Archiving older fic: Root Beer Realities (X-files)
Title: Root Beer Realities
Author: Eve11
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Tooms
Category: Humor
Keywords: UST
Summary: A lonely stakeout and a brown paper bag. We all know what follows, or do we?
Root Beer Realities
By Eve11
Despite all his precautions, Mulder was having trouble staying awake.
Of course, stakeouts were supposed to be a team effort, but when no one believed your claims that a hundred-year-old liver-eating killer was planning to find a fifth meal, you needed to make do with what you had. So he'd been in the car for... for too long, and the radio just wasn't that interesting anymore. He tried turning it off, but that was worse. Silence inside a parked car was like a blanket, and the result was a comforting invitation to close his eyes. He blinked and switched the radio on again, not really listening.
He needed to concentrate. He needed to stop Eugene Tooms before the mutant bastard killed again. He needed...
His stomach growled.
"Damn." His voice was surprisingly loud to his own ears. There wasn't any food left here. He'd eaten the last of the sunflower seeds hours ago. Frustrated, he looked at the house for the thousandth time, and as always, it was dark and still. No movement. No change. No Tooms.
Well, it's a lot easier to stay awake when you've got an empty stomach, he thought.
The knock on the window made him jump. So much for concentration. He looked over to see Dana Scully opening the door, brown paper bag in hand. His new partner seemed slightly annoyed -- though that was a rather common occurrence when he was trying to work outside the letter of FBI rules. She was perhaps the most infuriating person to work with on X-files; he really didn't know what to make of her. She didn't approve of his methods. She didn't agree with his theories. But for some reason he felt the need to prove himself to her. And it seemed that she felt the need to follow him around, contradicting his ideas, bringing up issues of evidence, bringing...
"Hey Mulder. I brought you some food." She sat down in the passenger seat and shut the door. "You really shouldn't try to do this by yourself, you know. Stakeouts are meant to be done in teams." She handed him a plastic baggie. A sandwich. Turkey, maybe? His stomach spoke up with a growl that said it didn't care what it was. Good thing too, as it turned out to be liverwurst. So his partner actually did have a sense of humor.
"Thanks," he said, smiling. He was surprised to discover that he was actually glad to see her. Spy or not, there was something about her, this petite, scientific, no-nonsense woman, that made him feel like despite the intentions of his superiors, this partnership might actually be able to work. She took him seriously. Over the past few weeks, she had kept him grounded. He almost felt like he could trust her, implicitly. And here she was, risking her career, even her life, to follow him all over kingdom come, even when he intentionally tried to ditch her, in order to... bring him sandwiches. Sandwiches and...?
He started the line.
"You know, Scully, if there's a..."
And suddenly, the world seemed to slow, like a mechanincal toy on its final dregs of battery power. Mulder watched, helpless, as Scully froze, her hand halfway inside the bag. He looked at the dashboard. The clock had stopped. The air felt like jelly.
"What the...?" Mulder started, amazed that he could still speak. His mind started working overtime. Missing time... aliens... abductions. His heart started pounding.
And then a voice whispered in his ear.
"Root beer," it said.
"What?" Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that was definitely not one of them.
"I know what you were going to say," it said. "Ask for root beer."
Okay, so this was becoming a bit bizarre. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked, confused. He looked around for a source of the voice, but he could see none.
"Ask for root beer," the voice repeated, insistent.
"But I don't even like root beer. It's not even caffeinated."
Then Mulder heard what could only be described as a disembodied sigh of exasperation. "Just do it," the voice said. "You'll regret it if you don't."
Impatient little... whatever it was. Well, Mulder wasn't about to let himself be pushed around.
"Dammit, stop being cryptic," he answered. "Forget, for a minute, that I am in a moment of frozen time talking to some sort of apparently omniscent guardian angel with a thing against iced tea, but--"
"Iced tea is overrated. You're missing a great opportunity here."
"What?"
"It will change everything. Really, you'll be much happier." The voice was almost whining. Then it seemed to gather its wits again, and resorted to the ominous tone it had used at first. "Trust me," it said.
Mulder scoffed. "You know, you've gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to get me to say, 'if there's a root beer in that bag, it could be love.'"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt a wave of dread, like a villain who's just been outsmarted by an obnoxious hero. He'd really done it now. What exactly it was, though, he wasn't sure.
The clock started blinking.
He turned to face Scully. She was blinking in surprise, her hand still inside the bag. "It must be fate, Mulder," she said in awe, and slowly removed a can of A&W. It rested in her hand, a carbonated Pandora's box.
She'd heard him. That damn, whiny little voice had tricked him.
She continued, staring down at the can in her hand. "I mean, I know I saw some of the signs and everything, but this... this is a sign from God."
"What? Scully, please tell me you're kidding."
