From: "Diadem" Date: Wed, 12 May 1999 18:17:27 +0100 Subject: Twelfth Night by Diadem MSR Title: Twelfth Night Author: Diadem Rating: G Category: V, UST/MSR Disclaimer: They're not mine. I wish they were, but they belong to CC, 1013 and FOX. I am making no money from this, and remember, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Oh, and Mr Shakespeare, if you're reading, I'm really sorry I stole one of your lines. Archive: Gossamer, yes, others, yes, but please let me know where so I can come and visit. Feedback: Yes please! But DO NOT HIT REPLY, click here instead! Diadem@cwcom.net Notes: Is it to late to be posting Christmas stories? If answer yes, stop reading. Or carry on reading, and pretend I'm really early for next Christmas! I guess we all know what happened last Christmas, anyway, so this is next Christmas. Honest. Dedication: To Isa, of course! What would I do without you? Twelfth Night by Diadem It was still raining. So much for a white Christmas. Continuous rain, grey and miserable, had graced the East Coast for over two weeks, completely drenching both Christmas and New Year. Outside the window cars drove steadily against the onslaught, headlights on full beam, skidding slightly as they approached the stoplight at the corner. Inside Fox Mulder leaned against the window. This year he wasn't feeling quite as guilty as he had the last couple of years. Scully had spent Christmas with her family, and he hadn't done anything to interrupt it. He had stayed at home like a good boy, had a frozen turkey microwave meal, opened a bottle of wine, and watched "It's a Wonderful Life" which he had promised Scully he would watch. Funny how his Christmas, hell, his whole life, seemed to revolve around her, even if she wasn't there. She had come over on Boxing Day, though, and severely scolded him over the state of his appartment, which included the remnants of his dinner from the day before. She had evidently suspected something of the kind, however, because she had brought along a Mrs Scully style Christmas Dinner, with proper meat, potatoes and vegetables, and a beautiful steamed dessert. They had eaten together and laughed, despite the rain outside. After dinner they had traded gifts. On Chrismases Past, they had agreed not to trade gifts, only to shyly produce a gift when Christmas rolled around. This year they had decided to just go with it, and each get whatever they wanted for the other so as to avoid any awkwardness. He had been at a loss as to what to buy her. He had put off making the decision until Christmas Eve when they finished up on a case in Vermont. They had driven back, and argued furiously about what to play on the car's stereo almost the whole way. So he had treated her to a portable CD player, at which she had looked a little guilty and apologised for her behaviour in the car. Her gift to him had been a gag gift, and he could not have loved it more, simply because it had come from her. It was a set of windchimes, shaped like greys, and she informed him that it was for the office. They had hugged briefly and then settled down to watch "Independance Day." All that had been two weeks ago. New Year had passed uneventfully, with an obligatory hour at the annual FBI party, followed by a drink with Scully at one of the local bars to see in the New Year. She had kissed him at midnight, taking him by surprise. It had taken him a second or two to realise what had happened, but as soon as he did, he had repayed the favour. Of course, the kissing wouldn't have been spectacular by anyone else's standards, but to Mulder it was everything he had ever hoped for. For once in his life he had a beautiful woman, a woman he loved, to kiss at midnight on New Years Eve. She had spent New Years Day with her family, passing off the night before as being spent at the FBI party, an alibi that had been accepted, apparently, by the Scullys. He was glad. He really did not want to have to face Bill this year in an arguement about Mulder having spirited his sister away from yet another family get together. But now the Christmas season was well and truly over. January sixth. Twelfth Night. For some unknown reason the Scully clan were having yet another party, but Scully herself had opted out, prefering instead to accompany Mulder to Maine on a consultation for the local police department. It had been an easy three days, with nice, comfortable accomodation at a local inn. Scully had turned in early, something about finishing off a report, leaving Mulder to his own devices. He had tried to settle to watching the television (free cable), but hadn't managed to concentrate on anything. So he had paced for a bit, coming to a stop in front of the window. Something about the rain haunted him. Not in an unpleasant way, he was just captivated by the way the drops landed seperately, then joined up, until, when they were heavy enough, they dropped, leaving a trail of tiny little droplets in their wake. Tiny little droplets which would then start their own journey towards the puddle that had no doubt formed weeks ago on the wooden window ledge below. He was tired, but he was restless, and he was bored. Flipping the lightswitch, he plunged himself into near darkness, and threw himself backwards on to the bed. He knew he would not sleep, but he could at least stop the fidgeting which might disturb his partner, who was no doubt asleep in the adjoining room. He rolled on to his side, hoping to find a more comfortable position, when he noticed a thin band of light coming from the connecting door which led to Scully's room. She was still awake, then. Decision made, he stood up and headed for the door, not bothering to turn his own light on. He turned the handle, and stepped into his parter's room. At first he thought she must be in the bathroom, and he turned to leave, but as he turned the top of her head caught his attention. Stepping carefully, he moved round to the other side of the bed. Scully was sitting on the floor, laptop open, screensaver running. It was the one he had installed for her, he noted proudly, the Star Wars one with the circling spaceship. She had fallen fast asleep. He stood for a moment, just watching her. She was going to be sore in the morning, he reflected, if she slept like that. Of course, she would never tell him, even if she could hardly walk, as Mulder had discovered was possible as a result of sleeping in certain articles of motel furniture. As peaceful as she looked, Mulder knew he could not leave her on the floor. He leaned closer, and prepared to lift her on to the bed, when he heard the music. It was soft, very soft, and at first he could not figure out just where it came from. As he leaned closer, however, he could see that it came from the slim headphones of his Christmas gift. The CD case was lying on the floor next to her feet. He picked it up and turned it over. Nocturne. No wonder she was asleep. As gently as he could, he picked her up, and he silently rejoiced when she did not wake, but instead sighed in her sleep and nestled closer to him. At first he was worried - what if he had been someone else? But Scully could take care of herself. Even in her sleep she must recognise him. His face flushed slightly at the thought. Ever so carefully he pulled back the blankets and placed his partner in the bed. Gently removing her shoes, he pulled the covers over her, and smoothed her hair out of her face. As he did so, he once more encountered the headphones. Making sure the wires were clear of her face and hair, he pulled at them, trying to disturb her as little as possible. Her murmur made him start - she had been so quiet so far. Letting go for a moment, he contemplated how best to achieve his goal. Reaching for the ear pieces, he attempted the task again. Muttering to herself, Scully batted his hand away. Silently he laughed at her - what would she think if she knew he had seen her like this? But, if she wanted the music, she could keep the music. Bending down, he placed a light kiss on her forehead, then straightened and left the room, turning the light out on his way. It was, after all, Twelfth Night. And if music be the food of love, play on. End Feedback? Please? But DO NOT HIT REPLY - a saint posted this for me, and I don't want to make any more work for her than I already have! Please send all feedback to Diadem@cwcom.net and my other stories, along with those written by the saint herself (thanks again Isa!), can be found at