HMS Pin-a-foreplay by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: M/S UST Rating: PG-13 Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys, okay. Anywhere else okay, but I'd like to know! Spoilers: Season 3 fic (yes, season 3); tidbits here and there, especially WOTC and Syzygy, sort of a post ep for both. In this little universe, Syzygy happened about a week, timewise, after WOTC. Summary: For every partner there is a cycle; a time in every season for growling, sniffing, and pawing at the dirt. Doesn't make much sense, does it? Scullyfic birthday challenge fic. Please forgive me for the title, it really doesn't make much sense either; it just sounded good, you know? Flying without a beta on this one, so any mistakes are well and truly my own. Happy birthday, Jill. Hope you like. HMS Pin-a-foreplay Part one "Oh, I do, do I?" The stab of her heels accompanied every word as the fury that was Scully stormed up behind him. Mulder paused at the ruins of their vehicles, hands on hips. "Yes, you do," he replied absently, his mind already dismissing her anger and coming to terms with the problem at hand. Both of the cars, his - well, their, actually - Bureau issue piece of crap and her rental, were ruined. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked around to peer into the gaping hole that once was the driver's side window. The only unbroken window was the passenger side window. Naturally, it had spared Bambi the wrath of the poop, though now he wished it hadn't; seeing her drop him for the brainy Dr. Ivanov made him want her to be just as dung fouled as he was. "Shit." His mumble was not lost on Scully, although it was just a commentary on the situation, not her smell. He regretted it the second it left his lips, straightening and bracing himself, eyes closed against the lingering smoke and haze. "Say it a little louder, Mulder. I don't think you've quite hammered the point home yet." Opening his eyes, he watched as the cloud of methane soaked air parted in the heat of her gaze. She truly was an awful sight, though he supposed he didn't look much better. Standing there rigidly, fists at her sides, jaw clenched over the tirade she was not allowing to escape, she was quite the picture of a pissed off partner. Despite his attraction to the winsome Dr. Berenbaum, he couldn't help but feel a warmth lap at the tips of his fingers and toes, like he seemed to whenever he looked at Scully these days. Even covered in pseudo-fertilizer - he wouldn't let his mind voice the real word for it, like she could read his thoughts - she was still the best thing that had ever happened to him. Not that he'd ever do anything about it; still, it was Scully who was always by his side, always covering his ass and looking mighty fine while she did it. Yes, he was attracted to her, he could admit that to himself now. After three years together and countless miles from one end of the country to the other, he couldn't help but notice her singular beauty. But was he in love with her? That, he wasn't sure. He loved her brilliant mind, her cut-em-dead wit, her bulldog tenacity. Since she'd been dropped out of nowhere, returned to him over a year ago, it was easy to recognize that what he felt for her was love. Sometimes, though, he wasn't confident that it was the kind of love a woman like Scully deserved. And he sure as hell wasn't the catch of the day, that much was certain. Once again, as he seemed to do a lot these days, he stumbled over an apology, breaking his mind away from the ever-increasing danger of romantic thoughts toward his partner. "Scully, I... I didn't mean -" Forcing his weary legs to move, he swiftly moved in her direction, then grimaced at her retreat. "I know exactly what you meant, Mulder," she hissed, backing away with raised hands. "Before we go home, I'd like to point out that you have a distinct odor of your own... except in your case, you've been sporting 'eau de bull' cologne for a while now." With that, she turned and wrenched open the dented back passenger door of her car. Against his better judgment, he felt the ire grow within him, quickly replacing the temporary lust for her shit-covered... yes, *shit*-covered body. "What's that supposed to mean?" he said softly, his face hardening, his narrowed eyes and thin lips going unnoticed by Scully. Moving closer, he draped a hand over the top of the car and cornered her in the open door. "Damn," she muttered, rummaging through her bag, obviously not having felt his presence behind her yet. "Ruined. Everything ruined. Mulder - " She stood up abruptly and started at the sight of his smudged face inches from her own. A bolt of satisfaction hit him at her wide eyes and sagging anger. Good. Happy, Scully? Now that he was as angry as she was, maybe they'd get somewhere. "I repeat - what's that supposed to mean?" Enunciating each word slowly and clearly, he moved in closer and watched her face pale under her new, explosion applied makeup. "What's what supposed to mean?" Scully immediately went on the defensive, though he knew that she knew very well what he was asking. Her arms crossed in the humidity between them, daring him to