From: "Trixie ." Date: Wed, 08 Dec 1999 10:29:01 GMT Subject: NEW: Ice Cream With the Inner-Fifteen-Year-Old (1 of 1) Source: xff Title: Ice Cream With the Inner-Fifteen-Year-Old Author: Trixie Email: scullymulder1121@hotmail.com Classification: V, UST Rating: PG, if that Archive: Go right ahead. Spoilers: It's post-Rush, but really there aren't that many Rush spoilers. I figured I should mention, anyway . . . Summary: Sometimes you just need to be reminded of a simple certainty. Notes: As I look back on that summary, I want to smack myself. I can't think of anything better, however, so it stays. Disclaimer: ". . . . . . ." Thanks: To Brandon & Brynna for the beta. "Hey Scully, wanna stop for ice cream before we head home? I'll spring for sprinkles on your chunky monkey." Appraising her partner carefully, Scully considered his offer. He'd been almost unnaturally quiet the entire drive. Normally, she would have assumed he was thinking and left it at that. But he hadn't even played the radio. Part of her demanded she just shut up about it and enjoy the silence. A bigger part of her was concerned. Something was bothering him. "Whipped cream too?" "You know how I like it, Scully." His leer was half-hearted and distracted, raising her concern another notch. He pulled the car into the Baskin Robins he must have noticed when he made the offer and practically leapt from the car. Unbuckling her seat belt, Scully picked up the file she was perusing from her lap, tucked it under her arm, and followed him. Memories assailed her as soon as she walked through the door. Every town her father had been stationed at throughout her youth had one thing in common: they all had a Baskin Robins. When she was a teenager, she used to come here with friends. They would pool their paltry funds together and buy an ice cream sundae to split so they would be allowed to sit in the corner and smoke. They were all so stupid back then. No direction, no idea where they were going; only the desperate need to no longer be wherever it was they were. It was a confusing time, as well. Boys, she thought then, had it easier. Their hormones were telling them to do one thing and their brains didn't put up much argument. Girls, on the other hand, were pulled in a million different directions. They had the same hormones, but no one told them that those fluttery feelings were okay. Scully knew for a fact that Ahab had given both his boys a Playboy when they turned fifteen. It had been his way of dealing with their growing up. She, however, was never coaxed into maturity. Most girls who hit puberty before 1984 weren't. And, in many ways, her parents had lived in a time warp from the 1950's. Good girls didn't have those thoughts, Dana, Sister Alice was eager to point out when she'd gotten up the nerve to ask about the feelings she was having. Her mother had explained about her menstrual cycle, about procreation. But as far as pleasure went, the things going on inside her body, the desires that, at thirteen, were extremely confusing, her mother hadn't known what to say. Loath to admit it aloud, she would at least admit it to herself: Scully detested her adolescence. It wasn't that she was any less confused now, but she was at least better equipped to deal with it. Focusing on Mulder again, his nose almost pressed against the glass that read "Maui Wowie Brownie Madness," she suppressed some very strong fluttery feelings and approached him. "Anything look promising?" "To my immense disappointment, there does not appear to be any chunky monkey." "I'll live," she assured him, standing on her toes to look over his shoulder. "I think maybe I'll go for orange sherbet." "Come on, Scully, you've got to get something chocolate." "Why is that, exactly?" "Because we're indulging here. Chocolate is a synonym for indulgence." "I thought chocolate was a synonym for sin," she retorted wryly. "That too." His voice was all seriousness. "Well what are you getting?" If she had to get chocolate, she had to think about it really carefully first. Her favorite food didn't pass her lips with any frequency, and when it did, it had to be good. "I'm getting what I used to get when I was a teenager." Did he sound sad? She glanced at him. His eyes were focused inside the case. "And what would that be?" "A single scoop of chocolate, and a single scoop of mint chocolate chip." "Impressive. I don't think I can remember back that clearly." The quip was light, but she didn't think he knew it was meant as a joke. In truth, she knew that every time she had the money, she would buy a double scoop cone, french vanilla and chocolate mousse. "I usually don't think about it. I guess I just can't help it lately. Thinking back, remembering the way things once were. Seeing how I've changed." He flagged down the teenager behind the counter and placed his order. She did the same, her "usual" she hadn't tasted in years sounding deliciously appetizing. "We've all changed, Mulder," she reminded him after they got their cones and headed toward a small table in the corner. They sat opposite each other in tiny, uncomfortable plastic chairs and she felt fifteen again. "For instance, the last time I was in this position, Billy Jordan was sitting where you are, watching me lick my ice cream cone, undoubtedly having the kind of fantasy with enough sexual energy to kill a small horse, but have little effect on a hormone-crazed fifteen-year-old boy." "I must be a fifteen-year-old boy at heart." That tone of voice. That was the one she could never be sure about. It was so low, so intimate, it couldn't be anything but serious. But still, his eyes were teasing. Maybe it was both. Serious and teasing combined, so that whichever way she wanted to interpret it, she could. "I always knew you had secret aspirations to be Peter Pan." He paused mid-lick and more fluttery feelings were determinedly pushed down as he held a pose worthy