A few weeks have passed since they started their china painting projects, and Monday was finally the day to turn them in to Professor Glitter. Today is Wednesday, and Scully is running around her apartment trying to get ready to go. She grabs her keys and locks the door. Looking at her watch, she cringes and realizes there is no way she'll make it on time. "Mulder," says her partner when he answers his cell.
"Hey, it's me. I'm going to be a few minutes late."
"Okay. We find out what our new project is today. I hope it's pottery."
"Me too, Mulder," she lies. "See you when I get there."
She screeches into a parking spot and half walks, half jogs to the art room. "Hey. What'd I miss?"
Mulder moves some of his stuff off her desk that he had placed there to save her seat. "Well, we found out what our new project is," he shrugs disappointedly.
Scully tries to put on a sympathetic face when she says, "Not pottery, huh?" He shakes his head. "What is it, then?"
"Paper mache."
"You're kidding!"
"Unfortunately, no." He taps his fingernails on his desk and adds, "But she did say we are going to do coiling for our next project after this."
Scully gives a weak smile. What disgusting things could this man possibly do with coiling? She knows the answer. A lot. "Sounds like fun." She sits down to face the center of the room. The professor has just finished her demonstration on how to do paper mache, and Scully has missed the whole thing. "Damn."
"That's okay, Scully. I'll help you," Mulder grins, giving her a wink.
You are certainly a man of mixed signals, she thinks miserably, with a little frustration.
Pulling wire, cardboard, and balloons from heap of materials in the center of the room, Mulder builds what almost looks like the top half of an alien spaceship. Scully rolls her eyes and scoffs. "What?"
"You are so predictable," she says.
"What do you mean?" He points at his creation in progress. "This?"
"Why do you try to turn everything into a spaceship?"
"Hey, first of all, this is not everything. Second of all, I painted a turkey…"
"Because I had made a handprint on your canvas."
He looks at her, squinting his eyes, and continues, "…then I sculpted a human…"
"Because she had big breasts."
"…then I painted Forget-me-nots…"
"Because the spaceship and cows were too hard," she interrupts again, smirking.
"You just have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"Face it, Mulder. You are a predictable guy in almost every way, shape, and form."
"How so?" He looks insulted but curious nonetheless.
"I'll prove it." She rips a piece of binder paper from her notebook and grabs a pen. "I am going to make secret predictions about anything of my choosing, and I'll show each one to you after the act or event I choose to predict." He raises a skeptical brow. "I won't cheat. You have my word, and I know that's enough for you." His shoulders rise and drop as he considers the idea.
"Okay then. You do that." She quickly writes her first prediction. "…but for the record, it's not a spaceship. It's gonna be a sombrero!" He sees her begin to laugh and, with caution, looks to see what she had written. Word for word, it reads: For the record, it's not a spaceship. It's a sombrero. "Jesus, I can't be that predictable!"
"Don't worry about it, Mulder. Sometimes predictability is a comfort."
"Well, you are predictable to me," he smiles.
"Yes, Mulder. You know me like no other." She makes her voice sound sarcastic, even though it's very true. If only she could, for once, be unpredictable and tell him how she feels…or if he could…that would sure be nice. "I wonder what I'll make. Maybe a piñata or something like that."
He shrugs and nods his head, letting her know her idea is…good…but not as creative as his sombrero. When they have both finished the skeletons of their projects, Mulder grabs a bucket of ripped up newspapers and a bucket of diluted glue. "Here we are," he announces, setting them on the table between them. "Okay. First, you wanna take a strip of the newspaper, dip it in the glue, and then drape it on like this." He demonstrates the procedure for her a couple more times even though she has already gotten it. It kinda reminds her of the whole baseball lesson. She had gotten the message, "hips before hands," long before he was done "showing" her. She just liked his hands on her body. This time, she just drowns him out, lost in her own little world, until…
"Mulder!" she squeals. Watery glue soaks her hair and drips down her face and neck, some getting in her mouth. "Bleh!" She spits the horrible-tasting liquid from her mouth and wipes it from her lips.
"You weren't listening!" he accuses immaturely. Surely, he thinks that is a fine excuse to dump glue all over her. She scowls at him threateningly, but he only grins in return. "Hey, Scully," he laughs, sticking his hand in her already stiffening hair, "I'm stuck on you!" She is not amused. "You're no fun," he whines.
