From: "Sarah Stella" Date: Thu, 11 May 2000 13:18:00 EDT Subject: xfc: REP: Nightscape with Figs (1/1) S, post-ep HAD Source: xfc Title: Nightscape with Figs Author: Sarah Stella Distribution: Most anywhere is fine! Gossamer, Ephemeral, Spookys, etc. of course. Anywhere else drop me a line, I don't bite. Classification: S, MSR Keywords: Scully POV, post ep for HAD Rating: just a PG-13 for amorous situations ;) and a couple swear words Spoilers: Smallish ones for HAD Summary: Figs are the only flowers classified as fruit. They are really flowers turned inside out and they (mostly) come from California. Scully loves figs, among other things. Disclaimer: hahahahahahahahahaha. Ahem. Um, they aren't mine and if you don't know that by now that's your own issue. FEEDBACK: Lovingly embraced! at starbright_89@hotmail.com or come visit my fairly brand, spankin' new website (shameless plug) at: www.chickpages.com/fanland/wendydarling1 ***Thanks to Lexi, Caroline, Tinka (twice), web administrator for the X-Files Ultimate Database, Jennifer and the rest of the Primal Screamers, Cavale, Leslie, Susan, Catherine, Angel, Holly, Paul, Maria, Karen, Becky, Tam, Hiding in the Light, a January, April, MaryAnn, Kipler, Sparky, RiccaVito, Terces and anyone else I've forgotten!*** EXTRA LOVIN' to Maria for the absolutely AWESOME, top notch, speedy beta!! You rule! Oh and yes, it IS the Huntington Gardens. I loved them when I visited Pasadena. :) ******** Nightscape with Figs We came a long way to be wound tightly together, a tangled skein of yarn. My pale skin shows against his darker tones, running together like eddies in a stream. First we wandered like pilgrims through dark streets that twinkled with false lights. I clutched the credit card, because somewhere I guess I believed that the only reason he was with me was the Bureau money. Orange streetlights dripped over our skin at regular intervals, strobing inside the car. I watched, fascinated with where the light hit his body--how it made him seem stronger when the planes were lit and the hollows remained shaded. I was made bold by this place but I know the line: "A great place to visit . . . . " There was something in the air here, but it didn't feel right. Mulder turned to me, caught me looking and only smiled . . . smiled! "Where are we going, Mulder?" He shrugged. "Don't know. I was hoping you had an idea." All I could think of was the little museum in Pasadena, how I'd rented a small car, and driven up there one day when I couldn't stand Burbank--fucking Burbank--anymore. I'd brought a pint basket full of figs with me, because I love figs. So I'd driven in this rental car, loving my figs and the way the hot air whipped in the window, mussing my hair and curling down my arms in comforting waves. I remembered how the sun had turned parts of my arms pink even though I'd been sitting in the car the whole drive--hadn't even stopped for a drink, a stretch, the bathroom. And the place had been beautiful. Sprawling in the best sense of the word, like the whole house and all the grounds had laid out for a sun-drenched catnap one day and never bothered to get up again. So here was Mulder, my friend, my best friend, waiting for my answer just so it wouldn't degenerate into one of those going- nowhere conversations. I cracked the window, disregarding the car's air conditioning so I could feel the warm air against my face. Mulder noticed the open window and flicked off the air conditioning, rolling his own window down. "There're post-premiere parties around," I offered, distracted. I stuck my hand out the window, watching as it waved against the rushing air. "You wanna go to a party?" There was a lift of surprise in Mulder's voice. Non-judgmental but surprised just the same. The wind stirred through my hair. "Not really. I was just saying . . . " I had paid the entrance fee for the house and gardens and slipped inside, my heels echoing nicely on the hardwood floors. I thought how different the noise was from my shoes against the linoleum in the FBI basement. How rich and good it sounded, just my shoes against wood. Then I began to wonder what Mulder's shoes would sound like beside me, tapping out syncopation. I had passed out onto the grounds first, saving the rest of the museum for later. Museums I've seen. Museums we got. Washington, DC for God's sake . . . sometimes I go on my lunch break. I wander through dusty display cases in the Natural History Museum and remember what it was like to be a kid and to see those dusty animals for the first time (didn't seem so dusty then) or I try to navigate through the National Gallery without getting completely lost. My favorite is the Castle--the original Smithsonian building. It stands against the sky in the most obvious way, not hiding at all. There's nothing in it anymore, really, except for a big information kiosk and a scale model of the entire Mall. The building still looks nice but what's the point? It's pretty, but empty--standing tall and red against the sky, as unselfconsciously as if it still had something inside. I touched my black headband briefly, shooting a sideways glance at Mulder. He was looking at me, his head tilted curiously. Sitting stiffly in his tux. He looked good. He looked good enough to devour whole and then go back for seconds. But I could count on one hand the times I'd seen him dressed up like this. God, he was a fucking *movie star* and I didn't know him at all. I touched my headband again. "What do you have back in the room?" I asked, bracing myself for the disappointment in his voice-after all, *I* had suggested this little junket of ours and now I was . . . I was . . . . "I've got a bottle of champagne . . . don't ask why, I don't quite know myself." "I've got some figs," I offered in return. I'd stopped at a little roadside stand on my way back from Pasadena--grit in my mouth blown off the dry road. I'd longed for the dry coolness of the fruit on my tongue. Then I began to wonder what it would be like to eat with Mulder, sitting in some darkened room munching the figs, our soft chewing filling up the darkness. "Or we could stop and get something else." My fingers tightened around the credit card. He smiled at me, teeth flashing in the dark, while he steered the car back towards the hotel. We decided on his room since it had a balcony and a better view. I sat on the balcony with my pint of figs while Mulder fussed around with the champagne. There was a slight breeze and it raced up my arms, curving through my hair. The air here smelled more pumped in than the air in Pasadena. I'd walked around the grounds, not quite getting up the nerve to take my shoes off. I'd liked where the trees patchworked the grass in sliding shadows because shady grass always looks so lush and cool and inviting. There were things blooming everywhere, the scent tickling greenly in my nostrils. But then I'd had to leave because I kept imagining Mulder, kept hoping that he would walk around the corner in one of the gardens I passed through. And I'd felt like crying because I had never realized how tangled I'd become--how I could enjoy gorgeous things, simple things, the imagined feel of cool grass against the arch of my foot--but it wasn't the same unless he was with me. Mulder finished up with the champagne and brought it out to me. I traded him a flute for a fig, our hands juggling. He sat beside me, close enough so I could watch his fine, taut jaw muscles work as he chewed the fruit. "Do you think the movie'll tank?" he finally asked, after a prolonged silence. I shrugged at him, biting down on another fig. "I dunno. Life's too short, Mulder," I replied carefully. I washed the fruit down with a sip of champagne, and then another. "There's no reason to let it affect us. It has nothing to do with us anymore." His brow creased slightly so I touched his arm soothingly. "You're right, Scully." He leaned in and kissed me lightly--it was the right thing to do and so was kissing back. We touched each other languidly, melting into the warm night. Spreading ripples of us through the air. I dissolved as Mulder ran his hands from my neck and down my arms in broad strokes. His fingers were cool, as lush and inviting as shady grass. THE END I love feedback! (starbright_89@hotmail.com)