Mexican Fried Ice Cream Man
by Mish
Rating: PG-13
Classification: MSR, mostly.  With a dab of
angst and a dash of humor.  Musea improv fic.
Spoilers: Vague allusions to a couple of eps. 
Blink and you'll miss them.  But nothing major.
Distribution: Sure, go ahead.  Just let me know
where!
Summary: MFICM to the rescue.  Andele, andele,
arriba!  Yeehaa!

For Angel, because she asked.  And because I'm
in the mood for sap.  Oh - and Mulder's back. 
Just go with it. <g>



I smell it before I hear the alarm.  Faint,
almost burnt-sugar smell of smoke.  Then the
blare assaults my ears.

Damn.  It almost hurts, that too-loud buzz. 
Whatever happened to the ring of schoolhouse
fire alarms?  The kind that the smart-ass in
your class would pull as you filed into the
lunchroom.  Much more pleasant than this techno-
electric grate along my spine.

Sighing, I look up from my slide viewer and turn
to Scully, intending to get her to see what all
the fuss is about.  I really don't feel like
abandoning my nice, warm basement for what
probably is someone's burnt toaster pastry.

Except she's not there.

"Scully?"  She probably went to the bathroom. 
"Scully!"

No answer.  Shit.

My back groans when I stand.  Too much bending
over the viewer today.  And now I have to walk
into the hall - a task made more difficult by
the charleyhorse in my right leg.

The smell is stronger out here.  "Scully!"  I
bang on the restroom door.  How can she not hear
that?  And smell that?

Because she's not in there, a fact I see
immediately when I push open the door.  Not in
any of the stalls.

Fuck.  That means she's somewhere upstairs...
did she say she was going upstairs?  I sort of
remember grunting at her about an hour ago. 
When she said, "I'll be back later."

I hobble back to my desk and pick up my cell
phone.  Precious seconds pass as I listen to it
ring.

"Come on, damn it.  Pick up," I mumble, shaking
out the pain in my leg as I prepare to fly.

Fire... maybe she went to Quantico... flames...
please don't let her be up there... smoke...
she's up there, I know she is.

The line clicks in the middle of the third ring. 
"Scully?  Hello?"

But her voice mail answers me.  "Shit!" I yell,
only to be greeted by a fierce crackle as the
line finally cuts out.  Silence.  Can fire screw
up a cell phone connection?

The telephone drops from my nerveless fingers
and my stomach drops to my knees.  I can't go up
there.  I can't.  The old familiar fear freezes
me in my tracks.  It's not that I'm afraid of
being trapped down here.  At the top of the back
stairs is an exit to the courtyard.  To fresh
air.

Scully is up there somewhere.  Visions of her
surrounded by flames scare me more than my fear
of fire.  What if she's trapped?  What if nobody
hears her cries for help?

Ignoring my gripping nausea, I bound up the
stairs, pausing for a second to give the exit a
wistful look.  No.  I'm not going to take the
easy way out.  She's my... hell, she's
everything to me.  I may roast like a pig on the
spit, but I'm not leaving this building without
her.

As I turn to take the next flight, I'm nearly
bombarded by the personnel from the upper floors
hastily making their way downstairs.

"Wrong way, Spooky," one of them sneers at me,
shoving me with his shoulder in an effort to
flee.

"Anyone see Scully?" I throw at the swarm,
ignoring the mean looks at my swim upstream.

All I hear is murmurs of, "Get the hell out of
the way, moron," and, "Idiot."

Then a voice in the cacophony, accompanied by a
timid hand on my arm.

"Agent Mulder?"

Holly.  I pull her to a corner of the next
landing, out of the line of evacuees.

"Have you seen Scully?" I ask, her face starting
to blur in the smoke-tinged air.

"I had to leave the party early, but the last
time I saw her -"

The party.  Now I remember, like someone turned
up the volume in my head.  Don't tell me I tuned
her out again.  I'm such an obsessive, consumed-
by-work asshole.

Her yell follows my frantic start back up the
stairs.  "Fourth floor break room!"

Damn, damn, double damn.  I forgot all about the
fucking party.  Someone retiring, I think. 
Vaguely, another Scully pre-departure remark
comes to me.  She asked me if I wanted to make
an appearance with her.  I also remember my
snide, "Hell, no."  She decided to go without
me, saying that one of us should try to be
sociable.  Did I even look up when she left?

Sweat and smoke cloud my vision by the time I
make it up to the fourth floor.  I take a shaky
breath and press the back of my hand to the
door.  It's cool.  Good sign.  Then a deep
breath - punctuated by the onset of coughing -
and I'm braving the fire.

Except there's no fire.  Just a helluva lot of
smoke.

