From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 18 Sep 2001 08:35:23 -0000
Subject: The Late Show (1/1) by Shoshana
Source: direct

Reply To: shoshana1013@excite.com


TITLE: The Late Show
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: shoshana1013@excite.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer
SPOILER WARNING: Sixth season episodes and Per Manum in the eighth
season.
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT STATEMENT: MS/UST
CLASSIFICATION: SRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY:  Mulder goes to a movie.  This story occurs sometime after
the events of 'The Unnatural,' and before the episode 'Biogenesis.'
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTE: Thanks to my wonderful beta reader Sallie!

The Late Show
By Shoshana

Saturday night/Sunday morning
August 1999
One a.m.

"One, two, three, four..."

Come on you old coot!  Breathe, dammit, breathe!  I keep compressing
the elderly man's chest, oblivious to my small, silent audience.  

Administering CPR to a stranger would give anyone pause--but I know
this guy, he's been frequenting this theater for years.  So have I,
on and off.  It's the only respectable adult movie house in
Alexandria, attracting more retired folks and couples than your usual
dive.

"Five, six, seven, eight..."

Come on, buddy!  I know you got some life left in you!  

Scully would be proud of me.  I wish she was here right now, helping
me bring this guy back from the brink of death.  

I only came here tonight because I was totally fed up with all my
other options.  Another boring night in my claustrophic apartment and
I'd be crawling the walls.  Or dialing some 1-900 sex line.  

I vowed to stay away from that a year ago, after overhearing Scully
talking about one of those singles chat lines with Skinner's
secretary.  They concurred that anyone who spent money or time on
talking to faceless strangers was pathetic to the nth degree.  I
didn't need another reason for Scully to think me pathetic, so Marty
stopped placing calls to Jasmine and Alicia.  Even if my partner
didn't know I ceased and desisted, it still made me feel better. 
Like I was reforming just for her.

"Nine, ten, eleven, twelve..."  

Breathe, old man!  I know you had a pulse a few minutes ago when you
were watching "Deep Throat."  Who woulda thunk a classic would be too
much for you?

It's not like she hasn't given me reason to reform lately.  Usually
we spend Saturday night together.  Tonight was an exception.  Her
cousin is getting married and she had to attend the wedding with her
Mom in some little Pennsylvania burg.

I would have gone along, had I been invited.  Really, I would have. 
I would have loved to, I'm not as anti-social as I seem.

However, I got a strong vibe off Scully when she told me why she was
going away all weekend.  A 'I'm-no-way-near-ready-to-have-my-friends-
and-family-fawn-all-over-us' kinda vibe.  The hint was taken and I
carefully hid my disappointment all day Friday.  

She did kiss me goodbye.  On the cheek.  For several seconds more
than usual.

That made me feel better.  Those intimate moments are getting more
frequent since our baseball lesson a few months ago.  Longer too.  

It's only a little progress, but it's progress.  I didn't expect
anything else from my cautious partner.  She's testing the waters
slowly, still afraid we might be making a huge mistake.  

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen..." 

I change position, pinch the guy's nose and give him two big
ventilations.  I grab his wrist and check for a pulse, trying to
ignore the sound of sirens in the background.  About time they got
here.  The paramedics swarm in and pull me away none too gently as I
inform them their patient has a faint pulse.

I find an empty theater seat to collapse in, dizzy as hell from
trying to breathe life back into the old codger.  I remember coming
here ten years ago when his wife was still alive.  They'd watch the
triple X movies together, as attentively as any mainstream feature
film.  They were in their sixties back then.  Wonder how old he is
now?  I guess I'll find out eventually.      

"Mister?"

A young woman, looking more like eighteen than the required twenty-
one years of age, gets my attention.

"You okay?  You wanna drink?  The manager wants me to get you
something."

I brush the sweat off my brow and look up at her with gratitude. 
"Sure.  Anything, as long as it's wet."

She smiles and takes off for the concession booth.  The patrons are
dispersing throughout the auditorium, back to their favorite seats. 
I can hear the projectionist clicking buttons and a faint whirring
from above.  Life goes on, even in this strange little place.  