forge ahead. God knew he never could back down from a dare. "The 'eau de bull' crack. Are you saying you think I'm full of shit?" The moisture of his words in the early morning air waved at her like a red flag. Appropriate, he thought, grabbing onto her obstinacy and curling his fists around its horns. Softly, her breath met his. "Well, if the shoe fits... on your hoof, that is." Seconds away. He was seconds away from either shaking her or - "Agents?" Mulder kept his eyes on Scully's, ignoring the voice that threatened to interrupt the impending conflict. Scully had been asking for it for some time now and he was ready for the battle. Bring it on Red, his eyes blazed. Scully's momentary fear of a moment ago was definitely gone now, and she met his glare with ice blue frostiness, her cheeks aflame with the vapor of leftover fossil fuels that swirled around them. One spark, Scully, Mulder thought. Next word out of your mouth better not scrape my last nerve. Though it was inevitable, he knew. Even the way she'd been speaking his name, the way her tongue curled around the syllables in sulfurous ignition.... "Agents!" Sheriff Frass appeared in Mulder's peripheral vision, his meaty palm slapping the top of the car to get their attention. Scully dropped her chin, breaking the war of unspoken words. Mulder didn't know whether to feel triumphant or cheated. "Yes?" he barked at the intruder, tearing his gaze away from the crown of her head to pin the round-faced man with irritation. Frass persevered, oblivious to the pair's private re-enactment of the Battle of Gettysburg. "I'm heading out... you two need a ride?" "No!" "Yes!" The negative from Mulder and the affirmative from Scully repelled each other in the now almost empty parking lot. Mulder set his jaw and glanced at the now expressionless face of his partner. Damn. He'd been so close, too. "Mulder, both of our vehicles are useless, and we need to get back to Washington. Sheriff Frass can take us to your motel until we can secure other transportation." With a sigh at the rationality she could turn on and off like a faucet, Mulder backed down, reaching into the back seat for her bag. "Don't bother," she said, squeezing between him and the car door, careful not to touch any part of him. From under the open lapels of her coat, a waft of perfume tickled his nose. For some reason, he found it vaguely... unsettling. A small part of her remained the same, despite the horrendous circumstances. It made him jealous; Scully always managed to wear her dignity like a suit of impenetrable armor, something he couldn't quite pull off, no matter how hard he tried. He felt like there was a great big neon sign stuck to his back - 'I'm with Ms. Perfect.' "Even my toothbrush is covered in crap," she tossed over her shoulder, already making her way to the squad car, the bemused sheriff shaking his head as he followed. Mulder tossed the bag back into the car and shook his head, the dried bits of manure flaking to the ground like brown dandruff. "So are you, Scully," he mumbled, slamming the car door at her instant denial of whatever it was that flared a moment ago. "Total, perfect crap." ********** "Scully?" Mulder pounded on the bathroom door with just a bit more force than necessary. From the dry reply, his little ploy at intimidation didn't work. "I'll be right out, Mulder. Don't have a cow." Don't have a cow? Who the hell did she think she was? He felt his teeth grind together once more; much more of this and he'd catch hell from his dentist. "For your information, Scully, I just wanted to tell you -" The whoosh of the opening door made him stagger back a step; the sight that greeted him made his statement flutter and die. "That... that...." Jesus. "I have a...." After he'd showered, he'd thrown some of his clothes in her general direction and set out to acquire a rental car. He hadn't given one thought to size; clothes were clothes. And from the looks of the store fronts on the way to the motel, beggars couldn't be choosers. Looters had effectively ransacked the town in the span of a few hours. But now he wished he'd found something more... appropriate. He swallowed hard at the baggy undershirt that barely concealed her... breasts. Scully had breasts. His face felt hot. Damn. Now he was reduced to hormonal adolescent thoughts. "Mulder, you say one word and you're a dead man." She stormed past him to the dingy pile that was once her overcoat. And those sweat pants. His heart tripped when she bent over to rummage through the pockets of her coat. Although she held a tight grip on the waistband in the front, she apparently didn't realize just how far they dipped in the back. Scully also had an ass. A beautiful, smooth white.... "Mulder!" Startled back into sanity, he averted his eyes the second before she turned around. Clearing his throat, he walked to his bag and began stuffing the clothes he *wished* he'd given her back into it. "What?