Title: Other Fish to Fry

Author: Gina Rain

Category: MSR, H

Rating: PG-13-ish 

Disclaimer: All characters herein are the 
creation of CC and 1013. I just want them 
to come out and play for awhile. They'll be 
back before midnight, I promise.

Spoilers: Nothing specific--post-Millenium, 
pre-All Things 

Summary: I give away NOTHING. However, I 
can assure you, it's not about cooking, and 
not much about fish.

Archiving: As long as it's somewhere safe 
and warm.
 
Feedback: GinaRain@aol.com

Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you to 
Christina for all her help. Finding a beta 
reader is not always the easiest thing to 
do, and I consider it a great act of 
kindness and support for her to have 
volunteered her very capable services. 

"For God's sake, Mulder. You can't be serious."

"Of course, I am. Why would I joke about fish?" He 
smiled at the waitress in front of them--a toothy 
teenager, who was shifting her weight from one foot 
to the other.

Scully leaned forward a bit, hoping to raise an 
imaginary  privacy shield on their conversation.

"You don't know where that fish came from, Mulder. 
You think a place like this has fresh fish? You 
could get violently ill." She didn't want to say it 
in front of one of the diner's employees, but it 
definitely was something Mulder needed to be 
reminded of. After all, they still had a good six 
hours drive before they'd be back in Washington, and 
having him heave out of the window for half of that 
time wasn't her idea of a fun Friday  night.

His eyes sparkled in mischief as he looked down at 
the menu, then back up at the waitress.

"Miss--is the fish fresh here?"

She cracked her bubble gum loudly and her expression 
changed from bored to utterly bored. 

"Um--yeah, I guess."

"Fish is fresh, Scully. I'm having the fish."

The waitress took that as his final decision and 
went off to place the order. Scully leaned back in 
the booth, sighing in exasperation.

"You better ask for a barf bag," she said, looking 
out into the dark night. "You know, we'd have been  
better off at a McDonald's."

"Now, now, Scully. You are the one who told me you 
HAD to eat--right this very moment. There wasn't a 
Micky D's in sight. Besides, even they have fish. 
And, I don't imagine they have a team of fisherman 
on staff pulling  those wriggling little guys from 
the water on a daily basis."

She gave him a glance that informed him that he was 
a total and complete mystery to her.

"In all the years I've known you, Mulder, I have 
never once seen you order fish; eat fish; think 
fish; or do anything but put in an endless supply of 
the miniature ones in the tank in your living room. 
Why would you have this undeniable craving for it 
now--in the middle of a greasy spoon in Nowhere, 
USA?"

"I don't know, Scully. Maybe because you've already 
vetoed just a slice of pie and coffee, which is what 
I really wanted."

"I didn't veto it. I just said I didn't want it."

"No, you said you refused to indulge in a sugary 
caffeine fest in the middle of the night when you 
hadn't had anything nutritious in your body for 
twelve hours. So, for once, I'm deciding to join you 
in your healthy living diet. You can have your 
lovely little salad, and I can eat my chock-full of 
vitamins flounder. If you discourage me now, I may 
have to slip back to my evil ways." It was his turn 
to lean back into his side of the booth. His 
expression could only be called smug.

"Fine," she said.

"Good," he said.

It had been a very tough night. The X file was not 
only not an X file, it was a boring non-X file. 
Their entire trip was a waste of government money, 
and the agents' time. Mulder couldn't wait to get 
back to D.C., but  Scully needed a break.  The 
endless, pitch black road  was playing havoc with 
her eyesight  and her mood, and she had practically 
insisted that he stop the car immediately, or suffer 
the consequences. She sighed to herself. He was only 
following "orders."

The food was served and both partners dug in without 
further ceremony. After swallowing a third of her 
salad in record-breaking time, she looked up at 
Mulder. He was engrossed in his meal. She looked 
down at it. It didn't look that bad. Still, she 
would ask for a plastic bag before they left. Better 
safe than sorry.

"How's your salad, Scully?" He looked at her with a 
smile.

