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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Sound Conclusions

Rating:Explicit

Words: 3975

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Tagging @today-in-fic

Find it on AO3

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2000

She hadn’t expected that her desire for him would only increase after she’d had him once. That first night, emboldened by loneliness and a little red wine, she’d found the courage to reach for him, to lean in to his desirous gaze, to walk them slowly to her bedroom between fervent kisses. It was an itch to be scratched, something that you could anticipate fading away once sated, but it hadn’t. Perhaps that was because it had exceeded even her most graphic fantasies about how it might be, the slip of his fingers inside her igniting nerve endings that her vibrator had never located when she had imagined his touch. The grip of his palms on her hips as she writhed, gasping, in his lap a detail she had never known to conjure. The depth of the growl in his throat when she told him she was going to come vibrating through her bones was a memory she couldn’t shake. The smell of his cum in her panties hours after he’d left her apartment had her breathless, wanting him again already, somehow more than she ever had before she knew the taste of his saliva and the scratch of his stubble against her nipples.

They’d arrived to work the following day and acted as though nothing had happened, pretending not to feel things being one of her specialties. She worked hard to mask the new way her pulse quickened when he touched her back, the visceral response she had to the smell of his breath when he leaned in to whisper a snarky comment during their weekly division briefing. She found herself getting lost staring at his hands while he took notes, remembering the way they stroked her insides, and then blushed when he asked her if she was okay. She knew, without a doubt, that she wanted him again. If he at any point had offered to take her right there on his desk, she wouldn’t have been able to say no. And yet, she was so careful to avoid giving him any indication of this, feeling embarrassed and guilty for such wanton desires, for objectifying her partner like this. The Catholic guilt a wet blanket on her newfound lust, suppressing her into the polished, poised, sexless FBI agent she had spent so much time working to be. Weeks passed, her need for him coursing through her veins like a drug, intoxicating her to the point she often forgot terms and concepts that she normally recalled easily, again prompting him to inquire as to whether she was feeling alright, noting that she didn’t seem like herself.

She wasn’t herself. She was a woman obsessed and fixated, aroused by the casual brush of a hand or the timbre of a laugh. She was sitting on the edge of a precipice, teetering between control and absolute abandon. Normally so securely in the driver’s seat of her own body, she was unnerved by the feeling that she barely had a grip on the wheel, that at any point she might let go and crash into him, revealing the truth that she needed human contact and sexual release just as much as anyone did. The vulnerability in that need made her feel unhinged.

She found herself trying to entice him, concurrently hating herself for stooping so low. She left an extra button on her blouse undone, put a switch in her hips when she walked ahead of him, brushed her own fingers across the skin of her neck in a way that would be unnoticeable in anyone else, but she caught him noticing from the corner of her eye. When she anticipated that he’d come by her apartment, she wore shorts or a low v neck shirt, forgetting a bra or sitting cross legged to reveal the milky insides of her thighs, inviting him, wordlessly, to taste them. Sometimes she thought she saw a flash of desire in his eyes, but he always composed himself quickly, sometimes making an excuse to leave. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he hadn’t tried again, that even when she did something as overt as leave her bedroom door open when she changed, he chivalrously averted his eyes. She realized it was unfair to expect him to understand, to know, what she wanted. Even if he did pick up on her painfully subtle, and occasionally obvious, signals, that didn’t mean he returned her feelings. Perhaps that night had been a mistake in his eyes, a slip up never to be repeated. The possibility that he would reject her if she risked reaching out to him again was enough to hold her back from doing so. Though he had enthusiastically participated the last time, that did not preclude him from having regretted it once it was over.

Now she stood before his closed apartment door on a Friday night, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. Not because she was nervous, but because she was on fire. Her pelvis twitched and her spine arched at the idea of being near him in a private space, where the possibilities that ran through her mind all day seemed more plausible. He’d invited her over for dinner and a review of some possible cases they might take on, so they could plan how to spend their time the following week. Since he’d made the proposal that morning, she’d convinced and then talked herself out of his ulterior motives countless times. She knew that working herself up into thinking that something would happen made it even harder, and she heard her grad school professor’s voice in her head saying “expectations are premeditated resentments, Dana.” Gathering her composure, she took a moment to hike her breasts up in her push up bra and tug her jeans up over her hips so that they were snug against her ass. She’d finally settled on jeans and a green T shirt, which felt appropriately casual, but she’d selected a shirt that was a little too snug and a little too low cut, jeans that were half a size too small and slung low on her hips. If she were to bend over the flesh of her back would be exposed, which gave her a tiny thrill. Any stranger on the street would never give her outfit a second glance; it was painfully basic and unremarkable. But for buttoned-up, proper Dana Scully, it was reckless and suggestive. She may as well have been wearing lingerie for how sexy it made her feel.

Putting on her game face, she knocked. From inside the apartment he called “it’s open” and she let herself in, setting her purse on his cluttered dining room table and scanning the adjacent rooms to locate him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the living room, and she found herself standing in the doorway of his bedroom, eyes roving over his naked chest and belly, a towel slung low on his hips and his hair spiked and wet from the shower. She smirked a little, wondering if this were intentional. Given her recent antics it seemed entirely possible, so she took a risk and didn’t look away, allowing him to see her rake her eyes over him appreciatively, finally reaching his face where a knowing smile played at the corner of his lips. Those lips. She sighed and smiled back at him, and he glanced down her body and back up before saying “hey.”

“Hi” she returned, suddenly feeling shy. She averted her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be out in a minute, this isn’t what I was planning to wear.”

“That‘s too bad” she said in her head. “Okay” is what came out of her mouth before she turned and went to sit on the couch, tortured by the knowledge that he was naked on the other side of the wall. Was she supposed to take that as an invitation? Was he trying to send her signals just as much as she was him? She suddenly remembered why she didn’t bother with dating; all the guesswork was exhausting.

He emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later in a black T shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He looked freshly shaved. “I ordered Italian” he said, sitting down beside her, only a sliver of space between the sides of their thighs. “Should be here in about an hour, they were really busy.” He smelled like soap and his old spice deodorant, mint on his breath. She figured he had played basketball after work and that explained the shower, but did he normally shave and brush his teeth before dinner? Her expectations were weaseling their way into her thoughts again. Stop, she told herself.

“Do you want a beer?” He asked, and she said yes a little too quickly. He opened a beer for each of them and she sipped it steadily, welcoming the way it would smooth the edges of her thoughts but not wanting to appear as though she were planning to get drunk. Mulder was a gentleman beyond gentlemen and wouldn’t dream of touching her if he thought she were incapacitated in any respect. This was a fact she appreciated generally, and resented presently.

They dug into a thin stack of case files, each leaning forward with their elbows braced on their knees. She watched out of her periphery to see if he was looking down her shirt, and bit her cheek to keep from smiling when she saw that he was at regular intervals. Within about 20 minutes they narrowed it down to three cases they’d dig into on Monday, revealing the fact that an entire evening together wasn’t necessary for such a task, but they were both grateful to set the case files aside and just exist outside of suit jackets and basement offices. Scully was sitting sideways, cross legged, with her back against the arm rest, her toes grazing Mulder’s leg as he sat beside her, his torso twisted slightly to face her. She held her nearly empty beer bottle in her hands, picking at the corner of the label with her fingernail.

“So” he said. She felt the prick of anticipation and the hairs on her arms stood at attention, on guard for whatever might come next.

“So” she responded, because what else was she to say?

He studied her intently, his hazel eyes traversing the terrain of her face, darting from eyebrow to lip to nose, searching her for something. Finally the unbroken attention made her so uncomfortable that she was willing to speak.

“What?” She asked him, keeping her tone neither accusatory nor annoyed, simply curious. “What are you thinking about?” it conveyed, without saying as much.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully. “Was it a mistake, what happened? Do you think of it that way?”

His speaking of the unspeakable caught her off guard and she felt her face flush immediately. “No” she said, but she couldn’t meet his eye. “No, I don’t think of it that way.”

“What was it then? One time thing? Random fluke?”

How he was able to speak so directly about such fraught topics was always a marvel to her. She opened her mouth to speak once, twice, but closed it again each time. What she wanted to say was that she didn’t know what it was supposed to be when she initiated it, but the second it was over she wanted it to be part of her daily routine, like brushing her hair. Finally she gave him a tiny shrug and an “I don’t know.” She hated herself for making it seem like she didn’t care, but she didn’t know how to be honest without sounding like a teenager with a crush.

He studied her face again, and she self consciously fussed with her hair, looking at anything but him. She could feel him thinking, strategizing. She could only hope his strategy ended with her naked in his lap, but she also realized that if that were to happen, she would have to make more of an effort outside of simply not getting up and leaving.

“Do you want it to happen again?” He asked, and she laughed out of surprise, biting her lip but not answering. She lifted her eyes to meet his and her stomach clenched when she saw the stoic expression on his face, his eyes full of self-doubt. She was an asshole for making him think for a second that she didn’t want him. They lingered there, locked in an impromptu staring contest, until Mulder reached out and took the empty beer bottle from her hands and set it on the coffee table. He then lightly grasped her wrist in one hand and pressed the middle and forefinger of his other hand to her pulse point. She knew what he was doing. Her heart, which was already racing, sped up to something resembling the beat of hummingbird wings. After a moment, he removed his fingers and brought his lips to kiss the spot they had just vacated.

“I realize things like this are hard for you to talk about, and I know you well enough to know that if the answer were no, you would have told me as much and high-tailed it out of here. So I’m going to take the fact that you’re still sitting here, as well as the fact that your heart is working triple time, to mean that it would be acceptable if I were to kiss you right now. Is that a sound conclusion?”

“It is” she said in a near whisper, every cell in her body reaching out for him like he was magnetized. They were still locked in eye contact, though with this new understanding it had shifted from awkward to intimate.

They both jumped at the sudden pounding on the door. “Marinos!” Someone called out from the other side, and Mulder stood and went to grab his wallet. While he was gone, Scully let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she got here, and stood to use the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror, sniff-checked her armpits, freshened up to be sure there were no errant toilet paper shreds clinging to her anatomy. When she opened the door, she found Mulder standing on the other side, waiting. She gave him a confused but also amused look.

“Hi” she said around a shy smile.

“Welcome back” he replied with a cool bravado, then stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands, drawing her in to a sweet kiss. She sighed into his mouth, the relief after weeks of tension pooling at her feet. She brought her hands to his neck and used his weight as leverage as she leaned her body against his, wanting him closer. In return, he stooped to grab the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. It was still light out, and without the cover of darkness or the clumsiness of a first time, she felt more powerful and in control. She knew he wanted her, and she knew what she wanted from him. He stepped the few feet towards his bed and gently lay her down, moving to plant kisses along her neck. Pushing the bottom hem of her shirt up to expose her belly, he asked “is this okay?” And she replied “you don’t have to ask, you can do whatever you want.”

“Fuck” he breathed. It was an expression of excitement, and nervousness, and amazement that she trusted him so perfectly, and wanted him so completely.

She sat up and he pulled her shirt off over her head, deftly un-hooking her bra before she slipped it down her arms and threw it over the side of the bed. He sucked a nipple between his teeth and she gasped, her hips bucking into him, her head falling back. He repeated it on the other breast and she whimpered, to which he pushed the bulge in his jeans against her thigh, seeking relief. She pulled at his shirt, signaling him to take it off, and he did in a split-second maneuver, not wanting to stray from his task for a moment longer than he had to. Kissing down her belly, he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them forcefully off her hips and down her legs. His actions were desperate and hungry; he couldn’t wait to get at her, and she could not wait to be gotten. When he went to pull her panties off they ripped under his urgency and he tore them away, hooking his arms under her knees and pressing his face into her vulva as he drug her to the end of the bed.

“Jesus Christ” she called out, her hands threading into his hair as he lapped at her hungrily. She could not believe the speed with which she approached orgasm. She would never have described herself as someone who was easy to please in bed, and yet he seemed to locate every pleasure point on her body with admirable ease, slipping a finger inside her to massage her G spot as he sucked on her clit. She felt herself falling over the edge and she hung there deliciously long, the point of release laying across her like a blanket until it crashed against her like a wave.

“Oh, I’m gonna come” she pleaded, the sound more breath than words, as if he didn’t already know from his position on the seat of her orgasm that it was happening. She came for an eternity, unaware of her own sounds or movements, existing only within her body and beneath her pleasure. He stayed with her, teasing out every throb she had to give, running his rough hands over as much skin as he could reach, until she was sated, and lie still and quiet. He rested his head on the inside of her thigh and waited for a signal that she was ready to return to Earth. After a couple minutes, she spoke.

“Holy shit.”

He laughed, and crawled up to lie next to her, tucking his nose into her neck and placing tiny kisses all over her chest.

“I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I am completely naked” she said, a mix of self-consciousness and humor in her voice.

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down and then back up the length of her body. “You most certainly are” he said matter-of-factly, and she wrapped her arms across her chest in mock-modesty.

“You tore my underwear” she accused him, and he shrugged.

“Do you want to tear my underwear as payback?” He thrust his hips against her gently, and she was reminded that he had yet to be touched.

“Perhaps” she said against his lips, biting the lower one gently, signaling that they were not yet done. As she kissed him, she reached for the button of his jeans and flicked it open before easing down the zipper. He shifted up a bit to give her better access and breathed a low moan when she slipped her hand into his pants and grasped his erection.

“Mulder, I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing underwear”

“Maybe if you’d had the same idea I wouldn’t have needed to rip them off” he teased breathlessly.

She pushed his jeans down and he stood to remove them before rejoining her, curling his naked body against her side as she resumed stroking him. “Come here” she directed, moving her leg aside to make space for his body. He hovered over her, their tongues dancing between their mouths as he thrust against her belly. She lifted her knees towards her chest and reached down to grasp him, brushing the head of his cock against her slick lips. He hummed and mumbled words she couldn’t understand, until she guided him inside her and he said “fuck.”

“Watch your language, Mulder” she chastised playfully, and he thrust into her suddenly, eliciting a gasp.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt? He stilled, searching her face.

She shook her head with a sly smile. “Even if it did, that’s not always a bad thing.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise “I’m learning so much about you today” he mused, resuming his thrusts slowly.

“Likewise” she replied, but her breathing was growing ragged, their playful banter becoming unsustainable.

He quickened his pace, kissing her neck and lips, burying his face in her hair when it became too intense for kissing. Suddenly he stopped and withdrew from her, and she looked at him incredulously. “Where are you going?” A question she’d asked him hundreds of times in an entirely new context.

“I’m interested in seeing you in every position imaginable, however I’ve been thinking so much about last time and I’d really like you to be on top again, if you don’t object to that.”

“No objections here” she replied, moving so that he could sit at the head of the bed against the wall. The sun was setting and she felt a little less exposed in the fading light of the bedroom. She climbed into his lap and kissed him for a couple minutes as she teased him at her opening, shifting her hips so he’d slide by, but not enter her. When she finally sunk down onto him, he dropped his head back and moaned in delicious agony. She started rising and falling slowly, planting kisses on his neck and nipping at his earlobes. As his breathing quickened she changed her rhythm, keeping her body close against his and sliding back and forth. His eyes shot open and his head lifted to watch what she was doing, gripping her hips though he made no attempt to control her movements. He reached down between them to touch her clit and she pushed his hand away. “Too much” she panted. “This part is just for you.” He returned his hand to her hip and trained his eyes on the place where their bodies met, slack jawed and wide eyed as she flexed her pelvis forward and back. When she could tell he was close, she increased her pace until he closed his eyes, he tightened his grip on her and cried out. As he crested over the most intense point, he opened his eyes again and looked at her face, locking eyes with her in the dim light of his bedroom as he filled her with his hot cum, desire giving way to the deep affection they held for each other. She collapsed against him and they sat like that for a while until she felt his fading erection slip out of her and a rush of fluid followed.

“Shit!” She said, sitting up with a worried expression. “I forgot about that part.”

He made a face that set her off giggling, which caused even more to drip out of her and into his lap. “Gah, don’t laugh, Scully, that makes it worse!” His protests only made her laugh harder and he smiled at her jiggling breasts as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“How about a shower, then dinner?” He proposed, and she nodded, still regaining composure.

After a hot shower and a borrowed pair of boxer shorts, they sat on his couch eating reheated lasagna and smiling at each other. After Mulder cleared their plates, he sat back down beside her.

“So” he said.

“So” she returned. What else could she say?

“I’m going to take the fact that you’re still here and that you’re wearing my underwear as an indication that this wasn’t a two-time only thing. Is that a sound conclusion?”

“It is” she replied with a smile.

#the x files #xf fanfic #msr #fox mulder #dana scully #txf #sculder #gillovny

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baronessblixen · 3 years

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Ficmas Day 13: Kissing in the snow

Early season 7. Tagging @today-in-fic

It starts with a few white flurries in the morning. The October air has been unusually crisp the last few days and weather channels have warned about icy roads. When Mulder gets to the office, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Snow in October, Scully,” he says excited, putting a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of her. “With extra cinnamon,” he adds with a wink. She takes a sip, needing an excuse for her flushed face. What started with a baseball date months ago has turned into them watching movies together on the weekends, not even pretending to meet for work reasons. These days, he brings her hot coffee, sometimes even a sweet pastry that he steals a bite or two of, their heads close together as if sharing a secret instead of baked goods.

“Climate change is nothing to be thrilled about,” she says, licking some cream off her lips, with Mulder watching her intently.

“Party pooper.” But he continues to smile at her, rendering her speechless. She can’t recall when she started looking at him differently, when her switch was flicked. Was it last year? The year before that? Glancing at him as he rifles through papers, mumbling inaudibly, she feels overcome by emotions. If luck had been on their side, right now, there’d be a little human growing inside her, half him and half her. Absent-mindedly, she touches her forever flat stomach, smiling in spite of herself.

“Scully, did you hear a single word I just said, or do you want me to leave you and that coffee alone for a while?”

She blushes a deep crimson. “Um, sorry, what did you say?”

But Mulder just laughs.

By mid-day, the few morning flurries have turned into a full-blown snowstorm. Mulder gets on a chair to stare out their tiny basement window but there’s nothing but white.

“Scully,” he says simply, with a wicked smile, waiting for her to decipher it.

“We have to work,” she replies, merely glancing at him.

“Come on, we need to have lunch, don’t we?” He leans into her space, charming her with his best puppy look and a pout. She pretends to think about it even though her mind is already made up.

“Let’s go,” she eventually says, and Mulder helps her into her coat, so excited that he briefly grazes her boob. She gasps but Mulder doesn’t seem to notice.

When they leave the Hoover building, they step right into a winter wonderland. Mulder turns to her with a grin and an open mouth, offering her his hand.

She stares at him, at his hand, hesitant. “We’re at work.”

“No one can tell it’s us,” he says, his hand still outstretched. Scully takes it and lets him lead her through the crunchy snow. The air is cold but Mulder’s body in front of her is like a warm shield. Peace settles over her with every step they take. The blanket of snow has created a new, quiet world, and Scully feels as if they were the only two people inhabiting it. There are no everyday sounds, no cars, no chaos. Just them and the cold air that’s pinching her nose and her cheeks.

“Mulder, slow down,” she says, “we don’t all have your long legs.”

He chuckles and slows down. But he doesn’t do it fast enough. Scully, once again cursing her heels, slips on some ice, and loses her footing. The snow is soft, but icy and wet, and she starts shivering immediately, the cold seeping through her clothes.

“Shit, Scully, are you okay?”

