From: Anne Haynes Date: 20 Dec 1998 07:04:57 GMT Subject: What They Don't Know 1/1 DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and Bill Scully Jr. belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and the Fox Network. I mean no infringement. CATEGORY: V, R RATING: PG-13 for sexual frankness KEYWORDS: MSR SPOILERS: "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas" SUMMARY: Scully's late for her family Christmas. "What They Don't Know" by Anne Haynes Ahaynes33@aol.com I am sore as hell. Not exactly an unusual state of being after a night with Mulder--but usually the aches don't come from sex on a sofa. Not that I'm complaining. He has a certain post-coital charm that is making it really hard to get dressed and leave this drafty old apartment. But it's nearly eight a.m. and I still have to go home, shower and change. I'm already two hours late for the family get together. Thank God Mulder was thoughtful enough to nudge me awake just before six a.m. to call my mother and tell the family not to wait for me. I didn't explain why. What they don't know won't hurt them. Even if I'm getting one hell of a kick out of it. Mulder's in the kitchen, making noise. Cooking, I think. I hear a sizzling noise and there are nice smells coming from that direction. I don't have the heart to refuse his culinary arts, even though I swear I can hear Bill grousing about my tardiness from here. There's a little devil in me, one that takes an almost childish delight in pissing off my older brother, who's tempted to invite Mulder along to this Christmas get-together. Not that I think that he'll come--or that it would be a good idea, since Bill is going to be there. But I can't help playing out the fantasy scene in my head--Mulder walking through the door, arms loaded with gifts for the whole Scully clan, wearing that smart-ass smirk he gets whenever my brother's name comes up. And I can definitely see Bill. Wearing a look on his face like he just smelled something bad. Huffing and puffing and completely unable to do a damned thing about it because he's in Mom's house and she doesn't allow bloodshed at Christmas. I'm almost ashamed of myself for the thought. But it's Christmas, and I've had a rough couple of Christmases. So rough that if I let myself think about them, I'll ruin any hope of Christmas cheer. I refuse to do that this year. I refuse to be unhappy. And if a little petty enjoyment at the expense of those who claim to love me most makes me a selfish person, so be it. Bill is a jerk. Of course, he's MY jerk, and I know that his concerns, however misguided and irritating, are out of love for me. Even if he doesn't really know who I am. Mulder's not exactly Mr. Conciliation either. But I think maybe he loves me, too. And I'm pretty damned sure he'd punch out my brother for me. I get a kick out of that, too. So sue me. Okay, I wouldn't really let him punch out Bill. For one thing, if Bill needs punching, I can do it myself. And for another, I have too much respect for my mother to risk getting blood on her new carpet. But a girl likes to be the center of attention now and then. Right? I pad barefoot into Mulder's kitchen and lean against the door, staring at him. He turns and smiles at me. "Merry Christmas." Mulder is wearing the most godawful hat I've ever seen, one of those stocking caps like you'd see on the Cat in the Hat. I try not to stare. Or laugh. And I'm hoping like hell that's not green eggs and ham in that skillet. It's regular eggs, folded into a fluffy omelet. No ham, which is fine, because I don't really like ham that much. He halves the omelet with the spatula and slides each half onto a separate plate. "O.J. in the fridge if you want it." He nods toward the refrigerator. Then he adds, "Just bought it last week so it's fresh." I don't want to know why he felt the need to add that. I grab a couple of glasses from the cabinet and pour orange juice for us both, following him into the living room. We cleaned up the sofa earlier for comfort's sake--and to save the leather, although I'm not sure we were quick enough for that. But I imagine that I can still smell the lingering musk of sex. Mulder and me and sex on the sofa. Hoo boy. Mulder gives me a smoldering look as I sit next to him. I'm thinking that maybe I can just drop the presents off at Mom's, excuse myself with a story about a pressing case, and run back here to Mulder's for another round of Christmas cheer. Of course, first--that ridiculous hat has GOT to go. I tug it off his head and toss it toward his desk. He grumbles but I can see the grin in his eyes. I realize the hat was there all along just to make me smile. I reward his effort, and I swear, he's melting into a little puddle of MulderGoo, right there on the sofa in front of me. Who knew this was the way to bend Mulder to my will? I eat the omelet quickly, trying not to think about other ways I learned to bend Mulder to my will. Delicious ways. I have to be at my mom's house in less than an hour, damn it. I can't stop for a quickie. Or a not so quickie. Or an all-day-and-into-the- nightie. Tempting as that may be. "Mulder, I have to go." I come off sounding like Marlene Dietrich trying to lure Jimmy Stewart into her boudoir. Only without the German accent and the long legs. Mulder's got that Jimmy Stewart "deer caught in the headlights" look, too, and if I don't leave now, we'll be rewriting the ending to DESTRY RIDES AGAIN. And just the thought "rides again" has me damned near wet and ready. I push away from Mulder, whose hands have found my hips. His fingers trail down my thighs as I move, and I'm thinking that it's not exactly a crime to skip your family get-together, even if your brother can't make it town more than once or twice a year. But Mulder chooses this moment to be a good boy and lets me go. I back toward the door, not willing to turn my face from him just yet. God knows what I'll find when I get back here in--hmm, would thirty minutes appease my family? Forty-five, I compromise, and I turn and hit the door running. If I hurry, I can be back in about three hours, which surely won't give Mulder enough time to make the full transition from post-sex bliss to post-bliss second-guessing. We are so screwed up. I don't know why I even think we have a chance in hell of making this new twist in our relationship work. Was last night--whatever the hell it was--a precursor of our fate? Not the sex--I know what the hell THAT was, even if it's been a while--but the other thing, the weird couple and the gunshots and all that blood that wasn't. Was it a cautionary tale? Will we destroy each other, no matter what we try to do to keep it from happening? No. I refuse to believe that. I've known too many moments, in the midst of madness, when Mulder's hand reached into the fray and dragged me to safety. Too many times when I did the same for him. And then, there was last night, when our hands found even more satisfying ways to save us--from darkness, from hopelessness, from loneliness. I'm not worried anymore about what happens when I get back. We'll work it out. We always do. Bill greets me at the door of my mother's home, foot tapping. But his stern expression melts at the sight of my happy smile. He can't help it--he grins back as he helps me bring in all the gifts I brought, and I take a special secret pleasure in knowing what he doesn't know--just what deliciously wicked things Mulder did to me all night long to put that smile on my face. Yes sir, it's a damn fine Christmas already--the best in years. And it's only just begun. = END = Anne Haynes My XF Fanfic is stored at http://members.aol.com/ahaynes33/index.htm