What does the frog say?
It’s Tennessee and the bullfrogs are humming. An incessant vibration Scully once confused with a sump pump.
Mulder, growing up in the rich country, had never heard them.
“What the fuck is that, Scully?”
Mulder curses most on painkillers and tonight, rattlesnake bit, he is high as hell.
“Those,” she sighes, “are bullfrogs, Mulder.”
“Sounds like my vacuum cleaner.”
“Like you’d know what a vacuum sounds like.”
He grins loopily at her and she’s torn under the tide in affection for him. His stupid tie and his stupid yellow pajama pants and his stupid hair cut. She hates him.
She loves him.
He levels her, serious. “I wouldn’t be here, you know, if you didn’t kick down doors for me.”
Her hips hurt. Kicking down a door sucks. She sighes, indulgent and struck in affection. She really needs to move off his bed and head for the door.
He taps her hip with his index finger. A Fox Mulder Bedside Classic. “I wouldn’t be here at all.”
“You’re high.” She moves off his bed. “Have a good night, Mulder.”
“I’m not high; I’m in love!” He calls out.
“Good night, snake slayer.” The door snicks shut behind her.