Author: Angela W.
Timespan/Spoilers: Set immediately after the
scene of "The Unnatural". Spoilers for the
present-day scenes at the beginning and end, but no real
spoilers for the extended flashback that makes up the
bulk of the episode.
Summary: After batting practice, Mulder and
out for ice cream.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted in this story
not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013
Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere.
Feedback: Feedback of a polite nature, including
*constructive* criticism is welcome. If you're just
not a shipper, go read something else.
Story is told in first-person, Scully's POV
This is fun. I'm
actually enjoying hitting these
baseballs. There's a sense of accomplishment each time
the ball and bat connect. Of course, what I'm REALLY
enjoying is having Mulder's arms around me, his lips
next to my ear, his jokes and encouragement.
He's been in a rare mood all weekend, beginning
he stole my ice cream cone this morning. For once, the
guy is HAPPY! He wants us to play! No angst, no
conspiracies, just fun. Far be it from me to refuse.
Finally, the kid who's been shagging balls for us
announces it's time for him to go home, and we call it
"Okay, Scully, we played baseball. Outside.
warm spring air. Now are you willing to take back some
of those things you said about me not being able to
enjoy life?" Mulder demands as he we stroll off the
field. He's "forgotten" to remove his arm from
my shoulders and I haven't bothered to remind him that
I no longer need a batting coach.
"I don't know, Mulder. You still owe me an
"You drive a hard bargain, woman."
We reach an ice cream stand and he informs me,
I'm getting ice cream, it's going to be REAL ice
cream. Not that non-fat tofu crap you were eating this
"You were eating it, too."
He ignores that, and turns to the teen-ager at the
ice cream stand. "One king-size chocolate and
swirly cone. What do you want, Scully?"
"That's okay, I'll just eat off of
"You sure? I'll be happy to buy you one of
"I'm sure," I say. He pays the kid,
takes his cone
and licks a big lump of it into his mouth. Then he
hands me the cone and I do the same.
"How come you didn't want your own
cone?" he asks. We
can't really eat ice cream with his arm around me, so
now we're holding hands, instead. I like holding hands
with Mulder. He has great hands. Great arms, too,
which is why I'm always touching them. Of course,
since the hands in between us are occupied, we have to
reach all the way across each other's bodies every time we trade off the cone.
"It's a girl thing, Mulder. You wouldn't
"A GIRL thing?" he demands with a
the first time I've ever heard you admit to being a
GIRL, Scully. What is this "girl thing" that
you to eat my ice cream instead of your own, pray
"This way, the calories don't count."
"All girls secretly believe that food has
only if it actually belongs to them. Calories consumed
in food that belongs to a guy don't count, even if the
girl eats half the food. See, I can eat half your ice
cream cone, but you still get all the calories."
"Well, this explains why you're always eating
french fries and stuff. Does it also apply to why
you'll hardly ever consent to let me buy you a drink,
but you'll drink half my beer if I order one?"
"Exactly. That's the alcohol exemption."
"Scully, I'm amazed. Please explain
"Well, the alcohol exemption works pretty
same way as the empty calorie theory. Just like we
can't get fat from eating food that doesn't' belong to
us, a girl can't get drunk from drinking a guy's
"Does your mother know you believe these
"Mom's the one who TAUGHT them to me, Mulder!
except for an occasional glass of wine, Mom doesn't
drink. But if Ahab was having a drink, she'd take a
sip of it. I asked her about it one time, and she said
it's unladylike for a woman to actually order or
request any alcoholic beverage other than wine, but
that if her husband orders a beer or martini or
something, she can drink out of his and it's okay."
soon as these words or out of my mouth I freeze. I
realize I've just blithely put the relationship
between Mulder and me on the same level as my parents'
35-years-and-four-kids marriage. I mean sure, Mulder
and I are close, but not quite THAT close. Luckily, he
either didn't notice my faux pas or is being kind
enough to ignore it.
"So, when you take a bite out of my bacon
cheeseburger, I get my cholesterol level raised, but
"Exactly, Mulder. I knew you'd catch on
"So, what happens if I eat some of your tofu
like I did this morning?"
"Well, I get all the health benefits."
"What if I was eating something
"How likely is THAT, Mulder?"
All during our banter, we've been passing the ice
cream cone back and forth. When it's my turn, I lick
it upward in long, smooth strokes. When he gets it, he
sort of tamps it down with his tongue and gulps some
in. By now, we've reached the cone. I take tiny
nibbles out of it, while he takes larger bites. We're
also nearing Mulder's apartment building; it's less
than a block away.
We reach the outside of his building just as we
finish the cone and I stand on the lowest step, which
puts me almost on eye-level with him. I remove my hand
from his, to place both of them on his shoulders.
