From: jowrites (joann) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Moving In - 1 of 1 Date: 8 Feb 1996 18:59:55 GMT Legally: The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've borrowed them for fun not profit. This story: I'm happy for the story to be circulated uncommercially, intact and with my name still attached. It is not related in style or content to my previous stories (they had plots and this one hasn't). To believe this one you have to believe in UST. It would also help if you believed in PMS as well! Joann ============================ Standing on the doorstep of her apartment, with a suitcase at his feet he started to feel a wave of panic. This was ridiculous. He was going home before she got to the door and saw him start blushing. < Don't be stupid, now that really would be ridiculous.> Home didn't even have a floor at the moment. It all sounded so easy when he'd told her the heating and air conditioning people were overhauling his apartment block this week. Her friendly offer to let him stay at her place sounded like a really simple solution. No hotels, no hassles. He heard her footsteps approaching the door. So he quickly ditched the bag and headed back to his car. A few minutes pretending to look for something in the trunk would give him time to get his composure back. Just how old was he anyway? Way too old to be embarrassed about staying at his best friend's house for a few days. Even if she was female. Even if < don't even think it, you'll only start cringing again>. It was just that odd feeling of standing on her doorstep, suitcase in hand, waiting for her to emerge and invite him in. It felt, well it almost felt, like he really was moving in. < Shut up you idiot, you're rambling again, which particular fantasy planet are you living on? > -------------------------- Dana stood in her apartment and wondered why she had rushed to the bathroom and brushed her hair as soon as she heard the knock on her door. Why was she worried if her change of clothes looked smart but casual? This was bizarre, they'd been at work an hour ago. Since when did she fuss over her hair before she answered the door to him. He'd seen it all frizzed up before. He'd seen her at her absolute worst, tired / sick / scared / injured / dripping wet / bruised / muddy / covered in..... and now she was acting like. Like what? Well, she didn't know what she was acting like, because she never acted like that. This made perfect sense. Her partner, with whom she spent almost all her waking hours from Monday to Friday. Her partner, who she spent seven days a week with when they were away on cases. Her partner, who she spent more time with than most wives spend with their husbands < stop that analogy at once >. Her partner was going to spend a few days with her while his apartment was out of commission. No big deal. It wasn't like they were going to share a bed, or even share a bedroom, she hastily corrected herself. Though truth be told they had even shared rooms before and nothing untoward, nothing unprofessional had ever been on the agenda. No, who was she trying to kid. It wasn't that she didn't trust him. It was her she didn't trust. Work was one thing, it kept her busy, her mind occupied, too preoccupied to let her get past the occasional twinge. But, at home, she was defenseless. It wasn't like she'd become a nun or something after she'd started working with him. It was just. < Yeah, so what was it just? > It was just that she'd got so busy. They were away a lot, they often worked late. He'd ring up at the most inconvenient moments. < And she did mean the most inconvenient, did he have her apartment bugged or something? > No, it was only his proximity, his availability, the fact that they were together so much that had made her even consider doing things that were so un-partnerly with him. < Yeah, sure and it was his availability that made her fantasize about Mulder when she was out on her date with Mark. What a waste of time and bedsprings that little adventure with Mark had been. > This was a bad idea. She opened the door but saw only the bags. With relief she slunk back to the kitchen and started to make coffee. She wasn't sure when she'd started comparing everyone < every man > she met, to him, just that she did. Even the smart, good looking, sensitive ones didn't do well. Mulder could make her laugh, cry and extremely angry in the space of two minutes and most men she knew couldn't even get one of those emotional reactions from her. 'Hi Scully. Is everything still OK for me to stay?' He tried to say it as light as possible but he couldn't help but feel he sounded like he was the rabbit caught in the headlamps, He had to stay hopeful. < Maybe her cousin has rang and needs to stay unexpectedly. Maybe the spare room is flooded. Maybe she has to go into quarantine. > Maybe, she'd give him something, anything, to build an excuse on, so he could stay at a Hotel. 'Fine, just fine, drop your things in the guest bedroom. You might as well get changed while I make the coffee.' He did as he was told. Got rid of his suit. She returned to her living room just in time to see him emerge. < No. Not the jeans. Not the tight blue/black jeans and the black T-shirt. He could at least have gone for the baggy sweat shirt and pants.