Title:        When Irish Eyes Are Smiling
Author:       Lovesfox
Date:         March 17, 2001
E-mail:       lovesfox@home.com  (please feed me)
Web-site:     www.geocities.com/fanficcorner/
Category:     Post-Requiem, Angst, Implied MSR
Rating:       PG-13
Summary:      Scully thinks about Mulder on St. Patrick's Day

Disclaimer:   They aren't mine.  Please don't sue.


Notes:        There really is a Kelly's Irish Times in Washington, 
              D.C.  I have never been there, nor do I know 
              what it looks like inside.  The song about the 
              shillelagh is "Rocky Road to Dublin" by The 
              Irish Descendants and the lyrics are reprinted 
              without permission.




When Irish Eyes Are Smiling
by Lovesfox



Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
St. Patrick's Day
March 17, 2001
7:30 pm


Scully left her bedroom and shuffled slowly down the hallway to the 
kitchen, her fuzzy slippers making scratching noises on the hardwood 
with each step.  She rubbed at the slight ache in her lower back as 
she stared with a marked lack of interest at the contents of her 
fridge.  With a sigh, she let the door swing shut and wandered into 
the living room.

Her gaze was caught by the flashing red light of her answering 
machine, signifying she had a message or messages.  Remembering her 
brief conversation with her mother earlier that morning about her de-
cision not to join the family for a St. Patrick's Day feast, she con-
cluded it was more than likely her mother, or possibly brother Bill, 
trying to talk her into coming after all.

She was in no mood for the celebratory affair.  She would rather 
spend her evening alone with the movie she had rented, The Devil's 
Own, with Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt, and her comfortable couch and 
well-worn blanket.

So she ignored the machine and retrieved the movie from the coffee 
table, bringing it over to the VCR.  She turned the TV and VCR on and
pushed in the cassette.  It started automatically, flashing the 
bright green FBI warning, and knowing she had a few minutes, Scully 
went to the kitchen and poured herself a big glass of water.

Setting the glass down on a coaster, she ensconced herself on the 
sofa, draping her blanket over her legs.  A few moments later the 
movie began.

Despite the fact that she had really enjoyed the movie the first time
she saw it, she found herself drowsing a little as it progressed.

She drifted back a year ago, to a St. Patrick's Day evening spent 
with Mulder.

...Mulder had surprised her by leaving early with a cheery goodbye 
less than half an hour ago, and as she had nothing pressing at the 
moment, Scully decided she was going to call it a day too.  Normally 
she would be heading to her mother's to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, 
but as her mom was visiting Bill in San Diego, Scully really had no 
plans.  She shrugged her black jacket on over the Kelly green blouse 
she had worn in deference to the day, and grabbing her briefcase, 
headed out the door, flicking the lights off as she went.  

No sooner had she reached her car in the underground garage and un-
locked the door than her cellular phone rang.  She dropped her keys 
while answering it, and her voice was a bit rushed as she bent to re-
trieve them.  "Scully."

"Hey, Scully, it's me," she heard, over what she could only describe 
as the sounds of a raucous party.  She hesitated in the mid-motion of
climbing into her car, tossing her briefcase onto the passenger seat.

"Mulder?" she questioned, unconsciously raising her voice at the 
noise blasting in her ears.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Scully," Mulder replied.  "Listen, I need you to meet me 
somewhere, okay?"

"But..."

"Scully, come to 14 F Street here in Washington, a place called 
Kelly's. A word of warning though, parking is nuts."

"Mulder..."

"14 F Street, Scully.  See ya in a bit!"

With that, the call was disconnected.  Scully mumbled under her 
breath, folded the cell phone up, and got inside the car.  She put 
the phone down on her briefcase, buckled her seatbelt and started the
car.

Traffic was already quite heavy as she pulled out of the garage, and 
it took several minutes to reach the intersection she needed to take 
to get to F Street.  She was pretty sure that was in the entertain-
ment district, and wondered what the hell Mulder was doing there.  
Kelly's, he'd said.  It sounded like the name of a pub.

She was right.  It was a pub.  She read the name as she walked along 
the sidewalk, having had to park her car two blocks down.  Kelly's 
Irish Times, to be exact.  Mulder in an Irish pub?  This ought to be 
interesting, she thought.

Scully could hear the music as she neared, and her ears were assailed
the moment she pulled on the brass handle of the large wooden door.  
There was a small little entrance area, where a woman in a green 
felt, bowler-type hat stood by a wooden podium, and beyond her was 
the pub proper, which looked to be filled almost to capacity.

"Happy St. Patrick's Day!" the woman chirped gaily.  "Are you meeting
someone here then?"

"Um...yes, I am," Scully replied slowly, taking in the sight of 
several patrons dancing a jig on the rather small dance floor. "Oh, 
Happy St. Patrick's Day," she added.

Before either of them could say anything else, Mulder was there, hap-
pily exclaiming, "Scully!  Happy St. Patrick's Day!"  He was quite 
exuberant, practically bouncing on his toes.  She looked him over and
took in his attire.  He had shed his suit jacket, but still wore his 
dress shirt and pants.  Instead of the striped tie he had been wear-
ing in the office, he now wore one that sported tiny shamrocks.  He 
also had on a green bowler hat; only his was plastic, and perched 
rather precariously. 

He took her elbow, smiling at the hostess, and led her to a small 
booth in one far corner of the pub.  After helping her into her seat,
he slid onto the padded leather bench across from her.  He immediate-
ly put up his hand in a signal for a waiter, holding up two fingers. 
A second later he smiled and brought his hand back down.  "I ordered 
you a beer.  Is that okay?"

She nodded, still slightly stunned to be sitting in a pub with Mul-
der.  "Mulder, whatever made you decide to come here?" she asked fi-
nally.

