From: "Diadem" Date: Mon, 10 May 1999 16:46:53 +0100 Subject: Househunting (1/2) by Diadem MSR Title: Househunting (1/2) Author: Diadem Rating: G Category: S, H, MSR-ish Disclaimer: They are not mine - The X Files and it's wonderful characters belong to CC, 10:13, Fox, and, of course, GA and DD. I am making no money from this, and immitation is the highest form of flattery!! Archive: Gossamer, yes, others, yes, but please let me know where. Feedback: DO NOT HIT REPLY - But of course, I still want the feedback! Diadem@cwcom.net Dedication: For Isa, a truly talented writer, who has no doubt been irreversably damaged by writing with me! Thanks for everything: you are a wonderful person! Househunting (1/2) By Diadem It had been a bad week. Fox Mulder offered up a silent prayer that it was Friday as he stepped out of the elevator. It was somehow fitting, he thought, that the pile of folders he was carrying should slip and scatter themselves all over the corridor. He bent to gather them up again, but forgot all about the files when he heard a scream from his office. Crashing through the door at full speed, he spun towards his partner's desk. Dana Scully was looking unharmed, if somewhat distraught. She was clicking like a woman possessed at her lap top, which was open on her desk. "Scully?" Maybe she had been sent something via e-mail. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. "What?" Uh oh, thought Mulder. That time of the month again. "I, um, heard a scream. Was that you?" "Yes." She turned her attention back to the computer screen. "Why?" It may have been a stupid question, but if she was going mad, he really ought to do something about it. She lifted her head and stared at him again, as though he were crazy. "OK Mulder." She began. "Let's start at the beginning shall we?" He nodded, and perched himself on the edge of his own desk, waiting expectantly. "OK then. Today is Friday." That was true. He had checked his calendar himself that morning. She continued. "Monday was fine. I quite liked Monday. Tuesday, however, we got stuck in a high-tech genetics lab, which, I'll agree with you, was involved in illegal activity, but it was also about to explode. The result of which was this." She pulled her foot out from under the desk, revealing the clean white cast that currently held the two halves of her ankle together. Oh. That. "Scully, I said I was sorry..." "Yes." She conceded. "You did. However, by Wednesday, you'd decided to be helpful, and drive my car back to my place for me, seeing as I am indisposed." Yep, he remembered that too. Oh. Right. That. "But, sometime during the five minute drive, you somehow managed to wrap it round a tree." Yeah. Like he needed reminding. "That was Wednesday." She counted off the offending days on her fingers. "Thursday. You still with me, Mulder?" He nodded. He couldn't speak. Scully was telling him off. It wasn't worth speaking. "Thursday morning you see me struggling out of a cab with a dry cleaning bag. It is the suit, one of my best suits, that I had worn to visit the genetics Lab. Needless to say, it required cleaning. So you offered to get it done for me. Do you remember what you did Mulder?" Only a tactful silence could suffice. "You put it through the washing machine, didn't you, Mulder?" She paused. "And now it is Friday. I have had one hell of a week." Another pause as she stared hard at him. "And now," her voice rose to the point of hysteria. "I can't even beat the bloody computer! At Solitare!" Mulder could only stare as she dropped her head to the desk. "Oh, and Mulder?" She asked, without moving her head. "Yeah?" Monosylables were good, he thought. "If I want my apartment burning down, I'll let you know." The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. It was probably better that way, Mulder reflected. OK, so the week hadn't gone too well, for either of them, but it seemed that Scully was taking it badly. She is the one with the broken ankle, the little voice in his head piped up. If Mulder had been listening, he may have been worried by the fact that he was hearing voices. If he had mentioned it to anyone else, they would certainly have been worried: probably to the degree of giving him a nice new coat with the sleeves sewn together around the back of the neck. But Mulder wasn't worried. He was trying to think of a way to be nice to Scully. Preferably without injuring her any more than he had already. Because, he rationalised, face it. It probably was his fault. Scully had left early, prefering, for some reason, to take a cab, rather than accept his offer of a lift home. The office was boring without her. He had no one to annoy. His files were all neatly organised, although Scully would probably disagree with him on that one. His pencils were all sharp. His paperclips were all linked together. So were Scully's. He had nothing to do. Three hours later, he still had nothing to do. He had even washed the dishes from last week and done his laundry. Lying on his couch, he regarded his video collection carefully. The idea was appealing, if only he could be bothered to move. With a sigh, he reached for the remote, resigning himself to an evening of channel surfing. After years of practice, he had got channel surfing down to a fine art: if he concentrated, he could change the channel every third of a second, and not process what he had seen until five seconds later. Others might call him strange, but it kept him amused. It was as a result of his finely honed skill that by the time he had registered what was on CNN, he was thirty channels along. Flipping back, he stared at the screen in disbelief. He made it to Scully's apartment in