"No," she said seriously. "You said it Mulder. Love. You admitted your love for me. And anyway, I think we've both known all along."
"Known what?" he said slowly.
"That we were destined for each other," she said grandly.
It was not so much the words that unnerved him, as the fact that at that moment, the radio decided to start playing "Love theme from Romeo and Juliet." Something was definitely wrong here.
"Destined? I... I mean, aren't we jumping to conclusions here..." he was faltering. She had a lovestruck look in her eye, like something out of a cheap romance novel.
"We're fated to be together. And now that we both admit it, it will change everything," she said dreamily. His heart sank.
"Scully, nothing has to change..." he pleaded. But she was beyond hearing him.
"Well," she said matter-of-factly, "Let's get at it."
"What!?" he shrank back in his seat.
"You don't think I'd let you go around saying that kind of thing without consummating it first, do you?" she asked, unbuttoning her blouse.
"Scully, stop it! What are you talking about?" He wanted to get out of the car, but the door wouldn't open. She stopped undressing long enough to grab his hand. Her eyes flashed, and
she spoke.
"We can't go back now! C'mon Mulder, you can't tell me you haven't dreamed about this moment!"
Mulder was panicking. "Scully! This kind of thing is supposed to be gradual! Don't you want to get to know each other?" She leaned toward him. He dodged. "...exchange phone numbers?" She reached for his leg. He pulled it away. "...have a romantic dinner or two?"
She stopped for a moment, hair blowing in the wind (wind?), eyes ablaze with unleashed passion, her voice dark and seductive.
"You started this," she said, "You can't expect things to stay the same between us. So c'mon and seize the moment, Fox!"
"I even made my parents call me Mul... aaa!" he yelped as she threw herself on top of him...
*****
"...der, c'mon. Wake up."
Someone was shaking his shoulder.
His eyes snapped open, and he practically jumped out of the passenger seat. When he focused his gaze, he saw his partner sitting across from him, the driver's side door still open from her return. She held a brown paper bag in her right hand, and as she reached out to close the door, he finally woke up.
"Scully, I'm not letting you drive anymore. Sleeping in a car gives me really weird dreams."
"Mulder, you've got a sprained ankle, you're on painkillers, and it's been twenty-four hours since you slept. I'd say you're in no condition to drive." She closed the door, reached into the bag and tossed him a brown prescription bottle. "Here, you're supposed to take one of these every 6 hours."
He rolled his eyes and shifted, causing a few stabs of protest from the ankle. Talk about adding insult to injury.
"So," he said, changing the subject, "there's no way I can convince you to say that I was injured while in pursuit of mutant hell beasts in your report to Kersh, is there?"
"No."
"Please?"
"You tripped up the steps."
Ah, the truth. For once, he really didn't want to put the truth into a report. He gave her his best puppy dog expression. "A little white lie to salvage my honor won't hurt anyone."
She smiled. "I'll think about it." She put the key in the ignition and then paused. "Weird dreams, huh? Like what?"
Like what, indeed? He shouldn't have said anything about it. Now he'd have to make something up. He glanced at her, and she raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"Oh, nothing... we were back on the Tooms case. I can't remember the details, really." True, in a way. He wasn't sure if she had changed completely into Dominatrix leather at the end or not. She seemed to be satisfied with that answer, and turned her attention to the dashboard.
What to make of that dream? He shook his head. You're the psychologist, his psyche supplied. You can figure it out.
A fear of change, apparently. Five years together, and their relationship was...
was...
changing.
He remembered her comments during the Kansas case. "When was the last time you went on a date?"
"C'mon, swallow one of those," she said, pointing to the pills, bringing him back from memory for a brief moment. "I specifically picked them up so you wouldn't complain as much on the way back."
When exactly had she become the only woman in his life? He opened the pill bottle, shook an industrial strength tylenol into his palm, and thought back to a lonely stakeout when he'd welcomed her company.
That long ago?
He started to say it.
"You know Scully..."
For a split second, the world seemed to slow, and he chickened out. He couldn't do it. In a desperate act of self-preservation, his mind sought out the safest possible escape route.
"...if there's a root beer in that bag, it could be love."
Saracasm. Irony. And ever since that stakeout, she'd only ever gotten him iced tea.
Perfect. He sighed in relief.
Her eyes widened. She turned to face him.
And laughed. She seemed as surprised as he was at her reaction. He suddenly felt a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was that... dread?
"I knew there was a reason I didn't want you to have caffeine this time," she said, amused. "I guess it really is just the small things, adding up." With that, he knew what was coming next.
At the same time, a few of his fears melted into something else. Perhaps, despite the stalwart intentions of his psyche, this partnership might actually be able to work.
Scully reached into the bag, and with the slightest flourish, produced a bottle of IBC root beer. "Must be fate," she said, "taking its sweet old time."
