From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 14 Oct 2003 05:08:35 -0000
Subject: Happy Birthday To Me by FBIWHISTLEBLOWER & xphilernj
Source: direct

Reply To: FBIWISTLEBLOWER@aol.com, &@diviy.pair.com, xphilernj@aol.com


HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

by FBIWHISTLEBLOWER (aka Fibbie) and xphilernj

* * * * * * * * * * * 
FEEDBACK: CONSTRUCTIVE criticism cheerfully accepted at: 
FBIWhistleBlower@aol.com and/or xphilernj@aol.com  
Flames cheerfully put out with a fire hose.

RATING: R (for language and one suggestive situation); 
Sallie!Safe

KEYWORDS:  MSR (RST implied); Bill & Tara Scully, Maggie Scully, 
Mulder's birthday, babysitting, Sally!Safe

CATEGORY:  MSR, Humor, "Awwww-factor", Sallie!Safe

ARCHIVING:  We will archive at Ephemeral; all others please ask.

DISCLAIMER:  Nope, don't own them.  Just borrowing them and may 
return them intact and reasonably sober after Mulder's birthday 
bash.  No promises will be made at this time.

SUMMARY:   This isn't how he'd planned to spend the weekend.  It 
was his birthday, for crying out loud.  He was supposed to be 
spending it with the love of his life, Dana Katherine Scully. 
*Sigh.*

DEDICATION:  For Sallie.  Just because.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Well, the two of *us* issued this challenge 
for Mulder's birthday on the BTT list, so we figured we'd 
better answer our own challenge (challenge elements at end of 
story).  Hope you like it.  Again, SALLIE!SAFE!


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

If he had to watch another Gene Kelly musical, he was gonna go 
postal and blast the crap out of something.  The man could dance, 
of that there was no doubt ... but he was sick and tired of 
watching that man slam around and Singin' In The Rain having fun 
when he, himself, was stuck in this apartment, definitely NOT 
having fun.

It was his birthday, dammit.  He wasn't supposed to be here like 
this.

This isn't how he'd planned to spend the weekend.  It was his 
birthday, for crying out loud!  He was supposed to be spending it 
with the love of his life, Dana Katherine Scully.   *Sigh.*

He DETESTED those movie musicals, but that's about all Dana Scully 
would allow her nephew to watch when she baby-sat, except for the 
occasional Disney cartoon, and even then, she had to be sure what 
it was about before she'd let his innocent little eyes behold any 
of ol' Walt's creations, pre- or post-death.

Frankly, Fox Mulder hated Disney cartoons anyway.  They just did NOT 
have the sophistication and pinache of a good Looney Tunes cartoon.  
Bugs Bunny was devious.  Daffy Duck was positively greedy.  Taz was 
hungry and wanted to eat everything, including Bugs.

*Sometimes,* Mulder thought to himself, *you're the Roadrunner.  
Sometimes you're Wyle E. Coyote.*  Tonight, he was the Coyote and
he was waiting for the other anvil to drop.

Mulder absolutely ADORED Looney Tunes almost as obsessively as 
his search for The Ever Elusive Truth.

But could Matthew Scully see those?  NO.  They were too violent.  
It was *his* birthday, dammit!  He should be able to watch what 
*he* wanted on TV.

Violent. Violence.  He hoped the next time he saw Tigger, that 
damned Bengal tiger would revert to type and bite the head off 
of Pooh -- oh dear! -- and just get it over with.  It was *his* 
birthday, dammit.

Mulder leaned back, his head resting on the back of the couch, 
closing his eyes, but that sound was back and he opened his eyes 
to stare at the ceiling fan in sheer hatred.  One or more of 
the blades was loose and it reminded him of a squeaky windmill 
and was wreaking havoc on his nerves.  If he thought Scully's 
upstairs neighbors 
wouldn't mind, he'd blast the crap out of that, too.

*It's my birthday...* Mulder's whiny inner child whined more 
weakly.