record time: unfortunately, so had half the population of DC and the surrounding area. Flashing his ID, he ran up to a nearby police constable. He was nearly frantic. The flames had already consumed all but the top floor of the building. "Did they get everybody out?" He asked the constable. The young man stared at him, uncomprehending Mulder's words. "Did they get everybody out!" Mulder screamed. "There was a woman, she had a broken ankle, she may not..." Suddenly, a light seemed to go on in the police officer's head. "Oh yeah. She got out. She's FBI too." He added helpfully. "Where is she?" The relief he felt was incredible. He was also relieved that he had been nowhere near the building, and could not possibly be blamed for the fire. "Last I saw she was organising the fire department." The man turned, and walked away. That was Scully alright. Pocketing his ID, Mulder headed for the first fire truck he laid eyes on. There were two paramedics nearby, one attending a casualty, the other apparently awaiting further instructions. "Excuse me." He addressed the unoccupied paramedic. "Have you seen a woman, red hair, short, angry?" "I'm not that short!" Came an indignant voice from under the second paramedic. "And I said I'd let you know!" "Is this man bothering you, ma'am?" Asked the paramedic. "Yes." she answered. "But I'm kinda used to it." She stood, and hobbled over to him. "What are you doing here, Mulder?" "CNN." He answered. "Are you OK?" "Well, this just about seems to top off my perfect week." she gestured towards the building. "I don't know what to do!" She buried her face in her hands as Mulder pulled her into his arms. "Any luck with the apartment hunting, Scully?" It was two weeks later, and things were almost back to normal. Scully was staying with an old college friend while she looked for a new apartment. During lunchbreaks, she pulled out piles Estate Agent's cards, spread them over her desk, and tried to reach a decision, while Mulder sat and made useful suggestions. One such suggestion, that she should make sure any vents were as small as possible, had been met with her "it must be nice to live in your little world, Mulder" look. He had thought it a reasonable idea, considering that there was a whole world of monsters and extra-terrestrials just waiting to crawl through heating vents. "Not really." She replied. "I was kind of hoping I could get a house, but I really can't afford it on my own, and no one wants to share with Mrs Spooky." She sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. "And can you blame them?" "Come on, Scully." He consoled her. "You are not that bad." He had thought he was being helpful. "I know that, Mulder." She was giving him that look again. "But would you want to share a house with someone whose last apartment burned down in the same week she broke her ankle and got her car smashed up?" Come on Mulder, you know the answer to this one, he told himself. "Probably not." He admitted. One look at her face told him that he probably hadn't known the answer after all. Uh oh. Need an escape plan. Fast. "Won't be a minute." he reassured her, as he fled the office. Four hours later, he realised that a minute had been a bit optimistic. Deciding to bypass the office (face it, she wouldn't still be there at 7:30pm), he headed straight for her friend's house. He pulled up just as Scully was paying the cab driver. Racing around, he took her briefcase and lap top bag from her. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" She deftly snatched back her briefcase. "I waited a full sixty minutes after you left, but then I decided to come home." Oops, there went the lap top bag too. "Well, as near to home as I've got at the moment." She started up the driveway. "I'm sorry." An apology always worked when coupled with the puppy dog look. He could see her relenting even before she turned around. She didn't stand a chance. "Will you let me take you out to dinner? Somewhere nice?" "I don't know Mulder. I still have two hundred and five bones still intact, and I'd sort of like to keep them that way." But she was smiling. Always a good sign. "Please?" Bottom lip out all the way. Never fails. "Alright, alright. Just let me dump my stuff." She turned away. "Oh, and Mulder? Wait in the car, OK? I like this neighbourhood." "Mulder, for the last time, WHERE ARE WE???" The suspense was killing her, he could tell. "Please tell me you are not driving around looking for the seediest diner in the world?" "I'm not driving around looking for the seediest diner in the world." He assured her. "Just a couple more minutes." "That's what you said half an hour ago." she grumbled. "Yeah," he grinned in the darkness. "But this time I'm not lying!" True to his word, two minutes later Mulder pulled up in front of a rather dilapidated looking cottage. It was white-washed, and had a straggly creeping rose running around the front door. It looked like it belonged in England in the nineteen thirties, not in Maryland in the nineties. "Mulder." The warning voice. "This doesn't look like a restaurant." "I never said I was taking you to a restaurant." He helped her out of the car. "I said I was taking you someplace nice." He dig around in his pocket, produced a key, and opened the front door of the cottage, ushering her inside. "Tell me it isn't haunted." She demanded. "Not that I know of." He paused for daramtic effect. "Dana Katherine Scully, welcome to your new home! Oh, by the way, you owe me forty thousand dollars." "Mulder..." Now that he thought about it, that cast could probably inflict a lot of pain. "What have you done?" "I bought you the perfect house." He flicked the lightswitch to