"So, what's the agenda today?" Scully asks as she slides into the passenger seat. Mulder bounces in the driver seat excitedly. He has been looking forward to this all month, and there is only one thing that could potentially bring him down now, but he would not allow that one thing to happen. He had offered to pick her up that morning, but his intentions were not just to save her the trouble; he didn't want her to chicken out.
"I think today is finger painting," he answers with a goofy grin.
"Finger painting, Mulder?"
"Yep. So, I hope you don't mind gettin' down and dirty."
She buckles her seatbelt and rolls her eyes at him. "When have I ever minded?" He chuckles and throws the car in gear.
When they walk into the classroom, the sight they find isn't too far off from what they had expected. "Well, this looks promising," Mulder chimes, unconsciously grabbing her hand. Scully notices but doesn't say anything. Truth be told, she has actually been enjoying his recent boost of intimacy with her. Ever since that kissthat still means nothinghe has become more clingy and dependent on her. It's almost as if he wants to spend every waking moment with her. This, she really doesn't mind. "Where do you want to sit?"
She looks around observantly. Then, she pointswith her free handto a couple empty seats in the back corner of the room. "How about there?" He gives her a suggestive leer. "What?"
"Oh, nothing," he answers nonchalantly. "I just find it amusing that you want to be hidden…like you intend on"
"Don't get your hopes up too quickly," she interrupts, sitting in the more distant of the two seats.
"I know. I know. But a guy can dream, can't he?" She allows his question to go unanswered as the teacher enters the room. "I feel really old," Mulder suddenly whispers, looking around at all the young college students among them. Scully considers a nasty comeback, but resists when she realizes there is nothing she could say without insulting herself, as well. It's not like she's a young college girl anymore.
"Okay, class," the teacher begins, "today, we will be jumping into the water head first. Usually, I prefer to use the first class period to go over the syllabus and talk about what we will be doing the remainder of the semester, but I have decided to reserve that for Wednesday. I would like to remind you that this is a Monday/Wednesday class, and that we will be doing a wide range of art projects in here. My goal is to cover just about everything. But, as I have already said, we will discuss that on Wednesday. Today, let's just dig in!" The young students in the room whoop and rejoice as though they are at a pep rally. Meanwhile, Mulder and Scully just exchange looks. As the teacher passes out materials, Scully can't help but wonder what she has gotten herself into. Mulder, on the other hand, attempts to mimic the others' enthusiasm. "Here you go."
"Thank you," Scully says to Professor Glitter (how disgustingly cliché) as she accepts her materials. Turning to Mulder when they are cut loose to "explore their inner artists," Scully gasps, "Is this woman for real?" Mulder chuckles and turns to face the fresh canvas in front of him. "What are you going to paint?"
"I'm not really sure. I was thinking I'd paint you," he answers, trying desperately to stifle another goofy grin. At first, Scully isn't quite sure how to accept this, but then Mulder sticks his thumb in the Sea Foam Bluish-green paint and smears it across her cheek. "So far so good!" he laughs.
"Oh, how original," Scully shoots back, allowing a hint of laughter in her tone. "Now that's verymature, Mulder." He gives her a pair of puppy dog eyes in response, and she feels flushed all over again.
"Aw, come on, Scully. Live a little." He goes back to dab his fingers in the paint and starts making lop-sided dots all over the canvas.
"Now what are you doing?"
"'Exploring my inner artist,'" he answers, his voice heavy with mockery. Scully faces her own canvas and stares at it for a while. "What are you gonna paint?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'll paint a rabbit…or a frog." She sticks the tips of her fingers in the Forest Green paint and creates a vague impression of an oval body and two circles on top for eyes.
"The eyes should be yellow. Not green."
"What?"
Mulder points to the eyes on her "frog," and repeats, "The eyes should be yellow."
"Who says?" Scully asks defensively. "Maybe my 'inner artist' thinks they should be green."
"Well, then your 'inner artist' is wrong," he replies matter-of-factly. Their lips curl into reluctant smiles simultaneously, and all Scully can do is swipe her green fingers at his face, leaving three long, green streaks from one cheek to the other. "Hey!" he whines, batting her hand away.
"Fair is fair," she giggles, returning her attention to her personalized frog. Just then, his hand whips out in front of her, leaving two carelessly placed, yellow smudge marks over the frog's formerly green eyes.
"See? Doesn't that look better?" he grins, displaying a whole set of pearly white teeth.
Scully pretends to consider it. "Yeah, actually, it does." Mulder notes the sarcasm in her voice and leaps to his canvas protectively…but she's faster. His board now has a dainty, green handprint right in the center, and his shirt displays its reflection. "Now, doesn't that look better?" Scully giggles.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he sits, dabs his thumb in a mix of colors, and doctors up the handprint until he is satisfied. She watches intently, and when she figures out what he is doing, she can't help but laugh. "There," he blurts, signaling the completion of his first masterpiece. He leans back in his chair and, like a proud father, announces, "I'll call it…turkey."
Scully drops her chin to her chest, stifling another laugh. "Now that is original."
"Thank you." He turns his attention to her poor excuse for a frog. "Shall we work on yours now?"
"What's wrong with my froggy?" she pouts, sticking out her bottom lip. For the slightest fraction of a second, Mulder focuses on her lip, and if it hadn't been for the blush that followed, she would have not even noticed. In her own little fantasy world, he would have leaned forward and taken her lip in his mouth, biting it slightly, his tongue begging her mouth for entrance. And in that split second, she sees that it is possible he has the same fantasy. His eyes lock with hers, and there is no longer doubt in her mind. They are dark. Almost black. Suddenly, the moment passes with them both blinking it away, and they turn to face their own paintings. "You know what?" she finally says, hoping her voice doesn't come out huskily.