"It's very nice, actually. They have some spice in 
the dressing--I can't quite place it, but it's 
nice."

"Mmmmm." His attempt at a "yummy sound" didn't sound 
very convincing. She knew he hated anything green in 
food. She smiled to herself. Better not look too 
closely at the fish, then. She felt a giggle brewing 
somewhere inside her and stamped it down where it 
belonged. She was beginning to amuse herself, which 
could only mean one thing. She was getting punchy. 
She definitely needed coffee or a long nap. She 
summoned the waitress and went for the java.

Mulder lifted an eyebrow in amusement.

"Caffeine, Scully? At this ungodly hour?"

"Shut up, Mulder. Besides, I might have to take over 
the driving if you suddenly get an attack of 
seasickness."

"Not planning on it, Scully."

"Well, good. Because I would rather just stare at 
the beautiful, nighttime scenery and leave the 
driving to you."

The waitress plopped the coffee down in front of 
Scully and Mulder asked for a cup of his own--and a 
slice of pie. Scully quietly shook her head in 
amusement. 

"Scully--you know, we now will have two whole days 
of freedom. What will we do?"

"We?"

"Yeah. I thought it would be nice to just do 
something non-work related. Just you and me."

Just you and me. She found that expression so odd. 
They had been spending a lot more time together this 
year, aside from work. She enjoyed every minute of 
it, but it still had a foreign sound to it.

"What do you have in mind?" She asked.

"Oh, you don't want to know that." He smiled at her 
under his long eyelashes. She thought she would love 
nothing more than to know exactly what he was 
thinking when she posed her question. But, of 
course, these were the questions that remained 
unanswered because she refused to ask them.

"We could see a movie, or go to the park, or to a 
museum. Anything you want, really." He said.

"Anything?" She asked. She felt a need for more 
coffee. She really was getting punchy. The self-
amusement was gone and now she was in the middle of 
a mini-flirt-a-thon.

He looked surprised, but unfazed. "Anything for you, 
Scully." He said it lightly, but they both knew he 
meant it. Anything. I would do anything you want. 
Anything. She snapped herself out of her semi-trance 
like state.

"Good. I'll get back to you on that." She lifted her 
coffee cup to her lips and avoided his gaze. 
Brilliant comeback, she thought. In their game of 
cat and mouse, she often was the one running back 
into the hole.
However, he would not be the one leaning back on his 
haunches, licking his whiskers this time. She 
reached over and took the fork from his hand and 
speared a piece of the apple pie in front of him. 
She slowly, and rather seductively, placed it in her 
mouth, knowing his gaze never left her lips.  Her 
"yummy sound" was genuine, and his barely muffled 
groan was gratifying to hear. She plunked down the 
fork and excused herself, as she made her way into 
the ladies room. Meow.

Back in the car, Mulder turned on an all night rock 
station to keep himself alert during the last part 
of their trek home. Scully stared out of the window, 
watching the seemingly endless miles of darkness go 
by. She closed her eyes and thought of what they 
could do together the next day. She wasn't much for 
daydreaming, but she pictured him walking her to her 
door when they got home in a few hours and coming 
inside for yet another cup of coffee. Her mind 
became fuzzier and the picture before her closed 
eyelids blurred-- softly, as she looked up at 
Mulder, who dropped her suitcase on the floor.

"Why don't you stay, Mulder? You are tired--you can 
always crash on the couch."

He looked at the offered piece of furniture as if it 
were a well of cool spring water in the middle of 
the arid sands of Arizona.  "Are you sure?" he 
asked, as she took a step toward him. She was bold 
as she was losing consciousness. Or, was she already 
dreaming?

"I'm sure." She stopped mere inches away from him 
and looked up. "Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember our kiss?" Well, Scully thought, 
she must officially be dreaming. If she even 
entertained the thought of asking such a stupid 
question while conscious, she would find a way to 
kick herself, even if it was physically impossible.

"Of course I do," he said softly. He looked down--
not at her, but at his feet. "Was it--alright? I 
mean, did it make you uncomfortable? Did you--like 
it?"