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Where's my weapon?" God, now he had to look at her again. Courage, he told himself. It's just Scully. "Your weapon?" Great, Squeaky. She bent over again and he quickly looked away, inhaling sharply at the urge to follow her with his traitorous eyes. "Yes, my weapon," she stated, the muffled words drifting to his ears from under the curtain of her unruly damp hair. "I'm not stepping out of this room without it." She huffed at having to maintain a grip on the pants while trying to search the coat, then with a sigh, she just sat on the floor, freeing both hands. Mulder rolled his eyes and turned away at the sight of the loose pants, which now pooled at the small of her back, the gap between them and the undershirt the most tantalizing four inches of skin he'd ever had the misfortune of witnessing. Please, please let her find the God damned gun, he prayed. I don't know if I can stand much more of this. "Got it." "Thank you, Jesus," he whispered, then waited until he heard her shuffle to a standing position before he turned around and met her confused, irritated stare. "Mulder, are you okay?" Her grip on the pants was firmly back in place. Mulder sighed with relief. "Yeah. Just wanted to let you know I have a car for us." It wasn't too difficult, even with the chaos that still reigned in some parts of the city. The one and only rental agency in Miller's Grove practically gave him the vehicle for free. In the short time he'd been here, it seemed he'd gained quite a reputation as a half-assed harbinger of death and destruction. The whispers that followed him down the street were bordering on the ridiculous. Scully would be furious to know she'd been painted with the same brush. The sooner they were out of here, the better. "Come on, Scully. It's time we headed home." He stuffed the remainder of his clothes into his bag and started for the door. "Mulder, wait." Her voice stopped him cold and he impatiently turned from the sanity right outside the door to face her again. "What?" At his brusque tone, Scully looked up from her fumbling fingers with an icy glare. "I can't find a place for my weapon." She was trying her best to clip it onto the waistband of the pants, with little success. Kill me now, Mulder thought, as he watched the heavy gun slide the navy fleece down that bare hip. "Just carry it, Scully," he groaned, hoping she missed the torment in his voice. She did, thank goodness, not once looking up from her task. "And provoke some idiot on the street into shooting at us? No way. They already think I'm Typhoid Mary." So she had heard the rumors. "Dammit, help me, Mulder." Okay, he was now certain that God or Allah or any number of deities was punishing him. Making him pay for his sniffing after the delicious Dr. Bambi. Scully surely had a pipeline directly to the Almighty; she'd probably asked for just this scenario while she was showering. Scully in the shower. Scully naked in the shower.... "Mulder? Some help please?" The image dissolved in a blue mist of bathroom steam as he closed his eyes and willed it away. There. All gone now. Courage restored, he dropped his bag on the bed and steadied his hands for the inevitable, walking to her side. He studied the problem for a moment or two with as much detachment as he could muster, his hands making jerky starts toward her waist. Finally, he took the safe route and placed himself behind her, the backs of his fingers lightly brushing her skin as he gathered the soft material into a bunch against her spine. "Do you -" Clearing his throat, he started again. "Do you have a safety pin?" The scent of Ivory soap reached his nose as she turned her head and growled, "No. If I did, I wouldn't be in this predicament, now would I?" "You don't have a safety pin? Jesus Scully, every woman carries safety pins." "Sorry Mulder, forgot to pick some up in between dropping the kids off at school and ironing your pants." Sarcasm hardened her voice until every word pounded in his roaring ears like golf ball sized hail. Well, that went over like a lead balloon. Think, Mulder, think. They couldn't stand here all day. Spying his half-open bag on the bed, the light bulb went off. "Hold on, Scully," he said, releasing his grip on the pants. Yes, hold on, he silently added. Especially to the pants. In no time, he'd dumped the contents of his bag onto the bed and retrieved what was sure to be his savior. "Stand still," he muttered, and, standing before her, wrapped his arms about her. The belt was sure to be too big for her, too, but at this moment, he didn't care. Gathering up the excess material, he bunched it up again and told her to hold it in place while he encircled her with the leather. Too big, it was too big, dammit. Like he hadn't figured that out already. Stupid. His hands began to shake again when the top of her head knocked his chin on its way up. Careful, she's still got her gun, the little voice in his mind warned him. Down, boy. "Mulder, this isn't working." Duh. He could see that very well, but this was his last and best hope. What he wouldn't give for an icepick right now. All he needed was one extra hole.... His knife! Yes! His left hand dug into the sweat pants; holding the belt together while with his right, he fumbled in the pocket of his jeans. "Don't move, Scully. I think I've solved -" A small chuckle escaped and echoed