From: "aka "Jake"" Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2001 14:36:02 -0400 Subject: NEW: RESISTING A THREE-PIPE PROBLEM (1/1) by aka "Jake" Source: xff NEW: RESISTING A THREE-PIPE PROBLEM (1/1) Title: RESISTING A THREE-PIPE PROBLEM Author: aka "Jake" Rating: G Classification: V Spoilers: Post-ep for "Fire" Summary: "Fire" spoke volumes about Mulder and Scully's fledgling relationship. Do you think Scully was paying attention along with the rest of us? Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no. Author's notes: Last week I wanted to look at Mulder's and Scully's early relationship through his eyes, so I wrote a post ep to "Shadows" called "The Cracked Bell." This week, I wanted to get into Scully's head. After nine months with Mulder, how does she feel about him? RESISTING A THREE-PIPE PROBLEM By aka "Jake" X-FILES OFFICE FBI HEADQUARTERS DECEMBER 19, 1993 Mulder is brooding. Should I...? I can't resist. I step into the office and use my best Phoebe Green accent to ask, "Care to take me to lunch?" Got him! Panic face. I soften the blow with a smile. "Scare you?" "You have no idea." "Where is Phoebe?" I sit on the edge of his desk and try to look sympathetic. "I don't know." "You don't know? She didn't call?" "No." He holds up an audiotape. "She did messenger this to me last night though." "Did you play it?" "No." "Why not? Aren't you curious what's on it?" "Ten to one, you can't dance to it." He stands and lobs the tape into the wastebasket. Perfect shot. It clatters to the bottom of the can, but the sound doesn't bring a smile to his face. "Go ahead, Scully. Tell me I made an ass of myself." "I don't think you're an ass, Mulder." He frowns at me. "No?" "No. You saved those kids' lives. Possibly Lady Marsden, too." Shaking his head, he grabs his coat. He refuses to see a bright side to the Cecil L'Ively case. With the sweep of his arm, he steers me to the door. * * * Upstairs in the cafeteria Mulder buys us a couple of sandwiches and coffees -- to go. I follow him out of the building, down 10th Street past the Justice Department. We circle the Museum of Natural History and turn west on the Mall. The wind is raw and I wish we had stayed in the office to eat our lunch. At 14th Street, Mulder finally selects a vacant bench and sits. It's too cold to eat outside, but he doesn't seem to notice...or care. I sit next to him and hold the coffees while he digs turkey clubs from our lunch bag. "I owe you an apology, Scully," he says, and trades me a sandwich for his coffee. I let the sandwich lie unopened on my lap while I curl my fingers around my steaming cup. The heat leeches into my hands through the styrofoam. It feels good. A low overcast spits snowflakes and several settle on Mulder's hair, lasting only a moment before they melt and turn to pinprick-sized beads of water. He glistens whenever he shifts position. "Apology for what, Mulder?" "For not coming clean about Phoebe." "Coming clean?" "I neglected to mention a few details." He takes a bite of his sandwich. I wait for him to chew and swallow. The food seems to stick in his throat. "Mulder, you don't need--" He holds up a hand, head bobbing while his food works past his vocal chords. "Yes, I do. You could have been killed." "I'm a big girl, Mulder." "You had a right to know what you were getting into. Phoebe is...Phoebe is..." Mulder is at a loss for words. He stares down the length of the Mall and shakes his head, leaving his sentence unfinished. "Worse than an Alaskan ice worm? Worse than Eurisko's COS?" I ask. "In case you didn't notice, she has a bizarre sense of humor." "I noticed." Phoebe's little practical joke about the car bomb scared the crap out of me. "She did a hell of a number on me in Oxford, Scully." "So I gathered." "Thing is, I wanted it at the time. I wanted her." His shoulders slump and he settles back against the bench. His thigh presses along the length of mine and I'm grateful for the heat that pours off him. He closes his eyes. "Every guy wanted her." "But she chose you?" "'Targeted' would be more accurate." His eyes open again and he chances another bite of his sandwich. "Let's just say she isn't a one-man woman," he tells me around a mouthful of food. I don't think I want to hear more. My own relationships have been less than ideal. Who knows? Maybe somewhere Dan Waterston is sitting on a bench just like this one, telling a colleague about "fickle Dana Scully." Mulder rakes his fingers through his hair, combing out a few melting snowflakes. "I thought I could handle it." What does Mulder mean when he says Phoebe is "not a one-man woman"? Did she cheat on him, or is this something kinkier? **I got in over my head and, uh, paid the price.** "I couldn't handle it," he says. A frosty sigh sifts from his lungs and disappears like a ghost above his head. I unwrap my sandwich and peek under the bread. Turkey. Mayo. Slice of tomato. Everything is as it should be. "Then why were you so willing to give her a second chance?" "What do you mean?" He stares at me, a startled expression in his eyes. "Well..." Should I say it? "A guy doesn't usually..." "Usually what?" I decide to just blurt it out. "The black silk boxers, Mulder." His eyebrows lift. I find it impossible to look at him, so I focus on my sandwich instead. Forging ahead, I say, "You must have expected...you must have been planning..." Damn it, this is waaay too personal. I hardly know this man. I don't want to discuss Mulder's underwear or his sex life or -- **I'm kind of anticipating having my hands full** -- or anything. "I always wear silk underwear, Scully." I'm pretty sure he's lying. Turning to face him, I try to gauge his sincerity. His moroseness melts like the snow on his hair. "I'm wearing them right now," he says. "You wanna see?" He sets down his sandwich, opens his trench coat, and fumbles with his belt buckle. Yes, he's teasing me, inwardly laughing at my embarrassment. It's my turn to hold up a hand in protest. "No! Thank you." How the hell did Phoebe Green derail a guy like Fox Mulder? He releases his still-fastened belt. Relaxing, he turns his face to the sky. A fat snowflake flutters toward him and he opens his mouth to catch it on his tongue. I hardly know what to make of his seesawing moods. Miserable one minute, hopeful the next. He's like a child. Willing to grant life -- even Phoebe Green -- a second chance, despite the depth of his disappointment. Who knows, maybe he really is wearing silk boxers right now. "Scully, what would you think about going to Quaker Lake, Pennsylvania?" "What's in Quaker Lake?" "A series of exsanguinations. Six victims, all last seen alive ordering lunch at the KFC drive thru. They were discovered at the bottom of Quaker Lake, still inside their cars. Not a trace of blood -- or fried chicken -- anywhere." He finishes his coffee and stuffs the empty cup into the lunch bag. Standing, he takes my hand and tugs me to my feet. "It's your classic three-pipe problem, Scully." His smile is genuine. "Hard to resist, huh?" I think Mulder's inexorable enthusiasm leaves him unable to resist almost anything. He's amazing. Truly. "When do we leave, Sherlock?" "Right now." He links his fingers with mine and draws me toward the sidewalk. His grip is warm and firm. "I've already requisitioned the car." THE END Authors notes: I loved "Fire," particularly the way Mulder paraded around in his black silk boxers, not the least self- conscious in front of Scully, but when Phoebe Green entered the room, he cinched the belt of his bathrobe, covering himself. His actions told me that intimacy is not defined by sex. Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my stories. Send comments to nejake@tds.net. You can find all my fic at http://aka "Jake".xfilesfanfiction.com/