By Flynn
flyn121@yahoo.com
 

CLASSIFICATION: MSR, mild MT
DATE: April 15, 2003
E-MAIL: flyn121@yahoo.com
ARCHIVING: Unlike Surferboy, I was taught to share my
toys. Please keep author and headers attached, and let
me know where to visit.
WEBSITE: www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn/
FEEDBACK: Almost as good as caffeine in the morning,
and just as addictive.
RATING: PG for adult language and themes.
SPOILERS: Amor Fati, Hungry, Rush; call it all of
early S7

DISCLAIMER: Archetypes belong to Carter. Besides, you
know what they say about the sincerest form of
flattery, right?

Scribblerís note: Iím experiencing a time-warp of
sorts. Season 7 is where itís at for me these days.
Flirting, friendship, burgeoning love .... what more
in life is there?

<tipping hat to Christine> Thanks for Monterey, the
linens, and yourself, babe. Youíre the greatest.
 
 
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Plan Well Made
by Flynn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

It was always something.

Every year he promised himself he would remember, and
every year something came up and blew that promise out
of the water. One year it was a division audit. Never
a fun thing. Once they were in Florida, chasing ....
well, make that being chased *by* .... invisible
creatures hell-bent on displaying their carcasses like
trophies. Once they were too busy investigating a
vengeful golem to worry about birthdays.

Something always came up. This year was no different.
They were in San Francisco, right in the heart of
sunny California. Only this being the dead of winter,
ìsunnyî didnít really apply. Not to the weather.
Certainly not to his partnerís mood - in two days, he
hadnít seen her so much as crack a smile. Still, he
was determined to make the best of it. All right, so
they were there on business. At least it was the kind
of business that involved warm courthouses. He wasnít
freezing his ass off wrestling deader-than-dead ghouls
in the basement of some nutcase bible-beater. Enough
of that, already. Besides, her moods he could deal
with. Seven years together had taught him a little
about *that.*

It was the bread and butter of their chosen
professions, what brought them there. Not every case
they worked dealt with the supernatural, although
those were the ones that he - and, he suspected,
*she* - really lived for. This was a straight forward
investigation-and-profiling case. Well, sort of
straight forward. Certainly more so than, say, a
brain-sucking mutant who flipped burgers for his day
job. This one involved a man whose chosen form of
entertainment was killing prostitutes and saving their
hair - and their scalps - as mementos. The two of them
had done the actual work more than a year ago. By the
time they were on the plane headed home, the
perpetrator - a middle-aged accountant who had been
bald from birth - was very unhappily ensconced in the
local lockup.

Now they were there to help put him away for the rest
of his life.

The plan was fairly simple. Spend the day in court
listening to Scully testify as to her findings in the
autopsies. His profile of the suspect had already been
read into the record, but he had to be on hand himself
just in case the defense team decided to call him to
the stand, which was unlikely. Then, after theyíd done
their bit and helped send a modern-day monster to
prison, they would have a few hours to themselves
until their flight out Thursday morning. He already
had reservations at one of the cityís better
restaurants. Dinner, a little wine, maybe some dancing
.....

And cake. Birthday cake. Chocolate, about six layers
of it. Maybe heíd even alert the manager so they would
gather around and sing her one of those silly songs.
The thought made him smile like a kid at Christmas.

It was Scullyís birthday. For once, for just this
once, he not only remembered, he was actually going to
do something to celebrate it with her. For real. Oh,
there had been that one time in DC when heíd given her
that key chain .... but that had immediately been
followed by tragedy, so did it really count as a
celebration? Max Fenig dying when the plane he was on
crashed into the ground? Agent Pendrell, who just
happened to love Scully even more than her partner
did, bleeding to death on the floor of what had at the
time been Mulderís favorite watering hole? Well,
nothing like that was going to happen this year.
Nothing was going to spoil it. This year ....

Well, it was different this year. *Everything* was
different. Not so very long ago, Mulder had all but
sworn his devotion to here there in the hallway of his
apartment, and she had all but accepted his love,
lock, stock, and barrel. Then there was the little
matter of that kiss. Yes, world, Fox Mulder actually
touched his partnerís mouth for some reason other than
medical necessity. All right, so they hadnít exactly
set any records that night. It *was* a first kiss. It
had done everything a first kiss is supposed to do. It
was a gesture of affection. A notice of intent. So
what that she hadnít exactly swooned with desire? Or
that he hadnít found the courage since to try it
again? Baby steps, right? What was the hurry?

