March is in full swing before I know it. Gideon and I fall into an easy routine with each other that has brought such a flurry of color to my life. Outside of fooling around, most of what Gideon and I do to pass the time is no different than how I'd spend time with Harper or anyone else. We finished the first season of X-Files the second week of the month and the only reason we haven't started the second yet is because Gideon's work schedule is crazier than usual. Half the time he drives over directly from work because of his strange hours to spare me from having to drive into the city.

But I miss his spacious apartment and all his plants. I miss his view of the skyline in the distance from his windows and the underpaid security guard at the door who always has a new book in his hands. And finally, now that his workload is slowing down, I've finally convinced him we have time to hang out at his place.

When Gideon opens the door, I can tell I woke him up. His sorry excuse for clothes rumpled beyond belief and his hair is down from its usual bun brushing across his shoulders. Dark circles sit heavily under his eyes that struggle to remain open as he looks at me almost confused as to why I'm here.

"Jesus," I mutter.

"Oh fuck," he says with a hand running down his face. Like that'll wake him up. "I forgot."

"I can see that," I say as he sidesteps to let me into his apartment. "Are you alright?"

It's clear he isn't but I ask anyways.

"I was on call and a decedent came in early this morning. It was rough. That, plus the paperwork, I'm running on an hour of sleep."

I drop the bags of snacks I brought near the island in his kitchen before taking a glance around his apartment. It's in a sorry state, almost as bad as he looks, with the trash and dishes piling up and in a desperate need of a dusting. Even though Gideon isn't the tidiest person I've ever met, he's still leagues beyond whatever this mess is. We've been meeting at my apartment and I'm wondering if this is the reason why.

"Let me just shower and—"

"No," I say sharply. "Go back to bed."

"We had plans." His eyebrows knit together pathetically as he stands there in his extra short basketball shorts that look like a relic for the eighties and a wrinkled T-shirt coming apart at the seams.

"Which will be completely useless when you fall asleep on me. I'd rather you rest." I push him in the direction of his bedroom. "I'll be here when you wake up. I'm a big girl, I can entertain myself."

"Wallace..." he sleepily complains but does nothing to fight me on it.

"Go. To. Sleep."

He stalks back to his bedroom without so much as a glance behind him and it's only when I hear the door click into place do I get to work.

Popping in my earbuds, I search around his kitchen for cleaning supplies and get them lined up on the counter. I start with dishes first since it's the easiest. There's a couple of weeks' worth of dishes piled up in this sink along with the takeout he's clearly been eating to avoid the chore. I get the sink clean and the dishwasher started before bagging up the copious amounts of trash that sits on the counters and the living room.

I pick up scattered clothes and towels. He's thankfully got in unit laundry and I toss all the pieces of fabric I can into the front-loading washer.

I slide back into the living room as I dance to the punk playlist I've thrown on to keep me moving. Dusting is next before I move on to sweeping and mopping. At one point I mop myself into a corner and grumble while I stand there waiting for it to dry so I don't ruin it with my feet marks.

Quickly I start to get out of control. Cleaning the glass windows. The stainless-steel appliances. His laptop keyboard.

When I head into the bathroom to wash my hands it's obvious that I'm nowhere near done.

I've worked up a sweat by the time I get everything into a decent state. The laundry and dishes finished, and I spend some time putting those away and watering his plants before I, by some stroke of luck, find a replacement for his air freshener in his drawer and observe my handiwork.

It's been a hell of a time since I've deep cleaned someone's place. I used to do it for Harper when she had to work two jobs right out of college. Before we moved in together. The stress of it all fucked up her mental state and it had been the only way I knew how to help her. Gideon's place is nowhere near the state Harper's had been in, but I'm quite worn out after all of that. And considering this hadn't been my plan, I'm proud of the turnout. Looks nearly as clean as Gideon usually keeps it.

My watch reads a little bit after two in the afternoon when I flip my wrist.

I should check on Gideon.