"Oh, yeah?" She grabs the bucket of glue and splashes it down the front of him. While he stands in shock, she looks at the newspaper shreds and smiles. Finishing him off with those, she steps back and nods. "Well, Fox Mulder, I'd say you've just been tarred and feathered the paper mache-way."
"That was just wrong," he accuses, faking a shiver for a pathetic attempt to gain sympathy.
"Any more wrong than what you did to me?" He huffs and starts to walk to the sink, which sits under a tattered, square mirror. "Oh, Mulder," she calls sweetly as he picks newspaper from his clothes and hair, "you missed a spot."
"Look who's talking!" He grabs her arm, a little more roughly than he means to, and draws her toward the sink. She stands in front of him with a hint of a smirk on her face, wondering what he has in store for her now. To her surprise, but not dismay, he takes the sponge, wets it, and gently wipes dried glue from her face. He seems to be concentrating on the sponge, but when she isn't looking, his gaze drops to her face. She looks back at him, and his eyes quickly advert back to the sponge. "There. Besides you hair and shirt, that looks a lot better." She grins barely. "Sorry 'bout your hair and shirt, by the way."
"No problem. Sorry I…well, actually, I'm not sorry about the tarring and feathering, but I do hope it's easy enough to clean." All of a sudden, someone is clearing an impatient throat at them. "Huh?"
"Excuse me," snarls a young student, probably about eighteen or nineteen years of age.
Mulder and Scully step apart and away from the sink, allowing the girl to wash her hands. Mulder blushes and bites his lip. "Guess we were in the way. You ever notice how we are the only ones that make a scene in here but no one really seems to care? I mean, I feel like we are the only ones enjoying ourselves."
"I guess it does seem backwards a bit, but then again, I'm not at all familiar with the natural atmosphere of a community college art class. Maybe we are the ones out of the norm."
He realizes his sombrero is almost dry and ready for its next coat. Scully watches him scamper to it, while she looks at her piñata discontentedly. Mulder had suggested she make it heart-shaped, joking of course, but the idea struck her in a witty way. She decided that would be exactly what she would do. And using her medical knowledge and morbid professional medical experience, she was able to create a vague model of the human heart. Using the paper mache to smoothen it out, she decided to go ahead and stick to it…as much as she may regret it now. Mulder, of course, dropped his head in amusement, and perhaps embarrassment, when he figured out what his false suggestion was leading to… "Go figure," he had said.
Now, he gives her nothing but quirky compliments on the progress she is making, including, "Hey, all that heart work has been paying off," and "You are working so diligently that your piñata will be pumping in no time." While she doesn't always find his comments clever or even funny, she tries to make herself appear as though she does. "Scully, when you finish your heart, maybe we can donate it to Smoking Man."
"I'm afraid that would be a waste of a perfectly good piece of art, Mulder. Besides, I have a feeling he would have a lot more fun for that sombrero of yours."
He clutches it protectively to his chest. "I don't think so. This is mine." She chuckles and shakes her head. The class period ends quickly, but they are happy to see the paper mache step completed. To speed up the drying process, Professor Glitter had brought a hair dryer. "Thank God," Mulder sighs. "Next week we can paint these damn things and then be done with them forEVER!" He puts his arm around his partner, and they walk to her car. "So, you have any plans tonight?"
"Yes, Mulder…a very hot date, actually," she grins. He rolls his eyes.
"Well, then you'll have to call and cancel because look what I got." He holds up his hands, and between his fingers are two small pieces of paper. "Tickets," he clarifies, handing them to her.
"Mulder, the science fair?"
"Yeah! It's the coolest… Well, I shouldn't have to tell you."
"How much did these tickets cost?"
He purses his lips in an offended pout. "Nothing. They were free."
"Let's do something else instead, then. I'm tired of work, and I'm sorry, but science feels like work right now. How 'bout we go…"
"…Buy some clay so we can practice coiling for next Wednesday?" he blurts hopefully.
"That's not at all what I was going to say, but…okay." She's tired of art, too, because now that they are taking a class on it, it has lost its leisurely aspect…but why not? As long as she is with him, what does it matter what they do? "Well, I'll meet you at your apartment after I get the clay," she offers.
Mulder considers this but insists, "I'll get the clay and meet you there. You look like you can use the quiet time to get some rest anyway." She closes her eyes and smiles warmly at his chivalry.
"Thanks." With that, she gets in her car and drives home to his apartment…home? The thinks about this as she uses her key to get inside and drops her things by the couch. I guess this is just as much my home as my own apartment is…just as mine is his, as well. She lies down on the couch and nods off to sleep.
