Getting Lucky
A/N. Yeah, yeah, it's not St. Patrick's Day. Well, I couldn't wait till February. This's already been sitting on my hard-drive for months. It's very cute, though, in a harmless, fluffy kind of MSR way.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Scully was in a festive mood.
It was a rare thing, to be sure, but not unheard of. Usually she was the lady who left the candy bowl outside of her door on Halloween and scoffed at the teenagers necking on Valentine's Day. But today, for whatever reason, she had chosen to participate in the celebrations, as well she should. Her red hair screamed Irish blood, and Scully was a common surname in the Emerald Isle.
Yes, it was St. Patrick's Day, and Special Agent Dana Scully had planned her wardrobe accordingly. She hadn't gone over the top, mind you (unlike that secretary downstairs, she thought, wincing inwardly at the hue of the woman's attire, makeup, and headband, the kind with little shamrocks on springs), but she was wearing the traditional color. Her coat was a dark forest shade, and although her skirt was grey wool and her blouse a cream-colored silk, she had a little green chrysanthemum tucked behind her ear.
She hummed as she took the elevator down to the basement. "Her eyes they shone like the diamonds, you'd think she was queen of the land, her hair hung over her shoulder, tied up in a black velvet band," she mumbled under her breath. Although there was no one there to hear her, she still wasn't totally comfortable belting out the lyrics to old Irish drinking songs in the FBI elevator.
Entering the office with a bounce in her step, she plopped down into a chair. Her partner looked up from the newspaper he was reading as Scully removed her coat and set her purse on the floor. Still humming softly, she crossed her legs and turned to face him.
"Well, you're in a good mood today," he observed, leaning back farther in his swivel chair. His feet were up on his desk and propped on a massive pile of case files.
She allowed an open smile. "I'm always in a good mood, Mulder."
The other agent snorted, looking pointedly at a scuff in the wall near the file cabinets, made by a sleep-deprived Scully who had had yet to find a break in their case and her black Nine-West pumps.
Scully studiously ignored his gaze, instead glancing perplexedly at the files. "Don't tell me –"
"Yes, Scully, these are all ours, and they all came in today."
"WhatonEarth are theyabout?" she asked, flabbergasted. Lots of 'odd' files came through their office, but usually not more than two or three a week. To have this many at once was unheard of.
"This one, Mulder said, holding up a white folder, "is from a man in Wisconsin who saw a leprechaun. This one," he continued, opening another file, "is from a woman in Jersey who insists that the gold statue that she stole from her neighbor's house belongs to her because she followed a rainbow to it." Scully silently raised her eyebrows dubiously. "And this," her partner continued, gesturing to an open case file, "is from a professor in Florida claiming that he's found a fairy ring." Mulder sighed. "Scully, I'm an open-minded man, but even I know that most, if not all, of these reports are a load of bull."
"We don't have to investigate them all, do we?"
"Thankfully, no. Skinner's spoken to the field offices in each area and they've agreed to check them out."
Scully eyed the ten or so folders still left in the pile. "Are there any from DC?"
Only one, fortunately, and the Assistant Director sent one of the rookies out to talk to the woman. He still wants us to read through them all to see if any have merit, though."
"Lucky us," Scully said. Reading the files would take them all day.
"At least we're not out there dealing with all the hardcore St. Patty's Day fans. Last year the PD arrested a driver who blew point three one."
Scully's eyebrows shot up. "That's almost four times the limit. How could he even manage to drive?"
"Where there's a will, there's a way. Speaking of which, Frohike asked me to give this to you." He passed her a little green pin, which Scully accepted. "He also asked me to tell you that he hopes you'll stop by his office later."
The red-head examined the pin only for a moment before tossing it into the nearby trashcan. The bright green letters gazed forlornly up from beside a moldy sandwich. Kiss me, the pin begged. I'm Irish.
Mulder laughed at his partner's reaction. "Come on, Scully, he's not that bad." He knew that she was too polite to outright snub her dedicated suitor, but he also suspected that she wanted to keep Frohike on her good side, just in case she needed his help later.
"Just… shut up, Mulder."
He smiled, handing her half of the case files.
"Let's get started.
Scully happily set down the last of her files. She glanced at the clock: it was six twenty. Waiting for Mulder to finish his last file only took a moment.
"Anything?" he sighed.
"Take your pick: four leaved clover farms or enchanted River Dancers." The female agent rubbed her forehead tiredly. "None of these seem like anything more than figments of the over-imaginative crackpots of the world."
Mulder looked disappointed. "Too bad." Scully was sure that her partner had hoped for something supernatural, or at least unusual.
"Well, that was a complete wash." Mulder stood and began to gather his things. "We may as well get out of here, there's not much more we can do today." Scully nodded, waiting a second before pulling herself up with a groan and packing her briefcase. "Wanna go get a beer?" he asked.
Scully ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair with a smile. "Just as long as neither of us ends up on the side of the road staggering along a line and blowing in the thirties."
Mulder turned to grab his coat off of the back of his chair. "Of course not." He faced the other agent again with a grin. "We'll aim for the forties.
Rolling her eyes, she turned to feel her coat. The hem was still damp from the unavoidable slush that lined the streets this time of year. She hung it on the rack and took the spare that she kept in the office. Mulder chivalrously held it for her as she slipped her arms into the fleece-lined sleeves. Scully adjusted the black material before reaching once again for her briefcase. They crossed the office together, pausing at the entrance.
Unexpectedly, Scully reached out and nipped at her partner's sleeve. Rubbing his arm, he turned to look at the woman, looking a little miffed. "Scully!"
"You're not wearing any green," she said seriously before breaking into a grin.
Mulder quickly stepped forward and plucked the flower from beside her face, flicking it behind them. He took a step closer to the red head. "Why, Scully, neither are you!"
She caught the troublemaking glint in his eye. Scully pointed a finger at him.
"Mulder, don't you dare pinch me."
He stopped. "Okay."
Scully sighed in relief.
Mulder leaned forward and planted a kiss on his partner's lips.
A few seconds laterScully pulled back, blinking surprisedly.
Mulder smirked good-naturedly. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Scully," he said before heading for the elevator.
Scully, still frozen like a deer in headlights, ran a hand over her lips. Hearing the elevator call button ring, she walked quickly to catch up to her partner.
He had held the door for her. She could tell by his smile that he knew how flustered he had made her. Scully stepped into the elevator, empty except for the two agents. He released the doors, letting them slide closed noiselessly before jabbing the lobby button. The elevator was silent for a moment, other than the whirr of machinery. Scully, standing beside Mulder, looked up at him, and a second later his eyes met hers.
"You know, Mulder," she said, looking back down and examining her hands in pretended nonchalance. "I'm Irish."
She waited an instant before looking up at him again. Her cornflower blue eyes met his own hazel ones. He lowered his head, once again meeting her lips lightly with his own. Her arms curled up to tangle around his neck. Likewise, his wrapped softly around her waist. The elevator arrived and theycalmly walked out, looking for all the world as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Only their eyes betrayed something more, the small smiles at the corners of their mouths and the way their hands casually brushed each other every so often. Her words, unsaid, hung in the elevator, even after they exited.
Kiss me.