> How to retaliate? < This is ridiculous. I've seen him naked, well nearly. OK, so he had been sick, but even so. > She calmed herself. This really is ridiculous. He's just a man. < Yep > Did he know what he had been doing to her? Of course he did. That stupid grin. That hand on the small of the back routine, 'guiding' her into the room. She never protested. She liked it. But what about his motives? Was he just being patronizing? Well she had plenty of examples that said he really rated her. And apart from that incident with Detective White, when neither them was at their best, he never put her down or patronized her in public. Not like she sometimes treated him. < 'You know that thing Barnum said about suckers?'>. The big brother thing? Well not like any of her big brothers, nor any of her friends' big brothers, that was for sure. No. She knew exactly what it was. He was teasing her. He knew her weak spots. He played on them. She purred when he gave her one of those little hints of physical contact. He knew that, he was the smartass psychologist. What a rat. How could he tease her? Well two could play at that game. What was that about hiding a secret by letting it stand in the open? Fine, well she'd hide her secrets then and she'd get her own back for all that torment. So he liked to play games with her. OK, well she could find out how good a games player he really was. They drank their coffee in silence. She said she was going to make dinner. He said he was going out for a while and changed again, this time into his running clothes. That put some distance between them, for a time. He brooded as he ran. It would be fine, he'd 'find' a case tomorrow that demanded he get out of town immediately. She could come too, that wouldn't be a problem, he knew the difference between work time and home time. Scully's annoyance grew. She was cooking dinner while he went jogging. He'd got a nerve. < Who does he think I am - his wife? > She could get her own back for this, all of this. Just let him get back here, she'd show him. When he got back, Scully desperately wanted to shout at him for ruining the food by showing up late. Unfortunately the food wasn't ready yet. He peered round the kitchen door. Was it OK to have a shower? Why did she want to hit him. 'Yes, no problem, there's always plenty of hot water, make yourself at home.' < Provided you aren't wearing any clothes when you come out. > 'Thanks.' He grabbed an armful of his clothes from the guest bedroom and headed into the bathroom. He stayed out of the way for as long as he dared. Close your eyes, take a deep breath. < Have a cold shower? >. Finally he pulled himself back into his jeans and T-shirt and returned to the living room. Dana served the meal. 'Thanks. This is really nice, I'd forgotten what a good cook you are. I'll cook tomorrow if you like.' She glared. < Thanks - but I'll cook tomorrow! Now he was insulting her cooking. > He cleared the plates and tried to earn his keep by washing up. He floundered as Scully brushed past him to get to the refrigerator. < Brushed past him? Pressed up against him unnecessarily. What was that about a woman not touching a man accidentally, only incidentally. > She couldn't be? She wouldn't? He was imagining things again. She handed him a beer and poured herself a glass of sparkling wine. 'Sorry I should have given you a choice, would you prefer wine?' He looked out the window and thought that right now he'd prefer a day trip to Alaska and some melted ice. 'No this is fine. I wish my kitchen was this well stocked.' She took a deep breath. < Well stocked? Now he was accusing her of being a latent alcoholic. > Well he'd done the eating thing. He'd done the running. He'd done the shower. All that was left was the watching TV bit of the evening. He convinced himself he was going to be OK. He was a professional, he'd bluffed his way out of trouble before. He'd just pretend nothing was going on his head. Neutral expression, sarcastic smile, bad jokes, absolutely normal. With any luck he could get lost in some bad film on the TV or sneak off to his room and read. Maybe, he could dig out a case file, nah, too obviously evasive. Scully was in the armchair. He sneaked to the couch. It might just work. Just don't look at her. < Don't look at her. Why's that then? Reckon, she's a gorgon, going to turn you to stone?> Oh no. Since when did he start to giggle at his own adolescent jokes. 'Video time Mulder.' He squirmed. 'Kalifornia.' She said cheerfully. 'But that's about a serial killer, do we have to...' 'I got it because the actor reminded me of you.' 'Brad Pitt?' 'No, the other one, the yuppie idiot.' He rose to the bait. 'It wouldn't have taken me an hour in the car to spot that there was a problem.' 'You'd have been dumped in the ditch at the first bend. I see he ends up driving all the time as well.' He was relieved by the gentle normal banter between them, even if not particularly pleased by the comparison. She poured out some more drinks and joined him on the couch. She lifted her feet onto the couch and stretched out, putting a cushion behind her head. He was leaning back with his feet on the coffee table and her approach was so quick and unexpected that he didn't have time to sit up straight. She let the cushion nuzzle into his hip as she edged to where he sat. He held the cold drink to his forehead. < Whatever happened to personal space? > OK, he knew that sometimes he moved in a bit too close to her, but as soon as he noticed what he'd done, he always pulled away, retreated to a safe distance. She showed no sign of retreating anywhere. 'I'll move to the chair, give you more room to spread out.' She responded in a throaty whisper. 