From: ginarain@aol.com Date: Mon, 24 Sep 2001 18:18:38 EDT Subject: xfc: New: Harold by Gina Rain (MSR, Part 1 of 2) Source: xfc Title: Harold Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Category: S, MSR Rating: R (to be on the safe side--adult themes) Spoilers: None. Season 7-ish feel. Archive: Anywhere, just let me know Summary: Scully is ready for a romantic holiday weekend and finds herself part of a strange threesome. Disclaimer: CC and Co. own it. Yada yada. Notes: This is a very light, angst-free story based on improv elements provided by Scullyfic. Thank you, Christina, for the late-night beta. I blame it all on Harold. The German Shepherd named after a dildo. Well, maybe his owner. After all, Harold didn't ask to be in Mulder's custody for the July 4th weekend. And he certainly didn't ask to have a name with such an undignified history. No. It wasn't Harold's fault at all. I think I will blame it on Marv. Harold's owner. Or better yet, Mulder. For agreeing to this madness. At any rate, it did all begin on July 3rd--the beginning of a lovely, quiet, private holiday weekend. I should have smelled a 6 foot rat when Mulder asked me to meet him in the park. Normally, well--since we've crossed that line in our relationship; taken that step; done the deed; whatever subtle terminology is currently en vogue for becoming partners off the field as well as on-- Mulder began these "love fests" in the same fashion. By racing me up my apartment stairs, getting naked and climbing between my sheets before I could so much as remove a shoe. Subtle; yet effective. Last night, no Mulder. Just the park invitation. Damn. I should have known. I walked briskly down the jogging trail to the lake and spotted the bench that Mulder occupied with another man and his dog. I stepped up the pace a bit. I had missed my au-natural Mulder last evening. Perhaps we could go back to my apartment and take this nature hike later in the day. After all, the sun would be less strong, the air less dense and it would be more beneficial to our health. Really it would. As I made the turn to the front of the bench, something strange occurred to me. The older man on the bench had his back turned in the opposite direction. And Mulder--well, his hand was loosely holding the leash. "Mulder. . ." He looked up and smiled. "Scully--look what we've got here. A dog." "Really? I was just about to pull out my old biology books and try to identify the life form sitting so obediently at your heel." "Harold--Scully. Scully--Harold." The dog was a beauty. He wasn't young, by any means. His calm demeanor and scruffy muzzle attested to the passage of time but he had the serenity and --well, class--that seemed to be a hallmark of his breed. A purebred silver- gray German Shepherd. Harold tilted his head and looked directly at me. "Harold?" I asked. I was thinking, 'Rex. . .Maximilium. . .Emerson.' Certainly not a Harold. "His owner--Marv--a friend from the DCPD--is a big fan of 60's blues. Well, apparently, one English group used to shock the hell out of their audience by strapping this huge dildo to something on the stage--the drum kit; the microphone--whatever. It changed with the venue and the amount of liquor or drugs consumed. It was a very deviant thing to do in those days. Anyway, they nicknamed this new 'member' of the band, Harold. And Marv--well, as sort of a tribute--to both the group and this young pup's seemingly huge male equipment--named said pup, "Harold." Unfortunately, the promise didn't pan out but the name stuck anyway." My eyes involuntarily went to check on Harold's manly attributes. Normal sized, for a dog. What the hell was I doing checking out a dog's dick? "Mulder? I. . ." What was there to say? I shut my mouth. Obviously, this was one of those things that only men truly "got" and appreciated enough to spread the tale as if they were handing down some great revelation from above. I opened my mouth again. "Mulder? What are you doing with this poor dildo dog?" He smiled. "Marv is retiring from the DCPD. He's taking the first six months and traveling around the country in an RV. That's a recreational vehicle, Scully. A trailer." "Yes, Mulder. I do happen to know what an RV is. So. . .you're keeping Harold for six months?" I was trying to be calm. Trying very hard to be calm. "No. Just this weekend. He's picking up the RV from his brother in Miami and driving it up here before going out west. He just didn't want Harold to have to be checked in as 'baggage' by the airlines. Harold, here, is 9 years old. Not a spring chicken. No offense, Harold." In response, Harold rested his head against his two outstretched front paws. No offense taken, I guess. "But why you, Mulder? I mean, I've never even heard of Marv before today." "Harold is Marv's family. That's it, Scully. He has no one else. And obviously, he has pretty slim pickings for friends because we really only see each other--I don't know. Once in a blue moon. Usually when I'm trying to schmooze with the boys in blue to get something. I promise him the