Rendezvous at the Mall
By Shoshana

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Saturday, September 4th, 1999
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I am debating whether to purchase the lavender or chartreuse
underwire set when I sense a presence behind me, its warm breath
spilling onto me, one large hand encircling my hipbone. I flinch,
spin around swiftly, and gasp at the sight of a red-faced Mulder,
embarrassed that he's scared the temporary shit out of me.

"Mulder! What the hell are you doing here? And what happened to
saying hello first?"

I'm irritated and everyone else in the Victoria's Secret franchise
is well aware of that now. Mulder's color is deepening as he says,
"Sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to sneak up on you... I really am
sorry..."

He looks truly remorseful and I tamp down my anger, mindful that
I've already attracted the attention of all my fellow lingerie
seekers in the boutique. I open and close my mouth several times, my
brain seeking the right words to apologize for my harsh rebuke, yet I
remain semi-furious at his carelessness.

"I, I just wanted to see... see if you wanted to go see a movie..."
he sputters, unable to meet my eyes, hands buried deep in blue jean
pockets.

Is this really Mulder? He followed me to the mall, followed me into
brassiere central, just to ask me out to a movie? I am cautious,
scrutinizing what I can still see of his face, as he finds something
tremendously interesting about the toe of his running shoe.

I decide that it has to be him; he was in the office the other day
when I talked to Mom, detailing my schedule for the weekend. Mulder
knows how structured my life is on the weekends, at least when I'm
not on the road. When I say I'll be doing something at such and such
a time, that's usually where I'll be, unless my temperamental partner
spirits me away somewhere.

I feel awful now. I should have known it was him. How many men
would creep up behind me in a Victoria's Secret store anyway? He
obviously hadn't gotten his mouth in gear before he brushed his hand
against my hip. He looks genuinely shaken up by my reaction, anxious
to flee the store at the slightest provocation.

"Hey, hey Mulder." I tip his head up, one forefinger to his chin.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you. I shoulda known it was you. Nobody
else would have approached me like that, I mean touched me, I mean,
oh you know what I mean..." My turn to blush now, as I realize I've
blurted out exactly what was churning through my mind. Good job,
Dana. Let's make this conversation even more awkward...

"No, no. I should have spoken before I, uh, tapped you. It's my
fault." He looks me squarely in the eye now, relieved that I'm not
thoroughly pissed off.

I want to allow him to ask about the movie again and say, "So,
what's this about a movie?"

By this time we are both leaning against the wall next to the
fitting room, attracting curious stares from pretty young things
about to sample the store's wares. I suspect they are more
interested in Mulder than me. He looks very nice today in a beige
henley and blue jeans. He's clean shaven, even though it's way past
four p.m. I'm flattered by this. Sometimes he doesn't even bother
to clean up when we rush out on a case.

"Just thought you might want to go... since you're already here at
the mall and everything."

He's recovered a bit of courage, almost positive that I'll accept
his invitation. I must be relaying some interest to him, also. I
don't mean to be so transparent but I'm really enjoying this
attention. Mulder just asked me out in a lingerie store filled with
beautiful, statuesque women for God's sake! That should count for
something, shouldn't it?

"Yeah, sure. That sounds fine. I just have to finish up here and
stop at one more place, O.K.?"

I'm trying to remain cool-headed. He's finally, finally done
something I never thought he'd do. Why ask me out now? Is it as a
friend? Or something more? I guess we'll have to wait and see what
the rest of the evening brings.

"So, Mulder. Listen much to my conversation the other day?" I
can't resist teasing him, knowing that he eavesdropped on me. My
eyes now return to my original dilemma, which color to purchase that
lacy little bra set in. It's the perfect way to avert my eyes and
get away with what I've just said.

"O.K., you caught me. But you can hardly call it eavesdropping,
Scully. I could hear you from across the room. I probably should
have called you today, but I didn't think you brought your cellphone
to the mall."

"Mulder, I bring the damn thing everywhere. I never know when my
poor, pitiful partner is going to get in trouble next." I grin at
him quickly, letting him know I'm not really serious. Well, maybe a
little bit, but he probably knows that, too.

"Hmmph, your poor, pitiful partner has been out of trouble for at
least thirty days, Scully. I'm surprised you would say that." He's
smiling too, returning my volley with equal velocity.

I lace one arm through his and stroll over to the cashier. He's
tempted, sorely tempted to tease me about what I'm buying. But he
behaves himself admirably, holding off all innuendo till we exit the
store.