Tip-toeing down the hall, I reach Gideon's door like I'm some sort of kid going in to see if their parents are awake before they decide to sneak out. I wouldn't know, though, since I never had to sneak out.

I crack his door open slowly and am happy to find that he's still knocked out, arm hanging out over the side of his bed, mouth sightly parted as he snores lightly.

Exhaustion sweeps over me as I watch him snooze away peacefully. My muscles ache with the overuse. I watch him for a moment and remember the state he'd been in when he opened the door. The pure exhaustion that he exuded. The fact that he's been suffering like this for weeks and told no one. The fact that I didn't notice. It makes me want to comfort him. To wrap him in my arms and tell him everything is okay. I'd do it for Harper whenever she'd be going through a breakup; we'd cuddle in her bed, and I'd hold her while she cried and tell her all the ways I'd beat up the guy that broke her heart.

Maybe it will make Gideon happy if he has someone to cling to.

Knowing he won't mind too much, I let myself into his room and try my best to maneuver myself into his bed without waking him.

I'm unsuccessful though when I hear his snoring halt the moment I start to slide in. I wince like I'm in pain – like that'll make me somehow less perceptible – but he doesn't say anything. I just feel him adjust in the bed while I make myself comfortable.

His arms wrap around my waist once I'm underneath his covers. Hilarious that such a touch makes me nervous since only a week ago we had been grinding against each other on my floor. But something about being in his bed, under the covers, changes the sensation.

However, that's not why I came in here.

I came in here because it's obvious he'd had a hard day and is struggling. That if I had done his line of work, I might need more support than Gideon's willing to admit he needs. Plus, after all that cleaning a nap feels well deserved.

"Why do you smell like cleaner?" Gideon mumbles into my hair after a moment.

"I cleaned."

"My apartment?"

"Mhm," I mumble, snuggling into the warmth that is his chest.

"Really?"

"Yes?" I look up at him. "I'm sorry, should I not have?"

His eyes are still heavy with sleep, and he shakes his head. "No, it's not that. I just – why?"

"You're my friend," I tell him honestly. "You seem like you're having a hard time, so I just wanted to help."

He knits his brows together, almost like my statement confuses him. Like such a menial task is below the bonds of friendship. He doesn't comment on it and gently brushes my head back down before pulling me closer, snuggling under the covers.

"Thank you," he mumbles into my hair. "You didn't have to."

"I know. I wanted to."

I wake up several hours later and the afternoon sun is turning golden against the horizon. Gideon's gone, leaving me cocooned up in his blankets alone. They smell like him. Like cedarwood and tobacco. I don't want to move. It's tough, but I drag myself out of the warm comfort of the bed and down the hall to the kitchen.

Gideon's perched at the island tapping away at his laptop when I wander in, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. He doesn't notice me until I help myself to a can of pop from his fridge.

"We'll need to go grocery shopping soon," I tell him at the sight of his derelict fridge.

"You cleaned the whole place," he states flatly.

I turn. "Yeah?"

"Even my bathroom."

"I couldn't stop once I started."

"I..." he sighs heavily. "I don't know how to thank you. It just kept getting worse and I couldn't find the time or energy."

I shrug and lean against the countertop. "It's honestly not a huge deal. You needed help with something, and I helped." I smile. "Are you okay, by the way? I don't think I've ever seen you like this."

He groans a bit and threads his fingers through his loose hair before looking over at me.

"I've been trying to get my crematory license, so anytime I'm not working I'm studying for my certification. I'd been up late despite knowing I was on call and of course the last hour of my shift I ended up getting called in. Checking in and embalming a decedent usually doesn't take a terribly long time but the woman who came in had been involved in a fatal traffic accident."

Gideon swallows thickly as he speaks. It's not that I expect him to be made of stone, but I hadn't ever expected to see him like this. So fragile looking. He's been doing this line of work for so long...I don't know what I thought.

