TITLE: Scrimmage (Snooping III)
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.
CATEGORY: SRH(?)
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance
SPOILERS: none
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Third story in the "Snooping" series. Mulder and
Scully face off; who will be the first to crack and confess about
snooping through the other's belongings?
DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed from Chris Carter, 1013,
and Fox. No infringement intended.
This story is a sequel to "Snooping" and "Sleuthing." I tried to
make it a stand-alone, but I don't think it really works if you haven't
read the others. Both stories are available on Ephemeral or from
my webpage:
http://www.oocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442
Thanks to Ten and Sue for beta-reading, and to Sue again for
making me get this thing done.
________
Scrimmage
by Susanne Barringer
I knock gently on the door, not really sure I want to go through
with this. Scully has asked me over to dinner to thank me for
taking care of her plants while she was away. I can't help but
suspect something is afoot.
I tried to right the wrong yesterday morning when I woke up and
realized I had left behind evidence of my snooping. I rushed out of
my apartment, calculating on the way to Scully's place the time it
would take for her to debark, wait for her luggage, walk to the
parking garage, exit the airport, and drive home in light Sunday
morning traffic. Even given the minutes that had already passed, I
thought there was a chance I could get there in time. I simply had
to a) drive to her house; b) move the watering can, which I left
standing like a beacon in front of the shelf that holds her private
journals; c) close the closet door I'd forgotten in my desperate need
to snoop a little more; and d) get the hell out of there before she
got home.
Despite all my careful calculations, I found I was wrong. I've never
been good in math anyway. I passed by Scully's building just in
time to see her letting herself into the front door of her building. I
knew I was snagged and there was nothing I could do about it. At
first I thought that maybe she wouldn't notice. Then I realized, it's
Scully, she'll notice. I also tried to convince myself that maybe she
wouldn't jump to the worst possible conclusion. Maybe she'd be
tired from her flight and wouldn't think too much about it. But I
had a sinking feeling I was kidding myself.
I waited all day for the inevitable phone call, but it didn't come.
Sometimes Scully calls me when she gets back into town;
sometimes she doesn't. I expected it this time, the questions, the
accusations. Zilch. I went to bed wondering if maybe I was going
to get away with it after all.
Things looked promising today as well. Eight hours in the office
together and she didn't say a word about it, didn't seem annoyed or
anything out of the ordinary. Then, she surprised me by asking me
to come for dinner. That was when I began to suspect something
was up.
Scully finally opens the door and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or
terrified. She smiles at me, though, as if it's just another of our get-
togethers. The thing is, we rarely get together quite like this.
I enter the apartment and she actually reaches up behind me to help
me pull off my jacket. Scully never takes my coat. I'm screwed.
She tells me to take a seat on the sofa, then she sits next to me,
looking brilliantly beautiful in a sweater and jeans. I can't help but
wonder if she's wearing one of those sexy things underneath that
sweater, which leads to a return of my damned imagination toying
with that black teddy I found, which leads to a wave of heat passing
through me, just what I don't need at this moment. If I'm going to
get chewed out, it would be much more polite if I didn't have a
hard-on at the time.
"Dinner's going to be about another half hour," she says, "I just put
the casserole in the oven."
"That's fine," I say, surprised at how nervous I sound. She's being
just a touch too nice, a touch too accommodating. Or maybe I'm
just paranoid.
It only takes a few seconds before she says the magic words.
"Thanks for taking care of my plants, Mulder. I really appreciate
it." I watch her eyes, her face. Not a sign of sarcasm, not a note of
accusation. She sounds sincere.
"Any time, Scully." I swallow hard to keep my voice from
cracking. Scully studies me carefully, and for a second I'm sure she
knows, then the look passes and she smiles radiantly at me.
This is torture.
"Um, Scully, I just thought I'd mention that while I was here, I saw
a roach." I'm constructing the cover story on the fly, having just at
this moment rejected the three possibilities I had planned ahead of
time. Like this one's any better.