Mulder looked over at the little boy lying on the couch.  Okay. 
So he could feel sorry for him. He could.  

It wasn't Matthew's fault that Matthew's father and Scully's 
thoughtless brother, Bill-the-Bastard Scully, Jr., had dropped 
his kid off while Ma Scully was out of town and 
Bill-the-Bastard Scully, Jr. was *in* town.  It wasn't 
Matthew's fault that Scully had had to cancel her reservations 
for his birthday dinner with him at his favorite restaurant.  
It was NOT Matthew's fault.  But it was *his* birthday! Dammit!!!

It wasn't *Matthew's* fault Matthew had gotten sick.  It wasn't 
his fault that Mulder just happened to be playing bucking 
horse, with Matthew on his knee, when the kid barfed -- out 
both ends.  Damn. It!!!!!

It was definitely NOT his fault that Scully sent them BOTH to 
her shower with a bar of antibacterial soap and clean towels 
while she rushed to the pharmacy for a bottle of Immodium.  
She'd known from experience (she said) that it was the only 
thing that would soothe his upset tummy.

Peeling off his soiled clothing and Matthew's, Mulder wondered 
what it would take to soothe *his* upset tummy after *he* 
barfed from all the barfing.  Some birthday, dammit.

But he'd gotten them both clean, dried off and sitting on the 
couch in large bath towels.  He had both their clothes washing 
in Scully's little closet washer/dryer combination.

Mulder stared HARD at the television -- willing it, by osmosis, 
to change channels.  Of course when he *wanted* something 
weird to happen, it never did.  And now really *was* a perfect 
time for weird shit to happen.  Scully wasn't here to witness 
it after all.  She *never* witnessed the weird shit.  She 
always missed it by seconds.  And if he couldn't have his 
favorite food or his favorite redhead, he should at least get 
some weirdness for his birthday, dammit!

Mulder glanced over at Matthew.  The more he thought about it, 
the more he felt sorry for the kid.  He had a total, 
unrelenting bastard for a father, that was for sure.

Mulder took a deep breath, turned and leaned over little three 
year old Matthew and asked, "How ya feelin', buddy?  Any 
better?"

"Tummy huts," Matthew managed and Mulder actually understood 
him.

"Yeah?  I'm sorry, buddy -- your Auntie Dana is out getting 
something for you ... but I'll go see what I can find.  Now 
you stay right there.  Okay?"

Matthew nodded.  "Promise?"  Mulder asked.  Matthew nodded 
again.  "Good boy," Mulder smiled, patted his arm lightly and 
went to Scully's bathroom.  Surely a doctor with a small 
nephew who she baby-sat would have SOMETHING for him to give 
to the child.

Mulder returned with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and found himself 
staring between the bottle and the boy wondering how he'd get 
one into the other without a major mishap.  He wasn't used to 
children.  Then he got a bright idea and headed for Scully's 
cabinets, pulled out a teaspoon from the drawer, poured the 
horrid pink stuff in the spoon, and then into the shot glass 
twice.  A shot glass was Matthew-sized, after all, and he felt 
sure little fingers could grasp it ... maybe with his help.

Mulder took a small sippy cup of water back with him as well. 
Hell, *when* would Scully get back??  DAMMIT!  He didn't know 
how to take care of children!  It was his birthday ... and he 
was 1000% miserable.  But he knew Matthew was equally 
miserable.  That only made him feel worse ... and very, very 
crummy about himself.

"Here ya go, buddy," he helped the little boy sit up amidst 
all the warm towels and held the shot glass up to his lips. 
"See how much of this you can drink.  It'll help your tummy."

Matthew nodded and took the little glass, lifted it to his 
mouth, tipped it up and began swallowing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Scully got her ass in high gear, as Mulder liked to say, in 
order to get back to her apartment as soon as possible.

She'd been nervous about leaving Matthew with Mulder, but she 
hadn't had a choice:  Matthew needed Immodium and maybe some 
prescription medication and she felt she had to go get it.