“I told you to slow down.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and his expression is full of guilt. “Take my hand, I’ll help you up.” She takes his hand, but instead of getting up, she tugs at it, and manages to bring him down with her. He lands half on top of her, making her giggle.

“What are you doing?” He asks, wiping snow off his face.

“You never listen,” she says, staring at his lips, where a snowflake settles and melts.

“Says the woman who thought her coffee was more interesting than me this morning.”

“The coffee had cinnamon.”

“I know.”

“I like cinnamon,” she says, her eyes never leaving his lips. Has he had cinnamon in his coffee this morning, too? Would she still be able to taste it? What would his lips feel like against hers? She forgets the cold and the snow. She ignores the fact that they’re laying on the sidewalk, in the middle of the city, like two fallen angels.

“I know,” he repeats, his voice as soft and peaceful as the snow.

“What do you like?” She asks.

“This.” And then she no longer needs to wonder what his lips feel like, how he tastes. She knows. Her eyes drift close and she holds him close, her mouth opening under his. She’s thought about kissing him a thousand times and in about as many ways. She thought it would happen on a case, in a seedy motel room, both too tired to resist. She thought it would happen after playing baseball, after every movie night. Yet, here they are, rolling in the snow like two teenagers.

“Hey!” Someone says from outside their snow bubble. “Do you need help?” They break apart, both breathing heavily, staring up at an elderly couple. “You’re on the ground, son.”

“We know,” Mulder says, scrambling to get up. He takes Scully’s hand and helps her to her feet.

“Gotta be careful,” the old lady says, linking her arm through her companion’s, who nods.

“You could get hurt.”

“Thank you,” Scully says. “We will be careful.”

The elderly man gives them a once over and slowly shakes his head. “Kids these days.”

Mulder grabs Scully’s hand and runs into other direction, both of them trying to stifle laughs. They come to a stop, out of breath, grinning at each other.

“Want to try that again?” He asks.

“Which part?”

“This one.” And he starts kissing her again.

#this took me forever omg #i hope it's soft msr #for grieving anon #more soft and cute stuff tomorrow!#msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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rationalcashew · 4 years

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The Fifth Night

Mulder’s feeling better after his stomach bug. Scully starts to panic about the relationship.

Mulder wasn’t quite sure when Scully left the night before; all he knew was that he was disappointed that she didn’t stay. Part of him wanted to look around for a note, but he knew there wouldn’t be one. They weren’t there, yet.

Everything was still new despite knowing each other for years. New and uncertain. One wrong move could send the entire thing spiraling and he couldn’t risk that. So, he played it safe.

Which bought him last night, he assumed. He was sick as all hell and she took care of him. It was very… domestic.

Not that he had any issues with domesticity. In fact, in the past, he’d pictured having a family and living a simple life. That picture, however, was meant to take place after he found Samantha.

Yet, the more he thought about last night, the more he wondered if this was his simple life. In some twisted way, that was. It was simple because he realized that he didn’t need much. Just her.

Mulder wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d fallen in love with Scully. Literally, he woke up one day, faced himself in the mirror, and admitted it. He had to admit it. He watched his own face light up when he heard her voice on the other end of the phone as he tried to brush his teeth.

Since then, he couldn’t erase it. He couldn’t hide it nor pretend. And, some days, that was torture.

But, then, things started shifting. She indulged him a little more; flirted back. She started falling for him, too.

For awhile, Mulder was okay with how things had been going. Better that than nothing all, he’d often rationalized. He took it on her terms. Not because he was raised an eastern gentleman, but because the risk was too high.

Out of the blue, she’d invited him over for dinner and a Christmas movie. In that same conversation, it became a week-long event.

Until last night. Until he’d spent the day puking up, very literally, anything he put in his body. But, she was there.

Whether as his doctor, his partner, his friend, his girlfriend—.

Whoa.

His girlfriend.

Mulder liked the sound of that.

But, Scully wasn’t his girlfriend. Not in any official capacity, anyway. They hadn’t had that conversation.

He told himself that they would one of these days but he couldn’t honestly say that he believed it.

The past week, though… God, it felt like it. And, it felt good. It was nice knowing there was someone who genuinely cared about him. It was nice to have someone cuddle close to him while watching TV. It was nice holding her in his arms. It was nice to fall asleep with her running her fingers through his hair.

He didn’t want it to end at the end of the seven day period. He didn’t want it to end a month from now. He didn’t want it to end at all.

That was the scary part: Mulder couldn’t see the end. It was exhilarating as it was terrifying. Like, skydiving. Or, so he imagined.

Even though he still wasn’t feeling a hundred percent, Mulder made his way to the bathroom to go through his morning routine: shower, shave; forego the coffee because he wasn’t completely sure his stomach could handle it, yet.

He didn’t feel like he was feverish so he was going to work. He needed to see her.

When he got there, however, he found out that she was assisting in Quantico for the day, leaving him alone in the office. If he’d known he wouldn’t see her at all, he would’ve just stayed home.

Around lunch, his phone rang.

“Mulder,” he answered.

“Mulder? Hey, it’s me.”

He smiled. “Hey, Scully.”

“You sound better.”

“I feel better.”

“Good. Good. I tried calling your home phone…”

“I’m not at home.”

“Mulder…” He smirked at the disapproval in her voice. Really, he expected nothing less.

“I’m actually at the office. And, you’re not.”

“Sorry, I’m stuck doing autopsies today,” she replied, sighing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was disappointed. And, not just in him for going to work.

“So, I heard,” Mulder replied. “Are we still on to watch a movie later?” Scully didn’t answer for a moment and he got nervous. “Scully?”

“I’m here. Are you feeling up to it?”

He smiled at that, resisting the urge to tell her that nothing could keep him from coming over except her word.

“I feel fine. No fever. I’ve been able to keep down food today.”

She didn’t say anything again. Mulder couldn’t help but to wonder if his illness was the excuse she needed to stop with these nights. Was she running away? Or, what if he got her sick? He smirked at the thought. He’d just have to take care of her the way she did him.

“You’re welcome to come over and watch a movie with me,” Scully finally responded. “Only if you feel up to it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Mulder replied with a smile.

“Okay.” He could hear the smile in her voice and it gave him butterflies. She wanted to see him. “What have you been able to keep down? I don’t want to make something that you can’t eat.”

It was his turn to grin.

“I kept down a sandwich earlier,” he offered. “I probably could’ve eaten two, but I didn’t want to push it.”

“Okay. Well—.” He heard the muffled voice of another man and fought the urge to get jealous as Mulder told himself that it was probably just some poor lab geek returning from doing Scully’s bidding. Like any man would. “Mulder, I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“It’s a—.” He heard the click on the other end of the phone as she disconnected the call. “Date,” Mulder finished to himself.

He exhaled deeply through the mouth.

It was going to be a long rest of the day.

At six o’clock that evening, Mulder stood outside of Scully’s apartment, waiting for her to answer the door, poinsettias in hand. He was early and hoped she didn’t mind.

“Muuulllldeeeer…” she said in that sheepish yet grateful way that she did whenever he did something particularly sweet. She gave him a peck on the cheek and thanked him for going to find a place for it. Mulder couldn’t help but chuckle at the sounds of Alvin and the Chipmunks singing about the holiday.

He’d give her crap about that later.

He noticed the Christmas tree in the corner when he took his coat off and hung it on the coat rack. He’d wondered when she’d finally put one up.

“Scully, you know I would’ve brought this up for you,” he said with a slight hint of admonishment.

Scully waved him off. “I paid the teenager next door twenty bucks to do it.” He must’ve made a face because she stiffened awkwardly and added, “You can put the lights on it while I make dinner, if you want. They’re already out.”

He nodded, forcing himself to contain his happiness at being able to share in that. Scully loved Christmas. She had since he’s known her.

“They’re in that tub over there,” she said, pointing to one of three tubs labeled ‘Christmas’. With that, she went to the kitchen and Mulder went to work.

By six thirty, Mulder found himself tangled in Christmas lights and Scully laughing at him but doing nothing to help free him of his multi-colored bondage.

“A little help?” He asked and she finally made her way over to unwrap him.

There was a euphemism in there somewhere, he thought but chose not to say that aloud.

When he was free of the cords, Scully went back to the kitchen to check on dinner and came back, declaring that it would be ready in a few minutes.

He got the lights on the tree in time for the oven’s timer to go off.

Scully loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and made her way back to the living room to help Mulder decorate the tree. When she got into the living room, she caught sight of the poinsettias on the table behind the couch. It was thoughtful of him and she appreciated the gesture, but the look on his face when he gave them to her gave her butterflies.

Even now, when she saw them in passing.

“So, what first?” He asked.

She pointed to the tub containing ornaments and told him they’d start there.

As they decorated the tree, Scully stole glances at him. This particular step of their relationship, while still undefinable, was exciting and nerve-racking at the same time. On the one hand, it was just Mulder. Her best friend. Her partner. On the other hand, it was Mulder. Her best friend and partner.

She’d been in love with him for longer than she cared to admit and knew he felt the same. So, why was this so hard; so… Scary?

“The Grinch,” she smiled. “Followed by Holiday Inn, if you want to stick around for that.”

“No White Christmas? No Charlie Brown? I’m disappointed.”

Scully smirked in response, desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of a laugh. “Those are Christmas Eve movies.”

“Ah,” he replied with a self-satisfied smirk. They stared at each other for a moment and she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ll get the fire started.”

He was already in the living room before she could process what he’d said.

Mulder sat anxiously through most of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Scully was acting differently than she had all week. She was… hesitant. Part of him wondered if he’d done something wrong. Another part of him wondered if he’d gotten her sick.

He glanced at her, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. They should’ve been cuddled together by now. But, they weren’t.

“Scully?” He blurted. She looked at him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Mulder nodded his response. “Why?” She added.

“You just seem… I don’t know. I didn’t give you that bug I had, did I?”

She chuffed a laugh. “No, I’m fine.”

“Famous last words.” Mulder tried to sound playful, but the look she gave him said he’d failed. Miserably. He winced at returned his gaze to the TV.

A solid while went by before the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes, causing Mulder to blurt, “Wouldn’t he die if that happened?”

He glanced to Scully who was shooting him the most adorably confused expression he’d ever seen on her perfect face.

“It’s a cardiomyopathy, right?” He continued. It took a moment, but a grin formed on her face. “See, I pay attention when you say words I don’t quite understand.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she said in that way that made his insides knot up.

“I’m just saying,” he continued playfully, “it’s not natural. It’s bound to lead to heart failure.”

She laughed at that and he felt like he could breathe again.

There was a moment of silence, as the credits rolled, before Mulder asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mm,” she replied. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

“Oh, okay.” Try as he might, he couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. Let you get some sleep.”

She looked at him curiously before getting up to rewind the tape.

“I’m still going to watch Holiday Inn,” she announced quietly. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Mulder’s gaze jerked to Scully, whose back was still to him and a small smile quirked on his lips.

“Only if you’re sure…”

“Mulder, it’s totally up to you,” she said, pausing briefly before adding, “I’d like to watch it with you, but I’m not going to be offended if you don’t want to stay.”

As a response, he settled back into the couch, hoping desperately that she’d sit closer for this movie.

To his delight, she did.

#xfiles fanfic #fanfiction #rationalcashew #msr fanfic #christmas

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shewantedtobeasecretgirl · 5 years

Text

9. My Sharon…ah a.k.a. porn star alter egos, the other Stone and a dangerous ginger (Part One)

We’ve already been waiting for our food for almost an hour; unlike we do during our usually chaotic meals accompanied by parallel discussions, we’re all sitting silently staring in front of ourselves, trying to use as little energy as possible.

“I’ve told you we should have chosen that vegetarian restaurant…” Jeff mutters in a monotonous voice.

“Of course… and the predator part of the team can go to hell, right? Vegetarian restaurant, ‘course… over my dead body, Jeff.” Smitty hisses indignantly.

“Hey, I see food! Finally!” I sigh relieved as I spot the waitress approaching our table carrying two huge trays with burgers, burritos and fries. On arriving, she recoils desperately since everybody starts shouting their orders to be the first to be served. After a few seconds of hesitation, she puts the trays on the table and then flees terrified. I’m not surprised about her reaction; I’ve never been in the middle of a locust swarm but it can be something similar.

“And people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and carp…” Judy and Stone recite in unison but realizing the situation they both fall silent embarrassed.

“What???” I inquire confused. Their sudden telepathic connection is pretty strange, not to mention the fact that it didn’t make any sense.

“Armaments, Chapter Two.” Stone lectures me briefly with an eyeroll.

“Verses Nine to Twenty-One.” Judy adds helpfully probably seeing my still clueless expression.

“It’s from Monty Python’s Holy Grail. When Arthur and his knights encounter the Killer Rabbit, they think that the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch might…”

“Thanks for the explanation Mike, I think I’ve heard enough...”

“Finally, my precious.” Judy rubs her hands together and grabs the Tabasco bottle to pour an enormous amount of hot sauce on her large cheeseburger.

“Tabasco? Don’t your lips hurt?” Jeff’s head perks up.

Why would her lips hurt? Did Jeff bite her mouth on the date? I glance at Karrie who answers with a barely visible shrug. So she hasn’t succeeded to learn some details of yesterday’s events either… I haven’t been able to get rid of the guys and make Judy tell everything. I could swear she has been hiding intentionally the whole day, she pretended sleeping when I got on their bus and fake-shopped between the shelves of the store at the gas station for long minutes so that we wouldn’t meet at women’s restroom. She’s quite naive if she thinks I would give up and forget about it so easily…

“Why would her lips hurt?” Scully echoes my thoughts.

“Oh, eheh, I thought I got herpes but luckily it was only a false alarm…” she snickers awkwardly. Herpes? Jesus, she’s impossible… Okay, Jeff definitely didn’t bite her anywhere… I’m not the only one who’s shocked by her words, though, Jeff exchanges a meaningful look with the terrified Mike who forgets to chew for a few seconds, Dave narrows his eyes and glances at Stone who answers with a content smirk. Am I hallucinating or do they know something I don’t?

“Uhm, but really, Tabasco? I didn’t know you liked hot sauce.” I try to direct the chat back to culinary topics.

“Oh, I adore it! But… ugh… cucumber…” she picks out a few slices of vegetable of her burger.

“Are you crazy? I mean, that’s not an actual question, of course you are; cucumber is one of the best things in the world... But if you’re such a picky eater, then take the consequences… ” Stone leans over the table and steals the green treasures from her plate.

“Hey, you haven’t even touched your fries, are you a potato snob? And it is him who calls me a picky eater… Waster… Eye for an eye.” Judy fires back and grabs the small paper bag of fries greedily from Stone’s plate.

“Guys, could you suspend the food fight until we finish our meal? You can stay here and disembowel each other with plastic cutlery but please, wait until we leave, I can’t stand blood…” Eric intervenes. “Judy, are you serious, you eat cheeseburger with knife and fork?” he breaks the character of the form teacher.

“I have to… my mouth cavity is extreme small.” Judy explains making Stone snort.

“Hmph… this is new to me, I’ve never heard this excuse. OUCH!!!” he allows himself a sexist joke, which I immediately punish by stomping at full strength on his left foot.

“Maybe because you’ve never even got close to any type of situations when you could hear it.” Jeff joins the attack with verbal means and a satisfied grin.

“Thank you very much, Jeff… Eeed… your partner is hurting meeee....” Stone whines in the voice of annoying squealer kids.

“Because she’s my feminist girl who immediately avenges jerk behavior.” Ed presses a long and slow kiss on my cheek, which makes me immediately pull closer to him.

“And she bites too…” I whisper into his ear making sure that no one else can hear it. Okay, I know, whispering in bigger company is not the most polite behavior but… it’s been a while since we…

“And how was the exhibition?” Scully’s annoying capon voice pulls me back in the present.

“The s...exhibition…” Smitty giggles and earns a head-slap from Karrie for his immature joke.

“I liked it a lot… Zach has really good eyes to find art in everyday life. It’s cool how these paintings reflect on current public issues or even on each other… You know, painters usually don’t use each other’s work as canvas but with graffiti… anything can happen. The angry owner paints the wall or it gets completed or altered by other artists… And this is why Zach’s work is so worthy; he takes snapshots of society…” Judy rambles unaware of the fact that Jeff is listening to her with dreamy heart-eyes.

“Jeff, I’ve started being jealous, you’ve never taken me to any intellectual programs, always those smoky pubs…” Stone pretends jealousy. Scully turns to him and takes a deep breath while stroking his shoulder gently.

“Stoney… it’s high time you faced the fact that is obvious to everyone else here: he’s ashamed of you.”

“But why? I do everything to meet his expectations… I read every day and…” he sniffs.

“Stone, what you do to those… “artistic” magazines… it can’t be regarded as reading.” Jeff snorts moving his hand obscenely over his lap.

“Jesus…” Ed almost spits out his apple juice of laughter and the general amusement spreads along the table like bushfire.

“Stone, if you want to win Jeff’s heart, you have to count with serious competition, reading won’t be enough.”

“Anyway, Scully, speaking of reading, I actually didn’t read yesterday evening since something very weird happened to me when I was heading to my room.” he darts his eyes at Judy who immediately freezes and stops snickering. “I heard music from the bar and went in to take a closer look at the piano player but I happened to meet…”

“AWWWW!!!” Judy groans with a surprisingly high volume, which makes everyone stare at her. “Dif... dif iv fooo delifiouf!!!” she mumbles pointing at her burger. Judging from her pronunciation, she must be nibbling on a half cow in her mouth.

“After this interesting gastronomic intermezzo, I would go on, may I? So, entering the bar I encountered…”

“Amd de dabafco… heabedly…” Judy keeps moaning. Okay, if she goes on like this, I’ll begin to be concerned about her mental condition, maybe someone spiked her drink…

“Okay, everyone who’s interested in this incomprehensible muttering, raise your hands. Nobody? Great. So, entering the bar I encountered a very weird chick.” Stone begins and for some unknown reason, Judy looks as terrified as if she had realized that her food was poisoned.

“You mean alien kind of weird or sort of a psycho girl?”

“Thanks for the great question, Mike. I don’t know, she seemed to be pretty harmless, she just ordered drinks she didn’t like but at one certain point she grabbed my arm, I thought she could have been able to break it. We also played pool but she insisted on choosing the most hopeless options, as if she had tried to lose intentionally.”

Judy listens to him with a tense attention while literally stabbing her burger with the plastic fork again and again.

“And then?” Ed asks with some impatience in his voice. I can relate to him, Stone’s story doesn’t sound very interesting even despite the theatrical presentation.

“I tried to help her with a few advice but she kept digging in my privacy and left insulted.” Stone shrugs.

“… and this was the story of the evening when Stone almost picked up a lunatic. Thanks Stone, that was interesting, really.” Ed sums up probably everybody’s opinion.

Hearing a snapping voice I squint at Judy; as if she’d just woken up from hypnosis, she examines the two plastic sticks helplessly that remained from the fork. Okay, I have to remind Eric to keep any kind of pointed or edged objects away from her if Stone’s in the room as well.

“Ugh… I’m not sure if I’m able to walk back to the club on my own feet…” Mike rubs his stomach standing up from the table.

“Because you’re a chowhound…”

“Would you be willing to pull me back while I’m sitting on carrier trolley? You would be allowed to insult me in the meantime… Consider it Stone, this isn’t an everyday offer, take it or leave it…”

“Come on Mike, he couldn’t even pull a five-year-old child…” Scully follows them and they begin a heated discussion about the estimated load capacity of Stone’s different body parts.

