II.
We are bound by gravity, tethered to this earth by a natural phenomenon that brings all things with mass or energy towards one another. In the days following Comity, it was as if Fox Mulder's gravitational system had been altered because, more than ever before, he found himself gravitating towards his partner. They had been close for quite some time, but now he dreamed about her, literally, and her scent called out to him on a whole new level.
Keeping his promise, he went shopping for her, only to get lost in the vast pantyhose selection at Walmart. In the end, he went for small and chose three different shades plus the promise of silkiness. Mulder was pretty sure that, technically, he owned her a new pair of underwear as well, but aside from not knowing her size or her preferred style, he didn't want to get underwear for her at Walmart. He ended up going to a rather exclusive lingerie shop instead and bought a gift card for her. Then he added a bar of chocolate and a bag of M&M's to his purchases and put everything into a nondescript plastic bag which she found on her desk three days after Comity.
Watching her carefully, he didn't miss the rosy blush on her cheeks, didn't miss how surprise turned into something else. He didn't miss how she bit her lip before finally lifting her gaze. Didn't miss the softness in her voice as she thanked him.
Warmth filled his chest, filled their office, and when she offered some of her M&M's to him, he took them gratefully.
When five o'clock came and he helped her into her huge winter coat, she made sure to take his hand for a moment, squeezing it.
Mulder spent the rest of the evening with his fish, trying very hard not to think about his partner and expensive lingerie.
X
Beep.
"Scully, it's me. If you want to go for a run later today, just give me a call."
Beep.
"It's me. Again. It doesn't have to be a run. We could do pizza and a movie as well."
Beep.
"Also, I got an email from a buddy in North Carolina about a series of exsanguinated bobcats. We could look into that as well."
Beep.
"Not that you have to spend your Saturday with me, Scully. I, well, just give me a call."
You've got four new messages.
While Mulder was busy talking to her answering machine, Scully was browsing the mall, circling one very expensive looking shop she had never set foot into before. As a federal agent, Scully was used to exploring unknown spheres, usually she had her gun in her hand and Mulder by her side. The prospect of entering this realm of lace and silk and stockings was way more scary. Procrastinating a bit longer, she took a detour and went for the coffee stall. Ten minutes later, high on caffeine and with Mulder's gift card burning a hole in her pocket, she finally braced herself and entered the store.
X
"Frohike, it's me. Quick question, you can access Scully's answering machine, can't you? .. Great. Can you delete my messages from today? … You don't have to listen to them. No. Don't! … I don't sound like a desperate puppy, thank you very much. … Listen, it's complicated. … No, I'm not taking my invitations back. I just need a fresh start. … That's none of your business. … Listen, I really appreciate your help. … Sure, that's what friends are for, hacking into other friends' answering machines. … Yeah, see you on Tuesday. Bye."
X
Beep.
"Scully, it's me. Do you have any plans for tonight? We could do dinner and a movie. Just give me a call if you're interested, and I make reservations."
X
Half an hour in the fitting room, a light lunch and some grocery shopping later, Scully unlocked her apartment door, stopping right in her hallway to do her usual intruder scan. Ever since Tooms, since Missy, her home had lost its innocence and Scully could never enter it without stopping for a second and feeling if something felt off.
Today, everything seemed fine. Her answering machine was blinking, indicating a new message. Thinking about her mom and the vague promise of breakfast on Sunday, she kicked off her shoes and made sure to put away her purchases first. The groceries went into shelves and fridge without much care, but then she took the satiny paper bag, the one holding one very special set of lingerie, and she carried it almost tenderly into her bedroom.
She had tried different colors, different styles from bold and sexy to classic and elegant, constantly forbidding herself to think how Mulder would like it on her. In the end, she'd gone with her guts, settling on ivory lace. It looked good on her, it felt like Dana and it was somehow both alluring and modest. Running her hand over the thin material, she shivered, imagining it on her skin and another set of hands on it.