Unfortunately, it was flu season -- friggin' flu season -- and 
dammit, half the universe, as she knew, it was at her pharmacy 
so there was a "bit of a wait." 

*Bit of a wait my ass,* she thought.  Scully had been at the 
pharmacy for nearly two hours when she finally pulled her 
credentials, announced an emergency and got her prescription 
filled pronto with a wink and nod from her favorite pharmacist, 
Sallie.  She felt sorry for the other folks still waiting, who 
glared at her angrily, but she had a three year old taking 
care of a three year old.  And she had to get home.

When Scully opened the door, put her keys and her purchases 
down, she looked around as she took off her coat and it took 
a full minute for her to realize the wreck that had once been 
her apartment.

There were pink stains everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  On her kitchen 
table, on the floor, in the sink, along with a shot glass.

Towels were thrown here and there haphazardly and she felt her 
Irish rising as she noticed postage stamps -- from all over 
the world -- pasted with huge globs of paste on almost 
everything she owned.

Where the HELL was Mulder and what had he done with Matthew????

She turned to storm into the living room and stopped in her 
tracks at the sight that greeted her.   And her heart melted.

There was Mulder -- a dead asleep Mulder -- with nothing but a 
towel wrapped around his waist and his feet up on the coffee 
table, each toe and knee graced by a stamp and a glob of glue. 
There were stamps and glue in his hair, on his face and on his 
chest and arms.  

He looked like a perfectly edible piece of U.S. Male.

Up on his chest, also wrapped similarly, but in a hand towel, 
was Matthew, his head tucked underneath Mulder's chin, his 
thumb in his mouth, his mouth sucking quietly.

Scully sat down opposite them and just looked.  If he weren't 
so damned cute, she'd kill Mulder.  And boy was Bill going to 
be pissed off.  She had *no* idea that Matthew had his dad's 
stamp collection.  And Bill probably didn't know either.  He 
took it everywhere with him, so Matthew was undoubtedly 
familiar with it and where his daddy kept it.  All the pictures 
and pretty colors had to be like candy to a three year old.  
And completely unable to ignore.

Like his father before him, for whatever arcane Scully reason, 
Bill kept them inside an old Christmas card of a Currier & 
Ives print and kept that inside an envelope.  Easily, there 
had been well between three to four hundred stamps.  Scully 
doubted much could be saved from the collection.

Scully was shocked out of her reverie by a light knock on her 
door.  She looked at Mulder who only re-crossed his legs, 
rubbed his cheek into Matthew's baby fine hair.

Scully jumped up and ran quietly for the door before whoever 
it was knocked again.  She looked out the peephole, felt her 
heart sink, glanced back at Mulder, straightened her spine and 
opened the door ....

....To Bill-the-Bastard, her brother. 

"Dana!" he barreled in past her, "Hey, thanks for taking care 
of ..."

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes 
taking in the sight in the living room.  

First his jaw fell, then he regrouped, snapped that Navy jaw 
tight, grimaced, turned bright red and opened his mouth to 
start bellowing.

But Dana Scully was faster and she slapped her hand over 
Bill's mouth, caught him off guard and pushed him back against 
her front door.

"Not a word, Bill," she said through clenched teeth.  "Not. A. 
Word."

He reached up to remove her hand, but to his surprise, he 
couldn't do it.  For some reason, it made him think of those 
stories of people who can lift miraculous amounts of weight to 
save someone's life.

"I'm going to take my hand away, Bill," Scully intoned in her 
most professional and authoritative FBI Special Agent voice. 
"And when I do, you will *listen* to me.  You will *not* say a 
word.  You will NOT open your mouth without my permission.  Is 
that clear?"

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother glared at her. "It's that, or you 
leave. NOW.  Matthew can spend the night and Tara can pick him 
up in the morning.

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother looked over at the tableau and the 
thought of *his* son sleeping all night on Mulder's chest the 
way *his* son always slept on his own chest was just too much 
to contemplate.  He closed his eyes and nodded.

