Cubbies

cubs in seven

I had to, you guys. 💜


Mulder shakes his head. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

On the couch, Scully stirs and mumbles something.

He can’t imagine how she could possibly have slept through this game. On the other hand, Scully has slept through a lot of very interesting slideshows over the past couple decades, so maybe it’s not a huge surprise.

With a sigh he rises from the recliner, feeling - and hearing - every joint in his body creak. He’s too old to stay up this late. He sits on the edge of the couch next to her outstretched form. “Time for bed,” he says, running the back of his hand over her brow.

She wakes up with a start. “What happened?” she asks, her voice slurred.

“The apocalypse,” he says grimly.

Scully brings her hands up and presses her palms to her eyes. “Mulder, what are you talking about?”

“Cubs won the World Series. It’s over, Scully.”

The game is over,” she clarifies, sitting up.

He throws up his hands. “Not just the game! This is it, Scully. The harbinger of the apocalypse. After everything else that’s happened this year, the Cubs win the World Series after a hundred and eight years? The Chicago Cubs? Not a chance. There’s no such thing as coincidence. Get your affairs in order, Scully, our time has come.”

She’s just staring at him blankly, her hair mussed and cheeks pink from sleep. Finally she says, simply, “Mulder, I think you need to go to bed.”

“I’m serious, Scu–”

“I know you are, and that’s what worries me.” She stands and starts upstairs, Mulder close at her heels. She turns to look at him over her shoulder. “It’s not the apocalypse, Mulder. It’s just baseball.”

Well, that’s ridiculous. “Just baseball?” he says, aghast.

“Mmm.” She leans back against the frame of their bedroom door. “Come here.” He steps between her feet and she wraps her arms around his waist. “It’s a game, Mulder. Be happy for the Cubs.”

“How can I be happy for them when the world is going to end?” By now he’s mostly kidding - mostly.

She stands on her tip-toes and kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his. “How about this,” she says. “If the world doesn’t end, I’ll let you explain the box score to me in the morning.”

“I can’t believe you still need me to explain it.”

“And after that, we’ll see if you can score.” She raises one perfect eyebrow, and Mulder immediately forgets the apocalypse. “Sound good?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and he doesn’t even protest when she pulls him into the bedroom and shuts off the door and the lights. They curl up together under the covers, and Scully’s asleep again in about thirty seconds.

Mulder stays awake, thinking about the Cubs. Thinking about Scully. Thinking about things that are worth waiting for, no matter how long it takes.

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THIS FUCKING TEAM