From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 5 Jun 2007 07:26:25 -0000
Subject: First Comes Love (1/1) by bellefleur
Source: direct

Reply To: bellefleur1013@yahoo.com


TITLE: First Comes Love
AUTHOR: bellefleur
EMAIL ADDRESS: bellefleur1013@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: sure
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: V, MSR
SPOILERS: Je Souhaite
DISCLAIMER: Not mine; the X-Files belongs to CC, FOX, etc.  
Mulder and Scully belong to each other.
SUMMARY: The newly married partners spend an evening at 
home.

Notes: Just a little piece of fluff that's been sitting on 
my computer for entirely too long, begging to be finished.

* * *
* * *

It had been a long day.  Scratch that--it had been a long 
week, and it wasn't even over yet.  Scully sighed as she 
shouldered the door open and collapsed into the haven of 
her apartment.  Without hesitation, she heeled off her 
shoes by the coat rack and luxuriously stretched her 
liberated toes.

The thud of another pair of shoes dropping alongside her 
own reminded her to correct the pronoun: THEIR apartment.  
After a scant three months of marriage, she was still 
getting used to the idea of a roommate.  It's not that she 
wasn't already accustomed to Mulder's constant presence in 
her life, but until recently they had always maintained a 
separate space from each other.  Now, it seemed, they 
shared *everything*--and on her less charitable days, that 
wasn't entirely appreciated.

Leaving her husband to his own devices, Scully made a 
beeline for the kitchen and poured herself a glass of 
water.  Traffic had been horrendous on the way home, and 
lunch seemed like ages ago, rendering her famished and 
irritable as they stumbled in the door later than usual.  
Gulping down a tall glass of water took the edge off, but 
she was still eager to get dinner cooked as soon as 
possible.  At times like this, an extra pair of hands did 
indeed come in handy.

Having grabbed her apron from its hook on her way over to 
the refrigerator, Scully was busy tying it around her waist 
as she stood in the open doorway and surveyed the contents.  
Mulder must have finished off the spaghetti on one of his 
infamous late night raids, she realized.  Yet another 
annoying revelation about her partner that emerged only 
after they had taken their vows.  Of course, he blamed his 
nocturnal hunger pangs on the nighttime "workouts" that she 
often gave him.  But the result was that she could no 
longer count on the contents of her refrigerator remaining 
the same from evening to morning, meaning that she could no 
longer plan with certainty the next evening's meal before 
going to bed, as she had been doing for years.

Once this frustration had yielded to more logical thoughts, 
Scully realized that the meager contents of the fridge 
offered nothing meal-worthy.  She closed the door more 
forcefully than necessary, answered by the clattering 
protest of the glass jars that resided in the door's narrow 
shelves.  It was at this moment that Mulder reemerged from 
the back hallway, now dressed in jeans and a well-worn 
t-shirt.  She turned to him and opened her mouth, about to 
ask if he'd start the water boiling for the pasta; instead, 
she remained silent and baffled as he passed without 
glancing her way and collapsed onto the sofa, the TV 
clicking on almost at the same moment that his body hit the 
cushions.

Scully closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying her best 
to mute the red that she was seeing into a soft, fuzzy 
pink.  No such luck.

Her voice was strained when she finally trusted herself to 
speak without exploding.  She wasn't quite yelling, but she 
did have to compete with the volume of the television.  
"Would it put you out too much to help me with dinner?"

Mulder didn't bother to look at her but tossed back over 
his shoulder: "I don't feel like cooking tonight.  Let's 
just order in."

Scully indulged in another deep sigh to ground herself 
before responding.  "I do like to eat a home-cooked meal 
every now and then, you know.  Not everyone enjoys living 
off of pizza and Chinese."

The obnoxious lights and sounds of the tube were finally 
extinguished as Mulder turned and opened his mouth to 
launch into his rebuttal.  However, he halted when his eyes 
settled on her for the first time since they had entered 
the apartment.  She made no effort to hide her exhaustion 
and frustration, which she was sure were written clearly 
all over her face.  Whatever he saw there, it preempted his 
reply and spurred him into action.