The next time would be different. The next time he
kissed her, it would steal her breath away.

The plan was set. Work first, then dinner, then cake
and a kiss.

Unfortunately, insomnia plagued him the night before,
as it so often did. Unable to sleep, he occupied
himself in the usual ways: watching TV, doing
innumerable push-ups on the floor beside the bed, and
lying motionless in the dark and musing quietly on his
partner. He thought of all that she had been through.
He wondered what had compelled her to become a doctor.
What had possessed her to join the Bureau. What made
her stay with him. Most importantly, what made her
stay with him.

Introspection came easily in the middle of the night.

Sleep remained elusive until well after two. At least,
that was the last time he remembered looking at the
clock. When he did finally sleep, he slept hard. He
woke even harder. Literally. Nothing new there.
Morning erections were just something that happened.
Given suffient time, they could even be agreeable.
Trouble was, with his partner practically shouting his
name as she pounded on the adjoining door which heíd
unfortunately forgotten to unlock the night before, he
could do nothing to immediately resolve the condition.
In fact, when he finally made it to the door and she
brushed past him trailing perfume and wearing an
expression of thinly-veiled impatience, there was
precious little he could do to *hide* the condition.

It was not what he would call an auspicious beginning
to the day: standing there with his hair rumpled and
spiking in all directions, his eyes still bleary with
sleep, and morning wood tenting the front of his
jersey boxers. With any luck sheíd be too pissed to
notice. If not .... well, she *was* a doctor.

She *was* pissed. Clearly. ìDammit, Mulder, how
difficult is it to set a frigging alarm clock?î Arms
crossed. Chin jutted. Eyes practically drilled right
through his to the back of his head.

He gaped helplessly. No, definitely not the time for a
rousing *Happy birthday, Scully.*

She spun away and threw herself into the armchair
beside the bed. ìItís after eight, in case you give a
damn. Weíre supposed to check in at the courthouse in
an hour, and we still have to deal with mid-town
traffic. How long are you going to be?î

Flushed with embarrassment, he turned away and tossed
the blankets over the rumpled bed. Let her stare at
his ass if she wanted - at least *it* wasnít going to
stare back. ìLook,î he sighed, ìIím sorry I overslept.
I know itís an inconvenience, but from where Iím at,
itís a pretty damned minor one. At least I *got* to
sleep. Did you?î He spared her a glance over his
shoulder. Ooo, maybe that wasnít such a wise thing to
ask. Her gaze visibly hardened, and her lips, already
pressed thin in anger, all but disappeared. He sighed
as he dug around in his suitcase. ìIíll be ready in
fifteen minutes. Do me a favor, would you, and call
the kitchen for some coffee.î

She snorted softly. ìIím not going anywhere, Mulder.î
He looked at her again, but she waved him away. ìAs
soon as I leave the room, the TV goes on and fifteen
minutes become thirty. We donít have time for ESPN
this morning.î She looked at her watch and swore
again. ìAs a matter of fact, we should be on our way
right now.î

He clenched his teeth until his jaws ached. Once in
the bathroom with the door safely locked behind him,
he turned the water on in the shower, then stood for a
moment and looked at himself in the mirror. Spiky
hair, a thick growth of morning beard, and a rapidly
softening shlong. Dancing on the brink of forty, and
the closest thing he had to a real thing was barely
speaking to him. He sighed. *Baby,* he thought sourly
as he reached for his toothbrush, *it just doesnít get
any better than this.*
 
 
 

Things followed a steady decline from there. It was
pouring rain, and only when he reached for his
umbrella did Mulder remember he hadnít brought it.

Because of the storm, it took almost half an hour to
get a cab.

They were late getting to the courthouse.

The bailiff, a hulking behemoth with a neck
measurement greater than the average tax payerís IQ,
openly flirted with his partner. To make it even
worse, she actually smiled back.