reveal a rather dusty living room. The wall paper was peeling and the paint was flaking. "Well, it needs a bit of fixing up, but it WILL be perfect." "I bought a house, and you didn't tell me?" The situation was turning nasty. Now would be a good time to play his trump card. "You said you wanted a house, but no one would share with Mrs Spooky." He KNEW he had that part right. "So who better to share with than Mr Spooky himself?" "This isn't happening..." she muttered. "Oh no, it's nothing like that, Scully. Separate rooms, and everything." No point in scaring her off now. "Mulder, you said you were taking me out for dinner, but now I find that..." "Thant's right." He interrupted. He opened the door on his right, and pulled her through into... "Oh!" THAT shut her up! "Oh, Mulder, it's gorgeous!" She wandered round the brand new kitchen, touching, opening cupboards, exclaiming over the meal that was already underway on the stove. "I can't believe you did this." "You like the house?" Scully's approval was what he craved most of all. "The house... is interesting." She rubbed her head. "Oh, what the hell. I'll think about the house in the morning. For now, I just want to eat." YES! She liked it! Stay calm. "Wine?" She shook her head, not quite believing the situation she had found herself in. "I think I'd better." And they settled in to the first meal they would share in their new home. It was light. Scully was awake, but she had decided not to open her eyes just yet. She was lying on a mattress. There was a dusty smell. For some reason, the phrase "The morning after the night before" popped into her mind. The house. Ah yes, the house. That would explain the dusty smell. But there was something else, not just dust, a kind of, buring smell.... She was standing almost before her eyes were open. When she did open them, she wished she hadn't. God, the house looked worse in daylight, and she hadn't thought that was possible. Anyway, she may not have to deal with that if it was on fire. Two homes in as many weeks, her mind cheerfully reminded her. She made it out onto the landing without incident, and started to negotiate the stairs. Her cast was still slightly restricting her movement, but she was getting faster. As soon as she hit the floor, she half ran, half hobbled into the kitchen. Her new kitchen. The house's saving grace. Well, that was definitely where the smell was coming from, she reflected. For some reason she was calm. There wasn't really anything else to do, in the circumstances. The pristine white ceiling had a black patch right above the stove. The stove itself was mostly black, as were the counters in its immediate vincinity. There were eggshells, at least two dozen, spread over every available surface, including the floor. The smoke alarm looked like it had been attacked with a heavy object: yep, there was the rolling pin on the draining board, presumably where it had landed, judging from the large dent. Several slices of burnt toast littered the table. The whole effect was completed by the heavy curtain of smoke which filled the room, dispite the best efforts of the lone extractor fan, bravely battling with the onslaught. Scully just stood and surveyed the damage. She was surprised: not to find the kitchen a mess, but to find the kitchen in this BIG a mess. He could only have been up an hour or so, how could he have had time to do that much damage? It was an X File. Resigned to her fate, she sat down and waited for Mulder to appear. She did not have long to wait. He emerged through the back door less than a minute later, coughing as the smoke caught in his throat. He was wearing jeans, and a slightly charred sweatshirt, and was clutching a frying pan with both hands. "Morning, Mulder." She could have sworn she heard him yelp. "Ah, morning Scully. Sleep well?" He offered. "Fine. Thank you. Um, Mulder...?" She couldn't help but wonder. "Oh, this!" He gestured to the back door. "I had to bring the frying pan inside." "Oh." That explained it all. She wasn't even going to ASK. "Would you like some breakfast?" He coughed again. "I would recommend the cereals." She knew she shouldn't ask. "Why?" Bother! "Well, the other option is eggs, but I haven't found a way to stop them soaking into the bread yet." "Cereals are fine." He reached for the cupboard. She leapt out of her seat. "Tell you what, why don't I get those? You open the doors, see if we can get rid of some of this smoke, huh?" She reached for a bowl. "Guess what we're doing this morning?" Oh have mercy on my soul, he sounded enthusiastic. "What?" Maybe she could pick up some prozac on the way. "We're going to the store to get paint!" Three year old Mulder strikes again, Scully thought as she placed the bowl of Cheerios on the table. Smoked cereal, now there was an idea. Maybe she could market it, make lots of money, and buy her own house. Wait a minute! PAINT!!! Scully suddenly realised that she was going to be doing a lot more praying in the next few weeks, if not years. Oh well, she thought. Lock him in a room with a can of paint and a brush, how much harm can he do? But as her gaze wandered over the kitchen, she had a feeling she knew. It seemed like the entire population of Maryland had decided that this was the weekend to catch up on all those little jobs that always need doing. The store was packed. Mulder stared. He had always avoided these places as if his life depended on it, but now he had someone to shop with, it could be fun, he decided. Scully was standing next to him, watching him take in his surroundings. She looked decidedly wary. Oops. That must be a reaction to his efforts at breakfast. Mulder made a mental note to be