'No this is fine, I don't need any more room.' Fine, she said. Fine. A fine mess he'd gotten himself into. Oh, what the hell, lie back and enjoy it, she'll soon be back to normal. What was she up to? Did she know she what she was doing? Of course she did, he'd never met anyone who always knew what they were doing the way she did. She always knew. So why?. Sometime along the way she had managed to arrange herself so her arm was resting on his thigh. She was stretched out along the couch and he stayed huddled up at one end. < Why not stop thinking, you idiot. Why not just ask her? > Ask her why she was lying on her own couch watching a video? What sort of an answer did he expect to get? He could really ask her, ask her why she was stroking his knee for example. < Because she's tired and daydreaming and has had a couple of drinks and if there was a cat on the couch or even a sheepskin rug she'd be stroking that in preference. It doesn't mean anything and if you embarrass her by asking she'll never talk to you again. > He wasn't even sure how or when she had managed to rearrange herself again. But now he was aware that as well as her arm lying along his thigh, her head was resting against his side and her hair was tickling the underside of his arm. 'Nice body.' She purred the words. He tried to get some extra oxygen. She spoke again. 'Brad Pitt's got a nice body. I guess he's not your type? Huh. Was she asking him if he was gay? He tried to think of a suitably macho but politically correct response. 'Err no, not really.' Scully growled with delight. What no wisecrack? Time to turn up the heat. She looked up at him. 'There's something I've wanted to ask you for quite a while.' She'd got the ascendancy but if she didn't keep the pressure up, he'd get his bearings back. Well one way of staying in front was to put him at a disadvantage. What could be a better, more appropriate disadvantage than getting him out of his clothes? Time to be ruthless. He looked to see if a gap in the space time continuum had appeared in the room as that seemed to offer the only realistic chance of escape. He was disappointed rather than surprised when he realized that it hadn't. She used a voice designed to get results, it was a voice she only occasionally used, she didn't believe in that kind of manipulation. Well not normally. A soft breathy voice. 'You know, when I shot you, well I wondered, I know its a terrible thing to ask, but I wondered if I could see your shoulder. I'd feel better if I could see it now its all healed up. Sorry, it's terrible me asking you that. Too much wine. Normally I wouldn't have the nerve, sorry, forget it.' Panic time. Well it could have been worse. It could have been more personal. < Oh yeah, so what could be more personal than asking you to take your shirt off so she could check out where she shot you? > You know what she could have asked you. You know what you wanted her to ask you. If he had been wearing a shirt he could have just undone the buttons and move the fabric away but no she had to pick a time when he was wearing a T-shirt. He knocked back his drink and agreed. Maybe it would distract her. < Like hell.> Well, maybe it would buy him time to think. She looked innocently into his eyes as he finished peeling himself out of his top and stood in front of her. She could scarcely believe her luck that he'd gone along with it. That was when the wine hit her. Just when things were about to get interesting she suddenly felt distinctly drunk. At first she wanted to giggle, but as she looked at him the giggles faded. She looked at his sad, nervous eyes and the scars of the bullet wound in his shoulder. Suddenly a flood of emotions and memories came rushing in. How could she have tried to use that against him in a teasing game. It was awful. She wouldn't have thought herself capable of such malice. She felt so dreadfully guilty. Would he ever forgive her for what she'd just done. It would serve her right if he never talked to her again. She started to cry. Some tears from the heart, some from the mind, some from the wine. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her and reached out to touch the edge of the couch. 'It's OK, it doesn't hurt or anything, good as new.' He was lying but she didn't need to know that. 'I know why you had to do it, it was for my own good, I maybe didn't admit to seeing it that way at the time, but you were right.' She gulped for air. He didn't understand why she was crying. Now he was trying to make her feel better. She was the pits, the worst, she didn't deserve him. She felt herself starting to shake. He moved next to her on the couch and wrapped himself round her body. As he stroked her hair and her arms, he tried to keep back the tears that were starting to build up in his own chest. He hated all those dreadful things that had happened to them and the screwed up mess it had made of both their lives. He hated himself for letting her get caught up in it and for not letting her get away and build a life of her own. He shuddered miserably. Why couldn't anything ever just be normal for them? < Why couldn't they ever get to hold one another this tight when neither of them was crying.> She jumped at his words and he froze as soon as he realized that he'd said them out loud. She slowly started to breathe again and eventually he heard her soft voice came back to him. 'Maybe we can. When we're older and wiser.' 'Tomorrow?' Dana looked at him and saw he was back to the silly grin and the bad jokes. At that moment she would have happily shot him again. On second thoughts, she realized she'd started giggling at his remark, so that had to mean she was too drunk to aim straight. She'd deal with him later. END