The biggest distraction, however, resulted not from
her behavior, but from her choice of attire. It was a
dark suit with a severe cut that, in addition to
highlighting the ivory beauty of her complexion,
absolutely celebrated her curves. The skirt was
slitted up the back so that it not only hugged her
ass, it also revealed a generous sliver of thigh when
she walked. God, why couldnít she have chosen
something more sedate? Mulder felt a sharp nudge from
down below, and he bit back a groan as he followed her
down the hall to Witness Holding. Yeah, he was
staring. What man with any interest in the opposite
sex wouldnít?

Thankfully, a guy could hide a multitude of sins
behind loose-fitting slacks and a stony expression.
Something else heíd learned down through the years.
 
The day continued in a downward spiral. Late in the
morning he was called to the stand, where for an hour
his profile of the suspect was examined under a
microscope. Then, after a cross-examination that left
him unsure of anything, starting with whether the
earth was flat or round and from there extending to
his own sense of professional worth, the defense team
called their own expert witness, who stated
unequivocally that the man in question was a victim of
circumstance. He wasnít a sociopath with latent
psychopathic impulses. His collection of human hair
was nothing more than a harmless if slightly odd
hobby. Heíd discovered those four scalps in a curio
shop down on Wabash. He certainly hadnít procured them
himself. He wasnít the crazed killer the cops were
making him out to be. He was merely eccentric. No law
against being eccentric. After all, how many people
indulged in behaviors that on the surface seemed a
little peculiar? Things like investigating Bigfoot
sightings, or interviewing people who claimed to have
been taken away by bright lights?

It was excruciating. God damned defense attorneys and
their snooping private eyes. Sitting alone in the
gallery, Mulder could only cover his mouth and
silently fume. *Whoís the fucking criminal here?* For
just an instant he considered taking the stand in his
own defense. All right, so he hadnít actually *seen*
Bigfoot. He *had* seen enough physical evidence to
convince him that the ugly s.o.b. was out there
somewhere. And the bit about the bright lights - well,
that he *had* seen with his own eyes, and on more than
one occasion. His own sister had been taken right in
front of him. So he was just a kid at the time. That
didnít change the fact that it had happened, dammit!

He managed to keep his mouth shut.

At last Scully was called to the stand. She walked
slowly and with great purpose through the packed
courtroom, the very picture of poise and
professionalism. He felt his heart skip a beat as he
watched her. She was lovely. No, she was *beautiful.*
That pale skin, and that hair ....

..... that God-damned skirt ....

He could practically smell the testosterone in the
air. The sway of her hips, and the clatter of those
pumps .... that white, white thigh peeking out at the
world as she made her way to the witness box .... she
was like something out of a fantasy.

She raised her chin as she was sworn in, and then for
the next hour sat there and calmly answered question
after question, posed first by the prosecution, then
the defense. Restate this. Rebut that. Justify the
work that all but condemned the defendant. She was
unflappable. She knew her stuff. They kept at her,
questioning and poking and trying to get her to
equivocate, and she didnít. What she did was to
virtually castrate the defense, and the bastard
lawyers knew it.

When she was finally excused, the bailiff almost
tripped in his haste to get to the gate first so he
could open it for her. Mulder clenched his teeth until
his molars creaked. Fucking civil servants ....
 

It was a relief to finally escape the whole damned
circus. The two of them didnít say much as they
hurried up the long block in search of a cab. The rain
had stopped some hours before, but a wind was picking
up again, bringing with it the smell of brine and the
occasional raindrop. Mulder sneaked a look at his
partner, hoping to see a flicker of something
agreeable in her expression. Well, she wasnít about to
burst into song and dance in rain puddles or anything,
he mused, but at least sheíd lost that tight,
contained, frozen-to-the-core look. Was it really that
big a deal, he wanted to ask. What, so the bailiff got
a little flirty. So I puffed up a little. I didnít
shoot him or anything. I glowered. Youíve seen me do
worse. Hell, youíve done worse.

No, now definitely was not the time.

