From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 29 Mar 2005 01:41:34 -0000
Subject: Touchy-Feely Fortune by Gina Rain by Gina Rain
Source: direct

Reply To: ginarain@aol.com


Title: Touchy-Feely Fortune
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Category: S, UST
Spoilers: Mid-season 7. Nothing beyond.
Rating: Don't know if we're doing them this week or not 
but I'm not shooing anyone away with a broom, no matter 
how young they are.
Disclaimer: They aren't my creations, but I love them and 
thank CC and Company for dreaming them up and letting me 
play with them.
Summary:  Mulder returns to the land of the living.


It was the fortune cookie's fault. 

Well, maybe not. Maybe it was Scully's. In all the years 
I've known her, she's never had a hunger attack the way 
she did that night. We had about fifteen minutes left on 
an extremely boring stakeout when she decided she could 
no longer do without food. The psychologist in me might 
have questioned whether it was true hunger or a feeling 
brought on by lack of mental stimuli, but the self-
preservationist in me told her I could go for some Hunan 
beef. She called in our order and we were off to the 
restaurant as soon as the next shift arrived to relieve 
us.

Yes, Scully was probably more culpable than the mass-
produced, crap-flavored inanimate object I originally 
blamed. Or maybe it was really the fault of Walter S. 
Skinner, esteemed boss and sometimes sort-of friend, who 
gave us this assignment. I know he did it with the best 
of intentions, of course. I think hearing about my whole "my 
sister is in starlight, I'm free" speech scared the shit 
out of him. He probably thought I was finally going 
over the razor sharp edge of reality 
I normally surfed upon. After I had withdrawn my request for 
time off, Skinner had countered with this assignment: 
babysitting a suspected drug smuggler. The only problem 
was the suspect owned a brain and knew how to use it. He 
spotted the first tail in moments and laid low in his 
apartment ever since. That left us looking through high-powered
binoculars at a whole lot of nothing.

The thing is, I didn't much care. The less time I had to 
think about my losses and the disaster my life had 
become, the better. And the quest that had been the 
driving force of my life seemed rather pointless. I was 
actually relieved that our talents were being put to more 
mediocre use.

Yes, it was probably, ultimately, Skinner's fault.
 
Anyway, Scully was hungry and she ran into the King Kung 
Dynasty Take-Out-Is-Our-Life Restaurant almost before I 
had a chance to fully stop the car. She picked up our 
order and started handing out the white cardboard cartons 
as soon as tush met rich Corinthian pleather. 

"You weren't kidding about being hungry, were you?"

"I never joke about low blood sugar," she said and 
started chowing down. I ate the spicy beef and took in 
our surroundings. There was nothing quite like fine dining 
in the front seat of a dark car, on a dark parking lot, 
with only two street lights casting eerie shadows on the 
bare trees and asphalt that surrounded us.

After we ate, I rolled down the window a little to dispel 
the once charming, but now annoying, combined scents of 
my food and the sweet and sour chicken Scully had 
ordered.  Instead of searching for something more 
interesting to talk about than the quality of said food 
or the possibility of following our meal with a Baskin-
Robbins run for dessert, I picked up my fortune cookie 
and opened it.

I must have smirked as I read my fortune because Scully 
was suddenly interested.

"What does it say?"

"The usual crap."

"That's not an answer to my question, is it?"

I looked at her. She was playing with the cellophane 
wrapper of her own fortune cookie. There wasn't any 
noticeable change of expression on her face but there was 
something in her eyes. A spark of annoyance, perhaps? It 
wouldn't pay to antagonize the only person who really 
liked me. Most of the time. In spite of myself.

"It says, 'you will do something nice for yourself.'"

"And why is that crap?" she asked.

"Because I do nice things for myself all the time."

She leaned back against the car seat, holding the cookie 
between the thumb and forefinger of both hands while
playing a kind of tug of war with the wrapper that gave 
off a steady crackling noise. "Like what, for example?"

"I watch the Knicks."

"Big deal."

"It is a big deal. I like the Knicks."

"I like Jeopardy. I don't send up balloons in celebration 
every time I get a chance to watch."

"That's different. Men have a very serious - almost 
spiritual - connection to the teams they love."

"I'm not casting aspersions on the team, Mulder. I'm just 
saying a man watching a sporting event is not a huge 
indulgence. Maybe if you flew out to New York, on a 
Wednesday, checked into the Plaza and bought yourself 
courtside seats, I'd give you credit for that one. But 
just watching a game on tv? No. What else do you do for 
yourself?"

For a woman who didn't lay claim to loving sports, she 
sure knew how to play hardball.

"Okay. I once went to Graceland. As a pilgrimage to 
Elvis."

