From: Amory20@aol.com
Date: Sat, 19 Aug 2000 16:20:25 EDT
Subject: New: Interior Sounds by JLB (1 of 1)
Source: xff


TITLE: Interior Sounds
AUTHOR: JLB
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: this is a pre-"requiem" story, so you should keep the events of 
that ep in mind.  if you haven't seen it, though, i think you'll still enjoy 
this, and you won't be spoiled in any significant way. :)  i've played with 
the timeline in this series, i know.  there's really only about a month or so 
between "all things" and "requiem" while i've probably stretched it out to 
two or so months.  
FEEDBACK: yes, please.  Amory20@aol.com
DISCLAIMER:  i don't own them.  if i did, i'd treat them a lot better than 
CC, 1013, and FOX.
SUMMARY:  sequel to "Beyond Wishing"  -- final story in series

* thank you to michelle for her input and wise advice.  and as always, thank 
you to sister zooey for her friendship and insight. *

 
Interior Sounds by JLB

When late afternoon rolls around, Scully decides to go down to Mulder's 
office.  

Through some small miracle, she has managed to finish the mountain of 
paperwork that has covered her desk for almost a week -- before five o'clock 
to boot.  Now she needs a break, a reward for making it through almost an 
entire Monday, with its endless forms and weak coffee and annoying paper 
cuts.  

At this time of the day, Scully is feeling worn around the edges, tired and 
more than a little bored, and she hopes that a conversation with Mulder will 
energize her.  Their contact this morning was brief.  Just a quick, shared 
muffin at Mulder's cluttered desk as they discussed the day's agenda.  It's 
silly, but she was disappointed when they agreed that it was best to separate 
for the day -- they had individual tasks to attend to, and it would be best 
to just get them done.  She wanted Mulder to talk her into goofing off, 
taking it easy, keeping him company as he pretended to work in between his 
paper airplane construction and bouncing his basketball.

Now, she knows it was for the best -- she never would have finished her work 
with Mulder in the room; she knows that much.  But she suspects that even 
with an empty office and total silence, Mulder didn't complete his reports.  
He's probably already pondering their next case, researching sea monsters or 
trolls with his usual childlike glee.  She's hoping he will be able to drive 
off the exhaustion and boredom that's been threatening to overtake her all 
day.  

Mulder, with his boyish enthusiasm and boundless energy and that bright glean 
in his eyes.  She just hopes he isn't brooding down in his dark office -- his 
attitudes are contagious much of the time, and Scully feels cranky enough on 
her own.  

Lately, his moods have become even more important; they are her barometer 
now.  And for the last week or so, he's been surprisingly relaxed, easy and 
natural. Not blissful -- she would never expect that -- but content.  

She can't help wondering if it has something to do with that cynical genie 
they encountered a couple of weeks ago, if the fact that he wouldn't share 
his third wish means that he used it to even things out between them.  In the 
end, Scully doesn't believe that.  Certainly it would have backfired by now 
-- they would have become mutes or wound up with third eyes knowing their 
luck.

Not that she believes in all that genie nonsense.  Or maybe she does.  She 
can't remember right now because she's so tired.

No, it must be something he's worked out himself, Scully decides in the 
elevator on her way down -- something within him that has allowed for the 
change.  It is a beautiful thing to see, and even if it didn't affect her 
directly, she would still appreciate the soft smile he's offered her lately, 
the calm greenish eyes that track her movements with gentle interest.

When Scully finally reaches the basement, Mulder is at his desk, a newspaper 
open in front of him and a piece of licorice hanging from his mouth.  The 
candy is bright red -- cherry or strawberry flavored.  Maybe a Twizzler, she 
thinks as she stands just outside the doorway and watches in fascination as 
he tugs on the red strand with long fingers, breaking a piece off in his 
mouth.  

