Title: Practice Classification: SRA Keywords: BRIEF Mulder/Other; MSR/UST. Try it, you'll like it. Rating: R, for language. Spoilers: Paper Clip, Emily, Redux II, Sein Und Zeit, Closure, and all things. Timeline: Think post Je Souhaite, but no Requiem. Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. They belong to Mr. Chris Carter, lucky bastard. Distribution: Sure, just let me know where. Feedback: Absolutely to lil_gusty@hotmail.com. Thanks: to my Princess Betas, Liam and Karri, and to the Queen, RealB. Note: For simplicity's sake, assume that Mulder and Scully did NOT "consummate" their relationship during "all things." Also, while this fic isn't a direct sequel to "The Longest Time," it is the second part of a little series I'm working on. You can most certainly read this one without reading "The Longest Time," but if you plan to read the one after this, you'll need to read "The Longest Time" eventually. Summary: Mulder is asked out on a date; Scully helps him prepare. <><><><><><> "Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose." <><><><><><> When I was in college, I started this thing: every Sunday afternoon, I would shave my legs. I'm not talking about the quick job that you do in the shower, holding your leg up to your chest, trying to keep your balance and not sever an artery. I'm talking about a sit--down, take your time job, with shaving cream and everything. I found that by doing it this way, I gave myself a little time to feel feminine, to do something a little shallow. And I didn't loose nearly as much blood. So, since college, every Sunday afternoon, I sit down on the edge of my old-- fashioned tub (which is a balancing feat in itself) to shave my legs. Usually, I'm not interrupted. Of course, trust Mulder to interrupt me doing something girlie. As I walk to the door, I briefly consider putting my pajama pants back on, but he's seen me less clothed than this before. "You know, I gave you a key for a reason," I say as I swing the door wide open. He stands there, mildly shocked and embarrassed at my appearance. That's what he gets for interrupting my shaving. "Did you know it was me, or did you just assume?" he smiles and asks after recovering his speaking capabilities. "Mulder," I toss over my shoulder on my way back to the bathroom, "only you would come over, without calling, on a Sunday afternoon." "And now that I know you walk around half--dressed, I'll be sure and stop by more often." Before I would've grumbled and rolled my eyes at that, but now I grin in response to his innuendo. Lately, it seems that we've become more comfortable with each other: our attitudes and demeanor have changed when we're together and not on the Bureau's time. We're more playful, more relaxed. We act like best friends--which, I suppose, is what we are. "I'm shaving my legs..." I say as I disappear into the bathroom. "Oh, I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt you." For a second, he sounds genuinely sorry. "Its okay. Did you need something?" "Uh, well kinda. I, uh, needed to talk to you... about something." His voice is right outside the partially closed door, making it sound deeper and fuller than it really is. "Mulder, you can come in." He slowly pushes the door open, hesitating when he sees me draw the razor up my right calf and bend down to rinse it in the two inches of water at the bottom of the tub. "It can wait. I'll just, uh... wait. Outside." He turns to leave, but I stop him with my voice. "Am I making you nervous?" I say, trying--and apparently succeeding--to be coy and seductive. "No!" He says firmly. He turns and takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet and says, "Its, uh... personal." "Mmmhmm..." I say, moving on to my thigh. He hesitates, then begins. "You, uh... you know Alicia? From, uh... latent prints?" He studiously avoids my legs. "Agent Wilder? Yeah. Why?" "She, uh..." he turns a nice shade of scarlet as his voice fades out. I stop shaving for a minute and look at him. "Mulder, what is it?" His eyes flash to mine and back down to the floor. "She asked me out... on a... a, uh... date. For Friday... next Friday... this coming up Friday... five days from now." he rambles for his or my edification, I'm not sure which. His words are rushed and quite, like saying them quicker and softer can make it like they didn't exist at all. His eyes meet mine again for a split second as his face reddens a little more. "And..." I prompt. "What?" He says, shocked that I would dare not to understand the significance of this revelation. "She asked to you on a date, five days from now. For Friday..." he continues to stare mutely at the floor. I'm lost. "I'm confused Mulder, you look embarrassed or scared or something." I go back to shaving as he studies the intricacies of the bathroom tile. I've finished with my right leg and move onto my left, propping my foot on the ledge beside me to get a better reach. "Are you almost done?" he asks suddenly, sounding slightly annoyed. "Yeah." "I'll, uh... I'll wait outside then." As he leaves, he pulls the door back to its semi--closed position. I hear him in the kitchen, getting something to drink, then in the living room as he sits down on the couch and props his feet on my coffee table. I wonder if he took off his shoes this time. I quickly finish shaving, drain the water from the tub, and dry my legs. I still have to put lotion on, but I can do that in the living room. Question answered: Mulder finally remember to take his shoes off. He even has a glass of water waiting for me beside his tea. "Okay," I start as I sit down beside him, "Alicia Wilder asked you out on a date, and somehow this signifies the end of the world..." "It's not that." he sighs. He leans his head on the back of the couch and closes his eyes. When I open the lotion and start to smooth it over my legs, he turns his head, looks at me, and asks