From: Kirsten Kerkhof 
Date: Tue, 24 Apr 2001 02:16:03 -0700 
(PDT)
Subject: new story submission
Source: direct

TITLE: 'Sumariar' 
AUTHOR: Kirsten Kerkhof * 
kirsten_xf@yahoo.com
CLASSIFICATION: UST
KEYWORDS: V S dash of H
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: none
DISCLAIMER: Of course they're not 
mine. I'm not that cruel 
(though my pupils probably disagree) 
and treat our beloved heroes 
the way CC does. But, they belong to 
CC, 1013 and Fox and to 
DD and GA of course, so there ain't 
much I can do.
SUMMARY: On the night of their first 
anniversary, Scully finds 
herself in a diner with only 
strangers for company. Scully's POV.
FEEDBACK: I live for positive 
feedback. Flames will be used to 
roast a chicken ...
ARCHIVING: Anywhere, just let me know 
so I can come and visit, 
okay?

XxXxX

With a shiver I hug my winter coat 
tighter around me. Once again I 
curse my decision to wear a skirt 
today, but all my pant-suits are at 
the dry-cleaner's and with that 
blasted FBI meeting Mulder and I had 
to attend today I couldn't afford 
wearing anything less than a suit. 
My shoes and tights are soaked right 
through and I'm freezing.

I dash into the open diner I pass, 
grateful for the warmth it offers, 
even if it doesn't exactly have the 
atmosphere I was hoping to find 
myself in tonight. Mulder and I had 
been planning to have dinner at 
'Le Moulin Rouge', a fancy French 
place a couple of blocks from 
where I live and which opened only 
two weeks ago, but 
unfortunately someone thought it 
funny to call in a bomb threat and 
consequently our night out had to be 
cancelled. Mulder'd had a very 
short fuse all day long, but then 
again he doesn't take set-backs very 
well. I let him be.

I throw myself down in what seems 
like the only empty booth left, 
grateful for a chance to give my poor 
feet some well-deserved rest. 
It's been a long tough day and 
frankly I'm exhausted. I could of 
course go home, but the thought of an 
empty apartment is oddly 
unappealing to me right now, even if 
the alternative is spending the 
evening at a dingy diner with people 
I don't know. At least it's 
company, such as it is.

I order a cappucino when the bored-
looking waitress finally finds 
time to serve me. I really ought to 
order something to eat as well. I 
know I'm going to start drinking if I 
don't leave soon and I haven't 
had anything to eat since breakfast. 
It'll all go to my head and God 
knows what the consequences will be 
when that happens. I know 
what the consequences will be which 
is why I should order some 
fries or something as well.

The waitress arrives with my coffee 
and I order a small bowl of fries 
and a pint of Guinness to go with it. 
After all I shouldn't betray my 
Irish background. Besides, it'll help 
me numb the fatigue I feel in my 
limbs. I feel like a wreck.

Sitting here all by myself gives me a 
perfect opportunity to self-
reflect. I can't help an odd feeling 
of self-pity and disbelief washing 
over me. I should have been having a 
good time at some fancy 
restaurant right now, all dressed up 
and with my partner sitting 
across the table playing footsie with 
me. He's amazingly good at it, 
even when I still haven't figured out 
how he manages to get his shoe 
laces undone without me noticing it.

I smile at the thought, but that 
smile quickly vanishes when I realise 
where I am now instead of where I 
should have been. And perhaps it 
wasn't meant to be, who knows. 
Perhaps it was a sign, some kind of 
divine intervention. Briefly I wonder 
whether I'll be reading an 
article in tomorrow's paper about the 
distastrous collapse of the 
ceiling at 'Le Moulin Rouge' tonight 
and how fortunate it had been 
that a disaster like this happened on 
that one night the restaurant was 
closed to the public. Perhaps I will.

Though I probably won't be reading 
anything like that. I guess 
Mulder and I have just been unlucky 
tonight. So what else is new ...
The fries and the Guinness arrive. 
With a blank mind I take a sip 
from the bitter black liquid and 
quickly swallow it. It's the only way 
to drink it really, at least the 
first few times. After that I guess I 
just 
normally don't notice the taste very 
much anymore. I could do with 
Mulder being here now. Our 
conversation probably wouldn't reach 
further than our present case, but at 
least he'd be company. I feel too 
alone to care about possible topics 
of conversation. But then again, 
I've been talking business all day 
long. Maybe Mulder wouldn't be 
the best choice ...