"A roach?"
"Yeah, one of those big mothers. It ran across your bedroom floor.
Of course, I didn't want to just leave it, so I killed it for you."
"How gallant of you, Mulder. Thanks. I hate those things." I
know she's being slightly sarcastic, but I'm not sure if it's because
she's stringing me along or she's simply making fun of my story.
Now I just have to clarify a bit to close the case once and for all.
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, it ran under the closet door, and that's
where I found it. In the closet. That's where I killed it." Christ,
I'm babbling. Could I have made that any more obvious?
"In the closet?" she arches a killer eyebrow at me. "I see."
"Yeah, I just didn't want you to think I was snooping or anything."
I realize as the words cross my lips that I just went too far. If she
had a seed of doubt, I just fertilized it. Damn it.
"Why would I think you were snooping, Mulder?" She asks it in
voice of innocence and curiosity, but I sense a smidgen of
underlying sarcasm, just the slightest note. I blew it. I was free and
clear and now I'm going to get nailed.
"No reason, I just thought, well, that you wouldn't appreciate me
going through your closet."
"No, I wouldn't." The delivery is deadly serious. She knows.
There is a long excruciating moment of silence. Scully looks at me,
smiling, looking for all the world like a woman who is thrilled by
my chivalrous killing of a roach. Then the kill shot.
"What were you looking for?"
Fuck.
"I told you, Scully. A roach. It ran into your closet." I fiddle with
the corners of the couch cushion, not really sure what I should do
to make myself sound more sincere.
"And you were looking for a roach when you went through the rest
of my apartment too?" Oh boy, that woman sure can spot a con a
mile away. How did she find out? Did she dust for prints for God's
sake? I never should have played it this way.
"How did you know?" I figure I might as well take the heat now.
No sense in playing games. In some ways I'm glad to be rid of the
secret which has been weighing on my conscience. I have, after all,
seriously stepped over the line.
"I didn't. But now I do." She flashes me a smile of triumph. I can't
believe I just fell for the oldest trick in the book. Sucker.
Scully looks at me, her smile fading quickly. I see something
building in her eyes, something I don't like. I don't see it often, but
having experienced it before I can never forget it. Scully's anger is
lethal.
Suddenly, she stands up. She grabs me by the hand and drags me
off the sofa and into the bedroom. If I didn't know better, I'd think
I'm about to get laid, but that couldn't possibly be. Not when she's
angry like this. Actually, probably not ever.
When we get to the bedroom, she drops my hand and heads for the
closet, pulling the door open. Then she moves to the dresser and
yanks every drawer wide open, followed by the nightstands.
"There you go, Mulder. You can see everything. Is that what you
wanted? Huh? What the hell did you think you were looking for?"
Her eyes are flashing murderous threats, her hands on her hips.
She's pissed. I can think of nothing to say, the innuendo that
flashes through my brain luckily falling silent across my lips. This is
definitely not the right time for it.
"C'mon, Mulder." She pushes me toward the dresser. "Have a
look. Go ahead." I resist the physical shoving she's giving me,
pulling away from her hands.
"Scully, cut it out. It wasn't like that. I was just curious."
"About what? What did you think you would find? Secrets? Did
you think I was hoarding mementos of you? All the cards you've
ever sent me? All the notes you've ever written me?" She stops
suddenly, her sentence falling off into silence.
Hold on. Back the train up.
"What did you just say?"
She turns away from me and mumbles something that sounds like
"Nothing."
I walk around her so that we're facing again. "Scully, what the hell
did that mean? How did you know I keep all your notes?"
She looks flustered, confused. "I didn't. I was just making up an
example." Scully can't lie, especially to me, and as I see the blush
creep over her cheeks I know for sure she's lying. The fact that her
anger has deflated as quickly as her words is another clear signal
that she's just let a pretty huge cat out of the bag.
"Scully!" I don't intend to shout but there's a note of desperation to
my voice. Could she have gone through my belongings as well?