"She was young, maybe around our age. And I had to spend longer than I normally would with her and I just—" He stops for a moment to gather himself. "She had the same name as my mother. And they died very similarly so it just brought up a lot. Seeing her like that. It just made me feel fifteen again. And lost as fuck. By the time I got home I couldn't close my eyes without thinking of my mom."

I don't know what to do in situations like these, so I do the only thing I can think of. – I hug him. Moving to his side of the counter I wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze.

Now that he's started talking it's like he can't stop. He just starts word vomiting what he must have been holding in this entire time.

"And to top it off my brother found out I've been trying to get my certification. It's like he's made it his life's mission to make me miserable, so I've been getting shit about it from him. Neither him or my dad find my career respectable, and it's just been two weeks of non-stop badgering. I'm fucking tired of it."

"You don't deserve that," I say into his hair. "Why didn't you say anything?"

I feel his shoulders flop up and down. "No one can do anything about it. I didn't want to bother anyone with stuff that can't be helped."

Not that I'm the shining example of relying on others, because I'm not, but I feel terrible Gideon's felt like he couldn't burden anyone else with his struggles. He's helped all of us – me – but feels like he can't let us help him.

I pull back from him and brush some of his hair out of his face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Any of it?" I suggest. "You don't need to keep it all to yourself."

"It's not worth ruining the mood," he tries to brush it off.

"Gideon. I'm not going to force you if you don't want to, but sometimes it feels good to just get it off your chest."

He drums his fingers on the counter, sighing heavily and sitting in silence for a good while before he says anything.

"It's just a lot...you know? My parents split up when I was a kid, but they never got divorced. My brother went with my dad and I stayed with my mom. And as you know, I was a piece of shit kid. And I never had a good relationship with my dad or my brother so after my mom died, I was alone."

"Did you have to live with them after?"

Gideon's face tightens. "Unfortunately. Just until college."

"That must have been tough."

"I loved my mom more than anything. She was really all I had. But she got hit by some guy plowing through a red light in broad daylight. Massive fucking black truck against her little sedan, you know? It was awful. And my dad and brother were on vacation, so I had to handle a lot of it on my own until they finally got back." His voice strains but he doesn't break. "It's been tough but after all these years I've finally dealt with my grief as much as I can. But days like this one where people come in who have very similar injuries or I see the name Miriam plastered across a page, it takes me back. And I guess I've just gotten used to not bothering anyone with it since I never had that in the first place."

My hand slides across the broadness of his back and turns to face me. His face is laced with a different kind of exhaustion now.

"I'm thankful I haven't lost many people in my life yet, so I can't pretend to understand what it's like to lose a parent. But I'm sure it's something that sticks with you forever. Don't feel like you need to deal with it alone, Gideon. If you need someone to just do your dishes because you can't, just call me. Or you just want someone to sit with."

Gideon sighs and stands, pressing a kiss to my forehead and mumbling a thanks before he moves to grab his phone off the charger.

"You want some food? I'm buying as a thank you."

"Only if you promise to watch more X-Files with me."

"You don't even need to make me promise." He hunches over his phone before adding a few things to his cart form a local Chinese place and sliding it to me for my selections. "This sounds stupid, but did we have anything special planned today? I can't remember."

"No," I say distractedly. Lo Mein sounds good right now. "I don't think so. Just vibes today, my boy."

He yawns and takes the phone back from me when I'm done.

"Good," he says.

I follow him into the living room, and we set up our usual arrangement. Several cans of pop that we'll probably regret in several years, snacks for later, and once the food arrives, we spread it out on the coffee table and plop ourselves onto the floor with our backs against the couch.

He's probably still exhausted but he at least looks to be distracted enough that he's smiling and laughing with me while we chatter and give our commentary over the episodes that seem to fly by when we're together. The chaos that is Mulder or the beauty that is Scully. Everything just feels a little bit more peaceful when we have our nights like these.

And when our trash is piled high and our bellies full, Gideon lays his head in my lap and lets me thread my fingers through his hair as he allows himself to finally give himself over to someone else.

Even if it's just for a moment.