FIC: Can't Wait To Start (MSR. PG-13, schmoop)
Title: Can't Wait To Start
Author: Amal Nahurriyeh (
amalnahurriyeh/amalnahurriyeh)
Summary: He'd follow her anywhere. Even her cousin's wedding.
Pairing: MSR
Rating: PG-13 (mushy stuff, language)
Warnings: None.
Timeline/Spoilers: Somewhere between Closure and all things
Disclaimer: Intellectual property is a capitalist fiction designed to oppress the working fic-writer. That said, I don't own them either.
A/N: Written for bluesamutra for the xf_santa exchange. I hope the schmoop isn't excessive.
Title is a quote from a song referenced below, which I will not name because it is awful and will earworm you. Ha ha ha.
Scully's cell phone rang late on a Wednesday evening as they were sharing microwave popcorn from the vending machine on the third floor. Mulder assumed it was her mother; Mrs. Scully had picked up the habit of calling Scully's cell if she wasn't at home after 6 p.m. It was probably meant to be nagging, but he's not well equipped to determine the causes behind parental phone calls. The look on Scully's face as she answered suggested she was expecting her mother as well, but it shifted subtlety as she talked. "Beth, hi! Yes, of course, I wouldn't have RSVP'd if--" She sighed. "Of course she did. No, I put it on the calendar."
Mulder had no idea what she was talking about, but glanced over at the big paper calendar Scully had tacked on the wall, which he realized he was probably supposed to be paying attention to. On the coming weekend, she had written SCULLY - OUT OF TOWN in large red letters. She must be going somewhere. He tried to suppress his urge to pout.
"Oh, did she?" Scully said to the unknown Beth. He didn't like the appraising look in her eyes that he saw when he turned back to her. "Give me a moment." She pulled the phone away from her mouth. "Are you free this weekend?"
None of his plans were as interesting as the series of ideas that the look on her face was giving him. "Nothing I can't change."
She nodded and spoke into the phone again. "Yes, I will be bringing a guest. Uh huh. Fox Mulder. M-U-L-D-E-R. How's it going? Do you feel ready?" She shook the popcorn bag and fished out a new handful. "I can imagine. Is there anything I can do? No, seriously. I think I could get up there on Friday if you need a hand." He reached to take the bag away from her. She held out her hand instead. He liked the idea of her feeding him, and tried not to blush as he took them. "OK, well, let me know. See you then. Can't wait." She hung up, put the phone back on the desk, and brought the remainder of the popcorn in her hand to her mouth. "Do you have the evidence reports for the Manchester case? I don't think we can justify the leaf blower rental without them."
He dug through the pile and passed them over. After two minutes solid of her working on documentation, he decided to broach the subject. "Scully? Where are we going this weekend?"
She flipped pages with one hand, squinted at the sheet, and then returned to typing. "My cousin Beth's wedding. It's just outside of Philadelphia, shouldn't be too long a drive. We should probably leave Friday night, if that works for you."
"Uh, sure." He had no idea what was going on. "Dress code?"
"Afternoon wedding, evening reception, so you could probably get away without a jacket, but I think a suit's probably your best bet. Mulder, what the hell did you write here?" She passed the page back to him.
He glanced down. "Euclidic. Do I need to buy a present or something?"
"No, I sent her a pan."
"A pan? That's it?"
"It cost a hundred and fifty dollars, Mulder, I figured that was sufficient." She looked over at him. "Mulder, when was the last time you went to a wedding?"
Probably when he was the groom, but now doesn't seem like the right time to bring that up. "It's, uh, been a while."
She sighed. "Okay, then."
He found it remarkably hard to concentrate on chain of evidence documentation for the rest of the night.
***
"And so Beth is--"
"Jo-Ann's daughter."
"And Jo-Ann is your mom's younger--"
"Older sister. But just by one."
"OK, so, Beth is Jo-Ann's daughter. And her sister is Florence, and her brother is Michael."
Scully shook her head and merged into the left lane, as if the fact that it was going four miles an hour rather than three and a half made a difference. "Mulder, you don't have to memorize the entire Murray family tree."
