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Unexpected Bedfellows by Invisigoth421
Title: Unexpected Bedfellows
Author: invisigoth421 () http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2415/
Classification: SRH Keywords: MSR, humor Rating: R Spoilers: Never Again, Syzygy. Minor mentions of PMP and 3
Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name and email remain attached.
Summary: Mulder and Scully wake up in bed together… and have no idea how they got there.
Disclaimer: The x-Files are MINE!!!!!
Well, OK, no they’re not. (Damn!) they belong to Chris Carter, Fox, and 1013 productions. No infringement intended. No money made. The Spice Girls aren’t mine either, thank god. I don’t want them, I’m just using them for cynical amusement. Apologies to fans!
Author’s Note: This story assumes that Mulder still does not have a bed.
Another note: To my friends at the AFML: There is a hidden “Truth” line in this story for you. Can you find it????
Yet another note for my friends: I’m SO sorry I didn’t make this the NC-17 fanfic you were all hoping for! Smut just DIDN’T seem to fit here, so I’m saving it for another story. 🙂
“I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna…”
Fox Mulder’s hand slammed down on the unsuspecting clock radio with a bang.
Pain shot through his hand like a thousand small daggers all hitting him at once, and the music coming through the clock radio’s speakers stopped abruptly. Either he had succeeded in hitting the “off” button in the midst of his random flailings, or he had broken the damn thing. Mulder ignored the pain. The music had stopped, and that was all that mattered.
Spice Girls first thing on a Saturday morning was a sign of a coming apocalypse. He was certain of it.
The first thing Mulder noticed about this particular Saturday morning was that his head was throbbing intensely.
Each time he moved his head, or any part of his body, an invisible hammer swung down from somewhere and struck him square in the temple. It hurt like hell.
And his mouth… Mulder smacked his lips dryly a few times and grimaced. His mouth felt like someone had been making glue in it.
He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the strange taste and texture as the question ran through his mind: What the hell was I doing last night?
It didn’t take him long to realize that he didn’t remember. This was not a good sign.
Mulder knew this, and decided promptly that there was no way he was going to open his eyes. Through the bedroom window, he could feel the sun beating down on him, hurting the optical tools in question and preventing him from drifting once again into a deep, dreamless sleep. It made what should have been pleasant darkness a grotesque, glaring red. It burned through his eyelids, as if daring him to give in to temptation and open them It was going to be a nice day, dammit.
On that realization, Mulder grabbed the down comforter that covered him and pulled it up over his head I am not getting up today, he thought. I will stay in bed until I hear the alarm go off for tomorrow morning. And if it’s the Spice Girls again, I’m not getting up at all.
Mulder continued to lay there, the blanket over his head, breathing in the stale air and thinking.
Whatever had happened last night, he could not remember it. Friday was gone. Erased. Dumped into his mind’s recycle bin and deleted.
Even the memory of his day at work was virtually nonexistent. He had gone out and done something that had made him forget *everything*, and he didn’t want to get out of bed and have some horrible realization come to him as a result.
What if he had gone out and gotten drunk with the Lone Gunmen? No! The horror! What if he had gone out, gotten drunk with the Lone Gunmen, and somehow ended up going to bed with a woman who closely resembled Shaina Berkowitz? He shuddered, and his head throbbed intensely for a moment as if to remind him of the situation.
I am not getting out of bed, he reminded himself, curling up into the comfort of the soft mattress.
Wait a minute. A little voice in the back of Mulder’s mind perked up and reminded him of a disturbing fact.
There was something wrong with that concept.
He lay there for a moment, suffocating under the down comforter, trying to figure out why that term seemed so odd.
Down comforter? I don’t own a down comforter, do I? he thought. He tried to form a mental picture of his linen closet (which he didn’t use), racking his brains for any vague memory of a down comforter. He could not remember one. Had his mother given him one? He pondered this a moment longer.
Sunlight coming through a window right above the bed.
I don’t sleep in my bed, he thought calmly, as if this revelation was nothing to be surprised about.
I don’t sleep in my bed, I don’t have a down comforter, and there is no window anywhere near my couch for sunlight to stream through.
Oh lord, what the hell happened on Friday?
Still, Mulder did not stir.
He was, at the moment, absolutely terrified of getting up.
Terrified that if he rose from his safe place under these unfamiliar blankets, he would encounter the most horrific event of his entire career on the X-Files. The last time this had happened, he had found himself in bed with an emaciated-looking girl who thought she was a vampire.
