with her one more time.

Contentedly, Scully squirmed back into bed, settling next to Mulder who still had his near-whole psuedo-meat conglomeration on his plate. They smiled easily at each other and a thought occurred to them at what seemed precisely the same moment. With reflexes that could belong only to FBI agents, the two darted their hands out to grab for the sandwich. Crumbs spilled over the bed, the dish rolled sloppily to the floor, and Scully emerged the victor. As she took a big bite she teased, “Thanks, Mulder, this tastes great.”

*Fragile, my ass* Mulder mused and smiled.