"I just want to know what I'm dealing with. I can't believe you have so many cousins, Scully."
She shrugged. "It's simple arithmetic. My mom is one of five siblings. All of them had kids. Generations get big pretty quickly under those conditions."
He glanced at the back seat. There was a garment bag hanging from one of the hooks. She'd already had it loaded up when he'd gotten to her house, which means he has no idea what she's wearing. Somehow, the idea was nagging at him. "And you're not at all mad you aren't a bridesmaid?"
"Do you have some fetish about seeing me in ugly satin?" She cracked her neck.
"I don't know. I haven't had time to develop one." He was also fixated on the fact that he had no idea whether she'd gotten him his own hotel room, wherever they were going. He was never quite sure he was reading her signals right, at least when it came to this.
She rolled her eyes. His fetish for that was well-established.
***
He was tying his tie when she emerged from the bathroom, and he very nearly choked himself. The dress was light green, sleeveless, and came to just past her knees. He was certain that on someone else he wouldn't even notice the neckline, but it was about 60% more of Scully's chest than he got to see on a usual day. He regained voluntary control over his hands and cleared his throat. "You look nice."
"Thanks." She went over to the dresser and opened a jewelry box, from which she extracted a pearl necklace. "I'm just glad I owned something that fit. I kept meaning to go out and get a new dress, but--" She was fumbling the clasp of the necklace.
He came up behind her and took the necklace out of her hands. She seemed startled, but he concentrated on the smooth expanse of her neck, not the tiny nick of scar tissue, and managed to get the loop around the knot. When he looked up, she was watching him closely, her hair sliding over her ears and her lips just barely parted. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, still slightly damp from her shower. He half expected her to flinch, or look away when he raised his eyes again, but she was watching him as steadily as before. If they hadn't been due at the wedding in half an hour, he would have aimed his next kiss higher up her neck, slid his hands against the gauze of her dress, seen how far she was willing to let him push them today, but instead he simply pressed his hands to her shoulders for a second before turning away to go get his jacket. When he was recomposed and dressed, he turned back to find her folding a blue cardigan over her arm, a small purse in her other hand. He wondered if she felt as unlike her daily self as she looked, and thought he can see the answer in the way she pushed her hair behind her ears. He followed her out the door. He'd follow her anywhere.
***
If he'd been in charge, they would have waltzed in two minutes before the bride to avoid having to socialize. But Scully wanted to be on time, and they weren't the last of the Scullys to arrive, so he was sitting next to Tara. Who seemed very pleasant. It was just that her husband has decided to pretend he's invisible.
Nervously he pushed his knee into Scully's. She was leaning over talking to Charlie, on the other side of her mother, but took a moment to poke him with the celadon heel of her shoe. He could recognize the sign for "I am not paying attention to you right now, Mulder" in whatever form she sent it in; that didn't mean he was willing to take it for an answer.
"It's so nice that you and Dana were able to make it," Tara said, having exhausted the reading potential of the photocopied program in her hands, which included three misspellings and one really excellent unintended double entendre.
"Well, she marked it on the office calendar," he said vapidly.
"We were all laying bets about whether or not she'd get here," Bill said, crossing his arms. "Personally, my money was on her skating in five minutes beforehand, still dressed for work."
It occurred to Mulder that the one person Bill Scully might be more mad at than him might be his sister. "Oh, she always keeps a cocktail dress in her luggage when we travel. You never know when you might need one."
The heel that dug into his calf was probably well deserved. Luckily, he was saved from further conversation by the sounds of the Wedding March.
***
Scully slid back into her seat, empty-handed. "What a shame," he said, and refilled her glass from the magnum of champagne he had managed to talk the girl tending bar into giving him. "And I was so looking forward to being your maid of honor."
She finished the glass a little faster than she should have, and crossed her arms. He reached out and picked up her sweater, and draped it over her shoulders. "Thank you," she said absently.
He leaned back and observed her. "Tell me the truth. You wanted the bouquet."