“Beth… uhm, could we talk for a second?” Jeff steps to me. I wait until everyone else leaves but I’m afraid this conversation will be embarrassing even without the smartass remarks of the others. I’m rooting for Jeff with all my heart but the role of the matchmaker isn’t really for me… I encouraged Judy but that doesn’t mean I want to mediate between them…

“What can I do for you?” I ask although I exactly know the answer. Pushing Judy into his bed and locking the door from outside.

“I don’t know if Judy have told you anything about yesterday evening… and I don’t even want to ask it… “he adds defensively seeing I’m about to refuse to take part in any intervention.

“Then what?” I fold my arms amused. I’m mean, I know. But I can’t help enjoying how this more than six feet tall guy is scratching the ground with the tip of his sneaker.

“Our date ended in a pretty sudden way. I mean, you know, we didn’t… kiss…” he lowers his voice at the last word, unnecessarily, though, since everyone else from the team has already left the restaurant.

“But she didn’t slap you either… I mean, I guess.”

“Exactly, that’s the point… we didn’t talk about what’s next. At first I felt pretty confident but… I don’t know, I realized we haven’t agreed on a second date yet and…”

“Look, I think you expect too much from her… Imagine this situation in a normal environment. And when I say “normal”, I mean the usual dating habits. Girl and guy know each other, guy likes girl so he asks her out, they have a date… and that’s where you are right now. What would you do normally after a date?”

“Uhm, I don’t know, I guess I’d call her a few days later and…”

“See, that’s the key. A few days later. You wouldn’t call her immediately pressuring her to give a feedback. The fact she’s around you basically all the time doesn’t mean she doesn’t need time to process and consider the pace. Plus, you’re colleagues. Plus, there are a bunch of curious people around who are observing you like you were the main characters of a soap opera. So being pushed is probably the last thing she needs.”

“I know, but this insecurity is killing me. I’m not a macho type but I don’t like to be fooled either…”

“I’m convinced that she’s not the type who would intentionally fool you. Just give her a little space.”

“Okay… but I would appreciate if you talked to her… I mean you don’t have to tell me how she feels but…”

Jesus, the guy is persistent and his only luck is that I really like him.

“I can’t promise anything, but if she comes up with the topic, I’ll try to drop some cautious hints. Deal?” I throw my arms in the air unwillingly.

“I knew I could count on you!” he flashes his trademark thousand watt smile at me.

And now, all I have to do is cornering Judy. Because I’m not going to let her screw up everything with this sweet idiot.

***

“Hey, Scully, what happened to my amp during the show? I started being worried about Ethel.”

Mike and I glance amused at each other hearing the sign of Stone beginning to embrace the name of his stuffed pet.

“The ventilator I stood behind it broke down. But your calf wasn’t in danger, she felt like a rock star in the cloud of smoke.”

“Please don’t overplay the role, Scul.”

“I’m not overplaying anything, I can hear her mooing the backup vocals every time you play Black, just ask Dave!” Scully puts his tongue out insulted at Stone.

“Jesus, I never thought I would be the one who warned you but… you smoke too much weed.”

“No because I share it with Ethel, she likes chewing the cud of it…”

“Okay, some hash and acid must have kicked in too…” he rolls his eyes following Scully in the hallway.

“Okay, finally we’re alone, we need to talk.” Mike jabbers pulling closer to me.

“But we’re already talking.” I grin at him enjoying his mongoose moves; I’ve noticed he acts like a nervous little rodent when he’s excited.

“Please Jude, we don’t have time for this, they’re back in minutes.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me who…”

“Jude, it’s about Jeff.”

The smile freezes on my face. I can’t believe this, even Mike? I thought if no one else, he’d leave me alone.

“Mike, I’m not going to discuss this with you, it’s my business. And Jeff’s.” I correct myself for show. Obviously, if I had to choose between discussing our thing (in case we have one at all) with Jeff and impalement, I’d pick the latter.

“Wait, so did it happen? Did he conceal it from us only because he’s a gentleman?” his face lights up suddenly. “Oh, I knew you play in the master class, Jeffrey, you shouldn’t be so modest.” he goes on talking to himself.

“Excuse me???” I cut him off suspecting he’s rambling about something I’m not even willing to call by its name.

“Oh, so you didn’t…?” he asks disappointed. “Then he didn’t lie to us…”

“Mike, would you try to speak coherently?”

“Sure, sorry. So Jeff joined us at the bar after your date and the main character was a girl who was raised by foster parents and she didn’t know anything about her biological family.”

“What?” I stare at him. Oh no, I should have known, he’s drunk.

“And she fell in love with her rich boss who owned an ostrich farm and collected bowling shoes.” Mike goes on and his eyes pop staring at something behind me, which makes me turn around. I notice Dave fidgeting with his drum kit and realize Mike shifted topic so that he can’t overhear us.

“Aaand… was her boss handsome?” I make an insecure attempt to play along with him.

“I don’t know; too much hair gel for my taste but…” he shrugs. “So the guy invited her to his ranch and we discussed your date and Jeff misunderstood everything, your hair, the lenses, everything…”

I guess from his next switch that we’re alone again.

“How do you mean he misunderstood my hair? How can one misunderstood hair at all?”

“He thought you had dolled up for the occasion but Stone tried to convince him that it was only the razor.” Razor??? What if I was right and he’s drunk? Or even high? Or is someone behind my back again? Or did Stone notice with his impossibly green X-ray eyes that I haven’t shaved my legs since I arrived to Cleveland?

“Yeah and after having had sex with him, the girl received an anonymous letter which claimed she and her boss were biological siblings.”

“Oh no! And then? What happened after she had read the letter?” I pretend astonishment and follow Smitty and Karrie with my eyes who carefully lift the soundboard and place it onto the amp to push them out to the van.

“She ran away from the ranch and got hit by a truck. She woke up in the hospital but due to her amnesia no one could identify her. Things got more complicated when the hospital was attacked by zombie apes and they dragged her to their space ship and…”

“Mike, you shouldn’t harass Miss Judy with your pervert movies. Judy, he made me watch that one too, you don’t want to know what comes next, trust me.” Smitty shakes his head and disappears with the gear in the hallway.

“So that was that weird chainsaw sound I heard through the wall last night… Mike, you should see a sex therapist, I’m serious.” Karrie steps back for a second before leaving with Smitty.

“Now I’m really interested in the ending, please go on, Mike.” I grin at the blushing guitarist.

“And Stone also found out about your trick. And now Jeff knows about it as well.” he retorts challenging.

“What are you talking about? I can’t pull out rabbits from a hat or coins from behind anyone’s ears.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” he points at me with an accusing look.

“No, I don’t, could you be more specific?”

“The trick you used to prevent Jeff got pregnant and couldn’t find out if the father was ostrich farm guy or one of the zombie apes. The guy was convinced it was him but the wedding ceremony got interrupted and…”

“Excuse me, Mike but have you just said that Jeff got pregnant from an ostrich farm owner? Or zombie apes? Ugh, I thought Montanans fucked cows but this… this is…”

The steps that made Mike tell on the plotline of the chainsaw porn belonged to Stone who unfortunately must have heard a few words from our actual topic.

“Actually, we wanted to keep it in secret, since you had that little quarrel at the restaurant. You know, pregnant... men have to be protected from any sources of stress. And in the meantime you turned out to be the father but don’t worry, Stone, you’ll be a great dad, anyway. And if you won’t find the front of the child just check it in the manual.” I flash my sweetest smile at him.

“Ugh… I imagined the baby of them, it would be no wonder if no one knew which is their back and their front… Jesus, I need to go to the restroom.” Mike frowns leaving us alone, although I guess the reason of his escape is the six pack beer box that was left unsupervised in the backstage.

“Uhm… Stone… do you have a second?”

To his nodding I start talking.

“Look, I…”

“Time out.” he mumbles rummaging in his guitar case.

“Idiot.” I click with my tong and stomp angrily; even despite my eyeroll I spot a weird twitch in the corner of his mouth which I can’t decode. Who cares, I decided to be a lady this time and I’m not going to let him rile me up. “I… I just wanted to say that I really appreciate that you didn’t mention our conversation to Jeff… or anyone… I guess…” I keep my eyes on the mic cables that I’m trying to untangle in the meantime, with not much success, though.

“Why?” he asks back briefly.

“How do you mean “why”?” I perk my head up.

“Why do you appreciate it? Were you afraid of me doing it?”

I mutter something indistinct since I don’t feel like answering yes but I don’t want to deny it either as who knows what his reaction would be…

“So basically you’re thanking me for not telling to Jeff that you find him amusing, kind and funny? You’re weird, I don’t think he would feel insulted hearing that.”

“No… I don’t… I’m not…” I gibber. And here we are. I hate that he’s able to confuse me with one single word and I hate that he doesn’t let me tell what I mapped out and…

“Are you not thanking me or don’t you find him amusing, kind and funny?” he stares me with that irritating poker face, I wish could punch him… but no. I’m going to stay cool. I don’t let him influence my behavior. I’m the more mature so I can’t lose my temper.

“It doesn’t matter what I said or did. I just wanted to thank you for your discretion.” I try to get out of the situation without giving a straightforward answer.

“Do you think that I shut my mouth to save your ass?” he folds his arms smirking. “Cute theory, truly. But it’s not about you. It’s about Jeff. I didn’t want to embarrass him since…”

“Embarrass him??? I’ve heard you calling him a caveman, a yeti, a Montanan cow-fucker… and you don’t want to embarrass him???” I burst out in an exaggerated laughter.

“At least, I don’t play with his feelings.”

“That’s for sure. You humiliate him in pretty obvious and clear ways. But I don’t like veiled references, let’s be honest. Do you think I fool him?”

“I haven’t even mentioned your name, you’re smarter than I thought.”

The fuckin’ smirk won’t appear from his face. Okay, please, let someone took this cable away from me before I strangle him with it.

“I don’t know what you have to do with my private life but...”

“Nothing, luckily. But our bassist has, however much unprofessional it is to run after a colleague…”

“Speaking of professionalism, you have to play in one of the most important TV shows of this country in less than twenty-four hours and instead of preparing for the big event you’re spending your time with prying into other people’s life.”

“I’ve played Alive and Porch so many times that could do it only using my toes so…”

“EW!!!”

“…so it doesn’t require much preparation. Look, I’m not saying that you’re fooling him intentionally. Or even consciously. I’m only trying to point out that it’s pretty obvious that you don’t have the faintest idea how to handle his affection.” he shrugs.

“But I have a pretty clear idea of not discussing this with you.”

That damn cable has tangled into a huge knot in the meantime and my nervous tugging doesn’t help much with untying it. He takes it out of my hands and starts loosening it with slow, steady moves.

“You don’t have to. But you’d better find out what’s next before things get more complicated.” he reaches his palm with the knot-free cable on it out in front of me.

“Otherwise?” I ask with hands on my hips refusing to take it.

“Otherwise things do get complicated.” he remarks nonchalantly and ties it again into the most complex knot I’ve ever seen. I should answer something witty but I’m just mouthing like a damn fish as he slowly reaches for my arm and pulls it from my hip to put the cable into my hand. I have no idea for how long we’ve been staring at each other when he finally clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair flipping it back. I only start blinking when he grabs his guitar case and leaves the stage. When I hear the nasal voice echoing, I’m still standing motionless on the stage.

“And by the way, nothing’s wrong with my toes.”

***

I’m not going to throw up. I’m not going to throw up. I’m not going to throw up. I should have already got used to public performances but I feel awful. The whole country is going to watch us and if it wouldn’t be enough, my mom called the whole family, uncles, aunts, cousins, their wives and husbands (including the former ones) and reminded them to turn on the TV at 11 p.m. My symptoms are worse than ever, I really need something to calm down… I should check our dressing room, maybe I find some booze there…

“Hey Mike… are you okay?” Jude approaches me with her tiny, quick steps.

“Yes, I’m okay… I’m almost okay…” I keep marching in circles in the backstage room of Studio 8H.

“You shouldn’t be that nervous, it’s not your first TV performance.”

“You don’t understand… I’ll screw up everything, I can feel it in my guts.” And I mean it literally.

“Haha, why would you? You’ll be great, I’m sure as hell.”

“Because. Before the unplugged show we realized our rented instruments weren’t suitable to anything we wanted to do and Ed fell off the chair during the set… my solos were barely audible…”

And it’s being aired in a few weeks so the whole country will know about the fiasco…

“You shouldn’t be that strict with yourself. But you know what? I know someone who is objective and can smell bad gigs from miles. A real expert.” she smiles cryptically. “We’re going to call Effie tomorrow. She’s going to watch the show, she even wants to record it.”

“Watch? Record??? No!” I squeak in despair. Suddenly, making myself ridiculous in front of my family and the whole American nation sounds pretty marginal in comparison to the fact that the person whom I’ve never met but to whom want to listen until the universe collapses is about to watch me making silly faces and stumble on my own foot.

“Jesus, why?” she sighs with growing annoyance.

“Because… because… she’s a young girl and… young girls should go to bed by 11 p. m.?”

My argumentation doesn’t sound very convincing and Jude looks at me as if I was completely losing my mind, which is pretty close to how I feel right now, actually…

“Okay Mike, now we’re going to look for your dressing room and I help you with a few relaxation exercises I learnt at Juilliard. They helped me overcome the terrible stage fright I used to feel before concerts so trust me…” she wraps one arm around my shoulder and gently but firmly directs me towards the hallway.

“I think Stone has already found our room.” I nod towards our rhythm guitarist who’s standing in front of a door staring it persistently.

“I know you’re convinced you can use the force but what if you tried the door handle?” she remarks in a mocking voice.

“There’s no try.” I help her out with the matching accent.

“Unlike you, the staff seems to be serious with this Star Wars thing.” Stone points with his thumb at a sheet taped on the door. After decoding the sloppy handwriting, I read the following names on it:

EDDIE VADER

JEFF AMEN

MIKE MCREADY

STEVE GOSSARD

DAVE ABRUZESE

ABBRUZESE

ABBRUZZESE

“Excellent.” Stone mumbles.

“I think they expected your porn star alter egos.” Judy shrugs casually.

“Our what?” I glance at her furrowing my eyebrows.

“You know, porn actors and actresses all use stage names, borrowing those of celebrities. Of course they always change the spelling to avoid legal problems.” she picks the sheet at the typos in our names.

“And what kind of porn actor would call himself Eddie Vader?” I ask in disbelief.

“Maybe he’s the protagonist of a kinky, incestuous story flavored with father issues. And Jeff Amen…”

“…is the naughty parish priest of a sleepy, small town somewhere in Montana.” Judy finishes Stone’s sentence. “Whereas Mike McReady…”

“…bangs everything that moves and comes in like five seconds?” Stone chuckles and although Jude tries to keep a straight face, to my biggest surprise, I spot a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that sends a completely different message towards him. They team up and joke at someone else’s expense? That’s new to me.

“You…” I point alternatively at Judy and Stone, who are still staring at each other with the same half smile on their face “…you’re supposed to be enemies, okay?” They finally notice I’m talking to them and interestingly, they both rearrange their facial muscles into a nonchalant expression in a fragment of a second. “Anyway, what about Steve Gossard?”

“It’s pretty obvious. The crew of SNL wanted him to feel like a normal person, at least for one day.” Judy explains. “Of course they didn’t know that a proper name was barely enough but they gave it a try.” she adds fixing her glasses and avoiding Stone’s glance.

“You can joke with my name but it’s undeniable that my name is the coolest porn star name in the world. Get it, Stone, hard like a stone, the connection is undeniable.” he slaps back putting on his disarming smirk and does indistinct moves with his hands to underline his theory.

“No sane porn actor would use your name but you know what, if you feel better of that thought…” Judy shoots one more arrow saturated with sarcasm after Stone who started pacing towards the studio room in the meantime.

“I don’t have time for this right now. If anybody looked for me, I’m gone to find Sharon Stone. Who borrowed her name from you know whom…” he answers with a high-minded wave, not even looking back at her.

“Who exactly needs to relax?” I squint at her. Am I hallucinating or are her nostrils really fuming? She looks like a dragon that’s ready to burn down a whole metropolis.

“I’m relaxed, Mike.” she utters slowly. “I’ve never been more relaxed.”

We spend like half an hour in the dressing room before the rehearsal. Although Judy’s exercises are efficient, I still find this whole process more stressful than a simple sound check. There are cameras and fussy crew members everywhere, we’re even asked to do everything the same way as we will do it in the live show. Like it was possible to ask Ed bouncing both times in the same way or Stone bouncing during the sound check at all, which he never does anyway... It’s just ridiculous. The glass-wearing, stage manager called Joe has even to act like the host of the show announcing us and then clapping exactly for five seconds playing the audience… like we were in some fuckin’ theater.

After having played “Alive” and “Porch” umpteen times, the director shows up to discuss the details of the gag in which they want us to participate.

“So according to our conception, the scene begins with Sharon Stone sitting cross-legged in a chair, wearing her famous dress from Basic Instinct. He announces you and after a cut, the camera shows you staring at her with dropped jaws for a few second. Can you do it?” he shares the plot. He seems to be impatient, probably because of the tight schedule.

“What a great idea. Of course we can, we do that all the time, right, guys?” Ed mumbles in a colorless voice. He’s right, it sounds like a pretty schematic, cheap, sexist joke, which doesn’t really fit our style but luckily, we’re open about our principles enough not to compromise ourselves by doing it.

“But where’s Sharon Stone? We need her to the scene.” Stone insists; he’s the most enthusiastic from the band for obvious reasons.

“As I’ve said, there will be a cut in the scene, which means we don’t need her to be able to shoot your part. Ms. Stone hasn’t arrived yet, anyway.” the director tries to keep his temper but Stone isn’t really cooperative in this process.

“But I’m not an actor, I can’t pretend I’m watching Sharon Stone if I’m not. I’m afraid I can’t do it without her.” he shrugs flashing his most irritating lopsided grin.

“I’ll see what I can do. But you need to wear the same clothes as in the live show, so please, go and change…” the director decides to quit the conversation. I can understand him.

We gather again in the same room about ten minutes later.

“Where is Sharon Stone?” Stone repeats the million-dollar question like a broken record player.

“I am Sharon Stone.” I turn in the direction of the familiar male voice and I notice Joe, the grinning stage manager waving towards us. “At least for the next ten minutes. I can even sit in that chair like her if that helps you. But I’m not willing to put on that dress, I like this sweater better.” he remarks addressing his words to Stone.

“No… uhm…I don’t think it’d be necessary… I learnt how to use my imagination in the last ten minutes…” he mutters.

The makes a few takes of our dumbest stares but we’re not told which one is the winner. Not that I’m interested in any of them.

“Hey, stunned guy, you were awesome.” Jude nudges me while I’m heading back to the dressing room, which makes me start.

“Huh, what?”

“Your stunned face. I saw your acting performance in the control room, I think it was sweet.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I flush. Maybe I should practice how to look stunned… maybe she’s not the only Camden girl who thinks I’m sweet… Cool down, Cready, what if she’s a hideous, toothless frog?

“Hey, and what about me?” Jeff catches up to us, provoking Judy to compliment him too.

“Your face can’t even be seen of that fur hat… I could cut a few holes into it for your eyes, nose and mouth, if you want to.” she teases him, which he answers by sticking out his tongue at her.

“That’d be problematic. His brain has already grown to the hat, if you tried to cut into it, you would basically execute a lobotomy on him.” Stone maneuvers between them, to Jeff’s utmost delight.

