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Redhead Dancing Girl Series by Sister Zooey
Redhead Dancing Girl Series
Redhead Dancing Girl ⏭ Talking to the Walls ⏭ Quite So New ⏭ Superhero
Redhead Dancing Girl
Title: Redhead Dancing Girl (1/1, unless you all ask nice)
Spoilers: Sorry, I had to jump on the big ol’ “Millenium” Bandwagon as well. I offer this fic up as an apology for this fic. AHH! Paradox! ::universe implodes::
Summary: GirlyScully. We all know it’s in there and it’s so damn **nice** to bring it out. I promise you won’t require any fillings after reading this, though.
Author’s Notes: ::takes a little bow:: tank oo veddy much if you are reading this and continue to do so. I swiped some song lyrics from Ani DiFranco, Janis Joplin, and Tori Amos. Can you spot them? It’s just like that little rainbow-tailed thing from She-Ra. Don’t look at me like that. You know what I’m talking about. Disclaimer: Fic is bad, bad, bad! I should be hauled away for bringing a little glimmer of joy into the lives of characters that belong to Chris Cater and 1013 Productions. Don’t sue. I have been adequately contrite, I think.
I have known about my partner’s little hobby for almost as long as I have known him. I cannot distinctly recall when I found out about Mulder’s tape collection, but I know it was in the first year of our partnership. My discovery probably entailed my opening the “wrong” drawer in my innocent search for staples, white out, or something equally as innocuous. I don’t think he keeps many (if any) of those tapes in his (our?) office anymore, as I am allowed to dig through his desk when needed. I think he worries that it makes me uncomfortable, that I would prefer his sexuality to be distinct from our relationship. Or partnership. Whatever the hell it is.
I remember one afternoon, about four years ago. Mulder had stepped out of the room for a few minutes to make some copies. I don’t know what had gotten into me that day, but I found myself hurrying over to his desk, and quickly (yet quietly) pulling the bottom left hand drawer open. With one eye on the door and the other on his stash, I proceeded to do my Irish heritage well.
I snooped. There were twelve tapes there, all in a neat row, titles facing up. I didn’t dare touch them. Like the filing cabinet, there seemed to be some decidedly Mulderish method of organization at work here. Also like the filing cabinet, I couldn’t figure out what it was. Rather than be caught be leaving them out of order, I instead attempted to glean as much information as I could from the sides of the boxes.
The titles were of no help. They all either had 1) a woman’s name, 2) some semi-sexual verb (like ‘licks’ or ‘takes’) 3) the word ‘naughty’ in them or 4) a combination of 1-3. The boxes were all brightly colored and had Xs on them. This, for some reason, made me smile. The only thing left on the sides of the boxes were the small pictures at the bottom of each. They were all the same. Each was a woman, either naked, or very nearly so, looking breathless and wanton. Every single one of them had red hair.
I heard Mulder’s approaching footsteps in the hall. I closed the drawer more quickly and more quietly than I had opened it. I had just enough time to get an innocent-looking distance from his desk before he opened the door.
“The repair guy was up to his elbows in the copier.” He gave me a little smile. I smiled back, feeling a little shaky. “Are you okay, Scully?” He set the folder he carried on the desk and came over to me. “You look flushed. You’re not sick, are you?” He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. I stepped away from his touch.
“No, no, Mulder, I’m fine. I’m just a little warm.” He gave me the small smile again and headed for his desk. I let out a breath and went back to work, trying to make the afternoon seem normal again.
That was four years ago and the event still stands out clearly in my mind. The next time I went tape-hunting, Mulder had either moved them or taken them out of the office altogether.
Every single one of them had red hair…
The topic of Mulder’s sexuality has been the pet thought of my mind for a good solid three weeks, ever since the Kiss. I capitalize it, as that is how it is signified in my mind. I have analyzed that odd handful of seconds for hours that add up to days. In fact, that is how my January first was spent this year: bowl games and Mulder’s mouth. His actual mouth was all the way in Alexandria, but his December thirty-first mouth was locked away in my mind. What on earth did that kiss mean? It was way too long be “Happy New Year, Scully” and way too innocent to be anything else. His lips were warm and dry. Over twelve hours later, I could still close my eyes, relive that second in which I saw that he was leaning toward me, was not going to stop, and was not heading for my cheek. Every time I did so, my stomach did a dance it had not done since I was 16. I would curl up on my side and grin and grin. I felt like an idiot. I felt wonderful.
By the second of the month, I was doing little pirouettes around my kitchen, high on living nine seconds of my life over and over. I was chopping celery for a salad the afternoon of the second when the thought hit me. Mulder and I could have sex. I laughed out loud at the realization. Of course we could have sex. This wasn’t a new idea for me. The thought that the possibility had become more distinct was what struck me that afternoon. I held my knife aloft for a good ten seconds, fighting with the urge to call Mulder and ask him if this had occurred to him too. But no, I didn’t.
I finished making the salad, which I suddenly had no appetite to eat and resumed girlishly mooning over Mulder. I took a long, hot bubble bath. I re-read Breakfast at Tiffany’s, reading Holly’s quotes aloud in the resonant cavern of my bathroom. I painted my toenails with a mysterious bottle of sky blue polish that I don’t remember buying. I walked around my apartment in sweat pants and a white T-shirt, admiring my blue toenails while I played every single CD by a female musician I owned.
Every pop song on the stereo was suddenly speaking to me. I ate Ben and Jerry’s. I did dances to the music on my stereo. I flopped on my couch, flushed, glowing, and suddenly thought of the red-haired girls on the video boxes. The thought sat me bolt upright. I had almost forgotten about them. Did they mean that Mulder wanted me? Did the kiss mean that he loved me? I wrinkled my brow. He’d taken the tapes out of the office. I wanted to see them again. My eyes flitted to my keys, hanging by the door. I could see the key to Mulder’s apartment from where I sat.
For about five seconds, I entertained the thought of sneaking into his place when I knew he would be out. That was too much of an invasion of privacy. And I risked being accidentally shot by the very paranoid federal agent who lived in the place. I resolved that I would have to wait until the next time I was at Mulder’s to sneak surreptitious peeks at his collection. Visions of dozens of orange haired women danced on the insides of my closed eyelids.
As it turned out, the next time I was at his place was the following day, after work. He left me standing in the living room, while he disappeared on some mission into his bedroom. I inched over to the bookshelf where he kept his tapes, listened for activity in the bedroom, and crouched down to study the contents of the bottom shelf. I was hoping that Mulder would keep with his usual habit of beginning to speak even before he was in a room. Dr Strangelove, Plan Nine from Outer Space, Star Trek, Frankenstein, Dracula, Animal House, The Blues Brothers… I read titles as fast as I could. Nothing. There wasn’t one of the tapes that I had seen at the office. I rose from my crouch. On my way up, I noticed another row of tapes behind the ones I had read. Paydirt…
“I realized I hadn’t given you your Christmas gift yet, Scully.” True to form, this sentence came from the bedroom. I straightened up and peered into the fish tank. “How are the little guys doing?”
“They seem fine.”
“Yeah, they’ve actually survived a whole month in my care.”
“Yeah, I feel secure enough in my relationship with them that I named them.” We were peering into the fish tank together, our shoulders touching.
“Who is who?”