Her hand suddenly gripped his arm, effectively chasing
those thoughts into the shadows. She gestured to the
street with a turn of her head. ìHereís a cab. Címon,
itís starting to rain again.î

He held the door for her as she slid in across the
back seat, then dropped in after her. Hmm, not one of
the roomiest cabs heíd ever been in, but at least it
was warm in there. The driver, he noticed, was
watching him expectantly in the rear view mirror.
Well, he thought to himself, might as well see if the
evening can still be salvaged. He jerked his chin up.
ìHey, you know a place called Romanoís?î he asked. The
guy nodded as he stomped on the accelerator, and the
cab shot back out into traffic.

Scully eyed Mulder sourly as she steadied herself
against him. ìRomanoís? That sounds suspiciously like
a bar. I donít want to go to a bar. I just want to go
back to -î

ìItís a restaurant,î he said, cutting her off.
ìFrohike says it has the best scampi in the city.î

Her nose wrinkled. ìUgh. I hate scampi.î

Why was that not a surprise? He managed to curtail an
exasperated sigh. Barely. ìThen order something else.
Címon, Scully, Iím hungry.î

Her own sigh was deliberately loud, her voice almost
gravelly as she muttered, ìI donít see why we canít
just go back to the hotel and get something from Room
Service.î

He forced himself to look away, fearing she would see
the burgeoning panic in his eyes. Iíll tell you why we
canít, dammit. Itís your birthday. Six years Iíve
blown it. I donít want to make it seven. Jeez, would
you please just help me out a little here?

He forced himself to relax and let his thoughts wander
as first the blocks and then the long miles slid
silently past. It wasnít that long ago that theyíd
been in Pennsylvania. The kid with a penchant for
speed. A baffling case, and an incomplete resolution.
Nothing new there, really. Yeah, he snorted inwardly,
nothing new with the *case* - just with the way sheíd
been acting towards him for .... how long? Since
Africa. Thatís when it started. The touching. The
smiling.

That tug on his tie, the one that seemed to be
connected straight to his heart.

The easy grins that so effortlessly brightened his
days.

The memory of her mouth under his, her nose a little
cool and her breath so wonderfully warm on his cheek
..... his heart racing when she didnít pull away ....

He glanced at her. She was gazing unhappily out the
side window, staring at some point in space only she
could see. Say something to her, he silently urged
himself. Itís her birthday and sheís three thousand
miles from her mom, the only person in the world who
remembers. Well, so she thinks. Summoning a smile, he
gently nudged her with his elbow. ìHey.î

She blinked slowly but didnít look at him. ìWhat?î

Not the response he was looking for. Anxiety stopped
him for a moment. Should he just say it? No, not when
she was in such a black mood. He leaned toward her a
little with a conspiratorial smile. After all, there
was no need for the cabby to overhear them, right?
ìYou look really nice today. I didnít have much of a
chance to tell you earlier.î

At that she turned and pinned him with her eyes.
Uncertainty warred with amusement in her expression.
Her smile was brief and strained. ìThanks.î

Well, it wasnít much, but it was something. A
beginning. Try again. She looked at him expectantly
when he took her hand. ìIn fact, Iíd go so far as to
call you beautiful.î He shrugged one shoulder. ìAt
least, I would if youíd let me.î

That got him a smile. A genuine one. A fine tinge of
pink colored her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to
their entwined hands. ìReally?î

Was it his imagination, or was her chin quivering?
More anxiety knifed through his gut. God, not tears. I
canít handle tears tonight. On impulse, he leaned
close and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
ìReally.î

She leaned into the contact, which went on a lot
longer than a simple forehead kiss normally should. At
last she sat back and looked out the window again. Her
hand remained motionless in his. ìI owe you an
apology,î she said quietly. ìYour oversleeping .... it
was no big deal. I was just .... I ....î She took a
deep breath and slowly let it out. ìBill called this
morning. I guess Mom told him we were here on the
coast.î

Mulder felt himself tense. ìWhat did he want?î The
question was out before he could think better of it.
Shit, why else would a guy call his sister on her
birthday? Dumb. Dumb.