A man slips into the booth beside me.

'Would you mind if I joined you?' he 
asks. I look at him briefly and 
shake my head, turning my attention 
back to my Guinness.

'Not at all,' I answer.

He smiles, shrugging off his leather 
jacket and folding it neatly 
before placing it on the plastic seat 
next to him. 'Thanks. I can't 
believe this place is so full on 
Tuesday nights.'

'Suppose it's the food that does the 
trick,' I answer, though 
personally I doubt whether that could 
be it. It's only because I'm 
dead starving that I haven't refused 
and sent back these fries already.

'Guess so,' he replies, flagging down 
the waitress to get her 
attention. 'Whatever she's having.'

I cut him a look. 'Wouldn't have 
taken you for someone to drink 
Guinness.'

He shrugs easily. 'I spent some time 
in England. They taught me the 
noble art of tolerating British 
beer.'

I smile at his words. 

Neither of us says anything for a 
little while. But it seems that the 
silence between us is getting to him 
for it doesn't take long for him 
to start talking again.

'So, erm, can I expect to see some 
guy turning up for you tonight?'
I look at him, a French fry halfway 
towards my mouth. He sees it 
and quickly composes himself. 'I 
mean, not that it's any of my 
business of course.'

I pop the fry in my mouth and munch 
on it before I answer. 

'Actually no. What makes you think 
someone might turn up?'

His drinks and fries arrive. His 
fries look even more disgusting than 
mine did. 'Well, you don't seem the 
kind of woman to me who'd be 
in the habit of frequenting bars like 
these all by herself, so I was 
thinking you were here waiting for 
someone. I mean, judging by 
your clothes and general appearance 
...'

I smile a little, finishing my 
cappucino. 'I don't. And I wasn't 
planning on being here tonight 
either.'

He smiles. 'Really? Where were you 
planning on being tonight 
then?'

'Originally I was going to have 
dinner with my partner at a really 
nice restaurant but someone had 
called in a bomb threat so we had to 
cancel our plans. And now I'm here.'

He gives the place a cursory glance. 
'Not much of a replacement I'd 
say.'

I follow his look across the formica 
furniture, the smoke-stained 
ceiling and the harsh white lighting. 
'No, not much of a 
replacement,' I admit. I decide to 
move on with our conversation 
before my feelings can catch up with 
me. I feel too instable tonight 
to try and deal with those guys. 'So, 
are you in the habit of coming 
here?'

'Me? Oh no, I don't even live 
anywhere near here,' he answers.

'Really? What are you doing here 
then?'

He shrugs. 'I went by the apartment 
of the woman of my dreams to 
apologise for the way I've been 
acting today but she wasn't home. 
So I thought I might as well go 
someplace inexpensive and grab a 
bite to eat. Saves me the trouble of 
having to microwave something 
myself.'

I look at him. 'Did you expect her to 
be home?'

He drinks his beer before he answers, 
then looks at me. 'I don't 
know really, but I figured she might 
have been. She doesn't have a 
great deal of friends and I was 
feeling lonely. And guilty. Kind of a 
disappointment when I found out she 
wasn't there though.'

Something about him tells me it was 
more than just disappointment 
he's feeling. I guess all my years 
with a trained psychologist and 
profiler like Mulder have made me 
more aware of the unspoken 
signs people emit.

'So,' I begin,' this woman of your 
dreams, what kind of person is 
she?' I don't have an earthly clue 
why I'm asking, after all it's none 
of my business, but I'm feeling weird 
tonight and I don't care.

The man smiles. 'She's beautiful and 
strong and intelligent. 
Brilliant, in fact, but then again I 
suppose she'd need to be smart and 
strong to counterbalance my 
occasional acts of blatant 
stupidity.'

I can't help but smile. 'You seem to 
know yourself pretty well.'

