From: "Emma Baker" Date sent: Mon, 29 Dec 1997 23:07:24 -0600 Subject: Cold Feet (1/1) DISCLAIMER: The characters and situation herein are the property of Fox Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. SUMMARY: Stepping into Mulder's mind during the Antenna Dance of Seduction. RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: V SPOILERS: Home. ARCHIVING: Please archive at Gossamer, using the name "Emma Baker". Please forward to ATXC. A bit of explanation is necessary: Every Monday night on AOL, we have the official Relationshipper Chat. Sometime this summer I began doing "Storytime", which was where I'd peek into the characters' minds during a scene in an episode. I saved this one and some friends (thanks, Lyd and Les) liked it so much that they suggested I post it. (As for my narrative style -- consider it streams-of-consciousness ;) ****************************** COLD FEET By Emma Baker She was his conduit. His antenna. Heck, her hair served as enough of a beacon -- for him, at least. But he liked it. Made her stand out in a crowd. Made her easier for him to spot. He was always looking for her. She grounded him that way. Lousy antenna. If these small towns could have cars, why the hell can't they also have satellite dishes? Hmm? Just one leeeetle satellite dish, especially one cued up to ESPN. That's all he'd want, in a perfect world. 'Course, he'd have to have Scully in that perfect world, too. She could keep his feet warm while they watched those games. He pulled out the antenna, as far as it would go. Not long enough. He'd have to improvise. Some would say he'd spent his entire professional career improvising. Scully sure would. Grrr -- why was she ignoring him, anyway? He neeeeeeded her. He was feeling extremely whiny tonight and he could use her as a sparring partner. Sparring was much more fun when she was around. <> he chanted to himself. The antenna became a giant V. He stretched his arms to each side, tried balancing on one foot, like a flamingo. Uh-oh, he'd look as pink as a flamingo if Scully turned around to catch him like this. Oh, forget it. The emotional scarring would serve her right for ignoring him. Darn it, didn't she realize she was supposed to spend every bleepin' moment focused on him? Lord knows he spent every bleepin' moment focused on her.... Uh-oh, here she comes. She had THAT look on her face again -- the "Good Lord Mulder, what on earth are you up to THIS time?" look. It was his favorite --well, second only to the "No, really, DO explain once more what the heck aliens have to do with this, Mulder" look. And the way her little nose scrunched up.... who needed Playboy when you had that nose? Ah, and there she was. Still no luck with the darn antenna. Maybe waltzing would help.... how had they done it at the Chilmark School of Dance? Really, Mom must have had no idea how embarrassing dance lessons were for an 11-year-old boy, especially one whose little sister took every opportunity to make fun of him. He wondered if Scully knew how to dance. No time like the present, he guessed. He held out his arm. The magic words -- the ones which had melted every little girl's heart way back when -- wouldn't trip off his tongue. So he spouted off something about stupid antennas and a Knicks game. Yeah, way to GO, Mulder. You got the girl right here and you talk about basketball. Guess she won't keep your feet warm *now*. Grr, and his feet were just starting to get a little chilly. She turned her back to him with a little huff. Either she was ignoring him, or had no attraction whatsoever. Eh, she *wanted* him. He was a guy, he just *knew* these things. He'd have to work a little harder next time. Maybe she was a Lakers fan instead. And so, time for the ol' blithe goodbye comment, Mulder. What could *really* get her attention? Make her fall madly to her knees and rub your feet? Make you get some use out of that Big Red in your pocket? I know, compliment her attractiveness as a future mate! And so, he did, feeling ever-so-pleased with himself. But no dice (or airball -- whatever). Instead, she rolled her eyes, probably assuming he meant her as HIS mom. Oh, well. Maybe next time. Maybe at home. ***************** END (1/1) Comments greatly appreciated -- please send here or to emmalanna@aol.com :) "Not mad, I pray not mad. But the sheer joy of contemplating it is hard to contain." --Peter Carey, "Oscar and Lucinda" stories -- members.aol.com/emmalanna/fanfic.html