Who would it be this time? The bride of the Great Mutato? Slowly, cautiously, he slid the corner of the white down comforter off of his face, so that one eye peered through. He surveyed his surroundings, which were hazy and indistinct thanks to his splitting headache, not to mention the extra effort he was putting upon the single eye he was allowing outside of the covers.
This room does not exist anywhere in my house, he thought to himself. It was blurry, but it clear enough for him to know that it was unfamiliar.
Indeed, the room was far too neatly kept to belong to a bachelor like Fox Mulder. The decor was pristine, white, and… well, fluffy looking was the only term that came to mind at the moment.
In fact, there was something feminine about it. And something all to familiar about it as well.
He held his breath for a moment, and listened.
The sounds of people talking, and of cars racing by on the road, drifted in from the street outside.
And he could hear the distinct sound of someone breathing next to him.
Fear coursed through him again. What had he done?
I have no recollection of Friday, he thought. My head hurts like hell, and I have just woken up in someone else’s bedroom with someone in bed with me. This could be the first time I’ve gotten laid in 4 years and I don’t remember It!
Oh God, please don’t let it be Skinner, he thought with a sardonic grin in spite of his apprehension. Slowly, he pulled the rest of the blanket up off his face and peered over to his left. Someone was there, all right.
Someone with a head of auburn hair, which lay in stark contrast against the white pillowcase.
Mulder reacted to the sight of that hair as any other person would have reacted to seeing a live tarantula in their bed.
He leaped out from under the covers and off the bed in one swift motion, not realizing what he was doing until he was assailed by the cold morning air on his all-too exposed private parts.
He was naked.
Tackle out, so to speak. And his partner, Dana Scully, was laying in that bed, sleeping. He had been laying next to her. Precious inches away from her…. from her soft, creamy white skin…
It hadn’t been the Bride of Mutato, and for that he was grateful. But Scully? How did he end up in Scully’s bed?
Worse yet, how could he end up in Scully’s bed and not remember it? Mulder reached over to grab the down comforter and then thought better of it. If he grabbed anything off the bed, he might wake her up. It was too late.
She stirred when he touched the blanket.
He scrambled for some kind of cover… any kind of cover, and ended up grabbing the pillow he had been sleeping on, trying desperately to hide his more sensitive parts with it.
Scully turned over and opened her eyes.
Then she screamed.
Mulder had never heard Scully scream before. Coming from her lips it was the most bizarre sound in the world.
“Mulder!” Scully cried as she grabbed for any blankets within her reach and pulled them around her. Mulder noted with some lamentation that Scully, too, did not have a stitch on. This thought intrigued him. He would have to file it away for later use.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She asked her voice high pitched with panic and confusion. Mulder, naked in her bedroom? She had good reason to be surprised, and scared. Mulder in her bedroom would not have scared her. The fact that he wasn’t wearing anything changed that somewhat.
“I… wait… Scully… I can explain…” “I don’t want you to explain, Mulder! Get out of here!” she grabbed a book from her bedside table and prepared to hurl it at him.
“No, wait!” he cried, as she raised the book to throw it at him, one harm still precariously trying to hold the sheets over her bare chest.
“Scully, it’s me!” he said desperately. “let me explain!” She regarded him for a moment, eyebrow raised along with the arm that held the book.
Damn that eyebrow! Still, it meant she was thinking, and that was good.
Very good, for a moment later she lowered the book. Perhaps a moment’s thought had caused her to realize that he might have something important to say. Or that maybe, just maybe, his excuse was worth listening to.
Well, at the very least, it would be entertaining for her. For that, at least, Mulder was glad. But it didn’t change the fact that she continued to stare at him.
Mulder became painfully aware that the only thing covering his body at the moment was a small, white pillow.
He hoped he wasn’t blushing as much as he felt like he was.
“So?” Scully said, staring at him…
Was she staring right at the pillow? He tried not to look at her.
“Explain…” She added. “Why you are in my bedroom at…” she paused to look at the clock, and then proceeded to stare at it’s blank face for a moment.
Not only was he naked in her bedroom, he had killed her clock as well.
Am I ever in deep shit now, Mulder thought.
“…at some strange hour on a Saturday morning… Naked,” Scully finished.
He stood there for a moment, feeling like an idiot, praying to every god he knew the name of to clothe his body as quickly as possible with anything, anything at all – please, even if it’s just a leaf or a loincloth or something…
“Can I get dressed first?” he suddenly, praying to Scully, goddess of the bedroom and of the deadly flying book, for help.