“It’s like you and your scrunchie, right? It blocks your skull so that your cerebrum doesn’t fall out of your head and roll away during your head bobbing.” she imitates Stone’s typical, pigeon-like neck moves. After a quick half turn, Stone rambles on walking backwards.

“Why don’t we discuss your potato bag dress too… sorry!” he adds mechanically not even glancing at the tall, blonde woman into whom he’s just bumped. She looks familiar but I can’t recall if I have met her and if I have, where...

“Ha, Stone Gossard is trying to give me fashion advice, I like that…”

“Yes, maybe you should set your own house in order at first…” Jeff retorts too.

“…says the guy who sleeps wearing a hat.” Stone keeps torturing our bassist.

“How could he take it off? His brain…” Judy points at Jeff’s forehead.

“Don’t make me turn this car around...” Jeff grunts.

“But where’s Sharon Stone?”

***

I loathe restrooms of public places so much. Small, tight compartments, like this one. Even the lock is broken so I have to hold on to the door handle while I’m balancing over the toilet bowl of questionable tidiness. At least, I don’t have any company; I hate sharing my most intimate body functions and enjoying those of the others at the same time. Awkward sounds and unpleasant smells… I know it’s a natural thing but still… I’m almost ready when I hear the door squeaking and heels tapping on the tiled ground. Unfortunately the owner of the legs picks the compartment next to me… great, one can’t even finish her internal monologue without being bothered. Maybe if I don’t move and breathe, I can stay unnoticed.

“Damn.” I hear my neighbor cursing. “Hey… there’s someone over there, isn’t it?” I hear the voice again from the level of my ankles. Of course, she peaked around under the wall, next time I should crouch down on the top of the toilet. “There’s no toilet paper in this one, could you give me a few sheets? Just put them into my hand, I think I can manage to reach for them at the bottom…

“Sure…” I groan. And now? Should I ask her whether she wants to pee or…? I make a quick calculation and tear off and hand her the estimated needs of an adult woman with healthy digestive system. I can get a glance at hear shoes in the meantime, one could commit a suicide by jumping off them. I decide to sneak out while she’s doing her job (whatever it is) to avoid the usual embarrassing encounter. I’m already washing my hands when the entrance door opens and it is Beth who slams it behind herself with a victorious smile.

“Ha! There you are.”

“So now you’re even following me to the restroom too?” I ask sarcastically.

“It was you who forced me to do it. And neither of us will leave until you finally tell me what happened last night.” she leans her back to the door folding her arms.

“Nothing particular, I don’t know why…”

I forget to finish the sentence since the door of the occupied compartment gets suddenly kicked out and a blonde, tall, beautiful woman basically falls out in front of the sinks.

“Shit, it got stuck, I was already thinking I would die here… Gosh, I hate this dress so much, I’m going to set it on fire in the second my contract’s running out, I swear.” she fixes the tight mini dress she’s wearing. Let’s wait for a second… Is she? Oh my… She is.

“Judy, nothing and nobody can distract me this time, not even Sharon Stone.” Beth stares me with her coldest look.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you, just finish the girl talk.” she remarks cleaning and drying her hands.

“So, are you willing to tell me what happened or should I pull everything word by word out of you?”

“Can I choose the word by word version?” my lips pull into an embarrassed smile but Beth’s reaction is crazier than expected. She turns the key in the lock and walks slowly to the toilet bowl in the closest compartment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be more cooperative?” she flashes a somewhat terrifying grin and swings the key over the toilet.

“You can’t do it, you can’t take us hostage… you can’t take Sharon Stone hostage here. She needs to go back to the set.” I try to make her come around.

“Actually, I don’t feel like going back so I’d stay… if you don’t mind, of course.” the captured sex symbol ruins my argumentation.

“Great. A real girl party.” Beth confirms with a plastic smile. “So, what happened yesterday evening?”

“Yeah, what happened yesterday?” Sharon repeats the question curiously. “Do you mind if I…?” she pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of her tights and since we both shake our head, she lights up.

“She had a date with Jeff.” Beth explains with a meaningful look. “With Jeff Ament.” she adds realizing the name didn’t ring a bell with her. “With Jeff Ament from Pearl Jam.” she narrows it down seeing the still clueless face of our chat partner. “And now it’s time to share the details.” she turns back demanding to me.

“Okay…” I sigh and give them a quick review about the date, trying to stay as objective as possible, avoiding any forms of judgment and not leaving any occasion for speculations.

“And at the end, you chickened out and used the trick.”

“Seriously, Beth, what trick? Mike told me the same and…”

“So you’ve already discussed it with Mike!” she shouts outraged. “Anyway, I’m talking about the herpes trick, of course.”

“What???”

“Pretending to have herpes to avoid being kissed.” Sharon enlightens me making me feel week-minded.

“Who… who would do something like that?” I try to sound innocent.

“Oh, come on, sweetie. The herpes trick is older than herpes itself. It’s a part of the female toolkit.” she goes on taking a deep drag.

“Judy, there’s nothing wrong in acknowledging you got confused and made a desperate decision.” Beth mellows out. “You can talk to me about your insecurities, it’s not a shame. I was too pushy and I’m sorry for that but I really think he’s a great guy and deserves a chance.”

“I know, I just… I’ve known him for... how long? Two weeks? I barely know him! And the thought of him having known me for the same time and wanting to know me better… maybe not only as a friend… it freaks me out. I’m not saying I’m not interested in him at all, it’s just… too fast!” I blurt out finally.

“Okay. You know what? If you’re not sure about your feelings… or expectations… let’s make a checklist! I mean… you start listing the characteristics you like and want to find in a guy and I tell you if Jeff has them. I’ve known him for more than two weeks…”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ve started being interested in that Jeff guy too.” Sharon hops on the sink with a bright smile.

“Jesus… guys are not like shopping lists… but okay, whatever!” I throw my arms in the air. “First of all… he must be reliable. I don’t like good-for-nothings.”

“Checked.” Beth nods satisfied.

“And… he must have a good sense of humor. If he can’t make you laugh or if he makes you explain your jokes, run!”

“Needless to say, but checked!” she confirms enthusiastically.

“The guy I’m looking for is… intelligent…”

“…checked…”

“…smart…”

“…checked…”

“…creative…”

“…checked…”

“…some talent doesn’t hurt either…”

“…some talent checked…” I can’t not notice that her voice gets more and more bored at every answer.

“He must be amusing and kind and funny as well. And interesting and gentle too.” I jabber in one breath.

“Checked, checked, checked, checked, checked… Come on, Judy, how long do you want to go on with this to believe he’s ideal for you?” she huffs impatiently.

“There’s one more thing.” I cut her off. “He… he must be attractive. Physically.” I feel my face reddening as I add the last word.”

“Checked.” she replies without hesitation. “Checked?” she repeats it with a questioning face and due to her reaction, I realize I’m scowling.

“I… I don’t know… I mean… he’s definitely not unattractive… but I’ve never felt that “let’s jump into bed immediately” vibe when being with him…” I try to express my feelings although the only thing I want to do is to mumble something indistinct and escape from this fuckin’ piss-smelling room.

“Now here’s the point!” Sharon exclaims and points at me holding her cigarette between her index and middle finger. “You don’t feel the buzz! Forget him.” she adds in a serious voice.

“The fact you don’t want to take him to bed immediately only means you’re not a slut. If a guy’s personality is likable, you can suddenly realize you’re attracted to him physically too. You should just spend some time with him without any pressure and let things happen.” Beth talks her over ignoring the advice.

“Bullshit! It’s not about having sex on the first date but there must be a spark… even if you don’t notice it immediately. Passion won’t grow out of nothing, trust me. Yes, passion, that’s the key. It isn’t worth a pile of shit if there isn’t any passion between you.” she flails intensely with the cigarette.

“Don’t listen to her, she doesn’t know any of you two.” Beth keeps persuading me and honestly, I don’t know whom I should believe.

“By the way, which one of the guys is Jeff? Is he the lanky one?” Sharon inquires while she’s stubbing the cigarette on the sink and then drops it into the trash bin.

“The tall, athletic one.” Beth helps her out. “The one with the hat.” she rolls her eyes seeing the uncomprehending expression of her.

“Oh. I thought he was the lanky one, with the ponytail.” she mutters disappointed.

“Ugh, Stone?” I groan in disgust.

“Yes, the one that almost hit me in the hallway. I heard you teasing each other, I thought something was going on between you. It looked definitely passion-like.”

“Wait, was that you?” I giggle.

“Yup. Wearing a leather jacket, denim pants and no makeup.”

“I have to tell this to Stone, he’ll freak out. He really appreciates your… ahem… talent… very much. Obviously not much enough to recognize you in “civil” clothes. Anyway, nothing is going on between us, let alone passion. Apart from the fact that we hate each other passionately.”

“Interesting, I could have sworn… But hate is a good start. Better than nothing. Have you ever tried hate sex?” she asks out of the blue.

“Excuse me, what?” I cackle.

“Of course, you haven’t. But you should. It’s hot.” she leans closer confidentially. “It makes things extremely complicated most of the times, but it’s hot. Anyway, what time is it? However much I’ve got fed up with drooling crew members, I should go back, they want to pre-record a few scenes…”

“Shit, it’s late you’re right. Beth, would you…?”

She fishes the key out of her pocket and unlocks the door unwillingly shaking her head.

“I hope you don’t let yourself be influenced by this… this… actress…” she whispers to me while we’re walking back to the studio room following the person in question.

“You mean by having sex with Stone?” I joke but Beth doesn’t seem to appreciate my humor so I go on sincerely. “Why would I? I’ve known her for like ten minutes. And I consider your advice but… you know it’s not as easy as you think, Jeff doesn’t stay away from me for a minute, the “without any pressure” factor depends on him too…”

“I see what I can do, don’t worry.” she smiles mysteriously in front of herself.

“Don’t you dare talk to him, do you want to ruin my life?” I scream-whisper since we’ve arrived to the waiting room in the meantime. The guys are talking standing in a circle apart from Stone who’s fixing his half ponytail with undivided attention in front of the mirror. What a narcissistic asshole.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be the prettiest poodle at the dog exhibition.” I remark casually as I pass him by.

“Do you prefer stray dogs?” he shouts after me in his irritating teenage guy voice. “Anyway, where is Sharon Stone?”

“I’m here and I’m ready for the action.” she answers in the steamiest tone I’ve ever heard and walks along the room with hypnotic hip moves.

“Stone, are you ready too?” I ask grinning ear to ear at my blushing enemy but I can’t enjoy his embarrassment for long since someone leans over my shoulder and sings two words into my ear.

“Hate sex…”

#pearljam #fan fiction #fanfic #pearl jam fanfiction #eddie vedder #stone gossard #MikeMcCready #jeff ament #dave abbruzzese #do you wanna dance

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Teen Titans Spotlight #8: Hawk

Whenever I wield a flamethrower, I like to do a bit of grappling with my enemy first.

And right out of the gate! First fucking panel! Christ, Hank Hall!

This comic book is from 1987 so even though I had a gut feeling that "zipperheads" was super racist, I still had to look it up to make sure. So now my Google search history contains a search for "zipperhead"! Man, I hope I don't get gunned down in a mass shooting over the next few days! Not like anybody will be able to log onto my laptop by guessing my new super racist password!

Visually, I don't like what this panel is implying!

How long did Hank Hall carry that stupid hang glider kit around with him before some editor huffed, "Just give him fucking flight powers already!"? I love when a comic book introduces a sexy woman and then has the main character instantly refer to her as a "kid." Way to make me feel like a pedo, comic books! I mean, I expect to feel like a pedo when reading Deathstork. But not Teen Titans Spotlight On Colon! Two soldiers begin following Hank and the Sexy Kid but Hank knows how to deal with them! First he calls them dinks which is weird because how does he know they're a committed couple with no children? And you'll never guess what he does second! Oh, you guessed. Yeah, he punches them in the face.

Ha! I bet Hank is feeling pretty dumb about his dink comment now!

The sexy kid's name is Lupe. She works for the Queen of the Hive whom Hank has traveled to South America to see. She was a huge fan of Hawk's sneaking panel last issue so she wanted a memorable walking away panel of her own.

You would think she's running away because of the violent man comment but really she's just headed to the Jeep. I have no idea why a couple Slendermen make an appearance.

I only included the second panel in the above image to show I wasn't lying like I totally hardly ever do. She really was just heading back to the car. Hank and Lupe drive into the jungle to meet with Arachnid, the creature composed of billions of other insects. He's waiting to give them a ride on a gigantic tick that's also probably composed of other insects. If these insects have such great powers of transformation, why can't they take the form of a limousine or a helicopter or Heidi Klum? I'm not too impressed. Arachnid and the giant tick take Hawk and Lupe deep into some jungle ruins to relax before meeting the Queen of the Hive. Relaxing means eating dinner topless and now I regret never having relaxed with anybody in high school. Although after eating, Hank is swarmed with bugs so thankfully that regret only lasted a few seconds. I knew it was a trap, Gabrielle Ruggero! Although now that I'm remembering Gabrielle, how likely would it have been to die from bug bites?! The regret is back! Lupe drugs Hank so that when she reveals the big surprise (that she's the queen! Surprise!), he'll be too fucked up to remember that she's a kid when he puts his face in her pleasure region. Hank's main concern isn't that Lupe might be a little young but that he might be sticking his dick in a vagina made from cockroaches. "No homo, dude!" is probably what Hank would say when he learned his cock touched a cockroach.

"She told me she was as ancient as the first life that crawled on Earth" is no excuse for statutory rape. Better play it safe and go jerk off in a bush, Hank!

Queen Lupe tells Hank her life's story which doesn't include any proof that she's older than sixteen. I thought she would be all, "I was born within the buzzing chaos of a hornet's nest!" But instead, she's all, "My whole village was slaughtered and I followed a butterfly to safety where it taught me how to spell and rub my genitals on the soft moss of the river rocks while thinking of someone like you."

Don't worry. She's probably nine hundred and sixty-two here.

The Queen of the Hive didn't just bring Hank Hall all this way to fuck him. She also needs his help defeating a white colonialist named Toxicator. I'm not sure what his power or his plans are but who cares? You don't call yourself Toxicator because you're looking to make the world a better place. Hank asks Lupe her age one more time and she's all, "Older than you!" So that cinches it and they fuck all night. In the morning, Lupe is all, "Um, I don't mean to be rude but could you get the fuck out of my bed and go defeat the Toxicator already?!" I bet while she was fucking Hank, she was dreaming of a mossy rock by a waterfall. Seriously, Hank doesn't seem the type of guy to care about a woman's needs. Hank wastes valuable time putting his PVC hang glider together before finally heading off to stop the men ruining the environment. It's not the kind of thing he usually cares about but he got some action out of it and now feels slightly obligated to give a shit. What a hero. On his way to talk to the lead man behind the deforestation, the rest of the man's crew begins shooting at him. It's a good thing because now he knows he can be as rough as he wants! It would have looked bad if Hank just showed up and started punching a guy in the face without getting his side of things. Maybe the Queen of the Hive just doesn't want the white man discovering her nuclear testing facility!

Apparently nobody on the board of the Comics Code Authority could speak Mexican Spanish.

Just like any good Californian, I've always known the phrase "Chinga tu madre" to mean fuck your mother. I've also never put any thought to the phrase than that. Apparently, it's got a lot more subtlety and nuance that I've been ignorant about. And used in this context, where a guy just yells "Chinga!", I can see why maybe it wouldn't offend (especially to some East Coast editor who didn't grow up with the phrase "chinga tu madre" and was just working from an English-to-Spanish dictionary). Or maybe they just didn't care? I certainly don't! Or maybe the person who reviewed this issue let it go because they were working on The Flash and the memo in the background reads, "Buy The Flash by us guys!" The Toxicator interrupts Hawk's interrogation of this guy who is probably just a secretary. He looks exactly like the rejected G.I. Joe action figure you'd expect him to look like. He and Hawk talk mercenary trade secrets for a bit until The Toxicator is reminded that he's getting paid a lot of money to protect this deforestation company. At that moment, he shoots Hank in the face with his super-soaker full of what I'm assuming are toxic chemicals. One of the guard's speeches is translated with a note that it's translated from the Portuguese which is when I realize this is taking place in Brazil. Whoops! That also explains the "chinga" thing although in Portuguese, "chingar" means "to scold." So I don't know if it totally explains it! Sometimes when a guy crashes through my front window causing me to shit my pants, I yell, "Scold!" I should have know they were in Brazil since the first panel says Hank is landing at an airfield in "Matto Grosso." But since it's spelled incorrectly, I can pretend that I thought it was just a made up place! Hank's lungs are now full of something called u-cyclotron so he has to escape on the giant tick. To revive, he has to suckle at Lupe's breast. Man, I really wasn't paying enough attention to this comic book in 1987! I could have told Gabrielle that my lungs were full of u-cyclotron and there was only one remedy!

"So, uh ... cough cough ... Gabrielle. Um, I've got a weird ... cough cough ... request?" "Who the fuck are you, nerd?"

Oh yeah. That's totally how that would have went down. My regrets are many but not hitting on Gabrielle Ruggero definitely isn't one of them. You gotta remember your limits! Hank comes up with a new plan after tripping balls off of Lupe's breast milk. He tells her to gather all the bees together and make sure they drink deeply of her titty juice. Then he has them sting all of the invaders so that they're out of their minds from the hallucinations. At that point, it's just a simple matter of telling them he's God and that they really need to change their ways. Being backwards Brazilian Catholics full of Portuguese and Native superstitions as opposed to logical white oppressors, they're all, "Chinga me! Chinga me, God! Tell me what I've done wrong my entire life and fix it!" Boom! Problem solved and Hank Hall got laid to boot! Teen Titans Spotlight #8: Hawk Rating: B+. It's a good thing the writer clarified that Lupe was older than sixteen. I mean, she didn't offer any valid proof or anything. She just said she was! But it's not like a sixteen year old would lie about her age just because she was thirsty for some big super hero dick, right?! Also, she's completely fictional so who fucking cares?! Anyway, it was a decent story that ended rather abruptly and super weirdly (even if I lied about the breast milk which was really just rare pollen used to make healing mead). How can you go wrong with a comic book that shows an ass, uses the slur "zipperhead," and swears in another language?! I bet Comicsgaters hold this comic book up as a triumph of what the medium can produce!

#Teen Titans Spotlight #DC Comics #Hawk #Hawk and Dove #DC #Teen Titans

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thehobbitse · 5 years

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Fanfic: Obsessions (Jake Peralta X OFC)

You can read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951162/chapters/42394373

Author’s note: Hii, sorry for the short chapter, I wanna skip to the ~interesting~ parts soon ;3 Also, I know it's cliché, but I'll name the chapters after songs. This is Daylight-Coldplay, is about the realization that you love someone (in this case she likes the person because it's too soon to love etc).

Chapter 2- Daylight

As soon as I got home, I ran to the shower, the water would help to clear my thoughts. Since I was young I loved to take a shower, I turned on the radio and problems disappeared. It's a shame that when we grow up, problems grow too, and it takes more than running water to solve them. It also did not help that I put "Greatest Hits- Britney Spears" (because ‘My loneliness is killing meee’)

What would I do the next morning? Should I talk to him? Ignore it? Oh if I had a close friend to ask for advice. As soon as I fell on the bed, I fell asleep, too tired to continue torturing myself.

The next morning I got up earlier than usual, if I got there early I would not run the risk of having to walk past Jake's desk and say good morning. I decided to ignore him and try to act normal until things got really back to normal. I took my usual coffee and milk, put the most imperceptible neutral-colored clothes I could find and ran to the bus stop near my building. I came some minutes early and used this extra time to pick a playlist. I love these little things, listening to music on the bus (or in the bath, or cooking, or cleaning the house or in any possible situation) made me happy. I would always get into these overly thinking moments, my mind certainly flies easily.