They only show the X-rated stuff after midnight.  I guess 'Rocky
Horror' never caught on in this DC suburb and the owner wanted to
make a little profit after showing art films all day.  Real art films
--like Fellini flicks--not porno classics I consider artistic in 
their own way.

Oh, shit.  I finally notice the beat cop.  I'm gonna have to stick
around. 

The drink arrives along with the cop.  He was talking to a few
spectators first, giving me time to fully catch my breath.  The
paramedics were quick; they got their patient onto a gurney and out
of here in five minutes time.  That old guy's lucky there's a
hospital a few blocks away.  

"How are you doing, sir?" the officer asks me.

I manage to smile in between gulps of soft drink.  "Doing great. 
Hope that old man makes it."

He pulls out a small notebook and asks, "Mind if I get your name? 
Just for the report."

I shrug and say, "Why not?"

The theater lights are dimming slowly, alerting patrons that the
show will resume shortly.  I get out of my seat slowly, cursing my
close to forty year old knees.  I need to do more stretching
exercises before I run tomorrow morning.  Kneeling like that was
enough to kill me.

After the cop asks a few simple questions, and eyes my FBI ID with
evident jealousy, I'm free to go.  I'm not staying around for the
feature, thank you very much.  I'm going home and popping in a video
of my own.  And ordering a huge pizza from my cell phone right now.

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

Monday afternoon
The X-Files office

I hear Scully's distinctive gait before she walks through the
basement door.  She's smiling radiantly, happy to see me.  I can't
help but return the sentiment; I've been waiting for her to arrive
all day.  I knew she had an autopsy to do this morning and then got
held up at Quantico with a consultation for the VCU.

"Hey, partner," I say, "How was your morning?"

She called me last night and debriefed me on the wedding for twenty
minutes.  Her voice got less and less enthusiastic as the
conversation progressed and I could tell she was exhausted.  I told
her to get some rest and we'd discuss anything she'd missed 
over lunch.

She grimaces and tells me, "That body from Connecticut--negative on
the rabies, positive on the alcohol poisoning.  I think the guy was
foaming at the mouth because of a seizure, Mulder.  Not because he's
related to Eddie Munster."

"All right, but I just want you to remember... this one wasn't my
call.  The locals thought we might wanna check this guy out.  He 
was a transient after all.  And he does have a bad case of 
male hirsutism."

"Don't remind me.  I'm sure glad you don't look like that--I mean--
not that that's important--"  

Scully averts her eyes, concentrating on sorting her mail into neat,
little piles.  Her cheeks continue deepening in color and I self-
censor the first witty comeback I have on the tip of my tongue,
opting for a milder one.

"Hey, I'm no gorilla, ma'am," I tell her, smiling at her continued
shy demeanor.  We're not ready to be so candid about the attraction
between us.  Especially at work.

I decide to change the subject.  "Ready for lunch?"

She looks up from her desk and smiles.  "Sure.  Let me grab the
local newspaper from this pile and we'll go."

Twenty minutes later we are in one of our favorite delis, chomping
down on sandwiches and reading the newspaper.  She was in too much of
a rush this morning to catch up, so she's doing it now.  I'm content
with any sports page, any paper.  I am engrossed in an article when I
hear her gasp.

"What's the matter, Scully?  Is the food all right?"  

She has the paper folded to the local news page and has dropped her
tuna salad on its plate.  She opens her mouth once, twice, then
decides not to tell me the truth.  After six years of living beside
this woman, I know when she's lying.

"Nothing.  Um... eat, Mulder.  It's nothing."

I know enough to not pursue this in a public place.  She's
definitely got something on her mind and I plan to find out--when we
get back to the office.  I divert the conversation with my usual 'How
about them Yankees, Scully?' and lower my eyes to the paper.

Thirty minutes later she is sitting quietly in the office, working
on a report for a case from last week.  I am trying to decide whether
we should pursue ghostly apparitions in Tallahassee or blood on a
statue of Ben Franklin in Pennsylvania.  I'm leaning toward Florida
but I'm planning on checking out the weather there first.  I know
it's too early for hurricane season but I don't really care for hot
and humid either.  I surf around my home page looking for the weather
forecast link.

It's quiet and boring and I decide to take a chance she'll own up to
what's bothering her.  "Scully?"

She mutters "Uh, huh," in return.

