Mexican Fried Ice Cream Man
by Mish
Rating: PG-13
Classification: MSR, mostly. With a dab of angst and
a dash of humor. Musea improv fic.
Spoilers: Vague allusions to a couple of eps. Blink
and you'll miss them. But nothing major.
Distribution: Sure, go ahead. Just let me know where!
Summary: MFICM to the rescue. Andele, andele, arriba!
Yeehaa!
For Angel, because she asked. And because I'm in the
mood for sap. Oh - and Mulder's back. Just go with
it.
I smell it before I hear the alarm. Faint, almost
burnt-sugar smell of smoke. Then the blare assaults
my ears.
Damn. It almost hurts, that too-loud buzz. Whatever
happened to the ring of schoolhouse fire alarms? The
kind that the smart- ass in your class would pull as
you filed into the lunchroom. Much more pleasant than
this techno-electric grate along my spine.
Sighing, I look up from my slide viewer and turn to
Scully, intending to get her to see what all the fuss
is about. I really don't feel like abandoning my
nice, warm basement for what probably is someone's
burnt toaster pastry.
Except she's not there.
"Scully?" She probably went to the bathroom.
"Scully!"
No answer. Shit.
My back groans when I stand. Too much bending over
the viewer today. And now I have to walk into the
hall - a task made more difficult by the charleyhorse
in my right leg.
The smell is stronger out here. "Scully!" I bang on
the restroom door. How can she not hear that? And
smell that?
Because she's not in there, a fact I see immediately
when I push open the door. Not in any of the stalls.
Fuck. That means she's somewhere upstairs... did she
say she was going upstairs? I sort of remember
grunting at her about an hour ago. When she said,
"I'll be back later."
I hobble back to my desk and pick up my cell phone.
Precious seconds pass as I listen to it ring.
"Come on, damn it. Pick up," I mumble, shaking out
the pain in my leg as I prepare to fly.
Fire... maybe she went to Quantico... flames... please
don't let her be up there... smoke... she's up there,
I know she is.
The line clicks in the middle of the third ring.
"Scully? Hello?"
But her voice mail answers me. "Shit!" I yell, only
to be greeted by a fierce crackle as the line finally
cuts out. Silence. Can fire screw up a cell phone
connection?
The telephone drops from my nerveless fingers and my
stomach drops to my knees. I can't go up there. I
can't. The old familiar fear freezes me in my tracks.
It's not that I'm afraid of being trapped down here.
At the top of the back stairs is an exit to the
courtyard. To fresh air.
Scully is up there somewhere. Visions of her
surrounded by flames scare me more than my fear of
fire. What if she's trapped? What if nobody hears
her cries for help?
Ignoring my gripping nausea, I bound up the stairs,
pausing for a second to give the exit a wistful look.
No. I'm not going to take the easy way out. She's
my... hell, she's everything to me. I may roast like
a pig on the spit, but I'm not leaving this building
without her.
As I turn to take the next flight, I'm nearly
bombarded by the personnel from the upper floors
hastily making their way downstairs.
"Wrong way, Spooky," one of them sneers at me, shoving
me with his shoulder in an effort to flee.
"Anyone see Scully?" I throw at the swarm, ignoring
the mean looks at my swim upstream.
All I hear is murmurs of, "Get the hell out of the
way, moron," and, "Idiot."
Then a voice in the cacophony, accompanied by a timid
hand on my arm.
"Agent Mulder?"
Holly. I pull her to a corner of the next landing,
out of the line of evacuees.
"Have you seen Scully?" I ask, her face starting to
blur in the smoke-tinged air.
"I had to leave the party early, but the last time I
saw her -"
The party. Now I remember, like someone turned up the
volume in my head. Don't tell me I tuned her out
again. I'm such an obsessive, consumed-by-work
asshole.
Her yell follows my frantic start back up the stairs.
"Fourth floor break room!"
Damn, damn, double damn. I forgot all about the
fucking party. Someone retiring, I think. Vaguely,
another Scully pre- departure remark comes to me. She
asked me if I wanted to make an appearance with her.
I also remember my snide, "Hell, no." She decided to
go without me, saying that one of us should try to be
sociable. Did I even look up when she left?
Sweat and smoke cloud my vision by the time I make it
up to the fourth floor. I take a shaky breath and
press the back of my hand to the door. It's cool.
Good sign. Then a deep breath - punctuated by the
onset of coughing - and I'm braving the fire.
Except there's no fire. Just a helluva lot of smoke.