"Of course not," she said, staring at her empty glass.
He passed her the bottle. She filled her cup again, and sipped more judiciously this time. "You hate the new Mr. Bethany McKinnon."
"No, George is nice," she said. "I think they're a good match." She swirled the golden liquid around.
"Then what's up?"
"I'm fine," she said, not looking up.
"Scully."
She turned then, to look at him. "I'm sorry," she said. "Family is just exhausting." She set her glass down. "Do you know how many times today someone has implied that it's my turn next?"
"Too many?"
"Exactly." She shook her head. "Not to mention not one, but two of my aunts pointing out that Beth is younger than me. And what am I supposed to say to that?"
"That your incredibly busy schedule of interplanetary conspiracy-busting leaves you with no time to navigate the Georgetown bar scene?"
"It's not that. I mean, if I wanted to--" She made a dismissive hand gesture. Mulder thought he didn't want to know what she might have wanted to. "Even leaving aside that my career path isn't conducive to a vibrant dating life, honestly, Mulder, I don't think I want to get married. And I certainly don't want all this." She indicated the plastic flower garlands along the walls, the tables with floating candles in low glass bowls, the videographer getting a close-up on Beth and George dancing to that fucking Shania Twain song, euphoric grins on their faces. "All the public avowing and pledging, it just seems like a distraction. Like if you spend enough money and hang enough flowers, you've somehow avoided all the tragedy and heartbreak of life. Maybe you have, for a minute. I don't know." She looked down at her champagne flute and contemplated. "But what makes a partnership between people--it's about time, and struggle, and suffering, and showing up. And implying that you need to go through this ritualistic conversion in order to become a real adult, or have someone to share your life with--it's incorrect."
"And I know how you hate being incorrect," he said, and pressed the toe of his foot against her ankle.
She smiled just slightly at him. "Not to mention that all of these social rituals date back to the literal property transfer that marked marriage through the centuries. Do you know how rare it is, even today, for a woman to keep her last name after marriage? Or remain financially independent? It's terrible, Mulder."
"So what you're saying is that I'm never going to get to see you in ugly satin." He reached out and gently laid his hand over hers, and stroked the tender skin between her thumb and finger with his thumb.
She was watching him with the same look she'd had in the hotel room as she asked, "Is that a problem?"
He squeezed her hand. "I'll survive."
One of Scully's forty thousand nephews--this was one of the adolescent ones--pulled up the chair on the other side of here. "Hey, Aunt Day."
"Hey, Petey," she said. Scully's auntly powers were a constant marvel to him. "Are you hiding from all the family?"
"Yeah. What are you doing?"
"We're destroying the foundations of the institution of marriage," Mulder said, refilling Scully and his glasses.
"Cool," Petey said, and looked at the bottle. "Can I have some?"
Mulder had just started to move the bottle towards an empty glass when Scully said "Absolutely not." He set it down as nonchalantly as possible.
"If I play Game Boy, will you tell my dad?"
"Go for it," she said, and patted his shoulder. Petey retrieved the game thing from his pocket, and started poking it with his thumbs.
Mulder squeezed Scully's hand again. "Hey, Scully. Dance with me."
She smiled at him. "OK," she said.
She left her sweater at the table, and he could feel the warmth of her back through her dress as he walked next to her to the dance floor. The press of people on the floor was thin enough for them to slip into an empty space. Mulder saw Bill and Tara on the other side of the room, and tried to look perfectly calm as Bill looked in their direction. His eyes narrowed slightly. Mulder simply smiled at him.
When he slipped his arms around Scully, she stepped in close to his body. He managed to moderate his desire to bury his nose in her hair by just tilting down to get closer. She curved her hand around his neck. "Thank you, Mulder," she said quietly.
"What for?" He stroked his hand against her back.
"Coming on such short notice." She pressed her head into his chest.
He gave in and leaned further down into her. "My pleasure," he whispered. The song was terrible, but it was slow, and he just held on to her, and let the moment be.
This entry was originally posted at http://amalnahurriyeh.dreamwidth.org/46597.html. You can comment in either location. There are currently
comments at Dreamwidth.