I arrived early, even earlier than Amy. Actually most people came later, probably because of yesterday's party. Rosa arrived at the usual time and I could tell she was happy because this time she actually greeted me. I really admired her, her strong will, her style. I had what I like to call a “friendship crush” on her.

The more the minutes passed, the more I became anxious, my hands were sweaty, each time the elevator doors opened, my heart skipped a bit. I was so tense that I did not even realize that Rosa was calling me.

"Moretti, are you alright?"

I turned to her with a loose smile "Yes, why?"

"You're kneading those files" well, I have this mania of when I'm thinking too much and I’m anxious, I squeeze everything I have in my hands without noticing.

"Yeah, I ... ah ... I need to go to the bathroom" I got up as fast as I could to avoid further comments.

Arriving in the bathroom I washed my hands and my face to try to calm myself down. ‘Breath in, breath out’ I mentally repeated to myself. I was going to make a ponytail when I spoted a purple bruise on the righ side of my neck, almost on the back. ‘Shit it must have been hidden behind my hair’

‘Shit shit shit shit’ I didn’t have anything to cover that up, as I looked the hickey, my mind started to wander again, to think about last night and all the things I felt when I was in Jake’s apartment. The way we kissed and the manner he touched me, and oh God, how I wanted to go to the end and see what he would do, but I didn’t, there are so many things that could (and certainly would!) go wrong. But I had to admit: he knew how to Kiss. “I shouldn’t be thinking about that”

“About what?” I heard Gina’s lazy voice comming from behind one of the bathroom boxes. Oh crap, did I say it out loud? And why didn’t I check if the bathroom was empty?

I soon let my hair down to cover the hickey, with luck she didn’t see it “About what I’m gonna have for lunch, it’s too soon yet”

She came closer to me with a threatening look “You have a secret, and I know all the secrets around here” she changed her look in a second and washed her hands

“No, I don’t. Now excuse me”

I left the bathroom and went to the living room, I know Gina is quite ‘dangerous’ and I had to keep the secret really secret. I heard that drinking water helps to calm the anxiety, so I went to the living room, while pouring water into a mug I heard footsteps and voices, I was with my back facing the door

“Man, I told you that woman was inocent” phew, it was Terry

“I shoudn’t have bet 20 dollars, her taste for fast food deceived me” maybe I was lucky because that was Charles....until he completed “Jake, what do you think?”

In fact I was lucky to be facing the sink because as soon as I heard that Jake was there, I spit some water. I turned myself to face them. “Hi there” I said with a very forced smile

Fun fact: I never saw anyone so hungover like Jake: he had deep circles under his eyes, his hair was matted and his clothes rumpled as if he had overslept and came to work in a hurry and I never saw him before with a grumpy expression like the one he wore that day

“Careful there” said Boyle with a playful smile. I passed some water in my mug to carry it back to my desk.

“Good morning Sargent, Charles, Jake” I said while leaving the room, my stare low because I wasn’t able to look him in the eyes without feeling shame.

The rest of the day followed quiet, I watched the people from behind my computer, Amy was shinning with joy, showing off her big engagement ring, I heard Charles complaining about having trouble to find a girlfriend, Jake was incredibly silent, Gina was bragging about something she achieved on twitter. Sargent Jeffords showed us some pictures of her little girls (precisely 56 photos of them sleeping). I thought things were going back to normal really easily. That’s when my look met with Jake’s and we instantly lowered our eyes, my face burning with embarrassment. Was he looking at me purposely? Hm maybe it was my imagination.

I lifted my head as if nothing had happened, grabbed my cellphone to (pretend to) check the messages and raised my eyes once again, he wasn’t at his desk anymore.

Rosa got up from her chair and muttered a direct command “Follow me”, she led me into the copier room and closed the door “You need to talk to him”

“With whom?” I asked, it was impossibe for her to know-

“With Jake, it’s weird and you are colleagues, it may affect your work” shit shit shit, how does she know? “You took him home last night, you’re barely talking to each other and you have a hickey” she responded as if she read my mind and crossed her arms

I immediatly placed my hand on top of the hickey, widening my eyes “Nothing happened. I mean. Kinda. But I stopped it because he was so drunk and I didn’t want to be just a backup girl cus’ I know he likes Amy” I realized I shouldn’t have said the last part “Oops, that wasn’t supposed to come out”

“Don’t worry, everyone knows that except Amy. Talk to him” she told me sternly and headed to the doo

“...Rosa” I pleaded raising my eyebrows like a puppy face, she appeared to be touched by it -but because of what she said next. Rosa doesn’t show any emotion unless she wants to-

“Jake is a nice guy, he’ll understand. You don’t have to be afraid, Gina and Charles used to make out, and now they’re fine”

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, did she meant that me and Jake could.....? Well it didn’t matter because she just raised an eyebrown and gave me a smirk while lefting the room

I waited ‘till the end of our shift, I wanted to talk to Jake alone. As he waited for the elevator, I looked nervously to Rosa and she returned with a nod to where Jake was and gave me a look that meant ‘I will drag you to him if necessary’. There was no other way, and she was right, this situation could harm our work. So I grabbed my purse and headed to the elevator too.

The problem is that I wanted to be alone with him to spare more awkward situations and Scully was heading to the elevator too. I looked at Rosa again and she understood what was happening.

“Hey Scully” she called him and as soon as he turned himself, she was already near him and she punched his stomach “The next time you eat my stuff it will be worse than a punch”

I didn’t know she would do THAT, but it worked and as the doors were closing I heard Scully saying between coughs “But it was Hitchcock”

‘Well, now I’m here’ I thought, ‘How do I say it?”, I was so nervous and my hands were sweaty again, I thought so much about it that I didn’t realised the time I lost when the doors opened again. He just gave me a short ‘Bye’ and headed to the parking lot (the exit I take is different because I don’t have a car, you know). ‘Now or never, but maybe tomorrow’ I was about to leave when I remembered something: my first Kiss. Why? Well because I was so nervous, but I liked the boy and waited too long since I always wanted to make these things with people I really liked. I gave a second though and gained courage to do it. And I never regretted it

Talking to Jake was the right thing to do and maybe it wouldn’t be so hard ‘Jake is a nice guy’ Rosa’s voice played in my head. So I turned around and ran to the parking lot, I had this good fortune because he was almost getting into his car.

“Jake!” I yelled, now coming closer to where he was “Ca...can we talk? About yesterday” He stopped beside his car, I felt like he was relieved somehow. ‘Now I’m here......................What do I say????’

“Aaahn I’m...sorry(?)” It came out sounding more as a question than a statement

“Hey, you don’t have to feel bad about anything, it’s your right to say no and-“ he started to say. Wait, did he think I didn’t want to make out with him even if I rubbed my hips and moaned and ohmygodthememories, he was so sweet to think that way, my heart melted. Jake was truly a nice guy.

“Jake it’s not that I didn’t want to....” I cocked my eyebrows as to indicate that I refered to the words I was too shy to say. He frowned and then relaxed his face, the processes of understanding what I was saying going through his visage. It was so cute. I continued “The reason I did not go ahead it’s because first: you were so drunk I didn’t feel it was right.... and second because...” I trailed off

“What?” he asked coming closer, interested in what I had to say

“Because I know you like Amy, and if I’m gonna do these things I wanna be sure the person is thinking about me in the moment” I burtled and as I registered what I just said, blood rushed to my cheeks.

He appeared torn for a moment, then he said “Look, that’s okay... let’s just forget it”

I gave him a semi smile and nodded with my head “See ya’ tomorrow”

That night Ihad trouble falling asleep, something was bothering me. A thought came to me and I slipped my hand under my pants waistband ‘We can’t do it but nobody said anything about thinking it’. And for Lord’s sake, that nigh I slept very well.

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine fanfic #jake peralta #amy santiago #gina linetti #charles boyle #rosa diaz #terry jeffords #raymond holt #fanfic #smut #imagines

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Small considerations between partners 10 - Sock monkeys that soothe the soul

FIND CHAPTERS 1-9 HERE

A/N - this was a really hard one to write due to Mulder’s total absence in season 9 but I hope you enjoy it because I did my best with what CC gave us! Tagging @today-in-fic@scully-loves-ruthie thanks dude as always for your unending encouragement. :)

SEASON NINE

“Dana….”

I hold up my hand signalling to mom that she shouldn’t speak but then beckon her into the room, telling her without words that it’s okay to come in to join me in the semi-darkness where I am perched atop the bed, watching my baby son sleep, his sweet face relaxed and at peace, a far cry from the fretful, grizzling bundle of misery I had carried up here just a few minutes before. It’s been an exhausting and confusing day for him and overdue his afternoon nap, he had gotten progressively crankier until finally, I had excused myself and made my grateful escape from the noise and joviality that I knew right from the start would be difficult for me.

It’s not that I don’t want to be here, because after all I have always spent Christmas surrounded by my extended family and even when things were bad, when relations were strained or when we tiptoed around the fact that our Christmas table was missing an integral part of us, somehow we still came together and found each other through the sadness. But this year I had just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep until it was over – this most special time of the year that is bathed in love and light; the one day of the year when we can laugh and share and look upon each other with an almost childlike wonderment as lights twinkle and bright paper litters the floor, torn carelessly from gifts by excited recipients as they exclaim and laugh at the treasures within.

But for me, those beautiful moments shared with my family have today, just exaggerated the aching loneliness I feel.

Because he isn’t here with me.

He isn’t here with our son.

And without him, nothing seems to make sense anymore and truthfully, Christmas means very little to me this year. In fact if it weren’t for fear of disappointing my Mom I would have refused to come here at all.

Certainly I don’t think I would have been missed by anyone else because I am pretty sure I am the modern day equivalent of the spectre at the feast and behind the forced smiles and cheerful conversation, I can feel the undercurrents of disapproval radiating out in my direction and even more so when, without thinking, I mentioned Mulder whilst in earshot of Bill and I had watched as his lips came together in a thin, hard line as he struggled to not spit out some acerbic comment regarding my partners apparent abandonment of his responsibilities.

He had contained himself – just – but his expression told me everything I needed to know and at that moment I think I felt more of an outsider than I ever have before; looking in from the very peripherals of this strong unit I no longer feel a part of and truthfully, I had never felt such a sense of relief when everything just got too much for William and he began to make his vocal disapproval of the proceedings all too obvious, giving me the perfect excuse to creep away upstairs for a few minutes to lick my wounds and drop the facade for a while.

William had fallen asleep against me halfway through his bottle and he hadn’t stirred when I had gently laid him in the crib my Mom had bought shortly after his birth when it became obvious that, in the absence of Mulder, she would be stepping in to take care of him for me when I returned to work.

And while I will forever be grateful to her for all that she has done for us both, there are times when I feel the sharp prickle of resentment that she is playing such a huge part in his life that really, should be mine and Mulders alone. His first tooth, his first step, first word – those important milestones I have no idea if his father will be around to see and it shouldn’t be like this for us. Not when we came so close to winning the war.

I blink back tears that have suddenly clogged my throat and stolen my breath when I feel the slight dip as mom sits beside me, unspeaking she simply lays a hand gently against my arm, the familiar touch of her that evokes memories of childhood moments where I would crave her comforting caress and when never once did she leave me wanting. This woman who has been such a constant in my life and who, I think is perhaps the only one who can look at me and truly understand what I’m going through.

She is worried about me, has been worried about me for months, but lately I have seen her concern increase almost daily. I see it in her eyes, the way she looks at me when she thinks I don’t notice; catching her bottom lip between her teeth and worrying it absently in a way that I mirror exactly when I am confused or upset or needing to find the appropriate words for a situation that really, no words could ever hope to mend. Because what can she say to me to make this better? What assurances could she possibly give that one day all this will end and I will wake up to find the warmth of him curled against me, the feeling of his arms around me, holding me as I sleep. How long will it be before I am able to feel whole again?

“We missed you downstairs honey”

Her voice is barely above a whisper but the sadness in her hushed tone is all too easy to hear.

And I want to be strong, I want to be the daughter she has always known me to be, to shake my head, to confidently smile and tell her I’m okay, that I’m just fine. But I no longer have the strength to pretend anymore, this day having stripped away whatever reserves I had managed to preserve and left me wanting to just press myself against her like I did when I was a child and weep until I have nothing left.

But I should know, because she is my mother, that somehow she is always attuned to exactly what I might need at any given time, just as she has always known and for once I don’t try to resist as she wraps her arms around me and pulls me toward her, shushing me softly as I begin to sob against her; months of repressed emotion demanding release from the pressure that has been building inside of me since the day I sent Mulder away.

“I miss him so much Mom…”

I can barely manage to force the words out, each one hard fought as my body trembles with the force of my distress; and she just holds me, smoothing her palms across my back as she rocks me back and forth, riding it out with me just as she did when I would go to her when I was a child.

Eventually my cries become no more than painful hitching breaths and still she remains with me, calming me until eventually, she releases her hold, bringing her hand to rest briefly against my cheek before she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

“Better?”

And she smiles, scrutinising me carefully as I nod although I don’t quite trust myself to speak just yet. But she seems satisfied as she reaches behind her to pick up a gift wrapped box I hadn’t noticed before now.

It is about the size of a small shoebox, beautifully wrapped in iridescent silver paper imprinted with glittered snowflakes and tied with narrow satin ribbon that ends in a bow to keep the tag in place and as she hands it to me – when the handwriting on the tag registers – I am barely able to prevent myself from snatching it from her because I would recognise his handwriting anywhere.

Mulder.

I am sure my expression is every bit as incredulous as I feel inside because I don’t even have to ask her.

“It came last week honey, in a larger box. Just left outside on the porch with my name on it and when I opened it this was inside.”

She grasps my free hand with her own, eyes shining behind a film of tears as she smiles sadly at me.

“It’s from Fox isn’t it?”

And as I reverently touch the tag, afraid almost that it will disintegrate beneath my fingertips, she gives me hand a final squeeze and rises to her feet, knowing without me having to speak that I need to do this alone.

“I’ll be downstairs. You come down when you’re ready…..and Dana?” she pauses, half turning away from me, face in profile, before continuing, “Whatever you might think, whatever fears you harbour in your heart, know that you are loved and that you are not truly alone while ever you can still feel him there.”

*************

I’m not sure how long I sat there, holding Mulders gift in my hands as I listened to the sounds of my baby sleep; those sweet snuffling sounds of contentment that have become so familiar to me that sometimes I barely even notice them. But tonight, right now, it seems important that I relish every single moment I can, that I imprint every tiny sound he makes on my memory so that one day, I can relive them with his father.

Because for the first time in months I allow myself the luxury of believing he will eventually come back to us. In a day or a week or a month or a year – it doesn’t matter anymore just so long as he does. And when he does I will be waiting to hold him tight against me and never let him go again.

I had waited for my mom to leave, waited for the door to snick quietly behind her and for my heart to stop the frantic rythem that the small box she had pressed into my hand had evoked; until finally, reverently, I had unwrapped it, lifted the lid to expose the contents even as a small chuff off air forced itself past my lips; somewhere between a laugh and a sob as tears once more gathered in my eyes and blurred the image before me.

Mulder has always bought me gifts that hold meaning and while he might not shower me with expensive jewellery or exotic flower bouquets, he has somehow always managed to present me with something that evokes a memory, reawakens a long forgotten emotion or even simply, that he knows I will love and appreciate and this time is no different.

I remember a night just a few weeks before William was born, where we sat together in the soft golden light of my apartment, a small tattered ragdoll falling with almost no sound to the floor as finally, hesitantly, a thousand unanswered questions still burning in his eyes he gently pulled me toward him and almost shyly, pressed his lips to mine; soft as a butterflies wings that kiss; but more powerful, more life affirming than anything we had ever shared before.

Because that night, after so many weeks of watching him struggling to reconnect, to find his place back in a world that had discarded him again and again things just seemed to fall into place. The feeling of him holding me against him as he shook in my arms, finding a release that had been far too long in coming even as he began to find himself – to find us.

We had talked that night, really talked, as the shadows outside began to lengthen and the darkness replaced light. But for once, I didn’t notice. I only noticed him.

And finally our mood had brightened, as we slipped into the easy way we had always had together, teasing each other with our words, with our expressions and with our bodies.

I had stooped to pick up the ragdoll, intrigued as to how she had come to be, entwining my fingers around his as he dropped his eyes and told me that she actually wasn’t a family heirloom as I had first assumed, but that in fact she had belonged to Samantha. Purchased at a local flea market by an excited small girl and loved fiercely by her despite an older brother who cast scornful derision over the fact that his sister would waste her precious birthday money on something so ugly and that even now he still couldn’t understand what had appealed to her in the first place; why something so unassuming could become so precious to its small owner.

“How about you Scully? Did you have an ugly doll mascot when you were a kid? Or was it all science books and periodic tables for you?”

Batting him lightly on the arm with the doll I had shook my head, remembering for the first time in years the small knitted monkey that I had begged and begged to be permitted to buy from a local garage sale, not really understanding at the time why I wanted him, other than he looked like he needed someone to love him, to be someone’s best friend; to be rescued I guess. And since I was still at that magical age where small girls can twist their daddies around their manipulative little fingers, Wilbur – as I had immediately christened him – came home with me to take residential priority in my heart. A small tatty sock monkey with tiny button eyes who for a few years became my best friend, my protector against the monsters that surely resided beneath my bed, my confident and my comfort.

Until one day, in the midst of yet another move to another base and another school and another set of new people to meet, I realised I couldn’t find him anywhere. Frantically running from room to empty room as my Dad impatiently shouted to my Mom to come and get me so we could get on the road, inconsolable in my grief because, despite the assurances from her that he would turn up in one of the boxes, somehow in my heart I knew I would never see him again, that he was just gone from my life and he wouldn’t return.

I had expected Mulder to laugh at me but instead his expression had turned serious, as he dropped a kiss right at the centre of my forehead and murmured words of love against my skin that were so softly spoken I could only barely make them out.

We had slept in each other’s arms that night, our baby protected and safe inside me as in turn, for the first time in months I finally felt safe also, not fully realising back then just how bad things would get before our world turned upside down once again.

And now as I stare at the gift Mulder has somehow found a way to get to me, I can’t help but smile away the tears that threaten once more, evoked by memories of that special time in our lives when we found each other again despite all the odds stacked against us, just as deep down inside me I know that somehow we always will.

Because as I lean over William’s crib, gently placing the small knitted toy in the corner where it can watch over him as he sleeps, I suddenly know that although I may be lonely, I am no longer alone.

The sounds of laughter reaching me from downstairs as I softly stroke a finger along our son’s downy skin. His face in sleep is all Mulder and I thank God that even if I have nothing else, I still have our precious son to remind me that everything is temporary and that one day all this will end and we can be together, that Mulder is still out there somewhere, thinking of us both as he carefully wrapped and labelled a small sock monkey that is almost an exact replica of the one I lost so very long ago, sending me a message that no matter what, he will always find a way back to us.

And I will try very hard to make that be enough.

For all of us I will try.

Closing my eyes tightly I conjure up an image of his face in my mind, hoping against hope that somehow he will hear my unspoken words to him, that they might guide him through the hardest of times and the darkest of nights and that he will find the strength to carry on with this quest that has taken him from us. Whispered words I can only pray will reach him as I turn to go, to rejoin the life that is going on beneath me in this fine old house, pausing just once more to glance at both the precious gifts he gave to me before I step away from the crib.