in the room like a gunshot. Stilling instantly, he looked down at the grin that Scully was trying hard to hide. "What?" Dear Lord, could she see the ever-growing bulge in the front of his jeans? No way was it that obvious yet. He hoped. Just to be on the safe side, he pulled away a little further, the hand that grasped her pants digging in more. Certainly he would embarrass himself if that baggy instrument of torture slipped again. There it was again. Scully bit her lip, but he heard it anyway. Laughter. "Mulder, stop." Squirming under his scrutiny, he saw her blush before her hand stilled his. "What? Am I hurting you?" Though he didn't think so; her nails would be excrutiating on the back of his hand if his grip was too tight. As it was, he figured he was in enough pain for the both of them. "No. It's just -" She broke off and turned her head away and down, wriggling like a worm on a hook. The downy skin under his knuckles twitched and his muddled brain finally cleared enough to make the connection. Scully was ticklish. All the signs were there - her giggles, her rosy glow, the contraction of her stomach muscles in nervous reply to his touch. At any other opportunity, he would have a field day with innuendo. But not today. Another moment of this and he was done for, shot down into a puddle of pleading sexual frustration at her feet. With renewed purpose, he yanked his knife from his pocket and cursed at his run of bad luck. "Keep still, Scully." Amidst her growing gales of laughter, he flipped open the knife and tried desperately to punch another hole in the belt. Her swaying, though, worked against him, and he felt her tense at his barked, "Dammit, Scully, I said keep still!" She stilled immediately. "You don't have to shout." Her hands fell to her sides. Shit. If he thought she was pissed before, he'd been mistaken. Now he would be lucky if she said two words to him on the trip home. Fuck it, he thought, and felt the relief course through him when the leather gave way with a pop. Quickly, he buckled the belt and moved away from her, stifling the urge to end it all with his knife. He put it back in his pocket before he could change his mind. Grabbing his clothes, he ignored her silence and repacked, but not before throwing a denim shirt in her direction. "Cover yourself." "Yes, sir," she replied softly. He heard the soft click of her holster attaching to her belt, then the rustle of his shirt falling over her shoulders. Finally, after several long minutes of nothing but his breathing and her stiff movements behind him, she said, "Let's go." She was already at the door when he turned, a garbage bag hanging over her shoulder with what he supposed were her ruined garments. "Scully..." "Let's go, Mulder." Her refusal to look at him struck him with grief. She looked impossibly small in his clothes, her sock clad feet almost lost in the folds of his sweat pants. "Scully, you need shoes," he sighed, "maybe we can find some on the way out -" "No. I'm fine. I just want to get home." With that, she flung open the door and disappeared down the hall. He had no choice but to follow. ********** The bracing January air chilled him to the bone and he knew she had to be cold as well, though by her stiff posture and slow, steady stride up the sidewalk you'd never guess just looking at her. "Mulder, you don't have to see me to my door." It was the first time she'd spoken to him since they'd left Miller's Grove. He couldn't help but be gladdened at the sound of her voice. "Yes, I do, Scully. I want to make sure you get inside safely." That, and he wanted to talk to her, explain his rude behavior and apologize, something he felt was best tackled in the warmth of her apartment. She said nothing, just continued to her door, lugging the garbage bag along and refusing his offer of assistance with a look that rivaled the night air for frigidity. Mulder backed off to a discreet distance and loped behind her, hands in pockets. By the time they rounded the corner in her hallway and approached her door, Mulder could hear a faint scratching. He was about to ask Scully if she heard it when she made the question unnecessary. "Hang on, Queequeg, I'm coming." That blasted dog again. How he hated that animal. He couldn't decide if his dislike was because it was such a 'frou-frou' little pest that couldn't stand the sight of him, or that another man had given it to her. Even if the other man was old enough to be her father. The scratching had turned to soft mewling whines and Scully was having trouble with her keys. Queequeg was apparently in distress; Mulder hoped the little shit had messed himself. It was only fair that the monster suffered the same filthy fate that he had. "Why didn't you board him?" Mulder asked above the increasing din. Scully pinned him with fierce eyes. "Because *someone* kept calling me all night until he finally got me to drop everything and come running." You didn't come running until I told you about Bambi, he wanted to scream at her. But caution reared its head at the last second and he took the keys from her cold fingers. "Here, let me," he offered, and before Scully could protest, the door swung wide. *Yip!