“No,” She replied.
Ohhh… she was going to be that way, was she? “please?” he begged, his voice small and pathetic, not at all by accident.
Scully shook her head. “No Mulder, you promised an explanation and I want one. now. And it had better be good. Don’t tell me you were abducted by aliens and they put you in my bed to do an experiment on procreation.” He opened his mouth to explain, and then shut it when he suddenly and shockingly remembered that he did not know how he had gotten here.
How could that have slipped his mind? Am I ever in a fix now, he thought.
“Um…” he said, looking at the floor. “I don’t…”
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t know how I got here, Scully,” he said with a lopsided, hopeful smile. “DON’T throw the book at me!” he added hastily as he saw her arm twitch.
“You promised an explanation Mulder,” Scully warned, giving her wrist a little flick as if to threaten him. Her arm hovered dangerously above her head, ready to let fly at any moment.
“I don’t have one. Please, listen to me Scully. I have no idea how I got here.” She stared at him coldly.
Damn, that look was like daggers made of ice.
“If I found any other man I knew naked in my bedroom, Mulder, I’d call the police. You’re lucky I’m giving you a chance to explain.”
Mulder opened his mouth to speak. A sound came out. The beginning of a word, perhaps, but it ended up sounding more like a strangled gasp. He gave up.
“Scully, honestly, I have no idea how I got here. I can’t remember a damn thing about yesterday. All I know is that I woke up here, and the Spice Girls scared me to death, and I think I broke your clock radio and… I’m sorry. ”
“You don’t know?” She asked, as if she had not heard a word of his explanation. Not that his explanation had been all that convincing.
“No! I don’t! Do you know how I got here? Do you remember me coming in?” Scully thought for a moment, her expression smug and composed. For a few moments, that is, until she suddenly took on a look of complete bewilderment.
“I’m sure,” She said suddenly, “That you must have come in here while I was sleeping.” She was trying to think up a rational explanation, but the look on her face belied the fact that she, too, had no idea what had happened. She was trying to cover it up. And there was no way Mulder was going to let that happen.
“Do you remember Friday, Scully?” He asked, sure that he had her.
“Of course I remember Friday! What a silly question Mulder!” Her face was red, her words clipped and sharp. Someone who didn’t know Scully that well might have assumed she was simply frustrated. But not Mulder. He knew her better than her own mother knew her, and Scully was not frustrated. She was flustered.
Flustered because she, too, could remember nothing about Friday. He was positive. “Tell me about Friday, then” Mulder prompted her.
“Well, I got up in the morning and went to work like I always do,”
Like you always do, Mulder noted. It was easy to determine what you had done when it was part of a routine. He wondered if she was going to add that she brushed her teeth that morning, like she always did.
“Then I… I… Well, I don’t remember what we worked on but after work I…” She paused. “I came home and…”
Scully was trying desperately to think of something to say.
She had covered all of the bases.
Got up, went to work, came home.
But when it came to telling him what she had done when she had gotten home, Scully appeared to be at a loss for words. “You don’t remember, do you?” he asked after what seemed like an eternity of waiting for her to speak.
“I’m sure I’ll remember in a second,” Scully told him. She refused to make eye contact with him, staring instead at the book she had been about to throw at him earlier.
“HA!” Mulder said with laughter in his voice, hoping she wouldn’t kill him for it.
“You can’t remember either. It’s OK, Scully, you can tell me. I don’t remember a damn thing about Friday.” She looked up at him. Her eyes were confused. And Dana Scully did not like to be confused. Mulder had thought many a time that she would rather die than admit she didn’t know something.
And even now, she didn’t come right out and say that she could remember nothing of the previous day. But her eyes said it, and that was enough.
“Do you have a headache?” he asked.
Scully thought of a moment.
“Yes,” she replied “A slight one.” “Funny taste in your mouth?”
She smacked her lips and made a disgusted face as though she had just noticed what Mulder spoke of.
“Me too,” he replied.
“So we wake up on a Saturday morning in bed together, with no recollection of the previous day, and both feeling hung over,” Scully said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes,” Mulder replied. “Did we go out for drinks last night ?”
Scully shrugged. It was possible. They occasionally went out for after-work drinks but that meant nothing. She continued to stare at him. Mulder suddenly remembered that he was naked.
“Um…” he said. “Do you think…”
“Do I think what?” She asked, though he knew she was thinking it already.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He asked, unable to voice the words.
“I’m not sure. What are you thinking?” She asked.
