Title: Redhead Dancing Girl (1/1, unless you all ask nice) Author: SisterZooey Category: UST/MSR Feedback: SisterZooey@yahoo.com Spoilers: Sorry, I had to jump on the big ol' "Millenium" Bandwagon as well. I offer this fic up as an apology for this fic. AHH! Paradox! ::universe implodes:: Summary: GirlyScully. We all know it's in there and it's so damn **nice** to bring it out. I promise you won't require any fillings after reading this, though. Author's Notes: ::takes a little bow:: tank oo veddy much if you are reading this and continue to do so. I swiped some song lyrics from Ani DiFranco, Janis Joplin, and Tori Amos. Can you spot them? It's just like that little rainbow-tailed thing from She-Ra. Don't look at me like that. You know what I'm talking about. Disclaimer: Fic is bad, bad, bad! I should be hauled away for bringing a little glimmer of joy into the lives of characters that belong to Chris Cater and 1013 Productions. Don't sue. I have been adequately contrite, I think. XXXXXX I have known about my partner's little hobby for almost as long as I have known him. I cannot distinctly recall when I found out about Mulder's tape collection, but I know it was in the first year of our partnership. My discovery probably entailed my opening the "wrong" drawer in my innocent search for staples, white out, or something equally as innocuous. I don't think he keeps many (if any) of those tapes in his (our?) office anymore, as I am allowed to dig through his desk when needed. I think he worries that it makes me uncomfortable, that I would prefer his sexuality to be distinct from our relationship. Or partnership. Whatever the hell it is. I remember one afternoon, about four years ago. Mulder had stepped out of the room for a few minutes to make some copies. I don't know what had gotten into me that day, but I found myself hurrying over to his desk, and quickly (yet quietly) pulling the bottom left hand drawer open. With one eye on the door and the other on his stash, I proceeded to do my Irish heritage well. I snooped. There were twelve tapes there, all in a neat row, titles facing up. I didn't dare touch them. Like the filing cabinet, there seemed to be some decidedly Mulderish method of organization at work here. Also like the filing cabinet, I couldn't figure out what it was. Rather than be caught be leaving them out of order, I instead attempted to glean as much information as I could from the sides of the boxes. The titles were of no help. They all either had 1) a woman's name, 2) some semi-sexual verb (like 'licks' or 'takes') 3) the word 'naughty' in them or 4) a combination of 1-3. The boxes were all brightly colored and had Xs on them. This, for some reason, made me smile. The only thing left on the sides of the boxes were the small pictures at the bottom of each. They were all the same. Each was a woman, either naked, or very nearly so, looking breathless and wanton. Every single one of them had red hair. I heard Mulder's approaching footsteps in the hall. I closed the drawer more quickly and more quietly than I had opened it. I had just enough time to get an innocent-looking distance from his desk before he opened the door. "The repair guy was up to his elbows in the copier." He gave me a little smile. I smiled back, feeling a little shaky. "Are you okay, Scully?" He set the folder he carried on the desk and came over to me. "You look flushed. You're not sick, are you?" He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. I stepped away from his touch. "No, no, Mulder, I'm fine. I'm just a little warm." He gave me the small smile again and headed for his desk. I let out a breath and went back to work, trying to make the afternoon seem normal again. That was four years ago and the event still stands out clearly in my mind. The next time I went tape-hunting, Mulder had either moved them or taken them out of the office altogether. Every single one of them had red hair... The topic of Mulder's sexuality has been the pet thought of my mind for a good solid three weeks, ever since the Kiss. I capitalize it, as that is how it is signified in my mind. I have analyzed that odd handful of seconds for hours that add up to days. In fact, that is how my January first was spent this year: bowl games and Mulder's mouth. His actual mouth was all the way in Alexandria, but his December thirty-first mouth was locked away in my mind. What on earth did that kiss mean? It