"What?"
"You were right. Yellow does look better." He nods uncomfortably and looks at her frog.
"There is nothing wrong with your froggy," he says a little too seriously for the moment.
Another blush sweeps across her cheeks, and she is thankful there is paint there to hide it. "Thank you." As if the moment could not get any better, leans forward…closer…closer…and closer to her face. This is it! she squeals in her mind. She barely opens her mouth and closes her eyes. But her lips are not met with his. No. In fact, her lips are not met with anything. Her eyes flutter open at the confusing sensation of something slimy on her neck. Oh, my God! "Mulder!" Bright pink paint slides down her neck and chest in glumps. He sits back laughing in his seat. "You got it all down my blouse!" she accuses.
"I'll be happy to clean it for you," he teases. At this, she grabs a rag from the easel and throws it at his face. "It's not permanent. Besides, you don't even like that blouse. That's why I told you to wear it."
"So you could soak it with paint?" she interrogates angrily. Her face is hot and flustered.
Sincerely concerned, Mulder stops laughing and faces her. "Why are you mad?"
"Why am I mad?" she echoes. "Because I thought you were going to" She stops short.
"What?"
Realizing just how flushed she is, she retreats to her frog painting, avoiding his view. "Nothing. Never mind. I'm fine." Mulder shrugs. Internally, he knows exactly what she was going to say but doesn't want her to know. The truth is, he almost did kiss her…again. But this is neither the time nor the place.
"Look, I'm sorry," he tries, grabbing her shoulder and unintentionally leaving another pink handprint as evidence. "Next time, I promise I won't use pink." He thinks he hears her laugh. "How's orange?"
She turns to face him, and this time, she has a tube of white paint in her hands. She squeezes it blindly, but where it lands causes them both to blush fiercely. "Oops," she snorts, slapping her hand over her mouth. Mulder looks down at his jeans. Sure enough, white paint is blotched right where the two inseams meet. "I am so sorry," she giggles, trying with all her might not to laugh.
He looks up at her, shock in his eyes and a vengeful smile playing across his lips. He looks around to see if anyone is watching, but their carefully chosen seats promise that no one is. "That, G-woman, is gonna cost you," he teases just as he grabs the tube of black paint and squeezes some of its contents onto his hand. Not quite sure what to expect, she watches nervously as he rubs his hands together, smearing the paint evenly over the surface of his palms and up this fingers. "This is war!" He lunges at her, and they fall behind a wall of boxes in a tangled mess. It takes every ounce of his willpower to not kiss her, and she is too embarrassed from before to even consider the thought. After only a few seconds, they stand and look around. A few students take notice of their appearance and laugh, but for the most part, no one is paying attention. The teacher is off in her own little world. "Hey, Scully," Mulder grins, pointing at the professor's painting. "What does that look like to you?"
Scully straightens her partially black hair and squints her eyes. "A tooth?" she smiles.
"Well, I think our frog and turkey are a lot better than that," he nods thoughtfully. She mimics his behavior and agrees. He turns to face her and looks her up and down for the first time since their rough-housing experience. "Oh, my gosh," he suddenly laughs.
"What?" Scully follows his gaze to her blouse and her mouth drops open. "What did you do?"
"Apparently something very inappropriate," he chokes, gawking at her even more inappropriately.
"Apparently!" she laughs. On her blouse, there are two very wet, black handprints…one over each breast. "Oh, man. I feel like Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl."
"Yeah, except those were light handprints on a black outfit, and these are black handprints"
"Shut up," she interrupts, rolling her eyes yet again.
"Just tryin' to help."
"Oh, I think you've helped enough."
"Okay, if you're gonna get all uptight about this, then maybe you don't want to see the back of you."
Scully's eyes go wide. "What do you mean?" He shrugs. "Mulder?" Instead of answering, he points to a full-length mirror on the wall by the boxes. She walks toward it at a speed one would expect to see a man walk to his own execution. (And the fear on her face is probably just as comparative.) Once in front of the mirror, she turns around and looks back at it. "Mulder?"
"Yes, dear?" he calls sweetly, hoping humor will defuse the bomb about to go off.
"Guess where I have two more matching handprints," she says, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Hmmm, let's see here…on your back?"
"Lower," she growls.
"On your legs?"
"Higher," she growls again. Mulder leans his chair back to catch a nice, clear view of her butt in the mirror. Yep. There they are. One black handprint on each cheek. Despite himself, he laughs.
"That's not funny," she whines, not angry anymore. "I have to go home like this."
"I'll tell you what. I'll put one of my old shirts on the seat in the car so that you don't have to worry about getting paint on the upholstery, and when we get to your building, I'll just follow you up with my hands covering the handprints." She isn't mad, but she doesn't seem to be amused either. "So, which ones should I cover?" he adds with a stifled chuckle.
She opens her mouth to say something, but the teacher speaks first. "Okay, everyone. Good first day. These paintings you've done today will not be graded. However they will serve as a 'before' picture, if you will. Your last project in the class will be compared to these, hopefully to measure your improvement. So, please leave them here, and be sure you have signed your works of art. Class dismissed."
Mulder and Scully exchange glances and then look at their crappy paintings. "Well, that's a relief," Mulder sighs as he signs his painting the way a four-year-old might.
"What? Suddenly your turkey isn't good enough for this art class?"
"No. I was talking about your mutant frog." She tosses him a cold stare for a couple seconds before signing her painting and leaving for the sink. This was fun, he muses, watching her butt as she goes.