Unfolding himself from the sofa, Mulder set down the remote 
and approached Scully where she stood in the indefinable 
space between the kitchen and the living room with her 
hands perched impatiently on her hips.  Silently, she 
watched his approach, with eyes that could pierce Kevlar.  
Her glare softened slightly as she allowed him to gather up 
each of her hands in his own and hold them gently as he 
stood facing her.

He spoke to her softly but deliberately, with a determined 
gaze.  "Tomorrow night, I will cook you dinner.  But 
tonight, we're going to do things my way."  She opened her 
mouth to argue, but he stilled her lips with a finger.  "No 
pizza or Chinese, I promise.  Now, go change into something 
more comfortable."

It was a statement that brooked no argument, no matter how 
tenderly delivered, but Scully was never one to take 
commands well from someone she considered an equal.  
Although she made no verbal objection, she challenged him 
with a look and a tilt of her head.

Mulder's eyes returned the challenge, although they, as 
usual, twinkled with something more lascivious.  "Do I have 
to strip you down myself?"

Narrowing her eyes at him, she pulled away and stomped off 
(as dramatically as she could in stocking-feet), yelling 
back over her shoulder, "I want something with vegetables--
and potatoes don't count!"

When she returned from the bedroom a few minutes later, 
Mulder was still on the phone finishing the order.  She 
replaced the apron on its hook as he hung up, then stood by 
to await further instructions.

Mulder gave her new ensemble of sweats and his old Oxford 
t-shirt a once-over and then put away the phone book as he 
addressed her.  "You know, if your shoulders weren't so 
tense, you might actually look relaxed."

"So, what'd you order?"

By his Cheshire cat grin, she could almost anticipate the 
answer.  "Dinner."  Her glare was back, but he only 
snickered at her as he walked over and placed a hand on 
each shoulder, turning her toward the couch and gently 
pushing her in that direction.  She went reluctantly, but 
it was mostly for show: she couldn't give in *too* easily.

When they reached the sofa, Scully just stood and waited 
for the next direction.  Obligingly, Mulder turned her back 
toward the piece of furniture and then placed pressure on 
her shoulders until she dropped down onto the cushions.  
Once she was seated, he scooped up her ankles to place her 
sock-clad feet on the coffee table.  The only problem was, 
they wouldn't reach.  With a smile twitching at the corners 
of his mouth, he held her ankles in one hand while freeing 
the other to reach over and pull the table a few inches 
closer until her heels could finally touch the wood.  She 
leveled her best laser look to silence any of the short 
jokes that were sure to be dancing on the tip of his 
tongue, but he skillfully avoided eye contact--and wisely 
kept his peace.

Having satisfactorily arranged her in a couch potato pose, 
Mulder then ceremoniously handed her the remote as though 
it were her scepter, and he took his place at her side 
while she activated the box and began her pursuit of worthy 
programming.  It didn't take long for her to grow disgusted 
with the options.  Leaving it on CNN, she sighed and 
slapped the remote down on his thigh.  "There's nothing on.  
This is why I don't feel the need to rush over to the TV 
when we get home from work."

Trying for a different option, Mulder lifted the remote and 
pushed the play button for the VCR.  Scully looked over at 
him questioningly, and he just shrugged in response, 
suggesting that he didn't know what was in there.  As the 
ever-ironic FBI warning popped up on the screen, she tossed 
at him: "I'm not really in the mood for one of your videos 
right now."

"Actually, I've always found them to be a helpful way to 
unwind after a stressful day."

Scully was about to fire back, intending to wipe the smug 
grin off his face, when the music started and names began 
to appear on the screen.  By the second credit, she 
recognized the film and decided it would be a more 
effective volley than her reply. 