“Do you think anything happened?” “Like what?” Damn, Scully, don’t play stupid.
“Scully!” Mulder said out loud. “You know what I mean!”
“Oh, you mean, do I think we did the wild thing, as you would so eloquently put it?” Mulder nodded, ignoring the jab.
“I sure as hell hope not,” Scully replied. Now she was beyond cynical. She sounded downright bitchy. ” Where are your clothes?”
“I… I… just don’t know,” He replied, looking around, turning his head in various directions but refusing to turn around, lest she see.. well, lest she see his most important assets.
Not that he minded too much. She had seen him naked before, although in most of those situations he had been too messed up to notice, or care. The situation had been similar last night, he assumed.
He surveyed the room, scanning it for his apparel from the previous day, and what came to his attention was most disturbing. His clothes lay scattered across the bedroom floor. His shirt lay at the entrance in a heap. His jeans lay beside Scully’s bed along with his boxers. But that was not the most disturbing fact.
Worse yet, Scully’s clothes were scattered along with his. Her blouse and jacket made a nice trail from the doorway to the bed, and her slacks lay on the floor next to Mulder’s in an unkempt heap. Was that her bra hanging from the bedpost?
OH lord, this is not good.
Scully, it appeared, was taking this in as well.
“Why is my bra hanging from the bedpost?” she asked out of the blue.
It broke his train of thought rather abruptly . “I think we’ve…” got to try and find out, he meant to finish, but he was cut off by the sound of Scully’s phone ringing. Inside his sore head, it sounded like a thousand fire alarm bells going off at once. He covered his ears and waited for her to answer it.
Scully reached out and grabbed it, one hand still clinging to the precariously balanced blanket that covered her chest.
Mulder caught himself staring and turned away, but not before lingering for a moment.
“Hello?” Scully said into the receiver. Her voice was tentative, hesitant – the voice of a person who really didn’t get that many phone calls on a Saturday, he assumed.
Mulder watched her intently, studying her expression for a hint as to what might be going on on the other end of the line. As she listened, The look on Scully’s face slowly changed from one of annoyed indifference to one of agitation and surprise. She listened to the caller in silence, and Mulder could hear a faint, incessant jabbering on the other end. It reminded him of a magpie and he grinned.
“I’m sorry, are you sure you have the right person?” He head Scully say finally. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about…” She began to listen again, the person on the other end went on another tirade about this apparently momentous subject.
Mulder’s curiosity was up.
“Yes…” Scully stammered into the receiver as the voice prattled on in the background “But…” she glanced up at Mulder for a moment, and suddenly recognition bloomed on her face. Had she just put two and two together and realized what was going on?
“I’m very sorry,” She said finally. “It won’t happen again.” There was an audible click as the person on the other end hung up. Scully did not. She continued to stare blankly at the telephone receiver as though she expected an answer to her question to suddenly come bursting through the microphone.
“What was that all about?” Mulder asked, making no bones about it. Curiosity killed the Fox. He was dying to know, and he would have bet any amount of money that it had something to do with the previous night.
Scully took a deep breath as though she was about to tell him, but instead of speaking she let it out again in a long, defeated sigh.
“That was my next door neighbor,” She said finally, with less flourish. “Nice little old lady. Cute, really. She brings me fruitcake at Christmas time…” her voice trailed off as she realized that she was rambling.
“It sounded like she was pissed at you,” Mulder said.
Scully nodded, but said nothing.
Mulder leaned forward with anticipation, almost forgetting to hang on to the vital protection of the pillow.
Thinking better of it, he hung onto the pillow with one hand and reached down to pick his pants up off the floor with the other.
Scully said nothing. She was still thinking. Mulder was dying with curiosity, thought for some reason the need to get his pants on suddenly overpowered that curiosity. As he waited for her to tell him something, he gingerly slipped one foot into the leg of his jeans. Bad idea. One hand. No balance. He toppled over and ended up in a heap on the floor. “Shit!” He said, grumbling. He started to get up, but then decided that the floor was as good a place as any. He could still see Scully. She could still talk to him, and he no longer felt like a complete moron standing there naked with a pillow over his privates. The rug threatened to imprint an embarrassing pattern on his butt, but other than hat he was sage.
Unfortunately, it appeared that Scully was becoming more and more amused. She now stared down at him, one eyebrow raised as usual, and a slight smile on her face.
“She said,” Scully began, replacing the phone receiver as she spoke, “That next time I decide to have an orgy, to keep the noise down so she and the other neighbors can sleep.” She said it bluntly and matter-of-factly, as though the prospect of what her neighbor had just said to her was everyday business.