She could picture him saying that. Well, she was 
picturing him saying that. She gave a passing 
thought of how strange it was that she was 
critiquing her own dreams, while still in the dream 
state. Perhaps, when she woke up, she'd hit the 
internet and find out  if Freud had a theory on 
people who do that.

Now she knew she was dreaming. It was official. Over 
Mulder's head--actually, all around them both, were 
torn lettuce leaves, suspended in mid-air.

"Yes, Mulder, I liked the kiss very much. "

"Why am I sensing a "but" here, Scully?"

The lettuce leaves were slowly metamorphisizing into 
green butterflies and they began dancing around 
them. She could feel their wings take up residence 
inside the walls of her stomach.

"Well--it's not that, really. It's just--if I could 
make one change, I would want you to kiss me again 
right after you pulled away and smiled. And, this 
time, I wish you would open your mouth a bit, or 
make me open mine."

"That would turn you on?" he smirked.

"Well, it would make it impossible for me to turn 
back. For us to turn back. The final step would be 
taken--the one that leads to the first step of a new 
beginning." 

"Hmmm." Mulder responded. She wasn't sure what to 
make of that sound.

"It was a beautiful kiss, Mulder. It really was. I 
will treasure it always. I just wish--sometimes, 
that we weren't always 100% polite with each other. 
That one or the other would just reach for what we 
want instead of waiting for unspoken permission to 
be granted." Dream Scully, she decided, had a 
hankering to be a romance novelist somewhere in her 
subconscious.

Dream Mulder smiled at her the way he smiled at her 
after that kiss--a deep, rich smile that conveyed 
more than a 3,000 word tome on the glory of love. 
Then, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to 
hers, as if he were continuing that self-same kiss. 
His tongue gently pressed against her lips and she 
opened her mouth a bit. 

"Ouch." The butterflies bit her.

Mulder didn't seem to notice and deepened the kiss.

The butterflies took a bigger bite. She tried to 
ignore the pain and kiss him harder. A washing 
machine worth of coffee joined the butterflies and 
started the rinse cycle in her stomach.

Scully groaned loudly--not in pleasure, but in pain.

Mulder gave her a sideways glance as he drove. She 
had been groaning in her sleep, but he had just 
assumed she was having a sex dream. Now, she sounded 
strange.

"Scully--are you alright?"

She shook herself into total consciousness.

"Stop the car, Mulder."

"What?"

"Stop the car--right now." 

He pulled over to the shoulder of the road and she 
flung open the car door and ran to the guard rail. 
He heard retching sounds. The butterflies were being 
set free.


"There is no way in holy hell I'm leaving you by 
yourself, Scully. Get used to it," he said, tossing 
her suitcase to the ground as soon as he was in her 
front door.

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"Yes, that's why you've had your head out of the 
window for the last two and a half hours--because 
you are the picture of health. By the way, the paint 
job on the car will never be the same."

She plopped herself face down on the couch. Big 
mistake, she groaned to herself again. She barely 
made it to her feet when she felt the need to run 
into the bathroom again. 

"I'm not leaving, Scully." He called after her, 
taking his shoes and socks off. He might as well 
make himself comfortable, seeing as he would be 
Scully's official hair-holder this evening. 

She emerged from the bathroom--shades of white and 
green mingling in her complexion. . Mulder had a 
strong cup of tea waiting for her. She glanced in 
the direction of the coffee table in revulsion,  and 
headed for her bedroom.  Mulder followed with the 
tea.

"No offense, Mulder, but I can handle the undressing 
part myself and you can have that tea. I don't want 
it."
"You're going to drink it. You're probably already  
dehydrated and I'm checking your temperature in a 
minute. Where is the thermometer?"

"In the medicine cabinet. Go find it--as a matter of 
fact, make yourself useful and take a shower. I 
don't want the  aroma of ten hours of driving to get 
me sick again."