Silently, she observes the rhythmic movements of his jaw as he chews, his 
tongue sweeping across his lips when he's finished.  The licorice enters his 
mouth again, but when he pulls it out a moment, it's the same length, just 
wet and nibbled at the end where he gnawed on it, almost as if he were 
teething.  Then, in a blur, it's back between his perfect, smooth lips, and 
he's ripping at it again, tearing the candy without looking up from the 
newspaper.
 
Finally, he notices her, looking toward the doorway, a small bit of licorice 
still dangling from his mouth.  When he's finished chewing, Mulder smiles 
sheepishly.  "Hey Scully."  

He watches her carefully as she enters the office. This is the one thing that 
hasn't changed in the wake of Mulder's new found calm.  Since that first 
night in his apartment, since those first hours spent in his bed, he's looked 
at her so much more seriously, almost sadly if she thinks about it.  He 
doesn't joke with her as much, doesn't tease her as often.  He is so terribly 
respectful and careful with her that she feels like she's made of glass, that 
if he looks at her the wrong way -- too long, too little -- she'll break 
apart.  Nothing left but sharp, smooth pieces, dark in color and impossible 
to fuse back together. 

It doesn't help matters that she's felt so run down lately, that fatigue has 
settled in and taken up residence.  Several times this past week, she's been 
so exhausted come noon time that she's contemplated a cat nap at her desk, 
only stopping herself because she was afraid Mulder would catch her drooling 
on an expense report.  Too many long nights finishing reports, too many 
greasy pizza dinners, too many late nights indulging Mulder, listening to his 
theories, watching his silly movies, making love to him with fierce 
concentration -- it's all taken its toll, though she wouldn't change a moment 
of it.  

So Scully smiles back, surprised by how easy it is to smile at him in that 
moment.  Along with the exhaustion, a certain peace has found her as well 
this last week or so -- something she caught from Mulder no doubt.  Despite 
the wonder of it, how foreign it is, she is pleased with how simple 
everything seems, how easy it is to breathe again, how easy it can be to talk 
to Mulder, to smile at him and let him see whatever is brimming in her eyes, 
no hiding or backing down.

She wishes she could call up that feeling at will. 

Mulder clears his throat, and she moves closer.  "Twizzler?" he asks, holding 
out the bag to her.  

She moves slowly, purposefully approaching his desk, and takes a piece.  As 
she nibbles carefully on the candy, Scully feels him watching her again. She 
lowers her head shyly, pushing the hair behind her ear, feeling very much 
like a sixteen year old with her first boyfriend.  

"I've got bad news and more bad news.  Which would you like to hear first?"  
Mulder says flatly, leaning back in his chair with a fresh Twizzler hanging 
provocatively from his mouth.  

"Not much of a choice, is it?" she asks, smiling gently.  "I'll take bad news 
number one."  

"We're being audited.  The X-Files, I mean."  He bites the candy 
aggressively, ripping it in half, and Scully shivers -- Mulder is the only 
person she knows who could make eating an innocent piece of candy such a 
noteworthy activity.  "It seems that some of the brass think our expenses are 
a bit extravagant.  They don't appear to understand that fighting a global 
conspiracy of alien beings hoping to colonize the planet is a costly 
endeavor."  He doesn't smile but that smart ass smirk of his makes a quick 
appearance and she revels in the sight of it.

"Few do."  She smiles, and finishes her Twizzler -- she can feel him watching 
her as she chews. "We'll be fine, Mulder.  If they haven't shut us down yet, 
they're certainly not going to do it over a few questionable expenses."  

"A few?  You're being kind, Scully.  You know how many cell phones I've lost 
in the past six months alone.  It's not a pretty figure."  He picks up a 
strand of licorice but doesn't chew it, simply lets it flop back and forth in 
his hand.   

"What's the other bad news?"  She takes another Twizzler, her hand brushing 
Mulder's, where it rests on top of the bag.

"Uh uh," he says teasingly.  "You didn't say please."  He smiles that 
beautiful, smug smiles she's missed lately.  She smirks, but takes the candy 
without saying a word.  