"Scully!" The smoke gags me, but it's really not that
thick, on second thought. I can see figures moving
about in it down the hall and I head in that direction
immediately.
"Hey, buddy, you can't go down there!" A muffled
voice hits me between the shoulder blades. Yes, I
can, and you can't stop me. I'm a man on a mission.
Goddamned Superman. No one is going to stop me.
Well, almost no one. The break room door is in sight
when I'm grabbed from behind and spun around.
"Didn't you hear me?" The fireman's incredulous
question is tempered by the mask he has on. "You've
got to leave, now!"
"I can't..." I gasp, doubling over just a teeny bit.
The smoke isn't that bad, really. I've kind of been
fighting a chest cold this winter, that's all. It's
hard to breathe when you're congested. "Scully...
my...."
My frantic plea ends in a gale of coughing. No, no.
I can't leave... Scully is in there somewhere.
"There's no one left on this floor, buddy!" he yells.
"But...." Wheezing, I fall to my knees, obstinate to
the very end. He's *not* going to make me leave
without Scully.
"That's it," Fireman Fred tells me, before heaving me
over his shoulder. Damn, but he's got this Hulk Hogan
thing going. I didn't realize how massive he was
under all that gear.
Great. Now I really can't breathe. He's trotting
toward the back stairs and with every slam of his
boots against the floor, what little air I can take in
whooshes out.
I'm such a weenie. I can't even put up a struggle,
though panic has set in with ferocity, my heart
pounding and all the blood rushing to my head.
My last thought before I pass out is that Scully is
gonna kill me if I end up in the hospital. Some
superhero.
Ladies and gentlemen... WeenieMan.
**********
Oxygen. Pure, clean oxygen. Well, it would feel
pretty damned good if I wasn't crying under the
plastic mask like a child that's lost his mother in
the mall.
I know she's in this crowd somewhere; from my seat in
the open doors of the ambulance, though, I can't see a
fucking thing past the sidewalk. And when I tried to
stand a few minutes ago, I almost passed out again.
At least one of the firemen wrapped a blanket around
me, or I'd freeze to death.
I'm such a fuck-up. First I ignore her practically
all day, then refuse to attend the party with her.
Then, in my macho hero routine, manage to suffer smoke
inhalation... the only employee to do so, I might add.
Between huddling for warmth on the frigid,
snow-covered grass and catching smokes before they
trudge back inside, they're all laughing at me.
Scully? Where are you? God damn this weakness.
"Mulder?"
Ah, Skinner to the rescue. Ripping off the mask, I
stand on shaky legs. "Sir... I can't find Scully..."
I grip his arms to steady myself.
He sits me back down and pulls up the blanket. "She's
okay, Mulder, take it easy."
"Where? Where is she?" I croak. Shit, my voice
sounds like someone scraped my vocal cords with their
fingernails. Hurts like a bitch, too.
"Stuck between the first and second floors. She was
on her way back down to the basement when the
elevators locked down. She called me on her cell
after she tried you and got your voice mail."
Shit, that figures. She must have called me at the
same time I was calling her and got *her* voice mail.
Oh, and then I compounded my brilliance by leaving my
cell in the office before rushing to the rescue.
Would somebody please stamp a big WeenieMan 'W' on my
forehead?
"Maintenance was working on getting the elevators
operating again when I got there. She should be out
in just a few minutes. Actually, she ordered me to
come find you." He grins, pushing me back to my seat
gently. "If the tone of her voice was any indication,
she's not hurt, just pissed."
I'll bet she is. But better pissed than burned. I
slump onto the floorboard of the ambulance, relief
flooding me.
"Fire?" It's all I can manage.
"A non-fire, really," he explains, shoving his hands
into his coat pockets with chagrin. "Seems your
partner was instructing the other women on the fine
art of making Mexican fried ice cream on the break
room stove. Right after she left, a small grease fire
got out of hand. Basically, just a lot of smoke."
That little... how dare she put herself in danger like
that? How dare she put -
My fuming thoughts are interrupted by the parting of
the black sea of suitcoats. From here, it looks like
I'm not the only one attempting the hero bit. Of
course, he *is* a fireman... and I'm just a government
employee.
Hey... that's not fair. I get the over-the-shoulder
treatment and this person gets the cradle-in-the-arms.
Wait a minute.
That's not a person. That's my wife.
Staring up at the chisel-jawed, soot-cheeked fireman
in fluorescent yellow like he's Adonis. Oh, this is
*so* not fair. She's mesmerized. When has she ever
looked at me that way?
And he's smiling back, the son-of-a-bitch. Get those
lustful thoughts right out of your head, asshole.