Shit, Mulder thought.
What the hell had been going on last night? More importantly, why had it been going on?
Not that the thought had never crossed his mind before.
A voice in his subconscious berated him.
Well, all right, it was a prospect he had given much thought to.
And apparently, they had both given it a lot of thought the night before.
“Um…” Mulder mumbled, searching for the correct words. What did you say when you found out you’d just done the wild thing with your closest work partner? Your best friend? that voice in his head said again.
Never mind that. Something had led them to this. Last night, something had caused them to come here and, well, “get it on”, without remembering a thing the next morning.
Mulder suddenly felt disappointed. Not only had he gotten laid for the first time in 4 years, but it had been with Scully, and it had been good enough to wake the neighbors… and he didn’t remember a damn thing.
But he did remember that he was supposed to be saying something to Scully. “I’m sorry,” He said finally. What else was there to say? That was the best option. If she was pissed at him, she might forgive him. If she wasn’t pissed at him, there was nothing to lose.
To his surprise, she replied in a soft, kind voice.
“Mulder,” She said “I don’t think either of us has anything to be sorry about. Obviously something happened that was beyond our control.” Yes, but what, exactly?
“I just want to find out how we got here,” Scully added “And what the cause of it was.”
“Maybe someone slipped us a love potion,” Mulder joked.
Scully didn’t laugh, but something in her eyes twinkled.
“A syzygy?” He tried again.
“Mulder, I think this is more serious than you’re making it out to be.” “Why?” He asked.
My god, where did that come from?
Well, you’ve dug your hole Fox, keep going.
“Why?” Scully asked, dumbfounded.
Might as well throw dirt on the grave too.
“Yeah? Why. Why is it so serious, Scully?” “Because…” she stammered for words, as though she had been instantly frustrated beyond the capacity for proper speech formation. “B… because we work together, Mulder! We’re work partners, not lovers! What will this do to our working relationship?” “You didn’t seem to think about that when you almost kissed me.” “I didn’t kiss you, you tried to kiss me!”
“Yeah, but you let me.” “This is different Mulder! this is beyond kissing!” “yeah, Scully, but neither of us remembers it. Can’t we just say we had a little fun we don’t remember and get on with it?” Was this Mulder, Scully wondered? Fox “I have to know the truth” Mulder? Suddenly not wanting to know what had happened? Not caring? “What’s the biggest thing you have to worry about, Scully?” Mulder asked.
“I mean… it’s impossible to…” Impossible to get you pregnant he almost said. He stopped before he finished, hoping he hadn’t said to much. But in her eyes, he saw only recognition. she knew he was right on that subject and she wasn’t denying it. She did, however, appear to be becoming more and more annoyed with him.
“Neither of us has had it in years, Scully,” he continued, ignoring the surprised “how dare you assume that?” look on her face. “I don’t think diseases are anything to worry about.”
“Unless you caught something from that Fowley woman,” Scully suddenly shot at him. Ouch, Mulder thought. That was below the belt. And he was completely unprotected at the moment.
“Well, at least I didn’t go out and get a tattoo and then get it on with a complete stranger.” If she was going to be below the belt, then he would be too.
“A psychotic stranger, I might add.” Once Fox Mulder started, he couldn’t stop.
“Mulder, Shut up,” Scully said vehemently.
“A psychotic stranger with a talking tattooo!!” Mulder exclaimed. Learn when to stop, Mulder, his conscience told him, but he didn’t listen. This had to go somewhere, and he was going to take it wherever he could. Scully would just get madder anyhow.
“Mulder, he was not….”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Scully, he wasn’t psychotic. It was the tattoo that made him do it!”
Well, it wasn’t lightening her up. If Scully had been any madder there would have been steam coming out of her ears.
“Mulder will you be quiet! I didn’t sleep with Ed Jerse!” Mulder was shocked into silence. Really? He had assumed all this time that she had.
“Really?” He echoed his own thoughts out loud.
Scully nodded. “Dammit, it’s not even any of your business, Mulder!”
“Then why did you tell me?” That was enough for Dana Scully. She picked up the pillow on the bed next to her and hurled it at him.
Mulder ducked, but in his vulnerable state, he was unable to get out of the way. It hit him square in the face.
And she wasn’t finished yet. That book she had been about to throw at him earlier in the morning… she had it in her hand.
“No Scully!” Mulder pleaded. “Not the book!”