Author: Amal Nahurriyeh (
amalnahurriyeh/amalnahurriyeh)
Summary: He'd follow her anywhere. Even her cousin's wedding.
Pairing: MSR
Rating: PG-13 (mushy stuff, language)
Warnings: None.
Timeline/Spoilers: Somewhere between Closure and all things
Disclaimer: Intellectual property is a capitalist fiction designed to oppress the working fic-writer. That said, I don't own them either.
A/N: Written for bluesamutra for the xf_santa exchange. I hope the schmoop isn't excessive.
Title is a quote from a song referenced below, which I will not name because it is awful and will earworm you. Ha ha ha.
Scully's cell phone rang late on a Wednesday evening as they were sharing microwave popcorn from the vending machine on the third floor. Mulder assumed it was her mother; Mrs. Scully had picked up the habit of calling Scully's cell if she wasn't at home after 6 p.m. It was probably meant to be nagging, but he's not well equipped to determine the causes behind parental phone calls. The look on Scully's face as she answered suggested she was expecting her mother as well, but it shifted subtlety as she talked. "Beth, hi! Yes, of course, I wouldn't have RSVP'd if--" She sighed. "Of course she did. No, I put it on the calendar."
Mulder had no idea what she was talking about, but glanced over at the big paper calendar Scully had tacked on the wall, which he realized he was probably supposed to be paying attention to. On the coming weekend, she had written SCULLY - OUT OF TOWN in large red letters. She must be going somewhere. He tried to suppress his urge to pout.
"Oh, did she?" Scully said to the unknown Beth. He didn't like the appraising look in her eyes that he saw when he turned back to her. "Give me a moment." She pulled the phone away from her mouth. "Are you free this weekend?"
None of his plans were as interesting as the series of ideas that the look on her face was giving him. "Nothing I can't change."
She nodded and spoke into the phone again. "Yes, I will be bringing a guest. Uh huh. Fox Mulder. M-U-L-D-E-R. How's it going? Do you feel ready?" She shook the popcorn bag and fished out a new handful. "I can imagine. Is there anything I can do? No, seriously. I think I could get up there on Friday if you need a hand." He reached to take the bag away from her. She held out her hand instead. He liked the idea of her feeding him, and tried not to blush as he took them. "OK, well, let me know. See you then. Can't wait." She hung up, put the phone back on the desk, and brought the remainder of the popcorn in her hand to her mouth. "Do you have the evidence reports for the Manchester case? I don't think we can justify the leaf blower rental without them."
He dug through the pile and passed them over. After two minutes solid of her working on documentation, he decided to broach the subject. "Scully? Where are we going this weekend?"
She flipped pages with one hand, squinted at the sheet, and then returned to typing. "My cousin Beth's wedding. It's just outside of Philadelphia, shouldn't be too long a drive. We should probably leave Friday night, if that works for you."
"Uh, sure." He had no idea what was going on. "Dress code?"
"Afternoon wedding, evening reception, so you could probably get away without a jacket, but I think a suit's probably your best bet. Mulder, what the hell did you write here?" She passed the page back to him.
He glanced down. "Euclidic. Do I need to buy a present or something?"
"No, I sent her a pan."
"A pan? That's it?"
"It cost a hundred and fifty dollars, Mulder, I figured that was sufficient." She looked over at him. "Mulder, when was the last time you went to a wedding?"
Probably when he was the groom, but now doesn't seem like the right time to bring that up. "It's, uh, been a while."
She sighed. "Okay, then."
He found it remarkably hard to concentrate on chain of evidence documentation for the rest of the night.
***
"And so Beth is--"
"Jo-Ann's daughter."
"And Jo-Ann is your mom's younger--"
"Older sister. But just by one."
"OK, so, Beth is Jo-Ann's daughter. And her sister is Florence, and her brother is Michael."
Scully shook her head and merged into the left lane, as if the fact that it was going four miles an hour rather than three and a half made a difference. "Mulder, you don't have to memorize the entire Murray family tree."