Mulder unlocks his door to find his partner fast asleep, facing the back of the couch. Must be a cozy position for her, he decides, having seen her sleep like that many times. He sets the package of clay on the coffee table and sits on the couch behind her knees. Stroking her back, he stares at her and wishes he had the courage to tell her. Nope. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. She begins to stir, so he rubs her face, gently rousing her from her sleep. Just before she wakes, she does something he's never heard her do before. She moans his name. He does a quick double take, trying to convince himself he hasn't just heard what he knows he just heard. Then, "Mulder?"
He jumps and looks at her. "You're awake," he states nervously.
"Is something wrong?" Her voice is tired and innocent, showing no signs of sex dreams, but still he can't help but wonder. He wants to ask, but she probably would deny it anyway…not to mention how embarrassed she would be if she were to know he had heard his name escape her lips so passionately.
His voice returns just in time. "No. I just…I have…the clay is here." Oh yeah. That was smooth.
"Okay. Just give me a sec to wash up," she requests, heading for his bathroom.
Without even thinking, he asks, "You wanna take a shower?" Where the hell did that come from?
Scully's eyebrows jump up to her hairline. "Shower, Mulder?" Then, she clears her throat loudly and insists, "No thanks. I'm fine. I'll just…uh…do it when I get home."
Still blushing, he replies with an awkward, "Okay," and the subject drops. That was close…close to having her naked in my bathroom only a few feet away from me… Come on, Mulder. It's not like she's never showered here before, and what do you mean, "a few feet away?" What? Are you gonna stand by the door the whole time? Mulder rubs his hands down his face. "Man, I need help…desperately," he mumbles.
Scully returns to the room to see Mulder ripping open the clay's plastic wrapping with an old pair of rusty scissors. "So, have you done coiling before?"
He turns to look at her and then faces the coffee table again. "Not a lot, but the teacher passed out basic instructions before you came in today." He turns again, adding, "I guess I had left that part out, huh?"
"That's okay. I'll just make a copy of yours tomorrow at work. For now, we can share."
"Okay." He gets the packaging scrunched down around the sides of the block of clay and grabs a piece of wire with handles on either end. "I bought some accessories, too." She smiles, and he slices off a section for her and one for himself. "We can still use the coffee table, but let me find something to cover it with." He disappears into his bedroom for a minute and returns with a large plastic table cloth. "Don't ask."
"I wasn't going to," she grins, moving the things off the table for him. He covers the table and pulls out the set of instructions. "What do we do first?" Scully asks, trying to sit comfortably on the floor in her skirt. It doesn't appear that she is succeeding because the skirt is bunching up her legs as she resituates.
Mulder notices and offers, "Do you want to use a pair of my sweatpants? It'd be more comfortable." For a second, his eyes are glued to her skirt, and she looks down to see why. While she was trying to get comfortable, it had ridden almost completely up to her upper thighs. She hadn't even noticed.
"Oh," she startles, startling him as well, "yeah. Sure. Thanks." He gets up with his eyes still on her skirt even though she has fixed it and stumbles to his bedroom. "I was so late, I forgot to change into my jeans before class," she yells from where she is sitting. He brings her the sweatpants, and that's when she gets an idea. So, let's see here, Mr. Mixed Signals…let's find out what your true feelings are. She sets the pants on the couch as she stands and slowly unzips her skirt, glancing at his face afterwards.
Feeling like his mouth has gone dry, he asks, "Do you…I can…privacy? Want pri…privacy?"
"That's okay, Mulder. We're friends. Besides, you've seen me in a lot less than this before." Internally giving an evil grin, her external features stay true to her innocent, nonchalant act. She lets the skirt fall to the floor, revealing her very slim, tone, silky-white lower-body and a small pair of black, lace panties. The material seems to cover just enough and too much all at once, and Mulder politely (but quickly) excuses himself to the bathroom. As he rushes out of the room, a devilish smile curls at the corners of her mouth. That's all I wanted to know, she muses satisfactorily. He returns about five minutes later. Out of breath.
She wants to tease him and ask if he had fallen in but thinks better of it. If he is going to react this way to her, she does not want to discourage it in any way. In fact, maybe she's planning to do the opposite and encourage it. Glancing up and down the Coiling Process, she sees what a perfect opportunity this is to do such encouragement. She has already prepared herself for some fun dialogue that will hopefully confirm her last prediction. "First roll the clay into a long hot dog shape," she reads, trying not to smile and give away her plan. Keeping a straight face is hard sometimes, even for her, but right now it's important. If she is going to do this right, there can be no tells. She has to look like she is just doing some coiling. It must be natural.