As if possessed by a leering little devil on his shoulder, he says
"Very nice, Agent Scully. Though I liked the purple set better.
Gonna wear that soon?"

I glare at him, not with serious intent, just enough to stifle that
line of questioning. Anyway, it's time to pick up that piece of
jewelry for my Mom. She wanted to get an antique ring resized for
Tara and she knew the jeweler near me would do it just right. So I'd
taken it in for her a couple weeks ago and it was finished now.

We window shop a little on the way, walking slowly side by side.
Mulder has never made me feel like I can't keep up with him. He
adjusts his stride to mine, politely deferring to my 'little legs.'
The mall is crowded and we collide several times, as teenagers and
moms with strollers veer across our path.

I should be self-conscious. He's been gazing at me an awful lot
since we left the store. It's nice to feel attractive, considering
I'm wearing some frightfully ugly sweats that Bill sent me from his
naval base. I wasn't planning on going anywhere special after
shopping. Just home to a shower or bath with my new Body Shop goodies.

We arrive at the jewelry store and I can't help but stare at the
display in the window. I would never try to drop any hints Mulder's
way, but the rings are so absolutely beautiful that I stop and stare
at them longingly. They're just opals, but they're really good
quality, and they glimmer in the artificial light like little moons
set in golden halos.

I snap out of it when I feel his warm hand on my lower back, his
chin against my shoulder. I *really* don't want him to think I
stopped here for his benefit. I don't even know why we're going out
tonight and I certainly don't want him to think he has to buy me
anything. So I briskly lead the way, pick up the ring for my mother,
and we're free to go.

"Why don't we grab something to eat first, Scully?" he says
tentatively.

"Sure, we can see a later show if you want. I'm on no timetable."

"Whaddaya say we go over to that fifties diner place?" he asks.

"You paying, Sugar Daddy?"

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't suggest otherwise. Come on, let's go,
I know a shortcut."

He takes my hand and we weave through a sea of shoppers. Everybody
and his brother is here today, escaping the hot, humid weather the
D.C. area is infamous for. When we get to the restaurant, the
hostess tells us it will be ten minutes before they vacate a double
and we sit down on a bench inside the restaurant foyer.

I now know that this evening has nothing to do with Mulder and I as
partners, buddies, or friends. He's put his arm around me, kneading
my shoulder possessively. I feel... a little bit apprehensive, a
little bit scared, and a whole lot happy.

I've wanted this for a long time and it seems so simple now. So
inevitable, despite our dissimilar backgrounds, our arguments at
work, our tendency to bottle up our feelings from one another. He
knows I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. I've stayed with
him all these years by choice and tonight is no exception.

We take our seats in the busy diner, a clever reproduction of diners
that used to populate the nation's highways. I'm really not that
hungry now. My stomach is doing flip flops and I'm studying the menu
for no other reason than not to stare at Mulder.

We're ready to order and when the waitress comes over I choose one
of the many large salads on the menu. Mulder makes a little face,
expecting me to order something more diner-ish, but swiftly stifles
himself, requesting a cheeseburger and fries. He does insist I try a
chocolate malt and I agree to that. It's probably the one thing that
will calm the butterflies in my stomach.

Why am I so damn tense? It's not like we haven't eaten dinner
together before. It's not like we haven't eaten many, many dinners
in each other's company. But like I said before, this is different.
*We* are different. This is a date. I have been beguiled into a
date with Agent Mulder, my Mulder.

He's been mine for a long time now. I just had to let him know
somehow that I'd accept that as our truth, our pact between us. We're
like two neighboring principalities, with constantly shifting
boundaries. Maybe we can arrange a permanent treaty, negotiate out
all that petty crap that stands in our way. I hope so. I don't want
to have any more discussions about other women in front of the Lone
Gunmen.

Dinner is, well, pleasant. I have lots of stories about my family
that he's never heard. He doesn't seem to mind when I tell them
either. His contribution to the conversation mostly consists of the
antics of our three friends. They've been very active lately,
terrorizing the web with their hacking abilities.

It's almost eight when we finish and we choose the flick "Mickey
Blue Eyes." I've always had a thing for Hugh Grant, though I'll
never tell my handsome escort that. I'd like him to think that he's
the only one I'm interested in tonight. He's certainly been
attentive to me.

He shamelessly pulls me along, seating us in one of the loveseats so
many theaters have now. They are cozy and I can't even remember the
last time I was in a darkened movie theater with a male close to my
own age group. Taking godsons or nephews to the movies doesn't count.