“Okay, see that little ugly one there?” I nodded. “That’s Krycek.” I laughed. “And the catfish is Kersh. Bottom feeder, get it, Scully?” He elbowed me. “The gray one is Smokey and the three tetras are Ringo, John, and Melvin.” He pointed again. “See the silver one hiding behind the plant?” I nodded again. “That’s Fox. And the goldfish is Dana.”
“Do they come when you call them?”
“Only the tetras. But they only come because I usually have food in my hand.”
“You know, Mulder,” I straightened up, eyeing the wrapped gift in his hand. “If any of these die, I’m going to have to spend days convincing you it’s not an omen.”
“Only if the Ouija board tells me to pay attention to the fish.” I rolled my eyes. “While I’m thinking of it, Scully… I have some business to take care of with my mom – some loose ends about Dad’s estate-on the 20th. I was wondering if you could keep Dana and company alive while I’m gone.”
“I’ll only be out of town for three days, but I’d really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” I was jumping up and down inside. I was dancing with blue toenails inside.
“Thanks.” He looked down at his hands. “Anyway, why I dragged you here.” He held out the gift. “Merry Christmas.”
I took the present, smiling. “Your gift is at my house. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
Mulder loomed over me while I tore away the paper. “I’ve never read this, Mulder.”
“Good, I was worried you had. I read it a long time ago. I was thinking about it a while ago and it occurred to me that it reminded me of you.”
He had given me copy of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. “Why?”
“Tough chicks with guns, fighting the Man in the hopes of ultimate wisdom. I don’t know why.”
I returned the smile he was giving to me. “Thanks, Mulder.” I then surprised both of us by brushing a light kiss across his lips. Dry, cool, salty… I pulled away. He was grinning madly at me.
“I’ll buy you books every day if that’s what I get for it.” I blushed and began to step around him, heading for the door. He stopped me. “You know, Scully, I want to talk about what happened at the hospital.”
‘Me, too. But not tonight.” I touched his hand. “Soon.”
“You understand that I wanted to kiss you, right? Not just because it was midnight and you were the only available woman. I wanted to kiss you.”
I nodded. “I know. I’m glad you kissed me. I wanted it, too.”
“Good.” He squeezed my arm. “That’s all I wanted to say.” He dropped his arm and stepped out of my way. “See you tomorrow then?”
“Bright and early as usual, Mulder.”
He walked behind me and opened the apartment door for me. As I crossed the threshold, I turned to face him. “Goodnight, Mulder.”
“Have a good night, Scully.”
“I’ve got a good book and some ice cream. I’m set.” He smiled. In hindsight, there was a distinct moment in time where he made a decision. I saw it happen. There was a pause before he leaned down and kissed me. His lips were warm and moist. He put his good arm around me, pulling me a little closer. Our third kiss lasted no longer than our first, but it was different. He was holding me. I was touching his shoulder. His lips were wet. When we pulled away from one another, we spent a moment resting our foreheads together. I was the one who stepped away first. “Goodnight, Mulder.”
His voice was as soft as mine, “Night, Scully.”
I turned and exited his apartment entirely, into the hallway which seemed to be suffused with a glow. I made it four steps before I heard a quiet, “Scully?” I was slow to turn, trying to tone down my grin a little. “Dana?”
We were standing five feet apart. Only part of his body showed around the doorframe. He was still in his suit, jacket and all. His badge dangled from his pocket. I could see his gun under the dark recesses of his coat. “Do you think maybe we could kiss more often?” He blushed distinctly enough for me to see it in the half-light of evening. “I mean, like that. Hello and goodbye. Not at the office, that wouldn’t be right, but I mean,” his voice trailed off and he stepped out into the hallway. “Like we just did.”
“I’d like to.” Pirouettes in my kitchen with the Phish Food, on my sky blue toes. Careful careless twirls in search of a spoon while Janis Joplin belted it out in the background. Didn’t I make you feel…?
“It doesn’t have to be anymore than that.”
The red head dancing, dancing girl sucking frozen caramel off a spoon as she ambles around her apartment, announcing herself to her furniture, her pictures, her bookshelves. I’m changed, everything’s changed. I’m 36 going on 16 on the inside and I’m going to revel, just once, in the joy of letting someone else define a tiny part of me. Mulder, Mulder… Fox? She bites down on the spoon with her laugh. What a god-awful name he has! She laughs again because the 16-year-old on the inside just squealed with glee at the appropriateness of his name, a fact the 36-year-old had firmly ignored (or at least pretended to ignore) for seven long, lovely years.
I stood silent for a moment in his ugly hallway. I cleared my throat and spoke, “It can if we want it to be.”
Talking to the Walls
Title: Talking to the Walls (1/1)
Rating: PG-13, I’d say.
Distribution Statement: Anywhere, babies. Just let me know.
Spoilers: Amor Fati (I let it drop who bites it in that episode). Other than that, none. It should be read in relation to the events of “Millenium”, even though I don’t make direct reference to them. Summary: Scully’s a nosy little thing. This story will make much more sense if you read “Redhead Dancing Girl” first. It can be found on Ephemeral, as I am too lazy to make my own page quite yet.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to all of the people who sent me nice feedback for “Redhead Dancing Girl”. I hope you all dig this. Big up to my gal pals at OBSSE, especially Ms. Krikkit and Ms. Bead (I re-read “This Side of Paradise” – woo!).
Disclaimer: Nope, they’re still not mine. They still belong to Mr. CC and 1013. I think Scully has a lot more fun when I bring her out to play, though.
Talking to the Walls (1/1)
“Come to me There is something
I have got to tell you and I can’t tell
Something taking shape
Something that has a new name
A new dimension
A new use
A new illusion
It is ambient
And it is in your eyes Something shiny
Something only for you
Something I must not see
It is in my ears Something very resonant
Something that you must not hear
Something only for me
Let us be very jealous
Or we might make an end to the jostling of aspirations
Disorb inviolate egos
Where two or three are welded together
They shall become god
Oh that’s right
Keep away from me Please give me a push
Don’t let me understand you Don’t realise me
Or we might tumble together
Into the terrific Nirvana
Me you – you – me”
“Songs to Johannes”
Thursday, January 20, 2000
Mulder’s apartment was utterly still. It made me shiver. I set my bag down by the door and took a few steps into the room. Silent, stuffy… a bit dusty. I closed the door and jumped at the sound it made. I opened one of the windows over his desk and let in a blast of cool air. When I turned, I saw that the fish had all gravitated to the corner of the tank closest to me. “Hi guys,” my voice was stunningly loud. “Hungry?” I lifted the lid on the tank and sprinkled some food on the surface of the water. They made quick work of it. I watched them until they finished eating and returned to important fish business.
I turned to face the apartment as if it were demanding something of me. The room and I stood examining one another for a handful of moments. I had crossed my arms at my chest. When I realized this, I let them drop, let my shoulders slump a bit. I was feeling guilty and I was letting Mulder’s apartment interrogate me. I straightened my spine, chewed the inside of my cheek. It was either this or go insane wondering. ‘You could always *ask* him, Dana,’ someone said behind me and I swatted at them over my shoulder. New determination rose up in me. Yes. I was going to do this.
I strode back over to the door, snatching up what I will now acknowledge was an overnight bag. Without thinking, I passed back into the living room and opened Mulder’s bedroom door. There. Just like making an Y-incision. One does not think. One simply does, in the name of larger and greater causes. Still striding, I passed into his room.