Scully pressed harder against his mouth, making sure he felt 
his lips against his teeth.  "I mean it, Bill ... one bad word 
... you yell at Mulder ... ONE word and you're out the door."

She pushed her hand against his lips again and then let up, her 
hand hovering.  Bill-her-Bastard-Brother glanced over at 
Mulder-the-Sorry-Sonovabitch who was actually touching his 
only child and said, under his breath, "What the hell is *he* 
doing here?  Why's he dressed like that?  Why is Matthew 
dressed like that? Where are his clothes?  WHAT THE HELL IS 
GOING ON?!!"  Bill's voice had been steadily rising.

Scully clapped her hand over his mouth again and pushed him 
back into the door, her right leg between his legs.

"Bill," she said, "I am an FBI agent.  I am trained in 
hand-to-hand combat and personal protection techniques.  I 
suspect I'm better at it than you are.  Now, if you'll look 
down," he did, "you'll notice my knee is between your legs and 
while I may be over a foot shorter than you, I am perfectly 
capable of damaging your family jewels so badly that Matthew 
will be an only child."

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother looked down again, then into her eyes 
and realized his peril.

"Now listen to me.  I'm only going to say it once," Scully 
said in a flat tone.  "After you dropped off Matthew, he got 
very, very sick at his stomach.  He had an accident on Mulder 
-- out both ends," she could feel the smile starting under her 
hands and she raised her leg to touch the jewels.  

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother gulped.  "Don't *even* think of 
smiling, Bill.  While *I* went out to get medicine for your 
son, Mulder took him in the shower with him, bathed them both 
and *that* is why they're lying there like that.  Their 
clothing is in the laundry.  Mulder babysat your son while 
*I* went to get medicine.  Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother nodded. "Mulder has *no* reason to 
like you and he certainly has no reason to do you any favors, 
but he is a human and humane at that.  *I* had to cancel dinner 
reservations we had because you just came in and left Matthew 
with hardly a word of warning so you could go play poker with 
some of the guys while you're in port."

She pushed off of him and moved her hand. "I hope you're happy. 
Despite my love for my dear nephew, *I* am *not* happy, Bill."

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother looked from Scully to 
Mulder-the-Sorry-Sonovabitch and back again, his eyes 
narrowing.  "Oh gawd."

"Bill..." Scully warned.  She knew what was coming.

"Tell me you're not ...." he pointed generally at 
Mulder-the-Sorry-Sonovabitch, "you're NOT screwing that 
nutball!!!"

"No, Bill, I'm *not,*" Scully said and 
Bill-her-Bastard-Brother looked relieved until she added, 
"But we'd be doing that," she glanced at her watch, "right 
about ... now, if not for *your* thoughtlessness."

Bill-her-Bastard-Brother absolutely turned several shades of 
turnip-purple and Scully's knee came up as a threat.  "Just 
'try' me, Bill.  Go ahead.  I've been wanting some retribution 
for all the nasty things you did to me as a kid.  Just give me 
a reason."

Bill stepped away from her and opened his mouth, but what came 
out of it was a knocking sound.  Scully glared at him and 
shoved him out of the way, then went to the door and opened it.

What entered her apartment was a party consisting of two women, 
a cake, a load of presents and a cloud of helium balloons.

"Happy birthday!" Maggie Scully shouted, then stopped and 
looked at her son and daughter, puzzled.  She looked at Tara 
who was looking in the living room with that melty look she 
got on the very rare occasions Bill-her-Bastard-Son did 
something really nice for Tara.

Maggie followed her line of sight and took in the view, her 
smile going melty, too.  "Oh, Fox..." she said under her 
breath.

"Don't lust, Mom," Scully said, "He's *mine.*"

Maggie laughed, "Dana.  I'm old enough to be his mother."

Tara's voice was melty, too.  "Should we wake him up?  He 
looks so comfy there all cuddled with --"

"MY son!" Bill-her-Bastard-Husband said, grousing loudly.