world; he gives me shit. We're friends." Another guy thing. I sighed. Well, who was I to stand in the way of male bonding? I settled in to relax, enjoy the sunshine and temporary dog custody. Mulder stood up and handed me the leash. Harold immediately stood at attention. "Take him for a test drive, Scully." A test drive. Mulder, surprisingly, sat back down and leaned against the bench. Okay. This was some strange little test Mulder had set up for me. He probably thought I was incapable or afraid of handling a large dog. Right. "Heel," I said to Harold and he did. We walked the entire perimeter of the lake in amiable silence. I found myself mentally calculating the expected life span of a large breed dog and slowing my pace a bit. As we approached Mulder on our return to the bench, I spotted his usual smart-ass expression firmly in place. "Scully? Did I hand you a bottle of Geritol along with the leash?" "What?" "You were walking like my great-aunt Sadie." "You don't have a great-aunt Sadie. Why are you always inventing these great-aunts, Mulder?" "Because they add a certain interest to my stories and more clearly illustrate the point I am trying to make." "Which is? "Which is. . .Harold isn't a young dog but he's healthy and fit and needs to stay that way. Here--give me." He took Harold's leash and sprinted off down the trail. I half-held my breath hoping that Marv would have a dog to take on the road with him when I saw Harold not only keeping pace, but appearing to almost--well, frolic-- while doing so. Damn. It was my turn now. To rest against the bench and watch the display before me. I lifted my face to the sun. It was a heartbreakingly perfect day. Sky completely blue and endless. Not a cloud to interfere with the grandeur of it all. Summer in all its majesty. My first summer truly Mulder. On a day that was nothing short of a gift from the heavens. I looked out across the lake. It, too, was perfect. Little shiny sparks of sunlight glistening off the water--weeping willows reaching low enough to almost, but not quite, capture them. And, in the background, Mulder and this geriatric prancing puppy. Color rising to the man's cheeks as he drove them both just enough to get their blood flowing. Just enough to reaffirm the life in their slightly aging bodies. I smiled to myself. Another demonstration of the difference between us. I saw an older dog and proceeded with caution. He saw the huge amount of life still in the animal and threw caution to the wind. "That is the way to walk Harold," Mulder came up beside me, nicely sweaty and huffing a bit for breath. Harold did the same but there was a definite spark of life in his brown eyes. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a bottle of Evian. "I don't suppose you have a bowl of some sort to give the dog some water?" "Watch this," he took the bottle and lifted it to Harold's mouth. Harold opened his mouth as Mulder squirted some water inside. Oh, yeah. Mulder was definitely enjoying showing me all of this dog's "special features." "I am impressed." Mulder laughed and we both sat on the bench for a while. Harold lay at Mulder's feet and soon took a long nap in the sun. So, the sun and the sky and the sweet moments with Mulder and the dog lulled me into a kind of stupefied nirvana. For a few hours. But it was a three day weekend. Without a stitch of backlogged work. Without an X-file in sight. And damn it, I wanted more than a walk in the park. "So," I said, leaning closer to him, "dinner and dessert at my place?" "Are you kidding? I hate to point this out but Harold is not the little hair ball Queequeg was. He's a real dog." It's a good thing I understand Mulder. Sort of. "And?" "And--big paws scratch hardwood floors, for one thing. For another, I've been assured that he is fully housetrained--but, you never know. I don't have any doggie Depends. I'm just not as worried about my apartment as you are about yours. " "So--I get to see you on--what? July 6th?" "No. You come to me tonight. Bring dessert. " "And dinner?" "Pepperoni or mushroom?" It's funny that Mulder mentioned Queequeg. Looking back, there were moments when he definitely had seemed jealous of the little guy. I thought it ridiculous at the time. Until I walked into Mulder's apartment that evening and found myself beginning to have a distinct envy of the amazing Harold. End of Part 1 Part 2 I had been in such a good mood by the time I reached Mulder's place that I very nearly forgot we wouldn't be completely alone. After knocking several times, I heard Mulder approaching muttering what sounded suspiciously like a "Pipe down already, Scully." But I knew he couldn't be that suicidal. He opened the door half naked and harried. "I'm just getting Harold settled for the evening, Scully. He needs some quiet time about now or he won't sleep later. I haven't even had a chance to shower. I'll be out in a few minutes. Delivery boy should be here with the pizza in about 10 minutes. Try to catch him before he knocks like a madman and upsets the dog." And he was off to the