* Oh, shit. End part one HMS Pin-a-foreplay Part two Disclaimer: Forgot to put this in part one , but everyone knows they're not mine - so there! It was a week and counting. Exactly one week since Scully had said anything more than the barest civility to him. Of course, he really couldn't blame her. Because of his barreling through her apartment door last week, he was now permanently tarred with the black brush of beloved pet abuser. All because he tried to be a gentleman and Queequeg got in the way. The mutt that he hated, the obnoxious bit of fluff that pissed on his leg at every opportunity, the hairball that she seemed to like a great deal more than him these days... the *dog*... limped around with a splint on his right front leg. Served the little shit right. He allowed himself an inward grin at the thought, just a fleeting act of non-remorse before once again groveling at her tiny feet. It wasn't that he didn't like dogs; he really did. But somehow, *this* dog had managed to drive a wedge between him and Scully since day one. Mutual dislike brewed in the air whenever he was in the same room with her new protector. Now that he was on a par with Atilla the Hun in Scully's mind, he had some serious ass-kissing to do. The peace offering was boring a red hot hole in his suit pocket as he knocked on her front door. Deciding to show up early, he wanted to get this distasteful business over with as quickly as possible before they set out for Comity. "Hey Scully," he greeted her when she opened the door, but his smile faded into a broad 'oomph' when the pet carrier hit him in the stomach. Undaunted, he held up the cage door to his face. "And how are we doing today, Queequeg?" "Grrrrr...." Mulder looked around the pet porter to make sure the growl hadn't come from Scully. Nope, she was making a last inspection of her apartment, turning lights off, turning on the answering machine. "How's the leg?" he whispered. "Hope it hurts like hell." *Bark!* "Mulder, stop irritating Queequeg." With an innocent drop of his jaw, he lowered the carrier and brought his free hand to his chest in a 'who, me?' pose. Scully dropped her bag into the hallway and turned to lock her door. "Yes, you. Leave my dog alone. Haven't you done enough?" Not nearly enough, he thought. This was no dog; dogs were big, lumbering hulks of smelly fur that loved to roll around with you on your mom's living room carpet. Lovable best friends that tickled your face when they licked you. Not this terror that wasn't even good enough for attracting fawning women in the park on Sunday afternoon. Instead of giving voice to those truths, he sighed and reached for her bag with his other hand. But she beat him to it, signaling with that one gesture that the war was far from being over. "Good thing you came early," she said, already marching to the building's front door. "We have to drop off Queequeg at Mom's." Oh, joy. Just what he needed. Two Scully women giving him death glares over this squirming ball of piss and fury. His present would have to wait. ********** "If that's the reason we're sticking around, that's your business." "What? What are you talking about?" "Detective White." "We came down here because of three unexplained deaths. Detective White is just trying to solve them. She could use our help." Mulder was at a loss; this crappy week was fast spiraling into a disaster of mammoth proportions. "Well you two seem to have a certain... sympatico. I'm going back to Washington in the morning." With that, she stormed away. The wall came up to meet his shoulder as the fight went out of him; lolling his head against the plaster, he wondered if things would ever be right again between him and Scully. It wasn't just the Queequeg incident - he'd apologized until he was blue in the face, and she'd accepted every one of them with polite calm. Something was definitely weird about this whole case. Hopefully, things wouldn't get worse before they could solve it and get the hell out of here. ********** "Scully, it's not what you think." Worse? The Black Plague on top of the Ebola virus on top of global nuclear war couldn't be worse than this. "I didn't see anything anyway." She struggled with the car seat and his fucking mouth wouldn't stop spitting out the nails for his coffin. "Will you let me drive?" Jesus, that came out harsher than he intended. Her mouth was moving, but the words were slamming into his vodka-addled brain so fast he could hardly keep up. "... because you're the big macho man?" Don't say it, don't say it. "No." Stop right there, the angel perched on his right ear warned. "I was just never sure...." Go for it! The devil on his left pulled on his cheek, lifting his numb lips into a sneer. "... your little feet could reach the pedals." He slammed the door on her cemented features. Detective White gave up her car keys at his snappish, "Would you go with her, please?" and he watched as Scully and the officer peeled away, leaving burning rubber behind in their wake. "Rnow ryou've rone it." Queequeg's impish features materialized in the windshield, complete with slightly higher pitched Scooby Doo voice. "Say roodbye, ruddy. Scurry berongs to me rnow." Mulder threw the car in reverse and watched as the imaginary dog rolled off the hood of the car and disappeared. "Shut the fuck up, you little shit," he growled. ********** "There's an intersection up here, you're gonna wanna...." Scully had no reaction to his timid warning. "Scully? You're gonna wanna -" He tried again, a little more forcefully this time. Her foot dug into the accelerator and they zoomed through the stop sign. "You just ran a stop sign back there, Scully." Glancing at her profile, he finally got a response. "Shut up, Mulder." Not the response he wanted, but it was a start. Against his will, the words popped out of him. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." Oh, definitely not the correct choice of words. Scully whipped her head in his direction and he could almost see the sparks that sizzled from the ends of her mussed hair. "Mulder -" she began with a hiss. "Scully - watch out!" Good thing he'd caught the shadow in the road out of the corner of his eye. Startled, Scully wrenched the wheel to the right and with a shuddering groan, they landed in the ditch. After a few moments, Mulder found his voice, shaky though it was. "You okay?" He put his hand on the arm that was still gripping the wheel with tight knuckles. She leaned into his touch with a sigh and he slowly moved closer, stroking her coat with reassurance. Blinking, Scully shook her head and tensed under his fingers, pulling away. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. You?" "I'm okay," he said softly, all the fight in him dissipating in the aftermath of the almost disastrous collision. For just a second, she had let her guard down and he'd found himself drifting into her space, longing for her warmth. But the distance returned with a vengeance, smashing his hopes into pulp. Moving back into his shell, he decided there was nothing more to be said. Their relationship was shattered; with any luck they could at least continue to work together. He shoved open his door and dropped his feet to the ground, intending to inspect the visual roadblock. The roadblock between him and Scully would still be there; he didn't think he had the courage to tackle that issue just yet. Grabbing his flashlight from his coat pocket, he walked toward the hulk in the middle of the road to their left. A cow. Recently deceased, from the looks of it. This was just great. He heard Scully spin the wheels behind him and he shouted over his shoulder, "It's no use, Scully. I'll call a tow truck." By the time he'd hung up with the garage, Scully was standing by his side. "A cow?" Disbelief made her jaw drop. "We were inches away from leaving this godforsaken place and we get keelhauled by a cow?" Mulder looked down at the brown and white animal silhouetted in the glow from their flashlights and remarked dryly, "Well, at least it didn't fall on the car." Scully's shoulders sagged as she looked at him with exasperation. "Mulder, this thing didn't fall out of the sky." "Why not? Detective White told me that your car was pelted with ravens - why not cows?" At the mention of the other woman, Scully stiffened and crossed her arms, pursing her lips. Suddenly, he'd had enough, turning away from her with a huff. "That's it, Scully! What the hell is going on with you?" His shoes scraped against the asphalt as he turned to face her, now some safe distance away. Although he was willing to commence the final battle, he wanted to remain far enough away should she decide to hit him. Or shoot him, whatever. Which she most certainly would with the topic now laid before them in the damp air. "With me?" Scully stood her ground and her voice resounded in the surrounding trees. "I could ask the same of you!" Splaying his arms wide, he plunged ahead. "Nothing's wrong with me, Scully! It's you!" Before she could sputter out her reply, he continued, his voice rising with every word. "Okay, so I broke your dog's leg - it was an accident! So I paid a little attention to Bambi - so what? She was a whole lot nicer too me than you've been lately. And I'll have you know that Angela White attacked *me*, not the other way around! But you, with your bull-headedness... you saw only what you wanted to see, as usual...." He broke off, his ire useless in the face of her stoicism. Standing there like a statue, she hadn't even flinched during his tirade. Facing away from her again, he brought his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed his sore muscles. The accident was the cherry on top of a battering week; he wished the fucking tow truck would get here so he could go home. Shit on trying to decipher Scully, get a rise out of her. He was so damned tired. "I've tried, Scully, I really have. I don't know what's wrong with us and I'm tired of trying to make it right." Nothing, not even a peep out of her. "Guess we're like that cow over there... dead weight stuck in the middle of nowhere." God, he sounded pathetic, something he definitely had *not* wanted to happen. Clearing his throat, he opened his cell phone and hit redial. Where the hell was that tow truck? "Mulder." Not now, Scully, he silently pleaded, listening to the prerecorded message droning in his other ear. The tow truck must be on the way, thank goodness. "*Mulder.