Sweet Comic Valentine
A.I. Irving
vsmith@ischemia.card.unc.edu
Rating: R
Category: V, A, R
Summary: Mulder is celebrating his first Valentine's Day as a married
man.

Please forward to ATXC and Gossamer. Thanks.

The characters in this story are not my original creations.

Author's Notes: I found this lurking on my hard drive and thought I'd
share. I wrote it last winter, while trying to come up with ideas for a
sequel to "The Actor." The song lyrics quoted here are from "My
Funny Valentine" by Rodgers and Hart. Elvis Costello's breathy
rendition is superb.


"I have a message for you, Mulder," Scully said tersely, pushing the
piece of pink paper across the desk.

"Oh? Who's it from?" he asked absently. He had just returned from a
meeting with some consulting hematologists and was absorbed in reading the
reports they had presented to him.

Scully rolled her eyes and flicked the message in his general direction.
Instead of landing on his desk, the paper fluttered gracefully to the
floor beneath the overloaded bookcase between their desks.

"I'm not your secretary," she snipped, nervously picking at the sharp
corner of a large red envelope that she had hidden among the spread of
papers on her desk.

"Of course not, Scully." He licked his lips and arched his brows at a
particularly interesting finding in the report. With some effort he
managed to tear his eyes away from the text in his hands and looked
expectantly at his desk. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" she said petulantly.

"The message," he said, rifling through the piles of paper that littered
his desk.

"God only knows," she mumbled, typing noisily on her laptop.

After more rustling and a few grunts of frustration, Mulder dropped to
his knees and crawled around their desks, searching for the missing
paper. He rounded the corner of her desk and was met with her
carefully crossed ankles, demurely outfitted in light, sheer hosiery
above a pair of Italian suede pumps. His eyes followed the undulating
lines of her well-sculpted calves up to her surprisingly child-like knees
and the two inches of trim thigh just visible below the hem of her red
wool crepe skirt.

Scully fixed a stare on him like a teacher who had caught her pupil
cheating. Mulder, still on his hands and knees, gaped up at her from
behind his reading glasses, his forelock dangling dangerously close to
one dark eye.

She shook her head once, and he shifted back onto his heels.

"I can't find it, Scully. Your memory's nearly photographic -- just tell
me who left the message. Please?"

She gave a peevish sigh and turned away from him.

"Oh, all right. It was your wife."

Mulder smiled in spite of the tension in the room. He scrambled to his
feet and walked around Scully's chair until he was he could see her
face again.

"Well? What's the message?"

Scully momentarily rested her head on her fingertips and tried to
collect herself. This was never going to be an easy topic between
them. Everything was different now, all because of his ridiculous
notions of gallantry. He had married precipitously, and the
atmosphere in the office had been rife with miscommunication and
apprehension between the two partners ever since. She had hoped to
overcome her discomfort with the changes in Mulder's behavior in the
workplace, but there was too much history between them for her to
adapt overnight -- or over two months, for that matter.

"Scully?" he prompted gently.

"She said to -- to tell you to be home by seven tonight. She's got
something planned for Valentine's Day, and she doesn't want it ruined
by your being late. There. That's it. That's your message, Mulder."

"Thanks," he said.

He went back to his desk, silenced by her mood. After two months,
Mulder was still trying to figure out how to balance the two most
important relationships in his life. He spent more time with his partner
than with his wife -- it was the nature of the job. Usually he was able
to placate one for the sake of the other, but some days were harder
than others. Valentine's Day seemed to be bringing out some
unresolved conflicts between him and Scully. He didn't feel
comfortable leaving the office with this bitterness between them.

Mulder glanced over at his partner. She was once again typing.
Today she had worn a blood-red suit, presumably in honor of the
day. Her lush lips, painted a similar color, formed a vivid contrast
with the pale skin of her lovely face. They reminded him of a red
rosebud.

He looked away quickly. If she caught him staring, there'd be hell to
pay in the form of a dozen unspoken reprimands delivered with a flash
of her cool blue eyes. He was familiar with every variation of the
Scully scold, and today of all days he was in no mood to be on the
receiving end of any of them.