of documentation. "Aspirations or no, Scully, I'm no Peter Pan. I realized today that I've completely grown away from my youth. I miss it. I miss the stupid, innocent freedom given to the young. No one understands what it is when it's there, and once it's gone, it's like something infinitely precious has been ripped away." "To sum up: youth is wasted on the young?" It got a chuckle, but a weak one as they both licked at their ice cream cones for a few moments. She knew she was supposed to yearn for her carefree days of innocence. But she didn't. The few things she missed were simple, like crawling into her father's lap, or having her mother sing her to sleep. She didn't miss being teased by her siblings; she didn't miss awkward first kisses or fumbling attempts by two virgins in the back seat of a Ford Impala. Despite her passion for knowledge, she did not miss school in the least. Although the image of Mulder dressed in a school basketball uniform briefly flitted through her mind, the accompanying image of herself as his own personal cheerleader quickly chased it away. Cheerleader material she was not. They would have been on the debate team together, she decided. On opposite teams. And there would have been a huge scandal about whether or not they were fraternizing together that would have cost her the class presidency during the elections that same . . . Scully looked down carefully at her ice cream cone and wondered, briefly, if they'd put some kind of mind-altering drug in it. Goodness gracious, she was thinking like she used to in high school. Back when she'd first begun her thoughts of rebellion. It was only fair Mulder factored into them now. Her ultimate act of rebellion - quitting her career in medicine, and joining the FBI - had led her to his side. They say everything works out for a reason. "We're old, Scully." She blinked several times in quick succession, then shook her head slowly. "Speak for yourself, Mulder." "Fine. I'm old, Scully." "Mulder." He looked at her expectantly, as though the brilliant rebuttal of his first name hadn't satisfied him. "You're not old." "What am I then? Not young?" "No, we're just . . . we're not kids anymore, Mulder. We're grown-ups. That doesn't make us old or stupid," she added, attempting to lighten the mood. He wasn't ready yet for it to lighten, though. "I just think it's sad we ever have to grow up. It would be great to be forever young." "I disagree. Mulder, I hated my adolescence. From thirteen till I graduated college. And so what if we have to grow up? It's a fact of life. Our bodies change and grow along with our minds. Our experiences reflect that growth. There are a thousand things you'd never know if you stayed in some perpetual holding pattern in a falsely idealized youth." "Falsely idealized?" "Mulder, do you remember high school? Or was I the only one who had a bad time?" He inclined his head in capitulation. "Point. But that doesn't mean it was all one big waking nightmare." "No, like everything, there was a lot of good with the bad. But Mulder, that's the point. Good, bad or indifferent, everything ends eventually." "Even us." The sadness again pervaded his voice. It was impossible to mistake. And although she could have misconstrued his meaning, she didn't think she was. He didn't mean an end to them as partners, or friends, or whatever, but rather an end to their existence. Age was a strange creature, capable of raising all the hard questions, and offering no answers. "Even us," she agreed quietly. "Even the best things end sometimes." That got a genuine smile from him, and she smiled back. A drop of vanilla leaked onto her hand and she quickly slurped it up and went back to busily eating her ice cream cone. Mulder did the same, and they shared the silence for awhile longer. "I'm gonna be forty in two years." What to say, what to say, what to say . . . "I know. I already found a very funny "Over the Hill" greeting card I'm having serious second thoughts about giving you." "Ah, Scully. Always defining and redefining the motto "be prepared."" "Forty is not that old, Mulder. I'm going to be thirty-six next year." "Twenty-nine forever, Scully." Did he just wink? He did, he winked at her. For some reason, that made her smile again. "Besides, most people in our line of work are lucky if they live this long. Be thankful, Mulder." "I am. It's not that. I don't know." And then suddenly, she did. It was obvious. This case, those kids throwing their lives away, it got him thinking about life, death, mortality. Age was a direct connection with those things. She mentally smacked herself upside the head. He was afraid. "Taste my ice cream," she ordered, holding it out to him over the table. He looked at her like she was nuts for a minute, then wrapped his hand around hers and carefully brought the cone to his mouth. It wasn't until then that she realized he thought she might entertain ideas of smashing his face in her snack. Fat chance. It was her =favorite= and not to be wasted in such a distasteful manner. "It's good," he pronounced after he was done. "I will always share my ice cream with you, Mulder. And if you have to get old and gray, I promise to do it with you." Something incredibly grateful flashed behind his eyes, replacing the fear. There's no alone for you and me, partner. Not so long as we're both on this earth. He held his own cone up to her lips and she smiled, taking the bite proffered. "Very good," she commented, licking her lips slowly, parting them slightly in appreciation. "Watch out, Scully," he warned lightly, dumping the last of his ice cream in the trash behind him. She smirked, settling her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "Watch out for what, Mulder?" "Keep doing that thing with your mouth and you're going to awaken my inner fifteen-year-old." Wide and unrestrained, she smiled at him. "Four words: Bring him on, Mulder." END