He looked at her, slightly startled and didn't give 
in to the immediate temptation to sniff himself, 
although he was pretty sure that he was far from 
"ripe." He gave her a brief smile and went into her 
bathroom to shower. She was complaing about odor 
from him? Fermented lettuce leaves didn't exactly 
exude  perfume. He rummaged through the cabinet in 
her vanity. Pine Sol. That should do it. This 
bathroom definitely needed some freshening.  He 
quickly cleaned all the already immaculate surfaces 
with the strong disinfectant, and pulled out the 
thermometer. He'd give her a few more minutes to get 
herself settled in bed. 
As he was pulling off his shirt, he heard a hurried 
knock on the door.

"Mulder--I need to get in there--now."

He threw open the door and she was kneeling in front 
of  the toilet before he could even step out of the 
room. He made a hasty retreat.  

She walked out of the bathroom. She had changed into 
a sweatsuit--a damned ugly one, and slowly made her 
way over to the bed. Mulder was sitting, shirtless, 
on a chair in the corner of her room. As she settled 
herself , he walked over to her and put his hand on 
her forehead.

"You're warm--let me get the thermometer."

"No--I already checked. 100.9. It's a nasty little 
case of food poisoning."

He slipped his hand behind her back, pushing her in 
a sitting position, and took the tea cup and brought 
it to her lips. She stared at him in amazement.

"What--do you think you are doing?"

"I'm helping you drink this."

"And did anything I said or did give you the 
impression that I was incapable of holding eight 
ounces of fluid to my mouth? Or sitting up on my 
own?"

"Well, no. Of course not. But, you look awful. I 
thought you might---"

"Don't think. I don't want you to do my thinking for 
me. I'm fully capable of doing it myself, thank you. 
Now, go to the living room and get some sleep. I'm 
sorry, but it's probably not wise for you to shower, 
because I may have to use the bathroom again, and I 
don't have a lot of warning time. So, if you could 
just sponge bathe, that would be very helpful to me. 
Of course, that is, if you are still hell bent on 
staying."

"I told you. I'm not leaving you."

"Don't you have other fish to fry?" she asked.

"What?" It was his turn to stare in amazement. He  
had no idea what she was talking about.

"It's an expression. I'm giving you an opening line. 
You know you want to make fun of me. You know it--
so, why don't you just do it."

"Are you sure your temperature isn't higher than 
100.9?"

Her cheeks had a bit of a pink tinge to them, 
mingling with the green and chalk white. She raised 
her voice. "You had some awful fish in a filthy, 
godforsaken hell hole of a diner and you're sitting 
back healthy  as an ox. And, I had a simple salad 
that no one, in the history of the world, has 
probably ever been able to fuck up and I'm losing 
the entire contents of my stomach and then some. You 
don't find that funny?"

"No, I don't find that funny," he said, without a 
trace of amusement in either his voice or his looks. 

"Well, I do. I find it very funny. Hysterical," she 
said, taking the tea and forcing herself to drink 
the tepid liquid until it was completely finished. 
She leaned back against the pillow and rubbed 
lightly on her stomach. "My whole insides are sore 
and raw."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't do it." 

"It's a blanket apology. Whatever you are mad at me 
about, I'm sorry for it."

She looked at him carefully. He was serious. 

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?"

He looked her straight in the eye and said softly, 

"Yes, I love you very much."

"Good, then do me a favor and shoot me now, cause I 
think I'm going to lose the tea any minute now." She 
put her hand to her stomach again and noticed the 
fleeting, but unmistakable, expression of hurt in 
his eyes. She cared, but not enough to do anything 
about it at the moment. She had always been  a bad 
patient. Always. She remembered making her 
grandmother cry when, at three years of age, she 
chased her out of the room, as she hovered over 
Dana's  sickbed. She liked being alone in her misery 
with the chicken pox she suffered from then, and she 
definitely would have loved to be alone for this. 
She had not had any trace of nausea since the 
chemotherapy and having that feeling again brought 
up memories long since buried. Not to mention the 
fact that, in spite of her being a doctor, and 
having an alleged clinical detachment for such 
things, she felt humiliated at sharing the wrong 
type of bodily fluid with Mulder nearby.  