"Bill," Tara chided.  "Look at that.  Matthew is perfectly 
okay.  Mulder is holding him the same way *you* do."

"Yeah, I noticed," Bill grumbled.

"Well, do we wake him or not?" Maggie asked.  She'd put her 
homemade carrot cake -- Fox's favorite -- on the table, along 
with a sack of presents.  Tara had tied the balloon cloud to a 
chair.

"You know what," Scully said, glancing over at them, "I think 
Matthew tired him out and vice versa.  Why don't you all come 
back tomorrow for cake and present-opening.  About two o'clock 
sharp?"

Maggie and Tara nodded and Bill-her-Bastard-Husband, Son and 
Brother grumbled something vaguely obscene under his breath 
about Matthew being stuck to Mulder-the-Sorry-Sonovabitch like 
a remora on a shark and wondered how to disentangle them 
without waking either.  

Tara solved the problem by going over to them and very 
carefully removing Mulder's arms from around her son.  Mulder 
mumbled something quietly like, "Love you, Scully," and Tara 
actually got weepy, turning away from the man on the couch 
with her son in her arms. Matthew managed to sleep through the 
transition.

"What about my son's clothes?" Bill-her-Bastard-Brother 
demanded.

"I told you -- he got sick on them.  They're in the wash," 
Scully had disappeared and reappeared with a huge fluffy 
blanket.  "You can pick them up when come back for the party... 
at two o'clock sharp."  Scully glared at 
Bill-her-Bastard-Brother, daring him to say anything.

"Okay, Dana," he turned to his wife and mother, "You got him 
wrapped up?  It's cold outside."

Tara rolled her eyes and Maggie just smiled, "Yes, I know it's 
cold outside, Bill.  I just came *in* from outside."  She 
wrapped Matthew tighter in the blanket, leaned over and gave 
Dana a kiss on the cheek.  "Thanks, Dana.  And tell Fox thanks, 
too."

"I will," Scully smiled proudly at Mulder's accomplishment.

"See you tomorrow, baby," Maggie Scully hugged her daughter, 
"Don't let him sit there like that all night.  He'll catch 
cold." 

"I have every plan to get him out of those towels and into bed 
as soon as possible," Scully replied rather loudly.  
Bill-her-Bastard-Brother was already out the door, Tara and 
Matthew in tow, but he still heard that and made a choking 
sound.

"Mom!  You can't be condoning this! You understand that 
they're fu--" whatever else Bill-her-Bastard-Brother said was 
cut off by the door shutting.  Scully locked the door.

Scully leaned back against the door, took a deep cleansing 
breath -- something she always had to do whenever her love and 
her Bastard-Brother came in contact with each other.  She 
pushed off the door and wandered amidst towels and crayon- 
and stamp-covered papers until she reached her couch.  She sat 
next to Mulder and looked up at him.  

Scully couldn't help but smile.  She leaned over against him, 
laying her ear over his heart, placing her hand nearby, 
threading her fingers through his chest hair.

He looked ridiculous with all the stamps on him and some would 
have to be cut off. Hopefully, she could get the ones out of 
his hair with alcohol or some other nontoxic solvent.

"Mulder," she looked up at him, laughing to herself at the 
stamp from China on his chin.  *How appropriate,* she 
thought.  "Mulder," she said a little more insistently.  

Mulder squirmed a bit and Scully reached up to slowly peel the 
stamp from his chin.

THAT woke him up.  "Ow!  Matthe... Scully?" he looked totally 
surprised.  "Where's Matthew?" he was suddenly panicked.

"He's fine, Mulder," she smiled, "you took great care of him.  
He adores his 'Unkie Mulda.'  But you've got a bit of a 
problem... you went to sleep on him while you were pasting 
stamps with him and 'you' became his stamp book."

Scully's smile widened like nothing before.  Mulder looked down 
at himself and then up at her.  "Omigod!" he cried, "I fell 
asleep on him? He could've been hurt."

Yep.  That was her Mulder. All guilt, all self-sacrifice.

