Title: Chopsticks (1 of 1)
Author: Diana Battis
Distribution: OK for Gossamer, Xemplary and Spookys.  Anywhere else, just 
ask. I usually say yes.  
Classification: MSR, S, H
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None, but Millennium never happened.
Summary: Trust Mulder to gum up the works.  And no, no Chinese take out here.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.  Never have, never will, damn it!
Author's Comments: Thanks to Kristy and Narida for the fun and informative 
beta sessions.  Who knew criticism could be so entertaining?
FEEDBACK: DianaBattis@aol.com
My fanfiction can be found at: 
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesFic.html

**********

It had been one of those days.

Scully sighed, the sound echoing loudly in the silence of the basement 
office.  It was after eight on a Tuesday night, and she was exhausted.  All 
she longed for was a hot soak in the tub, a nice glass of wine, and bed.  But 
thanks to Mulder's disastrous encounter with a word processing program, it 
looked like they had at least another hour's work ahead of them.

All the notes she'd painstakingly transcribed on the flight home -- gone.  
The hard copies had long since been consigned to the trash, and her back-up 
disk had failed.  So they were left trying to write the reports from memory.  
And while Mulder might lay claim to an eidetic one, it hadn't helped much in 
this instance.

She glanced over at him, watching him try to chew gum and type at the same 
time.  His jaws gaping, he searched for a letter or two, then it was 
strike/chew, strike/chew.  The sight never ceased to amuse her.  Much more 
entertaining than the sunflower seeds he used to indulge in.  But he'd given 
up that habit nearly nine months ago.

She'd been shocked when he'd told her.  "Why?" she'd asked, curiosity getting 
the best of her.

"Too much salt, Scully.  And don't bother telling me I can get the seeds 
unsalted -- I know that."  With a deep sigh, he'd shaken his head, as though 
lamenting the passing of a close friend.  "It just wouldn't be the same. . ."

So now he chewed gum instead.

Any gum.  Flavor, color, breath-freshening abilities -- none of that 
mattered.  Stick or cube, liquid center or bubble-type, all became grist for 
the mill.  When it came to gum, Mulder was a Renaissance man.

He took to this substitute with surprising enthusiasm.  His whole head seemed 
to participate in the oral exercise, from his semi-spiky haircut to his 
stubble-darkened chin, bopping and swinging with each chew.  He looked like a 
slightly demented ventriloquist's dummy, she thought in amusement, watching 
the almost exaggerated movement of his mouth.  But if it made him happy, then 
it was okay with her.  Besides, it was nice to see the office floor without 
its usual covering of empty shells.

He looked up, seeing her amusement, and smiled in return.  "Care to share the 
joke, Scully?"

"You wouldn't understand, Mulder," she answered briskly, the grin still 
playing on her lips.  Standing, she stretched lightly, hearing the little 
pops and creaks as her joints realigned themselves, then walked over to perch 
on the edge of his desk.  "How far have you gotten?"

"I think this should do it.  If you've finished the expenses, I'd say we're 
just about done.  I do have a few questions. . ."  He pointed to the screen, 
and she moved to stand next to him, reading the nearly completed document 
displayed on the monitor.  Leaning closer, her stomach rested against the 
edge of the desk as she clicked the mouse to scroll down.  She didn't notice 
any glaring errors, and managed to answer his questions.  She also made a few 
suggestions to aid in the report's clarity.  Satisfied with the results, she 
straightened up.

Her blouse seemed to resist for a second.  Looking down, she saw the reason 
-- a long string of something pink and sticky was plastered to the front of 
her, connecting her to his desk. . .

Gum.

"Shit!"  The word was out of her mouth before she realized it.

Mulder was the picture of embarrassment. "God, I'm sorry, Scully.  Here, let 
me. . ."  He reached out and pulled at the gum, watching it stretch further 
and further, desperately twining it around his long fingers until it finally 
broke.  Unfortunately, the front of her blouse still bore a quarter-sized 
blob of the gooey mess -- gum wasn't easily removed from silk.