Generic. Absolutely generic. There was a bed, a dresser, and clothes here and there. He had left a book resting pages-down on his nightstand. His reading glasses perched on the spine. I took a deep breath. The room smelled wonderfully of his body. So I took another. And perhaps a third. My mouth twisted into a little smile. I simply had to sleep in here that night. The couch was out of the question, even though that had been my plan before I had set foot in this intoxicating room.
Since I had to sleep in here, I needed a plan. “Mulder, I just sat down to watch the news and next thing I knew it was 11:30. I didn’t think you’d mind.” Or how about, “Mulder, after it got dark I didn’t really want to go back outside. With you gone, no one would have noticed me missing for two days.” No, no that was too much. The first one was the better of the two.
Or— Or I could just say nothing at all and let the smell of my hair on his pillow speak silent volumes. Tempting.
That was, however, not the moment to be making that decision. For every moment I held still, I became slightly less resolved to stay. I went back into the living room, which still seemed suspicious of my intentions. I think it imagined me to be holding a tape measure and frilly curtains behind my back.
I sat down on the couch. The couch knew me. The couch, I would go so far as to say, liked me. I ran my hands over the cool leather as I toed off my shoes. I shrugged out of my jacket, draped it over one arm of the couch and put my gun on the coffee table. I put my feet up and draped my arms along the back of the couch. I tilted my head back and checked that the peephole in the ceiling was still puttied up. It was. All was right with the world.
The phone jolted me out of my reverie several minutes later. I regarded it as it yelled at me from the desk. Maybe it was Mulder. Maybe he had tried my place, had not reached me there, and was trying his own number, assuming I would be there. Just in case it was…
“Yes, this is. Frohike?”
“Indeed it is, Scully. How have you been, darlin’?”
I snorted inwardly. “Fine, Frohike, just fine. What’s up?”
“Is Mulder there?”
“No, he’s out of town.”
“Is he, really? I didn’t know that.”
“Is there something I can help you with, Frohike?”
“No, I was just calling to invite Mulder over for Mexican night.” Frohike lowered his voice, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested, wouldja, Scully?”
“Thanks all the same, but I think I’ll pass.”
“You know it.”
“Well, I hope you have more luck than I do with the little bastards.”
“Thanks, Frohike, you have a good night.”
“Good night, Agent Scully.”
Click said the phone and click said my head. I had heard Mulder tell the guys that he couldn’t make it to Mexican night. Frohike was conniving, but he wasn’t forgetful. “Hmm,” I said. “All right, Melvin, where is it?” I said very loudly. “Mulder told you I’d be in here, didn’t he?” I sighed. “Damnit, Frohike, I don’t want to spend the evening unscrewing every wall plate in this place and breaking all of Mulder’s light bulbs.”
The phone rang. I nodded, turned on one heel, and snatched it up. “Yes?”
“It’s in the lid on the fish food container.” Click. Sure enough. It looked like an electronic spider had laid eggs in the tetra food lid. I leaned in close and whispered into the jumble. “This better be the only one. Good night, gentlemen.” I then dropped the lid on the floor, slipped one shoe on, and crushed it with my heel.
I had run the first gantlet. The Gunmen were conquered. Regaining my stride, I made my way to the kitchen. My legs felt long and strong. I wasn’t going to let this apartment boss me around. I was hungry, dammit, and it was going to feed me.
The cupboards in Mulder’s kitchen were a homage to the canned food industry. I suppose, I thought as I selected a can of chicken noodle soup for myself, that it is only practical. I didn’t like to think about how much food had spoiled once it had come into my care. He had an old church-key can opener that I found after forays into three drawers. The can and I wrestled, with the church key favoring the can in the struggle, but I eventually won out. I heated the soup and made myself a peanut butter sandwich. While I poured myself a glass of orange juice, I realized I had assembled what had been my favorite meal in high school. I was an honors student. Frequently, I was at school so late studying and participating in one activity or another that I would miss dinner. When I got home, I would cook this very meal for myself.
It took me two trips to get the bowl and the plate and the glass into the living room. I cleared off a spot on the coffee table for my meal and sat down onto the floor to eat. To keep me company, I turned on the TV. Apparently, Mulder had been watching CNN before he left that morning. I tucked that fact away in the back of my mind. After all, what was my little sleepover party with Mulder’s place but a fact-finding expedition?
I ate quickly, watching a Simpsons rerun that I had seen about 500 times. I washed my plate and bowl. I wiped down the counters that I had used in the kitchen. I think it confused them. They probably had no idea what I was doing.
Back in the living room, I checked my watch. It was very nearly 7:00. The apartment was staring at me again, wondering what I was going to do next. I decided to change into my sweats.
I changed my clothes in the bedroom with the door open. Rather than put on the T-shirt I had packed, I took one from Mulder’s drawer. Perhaps, I thought (but only for a moment) that I am taking this a bit too far. I thought this, though, as I was pulling the shirt over my head. It hung almost to my knees and smelled wonderful.
In my new armor, I proceeded to examine the place in greater detail. I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bed. Cardboard boxes labeled “Books and Magazines” in Mulder’s handwriting. I stood at the bedroom window for a moment, taking in the view that Mulder saw every morning. I put on a pair of his socks that I found mated on the floor and wiggled my toes in them.
The bathroom was very small and incredibly clean, aside from a pool of towels on the floor. I hung them up. I opened the medicine cabinet slowly. I read a story in a magazine once about a person who filled their medicine cabinet with Ping-Pong balls to catch snoopers. Ever since then, I have opened other people’s medicine cabinets very slowly. There were no Ping-Pong balls. There was — after all, I had to check. As a doctor, I feel I am obligated to make sure that my closest friend has the proper first aid supplies. There was a box of Band-Aids (all different sizes), a half empty tube of Neosporin, a pair of tweezers, a bottle of Bactine which looked as though it hadn’t been touched in five years. I know. I hate that stuff, too, Mulder. He had some gauze pads and tape. He had some burn ointment and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I picked it up and swished the contents around. It was very nearly empty. I wondered if he liked pouring it down the drain to hear it fizzle, too.
I was satisfied with his medical supplies, so I moved on to the other full shelf. There was deodorant, a tube of toothpaste squeezed flat in the middle and bulging at both ends, unwrapped bars of soap, an unopened toothbrush, and a bottle of vitamins. There was a box whose contents I couldn’t identify from looking at the side, so I pulled it from the shelf, careful to memorize how it had been position before I took it down. It was hair dye. Well, not really, it was that comb in stuff that hides gray. Fact number two of the evening – Mulder has gray hair somewhere on his head. I wasn’t surprised. So do I.
The last item in the cabinet was a small box of condoms. I snatched it up and turned it over and over in my hands. It was unopened. I examined it again, finding the expiration date on the side. February 1997. This gave me pause. I had found out about my infertility in December of 96. If coincidences are coincidences… I dismissed my thoughts with a shake of my head and tucked the box away. I closed the cabinet, leaving the painkiller shelf unexplored.
I had seen the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. All that remained to examine was the living room. I was shaking slightly as I sat down on the floor in front of the fish tank. The movies were on the bottom shelf, seemingly untouched since I had seen them a couple weeks ago. My stomach was tied up in knots. I began to remove one tape at a time from the row of films, careful to keep them in order, careful not to disturb the dust. I almost wished I had latex gloves for a silly moment.
I didn’t look at what was revealed to me until I had removed all the tapes. I stared hard at the pile of “normal” tapes next to me for a long moment before I lifted my head to confront damning (God, I hoped) evidence.