in exasperation, "Now what are you doing?" "Putting lotion on my legs." I say in a placating tone. "Now tell me what's so bad about this woman asking you on a date." He resumes his head back, eyes closed position. After a few minutes, he suddenly says, "how many men have you slept with?" Caught off guard, my eyes open wide. I look at him and ask, "What?" "How many men have you slept with?" He's looking me straight in the eyes now, and I do the only logical thing: I give him an honest answer. "Well," I snap my mouth shut and think. "I don't really know." Now he's intrigued. He turns towards me, putting his knee on the center cushion and throwing his arm over the back of the couch. "What you mean you don't know?" he asks in disbelief. "I mean... I don't know." I say slowly, not quite believing where this conversation has gone. "Well, give me an estimate." I give him an annoyed look for a moment, then catch myself. "I don't know... college was... it was a big blur of beer and frat boys, with some education thrown in around the edges. There were a lot of parties, so..." "You don't quite remember?" he finishes. "Yeah." We sit in silence for a minute, not really looking at each other, before he asks, "So, you were in a sorority?" "Yeah, Tri Delta." "Ahh..." he says, as if I just gave him the secrets to the universe. "You know what they say about TriDels, don't you?" I ask figuring it's the reason for his epiphany. "No, what?" Now it's my turn to get embarrassed. "Well, at my school anyway, they say TriDels give good head." "Oh." he says softly, redness returning with a vengeance. More silence. My state of undress is making me cold, not to mention adding to our mutual embarrassment. I pull to omnipotent blanket down from the back of the couch and cover my legs while he watches me, mesmerized. "How old were you when you lost your virginity?" he asks shyly. Since this conversation is obviously going somewhere, I continue to play along. "Sixteen." I answer. At one time, I would've been ashamed at my answer; now I'm almost proud. I had sex early and got it over with. That's the reason I don't do it anymore. He seems surprised and says, "I'll bet Ahab was happy about that." "Ahab didn't know. He died thinking I was still a virgin." I smile then, imagining me, a thirty-year-old virgin. He nods, looking slightly amused. "What about you?" I ask, drawing the blanket up further to my chest to cover my arms. He looks serious all of the sudden and drops his head. "It's really embarrassing." I crane my head trying to get him to notice my look of inquiry. "I was... twenty one," he whispers. I'm taken aback. Mulder, my partner, best friend, person I know better than anyone in the world and who has half the secretarial pool drooling over him... was a virgin until he was twenty one? He quickly explains. "Its not that I was opposed to having sex earlier, it's just that... I never had the opportunity." "What do you mean?" He looks at me with that kicked puppy look that melts my insides and says, "I wasn't exactly popular with the ladies in high school. Hell, I wasn't popular with the men, either." He looks away, fiddling with a loose thread on the couch. "And here I though you were the star athlete." I say, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood. "I was, but... that didn't guarantee that I had the personality to go along with it. I mostly kept to myself. And everyone knew anyway... about Samantha and my parents. No one wanted anything to do with me." Okay, that makes sense. "So, when you got to college--" "It was an opportunity to start over. No one ever had to know anything unless I told them." He stops abruptly, then continues. "The second semester of my freshman year, I met Phoebe. I fell for her--hard--and she used that. Used the fact that I was... inexperienced. She would promise me things so I'd give her what she wanted--material things, mostly--then she'd never hold up her end of the deal." He pauses and I can tell he's trying to figure out how he should say the next part. "I don't drink much, you know that. If my father taught me anything, it was not to drink. But one night, I got really drunk--so was she--and I... I was angry with her. I had found out that she was basically fucking the entire male population at Oxford, including Professors, and she was just using me because I was naive and I guess I..." He makes eye contact then, sorrow in his eyes. I nod, not knowing what to say. "She didn't even remember it, which is good, cause she probably would've had me arrested if she did. But I wasn't that drunk, Scully. I knew exactly what I was doing. It just didn't seem to matter right then." More silence. I know what Mulder thinks he did; I also know how gentle and caring he is towards people he loves--he would never intentionally hurt them. He must've been livid. "For the longest time, she was the only one. At first, I... uh, abstained because that first time wasn't all that phenomenal. It was almost like 'what's the big deal about this?'" I smirk, make an agreeing sound in my throat, and nod--alcohol tends to do that. "I made more of an effort to be social after that. Needless to say, Phoebe didn't monopolize all my time anymore, so I dated a few times. And all those girls eventually wanted sex, but I couldn't do it. I think that, in my solitude, I realized how intimate it all was--how much trust you had to have in someone-- how much you had to love someone--before you could give yourself to them like that. And I never trusted or loved anyone like that." He pauses and looks up with tears in his eyes, then drops his head again. "Until Diana." At that confession, I inadvertently draw in a sharp breath. He raises his head again and I drop mine, not wanting to hear this part of the story. "I was with her for almost a year before we finally... consummated our relationship." he says sarcastically. "And