"Scully!"  The smoke gags me, but it's really
not that thick, on second thought.  I can see
figures moving about in it down the hall and I
head in that direction immediately.

"Hey, buddy, you can't go down there!"  A
muffled voice hits me between the shoulder
blades.  Yes, I can, and you can't stop me.  I'm
a man on a mission.  Goddamned Superman.  No one
is going to stop me.

Well, almost no one.  The break room door is in
sight when I'm grabbed from behind and spun
around.

"Didn't you hear me?"  The fireman's incredulous
question is tempered by the mask he has on. 
"You've got to leave, now!"

"I can't..." I gasp, doubling over just a teeny
bit.  The smoke isn't that bad, really.  I've
kind of been fighting a chest cold this winter,
that's all.  It's hard to breathe when you're
congested.  "Scully... my...."

My frantic plea ends in a gale of coughing.  No,
no.  I can't leave... Scully is in there
somewhere.

"There's no one left on this floor, buddy!" he
yells.

"But...."  Wheezing, I fall to my knees,
obstinate to the very end.  He's *not* going to
make me leave without Scully.

"That's it," Fireman Fred tells me, before
heaving me over his shoulder.  Damn, but he's
got this Hulk Hogan thing going.  I didn't
realize how massive he was under all that gear.

Great.  Now I really can't breathe.  He's
trotting toward the back stairs and with every
slam of his boots against the floor, what little
air I can take in whooshes out.

I'm such a weenie.  I can't even put up a
struggle, though panic has set in with ferocity,
my heart pounding and all the blood rushing to
my head.

My last thought before I pass out is that Scully
is gonna kill me if I end up in the hospital. 
Some superhero.

Ladies and gentlemen... WeenieMan.


**********


Oxygen.  Pure, clean oxygen.  Well, it would
feel pretty damned good if I wasn't crying under
the plastic mask like a child that's lost his
mother in the mall.

I know she's in this crowd somewhere; from my
seat in the open doors of the ambulance, though,
I can't see a fucking thing past the sidewalk. 
And when I tried to stand a few minutes ago, I
almost passed out again.  At least one of the
firemen wrapped a blanket around me, or I'd
freeze to death.

I'm such a fuck-up.  First I ignore her
practically all day, then refuse to attend the
party with her.  Then, in my macho hero routine,
manage to suffer smoke inhalation... the only
employee to do so, I might add.  Between
huddling for warmth on the frigid, snow-covered
grass and catching smokes before they trudge
back inside, they're all laughing at me.

Scully?  Where are you?  God damn this weakness.

"Mulder?"

Ah, Skinner to the rescue.  Ripping off the
mask, I stand on shaky legs.  "Sir... I can't
find Scully..."  I grip his arms to steady
myself.

He sits me back down and pulls up the blanket. 
"She's okay, Mulder, take it easy."

"Where?  Where is she?" I croak.  Shit, my voice
sounds like someone scraped my vocal cords with
their fingernails.  Hurts like a bitch, too.

"Stuck between the first and second floors.  She
was on her way back down to the basement when
the elevators locked down.  She called me on her
cell after she tried you and got your voice
mail."

Shit, that figures.  She must have called me at
the same time I was calling her and got *her*
voice mail.  Oh, and then I compounded my
brilliance by leaving my cell in the office
before rushing to the rescue.  Would somebody
please stamp a big WeenieMan 'W' on my forehead?

"Maintenance was working on getting the
elevators operating again when I got there.  She
should be out in just a few minutes.  Actually,
she ordered me to come find you."  He grins,
pushing me back to my seat gently.  "If the tone
of her voice was any indication, she's not hurt,
just pissed."

I'll bet she is.  But better pissed than burned. 
I slump onto the floorboard of the ambulance,
relief flooding me.

"Fire?"  It's all I can manage.

"A non-fire, really," he explains, shoving his
hands into his coat pockets with chagrin. 
"Seems your partner was instructing the other
women on the fine art of making Mexican fried
ice cream on the break room stove.  Right after
she left, a small grease fire got out of hand. 
Basically, just a lot of smoke."

That little... how dare she put herself in
danger like that?  How dare she put -

My fuming thoughts are interrupted by the
parting of the black sea of suitcoats.  From
here, it looks like I'm not the only one
attempting the hero bit.  Of course, he *is* a
fireman... and I'm just a government employee.

Hey... that's not fair.  I get the over-the-
shoulder treatment and this person gets the
cradle-in-the-arms.  Wait a minute.

That's not a person.  That's my wife.

Staring up at the chisel-jawed, soot-cheeked
fireman in fluorescent yellow like he's Adonis. 
Oh, this is *so* not fair.  She's mesmerized. 
When has she ever looked at me that way?

