From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Mon, 2 Feb 2009 12:31:08 -0600 (CST) Subject: Waiting Games by ValZ Source: direct Reply To: valz1013@hotmail.com TITLE: Waiting Games AUTHOR: ValZ EMAIL: valz1013@hotmail.com DISTRIBUTION: I would be honored, just let me know first. RATING: PG13ish CATEGORY: SR KEYWORDS: MSR, Humor SPOILERS: Millennium, slight one for Rain King SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully play games...at the airport. Disclaimer: X-Files characters belong to FOX Corporation and 1013. Author's Notes: Since my first story was a little sad, I thought I'd lighten things up a bit. Let me know what you think. ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: A million and one thanks to Abby for her amazing beta! Please come and visit me at: http://valz1013.livejournal.com/ "Here," Mulder says as he unceremoniously drops a Brookstone bag on Scully's lap. "Happy Birthday. Feliz Navidad. Happy Hanukah. Blessed St Jude Day. Pick a day, any day." The position of her crossed legs facilitates a swift "plop" as the package slides off her lap onto the shabbily carpeted airport ground. He flops heavily onto the empty seat across from hers and spreads his arms wide across the backs of the chairs on either side of him. He crosses his long legs and starts nervously twitching his foot. "Thanks. St Jude, Mulder? You're hardly a lost cause," she half smiles at him. "Nonetheless, I guess I don't need to ask what the occasion is. I think you've just about covered them all," she smiles fully. She tries to use the point of her shoe to lift the package by the handles off the ground. She only manages to kick it away from her towards Mulder. "Good grief, Scully," he says as he kicks the package back towards her. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry." "Gee thanks, Blockhead," she retorts as she hastily retrieves the bag. "Open it, Doctor Lucy" he says with a shy apologetic smile as he switches to the empty seat next to her and playfully pokes her arm four times, punctuating for every word. Open. It. Doctor. Lucy. "I will, just stop poking me," she gives him a sideways glance knowing that even saying the word "poke" could potentially regress him to his formative adolescent years, more so now since they've been unhurriedly moving towards the inevitable culmination of the slowest courtship in American history. Their too-chaste-for-words New Year's kiss was only weeks ago. "Don't even start. I can read your mind," she half teases. He raises his hands and shoulders in a "what" stance. He only hopes she can't read his mind. He'd be in a world of pain; however her more forthcoming smiles, flirtations, tighter and shorter skirts (although perhaps he could only be wishfully imagining her clothing becoming less demure) tell him otherwise. "Really? What am I thinking Scully?" he slowly drawls her name as he pokes her arm one more time. She turns to him and pokes his arm four times. "Poking." She's pleased to see him visibly gulp. "What's wrong with poking?" She chooses to ignore his not-so-subtle game and opens the bag to reveal a box,beautifully gift-wrapped in blue. "Mulder, you're kidding me." "I don't know Scully, you seemed awfully pissed earlier." "I wasn't that pissed. Plus, it's not entirely your fault. You're hardly Holman Hardt." "I realize that, but I'm the reason why we missed our first flight. Besides, you looked upset," Mulder says as he runs his finger up her arm. Scullyfollows the path of his finger with her eyes, she almost rolls her eyes, butdecides against it enjoying his teasing. "I could see you fuming all the way across the terminal when I was in Brookstone. You were tapping your little foot, blowing the hair out of your eyes, cracking your neck the way you do." "Well if I would've known that you were supposed to buy me gifts every time you perceived that I was upset I'd be sitting pretty right about now." "Yeah well, I don't think there are enough funds in the Mulder coiffures for that. But, if you weren't that pissed, I'll just take this back," he attempts to take the gift from her tight grip. "No, no. You went out of your way," she says as she lifts the box and gives it a tentative shake. She starts turning it in her hands and meticulously picking at the tape. "Open it already," he tries to take the package from her hand again. But she turns to the side and earnestly tears into the wrapping. "Wow. It's an..." "Electronic Sudoko game. That way you can keep your precious mind preoccupied the next time I make us late." Her tight-lipped smile and barely noticeable pink stained cheeks cue him in that she is well aware of the significance of the game. One week ago after they finished working on a case and were inevitably stranded in the most tediously lackluster town in America until their flight the next morning, Mulder bound into her motel room with "S.O.S." supplies. He tossed two small books, licorice, two bottles of Bubble-Up, and a bag of rainbow colored Goldfish crackers on the empty bed in her room and proceeded to kick off his shoes. "Mulder, if that Bubble-Up explodes in my room..." she said as she remained stretched, stomach-side down on the unoccupied bed. Her head was half hanging over the side of the bed. She was too bored to even finish her sentence. Looking down at the ground, she quickly decided it none too smart to scrutinize the carpet in the "Sleep Tight" motel room lest she grab her suitcase and bolt. "I will personally get on my hands and knees and clean it up," he defended as he grabbed the two identical puzzle books and attempted to lie down next to her sprawled body. He tried to push her a little, but she wouldn't budge. "Scoot over, bed hog." "This is my bed Mulder," she said, trying to remain serious, burrowing herself into the overly soft mattress. He easily used his weight to push her over; she feigned incredulity, but burst into honest to goodness giggles. "Scully I challenge you to a Sudoko war," he called to her as he tossed one of the puzzle books onto her back. "A what?" she said, reaching behind her in an attempt to fetch the book. "The logic based number..." he said this as he reached across to grab a couple of pencils he brought. "I know what Sudoko is Mulder, I acutely recall you catching me playing it last week during Agent Simmon's quarterly report. You passed me a note