"You're a messy eater, Mulder," I say,
face in the dim light of the street lamp on the
corner. He's got a tiny smear of ice cream clinging to
that luscious lower lip of his.
"Why don't you wipe it off? I do that for
you get barbecue sauce smeared all over your face,"
I don't bother mentioning that all I had on my
was one little drop of sauce. Instead, I murmur,
I think I can do better than that." Then, before I
lose my nerve, I lean forward and lick the ice cream
off. Then, since I'm already right THERE, so to speak,
I go ahead and press my lips to his.
For a moment, Mulder doesn't respond. I think I've
shocked him. I know I've shocked myself. I'm about to
pull away in embarrassment when Mulder finally snaps
to it. He slides one of his hands up to the nape of my
neck and plants the other one firmly on my butt. Then
he sort of growls into my mouth and begins kissing me
back. Before my addled brain can even process what's
happening, he's got his tongue inside my mouth. I
sweep mine into his and savor the mixed taste of ice
cream and sunflower seeds. Not the sort of flavor
combination that I'd normally recommend, but on him
We kiss for a long time - heck, you don't wait
six years for something then rush through it! - but
we're finally forced to come up for air. My eyes slid
shut while we were kissing and I'm almost afraid to
open them. Before I can make a decision, his mouth is
on me again. Not my mouth this time. My neck. Oh my
Lord! Does he know how sensitive I am right there?
can feel his lips and -- ooooh! -- his tongue! --
my skin. Without conscious thought I whimper.
Mulder stops and pulls back. Now I know I'm afraid
open my eyes. I don't know which would be worse - if
he apologizes again, like he did during our
almost-kiss last summer, or if he's all smug-looking.
But I've always been the kind to confront my fears
head on, so I force my eyes open.
Mulder looks neither apologetic nor smug. He's
smiling, but it's soft. His eyes are filled with a mix
of tenderness and desire, just a tiny hint of
uncertainty lurking in their hazel depths.
Apparently he likes what he sees reflected back on
own face, because he pulls me even closer and bends
his mouth to my neck again. I stop him with a hand to
his head and a murmured protest.
"Nuh-uh, Mulder. My turn now. We're partners,
remember?" I touch my mouth to the juncture of his
neck and shoulder and begin to suck. Even as a I savor
the taste of him, a tiny part of my mind begins to
wonder how in the HELL we're going to explain matching
love bites on our necks to Skinner on Monday? I wonder
if our boss would buy "We got abducted by alien
vampires'? Maybe, considering it's us.
I stop nibbling on his neck after a minute. Not
because I don't enjoy it, but because I want us to
"Mulder," I murmur.
"Dana, do you want to," before he can
sentence, we're interrupted by a squeal of tires and
voices shouting our names. The Lone Gunmen. Of all the
times, guys! We're kind of busy here!
"Hey, G-people," we hear as the door
Langley's the one who gets out. I thank God for this
tiny silver lining on the dark cloud of their
interruption. Langley's probably the smartest of the
three gunmen and he's definitely the most paranoid.
But he's also the one of them least likely to pick up
on vibes pertaining to social interaction between
other people. If Byers saw us with Mulder's hand on my
butt, he'd back away in chivalrous embarrassment. If
Frohike saw us like this, he'd probably burst into
tears. Langley is just oblivious to it.
"Hey, Mulder, Scully, come on, get in the
says. "Something big is going down and you guys
definitely want to be in on the ground floor of
Mulder glances at me with a look of amused
resignation on his face. Short of staging a scene
right on the sidewalk, there's no way out of hopping
into the van with the guys. I can also tell that
Mulder is torn. I'm well aware that part of him really
wants to tell the guys to bug off so we can get back
to our smooching. But I also know that another part of
him is intrigued by whatever is happening.
"Where have you guys BEEN?" Frohike
demands as we
scoot into the van. Byers is at the wheel, and Langly
gets in the front beside him. I'm in the middle of the
backseat, between Mulder and Frohike. "We tried
office number, your cell phones and your home phones.
We sent e-mail, to no avail."
"Well, I suppose it could have been
murmurs in my ear. "It COULD have been another one
those damned bees!" Out loud he says, "We were
"It could have been worse than the bees or
gunmen," I whisper back to my partner. "It
"The park?" Byers asks in confusion, as
if Mulder had
just casually announced we'd been on the moon.
"It could have been worse than the gunmen,
or Skinner," Mulder murmurs, continuing our game of
can-you-top-this. "It could have been Bill
At that, I concede the game to him and dissolve in
fit of giggles.
All three gunmen turn around to stare at me in
amazement. "Scully, did you just GIGGLE?"
"She's been doing that lately," Mulder
may be our next X-File."