then she just... left me. I learned my lesson." I find my voice again. Knowing that Mulder hadn't had any dates in years, and never a girlfriend while I'd known him, I ask, "Are they the only ones?" "Yeah," he says sadly. "I've come close a couple of times, but... I've never been able to... do it. Go through with it." I raise my eyes to see his head lower, almost touching his chest. Disappointed. Ashamed. "Mulder, there's nothing to be ashamed of," I say, trying to get him to look at me. "I kind of envy your interpretation of sex." He raises his head and furrows his eyebrows, so I clarify. "I've always thought it was easier to give my body than my mind--my emotions and feelings. For almost every guy I dated, that was fine. It was enough for them. I've never really seen sex as the intimate, trusting bond that you do, but I like your version better." For the first time since we started this conversation, we make eye contact and he smiles. "But what does any of this have to do with Alicia Wilder asking you out on a date?" He sighs, turns around facing the coffee table, and slumps down on the couch. "I can count on one hand the number of dates I've ever been on, and none of them in the last ten years. I didn't even know a woman could ask a man out." "Well, apparently they can," I answer. He nods, suddenly a million miles away. "So, what'd you say?" He's back to earth now, started and looking at me incredulously. "What do mean what'd I say? I said... I don't know." "You don't know what you said or that's what you told her?" "I... I told her I'd have to see. We might be out of town or something..." "Oh, bullshit, Mulder. You decide when we go out of town!" "Exactly, and I may feel the need to be on the other side of the country Friday night." I drop my head and laugh. Mulder's afraid of a girl! "What are you laughing at? You think this is funny?" "No... well, yes, it's hilarious! What, are you afraid she'll give you cooties? Come on, it's a date! Dinner with someone other than me! Its not that difficult or intimidating!" "I'm not intimidated!" he says, almost sounding hurt. "Oh, what are you then?" "I'm... scared to death! It's been years since I've dated, Scully. I don't think I remember how." Now I'm cracking up laughing, gulping huge breaths of air and feeling tears well up in my eyes. When I look at him, he's not sharing the humor, so I try and stifle the giggles. "Mulder," I start, still being assaulted by fits of laughter, "you don't forget how to date. You may be out of practice, but you can't actually forget. It's like riding a bike." "This coming from the Queen of Dating." "Well, I've had more experience than you!" He crosses his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum and I add, "Besides, she asked you. She has to do all the hard work. All you have do is show up and be civil." He forces a grin and asks, "So, I don't have to pay?" "Nope." He sips his tea and I take a drink of water, breaking from this intense discussion. "If you want, you could take me out on a practice date." I suddenly say, feeling brave and invincible. "A practice date?" he asks incredulously. "Yeah, you know. You take me out to dinner and we pretend we're on a date. When we get back, I'll critique you and give you some comments on how to improve." "Does that come with a practice good--night kiss?" he asks smugly. "Only if you do well." I say, taking another drink of water. He considers for a minute, then says, "Okay. When?" "I don't know, you have to ask me. You pick a day." "That's not quite the same scenario..." "Take it or leave it." He pauses a beat, and answers, "Okay then." "Okay then," I agree. We stare at the air between us for a few seconds before I ask, "So, you're going to tell her yes?" He looks confused. "To Friday?" "Oh! Uh, yeah... I'll... uh, tell her first thing tomorrow." Gee, that was convincing. He rises and then says, very solemnly, "Thanks, Scully." "You're welcome. Are you leaving?" "Yeah, I have to go home and prepare for my date." He walks to the door, opens it and says, "See you tomorrow. Sorry to interrupt your shaving ritual." "S'Okay," I reply. "See you tomorrow." Something occurs to me, and I call to him just before he walks out the door, "Mulder?" "Yeah?" He says, turning to face me again. "I never asked you, but do you want to date her? I mean, are you interested in her?" He hesitates, a little too long for my comfort, and says, "Well, she's pretty, reasonably intelligent, I guess... it might not be too bad." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than me, but I decide to let it slide for now. We can discuss that later. "Okay. Just making sure you weren't going on a date with her because I promised you a practice date." He smiles sheepishly and starts to turn pink again. "No. See you tomorrow." He closes the door and leaves me in silence. I take a deep breath and plan the rest of my afternoon. He's not the only one who has to prepare. <><><><><><> Now this is odd: Mulder's usually immersed in paperwork or pictures of Bigfoot by the time I arrive at the office. He's missing from his desk, which is a little worrisome. Maybe he went to tell Agent Wilder his answer and she locked him in her office and handcuffed him to her desk. If he's not here by 9:30, I'll go look for him, I decide as I sit down to check my email. Just as I'm being distracted by a memo from Quantico, I hear Mulder's footsteps in the hall outside the office door. He stops right in front of the partially open door, then sticks his head in shyly, looking at me. I don't look at him in return, and my sharp witticism about Wilder and handcuffs dies when he opens his mouth and quietly, nervously, says "Morning." I look up then, intrigued by his demeanor--half of him in, half of him out of the office, looking the like a scared teenager asking a girl out for the first time... oh, yeah. "Morning." I say