Current Events by Beduini (1/1)

Category:  V, MSR (there's no such thing as noromo.  Are you BLIND?)
Rating: G - I dare you to read it, anyway.
Spoilers:  Small one for The Unnatural.
Summary:  No plot, just the general feeling I get from Season Six.  
Mulder POV.  The timeline is everything to the end of Season Six, just 
prior to Biogenesis.
Disclaimer:  I didn't create the guy narrating and Scully.  But I made 
this!
Archive:  ATXC ok, Ephemeral & Gossamer ok.  Others, let me know what 
you're doing with it.

Current Events
By Beduini

A shadow falling across the peephole tells me that she's home.  I 
should have called first, but then she may have come up with a 
convincing argument why I shouldn't stop by.  So, I just show up, 
knowing that whatever she's up to, she'll let me in.

When she pulls open the door, her face wears an expression of surprise 
and hesitancy.  I don't stop by very often, and when I do it's usually 
because I need her help.  Help with a case, help with a problem, help 
with an infirmity.  I smile at her brightly, silently assuring her that 
there isn't anything wrong.

"Hey," I say, perhaps a little too cheerfully.

"Hey."  She replies, her expression changing to puzzlement.  "What 
brings you here?"

I suck on my lower lip a moment, my face blank.  "No reason.  Just in 
the neighborhood."  I hold up the paper bag I'd been clutching in my 
hand.  "Hungry?"

She looks surprised again, her hand rising unconsciously to her 
abdomen.  "Yeah, actually."  She steps aside, allowing me entrance into 
her home.

Scully's home is warm and clean with the faint scent of lemon oil, most 
likely from a recent pass over her pine furniture.  The lighting is 
indirect from two table lamps and an open scientific journal and her 
reading glasses lay across a stack of magazines on the coffee table.  
There's soft piano coming from the stereo.  Sounds like Chopin.   It 
looks like Scully was anticipating spending a quiet Saturday evening 
alone.

She stands beside me and I realize that she's barefoot.  Without her 
heels she barely comes up to my collarbone.  I notice she's dressed in 
comfortable old jeans and her favorite soft gray cardigan, the neckline 
just a little lower cut than her business attire.  Nice.  Glancing down 
at her small white feet, I notice her toenails are painted a dark 
burgundy.  She also notices, and with her chin against her chest she 
raises her eyes to my face, her expressive brows arched in question.

My manners kick in and I stop staring at her feet, handing her the 
take-out bag instead.  She smiles briefly as she catches the scent of 
Italian food wafting up through the brown paper.  Without at word she 
takes it into the kitchen.

I like Scully's home.  It's simple and elegant, the decor given thought 
but unpretentious.  It's neither cluttered nor sparse.  To describe it 
in a word, it's Scully.  I don't think I've ever told her that.  I 
don't think I've ever told her a lot of things.

"Do you want to eat at the table or in the living room?"  She asks from 
the kitchen above the sound of dinnerware being retrieved from cabinets 
and drawers.

I sit down on the sofa, reaching out for the journal to get a closer 
look.  'Botanical DNA Profiling.'  Hmm.  "In here?"  I reply, scanning 
the article.

She appears carrying two plates, steam rising above them, one in hand 
and one tucked in the crook of her arm.  In the other hand her fingers 
weave around a bottle of wine and the stems of two wineglasses.  The 
silverware and corkscrew are tucked halfway into the front pocket of her 
jeans.  She sets our dinner out on the coffee table and sits next to me 
on the edge of the sofa, an eyebrow raised in my direction in 
acknowledgement of my appreciative stare.

"I waited tables for a while in college."  She says in explanation, 
opening the wine with practiced skill.

We begin eating in silence, the food warm and the wine cool.  My 
attention is wrapped up in the article on botanical DNA profiling and 
Scully slides a magazine out from underneath the one I have taken over.  
When the food is gone Scully carries the plates and silverware back 
into the kitchen as I pour us each another glass of wine.  She returns 
to her seat, taking her glass of wine and her reading material, which I 
now see is a weekly news magazine, and settles back into the cushions 
of the sofa.  Her arm brushes lightly against mine as she turns a page.  
After a moment, she tucks her feet up underneath her and I can feel the 
warmth of her thigh near mine as well.  It's comfortable but not 
without sensuality, if I were to allow my mind to travel along that 
particular path. 

