From: Rainbow920@aol.com Date: Tue, 27 Jul 1999 20:27:28 EDT Subject: xfc: xfc NEW: My Dinner With Scully Source: xfc Title: My Dinner With Scully Parts I and II Author: MC French Email: Rainbow920@aol.com FEEDBACK PLEASE Distribution: Tell me Where. Rating: PG Keywords: UST, MSR Classification: S, R Spoilers: Post Drive Summary: Mulder and Scully go out to dinner. Author's note: This fanfic was supposed to eliminate some of the common cliches in Mulder and Scully go to dinner fic. Please let me know if it worked. The title was inspired by a joke made in The X-Files Official Magazine. It was discussing the episode: "How The Ghosts Stole Christmas. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. They can keep Kersh and Skinner's secretary. My Dinner with Scully Part I This is a familiar, yet unfamiliar territory. Mulder leading me is certainly not unusual. It's interesting that I let him lead me into rooms, guide me. For I never consciously let him lead me anywhere else. I'm independent that way. Even if he goads me into something, the decision is ultimately mine. I am a creature who loves God for giving mankind free will. I wonder if I have put that to good use tonight. Mulder guides me to a table. His eyes are gazing up at me, I can feel them. If there are any other men watching us, I know his gaze will tell them that I belong with him. Not to him, with him. Partnership implies equality to many, but only this particular one SHOWS equality. I like this restaurant, it's not pricey, they serve good food, the atmosphere is casual and soothing. Mulder must have picked up my preference for it sometime in the last six years. The things Mulder knows about me could probably fill up a book. Not my favorite color exactly, but the things about my personality, what I like, my opinions. All the really important things no relationship is complete without. Why am I surprised that after so many meals, so many years, he remembers what I drink? His hand leaves my back while he scoots out my chair. Mulder is being courtly tonight, and I love him for it. It's been a rough few weeks. Mulder is supposed to be the one in this partnership that thrives on danger, but I must have acquired a taste for it someplace, because I am just as bored as Mulder with our current work, mostly comprising fertilizer. Is Kersh being symbolic? Putting his opinion of us into our assignment? Perhaps he thinks that Mulder and I will kill each other for lack of anything better to do, but I could set him straight. If I kill anyone in the near future, it will be either him or Diana Fowley. But I won't think about her, this is my night with Mulder, and I fully intend to savor every moment. We never had time to eat fancy meals together before, and although I like doing this now, the reason we have the time saddens and sickens me. A waitress comes up, and asks what we will have to drink. Mulder isn't a drinker and neither am I, I'll have ice water, and he'll probably want a soft drink. Mulder must be trying to show off his knowledge of me tonight, because he says, "The Lady will have ice water." Not to be outdone, I say, "And the gentlemen will have Coke." If she noticed our bit of by-play the waitress gave no sign. Mulder might as well have said, on to more important things, because this is where his conversation begins. I can tell by the atmosphere. The air between us changes when it is silent and when there is conversation. Besides, whenever Mulder has anything to say, his eyes light up. Yes, I watch my partner's eyes. What woman, when faced with those haunting, hazel eyes, day in day out, wouldn't? "I'm glad you didn't order tea Scully. We aren't fated for love." His tone is deadly serious, no hint of innuendo. I quirk an eyebrow, wondering where this is going. "We're too busy finding out whether Jane Jones smoked pot in college to have any adventures, marry, or even have any fun." "I didn't see you getting married before." "No, because we were sitting in the feces of mothmen, not fertilizer composed of cow feces." I have to laugh at that one. I normally don't encourage Mulder-it makes him worse. But he's earned it, because he has concealed any murderous impulses toward Kersh or Spender. His tone changes from the one he uses for one liners to the lamenting voice that makes me want to give him a lollipop like he's five. That's on good days, on bad days, he whines so I want to send him to time out. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you here Monday." This as our entrees arrive. He let me order THIS for myself at least. "Assistant Director Skinner's secretary told me that Kersh's secretary told her, Kersh looked up my birthdate in my personnel file and did gave us the mountain of forms." "I never thought you were one to gossip in the ladies room Scully." "I'm not. But Skinner's secretary used to work for Kersh, if we want an assassin to kill him, she'd be the first one I'd call." Mulder grins. "I like having this time to relax with you." "I like it too, but I don't like the reason for it." My expression must be unhappy, for I watch Mulder dig in his pocket, feeling the anticipation of a seven year old on her birthday. He brings out a familiar looking black case, the sort jewelry is found in. The hopeless romantic in me who refuses to die, wonders if it would be a wedding ring. My sensible side tells me this is impossible, and she is right. But I like this almost as much as a wedding ring. It is shining silver, a five pointed star on a chain. My jaw drops in awe, it is such a thing of simplistic beauty. Mulder grins again, obviously pleased. "I know you're not one to look to the stars for your future Scully, but if you ever do, may it be shining as brightly for you as the one around your neck. That future may not include the giver, which is why I want you to have it, to remember me.' "I couldn't forget you, Mulder. Even if I tried." The words are low, murmering. They need to be said. "I know it's not much." His tone is once again apologetic. There is only one sentence that belongs in this moment. If I believed in fate, that is what is willing me to speak it. "No, Mulder, it's everything." There is a thickening of the air, more than what I have become accustomed to. I don't think either of us wants dessert. I stand, and Mulder immediately rushes over. He embraces me for a