confidently, almost condescendingly. I remember how to play this game. It's been a while, but as I told Mulder yesterday, it's just like riding a bike. He looks down, tries to scuff his shoe against the floor, and ends up kicking the door instead. Since he was loosely holding on to the door when he kicked it, it bounced back and smacked him in the nose. I drop my head a little more and try not to laugh. "I was, uh, I wanted to... ask you something. A question." Oh, that shy, nervous, adorable voice. "Okay." "Uh, I was wondering if... if you're not busy... you'd, uh... like to... uh, go out to dinner. With me." I have to smile at his behavior; like I'm gonna say no! "Mulder, we have dinner together all the time! You don't have to ask." I bait him. "No! No, Scully, not like that." Ooooh, panic face. "Not like what?" feign innocence and disinterest. "I mean, like... uh, a, um... a date." Make shocked face, then look at him placatingly, "A date?" Maybe I've gone too far. This was successful in high school and college, but maybe Mulder doesn't get the teasing. He looks like I just told him I was marrying the Smoking Man. Quietly, almost inaudible, "Just a thought." He starts to pull his head back through the slight opening between the door and its frame, and I stop him, saying, "And when would we go on this 'date?'" He perks up, saying, "How about Thursday night?" "Well," I start, drawing out my words to make it appear that I'm deep in thought, "If we're not out of town or anything..." He stands expectantly, eyes round and large, focused on mine. "...Thursday sounds good." He looks relieved and exhales sharply. "Okay then." I smile seductively, still enjoying this game, "Okay." He withdraws his upper body from its position inside the door and closes it. After a few seconds, he enters, back to my regularly scheduled partner. He sits down at his desk while I stare at him, an amused smile on my face. "So where were you?" I ask. "Oh, uh, up in the latent print lab. I had to talk to Alicia." "Ah, so you gave her your answer?" "Yup. She's picking me up Friday night at 7:00." He sounds genuinely excited and happy. "Well, good." I tell him. "Hey, Scully, with all this gender--reversal stuff, does this mean I have to wear a dress?" I laugh at his familiar humor and shake my head, redirecting my eyes to my computer screen. We work in silence for a few minutes, and when he gets up and walks to the file cabinet, he asks, "So how'd I do?" "Hmmm?" "How'd I do? Asking you out?" I had already forgotten. "Oh, you did fine. Good. You seemed a little nervous, but other than that..." "Good. I wanted to seem nervous." He says, returning to his chair. "Why?" I ask. "I dunno. Makes it seem more real, I guess." "Oh." We return to our work, the only sounds in the room the clicking of keys on the keyboard and the occasional scratch of a pen against paper. I'm getting more and more excited about this practice date. <><><><><><> The week dragged by, filled with reams of paperwork, pointless meetings, and debunking a few of Mulder's theories. He hadn't mentioned our impending practice date since asking me on Monday, and I wondered if he had forgotten about it, being so wrapped up in his first real date in twenty years. Then again, he hadn't mentioned the real date or Alicia, so maybe I was just being too analytical. We had never discussed a time that he would pick me up (minus one point), but I figured it would be around 7:00--the dinner hour. By 6:30 Thursday evening, I had already tried on every piece of clothing in my wardrobe at least twice before I asked myself what I was doing. I was having dinner with Mulder, as I had done countless times over the years that we had worked together. I had never seen it fit to think twice about what I was wearing before, or fix my hair, apply more make--up, or anything else I had discovered myself doing since returning home from work. I was acting like this was a real date, dressing to impress and all the rest of it. This is just a practice date, I reminded myself. I'm helping Mulder prepare for his real date with someone else tomorrow night. I was suddenly very depressed: just the concept that I'd now become the always dependable shoulder to cry on-- always there to help my best friend with a practice date instead of going out on a real one. I'm beginning to think that it's true: someone in college once told me that I was the kind of girl guys date but never marry. Now, apparently, I'm not even the kind of girl that guys date. And Mulder must've developed a sixth sense for knowing when I was half naked in my apartment, because he knocked on my door right then, interrupting my brooding. Grabbing my robe and pulling it around me, I walk to door and open it. He's standing there, looking at the floor, hands clasp behind his back. Oh, no, he didn't bring me flowers, did he? He looks up at me, and whispers, "Hi." "Hi," I whisper back. "Come on in." He follows me and closes the door behind him. "Have a seat. I'm not ready yet." He smiles and says, "I noticed." I smile back. "It'll just take me a minute." I close my bedroom door behind me and try to find my good jeans in the mass of clothes covering my bed. My good jeans--the ones that are tight in all the right places without making me look cheap. Mulder's wearing his usual casual fare: jeans, gray T- shirt, and leather jacket. My favorite Mulder look. After adding a soft, v-neck, button-up sweater to my jeans, glancing in the mirror at my hair, and putting on my shoes, I walk back into the living room, where Mulder sits staring into space. "Ready?" I ask, surprising him out of his reverie. "Yeah." He says, standing and walking to the door. He doesn't have to pretend; I can tell he's really nervous this time. He opens the door for me and we walk out into the hall. In the elevator, he glances shyly at me several times. He didn't give me a compliment on