Scully couldn't really explain it, but somehow this thoughtful gift card felt a lot more intimate than the sex she had shared with Mulder. For the hundredth time since Comity, Scully missed her sister with fierce longing, wishing Missy was still here to discuss this with her. What would she say? Something about fate and endless roads leading to one outcome? Or would she just congratulate her uptight younger sister on letting go for one moment?
And that was just the crux of the matter, the one thing that stopped her from putting Comity behind her: her inability to label the experience.
Could it be just sex?
Or was it fate and bound to happen anyways?
She'd never felt for someone like she felt for Mulder. It was a mix of profound irritation, fierce protectiveness, the certainty that you'd walk to the end of the earth for him, friendship, loyalty and attraction. It was so much bigger than "relationship material", so much more than the beginning of a love story. But... what was it?
Analyzing it tied her brain in knots, and Scully sighed, none the wiser, when the blinking light of the answering machine came back to her mind.
A moment later, his voice filled her apartment...
X
She said yes to movie and dinner, of course she did.
He let her choose between "Lawnmower Man II" and "From Dusk till Dawn", and she voted for George Clooney and vampires. They shared popcorn, and every now and then, their hands brushed in the bucket; every now and then he leaned in, his breath caressing her ear, as he informed her about some factual errors, coming to the conclusion that, while Quentin Tarantino was an excellent film maker, he wasn't an expert in vampirism.
Scully had the time of her life with Clooney on the big screen and Mulder right beside her. And thanks to the vampires, it didn't even feel that surreal, almost reminded her of work, instead.
It was only when the credits had rolled, when they moved to the restaurant for dinner, that it suddenly dawned on her that this was a date. Or wasn't it? He wore jeans, a shirt and his leather jacket. His face was freshly shaved, and the restaurant slightly more fancy than their usual choice. He hadn't brought her flowers, but he'd picked her up, and now he was taking his time studying menu and wine card. There was a wine card – definitely a date, right?
"Thanks for initiating this," she said after the waiter had taken their order. "I had fun."
"Me too. Nice movie choice."
She laughed out.
"You didn't really give me much of a choice. Lawnmower Man? Really?"
He shrugged.
"Lawnmower Man II. Sounds very promising. I have the first part at home and I don't wanna tell you too much, but there's one guy operating a lawnmower and this other guy who's experimenting on, well, I don't wanna spoil it for you. We could watch it sometime."
Their drinks arrived, and, tilting her head, she took a sip of her wine.
"Yeah, we could," she finally said, twisting the napkin in her hand as she was, for the second time that day, stepping into foreign territory.
Lifting his own glass of wine, he cleared his throat.
"To vampires. Excellent topic for movies and x-files."
She lifted her own beverage to chink glasses with him.
"To you," he continued with a soft smile, "listening to my vampire ramblings since 1992. You look nice, by the way. I'm not sure I said that before."
And, just like that, he'd done it again, catching her off guard. Looking down at her simple skirt-and-shirt combination, Scully tried to come up with a reply, but was saved by the waiter arriving with their food, leaving her time to recover while he was gazing at her over lasagna and Tortellini Alfredo.
X
The evening continued to be, for the lack of a better word, lovely. The food was lovely, and so was the wine, even though he switched to water after the first glass, being the designated driver. The company was lovely as well, maybe even more so. They conversation flowed easily from movies to books and college stories. When the dessert menu was offered, they didn't say no, but in the end, neither of them managed to finish the tiramisu.
Lingering a tad longer, she took another sip of her wine, searching for courage at the bottom of the wine glass while rolling its stem between her fingers.
"I used your gift card today. Thank you again. That was very thoughtful."
He made an effort not to avert his eyes, but took a deep breath. It was time, it seemed, to address the big elephant in the room.
"That's the least I could do. I... Scully, I ripped your clothes. I... I just took without asking."
She shrugged, grateful to have some alcohol in her system for that conversation.
"And I pushed my hand into your pants, grabbing, well, you without asking permission as well."