that read 'Pay Attention, Ms. Slacker Scully.'" "Yes, to which you rudely wrote back, 'I could wipe the floor with you at this game.'So, I'm here to defend my wounded honor and ego." "How thoroughly macho of you Mulder," her burgeoning excitement now eclipsed her boredom. "You're on." "Well, I do like to be thorough," he rolled over on his stomach, mimicking Scully's position, gently placing a pencil behind her ear. The first game she won despite him occasionally tossing purple Goldfish at her head and distracting her with the glimmering wet red licorice hanging out of his mouth; the second game she won because he became distracted when she wrapped her ankle across his calf and proceeded to push his pants cuff up with her foot; when she won the third time, he began to accept that he sucked. The fourth time; the fourth time is why he bought her the electronic game. After playing for fifteen minutes on a particularly difficult puzzle, Mulder exalted, "Bingo!" He jumped up and off the bed, book in hand, and pumped his arms in the air in victory. "Let me see," she got up off the bed and tried to reach the book he was now holding over her head. "Whatever happened to trust, partner?" he gave her a shove onto the bed to which she matched by grabbing a fist full of his t-shirt and taking him down with her. What ensued was a five minute wrestling match of sorts across her bed, one in which they kicked his empty soda bottle onto the floor and crushed the remaining Goldfish across the bedspread leaving it a Crayola crayon painting gone awry. The minute they stopped and realized that Scully was lying underneath him, flushed, shirt askew, panting, hair mussed across her face, a pencil poking her in the ass, he jumped up and off the bed. "Sorry, Scully. Guess I got a little carried away," he said this fishing crackers out of his shirt. "Don't be," she said, her face a shade between Crayola Brick Red and Magenta. She wanted to kiss his licorice stained lips, but she didn't. He wanted to rip her shirt off and throw her on the mattress again, but he didn't. Instead, he reached over and fished a half-crushed purple cracker out of her hair. "Well, we have an early flight, I better hit the sack," as he said this they both looked towards the bed. An awkward minute later, he walked back to his room trying not to hum of giddiness from their grinding session or kick himself for chickening out. Back in the airport, Mulder tries to be patient as she takes her time opening the box. She opens it (finally), taking out the packaged instructions, and begins to read. "Ugh. Gimme that. You take too damn long," he grabs the box and begins to remove the styrofoam package housing the game. "Gee and here I thought this was my present." "Oh, wait" he says as he shakes the box, looking inside. "Shit, no batteries," he stands up, "I'm going to go get some." They don't realize that as he is shaking the box the too heavily tattooed for working at Brookstone employee has just walked away from the store, pulling the metal grating down for the night. Mulder notices the closed store and sits back down, he leans into her whispering, "That's the last time I buy you a battery operated toy and forget the batteries." Crushed that his attempt to keep her occupied for the next hour they have to wait has failed, he comes up with another idea. Word War. A word war could be as simply mundane as naming capitals of countries or as intricate as naming deadly diseases that can be spread only by physical contact. "Word War?" She straightens up in her seat. He doesn't need her verbal confirmation to know that she's game. "Scully, do you know that a group of crows is called a..." "Murder. Do you know that a group of alligator is called a..." "Congress," he snickers, "Come on Scully, everyone knows that. Do you know a group of cats is called..." "My worst nightmare. I mean, a clutter. A group of bears is called a..." "Sleuth. Beavers?" he gives her a sideways glance, catching her eyebrow rising a bit as she gives him a sideways glance of her own. She clears her throat, "They are a colony or family. Cheetah?" "Coalition. How about an Ass?" her eyebrow rises once again, he continues, "or if you prefer, a donkey?" "Herd, or if you prefer, a drove. Do you know that a female Donkey is called a..." "Jenny. And for the record, you are supposed to announce that you are changing the subject Scully. Do you know that a male llama is called a macho?" "Really? Wait, you just told me the answer." "Sorry," he smiles at her, "got carried away. A male manatee is called..." "I don't know." "Bull." "No, really I don't know, Mulder." "It's called a bull, Scully." "Ha. Ha. Do you know a group of Bigfoot is called a farce?" "Ha. Ha. Incidentally, there is only one Bigfoot." "Ok, back to groups. A group of lark is called?" "An exultation. Back to sex. Do you know what a male lark is called?" "Yes, I do Mulder, and I'm not saying it..." "Come on, what do you have against cock Scully?" he whispers looking around him for potential eavesdroppers. "Nothing particularly. I just don't like having it thrown in my face after midnight when I'm sitting in a pain-in-the-ass plastic airport chair when I'd much rather be in a comfortable bed." "See, I knew you were pissed." "I'm not. I'm just," she turns to give him her full attention. He can see the color rise in her cheeks, her nervousness apparent, "I'm just tired of waiting Mulder." "I know you are, we'll be out of here in," he turns to look at the board, "fifty minutes." "You're not understanding me," she tugs his coat. "I don't want to keep waiting," she tugs it again for emphasis. He may be slow where women are concerned, but he finally catches on. He leans into her, "Waiting can be a good thing. Especially, when it's worth it Scully," he places his palm on her thigh, "I know you're worth it." "Well, maybe I'm just tired of playing games," she says this staring at his hand. They both are slightly amazed that their conversation turned real so suddenly. "I'm not playing anymore Mulder," she says as she pokes his arm, taking his hand in hers. "Ok, no more waiting games Scully," he says this leaning into her, planting a tentative kiss on the corner of her mouth. Even though she doesn't kiss him back, they both undoubtedly know that when they arrive in D.C. in a few hours, they will only be requesting one cab.