Mulder’s fabled “Collection” was lined up before me. It looked to be about 24 tapes, which immediately made me wonder if there were more. I had always imagined there would be more. No matter, though, this was probably an adequate cross-section. I ran my eyes down the row and then back up it. I did it again, more slowly. “Every single one of them,” I murmured. There was a wanton woman with deep orange hair on the side of every single box. I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “My God,” I whispered, “he wants me.” I jerked my head up at my own words. Wait, no. There was the distinct possibility that I was wrong. But, once again my mind rang with Mulder’s voice, if coincidences are coincidences…
I methodically replaced the tapes, shifting them around until I was satisfied with their positioning. I stood up slowly. He wants you, you know it, the tapes, why would he get off on watching redheads, you’re the only redhead he knows (you think), Dana, he wants you, the condoms, could that really be a coincidence, that could, I suppose, but the tapes, two dozen redheads, you know what this means, you nosy little thing, this means that Mulder probably lays on this couch and touches himself while he thinks about you –
Enough! I sat down hard on the couch. Enough. Why had I done this? I wasn’t going to be able to look him in the eye on Monday. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, paralyzing my optic nerve. I sat and watched the colors pass by for several minutes, not really entirely able to escape my realization. The problem was, I had no idea what to do with it. Why had I done this?
“Okay,” I said aloud, my voice distorted from the sides of my hands pinching my nose closed. “Okay, I know why I did this. Are you interested in hearing?” The apartment pressed in closer. I had its attention. “I did this because I know everything but the little tiny things about Mulder. I’ve seen him dying, for God’s sake. How more personal can you get than that?” I jerked my head back from my hands. The world swam into focus. “I did this because I’m a coward. I can’t confront Mulder with the way I feel about him,” I paused for a moment. That was the first time I had ever acknowledged it aloud. “I can’t tell him that I need him until I am sure he needs me in the exact same way.” I laughed humorlessly. “Control freak.” That’s really what this was all about. I could have this on my terms and my terms only. I didn’t need to put myself on the line in the least this way. Rather than ask him how many of his tapes had redheads on them, I made his apartment tell me. In return, nothing was demanded of me.
It was at about this point that I realized I was crying. “I’m sorry, Mulder.” Tears ran down my face quietly. He would forgive me, I knew. Mulder knew me; he would have known why I was doing this before I did. I would bet money that he knew I was doing this. “I’m sorry I dug through your stuff.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I went in search of Kleenex with my wet hand.
I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, splashing cupped handfuls of icy water on my burning face. I supported myself with shaky hands and arms planted and locked on either side of the sink, letting the cool water drip off of my face. I could feel the lethargy that always comes after tears creeping in. I had read somewhere that it was a defense mechanism. One cries and their body releases chemicals to put them to sleep, to protect them. Sleep was beginning to sound ridiculously wonderful. I patted my face dry and crept off to the bedroom.
I had just enough presence of mind to set the alarm. I did have to work in the morning, after all. I slid under the covers, settling into the dead center of the bed. Every muscle in my body uncoiled simultaneously and I sighed shakily. I was enclosed in warm, soft blankets and the smell of Mulder as he slept. I felt as if the bed was holding me, wrapping itself around me, soothing me, imploring me to stop crying, not to worry. I drifted off slowly as a phantom hand with long, tapered fingers stroked my hair.
Fox Mulder’s Bedroom
I woke up abruptly to the sound of someone moving around in the living room. I sat straight up in bed, braced on my arms, eyes wide, and strained to listen. Cancerman, Krycek, the Gunmen with more fish food lid microphones, Diana Fowley’s ghost coming for my ass… I cleared my throat and, in my best imitation of Agent Scully, I yelled “I’m a Federal Agent and I’m armed.” As I said this, I remembered my gun was under the coffee table, in the living room, with whoever was out there.
The bedroom door swung open. It was just light enough that I could see the shadow of a tall man. My gun hung in his left hand. It glinted in the dark. “You know, Scully, when you make that threat, you should probably be sure that you could back it up.”
I flopped back in the bed, my hand clutching my chest. “Jesus, Mulder, you scared the hell out of me.”
I could hear his smile in the dark. “I’ll be sure to knock next time.”
I blushed. “Why – why are you home so soon? I wasn’t expecting you until Saturday.”
He set his overnight bag down on the floor near the closet and toed off his shoes. “Well, let’s just say my lawyer is going to be dealing with this one.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mulder.” I saw his shrug in the dark. His back was to me. He shed his shirt and left it lying over his bag. He padded into the bathroom. I listened to him brush his teeth and wash up. I heard and the clink of the metal on his belt. I listened to quiet fabric sounds. The bathroom light blinked out and Mulder came back into the bedroom, wearing a pair of flannel pants. The light from the streetlight illuminated him for me as he passed through the room to the bed. His eyes met mine for a moment and I scooted over. He drew the covers back and fell heavily into the bed, settling himself quickly.
“Is the alarm set?”
“Good.” He yawned. “Goodnight, Scully.”
We had settled down with our backs to one another. I lay very still for a moment, trying to decide if he was asleep. My wondering was interrupted when Mulder rolled over and drew me into his arms. We ended up spooned together in the center of the bed. He kissed the top of my head, but said nothing, letting his actions speak silent volumes.
Quite So New
Title: Quite So New
Rating: NC-18 or 19 (I don’t even know if I am old enough to have written this.) Foul language, sex, masturbation, uses of Mulder’s first name… basically, your mommies would say that I’m a bad, bad influence and that you can’t play with me anymore.
Category: MSR all the way.
Distribution Statement: Anywhere, babies. Just let me know.
Spoilers: Not a one.
Summary: Scully wakes up and – AHH! – There’s a man in the bed! What ever shall she do? (I should probably take these summary things more seriously, don’t you think?)
Author’s Notes: Once again, thank you to all of the nice people who send me feedback. Thank you to Michelle at XFFA and Amy at Haven for being my friends in high places. And thank you (yes, you, silly goose) if you are reading this. Props to the holy women and men at OBSSE. You guys are a hell of a lot more fun than studying for my German final. This is the third story in the “Redhead Dancing Girl” universe. You should read both “Redhead Dancing Girl” and “Talking to the Walls” (both are on Ephemeral) before proceeding.
Disclaimer: (With a big sigh, she begins speaking in a monotone that would make DD burst into tears of abject joy.) They’re not mine. I don’t own them. I never have. I never will. What follows from the fact that I don’t own them is that I am not making one shiny penny off of them. On the other hand, Chris Cater and the nice people at 1013 Productions do own them and they are, in fact, making a buttload of money off of them. Can you believe that Microsoft Word doesn’t recognize “buttload” as a word? That’s a glaring oversight if I ever saw one. Now then –
Quite So New (1/1)
“i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling –
firm-smoothness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like slowly stroking the shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it-comes
over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new.”
– e. e. cummings
Fox Mulder’s Bedroom
I came to a slow consciousness at the point in the day when the sun is only a gray phantom, giving an ethereal glow to bedrooms all over the coast. My mind, not quite awake, wandered as I watched the walls become increasingly defined. I imagined I could see the room getting brighter and brighter as the sun rose over the not-too-distant ocean. I imagined the darkness of farmhouses in the Midwest that the sun had not reached quite yet. I thought of the endless straight stretches of freeway that I had driven on with Mulder, crisscrossing the country. They were out there, some bathed in the same gray light as me, some motionless and empty under silent stars. I thought of these places, forced myself to realize they were real and existing, at that very moment, miles from me, and felt the largeness of the country.