And he's smiling back, the son-of-a-bitch.  Get
those lustful thoughts right out of your head,
asshole.  Can't you see she's pregnant?  With
*my* child?

Okay, so she doesn't wear a wedding ring.  Never
got around to getting her one.  We never got
around to really spreading the nuptial news,
either.  And she *is* wrapped in a blanket
similar to mine, effectively hiding the swell
that *I* put there.

Why haven't I told the world that it's my doing,
anyway?  Okay, *our* doing.  Suddenly the
thought that it's my sperm that impregnated the
invincible, last Scully ovum... well, my chest
puffs up with male pride.

Or could be I'm about to start coughing again. 
My eyes are getting teary....

She's so fucking beautiful.  The most beautiful
thing I've seen all day.  My ego takes a back
seat to fear as they approach; she sees me and
struggles a bit, trying to get down.

"Scully -" I try to admonish her, but my voice
is a mere whisper now.  In no time, I've
shrugged my cape - er, blanket - further up my
manly shoulders and I'm there, right before
them.

"Mulder, you okay?  Let me down," she directs
Adonis with a glare.  He complies, and stands
there stupidly.  Waiting for a kiss from the
damsel, I suppose.  Not this time, buddy.

She's glaring, not staring.  That's what my hazy
vision picked up on seconds ago.  Skinner was
right when he said she was pissed.

"Thanks," she throws over her shoulder, her eyes
already sweeping me for injury.  I'm fine,
Scully, I try to tell her, but by now it's
nothing more than a squeak.

"You really should let the paramedics take a
look at you," Gargantua interrupts.  Why?  Is
she hurt?  Was that why he was carrying her? 
But Skinner said she was okay.

Scully notices my panic face.  "I'm fine,
Mulder.  Firefighting protocol, from what I
understand."  She rolls her eyes in the
direction of her rescuer as she explains the
carry out of the building.  She's not fooled for
one minute and neither am I.  Copping a feel, eh
buddy?

Flashing him a pair of knife-wielding eyes, I
notice at once how much he looks like Howie
Long.  Wonder if he has the crewcut, too?  All
brawn and good looks without a trace of
pyrophobia.

Okay, so he rescued Scully.  Really, I should be
shaking his hand with gratitude.  Right after I
punch his lights out for putting the moves on my
wife.  But at the moment, all I want to do is
hold her and he's trying to insinuate himself
between us.  Beat it, pal.

Thankfully, Scully says what I'm itching to say. 
Except her words contain less colorful language
and just the right amount of disinterested
dismissal.

"Thank you, Rex...."

Rex?  Kinda fits.  He *is* drooling all over
Scully.

".... but my husband will take care of me now."

"Your husband?" he and Skinner say
simultaneously.

Shit.  Forgot the big guy was right behind me. 
Hell, he knew about Scully's pregnancy.  Before
I did, in fact.  Why should the fact that we
made it legitimate surprise him?

Scully peels off both of their hides with an
exasperated glare, rolling her eyes yet again. 
"Could we have a moment, gentlemen?"  They don't
move, so she bites, "Alone?"

That's my girl.  Though if she knew I was
thinking that, she'd flay me, too.

They get the hint, blending back into the crowd
with scowls.  Though I can't decide who's more
surprised by the news - Rex or Skinner.

"Mulder, you sure you're okay?" she asks
quietly, stepping closer so I can feel the heat
of her body.  She brings a small hand out from
under the blanket and soothes the pressure mark
the mask made on my cheek.

Nodding, I assure her that I'm fine.  Just a
little hoarse, I mime, pointing to my throat.

I tried to rescue you, Scully.  I wanted to be
your hero.

The almost catastrophe overwhelms me in an
instant as I realize just how serious this could
have been.  Moving closer, I open my blanket to
wrap my arms around her.

"Whoa!  Wait a minute!"  She pulls away and
fumbles with her blanket, drawing something from
underneath its folds.  "Damn.  It's ruined."

A small Styrofoam bowl sits in the palm of her
hand, with something repulsive-looking rolling
around in it.  I feel my lips curl into a
grimace.

"Mexican fried ice cream," she explains with a
sigh.  "I was bringing it down to you when all
hell broke loose."

The gooey mess slithers around in the bowl and
what looks like corn flakes and a maraschino
cherry buoy for dominance on its rough seas.  It
looks like puke and combined with the
afternoon's excitement, it makes my stomach
turn.

Taking it from her hand, I toss it as far away
from my burning nose as I can and actually feel
loads better when it lands on the back of Rex's
fireproof jacket.  Score!  He doesn't even feel
it; too much testosterone must dull your
reaction time or something.

Her face falls into a sad pout and it occurs to
me that she's about to cry.  Shit.

This time, I manage to enfold her in my embrace
for good.  Together we stand on that freezing
sidewalk, her head tucked under my chin.