bathroom. A very familiar, old theme song was coming from the television. As I approached, ready to find the remote, Mulder yelled from the bathroom, "And don't change the channel, Scully. . .Harold likes Bewitched." Harold liked Nick at Nite. And quiet. Oh. . .kay. I went back to the little table Mulder has by his door and picked up the cake box I had set down when I walked into the apartment. Mulder would get a kick out of this. And I got an incredible bargain to boot. A chocolate marzipan cake with a huge discount because it was decorated for a "Graciella's" birthday--only Graciella broke up with her boyfriend that morning and he sure as hell wasn't going to fork over $25 for a damned cake. I told the woman complaining about all of this I would take it--decorated and all--for $17.50. I love marzipan. And Mulder loved quirky things like this. I went into the kitchen to set it on the counter and found a paper bag with a slight grease stain bleeding through. Shit. The guy makes me go out and get dessert and then buys a bag of cookies. If Mulder would just think some things through--well, then maybe I wouldn't love him quite as much. I took a cookie out of the bag and went to join Harold. Harold the dildo dog loved cookies, apparently, because he perked up immediately and placed the entire upper half of his body on my lap. He openly salivated as I munched on the extremely dry snack. There was justice. Mulder bought some really awful cookies. I looked up as Mulder's laughter rang out from his vantage point at the open doorway of his bathroom "I didn't realize you were so hungry," he said. "What? It's just a cookie. Your pizza guy is late." "Good. If he holds out another five minutes--we won't have to pay him. But, really, Scully--eating a dog biscuit?" I stopped mid-swallow and looked for a place to spit which seemed to cause Mulder to laugh all the more. "Well, it's too late now. And there aren't ground up horse bones in it, Scully. It's just natural ingredients--lots of fiber-ish things with minimal sugar. Nothing to kill you." I swallowed quickly and gave the rest to Harold, who seemed to enjoy it immensely. "Mulder--those cookies were warm." "Yeah. I found this doggie bakery on the way home. Well, actually--I looked in the yellow pages. I figured--what the hell? The dog is on vacation, too. He should have dessert with us. So--anyway--they had just pulled these guys out of the oven. . .so I bought a bag." He bought a bag. Of cookies. For the dog. From a "doggie bakery." "Bewitched" on the television to help Harold relax. Don't knock on the door too loud. It disturbs Harold. Shine your shoes, Harold? Get you a freaking spot of tea? I was not jealous of the dog. No. Absolutely not. This was foolish. There was a quick knock on the door and Mulder leaped to it before the guy could get his knuckles back to the wood. I walked over to Mulder's bedroom and looked in the mirror. Perhaps I forgot my layer of charm today? To my surprise, Harold followed me and leaped up with his front paws resting against the dresser. "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall. Who's the fairest one of all?" I muttered to myself. Harold tilted his head and looked at me oddly, as if I had asked him the question and he didn't quite know how to convey the obvious truth without hurting my feelings. I stopped staring at the mirror and petted him on the head. He lifted a paw and put it on my forearm. Who was I kidding? It was nice having a dog. Very nice. Mulder was just a little carried away. We went back in to get our dinner and resume our 60's television marathon. Harold was drowsy before the television set when Mulder came out carrying Graciella's cake with a huge candle in the middle of it. He sang a soulful rendition of "Happy Birthday" to the unknown woman and I found myself really enjoying our small faux family fiesta. After eating a little too much of the cake, and downing the last of our wine, we made our way to the small area on the couch that Harold wasn't occupying. No complaints there. It was nice having yet another excuse to snuggle with Mulder. "Did you ever have a dog when you were a child, Mulder?" "No. It was one of those things that was always promised but we knew had little chance of being delivered. My mother claimed to be allergic to everything." "You could have gotten your own when you grew up." "No. I will probably never have a dog. Not in the cards, Scully. A dog needs attention." "Yes, but Marv is a cop. Harold is happy." "Marv is one of the best paper pushers the DCPD has ever known. It's an undeniable fact. He has the knack and the talent for doing massive quantities of paperwork without complaint and very little error. So--he was rarely out on the field and he's kept fairly regular hours. Maybe a cat. . ." He trailed off, lost in thought. Then he smiled softly. "How do you feel about cats, Scully?" "I like them, I guess. We weren't a big pet family, either. With all the moving. . .and later, Queequeg was as close as I got and we know how that turned out. A cat