She had turned her head away from him as he went 
back into the bathroom. She leaned her head against 
the pillow. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to 
vomit again. She swore she  heard him mutter to 
himself, "in sickness and in health" a few times 
before she fell asleep.

The smell of a Christmas tree hit her nostrils as 
she looked up at Mulder, handsome and glowing with 
pride, in the strong December sun. The tree was 
decorated with more neon green butterflies, and 
thermometers dipped in glitter hung from every 
branch.  They lightly held  hands underneath the 
lush boughs. A shiny ring with a gold and diamond 
encrusted angel fish was on the third finger of her 
left hand. As she looked down at it, it winked at 
her.

"In sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as 
long as you both shall live," came a disembodied 
voice.

Mulder looked down at her.  "I do." His soulful eyes 
warmed her.

"Then," continued the voice, "by the power vested in 
me, by the state of Maryland, I now pronounce you 
husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Two cups of bitter tea suddenly appeared in their 
hands as they toasted each other and leaned forward 
to kiss. The butterflies swung free from the tree 
and Scully backed away from Mulder to yell at them.

"I swear, if one more insect, even a pretty one, 
dares to interrupt another kiss, I'm taking stock in 
industrial strength Raid and zapping you all out of 
the ecosystem."

The green butterflies quietly made an about face, 
turned gold, and lit up the tree as Mulder leaned 
forward once again. 

"This time, open your mouth a little," she reminded 
him. He looked annoyed, but parted his lips as he 
leaned forward.

Scully sat up in bed, alert and disappointed. The 
dream ended at the wrong moment. She looked around 
the darkened room. What had disturbed her sleep, she 
wondered? She didn't feel so bad now. A bit sore, 
but she had managed to keep the tea down and, 
according to the clock, she had slept for a quite a  
few hours. It had been daybreak when they got to her 
apartment. It was now dark again, except for a small 
nightlight in the bathroom. The rest of the 
apartment seemed  quiet, and then she heard it. The 
quiet, deep, even breathing that she was just not 
used to in her own room. Mulder was there. Still 
sitting in the chair,  neck at a precarious angle--
fast asleep. 

She took stock of the situation. The poor man had 
slept in that chair for heaven only knows how long. 
Watching her--seeing if she needed anything. She 
sighed. He really was something else. Earlier in 
their relationship, there were many times when he 
could, and did, just turn around and leave her. When 
he turned off his emotions and delved deeply into 
something else that he hoped would take him away 
from any further entanglement in her life. Now, he 
stayed. Even when she didn't always want him to. 

She quietly got up and went into her bathroom. After 
closing the door, she peeled off her clothes and 
stepped into a nice hot shower. She rubbed and 
scrubbed, rinsed, and re-rinsed, until she felt like 
a complete human being again. She looked in her 
mirror. A bit pale, but the green tinge was gone 
from her face. Confident that she wouldn't ruin 
them, she dressed in a pair of blue silk pajamas and  
walked toward the door. She stopped and hurried back 
to the sink. Mouthwash. She needed mouthwash. A 
third of  a bottle later, she was ready to walk out 
again.

Scully quietly slipped onto Mulder's lap and leaned 
her head in the crook of his neck. He stirred and 
groaned, loudly--in pain.

"I told you not to have the fish, " she said to him 
quietly.

"Ugh, Scully." He shifted under her, groaning again. 
"Move your head a minute, Scully. I have such a 
cramp in my neck."

"It's not the fish?" She asked, somewhat 
disappointed. She wasn't a good patient, but she had 
looked forward to playing doctor.

"It's not the damned fish already. It's my neck. 
Ow." He cried out as her fingers touched the exact 
nerve that was slightly pinched, then quickly moaned 
in appreciation. Her strong fingers were working out 
whatever kink was there and he was already feeling 
much relief. He was able to move his head back and 
forth without a problem when he fully realized that 
Scully was not where she should be.