Mulder, however, didn't catch on right away but watched 
with a furrowed brow until the title finally emerged: 
"Steel Magnolias."  He groaned and then rolled his eyes to 
look over at Scully, now sporting a wicked grin.  He just 
deadpanned, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

She chuckled.  "Actually, I did, but it was sometime last 
week.  I wanted to see how long it would take you to find 
it."

She watched with amusement as he deliberated his options, 
wondering how much of the movie he would endure.  After a 
long moment, he had clearly made his decision; he tossed 
the remote onto the coffee table and then wrapped his arm 
around her shoulders to settle in for the duration.  He did 
not submit without protest, however.  "You do realize I'm 
going to make fun of this the whole way through."

She just smirked at him.  "Not for my sake, I hope.  I'm 
not really that attached to it.  The only reason I have it 
is because Mom bought it for me."

After only a couple of snarky remarks toward the beginning, 
and a lot of laughter at the humor, Mulder was clearly 
engrossed in the story--so much so that he actually jumped 
when the door buzzer sounded to announce the arrival of 
their dinner.  He quickly reached over to pause the tape--
leaving them with a beautiful freeze frame of a dissected 
armadillo--before going to retrieve his wallet and their 
food. 

Since Mulder had never filled her in on his order, Scully 
was quite curious to see what was contained in the large, 
brown paper bag that he carried over to the dining room 
table.  Whatever it was, it smelled heavenly, and Scully's 
tummy rumbled in anticipation.  

Content to let him serve her, she sat back and closed her 
eyes, savoring the aromas wafting in from the kitchen.  She 
thought she could discern the tang of tomato sauce, but she 
was trusting Mulder that he had ordered something other 
than pizza.

The sounds of silverware stocking up plates subsided, and 
Scully opened her eyes just as her husband approached with 
two plates full of food.  She eyed one covetously and was 
glad to see it was the meal designated as hers.  Half the 
plate was covered with a delectable-looking linguini, and 
the other half was piled high with salad.  She looked up to 
see Mulder awaiting her reaction and didn't realize she was 
grinning until he grinned back.

Scully dove into her food, happy to finally appease her 
demanding stomach.  After another trip to the kitchen, 
Mulder returned with two glasses of white wine and set one 
down in front of her on the coffee table.  A moment later, 
he pushed "play," and the room was filled with the sounds 
from the speakers and the clinking of forks against plates. 

Once she was full of food and wine, Scully found herself 
sated and drifting in and out of consciousness while she 
curled into the warmth of her husband's side.  During one 
of her more lucid moments, she let her eyes drift over 
their mess on the coffee table, a haphazard array of dirty 
plates, glasses, and the containers Mulder had brought over 
to serve seconds.  She found herself dreaming her own 
version of "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," watching on while 
plates and cups dipped into a bubbly sink and washed 
themselves, when she was brought back to awareness by an 
arm tightening around her shoulders and a quiet gasp from 
above her head.

Scully pulled back to look up at Mulder, then followed his 
engrossed gaze to the screen.  She recognized the scene.  
Jackson had just come home to a screaming baby and found 
his wife collapsed on the ground.  Shelby now lay in a 
hospital bed, kept alive only by machines.  Scully 
immediately regretted having put in the tape.  It had been 
so long since she had watched the movie that she had 
forgotten the sad turn of events by the end--and how close 
it hit to home.  She thought about reaching over for the 
remote and stopping the tape before it went any further but 
was too caught up with the scene herself to put an end to 
it.

As the beep of the heart monitor slowed and stilled, Scully 
heard a sniffle next to her and looked up to find Mulder 
swiping at his eyes.

"You've never actually seen this before, have you?" she 
asked gently.

He just shook his head, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Do you want to turn it off?"

He watched silently for a moment.  "Is there a happy 
ending?"  He looked down at her then, the twinkle returning 
to his eye.

"Yeah."

He turned back to the movie with a slight smile.  "Then I 
think we should stick it out."

She overlooked his "we," since her eyes were still dry, and 
went back to watching the screen.