Mulder watches her, almost as if she's a suspect he's sizing up.

"The other bad news?" she asks again, trying to get the conversation back on 
track.  He scoots his chair closer to the desk, closer to her, and 
unexpectedly plays with the hem of her blazer.  It's nothing special, 
something he would have done two months ago, but there seems to be so much 
subtext now, so many possibilities.  

"I still haven't found your earring.  I've looked everywhere, Scully, but I'm 
afraid it's a lost cause."  Mulder lowers his voice to a deep whisper, as if 
he's afraid someone might overhear.  He avoids her eyes, choosing to watch 
his fingers play with the woolen material of her suit, his skin gleaming gold 
against the black fabric. 

"A lost cause?  I thought you didn't believe in such things."  Her tone is 
serious, though she has to force back a grin, and Mulder smiles quickly, 
still not looking up.  

"You know, some time in the future, I'll probably be lying on my couch, 
minding my own business, and get stabbed in the ass by the damned thing." He 
tugs on the edge of her blazer for emphasis.

"Maybe."  She huffs, not quite laughing, but her smile is unmistakable.  

"You think that's funny?"  He looks up at her finally, almost daring her to 
respond with his grin. 

"It's an amusing thought, yes."  

"So the truth is out.  Dana Scully is a sadist.  The things you learn..."  He 
trails off, his voice deep and smoky.

There's another flicker of that old Mulder, pre-sex Mulder as she's come to 
dub him.  The guy who made crude comments and tried to make her blush at 
every turn.  She's not sure if she misses that.  The intense, serious way 
that he looks at her now is so thrilling, she almost can't stand it.  The way 
he touches her now, so purposeful and intent -- it might not be a bad 
tradeoff.  

"So do we need to prepare for this audit?  Are you going to ask me to 
organize seven years' worth of receipts?"  She smiles at him, almost 
indulgently.  

He looks up, and tugs on the hem of her jacket again, the top button pulling 
open.  "No..." he says slowly.  "But I am going to ask you to take a walk 
with me.  I need some fresh air."  

She is confused as she watches him rise from behind his desk.  Mulder never 
needs fresh air or sunshine or walks in the park.  He could hold up in this 
dark, musty basement for days, provided there was a steady supply of coffee, 
sunflower seeds, and paranormal reading material.  

But she straightens up, ready to follow him. "Okay," she says suspiciously, 
watching him tug on his jacket.  He looks relaxed, though a little sleepy 
maybe, his eyes only half-open.  

Mulder holds his arm out in front of him, indicating Scully should go first, 
and she waits in the hallway as he turns off the lights.

*******

It's almost four thirty when they get outside, and the streets are starting 
to fill up with people leaving their offices, getting ready to head home.  
The sky is that bright, smooth blue Scully loves, and she dreams for a moment 
of finding a spot in the sun to lie down and take a nap.  Maybe Mulder would 
let her use his lap as a pillow, and wake her before her cheeks burn 
apple-red.  This was his idea, after all, so he should take responsibility.  

But Scully doesn't ask.  She takes a deep breath of cool air instead, 
figuring Mulder has something up his sleeve, some reason for this afternoon 
stroll, and she's willing to let him have his way. 

Mulder hasn't spoken since leaving the basement, silently walking beside her 
with his hands in his pockets.  His pace seems to have slowed, so it's easier 
for her to keep up with him today, but since they've gotten outside, he's 
been quiet and subdued, and she is slightly worried.  Looking up at him, she 
sees the sunlight glinting off his sunglasses, and doesn't realize that he's 
looking back at her until he smiles, soft and easy.  She wants to turn away, 
but smiles instead, raising a hand to shield her eyes.