my appearance. Minus two points. At his car, he doesn't open the door for me. Minus one point. He doesn't say a word as we drive to the restaurant. "Where are we eating?" I ask, breaking the silence. "Uh, that new Italian place that just opened." He looks at me like I should know exactly what he's talking about, and I do, but I don't let him know that. I continue to stare at him and he adds, "I don't remember the name of it." "Oh, well. That's okay. Italian is Italian." Minus three points. He started at zero, and now has a score of negative seven. This practice date is looking more and more necessary. <><><><><><><><> I'd figured a nice, objective way to assess Mulder's dating skills and capabilities would be to give him a numerical score: for every good or successful thing he did, he would get a point or two, depending on what it was. For every bad or unsuccessful thing he did, I would deduct some points. Of course, knowing Mulder the way I did, my opinion of him would be biased, so I tried to think like some other woman would. Like Alicia Wilder would. I'd also secretly wondered what it would be like to go on a date with Mulder. He rarely actually treated me like a woman, an object of desire. He had occasionally shown me what it was like to be loved by him, and I reveled in those moments. Of course, usually I was bleeding or recently rescued from the clutches of a madman, so dating him, I hoped, would be a nice change of pace. But it was just a practice date, I kept reminding myself. Imagine my surprise when our dinner together was just like any of our other dinners together. Oh, there were a few differences: we didn't discuss work, like we usually do. Instead, we discussed nothing. We sat in silence staring at each other while the inexperienced waitress fumbled with trying to get our order right and not drop her drink tray. Actually, once or twice Mulder forgot that we were on a date and tried to discuss some meeting with Skinner or my latest autopsy results. The first time, I looked him in the eyes and shook my head: no, you don't discuss autopsies on a date. The second time, I told him that Alicia didn't work under Skinner and wouldn't be able to talk about his latest meeting. Mulder got the hint, but didn't even attempt any conversation after that. I let those mistakes slide, though. I could see how it was easy for him to get this dinner confused with our others. I couldn't even remember that this wasn't a real date. No small talk is another minus two points, but bringing me to a restaurant that just opened (not knowing if it would be fit to eat or not), that's a minus four points. He also paid for my meal, after some mental coaxing, which is definitely different from our usual dinners. No points for that, though. He was supposed to do that. By the time we left the restaurant, much to my disappointment, I couldn't wait to get home. Definitely not a good sign on a date. He walked me up to my apartment and stood expectantly by the door while I unlocked it. After opening it, I perfunctorily asked if he wanted to come in for coffee, which of course he did. We seriously needed to talk. He sat on the couch while I made the coffee, not speaking. I was trying to figure out the best way to approach this, uh, disaster. I carried the coffee mugs to the couch, sat down at the opposite end, turned towards him, and began. "Mulder, that was awful." Shocked at my abrupt revelation, he asked in disbelief, "What?" "You weren't kidding when you said you hadn't dated much." He stared at me with his mouth gapping and his eyes moistening. "Mulder..." I sighed. There really was no delicate way to do this. "If I had to decide based on our date tonight whether or not I would go out with you again, I would definitely say no." His mouth moved without sound before he asked "Why not?" I sighed again and tried to convince myself not to sound too scolding. "I gave you a score tonight, trying to be objective and trying to think like Alicia would. You started at zero. Every good thing you did, you got points for; if you did something bad, I deducted points. Do you want to know what you score is?" "Probably not." "No, probably not. It was a negative thirteen. You didn't get any points for anything." "What the hell do you mean a negative thirteen? What did I do?" He sounded angry, but I was just trying to be honest and prepare him for tomorrow. "That's just it. You didn't do anything. It was just like our regular dinners together, only this time, you paid for my meal." "Oh, so now you don't like having dinner with me at all?" "I didn't say that. It's just that... when you take a woman out on a date, you're supposed to make her feel special." He stared at me like I'd started speaking Mandarin Chinese. "Like, you bring her flowers. You open the car door for her. You ask her things about herself--make small talk. You pay attention to her. You make her want to be with you." He sighed sadly, "I almost did bring you flowers, but I didn't think you'd like them." I looked down, knowing he was right. That wasn't the point, though. "And I would've opened the car door for you, but I knew you'd be offended by that. And I couldn't make small talk with you because I already know everything about you." "I understand that, but..." deep sigh; how do I explain this? "This was our first date Mulder. Usually, on first dates, you don't know the person that well, right?" "Yeah." "So, you would need to make small talk. And you wouldn't know that I don't like flowers or men opening car doors for me, right?" "Yeah, I guess." He answered, sounding sad. "So, if this was your date with Alicia, would you have brought her flowers?" "Yeah. Maybe." "And would you have opened the car door for her?" "Yeah." "And would you have made small talk with her?" Big sigh. He realized where this was going. "Yes, Scully I would have. I told you, I suck at dating." "You