on his best behaviour. He pulled the list out of his pocket. "Right. We need paint, brushes, rollers, roller trays, spirit...Do you want to stick together, or do you want to split up and get some stuff each?" The look on Scully's face was pained. Had he said something wrong? Had he broken some sort of Code of Honour for paint shopping? Finally she spoke. "As much as I hate to admit it, Mulder, I think we'd better stick together. Paint." She stared at the direction signs that were suspended from the ceiling. "This way." She began to fight her way through the crowd. "Oh, Mulder?" "Yeah?" He was losing sight of her. "I think we may need a trolley to put all this stuff in." Right. He could do that. There were a whole row of them by the door. He collected one, and caught up with Scully. She was standing between two massive walls of paintcans. "Had you thought about colours?" She asked him. He shrugged. "Black?" "Mulder!" She laughed. "We need something cheerful! That old place is so dingy, we have to do anything we can to brighten it up!" "So you're definitely staying?" Stupid question. What reason did she have NOT to stay? She looked at him. "I'll think about it." Smiling, she reached for a tin of magnolia paint. She looked so cute, standing on her toes, he just couldn't resist. She squeeked as he grabbed her by the waist and held her up to the level of the cans, hitting him over the head in an effort to get him to put her down. "Come on Scully," He told her. "You'd better get that paint quick, or my arms are going to fall off!" Seeing her escape route, she pulled a can off the shelf, and sighed in relief when she felt her cast bump against the floor. "Thank you, kind sir." She curtsied as best she could with one leg in a cast. "But maybe you can get the next one, hmmm?" "As you wish, my lady." With a sweeping bow, Mulder pushed the trolley down the aisle, filling it with paintcans as he went. He had had no idea just how heavy trolleys could get, and they hadn't even started on the rollers and brushes yet. He was on the verge of complaining when something caught his eye. He wandered over to get a better look. This could save him a lot of work and effort. It was perfect. He had to show Scully. "Scu..." He turned around, and there she was, eyes blazing. "Mulder," She began. "how do you do it? First, you leave the trolley in the only spot in the store where it can block four aisles, and then you run off and leave me talking to a row of paint brushes!" Her eyes narrowed, dangerously. "Care to explain?" She was angry. No doubt about that. But she would understand when he showed her what he had found. He pointed excitedly. "Look!" "Look at what, Mulder?" "That! You just pour the paint in, close the door, and it paints the whole room! I think it must kind of explode..." "Mulder." She was rubbing her temples. Bad sign. "It costs four hundred dollars. I just spent fourty thousand dollars I didn't know I was spending, so I am not about to spend a further four hundred on a paint bomb! OK?" It was probably best to agree with her. They had spread the paintcans out on the floor of the kitchen, which had, despite first impressions, survived its early morning attack quite well. The ceiling was still a little charred-looking, and they had had to pick up a new frying pan and smoke alarm, but other than that, it looked pretty good. Scully walked through the door wearing jeans with holes worn through the knees and an oversized tee shirt. Her hair was tied up, and covered with a baseball cap. She strode to the table, selected a brush, then grabbed a can. "Uh, Scully?" She was going to kill him, but he had to ask. "Should you be doing that? With your ankle, I mean?" "Well, if I had a choice, I'd leave my ankle behind." She answered. "But that would be painful, let alone messy, so I think I'll keep it, thanks!" She exited the room, and he could hear her clumping her way up the stairs. "I'm going to start on my room!" "OK!" He shouted. "Call me if you need anything!" Snatching up a can and a roller, he went to make a start on the dining room. If he was lucky, he might get finished before Scully. It had been slow going. After he had accepted that rollers just weren't made to go inside the paintcan he had thought it would be easy. But his arms hurt, his neck ached, and the fumes from the paint were starting to get to him. He decided to show Scully, and then lie down for a bit. She was standing on a chair when he found her. Remembering her reaction when he had picked her up in the store, he wound his arms around her waist again. "Mulder!" She slapped his arm. "Look what you made me do!" She pointed to a slight smudge in the corner or the ceiling. "Something to remember me by!" He told her, and laughed as she carefully painted his nose. "Come see what I did." He carried her downstairs, in spite of her objections, and set her upright outside the closed dining room door. "Close your eyes." He instructed her, as he opened the door and ushered her inside. "You can open them now." She did. She stared. She was obviously overwhelmed with the work he had done, he noted, proudly. "Well, say something! I spent all day on this!" She took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "It's very... um... orange." She finally managed. "Why orange, Mulder?" "It was the most cheerful colour I could find!" He declared. "Oh Mulder!" She reached up and kissed him. She kissed him! "You're an idiot!" "You don't like it?" He was stunned, by both her reaction and the kiss. "Not really." She admitted. "But I guess I'll get used to it." She squeezed his hand. "Now, where's the nearest pizza place?" It had been a bad idea to paint her bedroom