How the hell did she find that box with her notes? It was in my
closet for God's sake, not just lying around.
She heaves a heavy sigh, then looks me straight in the eye. "When
you were late one day and I was waiting for you, I kind of looked
around." Her brows are knitted in concentration, like there's
something intense going on in that analytical brain of hers. "I was
looking for a pen," she adds.
"A pen? In the closet?" That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
Far more lame than my "I was chasing a roach" story.
"No, I just sort of ended up there. Looking in the closet."
"You little hypocrite!" I'm torn between righteous indignation and
outright laughter. "You didn't have any problem nosing through my
personal belongings, but it's cause for execution if I go through a
few drawers?"
She shrugs her shoulders. "Well, yeah, somehow that's different,"
she says thoughtfully. And then she starts to laugh, and I am
laughing too. This is funny, after all. Sort of. I momentarily panic.
What else did she find? I run through a catalogue of my
belongings, my secrets. It's not like I willingly keep secrets from
Scully. There are just things I prefer she not know about, things
that have to do with her.
Suddenly she is serious. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I really am. I know I
shouldn't have done it. I just wondered, you know? I just
wondered what you do at home, what you keep, what things you
put away. I don't really know you. Not really. I don't know what
you're like when you're not with me."
I put my hands on her shoulders to show I understand, that we are
in the same boat, always in the same boat, rocking like crazy but
never actually tipping over. "I know, Scully. I know exactly what
you mean. I just started looking through your things because I felt
like I was learning about you, things that you would never tell me,
that I could only uncover through evidence."
"The truth is out there?" She laughs quietly, shaking her head in
admission of our silliness, then she rests her forehead on my chest
in affection. I wrap my arms around her and stand still, just sort of
enjoying this rather perverse and unexpected moment in our
history.
Then Scully lifts her head and meets my eye. "Why do you have
bottles of White Musk shampoo and stuff?" she asks suddenly, her
mood turning just as suddenly from kidding to not-kidding. Yes,
the truth is out there, but this is one truth I'd rather not face.
I drop my arms from around her shoulders and take a step back,
wondering if there's any possible way to get out of this awkward
situation. "Uh, I don't know. I just have them. I like the scent?"
It comes out as a question. She nods but says nothing. I am
powerless to resist that look, that incredible look she gets when
she's just waiting for me to spill something. "Okay, the truth is I
bought them for you. Just in case . . . I don't know . . . just in case
you were ever staying at my house or something and needed a
shower. I thought it would be nice. It smells like you," I add,
against my better judgment.
"And the White Musk massage oil?" Boy, she really did snoop.
"Wait, let me guess. Just in case I was ever at your house and
*needed* a massage?" she asks quite seriously, but the smile
tugging at her mouth gives her away.
"Yeah, something like that."
"Well, you never know, I guess," she says, shrugging her shoulders.
She steps past me and closes the nightstand drawers which have
been lying open all this time. I must say, I'm surprised at her
comment. I'm usually the one with the snappy innuendoes.
I suddenly feel extremely daring, still riding high on the adrenaline
rush of our scrimmage and its subsequent teasing. I step around
her and move toward the open dresser, pulling out the black teddy
that I had found and examined during my sleuthing. "Just make
sure you're wearing this when you come over for that massage," I
tease, dangling it between us.
"MULDER!" she reaches out and snatches it from me, hiding it
behind her back. She looks amused, humored, with just a surface
of annoyance that goes no deeper than the smile she can't quite
control. "I cannot believe you went through my lingerie drawers!"
"I was looking for a pen," I deadpan, echoing her earlier excuse.
"And don't even TRY to tell me you didn't at least peek in my
underwear drawers." She rolls her eyes in annoyance but then
surprises me by laughing.
Then, I watch something amazing cross her face, something brazen
and wild. "I have one of these in green too," she says softly, pulling
the black teddy from behind her back to look at it. "Just like it, but
cut a little lower." She motions with her free hand to a point down
between her breasts. Way down.
Jesus Christ.