"I know about that trip," she said, with an almost 
undetectable (except to me) wince, "That was years ago 
and, therefore, doesn't count. What have you done for 
yourself lately?"

"Shouldn't that question be accompanied by a little 
dance?" Visions of Scully doing Janet Jackson moves were 
quickly dispelled by her frown. She was serious and since 
she just referenced another time when I didn't take her 
quite as seriously as I should have, and the results were 
. . . oy . . . I straightened up and decided to fly 
right. "Okay. Since you imposed a random time 
restriction on this little game, all right. Give me a 
minute." I closed my eyes and leaned my own head back 
against the car seat. What nice thing have I done for 
myself? Lately? I got it.

"My job. Some say my whole career has been nothing but a 
self-indulgence."

"You and I both know it's not. Next."

Crap. I closed my eyes again. Oh, this was easy. Scully 
wanted to play hardball. I could play hardball. "I know. 
My collection of . . .  literature and visual entertainment."

"Your porn?" Scully took her cookie in one hand and made 
a dismissive gesture with it. "That's stress relief 
through moderate titillation."

I frowned. "You make it sound so . . . clinical. Clean, 
almost." I faked (or maybe didn't) a shudder. That 
brought a smile to her face.

"You can't think of anything, can you?" She asked.

"This is a stupid conversation, Scully. I'm not a baby. I 
don't need to constantly amuse myself."

"You should, Mulder. You really should," she said with a 
soft, plaintive tone in her voice. And there it was: the 
accompanying look. There was pity in those baby blues of 
hers.

"It's better when someone does something nice for you," I 
said, mainly because I couldn't think of anything else 
to get me out of this ridiculous conversation.

"That's nice, too, but there is nothing wrong with a 
little self-love."

"Yes, I know, you already told me that--Oh, Graduate of 
the St. Theresa's School for the Terminally Titillated. 
Are you going to open that thing or just drive me crazy 
by playing with it all night? Maybe your cookie holds some 
wonderful words of wisdom I can badger you about for the 
next half hour."

Scully smiled and opened the wrapper. She broke the 
cookie neatly in half and pulled out the paper. "Your 
talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded," she 
read.

"You see what I mean, Scully? Mindless sayings that can 
apply to anyone."

"Exactly what do you expect? 'The truth is . . . fill in the 
blank?'"

"Well, that would be nice. I could finally stop 
searching."

I was hit square in the forehead by a flying half of a 
fortune cookie. "*We* could stop searching, Mulder. We. 
Not just you. You know, maybe you're right. Maybe you do 
nice things for yourself all the time *if* you truly are 
the masochist you sometimes appear to be."

I stared at her. She really was pissed.

"Why are we fighting over a fortune cookie?" 

"Because I saw it as the perfect opening to a 
conversation that is long overdue. Yes, fortunes can 
apply to anyone, but this one particularly suits your 
situation and I thought I could cajole you into indulging 
yourself for once. Really indulging. Getting those Knicks 
tickets. Taking a small, relaxing vacation where you see 
bright white sand and blue water. Something - anything - that 
would bring a smile to your face that would last more 
than a few minutes."

"I smile all the time."

"No, Mulder, you don't," she said, quickly wetting her 
lower lip in preparation for what promised to be a long 
speech.  "You move your facial muscles at socially 
appropriate moments, but there is no real emotion behind 
it. You can't live a life without feeling and I know 
you're doing it to protect yourself right now but . . . "

I was only half listening because her lower lip glistened 
as she spoke, and the sight sparked a memory that would bring
this pointless conversation to a close. 

"I kissed you," I said.

Scully seemed to stop in mid-rant. "What?"

"A nice thing I did for myself lately. I kissed you. On 
New Year's Eve, remember?"

Well, I hoped she'd remember although it wasn't my best 
work, as far as kisses were concerned.

"I remember."

"And you can't think of any reason to discount that one?" 
I was beginning to feel victorious.

"If it meant something to you, and you considered it an 
indulgence - yes, it counts."

Victory came with a price. We had to talk about . . . 
feelings. Men and sports equal a spiritual connection? 
Well, men and the discussion of feelings equal a need to 
get the hell out of Dodge.

Still . . .

"It meant everything to me."

That wasn't so bad. Maybe because it was a simple truth, a rarity
in my world.

"So, I have one thing on my list, Scully?"

"I guess so."

"And this conversation is over, right?"

"If you want it to be."

I leaned back against the leather and closed my eyes for 
yet another moment. Scully lowered her window and took a 
few deep breaths of air. I know taking care of my psyche 
was something she felt a need to do, but I also realized 
it wasn't something she was naturally comfortable with. I 
wasn't the only charming touchy-feely misfit in the car. 
I was just the only one who wasn't trying.
 
"It's hard to think of relaxing or having fun or much of 
anything, Scully."