Her shoes make a sharp pounding sound as they strike the warm pavement.  The 
rhythm lulls her a bit, and her thoughts become fuzzy and indistinct.  As 
they reach the lawn, Mulder stops to remove the package of Twizzlers from his 
jacket pocket.  There are only three pieces left, and he holds one out to 
Scully before chewing on one himself.  As she brings the licorice to her 
mouth, she can't help but smile at Mulder, who casually stands on the 
glittering pavement.  He doesn't seem bothered by her scrutiny, his 
sunglasses making him seem cool and aloof despite the Twizzler hanging from 
his mouth like a limp cigarette.

"So, what's this all about?" Scully asks, as they settle themselves on a 
partially shaded bench.  "Why are we out here soaking up rays instead of 
downstairs arguing over those files you have piled a mile high on your desk?" 
 She looks straight ahead, out across the grass.

"Scully..." Mulder says admonishingly.  "We don't argue.  We discuss 
passionately."  He leans closer so he can elbow her gently.

"Semantics, Mulder.  Stop avoiding the question.  What are we doing out here?"

"Fresh air, remember?"  She glares at him, and he has the good sense to look 
contrite.  "What would you say if I told you I was concerned about this 
audit?"  His voice is low, serious, and he looks down at his lap, playing 
with the almost empty Twizzler package.

Her brow creases in confusion, in surprise, and she looks at him, carefully, 
intently, trying to figure out what is going on in his head, what he's 
torturing himself over now.  

"I think I'd say, 'Mulder, this isn't anything to worry about.  It's just an 
audit.'"  She speaks almost without conscious thought, her voice sounding 
thick and strange -- foreign.  "Why would you be concerned?" 

He laughs darkly, and pats her knee.  "They're always looking for an excuse, 
Scully.  I don't think it will bother them if it's something as mundane as 
exorbitant motel bills."

She turns toward him, losing some of the shade, but able to see him better.  
With those damn sunglasses on, Scully can't see his eyes.  Reaching over, she 
gently removes them, folding the glasses carefully and placing them in her 
lap.  He is passive through the entire thing, watching her actions almost 
disinterestedly.  

His eyes, when she finally can see them, are dark, almost unreadable.

"Mulder, we've been here before.  More times that I can count," she says 
without humor.  "Don't worry.  It's going to be fine."  She lays a hand on 
his arm, the thick material scratching against her fingers.  

"I'm not worried about the audit exactly."  He takes the final Twizzler out 
of the wrapper, and lays it on his knee.  "I can handle some narrow minded 
bureaucrats."  

"I don't doubt that."  She smiles, but Mulder just chews tensely on his lip.

"It's not their questions that I'm worried about.  I'm worried about the 
questions I'll wind up asking myself."

She can't help staring at him, watching the skin at the corner of his eyes 
wrinkle, the lines becoming deeper and more pronounced.  He needs a haircut, 
she notes dimly -- his sideburns are slightly uneven.  His lower lip is 
chapped a bit, and there are small tracks from his teeth where he chewed the 
dry skin.  And still, he is beautiful, sitting beside her, staring directly 
up into the sun.  

"What sorts of questions?" she finally asks, reaching over to break off a 
piece of the Twizzler resting on Mulder's knee.  She takes it without asking, 
eats it without thinking.  Maybe she's hungrier than she realizes.

"They'll do their nitpicking and prodding.  Adding up the numbers, checking 
the figures, and I'll sit there, taking stock of the last seven years of my 
life, the things I've done, the choices I've made.  Accounting..."

"Mulder, you've done your best. What more can you ask?"  She leans forward 
slightly, rubbing his knee.

He watches her hand move in circles on his knee for a moment.  "I appreciate 
the sentiment, Scully, but I don't think you're exactly objective."

"I'm just telling you how I feel."  She feels an irrational urge to cry, her 
eyes becoming watery and tight.  Leaning back quickly, she stares up at the 
branches above her, the smooth, shiny leaves that obscure the sun.  Maybe if 
she keeps her head tilted back, the tears won't be able to escape.  She feels 
Mulder's knee brush hers as he angles his body toward her, and despite the 
risk, Scully lowers her head.