"Whatcha read in the paper?"

I don't have to tell her what paper or when, she knows which one I
mean.

Her hands stop typing and freeze above the keyboard.  I can see her
tongue flip out to lick her lips.  It's a nervous little habit that I
find endearing and arousing at the same time and I'm hoping I won't
regret my persistence.

"It's really nothing, Mulder.  I don't understand your interest--"

She chances a look in my direction and for whatever reason, changes
her mind, "I guess you're a hero."  Her voice cracks with an
uncertainty I don't often hear from her.

My eyes widen in astonishment.  Damn it!  That cop wasn't supposed
to alert the news media!  I suppose it must be some enterprising
reporter who checks all the station house records for the previous
day--even on a Sunday, when no doubt this article was written.  It
didn't get published until Monday, of course.  

I bite my lower lip; my own little nervous habit when I'm floored by
a situation.  I'm proud that I saved the man's life.  I wouldn't
ordinarily feel so self-conscious if Scully read such a news item,
but this time... this time I was at a place I've never told her about
before.  She knows about the videos, even about the 900 lines I've
used in the past.  I don't think I've ever told her about going to an
adult theater.  I can only imagine what she thinks of the people who
hang out there.

Why did I have to save someone's life there?

I'm still speechless and she thinks she's said something to
embarrass me.  "Mulder?  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to draw attention
to it--in fact, I tried not to, but you wanted to know--"

Recovering as quickly as I can, I say, "That's okay, Scully.  I
pressed the issue.  I'm sorry." 

Maybe the article didn't name the theater.  Maybe she doesn't know
what kind of fare they show after hours there.  I'm just making this
into more than it is.

Scully rises from her seat and hands me the newspaper.  "I'm going
to take a break, be right back," she says.  She rushes in the
direction of the washroom like a bat out of hell.

Oops.  The article names the theater, the fact that it was a special
showing of 'Deep Throat,' that it was an adults only show.  
I'm busted.

By the time Scully comes back from the rest room I have written her
a note, telling her I need to visit the archives for the rest of the
day.  What a coward I am.  

I don't know why this bothers me so much.  She's known about my
Triple X addiction for years and she's seen the magazines in my
apartment and probably heard messages for Marty on my answering
machine.  In fact, I know she has.  They were still there when I got
back from whatever misadventure she had to rescue me from that time.

Liar that I am, I head for home to hide from Scully.  I'm not sure
she'll track me down in the archives, but if she does, I know she'll
try to call me if she doesn't find me there either.  I just need a
little time to work on my own psyche.  Then I can see about
reconnecting with hers.

I grab a beer and the remote and veg out on the couch with a
baseball game.  No calls, no knock at the door for hours.  Maybe
she'll give me until tomorrow.  Maybe not.  A soft knocking at my
door has to be her.  

"Coming!"  I shout from the kitchen, throwing the beer can away and
quickly finger combing my hair off my forehead.  A glance at the
clock tells me it's already six o'clock.  How time flies when you're
watching the Yankees.

"Hey," she says, clutching a brown paper bag in her hand.

"Hey yourself," I respond, taking her other hand and squeezing it
hello.

"Have a seat," I say, pulling her by the hand to my couch.

She follows, placing the bag on the coffee table before sitting down
a cushion seat away from me.

"What's up?" I ask casually.

She licks her lips.  Oh, God, Scully.  Don't do that now.  Not when
all I can think about is not being able to talk to you about this. 
Why can't I talk to her?  What's bugging me?

"I guess you were bored last weekend," she says.  She smiles briefly
and I am puzzled how to respond.

"Yeah.  I guess I'm used to having something to do on Saturday night-
-I mean, you know, you're usually here."

I feel about as articulate as a grapefruit.  I don't want her to
think less of me.  I guess she doesn't.  She's here, isn't she?

She starts that lip biting again.  Stop, Scully, stop.  Before I go
absolutely insane with lust.  She reaches across the couch and pulls
on my hand, opening it so she can play with my fingers. 

She speaks, not meeting my eyes, "I always thought those places were
for lonely men.  I guess I just thought--I never thought you'd go to
one for some reason.  I thought you just watched at home.  I think
that's why I was embarrassed for you."