"I know. My timing is off. I mean, with your mother and 
Samantha ... "

"The timing isn't off. Their loss is part of the problem 
but not all of it. It's my whole life, Scully. It's *our* 
whole lives. My search for the truth was based on something -
someone - that was long gone. It's hard enough to think of all 
the years of my own life I wasted but when I think of yours, it 
borders on the downright tragic."

"There was no dragging involved, Mulder. I walked, with 
my eyes opened."

"Well, then you're not exactly playing with a full deck, 
either, are you?" I said, glancing at her sideways.

She smiled softly. "I guess not."

I shook my head. She was such an impossibly 
stubborn woman.

We both sat there for a while and she moved her hand over 
and kind of squeezed the fingers of my right hand as it rested 
against the seat.

"You have no need to doubt the choices you made in your 
life. You believed, Mulder, and never gave up. That's 
admirable. I wish things could have been different with 
Samantha but, there were times when that same faith had 
happier results. It's probably the only reason I'm 
sitting alive in this car right now."

I held onto her hand while I desperately tried not 
to remember those times I thought I had lost Scully. 
Losing Samantha, perhaps even losing my mother, brought a 
child-like wail to the surface.  Our relationships had been frozen
in time. The pain of their loss was pure and it raged,
but it didn't resound with the deep and hollow sorrow of an 
adult loss. The loss of Scully would have left my heart 
empty for the rest of my life.

"Mulder?" she said, shaking my fingers a bit.

"Hmmm?" I was tired. I wanted to find a nice, fetal 
position and sleep for a couple of weeks.

"You've been to more than one Knicks game, right?" she 
asked. 

"I've been to many."

"Good. Repeat indulgences are the best."

I looked at her and she was looking back at me with 
amusement in her eyes. Not pity, not sorrow, not a let's-
win-one-for-the-Mulder and snap him out of it look. Just 
sheer, playful amusement.

Touchy-feely  misfit or not, I could recognize a pass 
when it was wearing neon and flashing on and off. I 
leaned close to her. She leaned close to me. It was kind 
of like a repeat of what almost happened in my hallway. 
Time seemed to be moving in slow motion and I was just millimeters
away from the promised land when a blast of 
cold air came through the window. I could smell the stale
remnants of my garlic-laden food and I moved back and began
to search through my pockets. 

Scully moved away from me. "What are you doing?"

"A mint, Scully. Believe me, I need a mint." I wanted to 
bowl her over but not with my breath.

She grabbed me by the collar and kissed me. Kind of 
the way I did on New Year's. She zeroed in on her target 
and went for it. But unlike my tentative kiss, she really 
planted one on me. Soft and warm and loving. She pulled 
away and gave me that same slightly goofy grin she gave 
me when Dick Clark's voice provided our soundtrack for 
the evening.

"So, I didn't need the mint, or you really love Chinese 
food?" 

"Something like that," she said, with a shy smile.  I put 
my hands on the lapels of her trench coat and pulled her 
forward this time. She had aimed for a better performance 
of our New Year's Eve kiss; I was going for the gold: 
completing the near-kiss in my hallway. I was going to 
kiss her the way I had wanted to then or die trying.  I 
leaned closer and closer and angled my mouth in just the 
right position - with my lips parted just where hers were 
and then - a soft, tender touchdown, followed by contact 
that could be felt clear down to my toes. Instead of 
cold, there was warmth. Instead of death, there was life. 
Instead of mindless wandering, there was purpose. And 
instead of near or barely there kisses, there were deep, 
passionate exchanges that I could relive over and over in 
my mind and, hopefully, have the nerve to repeat on a 
more regular basis.

After several long  kisses, we broke mouth-to-mouth contact 
and just sat there just holding each other. She seemed to 
find rubbing the nape of my neck as fascinating as I 
found running my fingers through the silky strands of her 
hair. 

I have no idea if the score ever evens out. If, for every 
loss, we gain something; for every sorrow, we find a 
moment of happiness. Somehow, I don't see life as that 
measured or even. I do know that I now felt a little less 
old, and a little less tired. I also felt a reason to go 
home and try and start working on some issues that I had 
to face in order to start the next phase of my life--the next
phase of *our* lives.

I can put the blame on myself, my destiny, my mother, my 
father, my sister, my boss, my love or just, simply, my 
life.

But no matter who or what was to *blame,* I felt a spark 
of hope again, which ended my goal of becoming a mindless
automaton.

I would do nice things for myself. Once in a while. From 
time to time. It would give me balance and help me remember 
what we were fighting for.

Besides, my fortune cookie said I would.

And so did Scully.

And everyone knows how good I am at following orders.



The End.







Author's Note:
To J-my dad. Your light shines forever.
Thank you (and mom!) for helping me find my own.