"Interesting?"  She asks without looking up, in response to my soft 
"Hmpf" a few minutes later.

"Investigators placed a suspect at the scene of the crime based on the 
DNA of a specific Palo Verde tree."  I say, taking a sip of my wine.

"Hmm."  She replies with interest.  After a while, she laughs softly.  
"The National Fraud Center issued a press release announcing the 
formation of the Internet Fraud Council, implying that the council was 
created by the FBI at President Clinton's request, as part of a 
private-public partnership to help companies avoid Net fraud. "  She 
reads aloud.   "Nonprofit groups are angry that the government would 
pour so many resources into a coalition that helps corporations rather 
than consumers."

"I thought the Bureau was working to develop an Internet fraud resource 
center that would be accessible to both consumers and corporations."  I 
actually know one of the guys working on the project.

"Well, now it looks like we're in it for the money and the press office 
is scrambling to correct that implication." She grins, and I can't help 
but grin in response.  Something other than one of our cases to keep 
them busy for a change.

Two articles later and the wine bottle empty, I realize that an hour 
has gone by without a word and Scully and I are now leaning comfortably 
against each other, her right temple resting against my left shoulder.  
I glance over at her - she's reading about China having intelligence on 
U.S. nuclear weapons, which catches my attention.  As I begin reading 
over her shoulder she passes me the magazine with a slight smile as she 
slides the scientific journal from my hand.  She then becomes engrossed 
in an article that I had been reading about the birth of a baby ewe to 
Dolly the sheep clone.

As I read I become aware of the sound of Scully's deep, steady 
breathing and I turn my head to see that she's fallen asleep against my 
shoulder, her mouth slightly open and the unfinished sheep article 
still open on her lap.  It is both flattering and disappointing to me 
that she is sleeping - flattering because she's comfortable enough with 
me to fall asleep so easily, and disappointing because I'm not ready to 
give up her company and go home this early in the evening. 

As long as we've known each other, we don't spend evenings like this 
together, Scully and I.  It's never really occurred to me to show up at 
her door on a Saturday night without a work-related excuse, just to be 
with her.  I'd been inventing work-related excuses to coax her out with 
me for a long time, but never consciously realized why I was doing it.  
Now, since a batting lesson disguised as a birthday gift got her out 
with me on a Saturday night just weeks ago, I'm not denying the truth 
of what I want.  So I slide my arm out from under her face and pull her 
close, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and down her left arm.  She 
opens her eyes briefly, blinks up at me and makes a little humming 
noise before closing her eyes again, relaxing into my embrace.

"Must be the wine."  She mumbles.

"Go back to sleep, " I tell her softly, listening to her breathe.  
Within a minute she is asleep, her hand moving of its own accord to lie 
loosely across my thigh. It is only then that I realize that I've been 
holding my own breath.

The shift has been subtle but it's undeniable.  It's been coming on so 
gradually, I can't say exactly when it happened.  Sometime before now, 
Scully would have asked me what conspiracy or Bigfoot sighting had 
caused me to show up at her home on a Saturday night.  Sometime before 
now, Scully would have moved to the chair on the other side of the 
coffee table instead of leaning against me on the sofa in companionable 
silence all evening.  Sometime before now, Scully would have been 
comfortable enough to fall asleep in my presence, but she wouldn't have 
allowed herself to fall asleep in my embrace.

The thought makes me smile, seeing a little genuine hope at the end of 
an otherwise dark journey.  Sometime not too far from now, I may begin 
telling Scully some of the things I've never told her.  Like how much I 
like her apartment, and that I think her feet are cute.  And maybe 
sometime not too far from now, I'll give that kiss another try.

I don't know what took us so long to get here, but as I think about it, 
all I can say is, it's about damn time.


Fin


beduini@earthlink.net
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Starship/9769/Main.html