Date: Sun, 07 May 2000 10:36:04 GMT
Subject: Repost: A Funny Thing Happened at the Office this Morning (1/1)

TITLE: A Funny Thing Happened at the Office this Morning
AUTHOR: Robby Keofe
E-MAIL: skeeter@bcinet.net
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, UST, a bit o' H
RATING: G (yeah, but give it a shot anyway)
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: See title. :-)
FEEDBACK: PLEASE!!! (skeeter@bcinet.net)
ARCHIVE: Certainly, just lemme know where.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. They belong
to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox.
NOTES: I apologize to the brilliant Steven Sondheim, for
shamelessly stealing and warping his title 'A Funny Thing
Happened on the Way to the Forum.'
NOTES 2: This is a follow-up to "A Funny Thing Happened at
2:30 in the Morning." It would be a good idea to read it
first.
SPECIAL THANKS & DEDICATION: To Angela, for your
encouragement; all the "Robby's brilliant!" comments, which
drove me to abandon (Temporarily, don't worry! <g>) my post
as your fearless editor and jump into the deep end with a
story of my own. However, beyond that, it meant so much more
to me when you told me that the story made you laugh; I can't
tell you how thrilled I am to bring some light into your
life, in this stretch of dark days. Hang in there, Angie.
NOTES NOT DIRECTLY ASSOCIATED WITH THIS STORY: Go read the
previously mentioned Angela's story - Angela C.J.
Wettergren's "Elegy." It's very good. You'll like it, I
promise. And if you don't, I'll buy you a car. (Just kidding.
<g>)

"A Funny Thing Happened at the Office this Morning"
by Robby Keofe


Scully snuck out of my apartment early this morning. Despite
my penchant for being a light sleeper, I didn't notice her
leave. That doesn't surprise me, though; I always sleep
better when she's with me.

She's left the t-shirt I loaned her perfectly folded on the
bathroom sink. How polite. I lift the shirt to my nose,
inhaling Scullyscent, breathing her incredible smell. My
heart is breaking.

She was acting oddly last night, softer than usual. She let
me hug her in my kitchen, and she didn't shoot me the "Shut-
up-Mulder-you're-an-ass" glare once. She mumbled something
about being tired, and let me drag her back to my bedroom.
She had her arms around my neck, and she let me pull her to
my room, her little feet gliding across the floor. It was the
most adorable I've ever seen her, the most in love I've ever
been with her. I let her borrow one of my t-shirts, because I
figured she'd be uncomfortable in a sweater and slacks. The
hem of the shirt reached her knees, but she just smiled and
snuggled up in my bed.

My bed.

Dana Scully was in my bed. I watched her as she lay there,
idly toying with the hem of one of the sheets, and was torn
between watching her all night and wandering out to the couch
to get some sleep myself.

"Psst! Mulder!" She hissed, as though fearful of disturbing
anyone.

"Yeah?" I whispered back, unable to repress a grin.

"What are you doing?" She asked slowly, as though she were
talking to some developmentally challenged five-year-old.

"Um, what?" I squeaked, which was probably better than
admitting that I was hovering in the doorway because I have a
sick urge to watch her sleep in my bed. She attempted to
raise an eyebrow, but she was so sleepy that her other eye
squinted shut, a little muscular see-saw playing out on her
face. She's so cute at three in morning. She looked so real,
so beautiful, more so than she ever could concealed behind
perfectly fitted suits and flawless makeup.

Wordlessly she moved over slightly, patting a spot next to
her.

Oh, yeah. This was turning out to be one of those *good*
dreams.

Except it wasn't a dream, it was real, and I was crawling
into bed with the woman I love.

At three in the morning, I almost believed it was that
simple, that I could just hold her as she slept and it would
erase all our fears, all the monsters that we've accumulated
over the past seven years. It was amazing how small she was;
I held her wondering how someone so tiny could be so full of
passion and strength. I clutched her to me and nuzzled her
hair, telling her how much I loved her, how beautiful she
was, how badly I wanted every night to be like this one. In
retrospect, my uncharacteristically sappy hour-long speech
might've gone over better if she'd been awake.

I finally mumbled myself to sleep, the smell of her hair and
her skin enveloping me in a hazy bubble of happiness.

More than happiness, there was hope.

And now she's gone, slipped out in the middle of the night. I
woke up this morning the way I wake up every morning, alone,
in my empty bed that felt so much warmer when she was beside
me.

I don't even know how she got up and left without waking me.
I must've been gripping her like an anaconda all night. But
she managed, and I'm not surprised; it's not the first time
she's pulled away from me, fluidly, breaking our connection
as though it never really mattered at all.

           *      *      *     *     *     *

She beat me to the office this morning. Sitting at my desk,
typing, she acknowledged my presence with her eyes and rose
to give me my seat back.

"You can sit there," I tell her quickly, and she nods
wordlessly. "Morning," I add.

"Good morning," She answers, not looking up from her laptop.

"Everything okay?" I ask her.

"Fine," She responds, clicking away, not making eye contact.

"Are you sure?" I push.

"Yes, Mulder!" She snaps, exasperated.

"Well, *something* has to be wrong!"

"Why do you say that?" She answers slowly, trying to control
herself. For some reason, her nonchalance makes me angrier,
and I lose any ounce of control I possessed as I open my
mouth.

"Well, why else would you take off in the middle of the
night?? Would it have killed you to leave a fucking *note??*
What do you want, Scully, my heart on a plate??" I screech.
Oh, shit. What the hell was I thinking? She stares at me
blankly. I feel weak; a sick feeling claims the pit of my
stomach, and I'm not sure if I'm going to throw up or cry.
I'm hoping the God of humiliation grants me a reprieve and I
avoid both. I'm rhythmically clenching and unclenching my
fists, trying not to sob like a baby, trying not to puke, and
she just stares at me, the same empty look.