He grins, waving at the waitress and 
ordering two more pints of 
Guinness and some more fries. Then, 
when the waitress is gone, he 
continues. 'Well, I ought to, 
considering I've been doing crazy 
things often enough for anyone to 
have noticed. And especially when 
it's her I'm talking about.'

'You've known her for quite a while 
then?'

'About seven years now.'

'But, guessing from what you've told 
me just now, you're not 
married or anything?'

'Oh no,' he replies. 'We're just 
friends.'

'Just friends,' I repeat. 'You remind 
me of someone I know ...'

'I do?'

I nod with a faint smile. But, not 
wanting to go there, I sit back and 
change the subject. 'So, what do you 
do then?'

'I work for the government,' he 
answers. 'Shitty job, no status, bad 
pay. What do you do?'

'I work for the FBI,' I answer, 
unable to keep a small smile from 
tugging at my mouth. 'Shitty job, no 
status, bad pay. Long hours of 
paperwork, too.' We trade easy 
smiles.

'Yeah, I know what you mean.'

The fries and beer arrive and for a 
minute we are silent. Aerosmith 
is blaring in the background from the 
imitation Wurlitzer in the 
corner.

'So, erm, this partner you were 
talking about, the one you were 
going out with, is he your partner at 
the FBI?'

I nod. 'He is actually.'

'I thought you weren't supposed to 
have an affair as partners in law 
enforcement.'

'What tells you we're having an 
affair?'

'Well, you're going out to dinner 
with him, and ...' He looks at me. 

'Well, you talk pretty fondly of him 
and ...' He ducks his head. 
'Never mind. It's none of my 
business.'

I smile. Never thought I was so 
transparent where my feelings 
towards Mulder are concerned. 'It's 
not forbidden to have a 
relationship, although they do 
discourage it. But I guess eventually 
things just go the way they go and 
now we're involved.'

'I bet he feels really honoured to be 
with you.' 

I look at him. 'Why would you say 
that?'

He shrugs. 'Just a thought. What kind 
of a man is he?'

I laugh softly. Oh man, summarising 
Mulder ... What a task to set 
anyone. 'Well, he's very smart, very 
very smart in fact. He's really 
good-looking as well, which doesn't 
hurt his chances either. He's 
stubborn and single-minded, but at 
the same time he's unbelievably 
generous and compassionate, though he 
can at times be the greatest 
ass-hole ever to have walked the 
earth. He can be incredibly selfish 
and still give up everything he has 
to help me.' I take a deep breath. 
'I love him to bits, no matter what 
he does though.' 

Realising I've already said 
considerably more than I ever thought 
I 
would, I end abruptly. The man is 
looking at me intently.

'I bet things can get pretty intense 
between you and him.'

I nod, stirring around in the bowl of 
fries. 'Yes, they do. But our 
commitment to our work and to each 
other is just too strong to let 
such trivial matters ruin what we 
have.'

'He must be a real pain to work with 
sometimes.'

I laugh softly. 'He is.' I see the 
man smile widely in response. 'So, 
erm, this woman, is she your 
girlfriend?' I ask.

'I wouldn't call her my girlfriend, 
though technically speaking we 
are lovers. She'd probably knock me 
unconscious if I ever talked 
about her as my girlfriend.'

'Would she?'

He nods. 'Yeah, and besides ... Well, 
we work together and ...'

'What?'

'I guess you'd know what I'm talking 
about. Our lives sure seem to 
have a lot in common,' he says 
softly. I smile as my hand creeps in 
his. It's been nice, but it's time to 
end this game.

'Well, they should, shouldn't they?' 
I reply, making him grin. He 
bends over and kisses me.

'Yes, they should,' he says. 'Happy 
first anniversary, Scully.'

I smile at him. 'You, too, Mulder,' I 
say, returning his kiss gladly.

'Sorry about tonight,' he says but I 
shake my head and smile.

'Shut up about that, Mulder. I'm 
happy now.' 


THE END 

'Sumariar' = Summarizing in 
Portugese. Why Portugese? Because 
that gave me the nicest translation 
of 'summarizing'. It's that simple.

Kirsten Kerkhof * 
The Netherlands, 21-4-2001 ©