don't suck, Mulder. At least you didn't talk about yourself the entire time." He laughed quietly. "So, you wouldn't go out with me again?" "If I didn't know you as well as I do, no, I wouldn't." He was silent for minute, drinking his coffee. "But think about it this way," I said, breaking his reverie, "she's the one who has to make you feel special. She asked you." "That's even worse." He said, and we both laughed a little. He sighed, "So, any advice?" "Just... be yourself. Don't try and impress her or anything. She obviously likes you just the way you are." He snorted in disapproval and said, "Be myself? I've been myself for almost forty years and looks where it's gotten me." He looked sharply at me, and I dropped my head. Well, what the hell does he want me to say? Act like someone else? Act like Frohike? He stood to leave, putting his empty coffee mug in the sink and filling it with water. As he shrugged into his jacket, he said, "Thanks Scully." "You're welcome." I walked him to the door and he opened it, standing there for a second before asking, "So, if this was a real date, you wouldn't let me kiss you goodnight?" I grinned and looked down. Sighing and sounding playfully annoyed, I said "on the cheek." He grinned, but his eyes suddenly looked terrified. "It's what Alicia would say." I explained. "Oh." He leaned down to my left cheek and kissed me just in front of my ear. I inhaled quickly. He leaned up and whispered, "Goodnight." "Night." I whispered back. Alicia is one luck woman. I just hope she realizes that after tomorrow night. <><><><><><> I expected Mulder to act different that usual on Friday but I don't know why. I guess I figured he'd be excited, nervous, giddy, something. Instead, he acted as if it was just a normal day and that nothing out of the ordinary would happen tonight. I stopped myself several times from asking him if he canceled his date. He left promptly at five, which is extremely odd, but I overlooked it and told him good luck before he left. He smiled and said "thanks" before walking out the door. On the way home, I stopped by the grocery store and got a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby and Cherry Garcia. I felt like gorging myself tonight. Maybe I'd even take a bubble bath and watch a sappy movie. I'm ensconced in my Lean Cuisine when the phone rings at five minutes before seven. "Hello." I say into the receiver. "Scully!" It's Mulder, and he sounds panicked. "Mulder! What is it?" "I can't do this..." "Do what, Mulder?" "Go out on this date! I don't know what the hell I was thinking!" "Isn't Alicia supposed to pick you up at seven?" I ask, a little worried. "Yeah, she's not here yet. Scully, I can't do this..." "Yes you can, Mulder. Remember what I told you? She likes you, so just be you." "I'm so nervous..." "Mulder, listen to me." He doesn't say anything, and I listen to his rapid, shallow breathing. "Take a few deep breaths, close your eyes, and count to ten. Relax. Everything will be fine. Its just one date." He does as I told him, but before the ten seconds have passed, I hear a knock on his door. "Shit! That's her, Scully!" He almost whines in my ear. "Deep breaths, Mulder. Go answer to door." He doesn't say anything, and Alicia knocks again. "Mulder," I say, "you can call me and give me all the details when you get home. Right now, you need to let your date in." He takes another deep breath and finally says, "Okay. I'll, uh... call you. Later." "Okay. Good luck." "Thanks." He says, and then I hear a click as he hangs up the phone. I briefly consider saying a prayer for him, but I figure God has better things to do than worry about my partner's performance on a date. I estimate that Mulder will be home by nine, and should call by ten at the latest. I throw the rest of my dinner away and go straight for the ice cream. Leaving the container of Cherry Garcia on the counter to thaw, I go to the bathroom to fill the tub. <><><><><><><> Two pints of ice cream, a less than relaxing bath, and ten minutes of a sappy movie later, I'm pacing, phone in hand, anxiously awaiting Mulder's call. Its nine thirty, and he should be home by now. Why hasn't he called? Is he all right? Maybe they got in a car wreck or something... After struggling through another half-hour of that damn movie, the ten o'clock news and the eleven o'clock news, I'm full fledge worried about my partner. I didn't want to call him on his cell phone and, uh, interrupt, but curiosity gets the better of me and I call at 11:18. No answer. Shit. At midnight, with my cell phone and regular phone beside my bed with their ringers turned up as loud as they'll go, I crawl in bed, not sure if I'm depressed because Mulder didn't call or because he got to go on a date and I didn't. I run through all of the logical explanations for the former in my head: maybe he had too much to drink and went right to sleep when he got home; maybe he forgot; maybe he's still with Alicia-- No wait, Mulder wouldn't do that. Would he? I roll over and sink faced down into the pillow. This depression and jealousy that snuck up on me in the last twenty-four hours is getting annoying. I don't know if I'm jealous that Mulder has a real date with someone and I don't or if Alicia has a real date with Mulder and I don't. I try not to focus on the most logical explanation for Mulder not calling, close my eyes, and convince myself not to cry in self--pity. This is going to be a long, sleepless night. <><><><><><> Sunday afternoon again and I'm shaving my legs as usual. Mulder never did call. Saturday, I called both his phones three times, leaving messages telling him to call me. I wasn't too worried about a car wreck, now. The hospital would've called me if he'd been brought in. I thought about going to his apartment just to make sure he hadn't died of carbon monoxide poisoning, but figured that wasn't too plausible. He