"I just want to know what I'm dealing with. I can't believe you have so many cousins, Scully."
She shrugged. "It's simple arithmetic. My mom is one of five siblings. All of them had kids. Generations get big pretty quickly under those conditions."
He glanced at the back seat. There was a garment bag hanging from one of the hooks. She'd already had it loaded up when he'd gotten to her house, which means he has no idea what she's wearing. Somehow, the idea was nagging at him. "And you're not at all mad you aren't a bridesmaid?"
"Do you have some fetish about seeing me in ugly satin?" She cracked her neck.
"I don't know. I haven't had time to develop one." He was also fixated on the fact that he had no idea whether she'd gotten him his own hotel room, wherever they were going. He was never quite sure he was reading her signals right, at least when it came to this.
She rolled her eyes. His fetish for that was well-established.
***
He was tying his tie when she emerged from the bathroom, and he very nearly choked himself. The dress was light green, sleeveless, and came to just past her knees. He was certain that on someone else he wouldn't even notice the neckline, but it was about 60% more of Scully's chest than he got to see on a usual day. He regained voluntary control over his hands and cleared his throat. "You look nice."
"Thanks." She went over to the dresser and opened a jewelry box, from which she extracted a pearl necklace. "I'm just glad I owned something that fit. I kept meaning to go out and get a new dress, but--" She was fumbling the clasp of the necklace.
He came up behind her and took the necklace out of her hands. She seemed startled, but he concentrated on the smooth expanse of her neck, not the tiny nick of scar tissue, and managed to get the loop around the knot. When he looked up, she was watching him closely, her hair sliding over her ears and her lips just barely parted. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, still slightly damp from her shower. He half expected her to flinch, or look away when he raised his eyes again, but she was watching him as steadily as before. If they hadn't been due at the wedding in half an hour, he would have aimed his next kiss higher up her neck, slid his hands against the gauze of her dress, seen how far she was willing to let him push them today, but instead he simply pressed his hands to her shoulders for a second before turning away to go get his jacket. When he was recomposed and dressed, he turned back to find her folding a blue cardigan over her arm, a small purse in her other hand. He wondered if she felt as unlike her daily self as she looked, and thought he can see the answer in the way she pushed her hair behind her ears. He followed her out the door. He'd follow her anywhere.
***
If he'd been in charge, they would have waltzed in two minutes before the bride to avoid having to socialize. But Scully wanted to be on time, and they weren't the last of the Scullys to arrive, so he was sitting next to Tara. Who seemed very pleasant. It was just that her husband has decided to pretend he's invisible.
Nervously he pushed his knee into Scully's. She was leaning over talking to Charlie, on the other side of her mother, but took a moment to poke him with the celadon heel of her shoe. He could recognize the sign for "I am not paying attention to you right now, Mulder" in whatever form she sent it in; that didn't mean he was willing to take it for an answer.
"It's so nice that you and Dana were able to make it," Tara said, having exhausted the reading potential of the photocopied program in her hands, which included three misspellings and one really excellent unintended double entendre.
"Well, she marked it on the office calendar," he said vapidly.
"We were all laying bets about whether or not she'd get here," Bill said, crossing his arms. "Personally, my money was on her skating in five minutes beforehand, still dressed for work."
It occurred to Mulder that the one person Bill Scully might be more mad at than him might be his sister. "Oh, she always keeps a cocktail dress in her luggage when we travel. You never know when you might need one."
The heel that dug into his calf was probably well deserved. Luckily, he was saved from further conversation by the sounds of the Wedding March.
***
Scully slid back into her seat, empty-handed. "What a shame," he said, and refilled her glass from the magnum of champagne he had managed to talk the girl tending bar into giving him. "And I was so looking forward to being your maid of honor."
She finished the glass a little faster than she should have, and crossed her arms. He reached out and picked up her sweater, and draped it over her shoulders. "Thank you," she said absently.
He leaned back and observed her. "Tell me the truth. You wanted the bouquet."
"Of course not," she said, staring at her empty glass.