As my mind grew clearer, I began to notice the dead weight of Mulder’s arm draped across my midsection. I lifted up the sheets slightly to admire his arm and the way it looked lying across my belly. I could see my feet (as they are comically close to my face) still in Mulder’s socks. I wiggled my toes. It made tiny ripples in the sheet that I could feel in my hands. Before any draft woke Mulder up, I let the blankets drop.
He was to my right in the bed. He was sleeping very nearly on his stomach with, as I have said, his arm flung carelessly over me. His hair was a haphazard mess. His face was relaxed in sleep, his jaw covered in stubble, his mouth partway open. His breath whistled past his lips and whispered across my face. I could smell the toothpaste he had only used a handful of hours earlier. His face was mashed into the pillow, contorting his mouth into the puckered shape of a baby’s. His brow furrowed and he stirred ever so slightly in his sleep. He mumbled quietly in his sleep. “Scully, I’m -” was all I could understand. The rest of the words were a slurred murmur. He didn’t sound sad or happy. He sounded as if he were dreaming of our office, dreaming of debating a point with me. I imagined him leaning against his desk, arms folded low on his chest, while I sat in what had become my chair, making him justify himself. It was fine, good like that. Like that, Mulder and I were never wrong. I stopped him from sounding like he was on his way to the tinfoil hat shop and he stopped me from making a scientifically accurate ass of myself.
I had forgotten the last time I shared a bed with a man. I assumed it was Jack, but I wasn’t sure. A man? I rolled my head to the side to look at Mulder again. Yes, I suppose he was. When I thought of Mulder, the fact of his gender was one of the last things that came into my mind. He is Mulder. I am Scully. There is a certain androgyny to us. I am cold, cut off to the world. No men (aside from the occasional psychopath) ever approach me. Mulder, on the other hand (and I blushed as I first thought this, drawing the blanket up a little father to shield my thought from him) is walking, talking sex. There is something decidedly sexual about him that is always present. Of course, that is from a distance. Once one had gotten up the nerve, one discovered that one had to cut through 27 years of anti-social behavior in order to begin to interact with him. He is just as closed off as I am. The wagons had been circled and Mulder and I were sitting in the middle. Our respective only obvious solution was the other. Not that he was a bad solution… I took another look at my obvious solution. He was waking up. He opened one eye and openly studied me for a good solid minute before speaking. “What time is it?”
“Okay.” He closed his eye again. I thought he was going back to sleep until the bed and myself were suddenly caught up in the aftershock of an enormous stretch. After he had unkinked all six feet of himself to his liking, he settled back into his original position. His arm was around me again. Mulder rather clumsily pulled me closer and nuzzled his face into my neck. Instantly, I was a flawless field of goosebumps. “Morning, Scully.”
“Morning, Mulder.” My hands informed me of a sudden, overwhelming urge to do something – anything. I withdrew one arm from the covers and began carefully stroking the back of Mulder’s head. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end when he sighed against my skin. I made an instant resolve to get him closer to me. I stuffed my right arm under his neck and resumed petting him with my left hand. This drew him a little closer.
“I’m not going to work today.”
“I don’t blame you. You’ve only gotten four hours of sleep.”
“I already put in for a vacation day for today anyway.” He nuzzled my neck a little. “You can hold down the fort, right, Scully?”
“You’re so tough, Scully.” He wrapped his arm around me. We were even closer.
‘It’s just paperwork.” Hours and hours of expense reports, greasy receipts, notes made in Mulder’s impossible handwriting…
“Yeah, this time it is. But you’re so damn tough, Scully. Anything anyone throws in your way, you just handle it. Just like it’s nothing, no matter what.” He gave me a squeeze. “I wish I could do that.”
“You do. I think you do.” I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you though.”
“Any time.” His big, sleep clumsy hand came up and caressed my cheek. “Your cheeks are cold, Scully. Let me help.” With a jerk and a rush of air, we were both entirely under the blankets. “Better?”
He grinned and pulled away from my shoulder. He stared at me again, just like he had when he woke up. “Have you ever done this before?”
“What are you referring to?”
“Have you ever slept in my bed when I wasn’t here?”
“Why last night then?” I shrugged, turning my head ever so slightly. He cupped my far cheek in his hand and swiveled my face back to his. “Nuh-uh, Scully.” Girls, never date a shrink. Things like this will happen. You will become an open book. “Why last night?”
I couldn’t turn my head as he kept his hand gently (but firmly) in place. So I closed my eyes. I was rapidly saying a silent prayer, alternating between sending it out to God and Mulder – please drop this, please make him drop this, don’t make me justify this, don’t make me give it a voice, let it be silent and understood, let him understand my silence… I could feel him staring at my closed eyelids. My cries for mercy were not working. So I decided to stall. “Is it okay that I stayed here?”
“Of course. Any time. It has been okay for a long time.” His hand slid up from my cheek and into my hair. He was looming over me, practically on top of me. “But why all of a sudden?” His voice was so soft, so tender that it very nearly brought tears to my closed eyes.
“Because, I think,” I began slowly, choosing my words with the utmost care, “that things are becoming different between you and I. Different than they have been, that is. I have been thinking about this and I realized that I really don’t know some of the less important things about you, Mulder. So, I decided to stay here. I wanted to sleep in your bed, watch your TV, use your shower,” dig through your porn collection and your medicine cabinet, “you know.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to me, Scully?”
“That’s not like us.” His face was so close I could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.
“I know.” He sighed a small sigh. “But since things are becoming different, maybe we could try it?” Mulder had been subtly shifting his body. I had noticed it, but was pretending to ignore it. He was entirely on top of me. He was warm and pleasantly heavy and he smelled wonderful. He was propped up on his elbows. After a moment, when he came to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to object to his new vantage point, he let his hips relax into the cradle that my pelvis naturally formed for them. He had an erection and he wasn’t trying to hide it from me.
I rolled my hips almost imperceptibly. Mulder gasped softly. “We could try it, if we take it slowly.” My voice was low. I let my words take on a myriad of meanings.
“Slow is good. I like slow.” Mulder played my game. “Slow, gentle – just as long as you’re comfortable, Scully.” He ground against me slowly. I betrayed myself with a whimper.
“I’m comfortable, Mulder, trust me.”
“Oh, I do, Scully. But if you get uncomfortable – talking – you just say the word and we can stop.”
“Oh, let’s not stop. I’m really enjoying talking with you.” I established a counter-rhythm to his movements.
“Hmmm?” My voice was a little higher than normal.
Mulder was grinning; I could hear it. “Your eyes are still closed.”
“Oh.” He increased the pressure between my legs. “Oh! Sorry.” I opened my eyes to find Mulder watching my closely. His pupils were dilated from the darkness under the covers and from arousal.
I hardly recognized Mulder’s voice when he next spoke. It was low and dark, a variation on the more familiar anger or desperation. “That’s better. I’m a firm believer in eye contact during conversation.” He ceased his movement for a moment, considering something, or appearing to do so.“During intercourse, that is.” He was being so gentle, so insanely gentle. I was slowly losing my grasp of my ability to speak and think.