Mulder holds his clay in front of him and watches as she rolls hers between her hands and the tabletop. Time to get really wrong here. Time to make him sweat. "So, Mulder, how long is your coil?"
"HUH?" He looks down at the clay in his hands, barely touched. "Oh. Uh, I'm not done yet."
"Well, how long do you want it to be?" she presses, in her best innocent voice.
Good…he has picked up on her little game…just as planned. With a smoldering leer, he says, "Very long." A chill runs up her spine…the good kind…and there is no stopping the flush in her cheeks.
"Well, that's good to know," she murmurs, adding, "I mean, a longer coil will make the whole pot look better." And I happen to know you have a nice looking pot.
"Is that what you look for in an artist? A big pot?"
"I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it helps. But, no. I look for many things in an artist."
He unconsciously begins to roll the clay in his hands as he asks, "Like what?"
"Well," she considers, leaning closer to his face, "like the way he handles the clay, his process…is he quick and careless, or does he take his time to create a better product? Is he a risk taker, or does he play it safe by always making the same things over and over again? In other words, how predictable is he?"
"You want an artist who is predictable or unpredictable?" he questions, his voice a little slurred, and he sets the clay down on the table. He leans even closer to her face and looks into her eyes.
"I want an artist who knows exactly what he wants and will stop at nothing until he gets it," she answers, feeling tingly with anticipation. For once, she cannot predict what he is going to do next. She thinks he's going to kiss her. At least she hopes he is. Then again, the last time that happened, she ended up with pink paint all down the front of her. "Do you know what you want?" she questions, her voice soft and deep.
"I want a lot of things," he whispers. His chin drops, and his eyes are suddenly glossy…but only for a second. He faces the coil in front of him and stares at it, trying to remember what he was doing. To lighten the mood, he decides to pretend like nothing happened and continues his playful innuendos. "Is this long enough for your liking, Scully?" He dangles the coil in front of her, but she has to fight the ache in her heart so that she can smile.
"Yes, Mulder. That's…perfect."
Just then, his coil breaks at a weak point in the middle. He looks at it in dismay and mutters, "That wasn't supposed to happen."
She chuckles in response while he uses some slurry to put it back together. She finishes making her coil and asks what to do next. While his eyes are focused on the instructions, she takes a piece of paper from her bag next to her and glances at the last thing written on it. Too bad. She had predicted he would choose to be unpredictable. She puts it back when he turns to her.
"Now, you take this needle or nail thingy and skew the sides of the coil to create a Velcro texture where the two coils will come together." His voice cracks as he tries to say the last two words without letting his mind wander. Playful innuendos aside, that's a little too strong, he muses.
Scully doesn't think so, though. Surprised, and feeling almost dirty, that she had even picked up on it, she can't help but feel her spirits lift a bit. Maybe there's still hope after all. "What's the water for?"
"You put the water on the skewed part of the coils, and it acts as an adhesive. I guess it's like when it's hot out, and your sweaty skin sticks to leather car seats." He looks up at the leather couch cushion he is using as an armrest and smiles to himself. "Or…" Should I? No. Well, why not? Okay fine. "…like the way sweaty skin sticks to a leather couch. Very uncomfortable. That's why I much prefer…" Okay, now that's too far.
"What do you much prefer, Mulder?" Scully asks, battling a smirk. The bed, by any chance?
"I, uh, I much prefer to sit in chairs when it's hot in here…I mean, hot outside…whatever."
"I know what you mean." I know exactly what you mean. "So, let's make us some pots."
They start to skew their coils and form nice-looking pots. Every now and then, one of them has to roll another coil, and the other one steals glances when it can safely go unnoticed. Mulder finishes first, but when he looks at the instructions, his face goes white. "What is it?" asks a concerned Scully as she finishes attaching her last coil.
"I don't think I'll put a handle on mine," he says with an uncharacteristically high pitched voice.
"Why not? What's wrong with making a handle?" He shows her the paper. "Oh," she blushes.
He begins to read the step out loud. "To make the handle for your pot, begin with a thick sausage-like piece of clay and a bucket of slip. Wet your hands, and ask a classmate to hold one end of the clay while you work on the other end. Pull and stretch the clay toward your body until it is the length and thickness you want. Then, bend the handle into an 'S' or a horseshoe shape, depending on your preference. Skew/attach."
Scully gives him a choppy giggle. "Gee, Mulder, you should be better at this than I."
"I know I should feel insulted by that, but I must admit I find it very comforting."
She laughs and says, "I'm glad…I guess."
Mulder puts his hand on her shoulder and uses her body to help himself stand, saying, "Still, I don't think I'll make one." He leers down at her and smiles. "But you should. I'll hold it, and you…" He stops short when he notices their position, and decides that it's probably not the best time to be making that joke. Not when he's on his feet, and she's on her knees in front of him. Just the thought makes his cheeks turn a shade of pink, and he quickly shakes his head in response, shooing the thought away entirely. It isn't working, and he realizes if he doesn't sit down, there will be no chance of hiding his arousal from her.
"I'll what?" she presses, biting her lip as he sits. Her eyes follow him down, but they are lingering a lot lower than his face. Just as he notices, she looks up stops biting her lip.
"You…make your handle." Making his voice low again, he says, "I'll just sit here."
She hands him the clay and wets her hands. "Ready?"
His lip quivers a bit before any sound will come out. Finally, "When you are," he answers. Instead of standing before him, she scoots over on her knees and sits back on her calves. "You aren't gonna stand?"
"Naw, I'm tired, and this is more comfortable." He looks like he doesn't know whether to be excited or miserable, and Scully decides that's exactly how she wants him. She parts his knees, startling him even more. "I can't reach the clay," she explains, taking hold of her end. Slip and dirty water drip down her arms to her short sleeves, and some drips from her knuckles onto the couch between his thighs. She tries to keep her straight face as she pulls the clay toward her chest, lengthening it more and more.
"Man, Scully," Mulder chokes, "you really do like them long." She laughs and takes the whole piece from his hands. "What? You're done already?"
"Yep. Thanks for helping me, by the way."
"It was my pleasure," he says coolly, but when she steals a quick glance at his crotch, she knows it sure was. He must have noticed it after she did because he crosses his legs, accidentally kicking the back of her head as he does so. "Oops! I'm so sorry," he laughs, stroking the spot he had kicked.
"It's okay," she laughs with him, forcing herself to not lean into his hand. She bends her handle, skews it, and attaches it with ease. When she is done, she teasingly asks, "Did you buy a kiln too?"
He squints thoughtfully, teasing as well. "I knew I forgot something!" Kilns are extremely expensive, and the electricity they use is expensive too. Mulder sets their art projects in the middle of the table so that he would remember to take them to the school when they go on Monday. Professor Glitter will be more than happy to fire them for her two most entertaining students.
After clean up, Scully goes into the kitchen to put the sponge away. Mulder drapes his body tiredly over the arm of the couch and notices her bag is open. He isn't one to go through someone's stuff, especially Scully's, but something catches his eye. He grabs the piece of paper that is lying on top, slightly wrinkled from being shoved into the bag. He sees it's her list of predictions, but there are only three. The first one is the one he saw in class. The second prediction is that he would invite her to hang out after class. Hmmm. Maybe I am that predictable, he ponders. When he sees the third one, he isn't sure what to think.
"What are you doing?" comes her voice, harsh and startled at the same time.
"I was just…"
"I said I would show those to you. You don't just take things out of my bag without…"
"Scully," he says getting up, "I'm sorry, but…what did you mean I'd be unpredictable? Did you mean that conversation we had earlier about the whole artist thing?"
She takes a deep breath and nods. "Ironically, I was able to predict your responses to mine so well that I knew it would lead where it did. But I thought you'd actually do it this time."
"Be unpredictable, you mean?" he confirms, more in the tone of a statement than a question.
She nods again. "Yeah. I thought you'd…do something unpredictable…something you wouldn't usually do. But I guess I was wrong."
He puts on a thoughtful expression. "Actually, you were right."
"What?"
"Well, you predicted I'd be unpredictable, and then I did something predictable instead, right? So, I did what you hadn't predicted. Therefore, I was unpredictable. See? You said I'd be unpredictable, and I was, so you were right." She gives him a tired smile and a you - are - making - my - head - hurt look. "You don't seem happy that you were right."
"Well, I guess that's because it's not exactly the unpredictable thing I wanted to happen."
"What did you want to happen?"
"I wanted you to take a risk," she answers disappointedly. With that, she produces a humorless smile, grabs her bag, and heads for the door. "See you at work tomorrow, Mulder."
His voice matching her broken heart, he nods his head and says, "See ya tomorrow."