Merry Christmas Mulder.

End.

@today-in-fic

#my fic #small considerations between partners 10 #msr #season 9

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scenes-in-between · 7 years

Text

Per Manum Flashback #2

She goes to the transfer appointment alone, telling him she appreciates his support but that this is something she needs to do by herself. He’s waiting at her apartment afterward though, with dinner on the stove and a cheesy sci-fi movie on the counter. They eat spaghetti in front of the TV, and when she falls asleep on the couch, he gently wakes her and gets her tucked in bed. In the morning, she sees that he cleaned up the kitchen before he left.

They both have months of unused leave saved up, so she takes the next week off work. He calls her periodically from the office, somehow intuiting when she needs distraction, and he makes her laugh with his claims that he’s getting so much done without her there.

She’s back at work the next week, and he does an admirable job of pretending nothing is different. He shows his panic face only once, when a case comes across his desk that will undoubtedly require a lengthy trek into the woods. Asking her to sit this one out will disrupt the carefully constructed facade of normalcy they are both trying to maintain, but even she has to agree it's not a great idea for her to be out in the field if she's trying to give the IVF every possible chance for success. She rescues him by saying she's already booked reservations to take her mom out of town for the weekend, and could he maybe handle this one on his own.

The relief on his face only slightly counteracts her guilt over the fact that now this means he's going out alone without backup. What good is she to him as a partner if she can't physically have his back? She reminds herself that if the pregnancy does take, she should be able to get back to a regular workload soon after.

(It's just as well she didn't come along, he tells her after they're both back on Monday; the supposed cryptid sighting just turned out to be a bear with a really bad case of mange.)

***

She leaves for her appointment after work on Monday. He doesn't ask if she wants him to come along, and she doesn't ask if he'll wait at her apartment instead.

He changes his clothes and runs to her place from the office, trying to exorcise his nervous energy with the long uphill slog on Wisconsin Ave. He'll come back for his car and suit later.

He showers quickly, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt and sweater he left here for just such an occasion, and sits down on her couch to wait. He spends the next hour thinking she should be back any minute, but as the light starts to fade outside, so too do his hopes that she will be coming through that door with a smile on her face.

Maybe she just went to Maggie's first, to tell her the good news. He doesn't really believe that, though.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep.

***

“Never give up on a miracle.”

He shoves his disappointment down deep; whatever he’s feeling, his only job right now is support. He won’t add to her devastation by admitting how much he’d started to want this, too.

She sniffles against his chest, and he strokes her back in what he hopes are reassuring circles. He kisses the top of her head and holds her as the sniffles turn to sobs. Nearly two months of cautious hope was dashed in an instant this afternoon, and it pours out of her. No matter how hard she tried to prepare herself -- no matter how hard they both did -- of course it still hurts, and his heart breaks a little for her as she cries herself out.

When she finally pulls back from him, puffy-eyed and red-faced, she excuses herself to go use the restroom, and he goes to the kitchen to put her kettle on for tea. The front of his sweater is damp; he pulls it over his head and hangs it over a chair, letting his hands linger for just a moment to grip the chair back. He’s helpless to take away her pain, though if there were anything he could do, he would of course do it in a heartbeat.

He’s just pouring hot water into a mug by the time she comes back, dressed in flannel pajamas with her face scrubbed clean. He sets the kettle down and picks up two boxes of tea from the counter.

“So, are you feeling camomile or peppermint?”

The smile in her eyes doesn’t make it all the way down to her mouth, but it’s a start. “Peppermint, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She pulls a chair out and sits at the table, tucking her feet up on the seat. He sets the steaming mug in front of her and sits down. She’s still all sort of pulled in on herself, and he watches her for a minute, then sets his hand palm-up on the table, offering. She brings her hand to rest on it, curling her fingers lightly around his.

“Is it okay if I don’t really want to talk about it?” Her voice sounds so small, and his heart breaks for her all over again.

“Of course it’s okay.” He strokes her palm with one fingertip, unsure if silence is any better. He knows all too well that not being ready to talk about something doesn’t mean your brain will shut up and play along.

Still, he’ll follow her lead for the time being. If she wants to sit quietly and doesn’t seem to be suffering for it, he is absolutely fine with that. Whatever she needs.

She releases his hand to pick up her mug, blowing gently across the top before taking a careful sip. She closes her eyes, breathing in the steam and letting her breath out in a long sigh.

“We should follow up on that missing persons case in Charlotte tomorrow.”

Her comment seems completely out of left field, until he recognizes what she’s doing. This morning she’d scoffed and told him it was obvious the pair of 19 year-olds had run off together, that there was absolutely nothing suggesting alien involvement. He’d even more or less agreed with her, this time; both kids’ parents had been pretty vocal in their disapproval of the relationship, and it didn’t take a genius to see the “abduction” was almost certainly staged. However, unless they find something new to investigate tomorrow, it’s the only thing currently pending.

And Dana Scully doesn’t do idleness in the face of tragedy very well.

“We, uh, we can do that, sure.” Realizing that doesn’t sound especially convincing, he fumbles a bit for something to add, resorting (as ever) to deadpan humor. “It’s been a few weeks since we had a road trip. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to play you my new ‘Musicians Who Might Secretly Be Aliens’ mix CD. Moby features heavily. As does Bowie.”

Her crinkly-eyed smile might have been a laugh under other circumstances, but he’ll take it.

***

He's been lingering, not wanting to leave her, but it's nearing midnight, and he can see she's fighting to stay awake.

“It’s getting late. I should let you get some rest.”

He moves to stand, but she reaches out quickly to touch his arm. “Mulder, could you… would you stay with me tonight? Please?” When she looks up at him, there’s a fear in her eyes he hasn’t seen since the encounter with Donnie Pfaster. “I’m not ready to be alone.”

He nods, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat. That Scully loves him deeply, he has no doubt, but she is so fiercely independent that it’s not often he feels like she needs him. At least, not like he needs her. He takes both her hands in his and stands, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, and she nods against his chest.

We’re going to be okay, he wants to tell her. Maybe they’ll find another way to become parents someday, and maybe they won’t. But no matter what, they will have each other. That much hasn’t changed.

***

He’s wrapped around her in the darkness, his protective warmth against her back as she tries desperately to quiet her mind enough to fall asleep. Every time she feels herself start to spin out of control again, his arm tightens around her, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She doesn’t know if he’s responding to a change in her breathing or tension in her body or what, but he seems to know exactly when she needs pulling back from the edge, each and every time.

After the fifth time, though, she rolls over to face him, needing more. Her brain apparently has no intention of settling down on its own. She presses forward to kiss him, and the aching tenderness with which he kisses her back nearly brings tears to her eyes. He’s been so careful all night not to suffocate her with pity, to simply be there, for and with her, which she recognized and appreciated. And there’s no pity in this moment either, but there is such a sense of love, unconditional and boundless, and it seems to be spilling out of him as if he’s been trying to keep it in check as well, to keep it from overwhelming her. Maybe himself, too.

She lets herself get lost in the slide of his mouth against hers, in the way his thumb strokes her cheek and traces her earlobe. She lets her day, and her disappointment, fade into the background, eclipsed by this moment, this mutual declaration of adoration. She kisses him knowing that if they did this for an hour, he wouldn’t ask more of her, that his only aim is to give whatever comfort she needs, without expecting any escalation.

Eventually, she is the one who wants more. She is the one who brings his hand to her chest and hers between his legs. When she asks for more, he gives without taking, showing without words exactly what he feels for her, exactly what she is worth to him. He brings her to the heights of pleasure again and again, with his fingers, with his mouth, and finally gasping out his own release against her shoulder, her legs wrapped tight around his hips.

When she falls asleep a short while later, her head pillowed on his chest and the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear, her mind is calm and quiet.

#x-files fanfic #txf: per manum #mulderfic #scullyfic #msr #infertility cw #ivf #rated t for sexytimes #///#unrelated to the story #but this is my 200th post on this blog!#:D

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melforbes · 7 years

Note

cold, ocean, phonebook

post Drive

What she needed was a local dive, some seedy diner with busted red vinyl booths and laminated menus featuring blue plate specials and eggs any way you would like them. As dusk settled over the Californian sea beyond her, she flipped through a phonebook, thought of keywords for what she wanted: milkshakes, family-owned, titled as Chuck’s Place or Beverly’s Diner or even The Greasy Spoon. Biting her lip in concentration, she counted the waves beyond her little payphone, measured time with them as she looked over all of the listed restaurants from here to San Francisco. Loleta was an odd combination of seaside and rustic, rich and unpopulated; if she wanted a diner, she would have to drive, and after that day, she didn’t want to be stuck behind a wheel any longer than was absolutely necessary.

And Kersh had been called, and their asses were on the line, and their return flight to D.C. would be filled with her last moments of reprieve before an inevitable hailstorm of paperwork, liability, and unfortunately both metaphorical and literal manure rained down upon her desk, but somehow, she had the inkling that a good plate of corned beef hash at a checkered palace where neon lights claimed open twenty-four hours and where blonde waitresses scooted around on roller-skates would at least take Mulder’s mind off of exploding eardrums and the fragility of human life. Of course, the inkling was hardly backed up by solid scientific fact, and just last week, she’d told him that he needed to better his diet for the sake of his heart’s health, but nonetheless, she needed to find him respite, a place where he felt most in his element. First, a diner came to mind even though Loleta seemed void of any diners.

Back in her second year working with him, they’d been stranded in a snowstorm in Burlington, the roads closed and all of the native Vermonters snuggled beneath flannel sheets while she’d phoned her mother to say why she couldn’t make mass on Sunday. That night, they’d holed up in one of the few bed-and-breakfasts that had power, the lake effect wind rustling the shutters on her window, the television’s rabbit ears barely picking up a signal, and at two in the morning, when she’d somehow still been awake, he’d knocked heavily at her door, shouted to her, “I’m starving. Want to get dinner?”

And then, they were in a Ford Taurus - rented, of course - barreling over snowdrifts while plows on all kinds of cars - most commonly trucks but also Jeeps and Yukons and even the occasional S.U.V. - cleared what they could, silent and fat flakes of snow still falling well into the night. From the reckless turns Mulder made, and from the crunchy way the brake pedal on that car had felt even before the snowstorm, she clenched her fists on her lap for the whole ride, her mind repeating I cannot die in a snowstorm with this man, for that’ll be the most tragic way for me to go. While Mulder sought out a diner, they both realized that, apparently, there was a culture surrounding the idea of a diner and that so-called diner culture didn’t exist in Vermont, where shops closed at five in the afternoon and dared not reopen until morning. Stomachs empty, they made it back to the motel, where they managed two candy bars out of a vending machine and where they sat together on his bed, her boots left at the door while his were kicked off haphazardly in the middle of the room, and watched local programming on the fuzzy television. Unsurprisingly, Vermont news was tame to the point of hilarity; over processed chocolates, they laughed at how Mrs. Roberts’ grandson’s visit was the breaking story of the night, and when Scully fell asleep alongside Mulder, he was polite enough not to wake her until morning.

And now, she once again found that, when they needed a diner most, one would never appear.

Stepping over to where she stood at the little payphone off of the side of the road, he looked over her shoulder, asked, “Why don’t we just find a place to stay for the night?”

She took a deep, quiet breath, her eyes cast down at the Yellow Pages.

“We need dinner,” she said coolly.

“There’s a burger shack two miles up the road,” he commented; she wondered how he knew that while she’d been left oblivious. “Let’s just go there.”

She sucked her lips into a near-smile, went to nod when he quipped, “Unless that’s not up to your standards for my diet.”

But his little smile fell flat, held solemnness beneath it, and suddenly, her mind blanked, then centered on one thought: it was absolutely up to her to protect this man, to comfort him, for she was the only person in the world who could, yet she couldn’t even find him dinner when prompted to do so.

“It’s fine,” she managed, then set the phonebook back down, headed for the driver’s side of their rental car.

At the passenger’s side, he climbed in, and with the radio off, she pulled away from the ocean in silence.

They were lucky for the summer weather, for the lack of youngsters mulling about the shack’s picnic tables, for the fact that the place was still open even though the sun was beginning to set. Benji’s Burgers, a hand-painted sign on top of the place indicated, and the menu was simple, just five separate burger titles and their ingredients listed on a propped-up chalkboard. Two teenagers worked the place, and when Mulder asked if either of them was Benji, he received shrugs and the excuse that Benji was out of town on business.

“Burger business?” Mulder asked incredulously as they later sat alongside each other at a picnic table, plastic baskets of burgers and fries in front of them. “What kind of burger business do you have to go out of town for?”

In between bites, she commented, “Maybe this is just his side business.”

The sky formed a shade of bright orange, remarkable and vast above them; cars would occasionally buzz past the roadside shack, but mostly, the only sounds were the summer insects around them and the transistor radio that the two teens had set up in the shack. Currently, some staticky Spencer Davis song played, and she kicked off her heels beneath the table, let her feet rest bare against the earth beneath them.

“Benji’s Burgers,” Mulder enunciated, hovering his burger in front of his mouth, “a front for Benji’s Blow and Dope. This, of course, is just a side business. Doesn’t make nearly as much money.”

For his sake, she quirked a lip at that even though her face felt heavy with woe, her eyes tired, her uncertainty making her hands shaky as she went to take a bite of her own burger. Extra mustard, hold the pickles. He’d ordered for her.

“Do you think at all about dying nowadays?”

The question left her gagging on her bite, one of her hands coming to her mouth while she forced herself to chew, swallow, find words. Before she could speak, he smiled to himself at her response, admitted, “I didn’t mean to make you choke.”

Embarrassed, she defended, “It was an abrupt change of subject.”

“We can’t lie as though it wasn’t on our minds.”

She took a deep breath, said, “No, we can’t.”

“With the cancer and all, it must’ve been hard not to think about it,” he said, “but do you ever thinking about it now?”

“About dying?”

He nodded softly, honestly, so she shrugged, offered, “Sometimes, I guess. When we thought Crump-”

“Mister Crump,” Mulder corrected, then took another bite of his burger, Benji’s so-called special sauce leaving a red stain alongside his lips.

“Well, when we though that Mister Crump had been infected with something bacterial,” she repeated, “I thought about dying.”

“How did it feel?” he asked. “The concept, I mean. The thought of it all.”

She weighed her words, gave, “Horrifying. Uncomfortable. But in the end, your only option is acceptance.”

“It’s not your only option,” he said. “You could be kicking and screaming until the very end, right until that profound plug is pulled. You’d don’t need to accept a thing.”

“You need to accept it if you want peace of mind.”

“Who cares about peace of mind?” he asked. “If you’re going to be dead, then why does it matter?”

And to that, she had no response, so she stared down at her lap, the fries in her basket going cold, a sedan driving past at a speed that deserved a ticket. Uncomfortably, he shifted his weight, finished off his meal, kept his eyes down.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being an ass.”

“You had a rough day.”

“He didn’t deserve to die, Scully.”

“Does anyone?”

Humorlessly, he laughed.

“You don’t want to know my answer to that,” he admitted, meeting her eyes.

She stuck a cold, unsatisfying fry into her mouth and wondered where they would stay tonight as she chewed.

“I just think that today’s injustices were avoidable,” he said, unbuttoning two buttons on his shirt and ruffling his - dirty, she might add - hands through his hair. “You said that everyone in that home area was dead. There’s no way a government can rationalize that.”

“A government can rationalize anything,” she mumbled as he chose not to listen.

“How many more people have to die, Scully?” he asked. “How many more innocent civilians have to get in the way before someone, anyone, realizes that this is unjust?”

“You’re assuming they don’t already realize that this is unjust.”

“I can’t keep doing this anymore, talking to rednecks about their beets and pretending I’m making a difference,” he said softly. “There’s so much more out there, so much more I could be doing.”

“We’ll find our way back to cases like this,” she assured, bringing her palm to rest on his leg. “We’ll solve x-files again. We’ll be able to help again.”

“But what have the x-files done for either of us?” he asked, his tone stark. “They caused your abduction, your cancer. They’ve attacked our families, and for what, Scully? For next to nothing. If we do something, people die. If we don’t do something, people die. There’s no way out of this.”

As Jim Croce crooned hazily through the teens’ radio, she folded her hands on her lap, swallowed hard. Though she wanted to offer something, to say that everything would be fine and that no one would ever die again and that the world, though he had never been able to see it in such a way, was, at its depths, a good place, she couldn’t offer any of that without knowing her statements would be lies. Breathing in, she closed her eyes, felt the soft touch of a breeze, could smell the sweat and grime heavy on his skin; when she thought of their flight home in the morning, of the inevitable meeting with Kersh, her heart began to race, so she pushed those thoughts away, forced herself to find something that would comfort him. Her search for a greasy spoon had failed; her consolation efforts were nonexistent; though she thought she knew him better than anyone else did, she still couldn’t find words to take his mind from the injustices of the universe. The injustices of men, she corrected herself. The injustices of the world were mauled animal corpses left to rot in the savannah; the injustices of men were a slew of deceased bodies as a product of government experiments.

Opening her eyes, she reached out, took his sticky hand in hers, entwined her little fingers between his thick, calloused ones. The sky was fading to darker tones, and by now, she knew he needed somewhere to rest and wash, but she still searched for something to say, some little compliment or inside joke or anything else that would bloom a smile of his, but her search continued to be fruitless.

“You’re pensive,” he said with a dry laugh, but she could hear a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Softly, he curled his fingers against hers, so she sucked her lips into a smile, spoke the first words that came to mind.

“Some of my best memories are with you,” she said, the compliment absent-minded and unrelated, but as she looked up, she saw the stunned look on his face, the deep blue-grey of his eyes, the way he looked at her as though everything else had momentarily faded away, leaving only her dry and freckled face in its wake. With sauce still on his cheek, he was messy and unshowered and himself, and she wanted to curl her arms around him and reassure herself that, even though death seemed to follow them wherever they went, it had yet to touch them and that that was a good thing.

Glancing down and breaking their eye contact, he smiled toward his shoes, said, “Let’s go find a hotel, Scully.”

Exhaling, she nodded, said, “Somewhere nice.”

“On the bureau card?

She gave him a look, said, “We’ll call it repayment for the talking-to Kersh’ll give us in Washington.”

Smiling, he stood, pulled her up as well. She picked up her heels and dangled them from her open hand while he led her back toward the car, but before he could go around to the passenger’s side, before he let go of her hand, he added, “Scully?”

She hummed a response, looked up at him with new perspective; she so rarely stood next to him flat-footed, so the positioning reminded her of the moment when he’d held her in the hospital after Penny Northern had died, of how warm and alive he’d felt alongside her dying body. Absently, she wondered how his arms would feel now, California nighttime surrounding them, unrighteous death behind them and personal anger ahead.

Looking down, he admitted, “Most of my best memories are with you too.”

Then, he ducked over to his side of the car, and as she opened her own car door, as she slid her shoes back on, she didn’t realize that she’d begun to smile.

#food //#how do you spell kersh #messages #my apologies #this is an instance of 'wow i hate this but if i don't post it i'll hate myself'#what are tenses?????????????#what is dialog #what's a plot #what's california #what's proper grammar #my writing

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shewantedtobeasecretgirl · 6 years

Text

7. Bass is heavy a.k.a. useful finger techniques, Dee Dee Ramone’s yelling and helpful octopuses

„Damn, I forgot Sly and Ethel in the van!” she groans and slaps on her forehead.