could be left at home and fend for itself. It has that in its favor." "Poor Queequeg," Mulder said, serious for once. "Poor Queequeg," I echoed. My apartment had been my apartment. For the short time he lived with me, Queequeg made it seem more like a home. In a slightly different way than Mulder did now. We chose to not live together officially. There were lots of visits between our apartments which made things seem very new and endlessly exciting but the times in between--well, our respective shared homes turned back into individual apartments. "Come on, Scully. Let's go to bed. Give Harold some time alone," he winked at both of us. The bedroom door remained partially open and I kept envisioning old Harold leaping on the bed right when Mulder and I were at a critical phase of our. . .nighttime pursuits. "Relax, Scully," Mulder said as he positioned himself on top of me. I put my hands around him and slid them up and down his back. I loved Mulder's back. Uninterrupted Mulder-skin, with lots of interesting hills and valleys to keep my fingertips entertained. Every single time we did this. . .every single time we made love. . . I was struck with just how much I truly adored this man. In every way; the one usually considered the most obvious being explored last. I felt his warm breath next to my ear. He loved doing this. Before he entered me, he always burrowed his head next to mine and said something to me. Sometimes it was just a muttered "love you, Scully," but he always said something and it never failed to send a shiver through me. Just the sound of the voice I've heard nearly every day for the better part of a decade lowered in a tone of husky desire. The sound of nighttime fantasies come to life. "I'm glad I got rid of the waterbed, Scully. We'd have both drowned by now." Not the words of a poet but good enough for me. I laughed as he pushed firmly into me and hung on to his shoulders as we both began to move slowly. . . so slowly. But not for long. He was right. We would have drowned many times over. And we probably wouldn't have even cared. I checked on Harold at around 3 AM. When I walked into the room, he opened his eyes and looked at me. I sat down on the floor and leaned my head against his middle. We watched "Get Smart" in companionable silence while Mulder snored steadily in the bedroom. Which is why, I guess, I initially wanted to blame Harold. Or Marv for lending us Harold. For reminding me of a life that is not lived in a "no frills" fashion. For reminding me of commitment. For leading me to shed my usual reserve about five minutes after we bid Harold and Marv a "bon voyage" and good, healthy retirement with a sheen of tears in our eyes, and utter the words I know I will live to regret: "Mulder--let's go to the animal shelter." Which is why we are now lying in my bed and I have a cute little gray kitten butt in my face as the little minx is sidling up to her main squeeze, Mulder. Little Graciella, named after a mysterious birthday cake on the night, as Mulder so eloquently put it, she was "conceived." Ignoring the scientific facts, of course, that the kitten is a good five months old and was not dropped on this earth a mere three days ago. So we added a frill. We added a responsibility. We made a commitment. We turned my apartment into a home again. One in which Mulder would now gravitate towards on an even more frequent basis, I'm sure. And I can finally get him back for all the furball jokes he used to hurl at me on a regular basis during the short time a Pomeranian shared my life. Thank you, Harold. The End Author's Notes: I don't normally write long notes but this one might be a bit longer than usual. My favorite singer is currently on tour and she has been prefacing her shows with a request that her audience try to leave the world behind and let the music wrap around them. Last week, when I was in need of something to wrap around me, I turned to some longer pieces of fanfic and it helped me keep my sanity. Many will not want to read this piece at this time, and that's understandable, but for those who need a tiny break--I hope I've given that to you for a few short moments. This is dedicated to Champie--the dog of my youth--a pure bred silver-gray German Shepherd; and my current "pup"--Amber--a special blend dog who helps make our house a home. And, finally--this story was inspired by those beautiful creatures who literally went into the bowels of hell on earth to please their masters and help rescue people. Seeing them reminded me of another one of the things we can easily take for granted: the gift of animal companionship, animal devotion and unconditional love. The elements that were oh-so-subtlety added into the story: 1--The phrase "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" 2--Homemade cookies, fresh from the oven 3--A glorious blue sky, brilliant to the point of taking your breath away 4--birthday cake and 5--A reference to Bewitched. Visit the Rain Room...fan fiction by Gina Rain http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic