Chapter Seven
Mulder/Scully Apartment, New York, New York
April 7th, 2000, 11:58 p.m.
"Not that I minded driving back, Mulder," Scully scolded him as she searched through her trench coat pockets for her keys, "but why did you have to consume all of that wine during dinner? We're still on duty, you know."
"Yeah, but, we're not going to be chasing after the aliens anytime soon, are we? They're probably very nice," his speech just started to slur.
"It just makes you less than lucid enough to be able to focus in on the help I've been trying to desperately give you after you loused up that poor British coffee shop review."
"Here, lemme give it a go." Mulder reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Unfortunately, he couldn't get it in the right way, and Scully guided his hand with her own. Seconds later, the lock turned successfully, and Mulder held the door open for her. As she proceeded through, she felt his fingers creep up onto the small of her back, and he hurled his keys onto the foyer table. Scully swung her head around and seized them.
That's going to leave an atrocious mark on that expensive wood. I've got to get him to stop it now before it turns into a habit.
"Mulder, I know this furniture doesn't belong to us, but let's try to keep it in the same way it was when we got here, hmm?" She deposited the keys back into his pants pocket, which unfortunately added more fuel to the innuendo fire.
"I think I'll keep doing it if that's what it takes for you to get your hands into my pockets."
"Who said they've never been there before?" He gave her a questioning leer. "It occurred when you were unconscious, of course. Did you pick up the Times like I asked you to earlier?"
"I think it's still sitting on the living room coffee table--but not unadulterated, of course."
"Sit down. I'm going to get you some water. It's time to sober up."
"Yes, Mom." If she had not just had that wonderful Italian meal, that comment would have earned him a glare. Instead, she rewarded him with the uplifting of an eyebrow and disappeared into the kitchen.
When she came back with two very tall glasses of water, she found him sprawled across the recliner and in its fully relaxed position. Both his overcoat and suit jacket were carelessly slung over the back of the chair. Oh well--at least they weren't on the floor. His nose was rammed into the sports section of the paper; a photograph of Patrick Ewing doing a slam dunk graced the cover.
"Unadulterated, my ass, Mulder! Where the hell's the beginning of the newspaper?" she complained whilst looking over the mess completely covering the coffee table.
"I said 'not unadulterated', Scully. Maybe you should sober up." He was still engrossed in the sports section when she sat down with the water. She was very tempted at that moment to throw it into his face, but knew that she'd only soak newspaper. And God, she hated the smell of that. She'd even take a few whiffs of manure over a wet newspaper.
"Remember that I said that the Gunmen were going to put our mug shots and names into a few magazines, Scully?"
"I do recall that conversation, yes."
"Well, they already did, so, I guess they thought up our names already. Yours is Valerie Scullet, and mine's...well...Andy Muldron."
"Mulder, I thought we'd agreed that I was the one to pick the names for our next undercover case!"
"Yeah, well, what's done is done, I guess. You can't turn back the hands of time, dear Scullet."
Oh, how I want to take that sports section and ram it into that smart ass mouth of his!
Instead, Scully simply pushed down his newspaper from the middle and handed him his glass of water.
"Now, I think we should probably start simple tomorrow morning. Let me see if I can find the "Dining and Wine" section in this clutter." Mulder chuffed his lips together, set his water down onto the table beside him, and brought the boundary back up to his eyes. Seconds later, she found it and began to page through the section. "Mulder, how does this Norma's Breakfast strike you?"
"Mmph, I'm sure it'll be fine," he remarked without even looking away.
"Okay, really...um...what kind of food do they serve there?"
"Breakfast." Still nothing.
This means war. Let the gates of Hell be opened.
"Did it ever occur to you why I didn't want to take my coat off while we were in Acapella's?"
"I think you mentioned that it was due to the fact that you were cold."
"Well, that was the excuse. But the real reason is because someone stole my clothes from the morgue, and I'm not wearing anything underneath."
Bingo.
Mulder's head popped up, and she snatched the sports section away with a huge smirk. "I had you...big time," Scully retorted and crumpled up the basketball holy grail. She tossed it into the hearth mirthlessly.
"Scully, I didn't even get to finish reading the stats of the Knicks' game. Now that's just plain cruelty."
"I haven't lit the fire yet. Maybe if you behave, I'll let you reclaim it." He considered her deal and sat upright in the recliner.