As she removes her hand from his knee, she can see amazement blazing in his 
eyes, as if she's told him that she's found a spaceship in the courtyard of 
her apartment building.  He is bewildered, and she has to look away again.

"Look, Mulder ... in a couple of days, this will be over.  It will all be 
settled and we can get back to normal."

"I feel strangely settled now," he whispers, almost as if it's a revelation, 
and when she turns back to him, he's staring off in the distance, squinting 
against the sun at crowds of tourists.  She feels his sunglasses resting 
against her thigh.  "Maybe that's why I'm worried."  He runs a hand through 
his hair, and shakes his head, like he can't believe what he's just said. 

Scully doesn't understand what he's getting at.  She turns the words over in 
her mind, searching for subtext, trying to find the meaning, but nothing 
registers -- she's too tired to think straight.  Her frustration and 
confusion come out as a quiet sigh.  Mulder smiles weakly, his lower lip full 
and wet, and reaches over to rub her back.  Scully is suddenly hit by a deep 
yawn, and her eyes close with the force of it.

"You okay?" Mulder asks, his hand moving in circles on her back.

"Yeah.  I've just been tired all day." 

"Let me drive you home then."  He checks his watch. "No one will care if we 
duck out twenty minutes early.  The audit can wait until we're both perky and 
well-rested."  

"I'm fine, Mulder.  If you want to talk--"

"Scully, I know firsthand how cranky you get when you're sleep deprived."  He 
smirks, and she desperately wants to lean over and kiss him.  "Let's go."

She watches as Mulder slowly stands up, then extends his hand to her, smiling 
softly when she places her hand in his. 

*****

In front of her building, the car engine idles for a moment before Scully can 
think of something to say. 

"Do you want to come up for a little while?  I could make some tea."  She 
speaks carefully, keeping any inflection out of her voice. She doesn't want 
him to get the wrong idea, to hear some kind of seductive invitation when 
she's really too tired to do anything but talk with him.

Since April, he's only been in her apartment twice.  Both times, it was only 
business that brought him across the threshold -- picking up or dropping off 
files.  It doesn't mean anything, she knows.  She hasn't gotten the 
impression that he's actively avoided her apartment -- there is no real 
reason why he would.  He never really spent much time at her place anyway.  

But she'd like to get him inside now, sit down with him on her comfortable 
sofa, where they could just enjoy the silence together, sip cinnamon tea and 
forget about accountants and expense reports and profound self-imposed 
questions.

"As much as I'd like to, I told the boys that I'd stop by tonight to look at 
a few of their new toys.  My busy schedule and all."  He plays with the 
steering wheel, his fingers stroking it in a way that seems vaguely sensual 
to her. "Besides, you need a nap.  March yourself upstairs and get straight 
into bed," he says with mock authority, and she raises an eyebrow.  
"Seriously, Scully.  Go get some rest.  You've earned it."  

"I could say the same for you," she tells him, looking down at her lap. 

"I promise I'll be home by curfew."  

When she looks up, his eyes are bright and full of laughter.

"I'll hold you to that, Mulder.  Don't let Frohike talk you into an all-night 
film festival."  She smiles, pleased with herself.  "I use the word 'film' 
loosely, of course.'"

He nods solemnly, playing the role of obedient little boy, all innocence and 
wide eyes.  She laughs, quietly and quickly, and Mulder catches her.  His 
eyes become soft, almost sleepy, and Scully tries to hide her reflexive yawn. 

"I'm my own man, Scully," Mulder says, turning forward again.  "Don't you 
know that by now?"  

"The fact that you never listen to me would suggest that, yes." 

Snorting quietly, Mulder shakes his head.  Scully watches him rub at his 
eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose then scrubbing his face with rough 
fingers.  She is relieved for some reason when he stops. 

"I'll call you later," he says, leaning toward Scully slightly so he can run 
a hand over her hair.  "Get some rest.  I want to see you bright-eyed and 
bushy-tailed tomorrow when we tackle this auditor."  