Mulder felt heat rising into his cheeks, as little Bob down there twitched at the memory.
"But..."
"Not buts, Mulder. Technically, there's no difference."
He shook his head ever so slightly.
"Still, I never should have touched you like that. You were under the influence... at least somehow."
Syzygy. Cosmic forces. Fateful energy.
"Maybe I was. But, following your logic, so were you." Reaching over the table, she nudged his fingers with her own. "Mulder, you didn't do anything to me. Please don't victimize me. As far as I'm recalling, I was as much an active participant as you were. Our encounter might deviate from your usual style. I know it did from mine. But it was... memorable and pleasurable. We just have to find a way to deal with it, I guess."
"Scully, I have to confess, so far I'm having a hard time dealing with it."
Despite all the candor in his eyes, she started to giggle, leaving him utterly bewildered.
"Scully?"
"Hard time, Mulder. Hard time?"
His head fell onto the tabletop.
"Seriously?" came his muffled voice. "I'm baring my soul to you, and you're laughing?"
"I'm sorry. Go ahead. Bare your soul."
Lifting his head, he looked at her with a pout.
"I still find it ha... difficult to wrap my head around the fact that you and I… well, you know what we've done."
"Hmm... how did you put it? We were under the influence."
Inhaling deeply, he nodded.
"It feels as if you offered me the answer to all questions, and I didn't even look, if you know what I mean," he finally whispered.
"Believe me, I understand exactly what you mean. And, if it's any consolation, we're on the same page," she confessed, feeling more relieved than she could comprehend. For some reason, this made all the difference – not the part where he'd wallowed in self-loathing, but his simple revelation that he had kind of a list about things he didn't know about having sex with his partner as well.
He let his fingers graze her knuckles before taking her whole hand into his, squeezing gently.
"So... you used your gift card?"
Thinking about ivory lace, she nodded and her lips curved up.
"Let me say, this might be the most expensive set of underwear I've ever owned."
Once more, his cheek felt hot.
"I'm glad you found something you like."
"Oh, I like it. A lot."
He opened his mouth and closed it again before shaking his head ever so slightly while smiling softly, thinking about Scully and lingerie.
"I should probably not say this out loud, but once again, I feel so robbed."
"Thank you. For some reason, this means a lot."
They left shortly afterwards, and he drove her home through the nocturnal city. The feeling of her on the passenger seat next to him was utterly familiar, and they spend the twenty minutes to Georgetown in comfortable silence; so much had already been said anyways. It was cold outside, a freezing January night just a few weeks after the big East Coast Blizzard, but the inside of the car was warm and cozy; the lingering kind of warmth that follows good food, good company, good conversations.
When he stopped in front of her apartment complex, she turned to him with bright eyes.
"Thanks again, Mulder, I had a wonderful time."
"Yeah, me too. Scully... I meant everything I said. And that includes the invitation for the big 'Lawnmower Man' watch party at my place."
She rewarded him with a big smile, and he lifted a hand, cupping her cheek, touching her once again with natural ease. Tilting her head ever so slightly, she leaned into his palm before shifting a bit to place a kiss on his wrist, and for the last time that evening, he allowed himself to drink her in. His gaze traveled over her face, her alabaster skin, the soft waves of ginger, the deep blue of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, and for the briefest moment, Mulder felt an overwhelming kind of ache in his chest.
Then she removed herself from his touch and reached for her purse.
"Goodnight, Mulder."
"Goodnight, Scully. You're waving, right?"
Nodding, she reached for the door, bracing herself for the cold outside, leaving him behind with a trace of her perfume and a lingering sense of rightness. When he saw her at the window shortly after, waving at him, he started the car, heading home.
Forty minutes later, nestled on his couch, Mulder closed his eyes, and for the first time in a week, he didn't see himself pounding into her. Instead, the somewhat torturous image was replaced with her happy face glowing in the candlelight, tiramisu and red wine in front of her.
Things were finally right again.
To be continued...