She watched as he wrapped the stringy tangle in a piece of paper, shock 
mixing with confusion.  "Mulder, why did you have gum stuck on your desk?"  
Her fingers touched the spot on her blouse. How was she going to remove it?

Mulder exhaled so heavily that the papers on his desk fluttered in protest.  
"I was saving it," he explained sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning a 
bright red.  Seeing her questioning brow, he elaborated.  "I couldn't chew 
gum when I went up to talk to Skinner, so I had to take it out."  He 
shrugged, his mouth sporting a weak grin.  "Guess I forgot and started a new 
piece."

He forgot?  Her confusion was gone, replaced by an anger so intense it almost 
choked her.  "You were saving it and forgot?"  She was standing before him, 
her foot tapping in time with the blood pounding in her ears.  "Saving it for 
what -- Christmas?"

His gaped at her, his face bearing the dazed look of someone whose dog had 
turned around and bit them.  "Uh, for later.  I didn't mean to leave it 
there, Scully.  It was an accident."

She was livid, and didn't bother to hide it.  "Do you know how much I love 
this blouse, Mulder?  My mother gave it to me for my birthday.  It's silk, 
very expensive, and probably irreplaceable."  She bit her lip, willing back 
the string of expletives that wanted to come out and play.

He looked at her with his sad, hound-dog eyes, which were droopy and soulful. 
 "I am sorry, Scully.  Really, really, *really* sorry.  I'd like to replace 
it, if you'll let me.  I know it won't be the same, but I'd still like to.  
We can go to the mall together, on Saturday. . .if that's okay with you?" he 
finished hesitantly, leaning forward to gently touch the spot on her blouse.  
"Okay, Scully?" he repeated, pouting slightly at her lack of response.

Mulder was using *that* voice, damn him!  The wheedling one he used on 
animals and little old ladies.  It wasn't fair, she thought, childishly 
wishing she could just stick her fingers in her ears to block out his honeyed 
tones.  But then, he never fought fair, and she felt her anger dissolving 
under his onslaught.  "Okay, Mulder.  Saturday.  And I expect lunch, too," 
she added coolly, unwilling to let him off the hook too easily.

"Lunch too?  Well. . ."  He pretended to consider it, and she was amazed by 
how quickly he'd managed to turn the tables on her.  She didn't know how he 
did it.  One minute he was pleading to be allowed to make his folly up to 
her, and now, suddenly, it was as though she was the one who'd instigated the 
whole thing.

"Lunch, Mulder.  Remember, you *owe* me, and not just for the blouse," she 
reminded,  glancing pointedly at her watch.  "This would never have happened 
if you'd remembered to 'save as you go'."

He gave her an easy grin.  "Point taken.  Now, about those lab results. . ."

********

Saturday dawned bright and clear, holding the warm promise of spring despite 
what the groundhog had predicted.  Unfortunately, in a Georgetown apartment, 
dark clouds were on the rise.

Scully had just been stood up.

She paced the length of her living room, staring at the phone in her hand.  
Mulder had promised her that he'd be here, but now he was breaking his word.  
'I'm sorry, Scully.  I've got to cancel -- I, uh, need to get a haircut, and 
it can't wait.'  Her steps echoed with indignation as she walked over to the 
desk to slam down the receiver.  How dare he, especially after what he'd done?

Still fuming, she grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and threw herself 
into the armchair by the window.  She fanned through the pages, but their 
glossy contents were unable to capture her interest and she finally tossed it 
to the floor in disgust.  Even the bright sunshine, streaming through the 
glass, offered her little pleasure.  

This was all Mulder's fault.  He owed her, damn it!  And now he was weaseling 
out of it.

For a haircut. . .

She knew she was overreacting.  This wasn't the first time he'd blown her off 
at the last minute.  She should be used to it by now.  Ignoring him and the 
aggravation he caused her was the smartest thing to do.  No sense getting all 
worked up over a little thing like this.  The day was just starting; there 
was plenty of time to make other plans.  It wasn't like she didn't have a 
life, for God's sake.

Then why was she so damned pissed off?