Mulder shut down his computer and turned off the light on his desk.
Taking his coat down from the hanger on the back of the door, he
pulled it on and made some show of straightening his cuffs, collar,
and tie. He had become far more conscious of his appearance since
the wedding. Getting the girl had been close to impossible; he was
determined to keep her by any means necessary. He put forth daily
efforts to win her approval in small ways. He knew his partner feared
that he was going soft on the job. Better to be soft on the job than soft
in the marriage bed, he told himself, cracking a smile.

"I'm taking off, Scully," he said, fiddling with the knot of his tie. It
was black, printed with tiny red hearts pierced with yellow arrows.

Scully regarded the tie with disdain and returned to her computer.

"See you later," she said simply.

"Yeah. Well. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Right back at you, Mulder," she said coolly.

And with only a second's hesitation, he turned and left her alone.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Scully waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps ringing in
the hall before she fished the hidden valentine out from under the
jumble of documents on her desk. She was about to rip open the red
envelope when it occurred to her that she should lock the door.
Skinner had a habit of straying downstairs looking for company on
Friday evenings. Tonight she wasn't interested in allaying his
loneliness.

Back at her desk, Scully pulled out her letter opener and carefully slit
the envelope open. She saw a flash of white, and pulled gingerly at
the edge of the paper she found within. It was a standard-size page of
vellum paper, folded in quarters to fit neatly in the red envelope.
Before unfolding the hand-crafted card, she paused to remind herself
that her expectations should be different now. Mulder was a changed
man. His priorities lay outside the office now. Hope springs eternal,
Scully mused.

She unfolded the paper, and gasped with amazement at the perfect pen-
and-ink sketch she found within. It was of a full-blown rose, drawn
as well as any representation of the botanical varieties of roses found
in the great lithographs of Redoute. The inscription read, "What's in a
name? That which I call a rose by any other name would smell as
sweet." It was unsigned.

The implications of the quote confused her. Her immediate
interpretation said that the artist saw her as far more than an FBI agent
and a forensic pathologist. Then her insecurity kicked it: did it mean
that he didn't like her name?

Scully moaned at her own silliness, and returned to card to its
envelope. Pushing it into her briefcase, she put her computer to sleep
and pulled the jacket to her suit from the back of her chair. Enough
wondering for one night. It was time to drown herself in her favorite
intoxicant.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

My funny valentine
Sweet comic valentine
You make me smile
With my heart....

Mulder paused outside his door to listen to the sweet huskiness of his
wife's voice. She must be cooking, he mused with a smile. She
always sings when she's cooking.

He sniffed the bouquet of peach roses he had tucked under his arm.
He had called the florist a week ago and ordered the bouquet, knowing
that roses would be a precious commodity on Valentine's Day. Peach
was her favorite shade for roses -- and, as he had discovered after the
wedding, for underwear as well. One deep red bud was nestled
among the peach. That was Mulder's metaphor for the passion he
harbored for his new wife. He hoped she didn't think it was a
hopelessly trite gesture.

Your looks are laughable
Unphotographable
Still you're my favorite
Work of art.....

Taking his keys from the pocket of his overcoat, Mulder considered
the changes that had overcome him since falling in love. He had
learned to plan ahead about things like Valentine's Day -- something he
had never before felt compelled to do. He had bought a couple of new
suits and replaced all the socks with holes in the heels. He had even
cut his hair short again when he finally figured out that she liked it
better that way. More importantly, he had shelved his usual arrogance
in favor of something far more satisfying -- confidence.

He put his key in the lock and opened the door. He was greeted with a
delicious, herby smell from the kitchen and more of the sultry song.

Is you figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you --

"Hey! You never complained about my mouth before!" he cried,
bursting into the kitchen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cork popped resoundingly. Scully's laughter spilled forth like the
champagne, and was at least as intoxicating. She held out her glass
and grinned with anticipation as it was filled.