I'm not sure what to say. I'm pretty sure anything I say will ruin
this moment, this unbelievable moment in which, if I'm not crazy, I
believe Scully is flirting with me. More than flirting. She's . . .
What the hell is she doing?
She just stands there looking at me, waiting for me to say
something, I'm sure. There isn't a single word in my brain. Not
one. I'm unable to speak. I try though, and what comes out is
embarrassing. A sigh with, God help me, a moan. I just fucking
moaned, or groaned, or something. Whatever it was, it just
revealed my hand, which is, in fact, not exactly the body part I'm
most afraid of revealing at the moment.
My mind is inundated with images: Scully in my bathtub, Scully
using her vibrator, Scully in that negligee at my apartment waiting
for her massage. It's image overload and I am in deep, deep
trouble.
"Mulder?" I hear her voice, tiny and soft but cutting through the
thick fog of desire that has surrounded me. "What are you thinking
about?" she asks, placing her warm hand on my arm. I'm honestly
not sure if she knows what she's asking. And if she does, well,
things are about to take a fast and furious turn toward the
unbelievable.
"Nothing," I say, but it comes out more like a croak. I make a
beeline for the doorway. I need to get out of this room, the
bedroom. There's nothing but trouble in here.
I feel Scully right behind me as I head for the living room.
"Mulder?" she says, her voice quiet and unsure. I turn to look at
her. Her face is a mixture of confusion and concern. And
expectancy. She looks expectant. God help me. The realization
settles across me, knocking my heart into a faster rhythm. There's
only one thing to do.
I take a deep breath and head straight for the front door. Yes, I'm a
coward. I'm not taking any chances. I must be misreading her.
Better safe than sorry. And she'd make sure I was very sorry, I
have no doubt.
I reach the door, then turn around to see that she has not followed
me any further. "It's late. I'd better go," I hear myself say even
though a voice in my head reminds me that it can't be any later than
7:30 and that we haven't even eaten yet. Idiot.
She says nothing. That expectant face falls into what looks like
disappointment. I must be wrong; I have to be wrong. I open the
door, step out without looking back, then close the door behind me,
gently, but somehow the sound of it is eerily final. The separation
between us, a physical one now, gives me a desperately needed
moment to think.
I stand outside Scully's door and take a few deep breaths, trying to
figure out what just happened. I decide to analyze it rationally.
Was Scully coming on to me?
Then
her hand touching between her breasts, leaving a slight indentation
in her sweater, a little dimple in the fabric. She had looked down at
her finger, pointing to the imaginary décolletage, then she looked
up at me without raising her face, her eyes turned up in a Bette
Davis way that almost made me keel over. The whole thing was
sexy as hell, and definitely not Scully. She had to have been coming
on to me.
On the other hand, "Scully" and "coming on" in the same sentence
seems insane. She doesn't come on to people. She definitely
doesn't come on to me. Not that she isn't capable, because she sure
as hell is, but she just doesn't.
The images swirl around in my brain. ,
indentation of sweater, begging eyes, expectant look. She WAS
expectant. I didn't dream that. I didn't. Oh my God, Scully was
coming on to me.
Ninety percent sure I'm right, and knowing that if it turns out to be
the other ten percent I'll be eating lead, I knock loudly on the door.
Actually, I think I pound on the door, although I meant to knock
patiently. In any case, the sound of it echoes through the hallway.
I almost knock and run like my friends and I used to do when we
were kids. Scully answers within seconds, though, leaving me no
time to flee again.
"Hi," she says with a smile. I'll be damned, she looks expectant.
I'm ninety-five percent sure now.
I clear my throat so my voice will be clear and not that croaky thing
that's characterized everything I've said to her in the last ten
minutes.
"I'd like to see the green one."
END
__________
feedback to: sbarringer@usa.net (and yes, there is a plan for a
fourth part, eventually).
All my fanfic available at:
http://www.oocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442
(
geocities.com/area51/dreamworld) (
geocities.com/area51)