Crossing her arms, she blew a lock of hair off her face in disgust.  What the 
hell was so special about his hair, anyway?  It looked like he'd cut it 
himself -- with nail scissors, no less.  Sort of like Kinsey Milhone did in 
those alphabet mysteries she liked to read.  Not that it didn't suit him, 
once you got used to it. . .it gave him a little boy look, though he really 
wasn't boyish or little.

No, she thought, unconsciously licking her lips, there was *nothing* little 
about Mulder, and that was another thing that made him impossible to ignore.

She should know -- she'd been trying for years.  Spent her time pretending 
that those signals her body seemed to receive and understand were just 
chemical reactions.  It should have been a simple case of mind over matter, 
only her mind really didn't want to ignore him either.  Besides, Mulder was 
so invasive.  He. . .loomed.  He was *always* there, walking behind her, 
bending over her, looking over her shoulder, touching her.  How could she 
pretend something that large wasn't there?

Mulder was larger than life, and twice as difficult to deal with.  He was 
opinionated, brash, and full of mystery.  The scientist in her wanted to 
figure out what made him tick, but the female part just wanted him, shitty 
haircut and all.  She hoped the feeling was mutual.

They *were* growing closer.  It wasn't a change acknowledged with words -- 
they had long ago perfected their silent form of communication.  But she knew 
that the relationship was maturing, deepening, and she was ready.  Had been 
ready for years.  This would have been another step forward, if he hadn't 
backed out.

Scully frowned, twisting around until her jeans-clad legs were thrown over 
the wide arm of the chair.  That was what really rankled.  She wanted to 
spend time with him away from the office.  Losing a silk blouse had seemed 
like a small sacrifice, considering what she'd expected to get in return.  A 
nice, quiet afternoon together, doing things that normal people with normal 
lives did.  It wasn't like the promised outing was a matter of life or death. 
 But she'd been looking forward to it all week.  A Saturday with Mulder -- no 
aliens, monsters, or conspiracies in sight.

And now Saturday was here, but Mulder wasn't.  She'd been ditched for a date 
with his barber.

What the hell was so special about this barber?  Was it that hard to get an 
appointment with him?  Maybe he was one of those 'stylists' -- the kind that 
cost a week's salary for passing the scissors over your head?  But she 
couldn't see Mulder in a fancy salon, wearing a pink cape while Armand 
discussed the latest Paris fashions.  Then what?

Scowling, she thought about his last cut.  Too short, slightly uneven in 
areas, definitely not very professional looking.  Maybe she needed to get a 
look at that so-called barber. . .

Foot swinging, Scully mulled over the situation.  If she wanted to solve the 
mystery of why she'd been tossed over for a date with a barber who apparently 
couldn't even wield a pair of scissors properly, a plan was essential. . .

She weighed her options.  Since she had no idea where he went to get his hair 
cut, she couldn't accidentally run into him.  She couldn't tail him; he knew 
what her car looked like.  Even if he walked, following him on foot wasn't 
feasible.  His damned legs were too long and he could outpace her without 
even breaking a sweat.  Asking to go with him was definitely out.  There was 
no sense giving him the opportunity to decline her company.  That left only 
one choice: the surprise attack.

I'll just show up at his place, she strategized, chewing absently on her 
lower lip.  If she arrived unannounced there wasn't much he could do about 
it.  But she'd better get moving -- she didn't want to risk missing him.  
Nodding decisively, she jumped up from the chair to get ready.

********

The drive to Mulder's took less than half an hour.  Of course, no parking 
spots were available, and she was forced to leave her car a block away.  But 
it really was a beautiful day, and the short walk in the sunshine did a lot 
to restore her good spirits. By the time she knocked at his door she was 
almost smiling.

"Scully?  What are you doing here?"  Mulder stood in the opening, one arm 
braced against the jamb and the other resting on the half-open door. His 
expression was a mixture of pleasure and something else, something she 
couldn't put a name to. He reached up to tug on the Yankees baseball cap he 
wore, firmly adjusting it on his head.  It added to his little boy persona, 
and she forced down the lump that had formed in her throat at the sight.