“Yeah, intercourse.” My own voice was even higher and breathy. I wrapped my arms around him and dragged my nails lightly down his back. His whole body jerked, increasing the friction he was causing between my thighs. I continued to stoke his back for several minutes, giving myself over to the ever-increasing arousal he was inspiring in me. I reached one hand up and threaded it through Mulder’s hair. I pulled his face down to mine, and gave him a searing kiss. He upped the ante and slid his tongue into my mouth, apparently indifferent to my morning breath. I arched my back and was rewarded with a soft groan into my mouth.
Mulder slowed and then stopped the motions of his lower body and began a trip down my torso, kissing my cheeks, my neck, my collarbones –
The alarm popped to life. Mulder detached his mouth from my collarbone and I voiced my disappointment. He scooted partway up and out of our warm down cavern, leaving me face to face with his bare chest for a moment. As he silenced the alarm, I took the opportunity to trace patterns on his skin with my tongue. He shuddered above me and I smiled against his skin. I could feel his heartbeat under my tongue. He was quickly back under the covers with me. The brief contact with the outer air had made the skin on his face and neck cool. I kissed it all warm again, holding his head steady with hands entangled in his hair. As I did this, Mulder worked my (actually, his) shirt up over my belly and my breasts. I freed his head. He began slowly covering my breasts with careful open-mouthed kisses, kneading my flesh with his hand. I could do nothing but writhe under his mouth and moan my approval. I restrained my hands from flying up to his head. I impressed myself with my own flexibility when I hooked my big toe in the waistband of his pants and began dragging them down his legs. He shifted from side to side to assist me. At the same time, he pulled my shirt the rest of the way off and tucked it away somewhere in the bed. I used my feet to push his pajama pants to the foot of the bed once I had worked them off his legs. I reached between us and ran my fingertips up his erection and he turned my name into a moan. Holding himself up on one shaky arm, he began to pull my sweatpants down. He could only reach so far, though, and I removed them myself, banishing them to the foot of the bed with Mulder’s pants. I toed the socks off with much wiggling, which made Mulder a little wild-eyed. Switching arms, he used his other hand to caress the insides of my thighs and higher and higher still until he was delicately exploring the heat between my thighs.
“Oh, God, Scully,” He slid two fingers into my body. “I want this so badly.”
“So do I.” I curved my hips up to better receive the motion of his hand. My hands were wandering over his body.
“What did you learn -” I circled my hand around his erection. “Jesus – what did you learn, staying here?”
I didn’t answer for a moment, too caught up in the lazy thrust and recoil of his hand to be interested in speaking. I matched the motions of his hand with my own. “Redheads, Mulder.” I couldn’t quite believe I had said it. I was utterly, irrevocably disconnected from reality. The focus of my body had shifted from my brain to my cunt. I felt as if I was standing on my head. It was exhilarating. It had been so long since I had felt anything like it. “They were all redheads.”
His movements slowed while he puzzled over what I was talking about. A firm thrust into my body told me he understood. He dipped his mouth down next to my ear and ran his tongue over my earlobe. “What, Scully? You didn’t know that? You didn’t know that I’ve been out of my fucking mind over you for about five years now?” He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself between my legs. I tensed in anticipation, forgetting to breathe. I wanted this more than I wanted to breathe. “Sure, sure, I’m a real gentleman, right?” He sounded deranged. I loved it. His breath was hot and his mouth was wet against my ear. And between my legs, oh God, between my legs, his fingers and his erection were doing such sweet things to me… “But, Scully you have to know that the frustration has almost killed me some days. Being in that little tiny office with you for hours on end – you knew, didn’t you? You knew all along. You could have guessed, right? If someone had asked you, one of your girlfriends, if your partner wanted you, you’d have known the right answer.”
“Mulder,” I lifted my pelvis to indicate what had made my voice rise to the pitch of an impatient whine.
One of his thin hands came down on my hip to still me. He then returned to stroking me lightly with his fingertips. “Is this what you want, Scully? God knows I do.” He nudged against me once, twice – and began his first stroke into my body. I cried out and his voice mingled with mine. “Jesus -” he gasped and thrust firmly into me several times before changing to a less insistent rhythm. “You feel a million times better than I could have hoped, Dana.”
I stiffened slightly at the sound of my first name. He felt it and asked, “What is it Dana? Don’t you like it when I use your first name? What do I call you when you think about this?” I didn’t answer; I couldn’t answer. I was altogether too busy running my hands over every part of his body that I could reach. Mine, mine, mine, finally mine. We had barely begun and it felt so good. In me, in me, Mulder’s in me, my mind sang. I couldn’t quite get over the fact that it was him, resisting the urge to burst out laughing every time my mind confronted me with that epiphany.
I remembered making salad in my kitchen just a couple weeks ago, realizing that this was real, that we could do this. In that first instant of the thick, indescribably satisfying surge of his body into mine, I realized that I had not truly understood that afternoon: that moment of his body in mine, of the blurring between my self and his self transcended real, was beyond physical. He nuzzled my ear to get my attention. “What do I call you?”
“Dana,” I admitted.
I could feel him smile against my neck. “Then Dana you are.”
“What about you, Mulder?” My voice had found new strength. I used his hair to pluck him from the sweaty hollow of my neck. I ran my hand down his rough cheek and pinned him with my gaze. He looked like a deer in the headlights. “I have a theory. Wanna hear it, Mulder?” He only nodded, his lower body continuing to drive into mine. So good, so, so good… but I did not let myself become distracted. “My theory is that you have a secret little kink about me calling you Fox.”
He made a strangled sound deep in his throat. Bingo.
“Don’t you? Cause I never, ever do. I was channeling the voice of a sex kitten from some 900 number. “You ever touch yourself and think about me, Fox?” He nodded. “You do it a lot, don’t you?” I let my hand slip down between us. Mulder had long since been unable to support himself with one hand. His eyes followed my hand as I began stroking myself in tiny circles. The sight made him moan aloud. I smiled. I was having more fun than I’d had in years. “Don’t you?”
His head snapped back up. He nodded again.
“I bet that you do it at least once a week.” Another nod. I moved in for the little kill. “Because I know I do.”
His jaw dropped.
“Don’t look so shocked. You think you’re the only one going out of their mind in that little office? Hardly.” I clamped my free hand onto the back of his head and drew his face down so close to mine that I could have licked his lips. It was getting to the point that I could hardly talk, but I forced it out. “Some nights, I come home from work, and after I get undressed, before I put on something more comfortable, I lay down on my bed and …” I laughed suggestively. “God, it feels so good to lay there and touch myself pretending it’s you, wishing it was you. And when I come, I cry out your name because it’s all your doing, because of all of the wonderful things you’ve done to me.”
Mulder sped up, all gentleness abandoned. I had him. His eyes were fabulous. He was picturing it: he could see me lying on my bed, groaning out his name. He was frantically scanning my face, as if he’d never seen me before. I felt the seam which sutured me to sanity begin to tear. Every harsh thrust of Mulder’s body made several stitches more give way. I wanted him to go with me. I opened my mouth and discovered it was nearly impossible to speak.
“Oh, Mulder, when I come – ” apparently, this sounded like a good idea to my body, because, quite suddenly, I was coming. My vocal cords were taken hostage. I had just enough breath to whisper, “oh, Fox,” and drag him right along with me.
Reality faded away for several moments. That was fine with me. It was like waking up all over again when I came out of the pleasant haze of my orgasm. Mulder was nuzzling my breasts, sucking gently on me. Freud would have a field day with this, I thought, but did not really care. I arched my back slightly into Mulder’s attention and sighed contentedly. He was still inside of me, but fading slowly.
