Classification: VRA
Rated: PG
Key Words: Mulder/Scully Romance
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. No problems.
Archive: Gossamer, please. Email me before
archiving elsewhere. I don't see why
I'd refuse.
Summary: One thing that will never end.
Notes: A thousand thankyous to Lib, for
once again doing a fabulous beta under
extreme circumstances :)
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"On a promise
A daydream yet to come
Time is upon us
Oh but the night is young
Flowers blossom
In the winter time
In your arms I feel
Sunshine"
--Moloko, 'The Time is Now'
The whole windchime stall seems to jangle as
Scully walks past, but she doesn't pause to
admire the silver pipes, the tiny tinkling
bells and the glass swirls.
The lady behind the counter is a stereotype;
a gypsy crone, with streaked black hair, a
poisonous mouth and a scarlet bandana. Scully
observes this from the corner of her eye as she
quickens her pace. She strides on past the next
stall without noticing its contents, her heels
sinking into the thick grass and her hands
jammed into her trench coat pockets.
It's the first day of winter but it still
feels like autumn. The trees surrounding the
small market desperately cling to their
faded leaves. Scully clutches the amethyst
crystal in her pocket just as tightly. It
still feels warm from Mulder's hand.
He left half an hour ago, "checking up on
something, I'll be back in five minutes", and
now he's turned off his cell phone and she can't
reach him.
It's just too bad, she thinks coldly, if he winds
up in a ditch somewhere, or concrete-weighed and
bloated at the bottom of a lake.
Then she shudders and starts fumbling for her
car keys, walking faster towards the parking lot
beneath a cluster of washed-out maple trees. It's
only when she reaches it that she remembers he's
taken the car. Of course. She leans against a tree,
trying to catch her breath.
There's only one option--one course of action.
But really, is it worth calling the town police
department? If it's a false alarm she and Mulder
will look foolish before they've even started
their investigation.
Undecided, Scully glances down at her watch. He's
been gone exactly 35 and a half minutes. Her hands
are shaking and there's a cold orb of fear lodged
between her lungs. She bites her lip but doesn't
feel the pain.
Her back against the tree, she whips out her
cell phone and starts dialing. Who cares if she
looks foolish? She'll find Mulder first and deal
with the consequences later.
Then she hears the crunch of tires on gravel and
looks up.
It's him.
Her eyes narrow into slits, her hackles rising.
She clicks the 'end' button and stalks over to
the rental car as its engine winds down. The car
is nail-polish red, rage red, tacky, spiteful
red. The color inflames her until the door opens.
Mulder gets out carrying a large, tissue-paper
swathed bouquet.
She stands frozen, shoes glued to the damp
gravel, as he walks up to her.
"What's wrong?" He peers down at her and she is
fixated by his eyes.
"What..." she pauses, not sure how to begin her
customary rant. Her eyes pull away from his,
looking anywhere else. She watches droplets of
water slip quietly from the flowers in his hand.
"Mulder," she says, crafting his name into an
accusation. "What the hell -? Where the hell did
you go? You said five minutes."
"I went to get you these," he says, voice edged
with disappointment. She looks up and sees hurt
well in his eyes. The flowers sag to the side,
about to start dragging on the ground. She hates
the thought of their petals bruising, so she
holds out a hand. He doesn't give them over.
"If you were so worried, why didn't you call
me?" he asks.
"I wasn't worried--I was furious with you." Scully
has to clench her teeth to stop from saying any
more. She risks degenerating into a shrewish
monologue that would give away exactly how
worried she's been.
The flowers droop further. Where the hell did he
get them at this time of year, in the middle of
nowhere? And did he really go buy them for her
on a whim? She's inherently suspicious of men who
buy flowers on a whim.
"Either way," he says softly, "why didn't you call?"
Her ire grows white hot. "You had your phone
turned off," she snaps. "I thought you must
have -" ditched me. She clips the sentence just
in time.
He knows what she was about to say, and he winces.
"Right." His voice is gentle now, conciliatory. "I'm
sorry, Scully, it just didn't cross my mind. I
turned off my phone when we stopped at the market
and I forgot about it." Now, finally, he holds out
the flowers as a peace offering.
Before they were a love offering, a spontaneous,
joyful thing, but now they're just a mundane
peace offering. All because of her.
She blushes and doesn't take them, staring down
at her shoes like a schoolgirl. "You don't have
to apologize for surprising me with flowers,
Mulder. I'm the one who should be saying sorry.
I mean -" she hears him chuckling and looks up,
seeing his eyes crinkled with mirth. "What?" She
can't believe he's laughing.
He stares at her as though he can't believe she
isn't laughing. "Nothing. Just us. Are you going
to take the flowers, Scully?" The tension between
them diffuses, like sun-penetrated mist, as they
forgive each other with quirked lips.
When she takes the flowers she takes his hand as
well. They stand still for a while, the bouquet
between them, her warm thumb tracing his
fingers.
"Why did you suddenly buy me flowers, Mulder?"
"I saw a store when we were driving through town.
This woman, Margie, grows them in a hothouse all
year round. I just...I don't know, the idea
appealed to me. And besides, I didn't get you a
birthday present this year." He's suddenly sheepish.
"Um...when is it again?"
She smiles, rolling her eyes. "My birthday's in
February. February the 23rd, to be exact. It's also
International Women's Day."
He nods but she sees he's forgotten already. For
some reason, this doesn't bother her as it usually
does. Birthdays are meant to mean something, but
with him they don't matter, not really. He
remembers the important things. He remembers
moments like this one.
The light is bronzing as the sun sinks towards the
west. Mulder's eyes are golden and glinting, more
precious to her than anything else. When she
releases his hand she brings the flowers up to her
face, breathing them in. "Thank you," she whispers.
"Don't mention it," he says, trying to hurry the
moment along, trying to squeeze the longing out
of his expression. She steps closer, placing a
warm hand on his arm.
Their eyes lock. "You know," she says, "it's the
weirdest thing. But I got you something too." She
reaches into her pocket and pulls out the amethyst
crystal, grinning at his delighted expression.
"I saw you pick it up at that hippie stall, you
know, the one with the beaded curtains and the
dream catchers? And I thought it would..."
"Improve my karma?"
Her smile turns mischievous. "...look nice on
your coffee table."
Mulder laughs softly, enfolding her in his
arms. These gentle embraces have been frequent
lately, but this one feels different somehow. She
wonders how far it will go before one of them
pulls away.
Mulder's stubble scratches her forehead and she
nuzzles his Adam's apple, smiling while his
collar brushes her chin and his hands trace
delicate patterns along her spine. The flowers
dangle, grazing her pantyhose like gentle
fingertips.
She never wants this moment to end, but she
knows it will. Soon one of them will finish
it, somehow. But who?
"We have to go soon," she murmurs against
his throat.
"Mmm."
Who's going to pull away first?
Not me, she decides.
She plans to press the flowers he's given
her--every single one--although she knows they
won't be enough. If only she could press this
moment itself.
Mulder's lips softly kiss their way across her
hairline and she sighs, her arms tightening
around him.
He doesn't pull away.
The day is ending, sinking into a twilight haze,
and she'll have to wait another year for autumn.
But right now, their faces are tilting, their
breath is mingling, their lips are meeting, and
this is one thing that will never end.
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