She sighed, her eyes still distant. ìOh, you know. The
usual. I threw Dadís money away on a foolís errand
with my choice of careers. Iím wasting my life on a
pointless mission .... oh, and thereís this guy he
wants to set me up with.î She snorted very softly.
ìGive me a break.î

A cold fist settled low in Mulderís chest, just below
his heart. ìA guy?î

She looked at him as she nodded. ìJack Becker. A
captain. On the short list for the next round of
promotions. If he makes it, heíll have his choice of
assignments. And ports. Billís actually trying to talk
him into moving east.î Her fingers slowly laced
through his. ìI told him Iím officially unavailable.
He didnít take the news particularly well.î

She looked away again, but not before he saw a glimmer
of .... something .... in her eyes, in the twitch of
her mouth. It looked like humor. Unavailable? He found
himself smiling. And suddenly able to breathe again.
ìSo .... this is why youíve been in something of a
mood all day? Because your brother called?î

She shrugged one shoulder and answered without
turning. ìIt was not an argument I wanted to have
today. Today of all days. And .... well, I guess Iím
feeling a little sorry for myself. Self-pityís not
your own personal bailiwick, you know, Mulder. Iím
entitled once in a while, too.î

He pursed his lips and looked past her out the window.
Best to let that dig slide, a wiser voice told him.
ìAnything in particular, or just a general purpose
self-pity?î Shit, he just couldnít keep his mouth
shut, could he?

She dipped her head, but the corners of her mouth
quirked upward. One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted
shrug. ìCanít say that it matters, really.î She
glanced at him again. ìSo this dinner weíre having
..... thatís just a general purpose thing, too?î

He shifted a little and tried to stretch his legs. The
effort was in vain; the cab was just too small. ìSeems
the thing to do, doesnít it? End of the day, no
breakfast to speak of and vending machine crap for
lunch .... why, arenít you hungry?î

Her smile faded, and her gaze turned again to the side
window. ìJust wondering,î she said softly.

Oh, hell. Heíd have like to stretch this out at least
until they got to the restaurant, but how much fun
would it be to watch his partner sit there and cry?
That wasnít why he was there. It wasnít what he wanted
for her. A smile, maybe a bit of soft laughter, a warm
look .... That wasnít too much to ask for, was it?

Slowly he leaned to one side as he slipped his hand
into a side pocket of his trench. Yes, there it was.
Just as slowly, he withdrew the little jewelerís case.
Well, not so little that sheíd think it contained a
ring. Thatíd just be too weird. She didnít move, just
stared out her window. Carefully he placed the box in
her lap. ìHey,î he said quietly. She blinked as she
focused on him again. He dropped his gaze to the case,
drawing hers with him. ìHappy birthday, Scully.î

She stared at the box for a moment, then looked up at
him again. A sheen quickly fogged her eyes, muting the
startling blue. Whoa, he really hadnít meant to cause
tears. She shook her head, evidently seeing his
concern in his own eyes, and managed a tight little
smile. Her chin was quivering. Definitely quivering. A
sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob burst out of
her as she fingered the velvet box. ìI thought you
forgot again.î

He slipped his arm around her, drawing her close. ìNot
a chance,î he murmured, kissing her forehead again.
She sniffed, and her smile notched up just a little.
He nodded to the case. ìAre you going to open it? I
promise, itís not a keychain.î

A giggle. An honest to God giggle. ìI wouldnít mind
another one. It wasnít really bad, as presents go.î
The tiny hinges creaked as she carefully lifted the
top. Her smile disappeared and her mouth fell open.
ìOh .... Mulder.î She looked at him again, and he had
no trouble seeing the uncertainty in her expression.
ìThis is too much .... I canít accept these.î

He frowned. ìWhy not? Theyíre sapphires. Something a
guy whoís red-green colorblind can appreciate. I got
them from an estate sale on the way to work last week,
so either you accept them and say Thank you, Mulder -
or I have to get my ears pierced.î He affected a deep
sigh. ìDo me a favor and just take them, okay? I hear
it hurts like hell when they jab that thing through
your earlobes, and you know how I am with pain.î

Her eyes were shining when she looked at him again,
though this time he suspected the tears had little to
do with self-pity. ìI should say no, just for the
pleasure of seeing you waltz into the Bureau wearing
these.î She looked again at the studs, then carefully
touched a fingertip to the facets on the stones. ìI
wouldnít, though. I - well, thank you, Mulder.î Her
smile grew so wide that a dimple appeared in her
cheek. ìSee? Unavailable.î

Unavailable. She was off the market. She was his and
she knew it, and she was making sure he knew it. Was
it possible for sunlight to fill up a guyís heart? His
arm tightened around her again, and this time she
allowed her cheek to rest on his shoulder.