first, Scully reflected as she lay on her matress. The fumes from the paint were giving her a headache, and she had to keep coughing to clear them from her throat. She would have opened the window, but she knew from her training that asphixiation was a much quicker death than freezing. There had been forecasts of snow: needless to say, one of the first things Mulder had moved in had been his television. She rolled over, cursing as her cast bumped aginst her good foot. She coughed again, trying to remember where she had left the asprin. Possibly the kitchen. But she couldn't be bothered to move that far. After spending the day stretching to make up for her small stature, Scully was sore. She could have asked Mulder to do the ceiling: he would have done, if she had asked. But she wasn't about to give up her independance just because she was living with the man. Living with the man. It suddenly dawned on her that she had never lived with a man before. Good job it's only Mulder: her mother would have a fit if she had decided to move in with anyone else of the opposite sex. Oh, her head was swimming. Asprin. Kitchen. Movement. Less pain. It was worth it, she decided, as she clambered to her feet. Entering the kitchen, she wrinkled her nose at the still slightly smokey smell of the kitchen. Was there any room in this house that didn't smell funny, she asked herself as she reached for the cupboard that held the asprin. Correction, the cupboard she had THOUGHT had held the asprin. Think. What could have happened to it? The answer was not difficult. The same thing had happened to the asprin as had happened to the rest of the house. Mulder. She checked all the surfaces, and the rest of the cupboards. No luck there. Resigned, she climbed the stairs once again, and trudged into the bathroom. Not on the sink, not on the window sill, not in the cabinet. Where then? There was only one possibility left. Mulder's room. She pushed the door open gently, not wanting to wake him. There he was, sprawled across his matress, breathing softly. And next to him... the asprin! Victory! Scully was about to shake the little round tablets into her hand, when she stopped. Her headache was gone. She no longer felt the desire to cough. Mulder's room was not filled with fumes or smoke or any other vapours. Sure, it was a little dusty, but it was the best she was going to get. Crouching by the side of his mattress, she gently poked Mulder in the ribs. "Shove over!" She hissed. Unconsciously, he obliged, grunting as he rolled over. Gratefully she pulled the covers around her shoulders. What am I doing? She asked herself. She could only imagine what kind of teasing she would have to suffer in the morning - Mulder just wouldn't be able to resist. But it was probably better than getting no sleep. In the end, reason won the battle, and Scully drifted into slumber. She woke with an arm slung across her middle. Mulder. She must have turned in her sleep. Wondering how best to move without waking him, she coughed: no doubt an after effect of coughing so much the night before. The arm tightened, and before she knew what was happening she was pulled tight against a still un- conscious Mulder. Shifting slightly, she managed to loosen his hold on her. Being careful not to jar him, she moved downwards, slipping herself out of his embrace, and made a successful escape onto the landing. Only once she was there did she let out the breath she hadn't known she had been holding. Deciding that it was probably safer for her to make breakfast herself, she wandered into the kitchen, and filled the kettle. With Mulder still asleep the house was peaceful. It was kind of pretty, she admitted to herself. It had evidently been beautiful in the past, and she was secretly hoping that she could make it look that way again. She stared out of the window. She hadn't really looked before, but there was a garden. Only small, and very overgrown, but it too could be restored, she decided. As soon as the house was finished. It had not snowed the night before, but there was a heavy frost covering the ragged plants. Pulling her robe around her, Scully unlocked the back door and stood, taking in the view of the garden. Mostly the plants were dead, or at least struggling. But right by the wall there was a holly tree, strong and very much alive. The dark green leaves were accentuated by the patches of bright red berries. She was mulling over the possibilities the tree held regarding the upcoming Christmas season when she heard a yelp from behind her. "Kettle's on, Mulder." She didn't even bother to turn round. "So I noticed." She heard footsteps approaching from behind her. "Sleep well?" "My room was full of paint fumes." She explained. "I'd have suffocated if I'd stayed in there." "It's OK." He slipped his arms round her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder, and stared out at the garden with her. "I just wish I'd known in advance." Laughing, she swatted his arm. "Don't push your luck!" She took hold of his hands. "It's pretty, isn't it?" "Sure is." She couldn't have known he was looking at her. Sighing, she let go and turned back inside, leaving Mulder in the doorway. End (1/2) Househunting (2/2) By Diadem It was Saturday. The house was finished. Well, there were still one or two bits that needed tidying up, but Scully knew it was futile to try and get a house totally tidy while Mulder was in it. She could spend hours cleaning, leave the room to get a soda or something, come back, and there he would be, devastation surrounding him like an aura. OK, so maybe he wasn't quite that bad. But living with Mulder was rather like being responsible for a