*" Okay, so he was going to have to acknowledge her. But that didn't mean he'd have to listen to her attempts to placate him; he'd just tune her out, much like she'd been doing to him lately. "What?" He turned at the insistent tugging on his coat sleeve. "Why did you keep calling me last week? To come to Miller's Grove, that is." Her soft voice was his undoing. Shit, the 'tuning out' idea was a total bust. No time like the present for the truth. Sighing, he replied just as softly, "Because I missed you." Her sharp inhale told him exactly how she felt about the admission; in the moonlight, her eyes widened and darkened to a midnight blue. Pocketing his cell phone and flashlight, he decided to run with his honesty, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "Because it seems like all we do now is fight. I want things to be the way they were, Scully. You and me working side by side, arguing - not fighting - over the little details of a case... having breakfast in some podunk cafe... you coming to my rescue when I end up in deep shit - no pun intended." Smiling slightly, he watched as her head dipped. Grinning, she was grinning. The elation he felt at her softening made him bold. "Jesus, Scully, I can't remember the last time we laughed about anything. I miss it. I miss *you.*" Trailing off, he waited for her to reply, his heart pounding in his chest. Scully looked up; her smile was tremulous, but she wasn't crying, or overly emotional in her happiness. That she was happy, he could tell right away. She looked like Scully again. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" Breathless as he was, the word came out like a puny wheeze. "Don't you realize why we've been fighting like we have?" One look at her and he knew. It knocked him over like a tidal wave and he backed away, shaking his head. "Oh no, Scully. You're wrong." Now he was scared shitless. This conversation was not going the way he wanted it to; all he'd been after was a little reconciliation, not... not... Jesus, he wouldn't even allow himself to think that way. "Am I?" She stepped closer, he retreated. "We're two normal, healthy adults, Mulder. Just because we're sexually attracted to one another doesn't mean we have to act on those feelings." "How did you -?" Transparency was his middle name, apparently. As 'nebulous' was obviously hers. "Oh, come on, Mulder," she snorted. "Remember the 'eau de bull' crack?" Did he. It still had the power to fill him with dismay, even a week later. "I wasn't saying you were full of shit, Mulder," she continued softly. "More like a bull sniffing after a heifer, whether it was Bambi, or Detective White, or any woman... even me." Now *that* he couldn't deny, though he knew his sniffing had been mainly directed at Scully lately. If she chose to not recognize that fact, then more the better. "Not that I'm saying we should do anything about it, you realize." Mulder closed his eyes at the relief that surged through him. Cool and logical, even when discussing sex. Thank goodness, because he was still on very shaky ground with regards to his emotions. "Of course," he quickly agreed. Sensing a reconciliation on the horizon, he lowered his voice. "As long as you stay with me, Scully. I may be an insensitive bastard sometimes, but I would never deliberately hurt you, you know that." "Yeah," she breathed, her face softening, "but you don't mind pissing me off now and then, do you?" "I think it's a cycle, Scully. Kind of like PMS." "'Horny Mulder Syndrome'?" He winced at the term, but let her have her fun. "Whatever you want to call it. Chalk it up to an overload of testosterone - next time it hits me I'll just ditch you, find Krycek and beat the hell out of him." Scully's eyes flashed and she moved closer, her hand curling into a small fist. "You do that, Mulder, and I'll beat the hell out of *you.*" "I've no doubt that you could, Scully," he replied with a chuckle. She joined him in laughter, their heads together in the light misting rain that dissipated the remaining animosity between them. Mulder sobered at the sight of her smile, reveled in the change it brought to her features. He would never tire of being with her, that much he knew. Maybe now and then he'd wish for more sympathy, more understanding of his work and his goals, but he would never want to be alone again. Even if it meant withholding from her what he most wanted to give. After a few seconds, Scully sensed his silent scrutiny and immediately quieted, her head tilting slightly to one side. "What?" Mulder started; he hadn't realized he was staring. Flushing just a bit, he reached into his pocket. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed. "I, uh... I got something for you, Scully... a peace offering, I guess...." In the palm of his hand, it shone with a glow from the silvery glow of clouds backlit by the full moon. "A diaper pin?" Scully's fingers brushed the skin of his palm as she picked up his gift. The precisely cut pieces of paper that hung from it fluttered in the damp breeze. "A safety pin," Mulder corrected. "Mulder, this is a diaper pin," Scully replied, fingering the pink plastic tip. "Whatever," he said, impatient to move on. "It was the biggest I could find, Scully. Promise me you'll keep it with you from now on - I don't think I could stand another session of 'pin the gun on Scully', okay?" His eyes sought hers; though his words were joking, he wanted to make sure she understood. She did, nodding with a half smile. "But - what are these for, Mulder?" she asked, waving the papers in front of his face. "Favors, IOU's, whatever you want to call them. Anything I can do to make up for maiming your dog." Well, he still wasn't sure he was entirely regretful about that, but what the hell - it was obvious Scully loved the animall, and he *did* feel bad about upsetting her. Scully brought her flashlight up and thumbed through the half-dozen or so gestures of goodwill he was now bound to perform for her. "Hmm... pick up dry cleaning, lunch of my choice, a month's worth of expense reports...." She arched her eyebrow. "What - no babysitting Queequeg?" Mulder brought a hand up to brush away a stray lock of her hair, then stopped short before she could see it. It was too late though, and they backed away from each other in the aftermath of the almost caress. Instead of commenting on the awkward moment, he affected a mock groan and latched onto her previous statement. "Scully, that dog hates me." "He's only reacting to your dislike of him, Mulder." "Yeah, well, let's just say it's for the best that we stay away from one another, okay? I'll do anything else but put up with that monster, Scully." "Anything?" Uh-oh, he thought. Maybe he'd been a tad too encompassing. "Well...." A sharp whistle interrupted his hesitant reply. "Firefly!" Firefly? Mulder put his hand on his weapon and stepped around Scully, signaling her to follow him in the direction of the voice. I'm already two steps ahead of you partner, her eyes told him as she withdrew her weapon and made a semi- circle around the cow. "Firefly!" This time, the shout was accompanied by a rustle of the bushes beyond the fence line. A slicker-clad figure emerged, then stopped at the broken section of fence, flashlight sky high in surprised fear. "Wait, wait - don't shoot!" Mulder looked at Scully and together they lowered their guns. "Is this what you're looking for, sir?" he asked, illuminating the cow behind him with a click of his flashlight. The farmer called out again. "Firefly!" Instead of anguish, he sounded quite put out, to Mulder's ears, anyway. With another whistle, he strode over to the cow and nudged it with a muddy boot. "Get up, you good-for-nothing -" <*Moooo!*> Firefly wasted no time in getting to her feet, which shocked the hell out of Mulder. He scrambled backward and Scully joined him at the edge of the ditch, stifling her giggles with the back of her hand. Flashing her a mortified glare, Mulder addressed the farmer. "We thought she was dead." The withered man tapped Firefly on the behind, urging her to go home; she did, disappearing through the hole in the fence into the pasture's darkness. "Well, she got a bad habit of wandering off, mister. Guess the road was warmer'n the grass. It ain't the first time she done that, and it won't be the last. Sorry if she scared you." Scully spoke up, diverting Mulder's growing anger with, "That's okay. We're just glad she's okay." "You need some help?" "No, we've called a tow truck, should be here any minute," she replied. "Sorry 'bout this," he said. "If the tow truck don't come, just walk through the field. House is right across over there. Can't miss it." With a wave and a nod, he melted into the bushes. Scully turned at the approach of the tow truck and sighed, nudging her shoulder into Mulder's. "Well, at least the cow wasn't dead, huh?" Mulder turned his head, though not his body, weariness tinging his voice. "The real or the metaphorical?" he asked softly. "Both." Her eyes flashed in the headlights of the truck. "Mulder?" Facing her, he leaned in closer, his eyes skimming over her upturned face. "Yeah?" "If I'm ever in the right place at the right time... cycle-wise, that is... would you -?" "Yes." He didn't hesitate. Abruptly, she turned from his gaze and murmured, "Okay. Just asking." He watched as she flagged down the driver of the tow truck and walked away. Damn. Too bad his HMS cycle only seemed to strike every four years or so. With his luck, by the time he got around to it again, Scully would be long gone. The year 2000 seemed mighty far away. END Challenge elements: One of the characters must be wearing a leg cast at some point in the story; one character should give another a handmade gift; Scully must face the dilemma of how to conceal a weapon in whatever outfit she's wearing; and a dead cow. Okay, so *I* consider Queequeg a character (poor little pooch, I miss him). A diaper pin full of IOU's is as handmade as I think Mulder could get. Can you picture Scully in Mulder's stretched out sweats? And the dead cow wasn't really dead, sorry! Once again, sincere thanks to Galia, my Mistress of Fanfic. Girl, you really rock! Anyway, Happy Birthday, Jill!