“No problem, I bring them with the next round.” Scully offers and disappears in the hallway that leads to the backdoor. I have no idea who Sly and Ethel can be but I don’t want to know it either… Now that she’s been left alone she tries to push the carriage trolley with the amps to its place on the stage. With little success. But her fight with the gear twice as heavy as her reminds me of a scene.

“Old woman!” I call her.

“Man!” she corrects me still pressing against the load at full strength. Okay, she passed the test again but that’s not a big deal, Monty Python’s Holy Grail basically became a mainstream movie by now, anybody could quote a few scenes from it. Okay, not everyone, none of my former girlfriends was familiar with absurd humor and neither is Amber. I got her to watch it with me but I gave up the mission and turned off the video recorder when she asked for the third time how much time was left of it. It’s just not for her.

“Okay, Dennis, where’s my cow?” I inquire while I’m helping her win the battle; otherwise hours later, the amps would still stand in the middle of the stage and our crowd would enjoy her hopeless struggle instead of the show.

“Are you deaf? Or just concentration problems?” she asks harshly, avoiding my glance and trying to ignore my intervention but her rush moves uncover the surprise she might feel about it.

“Hey, it’s not easy to talk with you, do you know? I asked you about something, I even emphasized my lack of information using a different tone, in grammar text books you can find the encyclopedic explanation in chapter “Question”.” I draw a question mark with my index finger in the air. “The next communication panel is the so-called “answer” in which you satisfy my need for details…” I gesture the quotation marks too.

“I won’t satisfy you in any way, excuse me…” she cuts me off and even tosses me away a bit as she steps dynamically to the monitor board to plug the cables into it.

“I’m just trying to ask where’s my…” I don’t need to finish the sentence since Scully arrives back with Dave’s stage prop, holding my cow under his arm.

“And I was trying to refer to the fact that we take care of Ethel and Sly.” she nods at the two mascots.

“Ethel?” I blurt out frowning. This chick isn’t sane, she was serious about searching for a name for it… “Since when has she been called Ethel?”

“Actually her name has always been Ethel, you’ve just never asked her about it.” she fixes her glasses with a wiseacre face. “She was quite unhappy, did you know that? I caught her searching for numbers of slaughterhouses in the phonebook as she wanted to volunteer to be a steak ingredient, no wonder knowing you. But when I told her we were traveling to Texas soon she immediately changed her mind. Now she wants to be the spokesperson of the anti-rodeo movement. A little care makes wonders.”

Her fantasy is quite intense, I have to admit.

“So you’re obsessed with stuffed animals?” I ask leaning against my Marshall and watch her wiring the stage with quick moves.

“…asks the guy who keeps one on his amplifier…” she mumbles darting at me for a second and raising one eyebrow. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are you supervising me or what? As far as I know I’m an unbearable person who makes the others admire her and uses her family ties…”

Nice attempt but not enough to distract me.

“…and who told, ahem, yelled at me that I should get to know her better, that’s what I’m trying to do right now.” I continue the sentence. “So tell me, Judith, how many stuffed animals do you have exactly? I bet there are a few ones in your bedroom… my first estimation would be somewhere between five and ten.”

“Oh yeah, my bedroom. Damn, you’ve got me… First of all there’s that huge teddy sitting on my bed, how did you figure it out? Then there’s the bunny in the armchair, the cute seal on my desk and my stuffed pony and unicorn collection, I gave up counting them a few years ago. And I have to mention that everything in the room is very pink and very fluffy. Do I meet the profile you created about me?” she bats her eyelashes.

Clever, but not clever enough to drive me to the wall.

“Actually, when I asked you about stuffed animals I was talking about stuffed animals. Like, dead animals which are stuffed. I mean, I could totally imagine a few stuffed bats, snakes and rats hanged on your shelves full of mysterious ingredients for occult purposes. Candles arranged on the points of a huge pentagram, right next to the coffin-shaped bed…”

“You left out the voodoo dolls. I have a bunch of them, the latest one I prepared wears denim pants and a Luv Co shirt tucked into them…” she approaches threatening me with a jack plug and for one second I think she’s about to stick it into my eyeball but in the last moment she changes direction and plugs it into the matching slot of the amp. I acknowledge, she didn’t need much time to know her way around our gear… But come on, even a chimpanzee can be trained how to put different solids into the right holes, she’s on the level of an average lab monkey. “But how come I turned from a nun into a witch in one single day? You’re pretty much inconsistent at insulting, Gossard…”

That makes sense. I open my mouth to cite the witch hunt scene from the mentioned movie but Scully intervenes in our conversation.

“Guys, if you go on like this I’ll claim payrise from Eric…”

“For what? How do you mean it?” she turns in his direction with hands on hips.

“Conflict management bonus.” he shrugs casually. “Seriously, could you just stop for a moment? For just a few seconds, I feel like I was at a fucking dogfight.”

“It was him who started it!” she exclaims outraged pointing at me.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know what she’s talking about.” I play dumb raising my hands in front of me.

“Jesus, you’re hopeless. Forget the stopping part, I just want the money.” Scully shakes his head resigned.

“Money? What money? I don’t know what’s going on here but I want money too.” Smitty enters in the company off Dave, Karrie and Jeff.

“When did everybody get so greedy? Actually, it is you who should pay me for my show, I’m the only one who keeps you entertained in this boring touring life.” I smirk as I begin to tune my orange Les Paul.

“As for me, I prefer boredom by all means.“ she rolls her eyes and begins to flipping through her notebook.

“Hey, Judy, we have a few spare hour after the soundcheck and I thought… I thought we could begin your bass guitar lessons.” Jeff scratches his nape holding his other hand deep in his pocket. Awkward loverboy alert… I pull a few steps away because I’m not interested in this embarrassing lovey-dovey but I also try to stay within earshot. Not that I give a shit about it, it’s just better to keep up with the sequels.

“Sure!” she smiles. “I mean, Karrie, do you have any plans for the rest of the afternoon? If you don’t, we could…”

“Beth wants to do some shopping, I forgot to mention it… so I’m going with her. I wanted to ask you too but I have a mind like a sieve…” Karrie answers suspiciously quickly.

“Oookay, then why not?”

“Your place or mine?” Jeff asks not noticing how ambiguous he sounds.

“Jesus, Jeff, you don’t waste your time, straight to the point…” I throw in, which makes the others stop staring them and suddenly everybody pretends to be busy with their work to hide their grins and snorts.

“There’s that small park near the hotel, what if we go there?” the target person of the courtship tries to ignore my remark but can’t disguise the tremble in her voice.

Clever, again. She picks a neutral place. Cautious enough not to show her closest surrounding and smart enough not to get in awkward situations. I mean, boys’ rooms tend to be quite messy, the mixed smell of sweat and deodorant for men, not to mention the stinky sneakers and boxers left on the bed…

“Great. I’ve already mapped out which things I want to show you first.” Jeff goes on enthusiastically and more awkwardly if it’s possible at all. I see Dave’s shoulders shaking as he kneels behind his bass drum to fake-fix its pedal.

“Let’s begin with the basics, I only learnt the most common chords to be able to play some accompaniment to campfire songs and nursery rhymes.” she insists on keeping the conversation under control but Jeff doesn’t seem to cooperate.

“I can teach you a few useful finger techniques.” he exercises the fingers of his bear paws with sincere innocence in his eyes but at this point everybody cracks up; even his future music student giggles bashfully.

“What’s with everyone?” he looks around confused. “What’s so funny?”

“You should… have… heard yourself...” Scully hiccups as he and Smitty collapse of uncontrollable laughter onto each other’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah. That conversation was… juicy.” Dave adds winking and doing unmistakable moves with his hips and arms.

“Oh fff…” Jeff buries his face into his palms replaying the scene in his head. Dave steps to him to pat his shoulders a few times.

“You know what, Ames? You shouldn’t talk so much about what you’re going to do. Just… do it.”

***

“So what’s your plan with that skateboard?” Judy asks while we’re walking in the park searching for a remote place. She hasn’t come up with that awkward conversation yet and I can’t be grateful enough to her for that. I don’t know what happened to me, usually I’m not that clueless type… I was probably way too much focused on the possible outcome of this day. If can I stick to my plan, I’m going to ask her out in like one hour and I have absolutely no idea what she might answer and that drives me crazy. Cool down, Ament, don’t act like a junior high school student before his first prom…

“Uhm… I know it sounds surprising but I thought I could skateboard here…” Aaaand in the category of meaningless answers, the Oscar goes to… drumbeat… Jeffrey Allen Ament, Big Sandy, Montana!!! “Plus, I thought if being a qualified musician, you found the class boring, we could spice it up with some physical challenges… like… you should play bass lines while rolling and balancing on this skateboard. And if it was still a piece of cake for you we could search for a skate park with half pipes and you could even do somersaults and flips.”

“I don’t know… I’m not an athletic type… I’ve only tried to ride a scooter once in my life. Mary Sue Kellerman, my classmate lent me hers on the playground when we were second graders. She explained and showed me how to do it but somehow I didn’t feel the technique, I stepped on it, drove it a few times and enjoyed the speed so much that I forgot to drive it again.” she giggles.

“And… what happened?”

“Seeing I was slowing down she yelled after me like ”Drive, drive!” but I felt paralyzed, I pulled up gradually and ended up tumbling from a standing position…”

“Poor you! But my first skateboarding attempts weren’t glorious either and I still collect a few injuries when I decide to learn a new trick. But I fell in love with it at first… try, and I never want to give it up.”

“You could be a cool, skateboarding grandpa who shocks the youth!”

We find a calm, trellis-like corner and settle down still discussing the same topic. Unlike most girls I know, she doesn’t mind it at all and when I tell her how my father convinced me to build my own skateboard instead of buying that expensive Stacy Peralta board, she turns out to know him. I can’t believe my ears when she mentions Tony Alva too, I mean, who’s this girl?

“And how did you pick up how to play the guitar?” she nods towards the bass on my lap.

“Believe or not I took a few lessons… But they were boring, at least for me, no chords, no songs, only scales…”

“Scales are important!” she corrects me. I always forget that she’s pretty conscious as for music which isn’t typical at all in the band.

“What can I say… I grew up listening to my uncle’s records and as I could spare some money I spent all of it on ordering music magazines and vinyls. And when I started playing bass I figured out how to use my stereo vinyl player to learn Dee Dee Ramone’s parts.”

“I love them!” she exclaims.

“Really? I mean, you know a lot about music and punk songs aren’t very sophisticated concerning the musical part…”

“But that’s the best in punk. Even if you’re not very talented technically you still can play a bunch of songs… or if you can’t, you can still reproduce Dee Dee Ramone’s totally out-of-rhythm “one-two-three-four” yelling. And most punk songs operate with the classic scale degrees. Ramones also use the holy trinity of tonic, subdominant and dominant like the greatest composers before them and…” she jabbers enthusiastically without breathing.

“Waitwaitwait, stop! I don’t have the faintest clue what you’re talking about, if you want to analyze my favorite songs to me you have to go back to Genesis to make it understandable for this Montanan jerk!” I cut her off chuckling.

“Do you mean the Old Testament or the band?” she grins. “Anyway, it’s very simple, look.”

She grabs the instrument out of my lap, disposes it onto hers and strums all strings one after another.

“Normal basses are tuned like double basses, right?“ To my nodding she names them. “E, A, D, G. So, let’s take Blitzkrieg Bop which is written in A major.” She plays the bass line of the mentioned song flawlessly and explains its chord progression in the meantime. I listen to her with dropped jaw and when she falls silent for a second, I take my bass quickly back.

“Okay, the lesson is over, excuse me but I have to go and bury myself alive.” I remark trying to keep a straight face.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t want to sound like a nerd or show off with my theoretical knowledge, I…”

“You don’t have to apologize for amazing me! But now it’s my turn to amaze you… Do you like graffiti?”

“I don’t know… I’m ambivalent… there are a few ones which look good and are also meaningful but if someone destroys a clear wall with stupid scrawls…” she frowns.

Oh. That’s not a good sign… Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…

“I prefer the creative ones too, such as my friend from the art school. He studied photography and spent his last years with shooting the best graffiti he’s seen all across the country and Canada and his exhibition opens on Thursday in Boston. And since we have a day off right that day, right there, I thought you could join.” I utter fast with one big breath. She stares me silently for a few seconds which seem like an eternity.

“ ’Course. Cool.” she answers briefly as if she was declaring something evident. I don’t have too much time to process the positive reception since she begins to roll my skateboard back and forth with her foot.

“Your introduction made me curious, I want to try this diabolical device.”

“Haha, okay, but only if I can walk next to you, you may need a handhold.”

She steps onto the board and she rolls cautiously on the path where we got here in a few minutes. She’s too busy with balancing to notice the rest of the band approaching from the gate.

“Hey Jeff, a suspicious woman is trying to steal your baby!” Eddie shouts.

“Look, guys I’m skateboaaaaaa…” she has to circle with her arms a few times and grab my shoulder to prevent herself from tumbling.

“Carefully, Judy. You should try surfing, it improves sense of balance and falling in water is safer than concrete.” Ed recommends.

“Say yes, if you don’t want to be fired…” Mike whisper-shouts hiding his face with one hand from Eddie preventing him from hearing it, which is obviously totally unnecessary.

“I’m not a big swimmer, so…” she shrugs apologetically.

“Anyway, did Jeff force you to try it? You can answer by signaling with your eyelids…” Mike jokes on.

“No, she just turned out to be a way better bass player than me. So I’ll quit the band and she’s begun to practice before she has to take over all of my tasks.”

“Ah, I see. Judy, I warn you, you’ll have to slam-dance with me. You should gain some weight, I don’t want to kill you…”

“Ed’s right. I’m going to slap you in the face with the guitar neck a few times… I mean literally… but no offense, you can hit back anytime you want or you can land on my foot after jumps from the monitor box like Jeff does…”

Judy wrinkles her nose as she tries to follow the relay of jokes. Stone – who has stayed silent until now – flashes an evil grin and clears his throat. The well-known first signs of his moronic verbal diarrhea.

“Guys, you forgot to prepare her for the most important circumstances. But that’s why I am the band leader… Judith, you have to do some shopping. The polyester basketball shirts are essential parts of our stage look, we can’t allow ourselves losing them just because Jeff quits. And the hats… that’s a more difficult question, they look quite… unique… so I don’t think you have any other choice than borrow them. Do you have sensitive scalp? Because… nevermind, I can lend you a few bandanas to make it more hygienic. Oh, and at certain points of the shows you’ll have to strip. Jeff often drops his shirt and plays on half-naked as you could already see it, you can’t break this tradition. But you also have to keep the hat on your head, don’t ask me why, that’s the rule.”

I sway my guitar case pretending I want to hit him and in the meantime I bite my lower lip to repress my grin. Stone is an idiot but sometimes he has good ideas… I mean obviously I can relate to that plot if I can be in the crowd… Jesus, when did I become such a sexist? I’ve just asked the poor girl out and… I’d better take a cold shower.

***

“And can we see you on TV on Saturday?” I ask rolling the film with my finger back and forth on the table. When Judy called me I was selecting pictures I want to show to Krisha as reference works and I found a few ones which I have to have developed.

“Nah, I don’t think so. We’re going to be with the guys in the studio but we’re not going to be filmed with the cameras. I think Karrie and Brett will have to work with the sound staff in the control room and I… I don’t know yet, if they let me in too I’ll just watch them like a useless idiot… which I am…”

“Control room? Wow, that sounds like a sci-fi, I can totally imagine the Star Trek characters there…” I deliberately ignore her low self-esteem-powered remark. “I’ve also seen in the previews that Sharon Stone would host the show, that’s an interesting combination…”

“Yep, Eric mentioned the creators wanted a funny scene or spot with her and the band but I don’t know if they can find a common ground. They only want to play music and aren’t interested in show business at all.”

“Maybe they want to gag with their physical appearance. Like, Sharon is tall and her legs are unrealistically long whereas Eddie is short so the screenwriters may figure out a joke about him being able to walk between her legs without bowing his head.” I guess as I start rummaging the photo heaps in front of me.

“Haha, you’re evil! You have no right to joke about Ed’s height, you’re a dwarf just like me…”

“But dwarf jokes are the best ones, you have to admit it. And… what are your plans until Saturday? Have you used the tape recorder yet?”

“Noooo…”

“You’re unbelievable, I’ve said you should…”

“…borrow a guitar, I know. Uhm, yesterday Jeff gave me a bass lesson, does that count?”

“Mmmmh, Jeff Ament?” I ask meaningfully. Since Judy joined the staff I played with the idea of them getting together, he seems to match her.

“No, Jeff Goldblum… of course Jeff Ament, who else? And he also let me ride his skateboard.”

“He let you ride his skateboard? That’s how you call it? It’s that a new slang or…” I cackle.

“Shut up, I meant it literally. No slang, no obscene details.” she cuts me off severely. So typical, usually she isn’t against sex related jokes but when actual guys around her come into play, she suddenly turns into a prude spinster.

“Okay, okay, I was just kidding. I’m just surprised, you haven’t mentioned yet you two spend time alone.” Actually I’m happy for these news, not only because I think they’d click but also because in the first ten minutes of our conversation she was cursing Stone Gossard. And even if only the half of what she claimed is true, I can’t blame her; the dude must be quite obnoxious. But still, she barely mentions anyone else from the band and I’m afraid if she goes on like this, these negative feelings will spoil her tour. “And how went the skateboarding? Did you collect a few bruises?”

“Haha, not yet. I didn’t try any tricks and I was probably quite clumsy but he kept encouraging me, he’s a nice guy. And ah, as for plans, he asked me whether I want to go to the photo exhibition of his friend in Boston. The guy invited them and Jeff asked me to join too.”

“That sounds great! And what kind of photos?”

“Photos of interesting graffiti. Jeff used to draw graffiti as well, did you know that? He told me a lot about himself but not in that annoying way when one is talking and talking and isn’t interested in the listener at all… this and the fact Eric defended me and they even gave me a cake… and that Jeff invited me with the bunch… make me feel they really accepted me as a member of the crew… and… oh, shit, I have to go, we have to set off for the show! Kisses for Mom and Granny!”

“Bye, take care of…” It’s needless to finish the sentence since she hung up in the meantime.

A few minutes later, I can hear the key turning in the lock and Mom literally falls in the apartment with her heavy shopping bags.

“You should have knocked, I would have helped you if you had asked me…” I shake my head and collect the apples and small cans which rolled everywhere on the ground.

“If I can give injection to Mrs. Mueller while she’s yelling at me calling me Gestapo’s slut, I can do everything…”

“Your foundation should employ octopuses, they are strong, can use their legs independently and are good listeners. And some of your clients wouldn’t even wonder if one crawled into their home…”

“That’s sure. I ask the opinion of my boss about it.” she settles to the table staring exhausted in front of herself.

“Anyway, you’ve just missed Judy’s call.”

“Damn… I wanted to hear her voice, I literally tossed Mrs. Muller into her bed to finish earlier…”

“Unfortunately you can’t see her either… I asked her about Saturday Night Live and we won’t see her in the show… But we still could watch it together, I would show you the guys and tell everything I’ve heard about them from her. We could make some popcorn and…”

“Oh, sweetie, haven’t I mentioned yet? I… I have to work…” she suddenly gets embarrassed.

“What? In the evening? On Saturday? By the time the show begins your clients are already sleeping the sleep of the just.” I complain.

“I know, but… there’s a former colleague from the hospital who works now in a nursing home. A few nurses quitted and I thought we could use the extra money so she recommended me to her boss as an occasional substitute nurse. And I begin on Saturday.”