She stops and looks over at me.  "I mean, I was so proud of you,
Mulder.  You saved a man's life.  I just wasn't sure to make of the
venue, though.  I guess I'm pretty naive for my age, aren't I?"

I smile and caress her hand with my thumb lightly.  I find my gaze
wandering, anywhere but her face.  "No, you're not naive, Scully. 
You're just surprised by something I never told you.  I think we both
have a lot to learn about each other.  We've never been so close and
there's a lot we haven't talked about.  I don't know a lot about you,
things I'd like to know but I'd never have the balls to ask--
unless... unless we were in a relationship with one another."

I pause to look over at her and gauge her reaction.  More lip
biting, but a smile in her eyes too.  I wish I could just tell her
how much I love her without scaring her off again.  Maybe soon I'll
be able to... maybe tonight.

Scully squeezes my hand and all but insists on eye contact with me
now.  "We are in a relationship with one another, Mulder."

I swallow the thickening lump in my throat and bob my head once,
agreeing with her simple statement.  Our hands are still rubbing
softly against each other, saying more than I could in my currently
tongue-tied state.

Up to this very minute, I've tried to maintain a division between
our growing 'relationship' and the progress of the IVF attempts.  I
told Scully I didn't want the latter to change anything between us,
but I don't think we've had any choice.  The bond between us has only
strengthened, our everyday interaction sweetened by the decision
we've made together.

She didn't just choose me to be the father of her child; she chose
me as her life partner.  I've been reluctant to admit that to myself,
despite growing evidence the walls between us are disintegrating
daily.  Scully didn't take me to that wedding last weekend for many
reasons, mostly valid ones in my estimation.

To stay partners, to do what we have to do, we have to be discreet
about our private lives.  That's a good reason not to flaunt our
relationship right now.  If Scully becomes pregnant, then we'll have
to figure out a new way of defining our 'public image,' one which
will allow us to not only work together but raise a family 
together.  

If I had any doubts Scully wanted me to be a full-time father,
they've dropped off my radar screen now.  I smile at her and respond
to her at last, "Good.  I wouldn't want it any other way."

"I know," she says, feathering my palm with her thumb again.  She
returns my smile and we sit quietly for a few minutes, just holding
hands.

I'm eager to find out what she brought me and now seems just as good
a time as ever.  I release her hand and pick up the brown paper bag
from my coffee table.  I trace the dimensions of the object within--
oh, definitely a videotape...

"What's this, Scully?" 

She's having fun making me guess--her eyes lit with mischief.  "Go
ahead and open it up, Mulder."

"All right," I say, already reaching inside the sack.  "Oh, wow.  I
love this one, Scully.  How did you know I liked Hepburn?"

"Just a hunch," she says with satisfaction.

"'Bringing Up Baby,' the quintessential screwball comedy."  I twirl
the shrink-wrapped box in my hands.  "Thanks, Scully."

She laces her fingers together and ponders them before saying, "I
wanted to get you something to watch.  Since you missed the film last
Saturday."

I smile wanly, reliving the chaos of Saturday night in my mind.  I
didn't regret missing the second half of the movie, not at all.  

She continues, "I almost got you the one you missed, but you know--"

I shake my head in complete agreement.  "No, Scully.  I wouldn't
expect you to buy me something like that.  I'd rather watch this one
with you.  To tell the truth, I didn't feel comfortable in the
theater last Saturday night.  I was a curious adolescent when it
first came out, but it doesn't do much for me now."

Scully nods thoughtfully and we're silent for a long minute.  She
takes my hand again and says, "Next time, when I have a family
event... will you come along?"

My heart beats faster, swelling with the raw emotions her invitation
stirs up.  I get lost in her eyes, perceiving the love there. 
Certainly not pity for the lonely man I used to be.  

I've never been happier, and I hope we can overcome all the
obstacles that lie ahead.  I know they're there; I'm too battle-worn
not to acknowledge them.

"Yeah, I will."  I stroke her knuckles softly with my thumb.
"Anytime, Scully."

She worries her lip once again, swallowing once before asking, "Got
popcorn?"

I grin back at her.  "You bet."

As I head out to the kitchen to search through my cupboards, I know
with the certainty of a man in love--Katharine Hepburn's got nothing
on my Dana Katharine.

fin

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