Title: Style and Substance Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Rating: PG-13 (language and slight adult references) Category: Established MSR, S, Fluff Spoilers: Post-ep for Hollywood A.D. Summary: We interrupt the angst--for a simple tale of two agents experiencing the Hollywood nightlife. Disclaimer: CC and 1013 own them but we have taken custody for the physical, mental and spiritual well being of the characters. Deal with it. I pretty much suspected she was drunk the first time she giggled. Scully is many things but a giggler she is not. Especially in the middle of me pouring my heart out to her. Of course, I was probably taking things way too seriously. It was, after all, only a stupid movie. But damn it--she came off as the heroic femme fatale of the FBI and I came off as the big boob I probably am. It's one thing to suspect that people perceive you in a certain way. It's quite another to have definitive proof. Definitive proof on the silver screen. Definitive proof that, even if unsuccessful, will still be witnessed by thousands of people. But Scully, with her lilting laughter, was pulling me away from reality. In her hands she held a one-way ticket to unbridled, completely paid for and authorized play time. I could pull a Scarlet O'Hara and worry about the angsty shit tomorrow. While I was at it, I could also worry about why I automatically identified with a long-dead drama queen. So I let my lovely partner's giggles lead the way. She must have sucked up some of that expensive champagne they were serving at the reception. Pretty fast, actually, since she tracked me down rather quickly after I pulled my disappearing act. Probably while Skinner was trying to pry his hand away from his clinging vine starlet long enough to dig into his pocket for the Bureau credit card. Whatever. The slight, or not so slight, inebriation suited her. She was all soft and warm and cuddly. At that point, I was tempted to suggest we forfeit the free ride and return to one or the other of our hotel rooms to pass the time in a more intimate fashion. But we didn't get a chance to go out all that often and Scully was pulling rather insistently on my hand to help yank me out of the limousine. "Come on, Mulder. Look alive. Time to have some fun." Kyra's Karaoke Korner. Kill me kwick. She led me to a corner table towards the back. Nice and dark so we could "make fun of the singers," which she seemed to think is something I would enjoy doing. What a reputation. Scully ordered a large cappuccino, probably to sober up a bit, and I ordered a coke. I just wasn't in the mood to further my depression with alcohol. Caffeine after booze made for a chatty Scully. "So, who do you think that girl with Skinner was? She was young enough to be his daughter." "Oh, who knows? Someone who wants a brush with glory. Maybe she actually bought the A.P. Skinner deal and thought he would hire her for his next movie." "I believe they prefer the word 'film.' And what film do you suppose that would be, Mulder? A sequel to the 'Lazarus Bowl'?" The look on my face must have told her what I thought of that idea. The Scully giggle reemerged. She reached out and touched my hair lightly. "You are very cute when you get all pissy. Did I ever tell you that?" Cute? She's never called me cute. Ever. Just how smashed was she? "No, Scully. You never told me." Might as well humor her. Maybe she'd tell me some other things she's never told me before. "Well, then--consider yourself enlightened." She nudged my legs with hers. "Now, let me out--I have to use the ladies' room." I moved my knees out of her way but she still had to climb over me a bit. A benefit of my forgetting my gentlemanly manners. Her sly smile, as she briefly pressed against me, gave me the impression that she didn't mind too much. I tried to take a mental break from my worries about the movie by engaging in one of my favorite pursuits: Scully watching. She looked lovely tonight. Formal in her classically beautiful way. She had removed her black coat to reveal her sleeveless dress and her hair was pulled back off her face with a pretty headband type thing. It shimmered a bit. Nice touch. I wondered if she realized that she wiggled a little when she walked. I wondered if she'd get violent if I informed her of that fact. The best part of all was that the woman I was watching so intently was now mine. I was hers. Movie be damned. Bureau be damned. She was mine. I had no desire to sing anything, but I wouldn't mind taking the stage later just to be able to announce to all and sundry that the babe in black belonged to me. Body and soul. At long last. Finally. Amen. Scully was returning to the table and was absolutely glowing. Literally. I blinked twice and sniffed my drink to make sure they didn't mistakenly put rum in my Coke. No. They didn't. She glowed, all right. She stood in front of me, waiting for me to swing my legs out so she could squeeze back into the corner to her empty chair. She smiled when she looked at me staring at her shiny chest and arms. "Like it?" "Um. . .yes, what is it?" "Glitter. There was a girl in the bathroom--young-- Skinner would have liked her. She was using this on every bit of exposed skin she had--which was quite a bit. I guess I must have been staring because she let me have some." She abandoned the idea of sitting in a chair and politely settled herself on my lap. "Look--it's in my hair and right here," she pointed to the area just under her eyebrows. Now that was one smart place to put that stuff. It was like adding a mini-spotlight to her already expressive eyes. "Do you like pretty, shiny things, Mulder?" She asked, lowering her voice an octave while batting her eyelashes at me. I could hardly breathe. The woman was openly flirting. She was sitting on my lap, in public. Batting her eyelashes. Wearing body glitter. She kicked off her pumps and was lightly rubbing her stockinged left foot up my leg. For the first time in days, I