was way too long be "Happy New Year, Scully" and way too innocent to be anything else. His lips were warm and dry. Over twelve hours later, I could still close my eyes, relive that second in which I saw that he was leaning toward me, was not going to stop, and was not heading for my cheek. Every time I did so, my stomach did a dance it had not done since I was 16. I would curl up on my side and grin and grin. I felt like an idiot. I felt wonderful. By the second of the month, I was doing little pirouettes around my kitchen, high on living nine seconds of my life over and over. I was chopping celery for a salad the afternoon of the second when the thought hit me. Mulder and I could have sex. I laughed out loud at the realization. Of course we could have sex. This wasn't a new idea for me. The thought that the possibility had become more distinct was what struck me that afternoon. I held my knife aloft for a good ten seconds, fighting with the urge to call Mulder and ask him if this had occurred to him too. But no, I didn't. I finished making the salad, which I suddenly had no appetite to eat and resumed girlishly mooning over Mulder. I took a long, hot bubble bath. I re-read Breakfast at Tiffany's, reading Holly's quotes aloud in the resonant cavern of my bathroom. I painted my toenails with a mysterious bottle of sky blue polish that I don't remember buying. I walked around my apartment in sweat pants and a white T-shirt, admiring my blue toenails while I played every single CD by a female musician I owned. Every pop song on the stereo was suddenly speaking to me. I ate Ben and Jerry's. I did dances to the music on my stereo. I flopped on my couch, flushed, glowing, and suddenly thought of the red-haired girls on the video boxes. The thought sat me bolt upright. I had almost forgotten about them. Did they mean that Mulder wanted me? Did the kiss mean that he loved me? I wrinkled my brow. He'd taken the tapes out of the office. I wanted to see them again. My eyes flitted to my keys, hanging by the door. I could see the key to Mulder's apartment from where I sat. For about five seconds, I entertained the thought of sneaking into his place when I knew he would be out. That was too much of an invasion of privacy. And I risked being accidentally shot by the very paranoid federal agent who lived in the place. I resolved that I would have to wait until the next time I was at Mulder's to sneak surreptitious peeks at his collection. Visions of dozens of orange haired women danced on the insides of my closed eyelids. As it turned out, the next time I was at his place was the following day, after work. He left me standing in the living room, while he disappeared on some mission into his bedroom. I inched over to the bookshelf where he kept his tapes, listened for activity in the bedroom, and crouched down to study the contents of the bottom shelf. I was hoping that Mulder would keep with his usual habit of beginning to speak even before he was in a room. Dr. Strangelove, Plan Nine from Outer Space, Star Trek, Frankenstein, Dracula, Animal House, The Blues Brothers... I read titles as fast as I could. Nothing. There wasn't one of the tapes that I had seen at the office. I rose from my crouch. On my way up, I noticed another row of tapes behind the ones I had read. Paydirt... "I realized I hadn't given you your Christmas gift yet, Scully." True to form, this sentence came from the bedroom. I straightened up and peered into the fish tank. "How are the little guys doing?" "They seem fine." "Yeah, they've actually survived a whole month in my care." "No kidding?" "Yeah, I feel secure enough in my relationship with them that I named them." We were peering into the fish tank together, our shoulders touching. "Who is who?" "Okay, see that little ugly one there?" I nodded. "That's Krycek." I laughed. "And the catfish is Kersh. Bottom feeder, get it, Scully?" He elbowed me. "The gray one is Smokey and the three tetras are Ringo, John, and Melvin." He pointed again. "See the silver one hiding behind the plant?" I nodded again. "That's Fox. And the goldfish is Dana." "Do they come when you call them?" "Only the tetras. But they only come because I usually have food in my hand." "You know, Mulder," I straightened up, eyeing the wrapped gift in his hand. "If any of these die, I'm going to have to spend days convincing you it's not an omen." "Only if the Ouija board tells me to pay attention