"Hey, Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"You tell anyone I cried during this movie, and I'm filing 
for divorce."

She rolled her eyes.  "Don't worry, Mulder, your secret's 
safe with me."

It didn't take long before he was laughing again.  When the 
credits started to roll, Scully sighed and pulled away from 
him to begin cleaning up their mess.  His hand soon settled 
on hers to still her motions.

"Let me take care of that."  Scully looked up at him, his 
expression eager to please, and gratefully yielded the 
work.  She stood and stretched, taking a look at the clock.

"Okay.  I need to throw in a load of laundry anyway."

Mulder sounded slightly exasperated when he replied.  
"Scully, don't worry about it.  I just want you to relax 
tonight."

She addressed him over her shoulder as she crossed toward 
the bedroom.  "Mulder, I'm on my last pair of clean 
underwear.  Just because you choose to ignore things like 
cooking and cleaning doesn't mean that they magically take 
care of themselves."

"Sure they do.  It's all done by these magical little elves 
called 'wives.'"

She halted in the bedroom doorway and glared at him.  "I am 
so going to hurt you for that one."

He waggled his eyebrows.  "I'm counting on it."

Since there was nothing convenient to throw at him, she 
settled for just ignoring the comment and continuing 
through the doorway.

When Scully exited the room a few minutes later with a 
bundle of laundry in her arms, she could hear the soft 
clang of dishes filtering from the kitchen.  She headed 
down the hallway and opened the closet doors that hid the 
washer and dryer.  

Her mind drifted, to nothing in particular, as she went 
through the motions of filling the machine with soapy water 
and sorting through the whites while she tossed them in, 
careful not to add anything too delicate to this load.  She 
was rethinking a pair of satin panties when she felt a 
breeze graze her hair and glimpsed the flash of fabric 
whizzing in front of her down into the water.  It was a 
pair of Mulder's boxers.

"He shoots; he scores!"

Scully turned around to make a comment, but the remark was 
quickly forgotten when she caught sight of her husband.  He 
was standing a few feet away, buck naked from the waist 
down.

He responded to her look with a grin that said he was all 
too proud of himself.  "What?  You weren't the only one 
running low.  At least I'll have a clean pair for 
tomorrow."

She said nothing, just shook her head with a smile and 
returned to her laundry.  She was about to throw the last 
item in the machine when a pair of arms wrapped around her 
from behind.

His warm breath tickled her ear.  "Better yet, we could 
skip the laundry and both go commando."

Scully dropped the pair of socks into the water and closed 
the lid just as the agitation cycle started.  
"Unfortunately, the only clean suits I have are skirts, so 
I don't really think that's an option."

"Ooh, Scully, that ranks right up there in my top ten 
fantasies.  Throw in a garter belt, and it'll make the top 
three."  He let a hand wander up her thigh to illustrate 
where his mind was heading, and she half-heartedly slapped 
it away, instead grabbing hold of both his hands to link 
her fingers with his and wrap his arms tightly around her 
waist.  She let her eyes fall closed and leaned back into 
his secure weight.

"I'd prefer not to pull a 'Basic Instinct' move on Skinner 
at our 9 a.m. meeting."

"Yeah, well, I bet that's in his top ten fantasies, too."

She chuckled softly.  If only their boss knew how often 
they found amusement at his expense.

Mulder began nuzzling her neck, adding a kiss or playful 
bite here and there, heading for her earlobe.  "Come to 
bed.  You can give me that punishment you promised."

She sighed.  "It's too early for bed.  Besides, I need to 
wait until this load is done so I can throw it in the 
dryer."

Mulder released his grasp and turned her in his arms.  
"Then why don't you let me draw you a bubble bath?"

She raised an eyebrow.  "Is that your subtle way of saying 
I stink?" she joked.

But he didn't take the bait.  "No, I'm saying that you're 
too tense tonight.  I'm trying to get you to relax.  Just 
take it easy for a while."

