From: ladygroan@my-deja.com
Date: Sun, 29 Oct 2000 13:39:23 GMT
Subject: Pale Grey Love by LadyGroan



Title: Pale Grey Love
Author: Lady Groan (a.k.a The Drowning Girl)
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not my
guys...
E-mail: lady_fuchsia@hotmail.com
Rated: PG-13
Classification: VRA
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: I guess this is some kind of weird
alternative sex thing on "all things". Which means
even "Requiem" is spoiled.
Note: All I do is assuming - maybe they never had sex?
Asumming's the word.
Summary: The disappearance of a pair of
socks leads to deeper musings in Dana Scully's
apartment.

*Pale Grey Love*
a Lady Groan story

I'm sure your socks used to be here. Right here.
In the top left drawer in my room. Yes, I kept them
there, with three spare sweaters of yours, a tie and
some underwear. They were grey. Pale grey.
They were a little too big, you said, and pretty
uncomfortable, so they served as extra socks. In my
apartment. In my room.
You brought them here long time ago, I think it was
about a year and a half, possibly two. It rained outside,
we had had a bad case, your hair was wet and I was tired.
You came to give me the case file I had forgotten in our
office, and when you knocked upon my door I really
didn't feel like answering. I sat on the couch and hoped
that you would give up and leave if I didn't answer your
voice calling my name.
You were so distant that night.
I needed the distance.
But I hated it.

I thought you were gone, but you said;
"Okay, who ever's in there, I'm kicking the door in in
ten seconds! Ten, nine..."
You never had to go any further. I flew up and shouted at
you to stop what you were doing immediately and if you'd
just stay calm I'd open.
"Scully?" you said in a low, surprised voice. You stared
at me. Your eyes were huge. I looked down at myself and
realised I was still wearing the same deep-blue, mud-stained
dress as earlier, and the same dirt-white blouse, and my
hair was tousled with streakes of brown in it.
"Sorry, I was just going to the shower," I mumbled. "Come in."
"No, I won't disturb," you said, "you look tired. I
only came to give you this, you left it and since
Skinner wants your opinion tomorrow morning..."
I took it from you and tried to manage a smile. I'm not
sure if I suceeded or not, but from your faint curling
of lips back at me, I guess I did.
"So... I'd better be going."
You turned around. I was about to let you go and close the
door again, but something inside of me... I don't know what...
I couldn't. I wanted you that night. I wanted you with me.
"I meant what I said, Mulder. Please come in."
You stopped, thought for a second.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
So you stepped in.

I think you felt a little out of place. You didn't know what
to do, not after you had taken off your coat and made an odd
little comment on the weather and smiled at me three times.
So I took control of it.
"I think I still need that shower, but after, maybe you'd like
something to eat?"
You shrugged.
"If it's not too much trouble..."
"What would you like? Pasta? A salad?"
"Whatever you're having."
We settled for pasta and I ordered you into the kitchen to start
with it. You looked so childishly nervous I couldn't help
laughing.
"Calm down, partner. It's just a kitchen. Remember, a stove
and some drawers and shelfs and, hopefully, a little food?
You've used it before, right?"
"Yeah. Right. I'll take care of it. Go have a shower."
You grinned at me. I felt happy then.
Really happy.

There used to be a time when in a choice between your
company and warm water, soap, shampoo and the satisfaction
of getting clean, the latter would haven been a clear winner.
Undoubtfully.
But not now. Not tonight. I wanted your company.
I rushed my shower. After five minutes I smelled enough of
roses and lillies to get good use of a towel and a bathrobe.
I never knew bathrobes were that exposing, but judging by
the expression on your face, I looked hot. I knew I should
probably have a change of clothes, something suitable and
proper and usual for your eyes. I knew. I didn't want to.

The pasta was in the saucepan, the plates on the small
livingroom table. Everything was in order. I sliced tomatoes
and we spoke about the case, the victims and the policemen
in charge on the crime scene. We laughed at minor incidents
and major mistakes and when the pasta was finished you carried
the saucepan and I opened a bottle of wine.
It was red wine. Expensive wine; mother gave it to me on my
last birthday. I had kept it for use on special occasions.
This was special.

The reruns of Star Trek bored me and was going to spoil the
nice touch of our improvised dinner, music was much better
and Nick Drake was the best.
You said you liked "River Man" and it made me raise my
eyebrows but you obviously knew the tune and looked lost
in dreaming in it.
We had a few glasses of wine before you gave your watch
some short attention and explained it was late and you
should really be going now, but thanks for the dinner and it
had been real nice and... I still thank the higher powers the
rain had increased outside my window; it rained so heavy there
was no chance you could drive home. Or walk. Or do anything at
all, for that matter.
I offered you to sleep on my couch. You accepted even before I
had finished the sentence.
I went to get you a blanket and pillow, and when I came
back you wondered if you could use the shower, very quickly?
"Of course," I said and showed you which towel you could
have.
You didn't lock the door behind you. I don't know why.
Maybe you felt the same that I did?

You came out ten minutes later, your hair just as messed up as
mine had been two hours ago, and you had wrapped the towel
around your waist.
I thought I saw something underneath it, perhaps it was nothing
but my dirty imagination but I couldn't resist and on my way
to my bedroom I accidentally brushed past your skin and gave
you the slightest touch and then I was certain... you had an
erection. Growing.
I smiled to myself and disappeared into the room where I wanted
it so badly to smell of you, your scent and perfume, and I
wanted your touch and to feel you under my hands.
It scared me first, but I knew it wasn't really an unfamiliar
feeling.
Oh no.

I let my bathrobe fall. You could not see me, naked, sweating,
longing. You shouldn't have seen me.
But as I slipped on my nightrobe made of white and slink silk,
the door swung open and there you stood.
"Wow, Scully, sorry, I didn't know, I was just going to say
goodnight," the words came fast and stumbled on each other.
I could not hear the walking of feet on the carpet. I could
not hear you leave.
My nightrobe was on.
"It's alright," I whispered, and I'm afraid my voice came out
a little more trembling than I had meant for it too.
We stood there. Frozen. We could not move. I heard your heavy
breathing. I smelled you.
I needed you.
Could I have you?

I didn't have to do anything. You came closer. You skipped
the gentleman part. We had waited for too long.
You kissed me. I kissed you. Our lips united, nature had
it its way, your hand slipped under my robe and I clung to you,
I breathed your name against your skin and it was just like in
the movies.
I loved you then. I love you still.

We made love that night. It was wonderful. It wasn't overrated
nor awkward. It was hot and passionate and velvet and crimson
and exploding with love and deep feelings I did not wish to hide
anymore.
I was happy in your arms. I think you were happy in mine.

The next morning, you left your socks in my room. I asked you
if you didn't want them back, and you shook your head and smiled
and told me they were a little too big and pretty uncomfortable,
and if I had no objections you'd like to add them to my collection
of your extra clothes in my drawer.
I didn't have any objections.

Now they are gone and so are you. You have been for a
long time. I miss you. Come back to me and bring your
pale grey uncomfortable socks with you.

End

A simple little fic, but - I do hope he gets back. And I do hope you
give me feedback.