moment, pausing to kiss my cheek. A caress so light and delicate, I wonder if it will break. He helps me with my coat, and walks out as before, leading me, I gaze up at the stars, and don't need to think of my necklace to be reminded of Mulder. Finis. As I place my hand on my partner's back and guide her to the table, I think, there is so much more I want to do. You're expecting all the other sexual comments now, like wanting to make her scream my name? Forget it. I love this woman so much, that all I really want to do currently, is kiss her, put my arm around her, or tell the woman next to us, we've been dating for six years, or whatever. I wouldn't make her scream my name without her express permission. What I love about her is not so much her body, as her soul. Not that the guys oozing testosterone behind me would understand that, but that's the way it is. I never had this much expectation for future acts before, it was just blind craziness while on a quest for elusive truth. Scully became my constant, and I suppose it is fitting that my love for her also fits that constant.I help her with her coat, and we sit down to dinner. Your friendly neighborhood waitress comes over and asks what beverages we will have. I'm not sure what prompted my behavior, but I said, "The lady will have ice water." Scully is not to be shown up. "The gentlemen will have coke." The waitress does not know that this is an additive to the pile of six years banter. But I do, and I smile. It's a nice thing that not only do I know her heart, as much as it opens, but I remember what she likes. Scully is the last thing I would ever forget. To be honest, it's usually out of some machine when I get Scully a drink. This is the first time in two years we've gone out to dinner together. She mentioned once that she liked this restaurant, and I filed it under useful things to know about Scully, which is a very long list. Dinner isn't our thing. Danger, excitement, is our thing. Our idiot boss would prefer I insert a was in that statement, but I have a thing for pissing him off. However, I think I would like dinner to become one of the occasional things I do with Scully. I can focus all my attention on her. The waitress comes back and I decide to let Scully order her own entree. Veal. I'm not surprised. I'm also glad she didn't order me iced tea, it's a painful reminder of a night I was an immature ass repulsing a friendly gesture. This prompts my next remark. "I'm glad you didn't order tea, we aren't fated for love." Scully quirks an eyebrow. I always wondered how she did that. I wonder if it is surprise that I think so, or just habit. "We're too busy finding out whether Jane Jones smoked pot in college to have adventures, marry, or even have fun." Why did I say marry? Why? Now she'll make fun of me, and I'll have to joke about it, when marrying her is something I really would like to do. "I didn't see you get married anytime before this." Good, We're on safe ground. I would sigh in relief, but she would notice. "No, because we were sitting in the feces of mothmen, content. Not cow feces that are now used as fertilizer." Scully laughs. I love to see her face light up, like that. We don't have much to be amused about. Except maybe the Cancerman's taste in clothing. And then, I remember something I need to say to her. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you here Monday, I hate being late for special occasions." It's two days after Scully's birthday. I did not go out and chase aliens that night, causing us to miss the day, Kersh swamped us with paperwork at three that was due the next morning at nine. He ruined everything. He does that frequently, but the principle of the thing is, he ruined my day with Scully. "Assistant Director Skinner's secretary told me that Kersh's secretary told her, Kersh looked up my birthdate in my personnel file and did gave us the mountain of forms." "I never thought you were one to gossip in the ladies room Scully." I'm surprised to learn that people in the Hoover building even speak to Scully nowadays. They certainly don't speak to me. Or when they do, it isn't words worth remembering. "I'm not. But Skinner's secretary used to work for Kersh, if we want an assassin to kill him, she'd be the first one I'd call." I grin. I wonder how much she charges? "I like having this time to relax with you." I don't care if it is going to sound stupid, or if Scully will be bothered, some things need to be said. "I like it too, but I don't like the reason for it." She looks sad. I immediately feel sad too, and I think of a little something in my pocket that might lighten the mood. I feel a little nervous about it, but if it will make Scully smile, definitely worth it. I reach into my pocket for the black velvet case, and pass it to Scully. She smiles, opens it, and her jaw drops. The single silver star inside, is beautiful, if I say so myself. I must be grinning, my face feels as if it would split. SHE LIKES IT! I want to shout. I fasten it around her neck, and say my somewhat rehearsed speech. I'm not much of a poet, and I hope the words don't sound sappy. I know you're not one to look to the stars for your future Scully, but if you ever do, may it be shining as brightly for you as the one around your neck. That future may not include the giver, which is why I want you to have it, to remember me.' Her next words bring tears to my eyes. "I couldn't forget you Mulder, even if I tried." There is so much more I wish I could give her. I'll tell her that, indirectly. Direct or not, the words will get something off my chest. "I know it's not much." I feel apologetic, regretful. Her next words are low, murmured. "No, Mulder, it's everything." The air crackles, with a new kind of tension. I want to kiss her, she wants to kiss me. But this moment was so special, that I want a new one before I do that. I don't think we want dessert tonight. I put my arm around Scully's shoulders, and we enter the night air. Tentatively, I stroke her hair. Her eyes shimmer in the starlight, even brighter than the chain. END. Sequels are in the works. Does the thought make you groan? Do you want more as fast as possible? WRITE! Rainbow920@aol.com Note: Thanks to Megan, The One and Only Smart Blonde, for beta reading and encouraging me. It isn't every day I get to make a fencer out of someone."