At least throw a paperback at me! he thought, eyeing the book’s hard cover with alarm. Too late. She drew her arm back like a seasoned pitcher and hurled the book in his direction.
Mulder ducked and rolled out of the way, forgetting about keeping covered, forgetting about everything except avoiding the copy of “Women who Run with the Wolves” that sailed through the air at him. It missed his head, but bounced off his forearm and landed somewhere on the floor behind him. He felt pain shoot through his arm where the book hit him. Tomorrow it was going to be a lovely color, he thought to himself.
“Ha!” Scully cried.
Was that laughter in her voice? Mulder withdrew his arms from around his head and looked in her direction.
In the commotion, she had succeeded in grabbing her bathrobe and putting it on. She was now completely covered, and was approaching him the way a lioness approaches it’s prey. She was grinning from ear to ear, but it was an evil grin, the likes of which Mulder had never seen on Scully before.
Is she going to kick the shit out of me? Mulder wondered. “Damn, Scully! At least let me get my pants on!” He cried out.
Scully stopped moving, glanced at him for a moment, and put her hands on her hips, That was enough leeway for Mulder. He grabbed his pants and succeeded in jumping into them in one swift motion.
He stood there for a moment afterwards, watching Scully and wondering what she was going to do next.
She was eyeing him. Not just eyeing him, looking him up and down. Mulder suddenly felt more naked than he had without any clothes on. Here he was, standing in front of Scully in nothing but his jeans, and she was staring at him.
“Uh… Scully…” Mulder said, feeling shaky.
“Maybe last night wasn’t such a bad thing,” She said abruptly.
That surprised him. He had never expected that Scully would change her mind so easily. Had he actually gotten through to her, made her laugh and lighten up, with all of his teasing? He had assumed she was going to kill him.
“Were you really that upset about the Ed Jerse thing?” She asked suddenly, taking a step closer to him.
The room suddenly felt incredibly warm. Mulder shifted uncomfortably. Were his jeans getting tighter? “I… uh… ” he stammered. He had never, in a million years, thought that Scully would ask him this, and expect an answer.
And what harm would there be in giving her one? She had already confessed to him what had happened with Ed Jerse. Now, wasn’t it fair that he should confess to her how he had felt? “Yeah,” he replied. “I was jealous. And I acted like a jerk.”
“You act like a jerk quite frequently,” Scully replied.
“You’re being mean, Scully,” he said, trying to look dejected, but Scully would have none of it.
“Think of the countless times you’ve ditched me,” she said. “Think of the countless times you’ve looked me in the eye and told me how wonderful Diana Fowley was. Why do you do it? Why do you do it, and then get jealous when I do the same thing?” Scully wanted the truth. He could see it in her eyes.
“I always thought you found me annoying Scully,” he replied. If she wanted the truth, she would get it.
“Not always,” She replied “Sometimes, yes.”
“I thought you just tolerated me, most of the time. So I figured it never mattered when I acted like a jerk. It wouldn’t make any difference.”
“Mulder, you weren’t TRYING to make me jealous, with the whole Fowley thing, were you?” Scully asked.
“I mean, you weren’t making such a big fuss over her to get back at me for Ed, were you?”
“No,” he said, his voice incredibly small.
“Don’t lie to me Mulder,”
“No!’ He said again, more aggressively. “No. Well, actually, yes.”
“Well it worked,” Scully said flatly.
This was shaping up to be interesting.
“So am I to assume…” Mulder began “That since we’re both jealous of the men and women in each other’s lives… That we… Have some feelings for each other?”
Stupid question. He knew he had feelings for Scully. What he didn’t know for sure was whether she had any for him. He had always assumed that he was alone, that she regarded him as an irritant. He had assumed she tolerated him, the way one would tolerate toenail fungus.
“I guess so,” Scully replied. “Otherwise it would make no sense to be jealous.” Was this real? Were they actually discussing their relationship analytically, with no denial or beating around the bush whatsoever? Mulder began to wonder if he was dreaming.
“So,… You don’t regret what happened last night?” he asked out loud.
Scully thought for a moment, but in the end, she shook her head. “No,” she said hesitantly. And then “No,” Firmly. “I just wish I could… remember it.”
“Scully…” Mulder said quietly, taking a step closer to her so that their bodies nearly touched.
“Yes?” She asked, not moving. Not even bothering to take a step back to clear her personal space.
“Do you want to see if we’ll remember the second time?” Oh lord, what an incredibly stupid pickup line, he thought.