toddler. From the utter destruction of the brand new kitchen on her first day in her, sorry, THEIR new house, to yesterday evening when Mulder offered to wash up and had not only broken a glass but managed to lose the sink in a mountain of bubbles, she had never quite managed to relax. That was about to change, though. It was Saturday morning, there was no work to go to, and she could lie in bed and do nothing. Yes, she had a bed. The money from her insurance on her old apartment had come through, allowing her to not only pay off her share of the cost of the house, but to buy some of her own furniture, too. She had even had her cast removed the day before, and although she was still bandaged up it felt good to be able to move her ankle joints again. She tried it, experimentally wiggling her foot under the bed covers. It ached slightly, but it couldn't spoil the irrationally good mood she had woken up in. Stretching, she swung her legs off the side of the bed. Sitting up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was sleepy, hair mussed and pyjamas rumpled, but she still looked happy. She couldn't think why, though. She stood up, and walked carefully to her door, being careful not to put too much pressure on her ankle. As the door swung open her field of vision was suddenly filled with flesh. Male flesh. Male Mulder flesh. "Jesus, Mulder!" She jumped backwards, slamming her door. "You OK, Scully?" His voice sounded very close. Too close. "Yeah." She tried unsuccessfully to slow the rapid beating of her heart. "I just wasn't expecting to find you... um..." "I was going for a shower." "I guessed." "Do you want to go first?" "No Mulder, you go ahead." "Are you sure? 'Cause if you want, I can..." "No, no." She interrupted. She wasn't sure she could concentrate on a shower anyway if she knew that there was a nude Mulder somewhere in the house. "Just let me know when you're done." "OK!" She heard footsteps heading away from her door, followed by the sound of the bathroom door closing. Gradually her breathing returned to normal. Well, she certainly hadn't been expecting THAT. Not that she minded... exactly. What was it Mulder had said to her a week or so ago? "I just wish I'd known in advance." Precisely. If she'd known in advance, maybe she could have taken advantage of the situation... Or maybe not. She made a mental note to buy him a robe. What was her problem? Mulder asked himself as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. All he did was walk to the bathroom to take a shower. He did it every morning. Usually he was up way before her, so they didn't clash, but maybe she had just really wanted a shower? But it was not like Scully to flip over something like that. She usually waited until he broke something. Hanging the towel on the airer, just as Scully had shown him, he pulled back the bolt on the door and wandered back to his room. Maybe it was just PMT: she seemed to have had a lot of that lately. Ten minutes later he was dressed, and headed for the kitchen. As he reached for the bread, Scully's voice came wafting in from the laundry room. "I'm doing my laundry, Mulder." She shouted. "Do you have anything you want me to put through?" "Uh uh." He probably did, but for now, food was more important. He would sort it out later. Laundry was something he could cope with, having been forced to do his own for years. Now though, if he played his cards right and was exceedingly nice to Scully, he may not have to do it for much longer. Now, milk... "Scully!" "Now is not a good time to tell me you trashed the kitchen again, Mulder." She sounded quite cheerful, though. "Where's the milk?" "In the fridge?" "Nope." "Well then, we don't have any." "Well, what did you use?" He eyed the empty carton on the counter suspiciously, his tone accusing. "The stuff in the carton." She replied, miraculously appearing in the doorway. "You know, Mulder, it shouldn't be up to me to get the shopping all the time. It's only milk. You know where the shop is." And with that she disappeared again. It was strange, living with a woman, he reflected as he started the car engine. He had always got his own milk in the past, but then he had usually forgotton about it until a couple of months later when he got around to looking in his fridge, which usually only happened when the pizza place's phone line was busy, or he got really hungry in the middle of the night. But now he was living with Scully, there was fresh milk all the time, not to mention bread, and things like vegetables, cookies, peanut butter - real food. They hadn't had take-out since Scully had moved her new furniture in. They had had chicken the night before: real chicken, not drumsticks, or pieces or nuggets, REAL chicken. Scully had even put those little chef's hats on it's feet. But there were some things about living with women that were just too wierd. He had walked into the bathroom one afternoon and found a whole host of tiny little things hanging around on bits of string. It LOOKED like underwear, but surely even Scully wasn't THAT small? Not that he minded: that afternoon had been quite fun. And there were other things too. There were the little packets of pills that were labelled according to which day she was supposed to take them. He didn't know why she did: it only made her irritable. There was that box, too, which contained lots of tightly rolled up pieces of cotton stuffed into little cardboard tubes. They had come in handy once or twice when he had cut himself shaving, but it was beyond him what their real use could be. Women were a mystery, he concluded as he parked the car and got out. The store was quite busy, even at this time in