I pushed the blankets off of us. Cool air embraced my body, taking away the sweat on my skin. It was a gray day. I thought fleetingly that it would probably rain at some point. Not that it really mattered, as I had no intention of leaving our bed.
Rating: I’m going to say R. Mulder and Scully have potty mouths.
Category: As I seem to be mentally incapable of anything else – MSR
Distribution Statement: Anywhere, babies. Just let me know.
Spoilers: Small one for Detour, slightly larger one for Rush
Summary: I have a conspiracy theory (which I have been bothering the poor girls in my dorm with) about the shirt Scully is wearing in Rush. It’s so very un-Scully. It’s too – big. So where in the heck did it come from? And why in the heck are Mulder and Scully acting so goofy in the first scene of the ep? This is the fourth (and final) installment in the Redhead Dancing Girl Series. The other stories (“Redhead Dancing Girl”, “Talking to the Walls”,and “Quite So New”) can be found at Ephemeral, Darkstryder, and Clinique’s Hidden Gems. I wanted to shamelessly plug those two sites because they are my utter favorites in ficdom and I was thrilled to little pieces when my stories made them. So go visit those nice ladies and their sites, by God! In order to have any idea what is going on in this story, you will need to read the first three installments of this series. That gives you an excuse to drop by.
Author’s Notes: I know, I know. Millenium technically took place after Rush, but you know what? TOO BAD! This is the order they were aired in, so I don’t want to hear any grousing. 🙂 Thanks to Kimberly at Clinique’s, Erin at Darkstryder, the Haven people and Michelle at the XFFA list. Also, I was told that I was given props on a Scullyfic list. I haven’t read it and I don’t know who does it. But if whoever it was is reading this -thanks! Thanks to Jennifer, my commiserator. I want to make a clever little Fitzgerald joke here for you, hon, but I seem to be fresh out. Thanks to everyone who sent me nice feedback. I’m sorry this took me so long. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: They’re not mine. They belong to Mr. Carter and 1013. And you know what? They’re pissed off that they’re not mine! That’s right, by God! I bring them so much joy! But, alas, it was never meant to be.
`Tell me what did you like about me
And don’t say my strength and daring
`Cuz now I think I’m at your mercy
and it’s my first time for this kind of thing
I used to be a superhero I would swoop down and save me from myself
but you are like a phone booth that I somehow stumbled into
and now look at me
I am just like everybody else.’
Ani DiFranco – “Superhero”
Fox Mulder’s Bedroom
I came slowly, meticulously (so as not to disturb the way the room felt) out of the endorphin-induced haze of What We Had Done. I was laying with my head on his chest, throwing all of my concentration into listening to him breathe and to the bass thud of his heart. He was naked without shame and I was looking down the length of his pretty body while he idly stroked my hair. I was not particularly interested in making eye contact with him. I was terrified to look and see that he was no longer Mulder, but Fox to me. My concentration shifted from the echo of his heart in my head to the hilarious interruption of his bony knees partway down his legs. If they hadn’t been so far away, I would have reached out and tested the roundness of one, like a burial mound, with my hand. There was also my concern over what moving would do to the feeling of the room. Time was being very good and standing still for the moment. I begged birds not to fly by the window, horns not to honk, and voices not to creep in from the hallway. I knew, however, that it was just a matter of time. I was merely praying for a stay of the moment’s execution.
He cleared his throat. Shit. I knew it was going to be him who threw the switch. “Scully – ” he began but did not continue. Silence returned and did its damnedest to salvage what had been there only seconds ago to no avail. Again, he spoke. “Scully.” He didn’t have to say it. I heard it. Look at me.
I twisted my head around to look into eyes which I was terrified would no longer be familiar. I was begging all available gods to assure that Mulder would be looking back at me and not Fox. I was holding my breath when our eyes met. I continued to hold it until I had several still seconds to examine the entire surface of his eyes once, twice, three times. I expelled my contained breath unthinkingly into his face. “Hi, Mulder.” I couldn’t contain my smile nor did I really want to. He was still Mulder.
And the way he was looking at me, I must have still been Scully.
“Hi there.” Mulder laughed a little, his breath blessing my face. “You know, if I had taken the time to fantasize about this part, I might have known what to say right now.”
I smiled. “You don’t hear me spouting witticisms, do you?” I let my smile fade and cupped his cheek in my hand. “I’m at a loss, too.”
“Not only as to what to say but what to do also.” I nodded. His voice was a low murmur that I had heard many times before. Mulder began to play with my hair. “Was it how you had hoped?” I nodded again. “Me, too. I was worried.” He trailed off.
I perked up, lifting my head from his chest, suddenly anxious. “What? What were you worried about?”
“That it wasn’t how you wanted it to be. That it – ” He heard what he was going to say before he said it and blushed scarlet. His voice became sheepish and quiet. “That it wouldn’t feel good for you.” I eyed him for a moment and accidentally made him squirm. He began to babble. “I’m not fishing for compliments or anything like that. It’s just it’s been a long (he paused) long time for me and this was our first time and I had pretty high hopes for it.” He stopped and then added, “Is all” as an afterthought.
I settled back onto his chest and did my best to calm his worries with a smile. “It was wonderful, Mulder.” I could feel him relax a little under me.
“Good,” he said quietly, thinking it over and not quite meaning it yet. Then, more forcefully, “good,” having made his decision.
“So what do we do?”
“Generally? Or do you mean, right now?”
“Generally. I was planning on getting breakfast right now.”
“You don’t think we can just do like we’ve always done?” I shook my head, tickling my ear with the hair on his chest. “Neither do I.” He sighed. “Well, maybe something like we’ve always done.” I held still, waiting for him to continue. “I mean, we have a fabulous professional relationship. There’s no reason that this has to affect that.”
“But it will.”
He admitted defeat. “But it will. We have to try hard. Everything professional between you and I is already pretty personal, Scully.”
“It has become that way for me too.”
He nodded slowly. “I think (he pronounced boldly) that we need to promise not to get irreparably pissed off with one another, trying to hold it all in for the sake of professionalism, until we can get home and have it out with one another. Cause we can’t mix sex and work at work but we can certainly do it at home.”
I nodded, fixating on the facts that one – he seemed to have this pretty well thought out, implying to me that he had given this a great deal of consideration and two – home? Did he say home – singular? I put my musings on the back burner and said with a smile (mostly to relieve some of the tension I was feeling), “How am I going to tell my mother that I’m brining a nice Jewish boy over for Christmas dinner?”
Mulder grinned at me and murmured, “Oy veh! She’ll have a heart attack. Break it to her gently, deah.” Mulder’s cell phone chirped in the living room. “Speaking of mothers, I bet that’s mine.” He said ruefully, untangling himself from the covers and adorned my forehead with a quick kiss. “Be right back.” I watched his tight backside as he strode out of the room, guaranteeing that I would never be able to watch the way his body moved under his suits quite the same way again. I caught snippets of the conversation: “No, I’m at home. When? . This is my vacation. It’s no problem. Yeah, I know where she is, sir. She’s not at home, I’ll tell her. Okay, yeah, we’ll be there as soon as possible.” He came back into the room. “That was Skinner. There’s been a murder.”
“You’ve only gotten four hours of sleep.” I don’t even know why I said it. He was already in the bathroom, turning on the shower.