His hand against her scalp only seems to make her drowsier, his strong 
fingers massaging so carefully.  She sighs softly, and her eyes slip shut.  

Suddenly she feels the front of Mulder's body -- warm and hard -- pressed 
against her side and his breath hot on her face.  Then his lips are on hers, 
his mouth drawing hers open, and he is kissing her frantically, almost 
anxiously.  All the sleepiness drains from her and she is aware, alert beyond 
reason, as she clutches at the shoulders of his suit jacket, digging her 
nails into the fabric as if she can tear through it until she reaches skin.  

They pull apart slowly, both of them breathing heavy in the air conditioned 
interior of the car.  Mulder's lips are wet and impossibly swollen.  She 
reaches out, almost without realizing it, and strokes them lightly, feeling 
their heat.  His eyes are still shut as he tries to control his breathing.

"Jesus," he mumbles under his breath, and Scully is stunned.  Stunned that a 
kiss with her could astound a man who believes completely in extreme 
possibilities, who has seen so many amazing, extraordinary things.  Her heart 
pounds against her chest and there is a dull throbbing behind her eyes, as if 
the sunlight is too strong, the glare from the windshield making it 
impossible to think clearly. 

Mulder lets out a deep breath, shaky and trembling, as he readjusts his seat 
belt.  Scully feels him watching her, but she can't stop herself from raising 
a finger to her own lips, smoothing across them, surprised to discover that 
they're not burning, blistering.  She looks over at him, and he is smiling 
tenderly, peacefully. 

"I should get going," he says quietly, and shifts in his seat, turning 
forward again.  There is still a slight curve to his lips, she can tell, as 
he settles himself more comfortably behind the wheel.

She blinks in an attempt to get her thoughts together.  "Right." 

There is a moment of silence, of nothing but uneven breathing and fabric 
shifting.

"I'll call you," Mulder tells her again as she opens the door, and slides her 
legs outside.

She thinks about telling him to simply come back when he's finished with the 
Gunmen or maybe going over to his place to meet him when he comes home. But 
Scully just nods, bending to retrieve her briefcase.  She is content to let 
things happen naturally, unfold as they are, without thinking or planning.  
She'll leave it up to Mulder, who watches her with soft, dark eyes, and that 
small, easy smile.  

As she closes the door, Mulder seems a little bit lost, watching her leave 
the car through the streaked window.  But he smiles again briefly, and Scully 
sighs as she begins her walk to the steps of her building.

Mulder will wait until she's safely inside.  That is what he always does when 
he drops her off.  Maybe he's afraid someone or something will jump out of 
the bushes and attack her on the front steps of her building.  Maybe he's 
worried that she's forgotten her keys and won't be able to get inside.  
Scully doesn't care what his reasons are.  It's enough that he does it. 

She enters the lobby and closes the door behind her, pulling back so she 
won't be seen from the street.  Mulder sits in his car for another minute or 
so, his head bent slightly over the steering wheel.  She wonders if he's 
thinking about coming in, blowing off the Gunmen and taking her up on her 
offer of tea.  

He's gone a moment later, pulling the car out smoothly and disappearing down 
the quiet street. 

Yawning, she heads up the stairs, to cinnamon tea and her soft bed and a few 
hours of sleep.  Though it is always this way, she is struck by how quiet her 
apartment is when she closes the door behind her.  It is almost entirely 
silent, except for the faint strains of music coming from the apartment next 
door.  

She makes her way through the rooms, listening to her shoes click against the 
floor, and completes her usual evening routine -- dropping her briefcase by 
her desk, laying her blazer over the arm of a chair, checking her machine for 
messages.  When she kicks off her shoes, she settles down on the sofa, 
telling herself she'll rest for just a moment before she gets into bed for 
her nap.

That is as far as she makes it, though, falling asleep quickly, her head 
resting on a throw pillow, the phone within reach on the coffee table. 


the end.

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