the morning. Milk. A-ha! Spotting the white cartons, Mulder headed down the aisle. He pulled up short. There were three different kinds of milk. There were white and blue cartons, white and green cartons, and white and purple cartons. Which one? None of them looked like the ones Scully bought. Grabbing a random carton, he headed for the check outs. Supermarkets were not good for him. "Soya milk?" Scully was glaring at him, hands on hips. "Why, Mulder?" "What?" He had got the milk, what was her problem? "Why did you buy soya milk?" "It was in the green carton. You usually buy the green cartons." He was shamed. Green milk was evidently not the right thing to add to Scully's coffee. True, it had tasted a little strange on his cereal, but he had though that was due to it being a little warm, having spent the return journey sitting by the heating vent in the car. "Mulder." Placing her coffee on the table, she limped over to the couch, and sat beside him. "I buy skimmed milk. That is in a red carton. I'm sorry. I should have told you to read the labels." She took his hand in both of her's. "I'll make sure I buy enough milk in future, OK?" Oh, right! The red/green thing. Best to leave the milk to Scully in the future. "OK." If he sounded suitably apologetic, she probably wouldn't yell at him any more. He had learned many things from living with Scully for four weeks, and keeping quiet when she was annoyed was one of the primary survival skills he had acquired. Instead of speaking, he leaned his head against her shoulder. "Mulder?" She peered round his head at him. "Are you OK?" "Yeah. Sorry about the milk." She laughed! She actually laughed at him! "Oh, Mulder." She ruffled his hair as he lifted his head. "I'm not angry at you. It wasn't your fault: I should have thought. Maybe I'll buy purple milk in future, huh?" Her smile made it all worthwhile, and he reached across and hugged her tightly. All her annoying habits could be forgotten with a hug, he thought, as she squeezed him back. After a few moments she spoke, breaking the companionable silence. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "You know how we just got the house decorated?" "Yeah?" Oh God, this was going to be about the orange dining room, he could tell. "Well, I think we missed something." "What?" Pulling away from her slightly, he stared inquisitively at her face, from which her eyes seemed to be laughing up at him. "It's only 2 weeks to Christmas, Mulder. We need a tree." And with that, she stood, smoothed her sweater, and left the room. "Mulder, it's the twenty third of December! If we don't get a tree TODAY, we aren't going to get one at all!" Scully handed Mulder his coat, and pushed him out of the front door. If it had been up to her, she would have gotten the tree weeks ago, but what with her apartment burning down, breaking her ankle, and having to get used to living with Mulder she had got kind of side tracked. She had mentioned getting a tree a couple of weeks ago, but apparently Mulder hadn't heard her, or had chosen to deliberately ignore her. The way he was acting, though, she was inclined to believe it was the latter. "Do I have to come along?" He whined as he reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. Since she had had her cast removed, he hadn't driven when they were both in the car. She was secretly pleased with this little victory: face it, after what he had done to her last car, he was lucky she let him drive at all. "Yes, you do." She answered firmly, turning the engine over. "You think I'm gonna be able to carry an eight foot tree all on my own?" "Eight feet?!?!" Was that a girly scream she had just heard? Deciding it was in her best interests not to comment, Scully let it pass. "Yes, eight feet. We always had a huge tree when I was a kid." She glanced over her shoulder as she pulled out of the driveway. "Besides, we have to fill up that big old house somehow." "Couldn't we just be cowards and fill it with children?" He asked, shooting a lewd grin in her direction. "It would probably be cheaper." "One thing at a time, Mulder." She smiled enigmatically at him. "Let's just get Christmas out of the way, huh?" Usually it was Scully who was surprised at Mulder's flirting. She was irrationally pleased with herself, however, when she saw his jaw drop at her comment. They reached the tree yard twenty minutes later. As she had anticipated, there were no medium sized trees left, being the most popular. Instead, there were the tiny, bedsit-sized three footers, or the huge trees, which ranged from seven to twelve feet high. As she stood in front of them, Scully could feel herself grinning like a maniac, but, for some reason, she just didn't care. With a practiced eye, she went along the row of trees, looking for any sign of imperfection. She was dimmly aware of Mulder picking berries off the holly wreaths, but he was thirty seven, she rationalised, and if he wanted to make a fool of himself, well, that was his problem. She found what she was looking for just as she reached the end of the line. Eight feet tall, dark green pine, still plenty of needles on the lower branches. "How much?" She asked, waving the attendant over. "Sixty five dollar fifty." The man was only an inch or so taller than she was, wearing a woolly hat nearly over his eyes, and a pair of grubby mittens. Over his shoulder she could see Mulder's eyes grow wide as he heard the figure the man had quoted, but Scully paid him no attention. "I'll take it." She fumbled in her purse, and pulled out the notes. "Keep the change." "Well, thank you ma'am." The little man's eyes lit up. "Do you need any help with that?" He swung his arm in the