Can't you see she's pregnant? With *my* child?
Okay, so she doesn't wear a wedding ring. Never got
around to getting her one. We never got around to
really spreading the nuptial news, either. And she
*is* wrapped in a blanket similar to mine, effectively
hiding the swell that *I* put there.
Why haven't I told the world that it's my doing,
anyway? Okay, *our* doing. Suddenly the thought that
it's my sperm that impregnated the invincible, last
Scully ovum... well, my chest puffs up with male
pride.
Or could be I'm about to start coughing again. My
eyes are getting teary....
She's so fucking beautiful. The most beautiful thing
I've seen all day. My ego takes a back seat to fear
as they approach; she sees me and struggles a bit,
trying to get down.
"Scully -" I try to admonish her, but my voice is a
mere whisper now. In no time, I've shrugged my cape -
er, blanket - further up my manly shoulders and I'm
there, right before them.
"Mulder, you okay? Let me down," she directs Adonis
with a glare. He complies, and stands there stupidly.
Waiting for a kiss from the damsel, I suppose. Not
this time, buddy.
She's glaring, not staring. That's what my hazy
vision picked up on seconds ago. Skinner was right
when he said she was pissed.
"Thanks," she throws over her shoulder, her eyes
already sweeping me for injury. I'm fine, Scully, I
try to tell her, but by now it's nothing more than a
squeak.
"You really should let the paramedics take a look at
you," Gargantua interrupts. Why? Is she hurt? Was
that why he was carrying her? But Skinner said she
was okay.
Scully notices my panic face. "I'm fine, Mulder.
Firefighting protocol, from what I understand." She
rolls her eyes in the direction of her rescuer as she
explains the carry out of the building. She's not
fooled for one minute and neither am I. Copping a
feel, eh buddy?
Flashing him a pair of knife-wielding eyes, I notice
at once how much he looks like Howie Long. Wonder if
he has the crewcut, too? All brawn and good looks
without a trace of pyrophobia.
Okay, so he rescued Scully. Really, I should be
shaking his hand with gratitude. Right after I punch
his lights out for putting the moves on my wife. But
at the moment, all I want to do is hold her and he's
trying to insinuate himself between us. Beat it, pal.
Thankfully, Scully says what I'm itching to say.
Except her words contain less colorful language and
just the right amount of disinterested dismissal.
"Thank you, Rex...."
Rex? Kinda fits. He *is* drooling all over Scully.
".... but my husband will take care of me now."
"Your husband?" he and Skinner say simultaneously.
Shit. Forgot the big guy was right behind me. Hell,
he knew about Scully's pregnancy. Before I did, in
fact. Why should the fact that we made it legitimate
surprise him?
Scully peels off both of their hides with an
exasperated glare, rolling her eyes yet again. "Could
we have a moment, gentlemen?" They don't move, so she
bites, "Alone?"
That's my girl. Though if she knew I was thinking
that, she'd flay me, too.
They get the hint, blending back into the crowd with
scowls. Though I can't decide who's more surprised by
the news - Rex or Skinner.
"Mulder, you sure you're okay?" she asks quietly,
stepping closer so I can feel the heat of her body.
She brings a small hand out from under the blanket and
soothes the pressure mark the mask made on my cheek.
Nodding, I assure her that I'm fine. Just a little
hoarse, I mime, pointing to my throat.
I tried to rescue you, Scully. I wanted to be your
hero.
The almost catastrophe overwhelms me in an instant as
I realize just how serious this could have been.
Moving closer, I open my blanket to wrap my arms
around her.
"Whoa! Wait a minute!" She pulls away and fumbles
with her blanket, drawing something from underneath
its folds. "Damn. It's ruined."
A small Styrofoam bowl sits in the palm of her hand,
with something repulsive-looking rolling around in it.
I feel my lips curl into a grimace.
"Mexican fried ice cream," she explains with a sigh.
"I was bringing it down to you when all hell broke
loose."
The gooey mess slithers around in the bowl and what
looks like corn flakes and a maraschino cherry buoy
for dominance on its rough seas. It looks like puke
and combined with the afternoon's excitement, it makes
my stomach turn.
Taking it from her hand, I toss it as far away from my
burning nose as I can and actually feel loads better
when it lands on the back of Rex's fireproof jacket.
Score! He doesn't even feel it; too much testosterone
must dull your reaction time or something.
Her face falls into a sad pout and it occurs to me
that she's about to cry. Shit.
This time, I manage to enfold her in my embrace for
good. Together we stand on that freezing sidewalk,
her head tucked under my chin.