He shrugged, his fingers tapping on the table in tune to the music, a
very bouncy song she recognized as being by The Irish Descendants. 
"You're Irish, Scully," he replied, leaning forward a little and 
shouting to be heard over the music.

"Yes, but..."

"Don't you like this?" he said then, and she saw that his smile had 
slid away and some of the light had left his eyes.

"Mulder, it's a great idea," she told him, and reached across the ta-
ble to lay her hand over his.  His smile returned, wider than before.

His fingers beneath hers continued to tap, and soon hers were tapping
too.  It was a very catchy song, and she even found herself singing 
snippets of it.

A particularly fast part came along, one that she could not keep up 
with, and she tilted her head to the side to listen, seeing Mulder do
the same.

>>Poor old Erin's isle
    They been abusin'
    "Hurrah, my soul," sez I,
    My shillelagh I let fly<<

Seconds after that, Mulder leaned forward again to yell, "Scully, 
what's a shillelagh?" (pronounced sha-lay'-li)

She leaned forward too, and their noses bumped, startling them both. 
But neither pulled away.  "A shillelagh is a hiking staff, kind of 
like a cane.  In rural parts of Ireland it was even used as a weap-
on."

He looked impressed that she knew that, and they both smiled, their 
mouths just inches away from each other's.  Scully felt the trembling
in her arms from holding the position, but she was loath to move, 
wondering if he was going to kiss her.

The mood was broken by the arrival of their waitress, who thunked the
mugs filled with green beer down on their table.  They jumped apart 
like scalded cats, and Scully sank back into her seat, ducking her 
head, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.  The waitress yelled an 
amount at Mulder, who shoved a bill in her direction, yelling, "Keep 
the change."

The mug was pushed into her line of sight, and Mulder said her name. 
She looked up, to see him holding his mug aloft.  He jutted his chin 
at her, for her to pick up her own mug, which she did.  They clanked 
them together, both saying, "Cheers."

Scully took a big gulp, keeping her eye on Mulder, and he did the 
same.  They then smiled at each other's foam mustaches.  She raised 
her hand to wipe at her lips, but Mulder was faster.  His hand darted
up and his thumb swiped across her top lip, sending a shiver through 
her that was clearly visible.  She shivered again when he brought his
thumb to his own mouth and licked the foam from it.

It was rather erotic, for him to do, and for her to see.

After their kiss on New Year's Eve, there had been a slow change in 
their relationship.  They had started spending more of their off time
together at her place or his, and even going out to the occasional 
movie or for dinner.  But neither of them had made any moves to ini-
tiate another kiss.

Maybe one of them would tonight.

The next hour passed companionably, both of them sipping their green 
beers, and watching the dancers on the floor, moving and twisting 
with the reels and jigs.  Scully's feet had been tapping under the 
table for most of that time, and Mulder's foot would brush hers every
once in a while as he too moved with the music.

The pub got progressively fuller, and if it were possible, noisier as
well, as the night went on.

After a second beer apiece, Mulder squeezed her hand, the hand he had
been holding on the table's top for the last little while, and when 
she looked at him, he mouthed, "Do you want to go now?"

Scully nodded, and once he released her hand, turned to grab her 
jacket, which she had slipped off in deference to the heat.  As she 
was shrugging it on, the music shifted to a slightly slower beat, 
playing a traditional Irish lyric.

She slid out of the bench slowly, listening to the song.

>>When Irish eyes are smiling
     Sure it's like a morn in spring
     In the lilt of Irish laughter
     You can hear the angels sing

     When Irish hearts are happy
     All the world seems bright and gay
     And when Irish eyes are smiling
     Sure they steal your heart away<<

Mulder had stopped too, and was standing beside her where she still 
sat on the bench.  He had a soft look on his face, his head tilted 
slightly, seemingly to listen as well.  He held his hand out, and she
slipped hers within, and let him tug her gently from the bench.  They
moved slowly through the thick crowd, Mulder using his body as a 
shield and a bit like a linebacker, murmuring his apologies every few
seconds.

Outside it was a shock to the system, having grown a lot colder since
she'd entered the pub some time ago.  Scully shivered slightly, and 
Mulder hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders, sending her a 
look that asked for permission at the same time.  She leaned into 
him, granting him silent permission.  "Which way's your car?" he ask-
ed, and she pointed in the right direction.

They walked the two blocks in companionable silence, their hips bump-
ing every once in a while.

When they got to her car, Mulder held out his hand for her keys, 
which she fished out of her pocket and handed over, an eyebrow 
raised.  "A gentleman opens a lady's door for her," he intoned in a 
voice reminiscent of a father's instructions to his son, and then 
shrugged.

"Well, thank-you, sir," she said, and giggled suddenly.

Mulder stood stock-still, staring at her, and nervous, she blurted, 
"What?"

"I think I heard the angels sing," he whispered.  At her puzzled 
look, he recited, "In the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the 
angels sing."  

"Oh, Mulder," she sighed, unbelievably touched.  "That's so sweet."  
She could not contain her smile.

His hand came up to stroke her cheek, just beneath her eye.  "When 
Irish eyes are smiling, sure they steal your heart away."

Scully watched, growing breathless with anticipation as his mouth 
slowly lowered towards hers...

There was a loud noise from the TV, and Scully awoke with a jolt. Her
heart was pounding and her mouth was dry, just as it had been that 
day a year ago as she had waited for his lips to touch hers.  Which 
they had, she remembered with a sad smile, feeling tears form in her 
eyes.

She pushed the blanket from her legs and rose from the couch, making 
her way to the line of windows.  She looked out and up, into the 
clear night sky, filled with thousands upon thousands of stars.

Mulder...wherever you are right now, as I think of you, my eyes are 
smiling.


The End

Happy St. Patrick's Day