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Scully wears a pair of my boxers to bed.
Well at least that is what I believe she does with them. I just found out
about 20 minutes ago when I peeked in her underwear drawer. I can't
wipe this stupid grin off my face now.
Yeah, I admit it. I went through her underwear drawer. I'm a guy.
Guys do these things. Sometimes. It not so much that it is women's
undergarments but that they are Scully's undergarments. Big difference.
All right, I am rationalizing. I am a sick, sick man. I'd examine the
psychological etiology of my shamefully pubescent behavior, but I can't
wipe the shit-eating grin off my face long enough to do so.
I have been driving her to and from work for the past week, since she
just started back, after having been shot by that idiot dumbfuck Agent
Ritter. Scully is healed enough for desk work, but I know she is still on
pain meds. I somehow convinced her to let me drive her to the office
as long as she is still on medication. Don't ask me how I managed this.
I'm just glad she allows me to take care of her in this small way.
We have a meeting first thing this morning with Kersh, and Scully
remembered that she had left the expense report on her dresser. Since it
was faster for me to run in and grab it (not to mention the fact that she
was the one who actually did all the work on it), I volunteered. I did
offer to fill the thing out, but Scully is rather anal about our paperwork.
She told me that if I had done it, Kersh would have made us do it over.
And that would mean that she would have to do it. So, it was just
easier for her to do it right in the first place. That's Scully logic for ya.
I quickly headed to her bedroom. The expense report was right where
Scully said it would be. I knew she was outside in the car with the
engine idling, but of course, I couldn't keep myself from taking a quick
look-see in her top dresser drawer. Thoughts of how curious cats get
killed were the furthest from my mind.
At first I was shocked. I wondered to whom they belonged. I'm
talking about the pair of dark gray, cotton men's boxer shorts that I
found neatly folded on top. Since when was Scully seeing someone?
But then I realized I kept Scully way too busy to even think about
dating and, thus, decided the shorts perhaps belonged to one of her
brothers. I quickly discarded the brother idea because it was just really
sick.
I do know women sometimes buy men's boxers to sleep or exercise in,
but these, upon closer inspection, appeared to be Hanros. I know
Scully has good taste in clothes, but would she order these ridiculously
expensive boxers from Switzerland like I do -- just to sleep in? Don't
get me wrong, they are well worth the expense for most guys...but why
would Scully? Then I noticed that they are my favorite Oxford fishbone
weave, slightly worn away at the fly, right where mine always are.
Hmm...and they are my size as well.
And so it was that I came to the conclusion: they must have once
belonged to me. I think I am going to hurt myself grinning. Scully
wears -- or at least she keeps -- a pair of my boxers. I quickly
refolded them and closed the drawer. I hope I put them back well
enough that she won't notice, because I know if she finds out I was
snooping she will throttle me.
"Mulder what took you so long? I'm positive the report was on my
dresser," Scully asks as I get in the car.
"Uh yeah, it was just where you said it was, but I took a quick pit stop,
so that's what took so long. I even took the time to put the seat down.
Aren't you proud of me?"
"Extremely. Now drive. We're running late."
Scully is in possession of a pair of my undergarments. I can't get that
thought out of my head. I hope I don't look dopey right now, as I can
feel the uncontrollable grin returning. I glance over and notice that Scully
is engrossed in the file and is paying absolutely no attention to me.
Good.
Now when did Scully come in to possession of my wayward boxers?
I'm pretty sure Scully didn't swipe them from me intentionally. That is
not her style. Phoebe or someone from the secretarial pool? Yes. But
Scully? No way.
Oh yeah, I've heard the rumors. I am supposedly a hot commodity
among the secretaries; they would strip me naked in a second if I let
them. I don't understand it at all, but hey - I'm not about to complain.
What guy wouldn't love it? Yet I don't fool myself into thinking any of
them would be interested in, much less love, anything deeper than my
superficial physical attributes. A moment of desperate melancholy
invades my heart as I wonder if anyone will ever love the pilgrim soul in
me and the sorrows of my changing face. I look over at Scully, the only
woman who ever made me feel Yeats' words to such a degree.
Then I tell myself to snap the fuck out of it before I ruin this glorious
day.
"Hey Scully, what kind of men's underwear do you prefer?"
Where the hell did that come from? Stupid, stupid. Scully looks up
from her reading. I can't keep my big mouth shut. She probably
suspects something now.