**************
Author: Eve11
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Tooms
Category: Humor
Keywords: UST
Summary: A lonely stakeout and a brown paper bag. We all know what follows, or do we?
Root Beer Realities
By Eve11
Despite all his precautions, Mulder was having trouble staying awake.
Of course, stakeouts were supposed to be a team effort, but when no one believed your claims that a hundred-year-old liver-eating killer was planning to find a fifth meal, you needed to make do with what you had. So he'd been in the car for... for too long, and the radio just wasn't that interesting anymore. He tried turning it off, but that was worse. Silence inside a parked car was like a blanket, and the result was a comforting invitation to close his eyes. He blinked and switched the radio on again, not really listening.
He needed to concentrate. He needed to stop Eugene Tooms before the mutant bastard killed again. He needed...
His stomach growled.
"Damn." His voice was surprisingly loud to his own ears. There wasn't any food left here. He'd eaten the last of the sunflower seeds hours ago. Frustrated, he looked at the house for the thousandth time, and as always, it was dark and still. No movement. No change. No Tooms.
Well, it's a lot easier to stay awake when you've got an empty stomach, he thought.
The knock on the window made him jump. So much for concentration. He looked over to see Dana Scully opening the door, brown paper bag in hand. His new partner seemed slightly annoyed -- though that was a rather common occurrence when he was trying to work outside the letter of FBI rules. She was perhaps the most infuriating person to work with on X-files; he really didn't know what to make of her. She didn't approve of his methods. She didn't agree with his theories. But for some reason he felt the need to prove himself to her. And it seemed that she felt the need to follow him around, contradicting his ideas, bringing up issues of evidence, bringing...
"Hey Mulder. I brought you some food." She sat down in the passenger seat and shut the door. "You really shouldn't try to do this by yourself, you know. Stakeouts are meant to be done in teams." She handed him a plastic baggie. A sandwich. Turkey, maybe? His stomach spoke up with a growl that said it didn't care what it was. Good thing too, as it turned out to be liverwurst. So his partner actually did have a sense of humor.
"Thanks," he said, smiling. He was surprised to discover that he was actually glad to see her. Spy or not, there was something about her, this petite, scientific, no-nonsense woman, that made him feel like despite the intentions of his superiors, this partnership might actually be able to work. She took him seriously. Over the past few weeks, she had kept him grounded. He almost felt like he could trust her, implicitly. And here she was, risking her career, even her life, to follow him all over kingdom come, even when he intentionally tried to ditch her, in order to... bring him sandwiches. Sandwiches and...?
He started the line.
"You know, Scully, if there's a..."
And suddenly, the world seemed to slow, like a mechanincal toy on its final dregs of battery power. Mulder watched, helpless, as Scully froze, her hand halfway inside the bag. He looked at the dashboard. The clock had stopped. The air felt like jelly.
"What the...?" Mulder started, amazed that he could still speak. His mind started working overtime. Missing time... aliens... abductions. His heart started pounding.
And then a voice whispered in his ear.
"Root beer," it said.
"What?" Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that was definitely not one of them.
"I know what you were going to say," it said. "Ask for root beer."
Okay, so this was becoming a bit bizarre. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked, confused. He looked around for a source of the voice, but he could see none.
"Ask for root beer," the voice repeated, insistent.
"But I don't even like root beer. It's not even caffeinated."
Then Mulder heard what could only be described as a disembodied sigh of exasperation. "Just do it," the voice said. "You'll regret it if you don't."
Impatient little... whatever it was. Well, Mulder wasn't about to let himself be pushed around.
"Dammit, stop being cryptic," he answered. "Forget, for a minute, that I am in a moment of frozen time talking to some sort of apparently omniscent guardian angel with a thing against iced tea, but--"
"Iced tea is overrated. You're missing a great opportunity here."
"What?"
"It will change everything. Really, you'll be much happier." The voice was almost whining. Then it seemed to gather its wits again, and resorted to the ominous tone it had used at first. "Trust me," it said.
Mulder scoffed. "You know, you've gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to get me to say, 'if there's a root beer in that bag, it could be love.'"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt a wave of dread, like a villain who's just been outsmarted by an obnoxious hero. He'd really done it now. What exactly it was, though, he wasn't sure.
The clock started blinking.
He turned to face Scully. She was blinking in surprise, her hand still inside the bag. "It must be fate, Mulder," she said in awe, and slowly removed a can of A&W. It rested in her hand, a carbonated Pandora's box.
She'd heard him. That damn, whiny little voice had tricked him.
She continued, staring down at the can in her hand. "I mean, I know I saw some of the signs and everything, but this... this is a sign from God."
"What? Scully, please tell me you're kidding."