"It was a baby shower, Mulder," she says, tears
making her voice waver.  "I've been so
indifferent to all of them and they gave me a
shower.  The gifts must be upstairs still...
though they're probably ruined..."

A baby shower.  They gave her a surprise baby
shower.  Jesus.  I should have gone with her.

Hiccup, gasp, then she starts again.  "And I
wanted to be nice... it was so fun... Dad used
to make Mexican fried ice cream, did I ever tell
you that?....  And I wanted you to taste it...
it was so good."

My blanket fits around the both of us easily,
just like my arms fit around her and my baby
with room to spare.  Rubbing my hands along her
back, I try to calm her, but to no avail.  Shock
is setting in with her, too.  Pregnancy hormones
must make it ten times worse.

"And then I got stuck in the elevator... and all
I could get was your voice mail... and I'm too
big to squeeze through the escape door...."

No, she isn't.  But I'm not about to argue with
her right now.  Hell, I couldn't even if I
wanted to.

".... and Mom is coming over for dinner tonight
and the baby's room is full of your junk... and
I have laundry to do... and the dryer is
broken...."

Oh, yeah.  I was supposed to call a repairman. 
Yesterday.  Shit.

".... and I just told Skinner we were
married...."  Her tear-stained face jerks up,
her blue eyes red-rimmed and wide.  "Mulder!  I
just told Skinner we -"

Silencing her with my finger, I decide to stop
her before she goes back to "...and all I could
get was your voice mail..." by kissing her.

She tastes like tears and cherry-tinged vanilla
ice cream.  And everyone is looking, I can feel
it.  Who the fuck cares?

I'm kissing my wife.  My *pregnant* - though she
never admitted to anyone it was my baby (she
said it was none of their damned business)...
*beautiful* - though I don't tell her that often
enough... wife.

"My..." she begins, her warmth breath caressing
my mouth.

No, don't say it, Scully.  Much as I'd like to
think it, I'm not your hero.  Skinner is.  Or
Rex the Wonder Dog over there.

"Mulder," she finishes, whispering against my
lips.

That's more like it. Just Mulder. *Her* Mulder.

She melts into me, just like Mexican fried ice
cream, and I pick her up in *my* arms, breaking
the kiss with a smile.  Exhaustion is fast
taking hold of her, just as my fatigue segues
into a burst of adrenaline.

I feel my smile turn goofy right about the time
her face becomes dreamy.  She may not say it -
hell, that would sound too much like Scully on
LSD - but she's looking at me the way I've
always wanted her to look at me.  Like I'm a
hero.  Superman, Spiderman and the Green Hornet
all rolled into one.

Tomorrow, she'll be mortified at the scene we've
created.  Take a good look, people, because
Scully will never let me do this again.  My cape
feels like it's been branded with a big-assed
'M', judging from the open-mouthed stares of the
disbelieving public.

So what if we can't keep it a secret anymore?
They gave her a baby shower.  The least I can do
is give them confirmation.

Ladies and gentlemen, 'Mexican Fried Ice Cream
Man' says "Mucho gracias" to you for giving his
wife a baby shower.

If I'm gonna walk the walk, I gotta talk the
talk, am I right?

A megaphoned voice gives the okay for everyone
to file back inside.  But we're not going in, I
tell Skinner with a nod at the parking garage. 
He knows very well Scully's had it for the day. 
He gives me a wave of agreement and departs with
the rest, though the glint in his eye tells me
we're not finished with the marriage news.  Like
I didn't know that already.

As I stride through the crowd on the way to the
car, I dimly realize what I'll be doing once we
blow this joint.

I'm going home with Scully.  To fix dinner for
her mother.  To clean out the baby's room.  And
call a dryer repairman.

Hey - I can cook.  I can clean, too.  And I can
face the SkinMan in his office tomorrow and
we'll do the 'why didn't you tell me' dance
about the marriage while we posture in our
imaginary capes.

But one thing I cannot do is repair dryers.  I'm
not really a superhero, you know.  I don't want
bulging muscles or females swooning in
adoration.

Yo solo quiero a mi esposa mexicana frita del
helado. 


END

Translation: "I only want my Mexican fried ice
cream wife."

Author's Notes: Mucho gracias to Musea, for
talking me into this and for the sterling beta. 
Especially Bonnie... "You are my inspiration,
Bonnieee..."

So it's not a Christmas fic, but it's got a
semi-roaring fire, snow, and schmoop.  And one
very important character that I miss terribly.

Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad, Merry Christmas...
Happy Holidays!

Mish
mish_rose@yahoo.com

Elements:

a semi-real fire in the office
cute, smudged fire-fighters
ice cream
dryers in need of repair