"Oh, that's perfect. Perfect." She sipped the wine, and giggled
girlishly as the bubbles tickled her nose. "This has been an evening of
surprises. I never knew you were an artist...."

>From the darkness beyond the circle of candlelight, a voice replied.
"You bring out all my best qualities, you know. And the best surprise
is yet to come."

She smiled as the barechested man, hovering tenuously in a region of
her psyche somewhere between fantasy and reality, placed a small
crystal bowl filled will chocolate mousse on the table in front of her.
He smiled devilishly at her.

"You won't be needing a spoon, will you?" It was more of a
statement than a question. She sipped her champagne and waited
patiently as he pulled his chair closer to hers and leaned in close to
drop a kiss on her shoulder. "Mmm. No. I didn't think so."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder was kissing his wife. He had left the rest of the world sitting
on the icy curb of Connecticut Avenue while he bathed in the humid
recesses of her mouth.

During each long day in his basement office, sitting with his taciturn
partner as the hands of the clock dragged out the hours until he could
return to the only true home he had ever known, he managed to forget
-- in spite of his eidetic memory --the thrilling details of his wife's
kisses. Of course he knew the ultimate effect they had on him. But it
was not until he came through that door every night and found her
waiting for him with open arms that he was reminded of exactly how
she went about sweeping her pointed tongue across his palate, or
swirling it against the tiny ridges immediately behind his incisors, or
flicking it just inside his lower lip. It was only then that the
knowledge of her abiding love flooded back to him like the river of hot
blood that pumped through his strong heart.

He took a moment to breathe, and wanted to tell her how much he
loved her.

"I --"

She raked her nails across his back with just enough pressure to drive
all thoughts of speech out of his feeble brain.

"I --"

She bent her head to kiss the notch at the base of his throat. Her hands
were trailing around his waist, just inside the waistband of his
trousers, and the anticipation her cool fingers drew from him suddenly
made English his second tongue. He grasped her jaw with one hand
and pressed the other flat against her back. She brought her lips back
up to his, and now it was his turn to reply to her in their primary
language.

Mulder had a plan of sorts that he wanted to enact before it was too
late. By way of a promise, he sucked her small tongue into his mouth
and gently bit the tip of it. She moaned into his throat and lurched
against him. He smiled and repeated this action, once, twice, and a
third time, until he felt her hands fumbling with his belt. He slid his
tongue over hers to soothe her and grasped her wrists to still her
hands. Still, she struggled against him, and she was strong. Soon he
was wrestling her to the mattress, breathlessly trying to pin her hands
over her head as she writhed beneath him. Her bare legs soughed
together so vigorously that he feared he might accidentally end up with
a knee in the very place where he was most vulnerable at that moment -
- or at any moment, for that matter.

The alcohol he had sipped and the struggle she put up made him laugh.
She never ceased to surprise, even shock, him at times like this. She
had a well of passion within her that he had only begun to tap.
Mulder's resistance, as well as his energy, was waning. He needed to
call a time-out. After a good dinner and a couple of glasses of wine on
top of a tedious day with his moody partner, he knew he had to pace
himself carefully if he were to meet her demands for the night.

"All right, Scully --"

Her struggle stopped abruptly, shocking him into releasing his hold on
her. She scuttled across the mattress, away from him.

She was glaring at him, her blue eyes cold with anger. Mulder's
expression was one of regret and surprise.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he began in an indulgent tone.

"I told you, Fox. I don't want to hear you use that name in this
bedroom," she said in a stern tone that he rarely heard. "What you do
in the office all day is your business, but at home I'm the boss."

He nodded, his shoulders slumping under the reprimand.

"Yes, dear."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully upended the bottle over her glass, and was rewarded with the
last few ounces of champagne. She smiled ruefully and rolled the
bottle under the bed.

She sat alone on the bed and tried to collect herself. The evening had
not progressed exactly as she had hoped. For one thing, she had lost
control somewhere between the chocolate mousse and the bedroom.
She was new to all this. Her competitive personality drove her to
succeed at everything she did, and this gentle game was no exception.
As she waited, she began to wonder if winning was the object of this
match after all.