"Mulder--"

His kiss silenced her protest.  "Tell you what, *I'm* going 
to go draw a bath.  And if you're not in the bathroom in 
ten minutes, I may just have to make use of all those 
bubbles myself."

She tried to give him a look of exasperation, but her smile 
was winning out.  He continued: "So, I'd appreciate it if 
you'd join me, because I would look awfully silly taking a 
bubble bath alone."

"You look pretty silly right now, running around without 
any pants on."

"Didn't I tell you?  It's Half-Nudist Day.  You're 
overdressed."  He glanced over her body, as though 
considering the options.  "I think you should take off the 
top half."

He reached for the hem of her shirt, but she twisted out 
his grasp, laughing as she broke free, and put a few paces 
between them.  "All right!  I give in.  You draw the bath, 
and I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Promise?"  He was giving her that little boy pout, the one 
he knew she couldn't resist.

"Yes, Mulder, I promise," she replied in an indulgent tone.

Twenty minutes later, they were snuggled up together in the 
warm, soapy water.  Mulder was drawing a sponge over her 
skin in languid, meandering strokes, and Scully let herself 
melt at his touch.  Her eyes were closed, and her hands 
rested on his bent knees protruding from the water.

"So, Mulder, what's with you tonight?"

"What's 'with me'?"

"Why are you trying so hard to get me to relax?" she 
clarified.

He was quiet for a moment, but the sponge continued to 
trace patterns over her skin.

"It's just, you work so hard all day, I don't want you to 
feel like you have to come home and work all night, too.  
Just take some time for yourself."

"This is what I do, Mulder.  I come home, I cook my own 
food, I make sure I have something clean to wear to work 
the next day.  I do the dishes.  I pay my bills.  It's what 
I've been doing for years, and I don't see the need to 
change all that just because the living conditions have 
changed.  Besides, now there's twice as much that needs to 
be done."

The sponge stopped.  "That's just the point, Scully.  I'm 
not trying to give you more work to do.  I've been taking 
care of myself for a long time, and I intend to keep on 
doing it.  In fact, I'd like to add you to my list."

She paused a moment to interpret his words.  "You feel the 
need to take care of me?"

He must have heard an edge to her voice.  "Not the way you 
mean it.  But, yes, I do want to take care of my wife.  
Just like I'm doing right now."  He softly kissed her 
temple.

"Then why shouldn't I feel the same way?"  She could sense 
his inquisitive look and pulled away slightly to turn and 
meet his eyes.  "I understand what you're saying, and I 
appreciate that you don't want me to feel obligated to pick 
up after you--and believe me, I do expect you to carry your 
own weight around here.  But I don't consider it a burden 
to throw in some of your laundry with mine, or to cook 
dinner for two instead of one.  I *like* taking care of 
you, just the same as you like taking care of me.  But the 
point is, those things won't happen unless someone does 
them."

He gently pulled her back until she was once more resting 
in his embrace.  "Well, I have been known to wait a day too 
long to do laundry.  But then again, I don't have a problem 
with free-balling it."

"I don't particularly have a problem with that either, 
especially when you bend over the file cabinet."

He leaned down to look into her face.  "Have you been 
checking out my ass, Scully?"

She looked up at him innocently.  "No more than you've been 
checking out mine."

"Wow, that much, huh?"  He abandoned the sponge to let his 
hands take over the wandering. 

She arched her back and tried her best not to purr, knowing 
he'd never let her live it down.  But she wasn't quite done 
with the conversation yet.  "I think what it comes down to 
is that you and I have a different perception of what needs 
to be done around the house."

He answered distractedly, "Yeah, guess we'll have to work 
on that."

"Yeah," she sighed as he began nipping at her jaw.  If 
there was anything else she intended to say, it had 
completely fled her mind.

Somewhere in the background, the washing machine buzzed its 
completion.  But the sound was drowned out by more urgent 
noises: the soft splashes of water, the gentle sighs and 
moans.  

The laundry could wait.

* * * 
* * *

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