obviously just didn't want to talk to me. That meant one of two things: either the date went really, really well, or really, really badly. As I start on my left leg, I hear a knock at the door. Gee, I wonder who that could be. About damn time he came around! I walk to the door, neglecting my pajama pants yet again, and let him in. He doesn't seem too shocked at my state of undress this time. "Hey," he says, as if nothing was wrong. "You shaving again?" "Yeah, but I'm almost done." Do I sound angry? I hope I sound angry. "Okay, I'll just wait out here then." He seems confident, happy. I go back and finish my shaving, choosing to put lotion on my legs in the bathroom, and walk back to my living room fully clothed. Mulder's sitting there, just like last week, with his sock--feet propped on my coffee table and two glasses set out: one of water, one of tea. I sit down and grab my glass, taking a time-consuming drink. "So..." he starts smugly. "So..." I answer impatiently. "You gonna ask me how my date went?" "I thought you were gonna call me when you got home." He sighs and his expression changes to sadness. "I was, but..." He searches for words, then says "I'm sorry I didn't call you or return your messages." "So, you got the messages." Definitely angry. "Yeah," he grins, "all six of 'em." I look down, a little embarrassed. He's waiting for me to ask, so I play along and say, "So, how was your date?" a little less enthusiastically than I intended. "It was... horrible. I bored the hell out of her. She wouldn't even walk me back up to my apartment." A part of me is happy that it didn't work out, but another, larger part of me is sad that Mulder had to endure yet another rejection. "Why was it so horrible?" I ask. "Because I tried to be myself." He responds sadly. We sit in silence for a few minutes, absently sipping our drinks. "Scully," he finally says, "why don't you ever date?" I think for a moment, then answer, "Because no one ever asks me. And I'm not interested in anyone anyway." Even though I'd never admit it to him, I had a niggling suspicion that the fates were determined to keep me with Mulder at all costs. I had given up on meeting anyone, falling in love, and riding off into the sunset together a long time ago and became content with my like right where it was. And just as I had started to doubt where my life was going, where my end-- Mulder's end--would be, I'd stumbled into Daniel again. If I'd learned anything from my encounter with Daniel a few weeks ago, it was that all the decisions I had made in the past were the right ones, and that in the end I was exactly where I was supposed to be: beside Mulder. I wondered if Mulder had had a similar epiphany about me; that he was destined to be stuck with me for the rest of his life. "Oh." He says sadly and goes back to nursing his tea. Something suddenly dawns on me, and I abruptly say, "Mulder, can I ask you a question?" "Yeah." "Did you really intend to have a good time last night?" He's shocked at my question, but doesn't answer right away. "Why wouldn't I?" he finally asks. "Okay, let me try this another way. Where do you see yourself in ten years?" Now he's positively perplexed. "What do you mean?" "I mean, where do you see yourself in ten years? Still at the Bureau? Still single?" "I don't know." He answers. "I can't see any reason why I wouldn't be at the Bureau." He studiously ignores the second question. "What about twenty years from now. You know the Bureau forces retirement at fifty--five." He nods and considers. "Then I guess I'll be retired." We regard each other for a minute before I continue. "Still in DC?" "Maybe. I've always wanted to go back to the ocean." I nod, encouraging him. "I can't see myself married, if that's what you're getting at." There's my answer. "Why not?" "I don't know. Can you see me married to anyone?" I laugh and say, "no." "Why the questions, Scully?" I take a deep breath. "Mulder," I deflate. Why the questions, indeed. "By the time most people are our age, they're already married. With kids, a dog, a mortgage, and plans for the future." He nods, still confused. "You're not. And maybe its time to think about changing that." "You don't have any of that stuff either." I sigh, caught. "My point is where does it end." "What end?" "This. The X--Files, your quest for the truth, this solitary, singular obsession you have?" He looks at me with confusion on his face, so I continue. "You've found your sister and the men who took her are most likely dead, yet you still keep going. Why is that?" He doesn't respond right away, so I keep going. "Why aren't you looking for someone to settle down and build a life with? Are you just so used to your life the way it is that you're afraid to change? Are you afraid that you don't know how to change even if you wanted to?" "I don't know. I've never... I haven't really ever though about it. I've always been so focused on the present that I've never really considered the future. And I guess I never really thought I would have to put any effort into finding someone and getting married. It just seemed to be effortless for everyone else-- dating and stuff. But I think that subconsciously, I never though I would get married. I mean, who would want me? Now, I just don't know. I don't know the answers to your questions. I don't even know that I want all... that," he gestures at the air and stares at me as if I have a feeble grasp of the English language. "Scully, I don't regret the way I spent my life. Yes, I regret some of the things that happened, to you especially. Yes, sometimes it was frustrating and lonely, but I was never really alone." He looked pointedly at me and finishes, "If I had to do it all over again, I would still choose to spend my life looking for my sister." "Even knowing that you would never find her? That she had been dead all those years?" I interrupt. "Yes... wouldn't