"So what kind of food is served at Norma's?"
"Looks like everything from French crepes to Jewish potato pancakes. The menu's listed...ah...right here," she folded the paper over and handed it to him. "You know, for someone such as yourself with such a substantial appetite, I'd think you'd appreciate a little culture every now and then."
"I do. I just...don't get out that much," he shrugged and his eyes skimmed over the words.
"Tell me, Mulder, what's your favorite meal?"
"Why?"
"We're not secret agents, Mulder. It was just a personal question," Scully sighed and arose to take off her trench coat. She shuffled her way into her room to hang the coat up in her closet and by the time she came back, Mulder was on his knees and searching through the black ashes for his beloved sports section. A clearing of her throat announced to him that she had returned; he grabbed a few fireplace matches and reached absently for something small to burn. His apologetic beam and shrug always melted away her pangs of anger--he was displaying them in full capacity now. Unfortunately, he had just unknowingly lit the buried treasure he'd been looking for, and Scully decided not to tell him now.
Mulder threw the scrap onto the wood, which caught the flame, and he replaced the screen back over the hearth. "I really don't have one, Scully. But my favorite time of the day to eat is dinner."
"Mulder, what did you and your family do for Christmas?" He stood and brushed the soot off of his pants.
"Before or after Samantha was taken?"
"You know, we don't have to discuss this if you don't want to. I've got field notes to do." With that, Scully started to wander away again, but he sat down onto the love seat and patted the cushion next to him. She pondered his unasked request for a few agonizing moments but eventually gave in and joined him. "We'll only discuss what you feel comfortable with, Mulder. I meant your traditions before your family split up."
"I'll tell you both if you want. Even though my family name is Jewish, we did Christmas instead. We went over my grandmother's house (from my mother's side) the day of, ate turkey, and opened both wanted and unwanted presents from all sorts of relatives. Then after Sam was gone, I spent holidays at a few friends' houses on the Vineyard, but I...never really felt right at any of their homes." Mulder's face darkened. "My mother would lock herself into her room and refuse to see the light of day or night. And my father once having argued with her the entire morning, would crawl into a bottle of Maker's Mark for the rest of the day, and pass out in his den by the time I got back. Of course, after they divorced and Mom went to live in Connecticut, I'd go see her once I could drive. My father kept to his favored tradition."
"What about when you went to Oxford?"
"I had fun during my undergrad years in some nameless pubs with some acquaintances. Even spent one with Phoebe and her family. But once I started on my other degrees, I kind of shut out the world to focus in on my dissertation, and I forgot about everything around me but my work. I've been that way ever since, as you well know." He eased himself away from the back of the love seat and rested his head upon his hands.
"No one deserves Christmases like that, Mulder. You know, this is kind of early...or late...but, you're welcome to spend Christmas next year with us if you'd like."
"And extend myself to Bill Jr.'s inundating hospitality? Thanks but no thanks, Scully."
"All right, well, what if I promised you that he'll behave?"
"There's only one way that'll happen in his household. You'll have to keep him chained to the fence."
"With three other Scully women to keep him in order, I think he'll watch his p's and q's around you," Scully raised her eyebrows and ran her tongue over her upper lip.
"You know with this last Christmas, I wish I had visited my mother, even though I resented her for the rest of my life after she divorced Dad."
"Oh, Mulder, how could you have known?" She raised her left hand and began to stroke his back re-assuringly.
"No, I mean it, I should have. I'd thought long and hard about it after the few hours we spent together the year before, but I guess I was too damn selfish." She lifted her fingertips and was now tracing her nails onto him lightly.
"I understand, Mulder, believe me, I do. I had a few bad Christmases too, believe it or not."
"Unh, Scully, that feels so good." Mulder closed his eyes and leaned into her. "Were any of them with Daniel?"
Her ministrations paused briefly and his eyes opened halfway to cat-like slits. Scully continued where her fingers had left off, and he let them sink shut again. "Yes. Just one, though--I saw what kind of damage I was doing to his family, and just before New Years, I broke it off with him."
"I'm guessing the holiday probably wasn't spent at either the Waterson or Scully residence." That was enough. This wound was not healed yet. She broke off all physical contact with him and arose.
"Think I'll start on those field notes now. Night, Mulder." He seemed surprised at her reactions but did not chase after her.
"Night, Scully."