The Floor is More Comfortable by DSc1110

The Floor is More Comfortable by DSc1110

DSc1110 ()

Rating: PG

Keywords: 3rd Person POV (well, sort of), MSR, Fluff, pure fluff, a touch of H

Summary: Stuck in an airport

Spoilers: Absolutely none, but I think it fits best in Season 7. I was thinking between ‘all things’ and ‘Requiem’ but it can honestly be set almost anywhere.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don’t sue.

Feedback: I am on my knees begging for it. It’s all responded to! I’m going on a short vacation this weekend and I’d love to come home to a full inbox.

Distribution: Spookys, yes. Everyone else, yes. Let me know where so I can go stare at it?

Author’s Notes: I’m fairly certain this has been done before, but I swear this one came from my own mind. This thing is “Breath taking in its unoriginality.” I’m not sure where this came from. Okay, I have a few ideas, but they aren’t important. Uhm.. I haven’t been in an airport since I was about seven years old so I took some major liberties here. If I am right in any way, great. If I am not, forgive me. Okay, I admit that I put a LOT of myself in the ambiguous character whose point-of-view this is. In fact, I might as well say I <i”>am the person. (At least I’m honest!) I wrote this more for myself than anyone else. I needed to do some thinking and often its easier to write my own thoughts into fiction, if that makes any sense. Oh and any mistakes are my own. It hasn’t been betad. I’m going to shut up now and let you get to the story…

---

“The Floor is More Comfortable”

I can’t tell you when I started this hobby, but I can tell you its one that I’ve come to love. I used to be someone who tried to be in thick of things. Deep down I wanted to be popular and I would strive to know what was what about the who’s who of my small hometown. However, I also have this thing called a conscience and I am too damn practical. I know I have this much money and that if I want to get where I really want to be in the future, I have to cut corners. So, I started to sit things out. I’d stand on the sidelines and watch. I came to love that even more than being in the middle of things.

Yeah, so I’ve lost some friendships because of it. Yeah maybe I am something of a stick in the mud. But you know what? I’ve created worlds that no one knows of but me. I have friends that no one can see or talk to but me. Sounds like I’m a candidate for the insane asylum, right? Well, maybe I am, but this insanity of a life makes me happy. I am perfectly happy sitting to the side and watching what others are doing. It’s a cheap hobby. All I need is a place to sit and people to walk by and I can keep myself entertained for hours on end.

Which is why tonight I am content to be in the predicament I am in.

I didn’t say happy, I said content.

Who can really be happy being stuck in the middle of an airport overnight? I mean, really. Bad weather? Flight delays and/or cancellations? Overbooked motels? Two choices: floor or hard plastic chairs for hours on end? Happy? No. But there are plenty of people to watch and attempt to figure out where they fit in this world. I’m content.

I choose for myself a spot in one of the rows of plastic chairs. I continue to curse the fact that each chair has arm rests, so lying down is practically impossible. I’m just getting comfortable when a group of people about my age walk past.

“Well, Missy, you know what they say about guys with big feet … “

I glance up at the group as one girl gives the other an amused look.

” … they have to buy big shoes.”

I can’t help but snicker to myself at the lame joke and the expressions of the various people in the group. The girls all cackle. One nearly spews her soda all over the guy in front of her.

“Oh ouch! That was hard man!” one of the guys exclaim, to which the group only laughs harder.

I resume my settling in as their voices trail away. I hook my legs over one arm and put my jacket over the other to soften it against my back. I reach for a magazine to make my people watching less obvious. There is nothing as annoying as that ever clever “What are YOU looking at?” line. I open my magazine to a random page when my attention is drawn to a couple clearly looking for a place to stake out for the night. I can’t help but dance in my mind when they stop right beside me.

“How about here? The floor is relatively clean and …”

“It’s fine.”

I chance a glance at the pair and can’t help but chuckle at the surprised look on his face. She didn’t see it, I know, as she moved to the wall and dropped the bag she’d been carrying. This night could turn out to be more fun than I expected. I return my look to the magazine, but continue to watch them out of the corner of my eye.

He drops his bag alongside hers and slowly lowers himself to the floor. He says something to her, and she laughs and sits down beside him. As they sit side by side I am struck by the difference in their heights. She looks up at him and he leans down to speak to her. She gently pushes him away as whatever he said annoys but amuses her. She reaches into a briefcase and removes a white folder with red along the edges. Before she can open it he snatches it away and holds it away from her. She fights to reach it and he just holds it further away.

“Mulder! Give it — “

“No! Not tonight.”

“The sooner we fin — “

“Finish the reports? Come ON Scully. You seriously want to work in middle of an airport after having worked non-stop on this case all week?”