"Mulder," she turned his face back to him, "I got home and 
Matthew was asleep on top of you. You were both fine.  Tara, 
Mom and Bill (-her-Bastard-Brother) came over a little while 
ago for a birthday party for you."  She pointed to the cake, 
the balloons and the presents.

She poked him in the ribs and he squirmed, "Mom made your 
favorite cake, Mulder"

His eyes went wide and round, "You don't mean ... her homemade 
carrot cake .. do you?" he asked again, hoping against hope.

"Yes, she wants you to try it.  But I made them leave.  They're 
coming back tomorrow at two."

She waited and it happened.  He looked between her and the 
cake several times and the bottom lip came out, "But Scully, 
it's my birthday, dammit!"

Scully petted his chest, admiring the stamp from Hong Kong on 
his left nipple.  "I know, Mulder ... but Mom and Tara went to 
so much trouble ... it was supposed to be a surprise party.  
They didn't tell Bill about it because they knew he'd have a 
fit and Tara never figured that Bill would take the 
opportunity to 'dump' Matthew on *me* for a night out for him."

Mulder just looked at her, "But Scully," that forelock of hair 
fell forward, replete with a stamp from Jamaica, "it's my 
birthday ... dammit ...."  He sighed and appeared to wind down.

Scully reached up and kissed him on the jaw sweetly. "Mulder, 
you were a very good boy.  I know we didn't get to go out to 
eat, but I promise I'll get that reservation again at *your* 
restaurant."

"Pomise?" he asked, like Matthew.

"Pomise," Scully replied with a smile.  "Now you're all nice 
and clean, you're already undressed -- well, mostly," she 
grinned at him -- he was still apparently unaware of his 
newly-stamped persona.  "We can do one of two things:  we can 
go get you a nice, greasy, artery-clogging cheeseburger 
somewhere--"

Mulder's eyes lit up.

"--Or," Scully stood, started unbuttoning the cashmere sweater 
she wore, the one he gave her for her birthday and the one she 
loved more for his reaction when she took it off, "We can go 
to bed.  Early."  Scully did a credible imitation of Mulder 
waggling his eyebrows.

Mulder was up and off the couch before she could say "boo," 
lifted her from her feet and headed for her bedroom.  "I'm 
there, Scully!"

"Mulder!" Scully laughed, kissing him again, "Let me down, 
please.  I need to get my scissors."

Mulder looked at her, just before he was about to lower her to 
her bed.  "Dana Scully!  You *know* I'm not into kinky stuff!"

Scully laughed again.  "It's not that, Mulder.  Sometimes .... 
sometimes you're just such a doofus."

His smile fell.

"But you're such a sweet doofus and I love you so much," 
Scully wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the life 
out of him.  "Now put me down, Mulder."

"Yes, ma'am," Mulder said and gently deposited her on the bed. 
She immediately stood, "apparently, Mulder, *you* fell asleep 
before Matthew."

He looked stricken, "Oh God, Scully!  Did something...?"

"No, Mulder," Scully smiled, trying to hold down a laugh. 
"You and he were gluing his daddy's stamp collection, right?"

"That was his daddy's?" *the Bastard,* Mulder asked, then 
smiled mischievously.

"Uh huh," Scully said as she went to her bathroom for her 
"Emergency Mulder Medical Supplies" and returned with scissors 
and alcohol.  "And, apparently after you went to sleep, 
Matthew kept decorating."

Mulder looked at her blankly.

Scully sighed and rolled her eyes. "Mulder, look at your feet."

He frowned at her, but then leaned over slightly and looked, 
only to find each toenail decorated by its own personal stamp 
... and there were more and more stamps on his fingernails, 
his elbows ... one on each nipple.

Mulder sank unhappily onto the bed, "Oh God, Scully.  I am 
such a dork."