He passed her the bottle. She filled her cup again, and sipped more judiciously this time. "You hate the new Mr. Bethany McKinnon."
"No, George is nice," she said. "I think they're a good match." She swirled the golden liquid around.
"Then what's up?"
"I'm fine," she said, not looking up.
"Scully."
She turned then, to look at him. "I'm sorry," she said. "Family is just exhausting." She set her glass down. "Do you know how many times today someone has implied that it's my turn next?"
"Too many?"
"Exactly." She shook her head. "Not to mention not one, but two of my aunts pointing out that Beth is younger than me. And what am I supposed to say to that?"
"That your incredibly busy schedule of interplanetary conspiracy-busting leaves you with no time to navigate the Georgetown bar scene?"
"It's not that. I mean, if I wanted to--" She made a dismissive hand gesture. Mulder thought he didn't want to know what she might have wanted to. "Even leaving aside that my career path isn't conducive to a vibrant dating life, honestly, Mulder, I don't think I want to get married. And I certainly don't want all this." She indicated the plastic flower garlands along the walls, the tables with floating candles in low glass bowls, the videographer getting a close-up on Beth and George dancing to that fucking Shania Twain song, euphoric grins on their faces. "All the public avowing and pledging, it just seems like a distraction. Like if you spend enough money and hang enough flowers, you've somehow avoided all the tragedy and heartbreak of life. Maybe you have, for a minute. I don't know." She looked down at her champagne flute and contemplated. "But what makes a partnership between people--it's about time, and struggle, and suffering, and showing up. And implying that you need to go through this ritualistic conversion in order to become a real adult, or have someone to share your life with--it's incorrect."
"And I know how you hate being incorrect," he said, and pressed the toe of his foot against her ankle.
She smiled just slightly at him. "Not to mention that all of these social rituals date back to the literal property transfer that marked marriage through the centuries. Do you know how rare it is, even today, for a woman to keep her last name after marriage? Or remain financially independent? It's terrible, Mulder."
"So what you're saying is that I'm never going to get to see you in ugly satin." He reached out and gently laid his hand over hers, and stroked the tender skin between her thumb and finger with his thumb.
She was watching him with the same look she'd had in the hotel room as she asked, "Is that a problem?"
He squeezed her hand. "I'll survive."
One of Scully's forty thousand nephews--this was one of the adolescent ones--pulled up the chair on the other side of here. "Hey, Aunt Day."
"Hey, Petey," she said. Scully's auntly powers were a constant marvel to him. "Are you hiding from all the family?"
"Yeah. What are you doing?"
"We're destroying the foundations of the institution of marriage," Mulder said, refilling Scully and his glasses.
"Cool," Petey said, and looked at the bottle. "Can I have some?"
Mulder had just started to move the bottle towards an empty glass when Scully said "Absolutely not." He set it down as nonchalantly as possible.
"If I play Game Boy, will you tell my dad?"
"Go for it," she said, and patted his shoulder. Petey retrieved the game thing from his pocket, and started poking it with his thumbs.
Mulder squeezed Scully's hand again. "Hey, Scully. Dance with me."
She smiled at him. "OK," she said.
She left her sweater at the table, and he could feel the warmth of her back through her dress as he walked next to her to the dance floor. The press of people on the floor was thin enough for them to slip into an empty space. Mulder saw Bill and Tara on the other side of the room, and tried to look perfectly calm as Bill looked in their direction. His eyes narrowed slightly. Mulder simply smiled at him.
When he slipped his arms around Scully, she stepped in close to his body. He managed to moderate his desire to bury his nose in her hair by just tilting down to get closer. She curved her hand around his neck. "Thank you, Mulder," she said quietly.
"What for?" He stroked his hand against her back.
"Coming on such short notice." She pressed her head into his chest.
He gave in and leaned further down into her. "My pleasure," he whispered. The song was terrible, but it was slow, and he just held on to her, and let the moment be.
This entry was originally posted at http://amalnahurriyeh.dreamwidth.org/46597.html. You can comment in either location. There are currently
comments at Dreamwidth.