"No," she said seriously. "You said it Mulder. Love. You admitted your love for me. And anyway, I think we've both known all along."
"Known what?" he said slowly.
"That we were destined for each other," she said grandly.
It was not so much the words that unnerved him, as the fact that at that moment, the radio decided to start playing "Love theme from Romeo and Juliet." Something was definitely wrong here.
"Destined? I... I mean, aren't we jumping to conclusions here..." he was faltering. She had a lovestruck look in her eye, like something out of a cheap romance novel.
"We're fated to be together. And now that we both admit it, it will change everything," she said dreamily. His heart sank.
"Scully, nothing has to change..." he pleaded. But she was beyond hearing him.
"Well," she said matter-of-factly, "Let's get at it."
"What!?" he shrank back in his seat.
"You don't think I'd let you go around saying that kind of thing without consummating it first, do you?" she asked, unbuttoning her blouse.
"Scully, stop it! What are you talking about?" He wanted to get out of the car, but the door wouldn't open. She stopped undressing long enough to grab his hand. Her eyes flashed, and
she spoke.
"We can't go back now! C'mon Mulder, you can't tell me you haven't dreamed about this moment!"
Mulder was panicking. "Scully! This kind of thing is supposed to be gradual! Don't you want to get to know each other?" She leaned toward him. He dodged. "...exchange phone numbers?" She reached for his leg. He pulled it away. "...have a romantic dinner or two?"
She stopped for a moment, hair blowing in the wind (wind?), eyes ablaze with unleashed passion, her voice dark and seductive.
"You started this," she said, "You can't expect things to stay the same between us. So c'mon and seize the moment, Fox!"
"I even made my parents call me Mul... aaa!" he yelped as she threw herself on top of him...
*****
"...der, c'mon. Wake up."
Someone was shaking his shoulder.
His eyes snapped open, and he practically jumped out of the passenger seat. When he focused his gaze, he saw his partner sitting across from him, the driver's side door still open from her return. She held a brown paper bag in her right hand, and as she reached out to close the door, he finally woke up.
"Scully, I'm not letting you drive anymore. Sleeping in a car gives me really weird dreams."
"Mulder, you've got a sprained ankle, you're on painkillers, and it's been twenty-four hours since you slept. I'd say you're in no condition to drive." She closed the door, reached into the bag and tossed him a brown prescription bottle. "Here, you're supposed to take one of these every 6 hours."
He rolled his eyes and shifted, causing a few stabs of protest from the ankle. Talk about adding insult to injury.
"So," he said, changing the subject, "there's no way I can convince you to say that I was injured while in pursuit of mutant hell beasts in your report to Kersh, is there?"
"No."
"Please?"
"You tripped up the steps."
Ah, the truth. For once, he really didn't want to put the truth into a report. He gave her his best puppy dog expression. "A little white lie to salvage my honor won't hurt anyone."
She smiled. "I'll think about it." She put the key in the ignition and then paused. "Weird dreams, huh? Like what?"
Like what, indeed? He shouldn't have said anything about it. Now he'd have to make something up. He glanced at her, and she raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"Oh, nothing... we were back on the Tooms case. I can't remember the details, really." True, in a way. He wasn't sure if she had changed completely into Dominatrix leather at the end or not. She seemed to be satisfied with that answer, and turned her attention to the dashboard.
What to make of that dream? He shook his head. You're the psychologist, his psyche supplied. You can figure it out.
A fear of change, apparently. Five years together, and their relationship was...
was...
changing.
He remembered her comments during the Kansas case. "When was the last time you went on a date?"
"C'mon, swallow one of those," she said, pointing to the pills, bringing him back from memory for a brief moment. "I specifically picked them up so you wouldn't complain as much on the way back."
When exactly had she become the only woman in his life? He opened the pill bottle, shook an industrial strength tylenol into his palm, and thought back to a lonely stakeout when he'd welcomed her company.
That long ago?
He started to say it.
"You know Scully..."
For a split second, the world seemed to slow, and he chickened out. He couldn't do it. In a desperate act of self-preservation, his mind sought out the safest possible escape route.
"...if there's a root beer in that bag, it could be love."
Saracasm. Irony. And ever since that stakeout, she'd only ever gotten him iced tea.
Perfect. He sighed in relief.
Her eyes widened. She turned to face him.
And laughed. She seemed as surprised as he was at her reaction. He suddenly felt a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was that... dread?
"I knew there was a reason I didn't want you to have caffeine this time," she said, amused. "I guess it really is just the small things, adding up." With that, he knew what was coming next.
At the same time, a few of his fears melted into something else. Perhaps, despite the stalwart intentions of his psyche, this partnership might actually be able to work.
Scully reached into the bag, and with the slightest flourish, produced a bottle of IBC root beer. "Must be fate," she said, "taking its sweet old time."
**************