He couldnít think of any words to say, so he just held
her and breathed in the scent of her hair, soft and
warm and damp with rain.

He wanted to kiss her. Wanted it in the worst way. But
here? No waiters bringing food and wine, no music, no
..... no cake. Here? The back of a cab crawling up one
of the innumerable hills in San Francisco? Awash in
bright lights from passing cars, the occasional horn
blaring, and a driver who was probably going to use
their cab fare to bet on the Trifecta at Bay Meadows
in the morning .... This was *not* how heíd envisioned
it. Still ....

She drew back just a little and looked at him. Just
looked. The smile was still there, but it had mellowed
just a tad. Her eyes held his for a long beat before
dropping to .... she was looking at his mouth. That
meant something. She was expecting it. He wasnít
taking her by surprise. This wasnít New Years; she
wasnít obligated to respond to him. A cloud of
butterflies suddenly took flight in his belly. Do it.
Kiss her. You know you want to. She wants to. Do it.
Do it.

He leaned. Breath was warm in his face, some amalgam
that was neither hers nor his, but both.

A touch. She shivered, and an answering jolt shot
through his nerves. Soft my god sheís so soft .... A
tiny sound as their lips separated, something so small
that not even the cabby sitting a few feet away could
have heard .... She was so close, his eyes refused to
focus. Close. Close. Getting closer every second ....

Contact. Shit, this one wasnít just a tender
lip-touch. This wasnít thanks very for the bauble,
Iíll treasure it. This was something more. The sweet,
tender curve of her inner lip .... the barest hint of
wetness .... no pursing at all, this was soft and full
and delicious and powerful ....

It was unbelievable, the effort it took to lift his
head. She was gleaming, her eyes and her lips, her
face glowing and a little flushed. A smile drew at her
eyes as she studied him.

ìYeah,î he murmured, breathless, as he eased himself
back against the seat. Had to put a little distance
between them before it got embarrassing. ìI just ....
wow.î

The smile became a grin as she tipped her head to one
side. ìEloquent as ever, arenít you, partner?î She
twined her fingers through his again. ìSo, tell me
about this place youíre taking me .... it has a bar?î

He was grinning stupidly, and he just didnít care. He
was a guy in love. ìBar? Yeah, probably.î

She was looking at his mouth again. ìWhat else does it
have?î

He slipped an arm back around her shoulders, drawing
her close and pressing a kiss to her brow. ìWell, it
has waiters ....î

ìMmm, waiters. Are they handsome?î

ìDogs, all of them.î Another kiss, this one to her
cheek. ìFoodís Italian.î

ìGood?î

ìThe best.î

She pressed her face into the well of his throat and
sighed, and it occured to him that she was actually
savoring *his* scent. He found the realization
incredibly arousing. ìAnd?î she breathed, tipping her
head back and looking at him. ìDoes it have a dance
floor?î

He couldnít help but grin again. ìYou want to dance,
Scully?î

She pursed her lips, and he felt beads of sweat spring
up on his forehead at the sheer sexiness of the act.
ìMmm, Mulder, I thought youíd never ask.î

This time the kiss lasted a long time. It was an
offer, and an acknowledgement. A promise of things to
come. His heart beat double-time when her arms found
their way around him beneath his trench, her hands
warm on his sides and back. The kiss broke and he
buried his face in the sweep of her hair. She smelled
like rain. Her cheek was warm against his, and he
didnít have to look to know she was smiling.

He held her tight, molding her to him, wanting her so
close heíd never again be without her. The words were
superfluous, but he smiled as he said them anyway. It
had taken him long enough to get there .... no point
in missing out on tradition now. ìScully?î

ìHmm?î

He drew back just enough to look at her. God, she was
beautiful. ìHappy birthday.î

She stroked his face and threaded her fingers through
his hair. ìIt is now,î she breathed as she found his
mouth again.
 

~~~~
end
~~~~