"What did you expect, Mulder?" She asks quietly, without
emotion. I avert my eyes as my expectations come back to me;
I was hoping to wake up snuggled around her, I was hoping she
would smile sleepily at me as she woke. I wanted to watch her
get ready for work. I wanted her to let me brush her hair. I
wanted to buy her breakfast. I wanted to tease her about low-
fat cream cheese. I wanted to hold her hand. Oh, God, am I
really this disillusioned? She won't even let me help her
with her coat, and I thought she'd let me brush her hair?

"I wanted things to be different," I whispered. "I just
thought . . . I don't know what I thought. But I thought
things would be different."

"Different how?" She questions gently, as though she's afraid
of hurting me. A bit late for that, Scully. I shake my head,
looking at the floor.

"Why'd you leave, Scully? Tell me why you left. Please." I
beg her quietly. She's silent. Against my better judgment, I
keep talking. "I wanted you there when I woke up, Scully. I
wanted to watch you get ready for work. Do you know how long
I laid awake last night, just thinking about the stupid stuff
we'd do in the morning?"

"Like what?" Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it.

"I wanted to eat breakfast with you. I wanted to brush your
hair." Shut up, Mulder. Shut *up.* Please let me have said
that last part too quietly for her to hear.

"You wanted to brush my hair?" She sounds disgusted. I want
to die. Shut up, Scully. Just ignore me. Just "Oh, brother,"
me like you always do. Shove me away, and I won't even fight
you this time.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"Oh," she responds. Oh? What the hell is Oh? Not, "Mulder,
you're a fucking pervert," but 'Oh?' "Mulder, I had to get
home. I had to get to work." She says, and I figure she means
this as an apology.

"You should've woken me up."

"Why? Just so I could tell you I was leaving?"

"No, so I could convince you to stay." If there's any sort of
benevolent God, he'll strike me mute so I'll stop setting
myself up for humiliation. "What about last night, Scully?
You told me you belonged with me." Nice work, Mulder. You had
to throw that in there, didn't you? She's horrified, the kind
of look that occurs when you bring the brand new boyfriend
home to meet Mom and she shows him all the nude baby
pictures. "Well, Scully? You did say that, right?" Mulder,
you bastard.

"I didn't lie about that," she says defensively. "Dammit,
Mulder, it was the middle of the night!" She yelps. Oh,
right, Scully, that explains *everything.* What was I
thinking? "And I told you how I felt about you, and you
laughed at me."

"I didn't laugh at you." I snap immediately. Oh, shit, I did,
didn't I? I think I'll deny it anyway.

"Yes, you did. I told you that I was where I wanted to be and
you laughed." She sounds so vulnerable and hurt that I want
to crawl into a corner of "over there," as she once so
eloquently put it, and die.

"I'm sorry, Scully." I murmur, hoping my tone conveys a tenth
of the regret I feel. "I wasn't laughing at you."

"Yeah, Mulder, you were." She's not looking at me. Her
clasped hands are resting over her chest, a protective stance
that makes me ache. Oh, Scully, I am so sorry. I never meant
to hurt you.

"No, Scully," I begin, shaking my head. I move carefully over
to her, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. She jerks, but
she doesn't push my hand away, or bite it off, so I take that
as good sign. I snicker with the image of Scully biting my
hand off.

"See! You're doing it again! You're laughing at me." Never
have I seen her so soft, or exposed. I love her. I think I'm
supposed to be pissed off about something, but I've forgotten
what. I move around the desk to stand in front of her,
putting my free hand on her other shoulder. Her soft, small
hands are still twisted and resting below her neck.

"I'm not laughing at you."

"What are you laughing at, then?" She asks. I smile.

"I thought it would be funny if you just leaned over and bit
my hand." I tell her, grinning. She looks at me oddly, then
turns her head to my hand, resting on her shoulder, and she
smiles. Alert the media, I've made Scully smile. I can get
run over by a bus on my lunch break and still die a happy
man.

"'Sometimes I just think funny thoughts,'" She quotes, and I
laugh. Scully has seen 'Arthur.' Who'da thunk it? She averts
her eyes again, and I try to move my head so that I can meet
her gaze and not pull a muscle in my neck at the same time.
It's more challenging than one might expect. She's wearing
the mega-heels today, so it's easier than usual to catch her
at eye level. I kinda like the shoes. Minnie Mouse wears
shoes like that. Not that I have a thing for cartoon mice,
but . . . anyway. "Mulder, why are you so upset that I left?"
She asks, her mouth relaxing from its grin to its standard
anti-emotion position.

"See Humiliating Statement #118 above, Scully." I answer
sheepishly. She smiles faintly.

"You think about brushing my hair?" She asks shyly, so sweet
and little.

"Yeah. Always. C'mon, Scully, give me a hard one."

"How 'bout you give me something hard?" She mutters. Oh. My.
God. I love this woman.

"Eek! Sexual harassment!" I yelp teasingly. She's giggling
again, like she was last night.

"I love you, Mulder." She laughs. I'm surprised to hear it,
but beyond that, I'm overwhelmed with happiness. Somehow,
this is appropriate, an admission of love highlighted by
laughter. There are butterflies in my stomach, and I feel
light. I think the best word to describe how I'm feeling
would be "giddy," but I don't think I wear "giddy" well, so
I'm going to pretend I don't look like a total dork right
now.

"I love you too, Scully," I murmur, and she cracks up again.
She turns her head to her shoulder and grins at me.

Then she bites my hand.

~The End~

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