was beginning to enjoy Hollywood. She moved until she was arranged more comfortably on my lap and turned her attention to the stage. Some Madonna wannabe was singing one of her earlier hits, "Crazy For You." Actually, she wasn't bad. Right in tune. I put my arms lightly around Scully's waist and watched the performance when a sudden dissonant tone broke my concentration. Stereo Madonna. Stereo off-key Madonna. Scully was singing. Scully was singing a Madonna song. And, apparently, knew every word by heart. Oh, we were going to have to talk about this later. I needed to know how something like this could happen. A quick flash of a younger Scully in a Madonna-ish outfit from the eighties sent a quick, somewhat unpleasant, shiver down my spine. This was quickly replaced by another shiver as Scully decided to not only sing along to the tape and the pseudo-singer on stage but to actually turn and focus all her attention on me as she did so. Scully was serenading me while slowly running her hands up and down my chest. The agony and the ecstasy. "You know I'm crazy for you-- Touch me once and you'll know it's true-- I've never wanted anyone like this It's all brand new You'll feel it in my kiss I'm crazy for you." Instead, I tried to subtly sniff the air around her. I wanted to know if people should actually be lighting cigarettes near an apparently highly flammable FBI agent. I guess I wasn't that subtle. She stopped singing. Shit. Busted. She smiled a wicked smile and put both hands on my face. She leaned forward and kissed me. Not a quick, we're- out-in-public kiss but one that pretty much covered my dental examination for the next six months. I pulled my face away quickly. "Hey." "Hey, what?" she asked in all innocence. "I just taste coffee." "What did you expect to taste?" "Um. . .something a bit more lethal." "Coffee can be somewhat lethal. Did you know that caffeine. . ." "Scully," I broke in on her lecture on the perils of natural stimulants, "you're not drunk. You're--happy." "Don't sound so surprised, Mulder. Jesus. It happens once in awhile." "Once in a great while." Her expression was warm and amused, as it had been all evening. "Well, I don't know. Maybe it's being away from work. Maybe it's being somewhere where no one knows us and we can let go a little. Maybe the moon is full. Or maybe I'm just high on being with the hottest man in the building." "Me--hot?" "You--very hot. Always. You look incredible in that tux, you know. Even if you did mess up the shirt." "What?" I looked down at the shirt she had exposed during her chest fondling session. Ink. I pulled open the tuxedo jacket. Sure enough, the pen in the inner pocket had leaked. Smooth. Fred Astaire, no. Fred Flintstone. Maybe. I began to wonder what kind of warped definition Scully had of the word "hot." She snuggled closer to me. "I like you, Mulder," she whispered in my ear. Not the four little words I had been waiting to hear. "Well, that's nice to know. I like you, too." Maybe I'd use that phrase the next time we were in the throes of passion. See how she reacted. Her blue eyes were filled with affection as they steadily looked into mine. "Of course, it's more than that, Mulder. Much more. But you can love someone and not like them at all. And that's always struck me as being rather sad. Even after all this time, I still like being with you. Even without all the new fringe benefits. You just care so damned much about everything. That crappy movie didn't even touch the surface of all that you are. And you know something? I'm kind of glad. Because I don't want half the female population of America lining up on the steps of the Hoover building waiting for a glimpse of you." She leaned forward again and closed her eyes as she whispered in my ear. "But if they did find out. . .I'd get rid of all of them. You're mine." Scratch what I said about those not being the words I wanted to hear. These words were turning me into a virtual puddle of goo. And she wasn't through with me yet. "So--one less thing on your 'things to worry about' list, okay? I like and respect you no matter how you're portrayed in some idiotic movie, no matter what kind of Rorschach test you have on your chest and no matter how many breathalyzers you put me through when you don't understand my behavior." I looked at the woman before me. Scully was a lot of things. She played many roles. Agent Scully. Classic Scully. Giddy Scully. Glittery Scully. Amorous Scully. Those were just a few that made their appearance tonight. And they all cared about me. All in all, I was a pretty lucky bastard. I stood up, forcing her to her feet. "I think we need to move on. We need a place where we can dance. I have a sudden and rather urgent need to hold you. Look alive, Scully. We're going to have fun tonight." The End Author's notes: This was originally a Scullyfic challenge at Jenna's royal request as head honcho of the day. I reworked it a little and decided to post it--just as a little breather from the angst. Don't get me wrong, as a reader, I love angst, but I find myself needing a little break after reading four or five darker stories in a row. So, this is just my contribution toward the lighter side. Special thanks to Laura for her encouragement. Elements used: An ink stained shirt; someone other than Frohike saying that another character is "hot" and/or "tasty;" any character singing any song written between 1983 and 1989, in a karaoke bar; any character wearing body glitter; a Rorschach test ; an usual method of stress relief (ok--so Scully- watching is fudging a bit. . .this was only for extra credit anyway. I'm an overachiever). Words from "Crazy for You" were used without permission. No infringement on the rights of whoever wrote it was intended. It was literally the first song I could think of that came under the above category and I thought it might be amusing to hear Scully sing it. This was not beta-read. Just wanted my beta's reputation to be remain pure.