direction of the tree. "Oh, no thanks. My..." How on earth to discribe Mulder? "My friend came along to help me." "Oh." The attendant's face grew serious again. "In that case, could you please keep him away from things that can easily be destroyed, in future." And with that, he grabbed the notes out of her hand, and stalked back to the paying booth. Toddler Mulder strikes again, Scully thought as she walked up behind Mulder and grabbed his hand. "Come on, Mulder, I think the nice gentleman wants you to stop playing with the flowers now." She spoke gently as she pulled him towards the tree. "Gentleman?" Mulder asked. "I thought he was a troll." In spite of herself, Scully had to stifle a giggle. "Mulder!" She swatted his arm. "You probably just single-handedly halved his profit for this year. The least you could do would be to be nice to him." She stopped in front of the tree she had just purchased. "You want me to carry that?" He asked, eying the tree carefully. "I'll help." She reassured him. "If you can take most of the wieght, I can steer." As if to illustrate, she grabbed the tree as high as she could reach. "Now you just have to pull the bottom out, and walk." She instructed him. "Oh, is that all?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but he picked up his end of the tree without further complaint. The tree was decorated. It had taken much longer than she had hoped, because Mulder had insisted on helping. It had seemed practical at the time: after all, there was no way she could have reached the top branches on her own. The problem was, he couldn't either, so she had ended up sitting on his shoulders, almost falling off and flattening the tree on four seperate occasions. Now, however, she had collapsed on to the couch with a jug of egg nog and a box of chocolates she had been going to give to her mother. After the evening she had just spent, however, she felt that she deserved them more. Sighing, she reached for the remote and turned off the television. It was Christmas Eve, and if Mulder was going to live up to his reputation, he would be up at five o'clock the next morning, if not earlier, and she had a sneaking suspision that he would make damn sure that she was up too. He himself had gone to bed an hour ago. She rolled off the couch, and picked herself up off her knees. Deciding that the jug and empty box could wait until morning, she closed the door behind her, and headed for her room. As she passed Mulder's room, however, she heard cursing. Pausing, she knocked lightly on the door. "Mulder?" No answer, save for another profanity. "Mulder, are you OK?" "I'm fine, Scully. OWWW!!" "Mulder, I'm coming in..." She swung the door open, just in time to see Mulder whip something behind his back. "What's the matter?" She asked him, curious. "I got the tape stuck to my arm." He displayed the limb for her inspection. "It ripped all the hairs out." She smiled, and hoped it would be enough to stop her from bursting into laughter. Looking around the room, she noticed the two piles of parcels sitting next to Mulder on his bed. "Any for me in there?" She asked, teasing him. "Those." He waved his hand in the direction of the larger pile, while surreptitiously trying to sit on whatever was behind his back. "All that?" She couldn't believe it. "Mulder, why?" "Because I wanted to." He answered. "OK." Time to try another tactic. "What's that behind your back?" "I can't tell you. It isn't Christmas yet." "It's Christmas Eve. I'm allowed one present, aren't I?" "OK." He looked and sounded uncertain, but handed over the paper bag anyway. "I wasn't sure whether to give it to you or not." He admitted as she unrolled the top of the bag. "Oh Mulder." She sighed, as she pulled the gift out of the bag. She held in her hands a tiny yellow romper suit, complete with furry feet and a little white duck embroidered on the chest. "You know I can't have children." She placed his present beside her, and turned away from him. "I want you to try, though." He told her, turning her head back towards him. "It doesn't have to be with me, but I know how much you want a baby, and I will do whatever it takes to make you happy." She looked him in the eye, and felt tears welling up in her own. "Thank you." She told him. "I know you mean well, but..." "I mean it." He interrupted. "I know I've been a pain to live with: I've been on my own for so long, and I know there's a lot of stuff I don't know how to do, and I get a whole load of stuff wrong, but I do know that I love you, and I have done for a very long time." "Oh, Mulder." She sighed as she buried her face against his neck, and threw her arms around his waist. "I love you too, but..." "No buts." He pulled away from her, and looked at her for a moment. We can do the buts tomorrow. For now..." He leaned down, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "It is past midnight." "So?" She was still in shock from that kiss. "So it's Christmas!" He jumped up from the bed, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him. "We can open all our presents now! What did you get me? Bet I can guess!" Snatching up the parcels from the bed, he bounced out of the room. Left alone, Scully picked up the little yellow suit again, letting her fingers run over the soft fabric. Baby soft. A baby. It was what she wanted most in the world. And maybe it could happen. Christmas was, after all, a time for miracles. Deciding that she could, after all, leave the buts until tomorrow, she flicked the lightswitch, and went to join Mulder downstairs. End (2/2) Well, that's it!! I finally finished, and, true to form, I managed yet another corny ending! Feedback please to Diadem@cwcom.net