"Aren't you going to ask me in?" she asked huskily.  His eyes flashed, and a 
look of pure panic crossed his features, but she chose to ignore it.  Without 
waiting for an answer, she ducked under his outstretched arm, walking swiftly 
into his living room and claiming a spot on his couch.

"Come on in," he muttered gruffly, kicking the door shut and following her 
into the other room.  "Make yourself at home."  Faded jeans hugged his slim 
hips, and he stood in the center of the room, arms folded across his chest in 
a move that tried for intimidation and failed.

"You're always the perfect host."  She grinned at him, secretly admiring the 
way the gray tee shirt hugged his torso and barely covered his nicely 
developed biceps.  "Actually, Mulder, I'm going to go with you to get your 
hair cut.  We can grab lunch and shop afterwards."

He swallowed hard, the gulp audible in the quiet room.  "I, ah, that's 
probably not such a good idea, Scully."  He licked his lips nervously.  "You 
know how some of these barber shops are."  Shrugging lightly, his mouth 
twisted into something that almost resembled a smile.

Mulder's eyes work like a barometer, she noted with amusement, watching them 
change from brilliant green to dull brown.  "Oh, I don't mind waiting for 
you.  I used to go with my dad when he got a haircut.  I loved the smell of 
that barbershop, a mixture of old magazines, pipe smoke and that hair tonic 
they used."  She shrugged lightly. "I'm sure they aren't much different 
today."

"I'd really prefer it if you waited here, Scully.  It won't take long, I 
promise, and then we can do whatever you want."  He reached up to pat the 
baseball cap with a hand that trembled slightly.  He kept his eyes downcast, 
examining his feet with unconcealed interest.

Surprised by his reluctance, she began to regret her impulsive plan.  He was 
definitely nervous, fidgeting with that cap and refusing to look her in the 
eye.  Maybe there *was* more to this whole thing than a haircut.  Scully 
decided to take the bull by the horns. . .or rather, the hair.  "Mulder, is 
there some reason you don't want me to go with you?"
 
"No!" he exclaimed vehemently.  "It's just that. . ."  He shifted 
uncomfortably.  "Oh, hell.  I don't know why I even try to keep anything from 
you."

"Mulder, whatever it is, you know you can tell me."  Normally she found his 
self-consciousness appealing, but today his hesitancy was registering an 
eight on her MulderDisaster scale.  Keeping her doubts to herself, she leaned 
forward expectantly, elbows resting on her knees.  A hastily pasted-on smile 
was added as encouragement.

"It's not that easy to talk about," he murmured, his tone somber.  "I should 
have told you a while ago, but I couldn't figure out how to broach the 
subject."

He was tense, not shy, she realized.  As she examined him more closely, it 
became obvious in the way he held himself.  She felt it, too, and sensed the 
change in the air.  It seemed to become charged, as though a storm was 
brewing, and the sudden intensity frightened her.  

"Mulder, now you're scaring me -- what's wrong?" she inquired, swiftly moving 
to his side.  His face was pale, she noted wretchedly, and he was perspiring 
profusely.  She seized his hand, cradling his cold fingers in her palm.

He snorted derisively.  "No, it's. . ."  Sighing, he dropped her hand and 
reached up to remove the baseball cap. . .

Scully stared in horror.  "Oh my God," she breathed.

There, mixed within the soft brown strands, was a pink and very familiar 
clump -- gum. 

"I fell asleep with it in my mouth and, well. . ."  He laughed 
self-consciously, tossing the Yankees cap onto the coffee table.

Struggling to maintain a sympathetic demeanor wasn't easy, though she 
managed.  "Is this the first time you've done that?" she asked.

"In a word -- no."  He gave a sheepish grin, his fingers unerringly touching 
the matted hair.

"No?"  She frowned in concentration.  "How many times?"  She thought back 
over the past year, remembering all the bad haircuts. . .coincidence?  

"Several," he answered sharply, his embarrassment obvious.  Red was not a 
good color on Mulder.

"Remind me again, why did you give up sunflower seeds?"