“OK,” Scully replied.
OK? Mulder glanced behind him at the window, sure that the world was coming to an end outside. Did he hear right? He had propositioned Scully, and she had said “OK?” How many times had he done just that, only to have her ignore him or brush him off?
That didn’t matter now, though. Scully had moved even closer to him, and he suddenly felt his arms go around her waist and his lips come down to meet hers.
He had barely had a chance to take in what was going on when Scully stopped him. “What about our jobs?” She asked suddenly, but the tone of her voice suggested to him that it was an afterthought that meant little to her. “What about Skinner?”
“Fuck Skinner,” Mulder said, pulling her closer.
“I’d rather not,” Scully replied, smiling. “I’d rather f….” Mulder cut her off with another kiss.
Things had not improved much since that morning.
Mulder’s pants were once again on the floor.
Scully’s bathrobe now covered the bra that had been draped over the bedpost.
Blankets lay everywhere. Everywhere, but on the bed.
The room looked like a tornado had hit it, and Scully’s kindly old neighbor one door over now had something more to phone her about.
At least, that was what Scully thought was happening when she heard the phone ring. .
“Mulder,” she said, breathlessly. “The…Phone…”
Mulder didn’t budge. Dammit, had he fallen asleep on top of her? How… annoying. She pushed, shoved. Tried her best to get the sleeping, 6-foot-tall man off of her.
“Wha?” Mulder said blearily, and jumped when he heard the phone ring. He moved just enough for Scully to wriggle out from under him and she grabbed the phone.
After all, things had just been too curious this morning to ignore a phone call. “Hello?” Scully said questioningly into the receiver.
“Hi, is this Agent Scully?” A hesitant voice on the other line queried.
“It’s Frohike. I…um… I was just wondering if you and Mulder made it back all right last night.” Was this a lead? Insight, perhaps, into the goings on of the previous evening? Scully sat up and listened.
“Who is it?” Mulder mouthed. She held up a finger and nodded at him, indicating for him to give her a minute.
“Um… we’re fine…” Scully replied into the phone. “But…”
“Do you remember anything?” Frohike asked.
“That’s the thing, Frohike. Neither of us remember last night.”
What was going on. Without warning, Mulder’s hand shot out and grabbed the receiver.
Scully stared at him for a moment, indignant, and then decided it was the best thing.
Frohike weirder her out most of the time anyway. It was best to let Mulder talk to him.
“Frohike!” Mulder said cheerily into the phone. “My man!” “Mulder.”
Mulder didn’t hear the surprise he had expected in Frohike’s voice. He had assumed that Frohike would be surprised to find that Mulder was at Scully’s apartment this early on a Saturday morning. He clearly wasn’t.
In fact, why had he called Scully’s place in the first place? Something was up, and Frohike had something to do with it.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Frohike asked. Mulder glanced over at Scully’s perfect, naked body and smiled, his headache permanently forgotten.
“Just great,” he replied, grinning at Scully.
She glared at him, and he retreated his gaze to the phone.
“Scully said you don’t remember anything about last night,” Frohike added, sounding like he was building up to something.
“Not a damn thing,” Mulder replied. “Why? Do you know something?”
Frohike suddenly grew silent, although he mumbled something incoherent that Mulder couldn’t quite make out. “Do you remember what the date was yesterday?” Frohike asked.
“Yeah,” Mulder lied, thinking for a moment. Today was Saturday. October 14th. Yesterday was…. October 13th. Fox Mulder’s birthday and Friday the 13th, for that matter.
“It was my birthday…’ Mulder said cautiously, afraid of what might come of this realization.
Too much, apparently. Small, incomplete memories began flooding into his mind upon his discovery of the date.
“We went to the bar,” Mulder said suddenly, without knowing where the words had come from. “You, me, Scully and the other guys… You guys took me out for drinks!”
“That’s right,” Frohike said. “And at about 11 you and agent Scully started getting out of hand, so to speak.” Getting out of hand?
“What? How? Did we drink to much?”
“I don’t’ think it was a matter of how much you drank,” Frohike said “But you were… embarrassing us. We had to take you home. And I dropped you both at agent Scully’s place, where you insisted on staying. And she insisted you stay, for that matter. You guys were hornier than cats in heat, Mulder.”
“Nicely put,” Mulder said sardonically, glancing at Scully nervously. She was biding her time, he saw, waiting for him to get off the phone so she could question him. “So you dropped us off here,” Mulder said out loud for Scully’s benefit. “And went home?”