Great. Since when have we concealed things like this from each other? I thought we could finally have a mother-daughter evening when she didn’t talk only about the insufferable old terrorists and didn’t pass out of exhaust right after dinner… she should finally relax and I need her company too, since Judy left I’ve felt like a lonely prisoner. And that’s more important than money, we don’t starve and if I got a few jobs I could contribute to our budget too, I wouldn’t be the cripple anymore who costs them a lot.

“And why didn’t you tell me that? Is it a secret or what?”

“Effie, honey, stop pouting, please. You can record it to me and we can watch it on Sunday. And I won’t even say a word if you stop it at every single shot, I’m going to listen to every single detail about these jam boys, I promise.”

“Mmmkay…” I mutter. I don’t like this patronizing voice, I’m not a toddler, I just want her to be honest with me.

“And what are you doing? Selecting pictures?”

“Yes… nothing particular…”

If she doesn’t tell me everything, why should I, right?

#pearljam #fanfiction #fanfic #I'm too tired to proofread it properly #sorry #pearl jam #pearljamfanfic #eddie vedder #stone gossard #mike mccready #jeff ament #dave abbruzzese

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Small considerations between partners - 8 ‘Playing with fire’

PLAYING WITH FIRE - Season seven. A few weeks post ‘All Things’ Mulder POV

It’s funny how we can see a person every day and not truly know what’s going on with them. We can walk side by side for month upon endless month sharing space and time as we laugh together, cry together, and eat lunch together. We can go for the occasional beer together to help wipe away the rigours of another day and sometimes, if we are extraordinarily lucky, we are able look into the face of that same person both last thing at night and first thing in the morning.

But despite all this, we don’t always see the bigger picture.

Especially when the person is so damn adept at hiding things and especially when that person is Scully.

She’s always hidden things from me of course, I accepted that as being a part of her complex personality a very long time ago – especially since I suspect that she learned much of the evasion technique from me.

Oh yes. Team Spooky are very adept at hiding our true feelings as we barricade ourselves behind walls of our own making.

It’s just how things are.

But occasionally, the walls crumble just a little, widening a miniscule crack in the bricks and mortar which enables me to catch a glimpse of Scully’s innermost thoughts; her hopes; her fears.

Just like I did earlier today.

Right now I’m lying on my back, staring at the patterns that the trees outside throw on the ceiling above, carefully not moving too much lest I disturb the woman who is sleeping beside me, clinging to me with hands that haven’t relaxed their hold on me even when she finally closed her eyes. She hasn’t been asleep for very long and I know that sleep was a hard fought battle for her tonight, but I knew enough not to question her right then. Instead I emotionally backed right off and swallowed down my concerns, feigning sleep so she was able to finally press her body against me and really, it was the only thing I could think to do. Because, as the shadows lengthened on the ceiling, I kept turning my head to check she was ok. And each time, despite her best efforts, I caught a glimpse of those china blue eyes staring back at me before she slammed them shut.

I didn’t push the issue though.

If she needed to retreat from me it was fine because she needs to rest and I don’t much care how she achieves it, just so long as she does, so I have tried as best I can to act as though I hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong.

We had arrived back at my apartment when it was still relatively early in the evening and since we’d both pretended to eat on the plane, I suggested a movie complete with beer and popcorn. We drank the beer as we both watched a movie that neither of us really saw but the bowl of popcorn remained untouched as I studied her surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye, carefully not turning my head in her direction, unsurprised that she remained staring stubbornly at the screen, refusing to look my way even though she knew I was watching her. Afraid of what her face would reveal to me; of what it would affirm and even though we’ve been here too many times - hiding from each other that is - we don’t really know how to get past it; not even now we have finally crossed that elusive line that kept us from taking our friendship and making it so much more than I ever dared hope it could be.

So instead of speaking, I rested my arm across the back of the couch, just allowing it to brush her shoulders and felt her lean back to make contact before I pulled her towards me, tucking her body against mine as I tried, with gentle caresses to soothe the tension from her.

To a certain extent it worked although she responded to my touch in a way I hadn’t really expected, her sense of urgency building as she sought to lose herself for a while.

We made love of course, because the sensation of being with Scully is still new enough for me lose myself right along with her. But later, as we lay sated and spent, wrapped up in each other, it was clear that not only was the tension back, but she has built those walls up quicktime, and even though I needed to question her on what exactly had happened earlier today, I didn’t; because I know better than to insist. To insist would be to not only slam the door, but to double lock it and post a heavily armed guard outside.

I was therefore relieved when she finally slipped into a troubled sleep because it allowed me to rest also, to allow myself to try to make sense of exactly what it was I saw in her earlier today.

We’d both come to the end of a long and difficult case. Physically and emotionally draining for the both of us as we tracked a serial killer who got his ya yas from slicing up young women and writing proclamations of faith on the walls of their apartments using the congealing blood he had carefully harvested from their broken bodies as they died.

The murders were grisly.

Horrific.

Senseless.

They took their toll on the both of us as we sought to unravel the horrorshow that resided inside his head, but ultimately, the profiling had been the easy part. What was harder to reconcile was the sight of those women – the youngest being just 17 years old – bloodied and defiled and yet so innocent. It will stay with me for a very long time I think.

With the help of our profile though, he was eventually tracked him down to a rundown two room apartment just north of the city. The bright lights and opulence of New York seemed a million miles away from the near hovel we eventually found ourselves in.

But despite meticulous planning, we initially thought we had failed – although in a sense we had I think.

The apartment appeared, on first glance, to be empty, no furniture, no apparent personal effects of any kind, but as the cry of surprise reached us from the bathroom, we knew.

We both knew that it was over.

The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was dingy and in dire need of redecoration and renovation. But just for a moment, I was struck by how beautiful the countless flickering candles were as their golden glow hitting the tiled walls softened the grisly scene before us.

How they illuminated the sight of The Reverend Terrance Mosely; a monster who had used his position to gain trust, to hide in plain sight of his victims, playing well his part of the kindly priest who, unbeknown to those around him, burned with an ungodly desire to maim, to kill and to defile; a travesty of all that makes us human, he would, even in death, no doubt blight those connected with his victims for many decades to come.

For them there would never be justice, because by killing himself, he had taken that away from them too.

For once, I didn’t need my partner’s medical degree to ascertain a cause of death. The deep, open cuts evident on both arms, stretching from just above the palm to the crook of the elbow, following the arterial paths made for an easy assumption.

And a final message written on the tiles above the bath although God only knows how he managed to remain conscious for long enough to write it.

For my sins I die like the lamb

And that was that.

Case closed.

Nothing more to learn here.

Until I glanced up and saw the look on Scully’s face.

Because she wasn’t seeing any of this.

Not the body, not the blood on the walls, the floor, the fucking ceiling.

None of it.

All she saw were those flickering flames.

And I swear, as I watched the colour literally drain from her face, that she was about to collapse against the wall and wind up in an ungainly heap on the floor; my beautiful, strong, capable partner, jostling for space on the cracked linoleum with the body of a serial killer.

With a monster.

Because with a blinding flash of clarity I realised that she was somewhere else entirely; with a different monster, sure, but one that was no less evil.

Candles; Lit by Donnie Pfaster as a backdrop to his perverted need to capture Scully - the one that got away.

“Scully”

My voice was sharp, urgent, because I needed to get her back before anyone else noticed.

And it was enough. Just.

Her voice surprisingly steady as she backed out of the room refusing to meet my eyes.

“I need some air.”

And then she was gone, leaving me crouching on the floor as I stared at her retreating form; hearing the door slam as she exited the apartment and straining my ears to the sound of her footsteps that went from walking to running in the blink of an eye.

Running away from the memories of him, from memories I truly thought she had laid to rest.

And I remained there for a while even though I wasn’t needed; the case was closed. The killer was dead. The good citizens of New York could tonight, sleep easily in their beds. But I stayed because I knew if I didn’t, I would have to run after her. And I knew she wouldn’t want that. So I stayed. For maybe thirty minutes until the CSI boys arrived and started taking their happy snaps of the body.

Eventually though I left; safe in the knowledge that we had once again fought the good fight and won the day. Only this time any sense of achievement had been blown right out of my head by that look of horror on Scully’s face.

Because I had thought she was over it, had thought she was over him.

How could I have been so fucking blind?

And now, as she sleeps beside me, her beautiful face suffused in that peculiar blue light of night time I am wracked with guilt that I hadn’t noticed. But at the same time I know that like me, Scully allows me only scant access to her innermost thoughts and feelings.

That she will allow me access only on her terms.

But this time, I know that there can be no arguments. No excuses.

She can’t live with the inhuman monster that was Donnie Pfaster residing inside her head.

I won’t let her, I just can’t; and even as she begins to whimper beside me, the sound only stilling when I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close, I am already formulating a plan, one which will maybe, just maybe, drive the destructive memories of that bastard out of her.

XXXXXXXXX

I had casually dropped the invitation upon her right at the end of our day; a day where every bit of the previous night’s unrest had been clearly displayed on my partner’s face as we waded through the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated during our time away from the office, her complexion pinched and white and guarded; so fucking guarded it was painful at times to even look at her.

So Scully, I’m thinking you and me. My place tonight. Your choice of movie. Bottle of expensive imported beer....I could even cook...

She snorted in a fairly inelegant way in response to my words and I had to concede that she did have a point because my idea of wining and dining usually comprises an offer of a warm beer and a slice of reheated pizza, so as a concession I instead promised Geranios, delivered piping hot to my door courtesy of Alexandria’s premier Italian eatery and takeout service.

Okay, how about I let Geranio cook and I’ll just warm the plates?

And I knew immediately that I had won because despite Scully being on a perpetual and, in my opinion, unnecessary diet, she is a slave to pasta and even if she wouldn’t dream of ordering it for herself, if you slap it on a plate in front of her and dump a creamy sauce on it, she is powerless to resist. Easy as that.

Now though, as the clock on my wall is inching ever closer to seven o’clock, I have to confess to feeling just a little uneasy about this whole thing because I’m just not very skilled at this kind of stuff. Thus far in our seven year history, my version of surprising Scully has been to not ditch her when she was expecting me to and as I blow softly on the burning taper I hold in my hand, extinguishing the flame, I can’t help wondering if I’m doing the right thing.

Playing with fire is one thing but potentially burning her is something else altogether.

It’s way too late to second guess myself now though, especially because, if I know Scully, she will be a little early - It’s part of her need to keep a tight control on things- an aspect of her personality that occasionally annoys me but mostly just makes me smile because the woman hates to be late.

I cross to the bedroom where I hastily slide my arms into freshly laundered shirt, buttoning it quickly; my hair still slightly damp from the shower but there is no time left now to dry it properly and Scully will probably lecture me on walking around with wet hair. Or maybe she won’t; because after tonight she might be so pissed off with me that she will no longer care. It’s a sobering thought and one which I try hard to put to the back of my mind because she will understand that this is all being done with the best of intentions.

Or at least I hope she does.

Whether she will thank me for them is another matter though.

Scully is, and always has been, an intensely private person; even now with the intimate relationship we share and I am uncomfortably aware that not only am I crossing the line with what I’m doing here tonight, I’m dropping the fucking H Bomb on it.

And as I hear the sound of her knuckles rapping softly on the hardwood door that leads to my apartment, for just the merest second I wish I hadn’t done this, or that at the very least, I had made some effort to discuss it with her first.

I think maybe six weeks ago it wouldn’t matter the way it does now. Six weeks ago we hadn’t taken that final step that changed everything and there’s a part of me that is afraid that Scully will see my interference as a kind of ownership.

That I now feel like I have a right to mess with her mind.

But it’s done now. I can’t change it.

So I go to the door and open it. Not so wide that she can see beyond me, but wide enough to not make her feel like I was expecting her to shove a copy of ‘The Watch Tower’ in my face. And the sight of her almost knocks me square on my ass.

She looks beautiful.

I mean, really beautiful.

She’s wearing an outfit I’ve never seen before. Whether it’s a new purchase, maybe bought specially, or one she has simply pulled together for the evening, there is no denying that she looks amazing.

For a start it’s not black

Black has become Scully’s trademark colour of choice and I hate it with a passion because not only does it succeed admirably in draining every bit of colour from her face, it’s kind of a non-colour. A colour to hide behind and she shouldn’t always feel like she has to hide.

But tonight, she has ditched the black.

The shirt she is wearing – made from a material I don’t immediately recognise – is almost sheer enough to see right through although there must be some kind of double layer sewn into the bodice because it’s an optical illusion in that it looks like it should be sheer but it isn’t. It also doesn’t appear to have fastenings of any kind and just flows down from her shoulders before crossing over her smooth midriff where, I’m guessing, it ties at the back maybe?

The colour on her is breathtaking even though colours don’t always have much impact on me, especially being that my brain doesn’t always process them all that well, but it’s fair to say that it seems to be doing okay with this one.

It’s a soft blue, powder blue I guess; a colour I can’t remember ever seeing her wear and it has given a depth to her eyes that I’ve rarely seen, the blue of the material reflecting back at me and giving them an intensity that quite literally takes my breath away.

Complimenting that beautiful shirt is a pair of grey slacks made from a similar material I think. They hang off her small frame, dropping gracefully, un-creased and unblemished to just skim the toes of her shoes which peek out from beneath. Elegant in their simplicity and so damn feminine I could cry.

Scully normally shies away from anything that actually brings attention to the fact that she is indeed female and I know the job has a lot to do with it because even in these enlightened times, being a woman in the Bureau is never easy.

Being a woman partnered with a crackpot who believed his sister was abducted by little green men.....well, I guess that makes it just that much harder.

In the early days of our partnership, she would sometimes pair a suit with a less tailored shirt, even a necklace, but those days are gone and while there is no denying that her wardrobe is infinitely professional, when she reduced her daily palette to stark monochrome it made me kind of sad.

But tonight, it is all too obvious that she has taken a tremendous amount of trouble and effort with her appearance. That for once she has dropped her armour just a little.

For me.

And I feel dry-mouthed with a sudden realisation that I might have seriously fucked up.

“You look nice” I finally manage.

I can’t think of anything else to say, but luckily, Scully isn’t phased - hell, she’s probably amazed I even noticed - and she rewards me with a smile that lights up her face. It’s a smile I don’t get too often from her but when I do it mentally floors me.

Oh yeah. I have seriously fucked up.

I’m tempted to just grab her arm and take her down the corridor, into the elevator and right the hell out of the building.

Cowardly? Oh yeah.

Useful? Hell no.

So instead, I step aside to allow her entry.

I think if she wasn’t slightly distracted when she entered, she would have taken one look at my handiwork and refused to cross the threshold. But by the time she noticed, it was too late and I feel like the biggest shit in the world when I close the door behind her and she suddenly freezes as realisation kicks in.

I don’t need to look at her face to know how she looks right now. I saw it yesterday. Like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding car. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

I take her arm, careful to keep my touch soft and light, circling my thumb against the material of that beautiful shirt, just making slight contact with the skin beneath it. It’s meant to reassure her but I have barely even begun before I feel her tense. Her whole body suddenly stills, just for a moment.

Then she rounds on me, tearing her arm away from my touch and the transformation is so fast, so complete, that I take a step back away from her.

“What the hell is this Mulder?”

Her voice is harsh and strained with a definite edge of panic to it voice that she tries unsuccessfully to hide.

A panic brought about by the sight of scores of lighted candles, their flickering flames dancing and reflecting off every surface of the room.

“Huh?”

I force myself to play it cool and momentarily, her expression becomes uncertain because she knows, even through her fear, that her reaction is completely inappropriate to the moment; that any other woman confronted by a darkened apartment suffused with the golden light of a hundred candles would be captivated.

Enchanted even.

Hell, it’s the stuff of which trashy romance novels are supposedly made.

And I should know. My Mother spent much of my childhood reading them.

Her eyes are shimmering with tears; as yet unshed they make her eyes look huge. And she knows. She knows now with certainty that I’ve found a weak spot she has tried so hard to hide from me. And she has that exact same expression of shame I remember from so many years ago.

I’m fine Mulder......just help me get my wrists untied....

She won’t look at me. So, flying by the seat of my pants, I do the only thing that seems to make sense to me at that moment. I reach out towards her and with my index finger, I tip her chin upwards to make her re-connect. But a strategy that worked once fails miserably tonight.

The look on her face is scaring the hell out of me. It’s a combination of intense fear and confused betrayal. And it’s directed at me.

I don’t know what I expected.

But I didn’t expect this.

Because instead of angry Scully I’ve got broken Scully.

I can’t believe I have read this whole situation so badly because I honestly expected anger, maybe even rage; but what I’m actually confronted with is the woman I adore above all else in my life starting to disintegrate, shattering to pieces right in front of me.

I caused this.

I got her to come here under false pretences to face something she isn’t ready to face because I was just arrogant enough to think that I could make it okay.

She is crying now, and even more heartbreaking to me, her weeping is silent, her face registering an equal combination of fear and betrayal as her eyes never leave those flickering flames.

“Scully?”

No response. Nothing.

I reach out uncertainly, tentatively placing my palm against her cheek, the same way I have done a hundred times before.

But she slaps my hand away, silence broken as she begins to scream at me.

Screaming.

Scully is screaming.

A string of profanities that are almost unintelligible in her anger and she throws herself against my chest, beating her small fists against me as though whatever it was that she has kept so tightly coiled inside of her has finally been let loose, her blows punctuated with her anguished cries, rage that spews forth from her in an almost incoherent torrent of words spoken so rapidly they are barely distinguishable from each other.

And I just force myself to stand there and take it, not flinching even when she starts to claw at my neck, my face, her fingers hooked into weapons that drag and pull at my skin, inflicting damage that only equals how she herself was damaged.

Because I sense it’s not me she is seeing.

That she is back in another place, in another time.

The words, the blows, the anger - none of it is directed at me. And while in one sense this whole situation is scaring the living daylights out of me, not least because I have never seen Scully lose control like this before, my instincts tell me that this is what she needs, that this is what I wanted all along right? For her to confront her fears, to let them go.

I don’t know how long the onslaught lasts. But slowly, so slowly, she comes back to me. And with it a gradual realisation of where she is.

Of who I am.

And her hands drop to her sides, fists still tightly clenched as she takes a single shuddering breath.

“Oh God” she whispers and a hand flies to her mouth as she realises what she’s done.

I can feel blood on my face but I’m guessing it probably looks a lot worse than it is.

Just surface wounds.

Hers went a lot deeper.

I daren’t touch her yet because she is shaking like a leaf and I sense that she is holding on by a thread right now and needs to be the one to make the first move.

Surprisingly though, I don’t have to wait long before she steps tentatively forwards and presses herself against me, allowing me to wrap my arms around her as she whimpers against me, her voice barely audible in its frailty..

“Oh God....the candles....I’m so sorry...I don’t know why....I thought you were him..... how could I have thought that Mulder....how could...?”

“It’s okay” I whisper, kissing the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her freshly washed hair as I rest my chin on her crown.

“But I hurt you..”

I hold on to her a little tighter.

“You could never hurt me Scully”

XXXXX

Despite everything, we salvaged at least a part of the evening although we never did get to order from Geranios. Neither one of us was very hungry as it turned out. But after Scully had insisted on cleaning me up and discovered, as I already suspected, that the scratches were mostly superficial, I heated up a can of chicken soup which we ate in the living room, Scully pressed up against me as she held onto my free hand tightly, her pale skin suffused with the golden light that bounced and flickered from the candles she refused to allow me to extinguish even though I wanted to.

End

#Small considerations #Season seven #My fic

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