"Salt, Scully.  Don't you remember your little lecture on my salt intake?  
You told me I needed to be more careful about my diet.  I especially 
appreciated the reminder that I wasn't getting any younger," he muttered 
shortly.

"And gum seemed like a healthier choice?  What does your dentist have to say 
about that?" she asked ironically.

"Sometimes I chew sugar-free," he explained in a pacifying voice.
  
"Mulder, I'm sorry, I. . ."  She choked back her own laughter, biting the 
inside of her cheek hard.  Poor Mulder!  He looked so ridiculous, so 
pathetic, and in a way it was all her fault.  She wanted to grab him and. . 
.no, she wouldn't go there.  Not now, anyway. "I guess that explains it," she 
said instead, reaching up to brush through a gumless section of hair.

"Explains what?"

"Why someone with hair as gorgeous as yours would get such terrible 
haircuts."  It was such a pity, too, she conceded.  It had started to look 
good again, with just enough length for that lock to fall suggestively over 
his brow.  She loved that look on him.  It gave him a sexy and somewhat 
dangerous air.  Now it would be back to the weed-whacked style.

"Gorgeous, Scully?"

"Stop fishing, Mulder."  She touched his chin, moving his head around to more 
fully assess the damage.  "What I can't understand is why a grown man would 
go to sleep with gum in his mouth in the first place."

"I was tired?"  He grinned at her, his eyes dancing with amusement.

She couldn't help herself.  The laughter bubbled out unrestrained, tears 
streaming down her face.  "Oh, Mulder," she gasped finally, scrubbing the 
wetness from her cheeks.  "Only you could get into trouble like this at 
thirty-eight years of age."

"It's a talent, Scully," he smirked.

His beautiful hair, to be hacked again.  She just shook her head in dismay, 
amazed at his nonchalance.  This situation didn't seem to bother him nearly 
as much as it did her.  She was thinking hard -- there must be some way to 
save it from that fate. . ."Mulder, did you try ice?"  

"Ice, olive oil, mayonnaise -- you name it and I've tried it."  He leaned 
down to whisper suggestively, "I can think of some things to do with those 
items that are a lot more fun than trying to get gum out of my hair."

She shook her head, ignoring the blush she could feel coloring her cheeks.  
"What are we going to do with you?"

"Hopefully, get this shit cut out of my hair.  I've managed to remove some of 
it, but I need help for the rest."  He gave a slight tug to the pink mass.  
"It's not the nicest feeling in the world, Scully, and I'm not exactly a 
baseball cap kinda guy," he admitted ruefully.

Well, then if it had to be done, there was no sense in postponing the 
inevitable. "What time is your appointment?"

"One o'clock."  He stole a quick glance at his watch.  "Almost twelve-thirty 
now, so. . ."

"Get your hat, Mulder," she ordered.  "Let's get this over with."

"Yes, ma'am."  He grabbed the cap off the table, cramming it on his head in 
relief.

"You know, Mulder, I have the perfect solution for this problem of yours."  
She looked at him critically.

He paused, his leather jacket half on.  "And that would be. . .?"

"Give up the gum."

"And go back to the seeds?  I don't know, Scully.  They kinda lack something 
without the salt."  He finished pulling the jacket on and shoved his hands in 
his pockets, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Oh, I think, given the right circumstances, we could come up with a new 
habit to satisfy your oral cravings."  She felt her face flush with heat.  
God, she couldn't believe she said that!  It was bad enough to *have* the 
erotic thoughts. . .she steeled herself for the coming onslaught of Mulder 
innuendoes.

Surprisingly, he just smiled sweetly, stroking a finger down the warmth of a 
heated cheek.  "I think we'd better hurry.  Huang Lee's closes at two, and 
they don't open on Sundays.  I can't go to work like this -- baseball caps 
aren't part of the approved FBI dress code."

"Your barber is named Huang Lee?"  She tried not to be perversely 
disappointed that he'd completely ignored her sexual invita. . .innuendo.

"Unusual, I know.  But where else could I get a chopsticks haircut?"