you?" Oh, don't make me do this, Mulder... "Mulder, all those things that most people have when they're our age, I want those things. I still want to get out of the damn car. I want that stability and certainty of someone to spend the rest of my life with. Someone to share myself and my life with. I want a happy ending like you got..." my chin is trembling now with what I'm about to say. "But I can't have it." He snaps to attention with a rebuttal on his lips, but I keep going. "Mulder, you can have that. You deserve that." I whisper with as much vehemence as I can muster. "Why can't you have that, Scully?" My chest is heaving in an ineffectual attempt to take deep breaths and stave of the tears I feel welling up inside me. "You told me you were free. You found your Holy Grail, and you got a happy ending too. Well guess what. I didn't get a happy ending Mulder, and I'm not free. My sister is still dead from a bullet through the head. My daughter--the only daughter I will ever have--is dead from an excruciatingly painful disease. I had to watch her die, watch her suffer and I stood there knowing that I couldn't do anything to help her. Well, where were Emily's walk- ins, Mulder? Where were Melissa's?" My voice breaks. I pause for a few seconds, getting my emotions back in check, and continue. "I can't ever have any more children because of what They did to me. I'm not free, Mulder, and I never can be. This can never end for me. And because of that, I can't have what I want for me. But for you... I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for you. Why don't you want that?" I end in a weak whisper. A few hot tears are slipping down my cheeks, and I duck my head to avoid making eye contact with him. My words have sobered him, but as usual, my crying is making him uncomfortable. I think that my confession has shocked him, and we sit tense silence for a few minutes. "Are you saying that I should marry Alicia?" he finally asks incredulously. "No. No, not at all." I say in a voice hoarse with grief, wondering where the hell all of that had come from. He's silent for another minute, then asks, "What are you going to do when the Bureau forces you to retire?" "I don't know." I say sadly. "I though about moving back to San Diego, but as long as my mother still lives in Baltimore, I'll stay on this coast." "You'd be closer to you brother out there... or did you just want to go back to the ocean, too?" "I don't know... a lot of reasons." I say, smiling slightly. "But, yeah back to the ocean, too." I realize how ironic that is, that we both want to ultimately return to the ocean, where we came from. "Scully?" he asks softly, "do you honestly think that after everything that has happened to you because of me that I could ever abandon you for a fairy tale ending, leaving you all alone?" No, of course he wouldn't. And I've probably added so much guilt to him in the last ten minutes that he'll never leave me, if only out of some misguided attempt of loyalty. When I don't answer him after a few seconds, he says again, "Scully?" "Yeah?" I ask, barely audible. "How about, if neither of us are married by the time you retire, we get married." I laugh mirthlessly and ask, "to each other?" "Yeah. We could move up to the Vineyard... or wherever you want to go..." "Mulder... do you think we could stand being married to each other?" He grins and says, "We could get used to it." I look down, not giving him an answer. I couldn't ask him to spend the rest of his life with me, his nagging partner who could never been more than an empty, useless vessel. "Even if we don't work together, I still want you to be a part of my life." He says softly. "I can't imagine my life without you." I can't tell if he's being sincere, or just trying to make me feel better, but it further depresses and infuriates me. When I was younger, I wanted to be in love with the man that I married. I wanted him to be in love with me. I never, ever wanted someone to marry me because they thought that they couldn't do any better. I never wanted anyone to pity me so much that they would spend the rest of their life making sure I was never alone, never lonely. Mulder deserves better than me and my grief. He has for years now, but neither of us ever realized it. "You know Mulder, I won't be around forever..." He looks down and nods. "I know." "And right now, aside from the Gunmen, I'm the only person in your life. What if something happened to me? Then what would you do?" "I don't want to think about that." He says quickly. "I could be shot by a suspect tomorrow. My cancer could come back... Or something as mundane as a car wreck--" "Stop." He says angrily, and I do--for a moment. "You need someone else in your life besides me. You need to stop wasting time." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He almost looks like he's about to cry, too. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I just want you to be happy in the end." I remind him, now significantly less confident about this conversation than I was. "Yeah. I just don't agree with everything you've said." I exhale sharply and look down. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he abruptly stands and walks to the door, saying, "I guess that's a no?" "No, what?" I ask, harsher than I intended. "If neither of us are married by the time you retire, we can't get married?" I sigh, exhaustion eating at me. "If I said yes, you'd stop looking for someone else. Someone who can give you everything I can't. I couldn't do that to you." "Maybe I don't want anyone else," he says angrily. Then, he turns, opens the door, and leaves, slamming it being him. <><><>End<><><> Author's notes: Okay, I don't really know if the FBI requires its employees to retire at 55, but I couldn't find out the real age, either. Please let me know what you thought of this fic: lil_gusty@hotmail.com.