His voice rang out from the bathroom. “What’s new?” He laughed. The sound of the water changed as he stepped into the flow. “I’m great, Scully. This is the best I’ve felt in years.”
Mulder had left his white dress shirt on the floor the night before. I retrieved it as I passed and put it on. I rolled up the sleeves and buttoned it up. It ended halfway down my calves. It smelled like Mulder – fabric softener sheets, aftershave, and a faint hint of his sweat. I sniffed at the arm as I strolled to the bathroom.
Mulder was singing in the shower. He stopped when he heard me come into the bathroom. “You were flirting with me, Scully.” He called over the rush of the water. It was humid and smelled of utilitarian shampoo in the bathroom.
I opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the toothpaste, taking the time to work the flatness in the middle to the end of the tube. “When was I flirting with you?”
“In the woods. With the mothmen. You were flirting with me.”
I liberally applied toothpaste to Mulder’s toothbrush and stuck it in my mouth. The plastic clicked against my teeth as I spoke around it. “How do you figure?”
“Joy to the World. I never could figure out why you sang that song of all songs.” I kept brushing, not bothering to reply, as I knew he would keep talking without my help. “I mean, there were a million songs you could have sung and I never really pegged you as a Three Dog Night fan.” I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s the second verse.” I stopped brushing for a moment. He was right and he began to sing, rather tunelessly, “If I were the king of the world, tell you what I’d do, I’d throw away the cars and the bars and the wars and make sweet love to you.” He stopped and I curbed my urge to demand the chorus. “Am I right?”
I spat a mouthful of foam into his sink. “Yeah. Took you three damn years to figure it out, but you’re right.” I replaced the toothbrush. “Leave the water on. I want to shower after you.”
“Okay.” I wandered out of the bathroom and began fishing my outfit out of my bag. I sighed when I noticed I had grabbed a white T-shirt and not my white shell in my haste to pack. “A patrolman in West Virginia was murdered with his own flashlight last night.”
“Beaten to death?”
“Yeah. But that’s the thing. He was only hit once. A single blow obliterated half of his head.”
I was trying to shake the wrinkles out of my blazer. “Bullshit.”
Mulder laughed. “How can I argue with that Scully?”
“I’ve wanted to say that to you for years. Bullshit, Mulder, it’s not possible.”
“Drove his glasses into his brain and through his skull.”
I laid my pants out on the bed, brushing at the wrinkles. “Yummy.”
He strode into the bedroom toweling his hair vigorously. “All yours.”
He grabbed at the tail of his shirt as I passed him. “Nice threads.”
“I have good taste.” I smiled at him over my shoulder.
I was loath to wash the sweat off my skin and the dampness from between my legs. I washed quickly, trying not to think about it. About ten minutes into my shower, Mulder stuck his head into the bath, his tie dangling precariously close to the stream of water. I blinked the water out of my eyes and beamed at him. “God,” he breathed, “You’re beautiful.” He sighed. “I gotta go. One of us should be at the scene. You don’t mind, do you?”
I shook my head, splattering water on his tie. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Mulder leaned in and kissed me. “Good.” Before he withdrew his head, he said, “Tonight.” It was a question, a statement.
With a wide smile, he was gone.
J. Edgar Hoover Building, Office of Walter Skinner
“Good morning, Agent Scully.”
“Good morning, Kimberly. Agent Mulder said he’d leave a file for me here?”
She handed me the folder with a smile. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” I nodded once and left, turning right.
“Agent Scully, wait!” I stopped and turned to see Kimberly following me with her purse slung over one shoulder. “Are you headed for the ladies room?”
“So am I.”
We walked along together in silence, stealing sideways glances at one another. It had never occurred to me that I would, should, or could have any sort of bond with Kimberly. I wondered, as she held the bathroom door open for me, if Kimberly had ever tried to be my friend and I had missed it. I scanned my memory for any overtures she may have made and came up empty. I sighed at my reflection, watching Kimberly retreat into a stall over my shoulder. Had it really been so long since I had been friends with another woman that I had forgotten how? I shook the thought out of my head and removed my purse from my briefcase, which is where I usually hid it, and fished out my lipstick. The first coat I had applied was stuck to the rim a coffee cup in Mulder’s apartment.
The toilet flushed, Kimberly emerged and washed her hands at the sink next to me. After drying them, she leaned against the wall and watched me for a moment. I tried to ignore her examination. Finally, wrinkling her brow, she leaned in and sniffed the collar of my shirt. I raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror. She smiled, showing off her unnaturally white teeth. “British Sterling,” she said. I looked back to my own eyes quickly. ” My God. Scully bagged the Fox.” She leaned against the counter, folding her arms in front of her. I closed my lipstick and placed it back in my purse. I’ve gotten past Senate sub-committees and trained surveillance experts, I assured myself. I could handle a secretary.
I said nothing. “C’mon, Dana,” she said flatly, “there’s only one man who you know and I know that wears British Sterling aftershave and, “she slid behind me and peered down my collar, “Armani shirts.” Kimberly resumed her place at the counter. “Just yes or no, that’s all I want.”
“What? So the water cooler pool can either cash in or up the ante?” You could have ice-skated on my voice.
I turned to take my jacket and leave but she grabbed my shoulder. “Dana, I can keep secrets.” Her voice told me that she knew some pretty big ones. “I’ve been watching you and Mulder for seven years now.” She smiled softly at me. “I’m kind of rooting for you guys.” Her smile grew. “Girl talk, Dana. Remember that?” She tilted her head to one side. “I don’t care about Agent Scully and Agent Mulder. I just want to know how Dana’s man is in bed.” I blushed and she laughed. “Besides, if I can’t have him, I can live though the person who can” I snorted, my cheeks burning. She was quiet for a moment and finally, exasperated, cried, “So?!”
“He’s amazing.” I said as I looked at the floor.
She opened her mouth and no sound came out. Finally she said, “Great!” and grabbed my shoulders. “Oh no, oh wait!” She leaned in close and hissed, “was this the first time?” I nodded. “My God, I would have exploded! How did you stand it?” I thought `my vibrator’ but bit my tongue and shrugged instead. “I’m sorry, but I would have been forced to haul his tight little butt right down onto that basement office floor. Damn, Dana, nerves of steel!”
I laughed nervously. “Kimberly, I have to go.” She let go of my shoulders. “Mulder’s expecting me.” I looked her in the eye for the first time since the office. “I would like to talk, but I can’t.”
She shrugged, still smiling. I mused at what it must be like to smile so much. “I understand. Nothing personal.” I pulled my jacket on and looked in the mirror once more. “You look great, Dana.” I smiled at her. I held the door open for her and we exited into the hallway. “We should do something together sometime.”
“We should.” I nodded. “We’ll make plans tomorrow.” She smiled. We had come back to Skinner’s office. He was standing near Kimberly’s desk, watching us quizzically. “So, I’ll -uh – talk to you then.”
“Yeah. See you later, Dana.” She gave me a quick little wave and turned into the office.
“Bye Kimberly,” I called as I began to walk away.
“It’s Kim,” was the reply that came from the office.
Mulder meets me in the hall. I watch his smile grow as he recognizes the shirt I am wearing as his. Our conversation is all winks and nudges. We have a delicious secret, which isn’t going to be a secret much longer, and we are taking turns teasing one another with it while it is still ours alone. He swats me with the file folder; I play with his tie. I pout, I flirt. He eats it up. We are acting like a couple of fools for one another. But he’s still Mulder. And I’m still Scully.
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