"No you're not, Mulder," she pushed his legs apart and stood 
in-between them.  "You're a sweet, loving, gentle, considerate 
man," she leaned over and kissed him, "and you're good with 
children.",

They looked at each other for a minute, a sorrow left unspoken 
between them, then Scully said, "But Matthew did a job on you, 
Mulder.  You have them in your hair," he reached up to feel 
them, "they're on your knees, your toes, your chest.  And if 
alcohol doesn't take them off and I can't cut them off without 
cutting *you* off..."

Mulder looked up at her and waggled his eyebrows, grabbed her 
hips and pulled her forward.  "Are you saying, Dr. Scully, 
that you want to take a tour of the world??"

She ran a finger down his chest, "Oh yeah, Mr. Mulder.  Now, 
your seat should be in its upright position and your tray 
table should be stowed."

"I think I'll have *no* trouble with the upright requirement," 
Mulder smiled.

"But I think you'd be better in a prone position ... so that I 
can get to all those countries easier," Scully said in a sultry 
voice.

"Don't have to tell *me* twice," Mulder mumbled and scooted 
back on the bed.  Scully peeled off her clothes except for her 
brand new Victoria's Secret lacy under-things she'd bought for 
Mulder's birthday.

"Scully, you're killing me here," Mulder groaned, "can't we 
worry about the trip around the world later?"

"No, Mulder," Scully said, "If this glue dries too hard, the 
only way to get it off will be to pull it off."

"Did you have to say *hard,* Scully?"

She reached down and ran her hand along the obvious bulge on 
his lower abdomen.  "I see what you mean, Mulder, but," she 
added, "the sooner I get through with this, the sooner we get 
to your birthday present."

"Oh Scully," he flung his arms wide and closed his eyes, 
"bring it on!"

Aside from numerous groans from places on his *world globe* 
that Scully removed a stamp and kissed it or licked it 
afterward, only heavy breathing and giggling was heard from 
the bedroom.

Until ....

"OH. MY. GOD!"  Scully's voice all but shouted.

"What?  What is it?" Mulder's voice strained.

"Mulder," Scully told him, laughing as she did so, "You have 
to be VERY still and when I say 'hold your breath,' I *mean* 
HOLD YOUR BREATH and do NOT move."

"Why?  What's wrong?" Mulder's voice was panicked, as if he'd 
been slathered in black alien oil again.

"Um," Scully couldn't quite get her giggles under control.  
"Um, Mulder ... look..."

The apartment was quiet for a moment until Mulder roared.  
"SCULLY!  Don't you *DARE* come near me with those scissors!"

"Mulder, I *have* to get it off!"

"Yeah, those were my plans, too, but you are *not* coming near 
me with those scissors!"

"Mulder," Scully's voice was still laughing, "It *has* to come 
off, Mulder.  As soon as possible."  

Mulder's heartfelt groan filled the apartment. "Okay, Scully, 
but ... be gentle with me.  And if I find out you *ever* tell 
your Mother or Tara about this, *I* will tell her about how 
*we* did it in *her* bed that time we baby-sat her plants."  
Mulder's voice turned into a growl.  "I mean it, Scully!"

"Okay, Mulder.  I promise," Scully told him.

She went to work on him, telling him to hold his breath, 
taking extraordinary care with this particular stamp's 
removal because of its extraordinary location.  

She wondered when and how Matthew had put it there. But 
little boys are little boys and somehow, he'd done just that.

She couldn't wait to see her Mom's and Tara's reaction when 
she told them *exactly* where on Mulder's anatomy the innocent 
little Matthew had put his daddy's stamp from Bangkok.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 
THE END
* * * * * * * * * * * *

AUTHORS' AFTER-NOTES:  Please don't come down on us because of our
comments about Gene Kelly, Disney or Looney Tunes.  One of us loves
Disney, the other Looney Tunes -- and we *both* love Gene Kelly.  We
just figured Mulder might *not.*

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

Challenge Elements:  
Immodium anti-diarrheal medicine
Bengal tiger
a currier and ives print
windmill
an envelope full of cancelled stamps
suspicious stain
movie "Singin' In The Rain"
reservation
shot glass
ceiling fan blade