“Mul —”

By now she is practically sitting in his lap trying to reach the folder and the amusement on his face is obvious.

“Don’t Mulder me. Promise you’ll put it away and not touch it again until we get home. Only then will I give it back.”

“Mulder — “

“Promise!”

I start to chuckle at their antics. She glares at him for a second as she moves back to her original place.

“Fine. I promise.”

He hands her the folder, but pulls it back just as she is about to clasp it. Her hand closes around nothing but air.

“You promised.”

“I promise!”

He hands her the folder and she tucks it away in the case. They turn to each other and they drop their voices back down. Unable to hear them, I begin to assess their physical attributes again. I shift in my seat until I am facing them, now I can give them my full attention as I peer at them over my magazine.

They both wear black suits. He sheds his tie and unbuttons the top button of his blue shirt as they talk. His dark hair is tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it. This whole mess with the planes has everyone on edge, so this doesn’t surprise me. His overall demeanor, though, seems calm. His legs stretch out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His attention is focused on whatever she is telling him. She sits beside him with only about an inch of space between them. Her posture is similar to his. She occasionally gestures with her hands, accenting points in her tale. Her gesturing allows her white shirt to open at the collar to reveal a small gold necklace. On her ears are simple gold balls that are almost lost against her red hair.

I already know from their “argument” that they work together. These two are more than just co-workers, though. They are clearly close friends. I notice that neither wears a wedding band, and, as they say, the plot thickens, especially when she lays her head on his shoulder as he begins to speak. It’s almost as if he’s telling her a bedtime story.

I figure the fun is over as her eyes begin to close. Suddenly her eyes open and she sits straight up. He has a mischievous grin on his face and she turns around and punches him in the arm.

“That’s not funny!”

“Aww, come on Scully. She should have seen your face!”

She stands up and brushes off her pants.

“It was a joke!”

He reaches out and catches her hand as she is turning away.

“I’m sorry! Where are you going? Stay, please.”

She turns and gives him a look. Even though he has a pleading look on his face, his mouth continues to twitch into a smile.

“I’m just going to go find a vending machine.”

“Oh.”

“Want anything?”

He shrugs. He still hasn’t let go of her hand as she begins to walk off.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He nods, releases her hand and leans back. We both watch her walk away. She has a confident stride and glances back at him once with a smile. I attempt to focus on my magazine when I feel something hit my head. I glance up to find him watching me. I look in my lap to find a sunflower seed has fallen out of my hair. I give him a confused look, but say nothing.

“It works better if you remember to turn the pages.”

“Huh?”

I never claimed to be the best conversationalist.

“People watching. Take it from a professional, turning the pages makes it less obvious.”

I can’t help but grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nods his approval and pulls a coat out of the bag beside him. His attention returns to me briefly.

“One more piece of advice?”

I give him an amused look.

“Lay it on me.”

“Those seats are killer on the back. I’ve been in enough airports to know that when the choice comes to the chairs or the floor, the best choice is to just stand. But when worse comes to worse, the floor is a good second choice.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

With that he returns to the task of getting comfortable. He gets re-settled just as she approaches from the right. In her left hand is a bottle of Coke, and her right hand clutches a package of twinkies.

“Living on the edge Agent Scully?”

“Oh shut up,” she says with a smirk. “You’re going to help me with these.”

“Am I now?”

“Yes, you are.”

She throws the twinkies into his lap as she lowers herself to the floor. He grabs the snack and opens the package. He takes one and hands her the other once she is settled. As they eat in silence, my own stomach begins to growl. I reach for my backpack and begin searching for a package of Fritos that I always carry with me. Proud that I never go unprepared, I resume my watch on the pair with the package of chips and a bottle of Cream Soda.

By this time, the twinkies are long gone, and the coke sits half-full beside him abandoned. He’s pulled her close and his arm is wrapped around her back. Her head is once again on his shoulder. He whispers something in her ear and she seems to resist for a moment, but soon gives in. She curls up on the floor with her head in his lap. He reaches for the coat he’d pulled out earlier and lays it over her. He begins to gently stroke her hair back from her face, and it doesn’t take long for her eyes to close.

I stretch my legs out in front of me and slide down in my chair. One hour down, only God knows how many more to go. I tilt my head back and drain the last of my drink from the bottle. When my gaze returns to the pair in front of me I find him watching me. I get a strange feeling that he’s doing to me what I’ve been doing to them for the past hour — only he’s not just watching, he’s figuring, sizing me up if you will. I refuse to back down, and I catch his gaze. Suddenly a grin crosses his face.

“I told you the floor was more comfortable.”

He may have said it, but she proved it. Go figure.

Fin

Completion: 06/16/2000

---