"Hey, Scully. What are you doing out of bed? I'm 
sorry I made such a fuss, but you need to rest."

"Don't be silly, Mulder. I feel okay, now. A little 
sore--like I've done too many sit-ups, but really, 
not bad at all. Besides, if anyone should be sorry, 
it should be me. I'm not the greatest patient, you 
know."

"You aren't?" he asked, in mock surprise.

"No. I'm not. But, that doesn't mean I don't 
appreciate the effort made."


"Nothing I did was anything you wouldn't have done 
for me."

"Well, that may be true, but still--I'm glad you 
were here, in a perverse sort of way." She assumed 
her former position with her head buried in the 
crook of his neck. He stroked her leg, and they sat 
in comfortable silence for awhile.

She sat up, alert again and looked Mulder straight 
in the eye.

"Why are you so polite, Mulder?"

"Me? Polite?"

"Yes, you. Don't you just want to grab sometimes--
not ask first? Don't you want to know the answers to 
questions you've already responded to? Don't you 
think you deserve any of that?"

He looked at her with a frown on his face, hoping he 
didn't do something wrong again. She laughed as she 
another blanket apology. Mulder was Mulder. The sins 
of the world fell on his shoulders and he thought 
they belonged there. She took her hands and began to 
rub the tight muscles just past his neck.

"My own personal Atlas. You kissed me on New Year's 
Eve and didn't kiss me again. Didn't you want to?"

"Of course I did."

"Then, why didn't you?"

"I wasn't sure you wanted me to. We hadn't discussed 
it."

"It's a kiss, Mulder. It was a kiss seven years in 
the making. I wanted to kiss you, or you would have 
been flat on your ass, holiday or no holiday. And, I 
wanted you to keep kissing me, but you backed away."

"So did you."

"Okay, I will give you that one, I guess."

"Um--thanks?" 

"But, you've now told me you love me twice. One 
time, well, I just wasn't sure about that one--since 
drugs were involved.  But, today--you should have 
damned well expected an answer. And, a good one."

"You were sick, Scully. I know you didn't mean 
anything by whatever you said."

She pushed her head closer to him, so their lips 
were just an inch and a half apart. 

"Stop being polite." Her voice dropped into an 
impossible low, seductive range.  "You said you'd do 
anything I want. I want you to stop being so polite 
when it comes to us."

"Do you want me to grab or demand answers?"

"Both. In whatever order you want."

"No. I will do it in the proper order. But thanks 
for the tempting offer.." He cleared his throat. 
Somehow, as hard as it was to say, it was easier 
than having to ask.

"Scully--do you love me--a little?"

She laughed, in order to stifle a great urge to cry. 
Mulder. Mulder. Beautiful, mixed-up, fucked-up 
Mulder. She sighed. She knew she didn't always help 
the situation by being timid herself. But the time 
for all of that would soon be past, and soon there 
would be no more mixed messages. Signals would be 
coming in loud and clear.  She looked deep into his 
eyes, hoping to reach his very soul.

"I love you more than you can even imagine. And 
since I know how big your imagination is--I think 
that's saying a lot, don't you? And, Mulder--" She 
touched his lower lip gently with her index finger. 
"I mean every single word--with all my heart."

He could only nod his head and stare at her for a 
moment. This was definitely a very strange night in 
a string of years of strange nights. Scully smiled. 
A speechless Fox Mulder. That was a rare event, 
indeed. 

"I would ask you if you were planning to grab now, 
but that would take away the spontanaiety." 

He put his hands in her hair and drew her face to 
his. This time, his lips were parted without her 
having to ask or think about it. 

There wasn't a floating lettuce leaf, a butterfly or 
a winking fish in sight.


Author's note: I don't randomly go around giving 
Scully tummy aches. This was in response to a 
specific fanfic challenge where Mulder has to take 
care of an ailing Scully. In my own, scattered way, 
I lost the link to where I was to submit it, but 
that's another story.  I just wanted to thank 
everyone who read "Finding My Smile," which was my 
first x-files fan fiction, and I appreciate the 
positive response more than I can say.