He puts his arm around me and we sit close to one another, not
demonstrating too much affection, but holding hands the whole time.
I think we're just too old to make out like teenagers. Anyhow, it's
a really good movie and it's not like we're ignoring one another...

The movie ends, we file out of the theater and Mulder looks at me,
trying to read my eyes.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he asks, eagerly.

"Sure, let's drive back to my neighborhood though."

"Something wrong with mine?"

"No! I just want to... get some coffee at home first..."

A lie. I hate going over to his apartment sometimes. It reminds me
of last spring and his next door neighbor, Padgett. Mulder probably
suspects that, but has never called me on it. I feel more
comfortable on my own turf anyway; Georgetown is a lovely place to
walk at night.

After depositing my purchases on the couch and checking my machine
to see if Mom has left any urgent messages, I waffle on the coffee
issue, suggesting we go to a neighborhood hangout instead. They
serve everything from espresso to expensive liqueur and I order some
Drambuie without a second thought.

Mulder has a beer and I seriously consider whether I should invite
him to stay the night. I don't want him to leave me tonight. We
don't have to make love, we don't have to pledge ourselves to one
another. I'd just like to have him beside me when I wake up in the
morning.

I just want to stop this bullshit life we've had, not displaying
affection, not telling each other how we really feel. Tonight was a
start. I do want it all. And I think he does too.

The hangout has a folk singer after nine and she's very good, very
mellow. The place is dark and we sit side by side, hand in hand,
just listening, just doing something normal. I remember our
conversation last year about stopping the car, getting out and doing
what normal people do. It's taken us a long time, but I think we've
found normal tonight.

The musical entertainment ends at eleven and I know I have to tell
him now. I want him to stay over, I need his company tonight and all
the other nights of my life. It's not like it will be hard to
persuade him. Well, maybe he'll think it's too soon. But I don't.

We're walking home, a little tipsy, a little more affectionate than
before. He's been planting kisses on me in the cafe, surprising me
at random points of contact, my earlobe, my cheek, my fingertips.
I've reciprocated, although I've never been too big on public
displays of affection. It's just enough, enough to tell him how
happy I am tonight, how much I treasure his company.

We open the door and I busy myself in the kitchen, pouring a few
shots of brandy in the only snifters I own. They are very nice ones
at that and I'm feeling really good about just about everything
that's happened in the last seven hours. I flip on the stereo,
tuning in the NPR jazz station. I like what they play on most
Saturday nights, this one being no exception.

We eye each other cautiously, sipping at our brandy. I decide to
make it clear to him that I want him to stay.

"This is the nicest evening we've ever spent together, Mulder. I
really enjoyed myself."

He looks over at me, a serious expression on his face. Not what I
expected, but I'm certain now that I'm going to hear some sort of
confession from him.

"I want you to enjoy yourself, Scully. You deserve it. You deserve
a lot of things that I haven't been able to give you..."

His hands cover his eyes and I realize he's crying. Oh, Mulder.
Don't you know you've given me everything I've always wanted? Don't
you know what an fascinating, exciting life we have together? Don't
you know I love you?

I move closer to him, taking him in my arms and say, "All I've ever
wanted is right here. You're all I've ever wanted."

He looks up at me through teary eyes, disbelieving. I move onto his
lap, encircling his waist with my arms. I kiss his tears away,
caressing each salt-covered cheek. Then I smooth back loose strands
on his forehead and lace my hands around his neck, playing with his
silky hair.

"I love you, Mulder. I don't know how you could think otherwise. I
don't want any more than what you have and always will give me..."

He's not crying anymore, his sniffles have subsided and there's
really nothing left to say. He looks at me for several minutes, his
fingers playing over my face, brushing at my lips.

He takes my face in his hands and we kiss, simply, then
passionately, deepening our kisses. We pause for air, for a good
look at one another and then he enfolds me in his arms, tucking my
head against his chest.

"I love you, Scully. *You're* everything I'll ever want or need. I
mean that. It's not just a platitude. You've been my best friend
and you've saved me from myself so many times. I've... been so
scared at how much I want you, need you. That's why I've waited so
long to tell you. I don't know if it's fair to love someone this
much. You're so independent, so strong. I don't want to depend on
you this much..."

I look up at him, making sure he can see my eyes clearly. "Mulder,
you make *me* strong! I don't have some monopoly on strength around
here. For every time I've pulled you out of the muck, you've done it
twice. You're a strong individual. You're bright, compassionate,
you stand up for what you believe. Don't worry about depending on
me... just worry about loving me. That's all I ask of you. That's
all I care about. You'll never be a burden to me... I love you and I
want you to stop worrying, stop analyzing too much. And now, I want
you to stop the pity party. Let's go to bed. I want to hold you in
my arms tonight."

"Really?"

"Really. Did you think I was going to make you take a cab home or
something?"

"I didn't know. I hoped you'd let me stay on the couch, at least."
He smiles at me, sweetly, hopefully.

"No couch. You've slept on the couch long enough, monster boy..."

"O.K., Mrs. Spooky," he retorts.

"Oh, dear. Not that one again. Maybe you *will* sleep on the
couch..." He looks so dismayed, I hasten to reassure him, "No, no.
Just kidding! You sleep with me tonight."

"No argument with that." He kisses me again, framing my face with
his long, warm fingers. "You gonna tell your Mom, Scully?"

"That you're sleeping with me?"

"Yeah, I guess that's what I mean. Or maybe in more general, not
too specific terms... You know, Mulder took me out Saturday night,
that kinda stuff."

"Oh, I'll tell her the latter, but she's my *Mom*, I'll spare her
the details for now. You don't speak regularly with your Mom, do you?"

"No. Actually, I write her more than I used to. Since her stroke I
feel bad if I don't. There's still a lot of bad feelings between us
about Samantha, but I don't even mention her anymore when I write. I
talk about the more pedestrian cases we've been on. I told her about
you. Some."

"Not the same stuff I tell my Mom, I imagine."

"No, Scully. Real men don't discuss their girlfriends with their
mothers... "

"Am I your girlfriend, Mulder?" I ask with a smile.

"Do you want to be?"

"Sure." I punctuate the word with a kiss and he beams back at me.

"Scully..."

"Yeah..."

"Can I see that lingerie now?" He ducks his head, ready, come what
may.

"If you're very, very good, Mulder, you can see *all* my lingerie.
It's been hiding in my drawer too long..."

"What do I have to do to be good?" he asks, playfully.

"I think you could start by shutting the light in the kitchen..."

"And?"

"Double-locking the door..."

"And?"

"Brushing your teeth..."

"What else?"

"I think you know what else, Agent Mulder. Meet me in my bedroom in
five minutes. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"The couch, no lingerie."

"Ooh, that's a pretty compelling reason to do whatever you command,
Agent Scully."

"I know. My apartment, my rules."

"What happens when we go over my apartment?"

"Same thing goes. Except no videos, O.K.?"

"No honeymoon video?" He looks half-serious when he says it.

"That's negotiable, Mulder. Now go about your tasks so I can
change, O.K.?"

"Negotiable?"

"Go."

"O.K., but I'll remember that. I'm not too drunk you know."

"Neither am I. But I'm very tired. So go."

We go our separate ways long enough for me to change into some
comfortable summer pajamas and dim the lights in my bedroom. Several
minutes later, he traipses in, still fully dressed. I'm already in
bed and he kneels beside me.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait awhile, Scully? Don't you think
it's too soon to... you know..."

"Mulder, I have no intention of 'you knowing' tonight. I thought
you understood that. We're just sleeping together... we can discuss
the other stuff later, O.K.?"

"Oh... Now I really feel like an idiot... I shouldn't have
assumed..."

"Just get in bed, Mulder. I'm too tired for anything else. I
wasn't trying to tease you. And I wasn't lying, either. No couch
and you can look at the lingerie. In its very own drawer. Just not
on me... not until... we're more comfortable with one another, O.K.?"

He nods his head in agreement and I take his hand in mine. "I can
barely keep my eyes open talking to you... Get in bed, Mulder.
Before I have to come get you myself..."

He finally gets a clue and strips down to his boxers, flipping the
light off and crawling in next to me. It seems we had a little
communication breakdown earlier. He thought... that I meant... that
we were going to...

I think he's relieved we're 'just sleeping together.' Why else
would he have asked if we should wait awhile? He's as cautious as I
am. We both want this to last forever and I just know it will.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying his warm, so masculine body curled
around mine. He layers kisses on me, kisses so light they're meant
to soothe more than arouse. I lay my cheek upon his chest and throw
one arm completely around him. He tightens his embrace, encircling
his arms around me, tangling his legs with mine.

My last conscious thoughts are of Mulder gently stroking my hair and
whispering "I love you."

fin

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