Scully was silent for a moment, digesting this new information.  She'd 
learned to expect the unexpected where Mulder was concerned, but this was 
stretching things a bit far.  "Mulder, chopsticks are made of wood. They're 
eating utensils.  How in the world can someone cut hair with them?"  Although 
it would explain the look, she added to herself.

"I didn't say he cut it with chopsticks, Scully.  It's just a joke -- he 
calls it a chopsticks haircut because he chops out whatever sticks."  He 
shrugged as his lips curved in a self-deprecating grin.

"I guess that makes sense," she conceded grudgingly.

"Let's go."  Mulder grabbed her elbow and hustled her to the door. "We have a 
lot to do before tonight."

"Tonight?  What's tonight?"  She was puzzled by his remark.  She was very 
careful about appointments and such, and couldn't recall anything. . .

He loomed over her, leaning closer until his mouth was inches from hers.  
"That's when you help me get over my new addiction.  It seems you're privy to 
some information that may be helpful to a man with my so-called oral 
cravings.  I think the sooner we start treatment the better."  His tongue 
snaked out to wet his lips, and her eyes followed its movement, mesmerized by 
the sight.

"Oh," she squeaked nervously.  But she felt a tiny thrill of pleasure -- he 
hadn't been oblivious to her comment after all.

"If your cure is anything like this, I think we can successfully put an end 
to my addiction."  He moved those last few inches, lips softly closing over 
hers.  

Shock mixed with awe and delight.  Mulder was kissing her!  She'd dreamed of 
their first kiss so many times.  But this wasn't some tepid daydream -- this 
was real.  

With a sigh, she leaned into him, her apprehension melting away like ice 
cream under the assault of hot fudge.  Her eyes drifted shut as she lost 
herself in the sensation that was Mulder.  His mouth rested against hers, 
soft and warm, holding a promise of more.  She felt the stroke of his tongue 
against her lips, but it was easy and unthreatening.  A sweet, gentle kiss 
with just the right amount of pressure, she thought hazily as he pulled back. 
 Perfect.

"Very nice, Big Red," he rasped, cupping her chin.  His thumb caressed her 
bottom lip, smoothing over the slightly swollen surface.

She drew in a breath, struggling to regain a semblance of control. "Big Red, 
Mulder?" she asked finally, her voice sounding thin and reedy.  "Where did 
that come from?"

Reaching into his pocket, Mulder pulled out something.  "I grabbed this 
yesterday and thought immediately of you."  He tossed a red wrapped package 
onto the coffee table. "Gum, Scully.  Specifically, Big Red gum.  They don't 
make Hubba Bubba anymore," he teased.

"I'm aware of the brand, Mulder."  She walked over to the table and picked up 
the gum.  "I think you should keep this," she said, boldly putting the pack 
back into Mulder's pocket.  "We might need it later."

"Long-lasting freshness?" he teased.

A perfectly arched brow flicked upward.  "Behave yourself, Mulder, or I may 
just change my mind," she intoned dryly, pleased by the surprising steadiness 
of her voice.

"Issuing an ultimatum, Scully?  I hope so, because I love challenges. . ."

Though it took a lot of resolve, she ignored his remark, forcing herself to 
concentrate on the more mundane tasks ahead of them.  "Haircut, Mulder," she 
reminded softly.  "You don't want to explain this to Skinner, do you?"  Her 
hand tugged gently at the brim of his cap.

He grinned, and took the opportunity to steal another kiss.  "Are you ready, 
Scully?" he asked a moment later, his voice husky with desire. 

She sighed, her eyes slowly blinking open.  "I'm ready, Mulder, whenever you 
are," she countered, understanding and answering the real question.  She 
smoothed back hair that had been mussed by his impatient fingers.  This day 
had turned out a lot better than she'd expected, and it was only beginning.  
It'd been worth the price of a silk blouse, after all.

Smiling broadly, she grabbed his hand and led the way out of the apartment.

***********

End
Diana Battis

Music may be the food of love, but I live for feedback! E-mail me -- 
DianaBattis@aol.com


My fanfiction can be found at: 
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesFic.html