to the fish." I rolled my eyes. "While I'm thinking of it, Scully... I have some business to take care of with my mom - some loose ends about Dad's estate- on the 20th. I was wondering if you could keep Dana and company alive while I'm gone." "Of course." "I'll only be out of town for three days, but I'd really appreciate it." "No problem." I was jumping up and down inside. I was dancing with blue toenails inside. "Thanks." He looked down at his hands. "Anyway, why I dragged you here." He held out the gift. "Merry Christmas." I took the present, smiling. "Your gift is at my house. I'll bring it tomorrow." Mulder loomed over me while I tore away the paper. "I've never read this, Mulder." "Good, I was worried you had. I read it a long time ago. I was thinking about it a while ago and it occurred to me that it reminded me of you." He had given me copy of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. "Why?" "Tough chicks with guns, fighting the Man in the hopes of ultimate wisdom. I don't know why." I returned the smile he was giving to me. "Thanks, Mulder." I then surprised both of us by brushing a light kiss across his lips. Dry, cool, salty... I pulled away. He was grinning madly at me. "I'll buy you books every day if that's what I get for it." I blushed and began to step around him, heading for the door. He stopped me. "You know, Scully, I want to talk about what happened at the hospital." 'Me, too. But not tonight." I touched his hand. "Soon." "You understand that I wanted to kiss you, right? Not just because it was midnight and you were the only available woman. I wanted to kiss you." I nodded. "I know. I'm glad you kissed me. I wanted it, too." "Good." He squeezed my arm. "That's all I wanted to say." He dropped his arm and stepped out of my way. "See you tomorrow then?" "Bright and early as usual, Mulder." He walked behind me and opened the apartment door for me. As I crossed the threshold, I turned to face him. "Goodnight, Mulder." "Have a good night, Scully." "I've got a good book and some ice cream. I'm set." He smiled. In hindsight, there was a distinct moment in time where he made a decision. I saw it happen. There was a pause before he leaned down and kissed me. His lips were warm and moist. He put his good arm around me, pulling me a little closer. Our third kiss lasted no longer than our first, but it was different. He was holding me. I was touching his shoulder. His lips were wet. When we pulled away from one another, we spent a moment resting our foreheads together. I was the one who stepped away first. "Goodnight, Mulder." His voice was as soft as mine, "Night, Scully." I turned and exited his apartment entirely, into the hallway which seemed to be suffused with a glow. I made it four steps before I heard a quiet, "Scully?" I was slow to turn, trying to tone down my grin a little. "Dana?" "Yeah, Mulder?" We were standing five feet apart. Only part of his body showed around the doorframe. He was still in his suit, jacket and all. His badge dangled from his pocket. I could see his gun under the dark recesses of his coat. "Do you think maybe we could kiss more often?" He blushed distinctly enough for me to see it in the half-light of evening. "I mean, like that. Hello and goodbye. Not at the office, that wouldn't be right, but I mean," his voice trailed off and he stepped out into the hallway. "Like we just did." "I'd like to." Pirouettes in my kitchen with the Phish Food, on my sky blue toes. Careful careless twirls in search of a spoon while Janis Joplin belted it out in the background. Didn't I make you feel...? "It doesn't have to be anymore than that." The red head dancing, dancing girl sucking frozen caramel off a spoon as she ambles around her apartment, announcing herself to her furniture, her pictures, her bookshelves. I'm changed, everything's changed. I'm 36 going on 16 on the inside and I'm going to revel, just once, in the joy of letting someone else define a tiny part of me. Mulder, Mulder... Fox? She bites down on the spoon with her laugh. What a god- awful name he has! She laughs again because the 16-year-old on the inside just squealed with glee at the appropriateness of his name, a fact the 36-year-old had firmly ignored (or at least pretended to ignore) for seven long, lovely years. I stood silent for a moment in his ugly hallway. I cleared my throat and spoke, "It can if we want it to be." XX FIN XX Feedback me, babies.