“that’s about it. I just wanted to see how guys were making out…” His voice trailed off, and he coughed, realizing the implications of his words. “I mean an how you were doing…. uh… how you are. now. How are you?”
“We’re…. really good,” Mulder replied, although Scully glared at him again when he said it. She wanted answers. “But we’d both kind of like to know what happened last night. I mean… why did we…. do what we did? How much did we have to drink?”
“More than I expected,” Frohike replied “and more once the whole thing started but I don’t think that was the cause of it.” “What was the cause, Frohike?” There was a silence at the other end.
“I don’t know. All I know is that we got to the bar and had a few drinks. You and Scully were making eyes at each other all night. You had a drink, and a few more drinks, and by 11:00 you were all over each other and sucking the stuff back like fish. That’s when we took you home.”
“So nobody slipped anything into our drinks?” Mulder asked with a grin, although he could not deny that the thought had crossed his mind.
“All I know, Mulder, is that yesterday was Friday the 13th.”
“Strange things happen on Friday the 13th. There was also a full moon, Mulder.”
A full moon? Well, this made things interesting. In Mulder’s eyes, this was explanation enough. For Scully to believe it, he would have to find her some scientific evidence of the effects of the moon’s gravitational pull.
“Well, thanks for the info Frohike,” Mulder said, getting ready to hang up. “I’d better go relay it back to Scully, here.”
“OK. Talk to you guys soon, I guess.” “Yeah. Bye.” Mulder hung up the phone and gazed at Scully for a moment.
“What? What’d he say?” She asked, barely able to contain her curiosity. Mulder relayed the story back to her as Frohike had told him, watching Scully’s eyebrow arch past the point where it would have been painful to a normal person.
“That’s it?” she asked when he finished.
“That’s it,” he replied. “That’s all the explanation he had for us.”
“That we just suddenly started drinking a lot and acting like horny teenagers? For no reason? There must have been a reason.” Mulder knew the reason.
Should I tell her, he wondered? It was a good enough reason for him. Friday the 13th – a full moon. Anything could happen. Heck, it had happened to them before.
What had that thing been called? A syzygy? Who knew what could happen on the night of Friday the 13th when the moon was full?
“Well, there is one, but I don’t think you’ll buy it.” “What, Mulder? That it was Friday the 13th? Come on. You know me better than Fthat. That’s ridiculous.”
“there was also a full moon,” Mulder added. Scully rolled her eyes. “Please, Mulder,” she said. “There’s got to be a more logical explanation.” “There isn’t,” Mulder replied matter-of-factly.
“You expect me to believe that all of this happened because of a man-made date and an inconsequential state in the phases of the moon? Come on!”
“Scully, even you have to admit that the moon has an effect on people,” Mulder said.
“Perhaps, ” Scully replied “but nothing has ever been solidly proven.” “Scully, have a look at the police station or the hospital emergency room on the night of a full moon! They go insane! Who’s to say it didn’t have some strange effect on us?” Scully sighed, exasperated. Would Mulder never let up?
“What if someone put something in our drinks?” She asked, trying to change the subject to a more rational conclusion.
“That’s… a distinct possibility, but I’m sure the guys would have noticed. ”
“what if it was one of them?”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Mulder laughed. Definitely not. The three most paranoid men in the world, doing something illicit like that to a friend? It would never happen.
Scully sighed again. “Mulder, there has to be slightly less insane explanation for what happened.”
“Does it really matter?” Mulder asked, as he had earlier that morning.
“Does it matter? Will it affect your life in any way if you never know for sure?”
Scully pondered this for a moment.
“Well, no. But the scientific mind always looks for the answers…”
“In this case we may never find them,” Mulder said. “But is it possible that… Would you ever let it into your head that maybe it was the moon?”
“Mulder, that’s silly!”
“No it’s not. Remember the syzygy?”
“I thought that was a load of crap too,” Scully said, but a hint of a smile twitched at the edge of her lips.
Mulder suddenly wanted to kiss those lips.
“What if…” Mulder said, leaning closer to her “that the moon affected us so much that it made us do what we’d been wanting to do for years?”
Scully laughed, about to shoot down Mulder’s theory, but saw the look in his eyes and thought better of it.
“It’s highly unlikely,” she finally said. “But it’s a nice thought. I will admit that.”
“Good,” Said Mulder, leaning in to finally brush his lips with hers.
A smile flickered across Dana Scully’s lips. In the next apartment, a very annoyed neighbor reached for the phone once again.
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