"It was a baby shower, Mulder," she says, tears making
her voice waver. "I've been so indifferent to all of
them and they gave me a shower. The gifts must be
upstairs still... though they're probably ruined..."
A baby shower. They gave her a surprise baby shower.
Jesus. I should have gone with her.
Hiccup, gasp, then she starts again. "And I wanted to
be nice... it was so fun... Dad used to make Mexican
fried ice cream, did I ever tell you that?.... And I
wanted you to taste it... it was so good."
My blanket fits around the both of us easily, just
like my arms fit around her and my baby with room to
spare. Rubbing my hands along her back, I try to calm
her, but to no avail. Shock is setting in with her,
too. Pregnancy hormones must make it ten times worse.
"And then I got stuck in the elevator... and all I
could get was your voice mail... and I'm too big to
squeeze through the escape door...."
No, she isn't. But I'm not about to argue with her
right now. Hell, I couldn't even if I wanted to.
".... and Mom is coming over for dinner tonight and
the baby's room is full of your junk... and I have
laundry to do... and the dryer is broken...."
Oh, yeah. I was supposed to call a repairman.
Yesterday. Shit.
".... and I just told Skinner we were married...."
Her tear-stained face jerks up, her blue eyes
red-rimmed and wide. "Mulder! I just told Skinner we
-"
Silencing her with my finger, I decide to stop her
before she goes back to "...and all I could get was
your voice mail..." by kissing her.
She tastes like tears and cherry-tinged vanilla ice
cream. And everyone is looking, I can feel it. Who
the fuck cares?
I'm kissing my wife. My *pregnant* - though she never
admitted to anyone it was my baby (she said it was
none of their damned business)... *beautiful* - though
I don't tell her that often enough... wife.
"My..." she begins, her warmth breath caressing my
mouth.
No, don't say it, Scully. Much as I'd like to think
it, I'm not your hero. Skinner is. Or Rex the Wonder
Dog over there.
"Mulder," she finishes, whispering against my lips.
That's more like it. Just Mulder. *Her* Mulder.
She melts into me, just like Mexican fried ice cream,
and I pick her up in *my* arms, breaking the kiss with
a smile. Exhaustion is fast taking hold of her, just
as my fatigue segues into a burst of adrenaline.
I feel my smile turn goofy right about the time her
face becomes dreamy. She may not say it - hell, that
would sound too much like Scully on LSD - but she's
looking at me the way I've always wanted her to look
at me. Like I'm a hero. Superman, Spiderman and the
Green Hornet all rolled into one.
Tomorrow, she'll be mortified at the scene we've
created. Take a good look, people, because Scully
will never let me do this again. My cape feels like
it's been branded with a big-assed 'M', judging from
the open-mouthed stares of the disbelieving public.
So what if we can't keep it a secret anymore? They
gave her a baby shower. The least I can do is give
them confirmation.
Ladies and gentlemen, 'Mexican Fried Ice Cream Man'
says "Mucho gracias" to you for giving his wife a
baby shower.
If I'm gonna walk the walk, I gotta talk the talk, am
I right?
A megaphoned voice gives the okay for everyone to file
back inside. But we're not going in, I tell Skinner
with a nod at the parking garage. He knows very well
Scully's had it for the day. He gives me a wave of
agreement and departs with the rest, though the glint
in his eye tells me we're not finished with the
marriage news. Like I didn't know that already.
As I stride through the crowd on the way to the car, I
dimly realize what I'll be doing once we blow this
joint.
I'm going home with Scully. To fix dinner for her
mother. To clean out the baby's room. And call a
dryer repairman.
Hey - I can cook. I can clean, too. And I can face
the SkinMan in his office tomorrow and we'll do the
'why didn't you tell me' dance about the marriage
while we posture in our imaginary capes.
But one thing I cannot do is repair dryers. I'm not
really a superhero, you know. I don't want bulging
muscles or females swooning in adoration.
Yo solo quiero a mi esposa mexicana frita del helado.
END
Translation: "I only want my Mexican fried ice cream
wife."
Author's Notes: Mucho gracias to Musea, for talking me
into this and for the sterling beta. Especially
Bonnie... "You are my inspiration, Bonnieee..."
So it's not a Christmas fic, but it's got a
semi-roaring fire, snow, and schmoop. And one very
important character that I miss terribly.
Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad, Merry Christmas... Happy
Holidays!
Mish
mish_rose@yahoo.com
Elements:
a semi-real fire in the office
cute, smudged fire-fighters
ice cream
dryer in need of repair
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