Summary: Extended lunch breaks, self-revelation, and 'a bout a million annoying personal habits' :)
Rating: PG13, I might use some harsh language, but only if you use translator microbes..hehe.. Spoilers: somewhere post-Tithonus...
Feeback: Yes! Please! anything!
Quirks
- by jenna -
"Cut it out, Mulder."
"Cut what out?"
"You know what."
Slosh. Slosh. Slosh.
I shoot him an eyebrow. He remains unfazed.
Swish. Slosh. Slosh. Swish.
I pull out the heavy artillery. Advil.
"You okay?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant as I throw back two pills.
"Headache," I answer flatly. That'll teach him.
He stares at me and removes his straw from his glass. I win. Then he starts in with his fingers on the lusterless Formica.
Tap. Tapitty. Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptaptaptap.
"Mulder!"
He jumps at the sharpness of my tone. I didn't mean it to sound that angry.
"Why are you so fidgety?" I demand, a little softer so that the other patrons of the diner will stop staring.
He shrugs, his hazel eyes downcast.
"Mulder..."
"Scully," he says suddenly, looking me in the eye with an emotion I can't place, "Do you believe in Guardian Angels?"
This catches me by surprise - Mulder's been moody and pensive all day...but Angels?
"Angels, Mulder?"
"Yeah."
"Well...Yeah, I guess so."
He doesn't continue, his eyes fixated on some point beyond my head. Minutes pass.
"Why?"
"Huh?" I had startled him out of his reverie.
"Why did you ask if I believe in Guardian Angels?"
Silence.
"Mulder?"
"Just wondering." Pause, then: "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"That. That thing with your sugar packets."
I look down at the little mess before my coffee cup. I like to empty the sugar packets and then see if I can turn them inside-out without ripping the paper. It's hard. It passes the time. It annoys the heck out of Mulder.
"Because."
He reaches over and grabs the Advil bottle still on the table, meeting my quizzical gaze.
"Headache," he answers in his best impression of me.
I sigh. We've been at it like this for a week. Work is slow - background checks and desk work since I got out of the hospital. Again. Frelling Ritter. Frelling Fellig. Frelling pain in my side when I've been walking too long.
"Mulder, do you want my fries?" A peace offering?
"No."
Slosh. Slosh. Sloshy. Sloshysloshy. Sloshysloshysloshy...ClunkSplash. Coke and ice cubes glitter on the dirty table.
"Damn."
I try not to laugh, I really do. Doesn't work.
He glances up from the heap of saturated brown napkins he's using to try and contain the liquid and actually grins at my smile.
"Got that?" asks the waitress, noticing the accident.
"Yeah...sorry," he replies sheepishly, plopping the sopping paper blob onto her outstretched tray with a wet smack.
She meets my eyes with a look best translated as an exhasperated "Kids" and smiles when I grin.
"We should probably go back soon," I say, drawing circles in the sugar I have spilled before me with a finely manicured nail.
"What for?" he asks, completely serious.
I'm at a loss for a good answer. There isn't one. I shrug.
The waitress brings Mulder a new coke and a straw. He tears off the paper wrapper of the straw at one end, pulling the rest down until it is only just hanging onto the plastic tube. He brings the exposed end to his lips and blows. The paper shaft flies and smacks me square in the forehead. Not bad.
"Why can't you shoot a gun with that kind of accuracy, Mulder?"
He rolls his eyes. I pick up the wrapper from my lap and start tearing it into tiny pieces. He watches me in silence. Our lives have grown tired like this, restless. Bored.
"If you wanted out...you'd tell me, right?"
These words are sudden, unexpected. I have been avoiding them for a long time now. It suprises me that I am the one who has said them.
He looks me hard in the eyes - searching for his answer there. I don't have anything left to offer.
"Yes...you too?" he finally replies, still locked on my eyes.
I nod, something sad in knowing that someday this might not be enough for him. For me. It's frightening.
"Scully..."
"Yeah?"
"I want you to be happy."
I can't help but smile. "I know." And, then: "I am, you know?"
He has looked down, but looks back up at my words.
He smiles then, and something dark in his eyes melts my heart just a little bit. I love him.
"Yeah, I know." His answer.
Our answer.
This isn't so hard. More minutes.
"I asked about the Gaurdian Angels because I think you've got one."
I pause before speaking. We've both been through a lot - and we've managed to get out of some pretty tight scrapes. Mulder had been really shaken after I'd been shot by Ritter. I hadn't seen him cry over me before. Not like that. He was scared, then he was agnry. Very angry. At first I thought it was at me, but then again, I wasn't feeling a whole lot right then, or thinking very straight for that matter. He was holding my hand when I woke up, his head bent, whispering something. I thought he was praying- maybe he was. I had squeezed his hand and he let out a deep breath, smiling through red eyes. Then I noticed a small cut on his left cheek, right above a fresh bruise. He had noticed my scrutiny, shrugging it off. The first thing I had said was, "Did you kill him?"
He chuckled and shook his head, letting go of some of his anger/worry. "Skinner wouldn't let me," he had answered in a rough voice, pouting for my sake.
I never did find out just who exactly had hit him, Skinner or Ritter? I didn't matter. Mulder was scared because he hadn't been there to protect me - and I was scared because I had needed him. But I was okay - Am okay. Maybe I do have a Guardian Angel.
"I think I do, too," I reply, looking directly at him.
I think he gets my message.
"Maybe we should get back," he offers, grabbing the bill from the edge of the table and examining it.
I shrug. "What's the hurry?"
I meet his eyes. They smile. So do I. So does he.
Slosh. Slosh. Sloshyslosh.
"I think we can get through this one, Mulder," I say, some new determination hidden in my voice. "Background checks aren't so bad for a little while. It's nice, slack work."
He nods his agreement, "Yeah, we can take it easy for a while. Can't hurt."
"Nope."
Sloshslosh.
"Mulder..."
"Yeah?"
I glance at him, at his dangerously full glass, then back at his playful eyes.
"Nothing," I say, reaching for another packet of sugar.
End