She leaned against the headboard and stretched her pale legs across the
comforter. Peeking down at her ruby satin teddy, she wondered if it
had been a bit too out of character for this evening. She hadn't felt
quite like herself in months, however, so maybe it was appropriate
after all.

She heard the distant sound of the toilet flushing, of water running in
the bathroom sink, and then the silence of hands being dried. Her
throat constricted with fear as she waited for the sound of the
bathroom door. What if he had changed his mind, and reneged as
quickly as he had agreed to the liaison?

Scully could not read his face when he appeared in the bedroom, tall
and skinny in nothing but his boxers. He was carrying a single red
rose. Was it a peace offering, or a farewell gesture? She suddenly felt
like a child dressed up in her mother's party clothes and lipstick.

"I'm so sorry," she said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder knelt on the bed next to his tearful wife. He cupped her face in
his hands and kissed her gently.

"It's all right, sweetheart. We're still learning. And you've -- we've
both been through so much in the past year," he said tenderly. "Please
don't cry."

She put her arms around him and rested her head on his broad
shoulder. He smelled like his office, and her soap, and the rose he
had placed on the bedside table next to the photograph of them on their
wedding day.

"Oh, Mulder. I love you so much. I feel like we have to rush to make
up for all the wasted time..."

"You're trying too hard, sweetheart." He smiled against the smooth
field of her copper hair. "Your resolve to keep everything separate
really amazes me. You should be doing undercover work for the CIA
instead of hanging out in the basement with me. I always knew your
talents far exceeded mine..."

"You know that isn't true," she said, kissing the puckered scar where
she had wounded him all those years ago. "It's a matter of self-
discipline, not talent, Mulder."

"Don't I know it," he murmured, caressing her silky hair. "Dana..."

"Oh, forget it, Mulder. You can call me Scully. Resolve be damned."

"Thank you," he whispered, hooking a finger under her chin and
tilting her face toward his. "Scully. I adore you. Marrying you is the
best thing I've ever done."

"But not the easiest...."

"If I wanted easy I would've stuck with my video collection," he said,
kissing her rosebud lips.

Scully murmured something into his mouth. He paused to give her a
quizzical look.

"Of course I like it, Scully. You just surprised me, that's all. The
color looks great on you. Take it off and I'll prove it to you."

"That's a pretty sneaky compliment," she said, sliding the straps of the
deep red teddy over her shoulders.

"We got a drop of chocolate mousse on it," he observed as he slid the
silk down to her waist. "Wonder if it'll come out..."

"Why is it that you got to eat all the chocolate mousse while I got
buzzed off the champagne?"

"No one ever said that marriage was fair, Scully," he said, pulling the
teddy away from her and tossing it aside.

Gently he pushed her down on the bed, and crawled over her until he
was straddling her small body. He took up the single rose and traced a
path down her sternum with the soft tip of the bud. Then he held it
aloft, and one by one, plucked the petals from the flower.

"She loves me." He allowed a few of the dark petals to flutter down to
her alabaster belly.

"She loves me not," he continued, hesitating dramatically before
releasing the next petals.

Scully wriggled beneath him as she tried to catch the falling petals.

"She loves me..." He held a petal lightly between his thumb and
forefinger and caressed her nose and lips with it before discarding it
with all the others.

"She loves me not." He took her left hand in his and, folding the petal
in half, slipped it between her gold wedding band and small, pale
finger.

The rose was nearly naked, having given its cloak for his bride.

Mulder stripped off the last petal and sent the remains of the rose into
the darkness after the red teddy.

"She loves me," he said conclusively, placing the petal directly over
her heart. He covered it with his left hand. His own gold band glinted
up at him in the dim light.

He smiled at his handiwork, a confetti of red against a field of white.

"See. I told you, sweetheart. You look beautiful in red."

End Sweet Comic Valentine, 1/1