"Why do you want to know Mulder?"
"Uh, no reason, just curious."
Scully looks puzzled. Good. I don't think she suspects.
"Well, that isn't something I spend a lot of time thinking about. Um... I
suppose I would prefer a guy to wear boxers, but it really doesn't
matter, as that is the decision of the male in question. His preferences in
undergarments outweigh mine, wouldn't you think?" One of her
eyebrows was raised, but I couldn't find my voice.
She continued, "I do think those white briefs, like the ones little boys
wear, on a grown man are kind of silly. And I think thongs are rather
pretentious. When you consider the comfort factor, I often wonder
why a man would bother with them."
"So thongs turn you off?" I reply.
Scully, without missing a beat retorts, "Are you thinking of switching to
thongs, Mulder?" Her grin was infectious.
"How do you know that I don't already wear thongs, Scully?"
"Oh, please. I have seen you in your underwear many times -- always
boxers, not a thong in sight. I don't think you could stand them."
How does she know that thongs are uncomfortable?
"So you have personal experience with the wearing of thongs Scully?"
She returns to her file, ignoring me.
Okay, now I am really intrigued. Scully in a thong is really inspiring, but
I'd better get that vision out of my mind or I will be genuinely
embarrassed. Plus, I don't want to cause that bastard Kersh any more
discomfort than is absolutely necessary.
I pull into the Hoover parking garage and am lucky enough to find a
space close to the elevators. I don't want her walking any further than
necessary, but she'll be damned if she lets me drop her off while I go
park. I learned that lesson the first day. She about bit my head off.
Sheesh.
If chivalry is dead, it's because Scully took out her gun and shot it.
We gather up our stuff, get out of the Taurus and make our way to the
elevator. "Do you want them back Mulder?" Scully says out of
nowhere.
Shit, she knows. I suppose it is futile to play dumb at this point, but I'm
going to try anyway. "Want what back Scully?" I say in my best-
confused voice.
"That pair of boxers of yours that I found crammed behind my clothes
hamper in the bathroom a week or so after you testified in front of the
Blevins panel. You must have left them that night when you were
playing dead," Scully mentions as she beckons the elevator down to the
parking garage.
"I left a pair of boxers then?" I ask, looking even more confused.
"Yes, you did, Mulder. If you had placed them on the hamper, they
probably fell down behind it. I think my hamper is possessed or
something. Seems like everything I put on it falls behind."
I try for the humorous approach. "Well, maybe we should get it
exorcised. I don't think we have ever investigated a sentient laundry
hamper."
Uh-oh. That didn't help anything. I think Scully is pissed now.
"Mulder, from now on stay out of my things," Scully says in a matter of
fact voice.
Not good. I think she is two seconds away from really chewing me out,
not that I don't deserve it. But I can't keep myself from asking, "So, do
you ever wear them Scully?"
I don't expect an answer. I am surprised when she blushes and says, "I
do sleep in them on occasion, on nights when it's too warm for my
pajamas. Um...they're rather comfortable."
I clear my throat and add, "Well, go ahead and keep them. I have
plenty."
I am such a dork.
Feeling guilty about snooping, I quickly add, "And I swear, Scully, I
didn't see anything else. Just my boxers. After I saw them, I was too
shocked to go digging for your sexy lingerie." I give her my best
innocent grin.
She smiles enigmatically and replies, "I don't keep my sexy lingerie in
that drawer anyway."
Good God! Scully is playing along. I can't resist. "So tell me more
about your sexy lingerie Scully, are they teddies, thongs, corsets? Have
you been doing your part in keeping Victoria's Secret in business, or do
your tastes lean more towards Frederick's of Hollywood? Do you buy
from places that ship in plain brown wrappers?"
Scully ignores my inquiry and impatiently stabs the elevator button. "Is
this thing ever going to get down here? Come on Mulder, let's take the
stairs. And after the meeting I want to go complain to somebody about
that elevator that never makes it down to the parking garage."
Oh yeah, she is trying to change the subject. Very typical Scully
behavior -- her way of telling me that I am out of line without actually
having to tell me. I feel terribly contrite. And I do not want her taking
the stairs in her condition.
"Mulder. Meeting. Kersh. We are going to be late. Let's go," she says
just as the elevator dings and its doors slide open. Literally saved by
the bell.
Later that evening, "What the fuck am I doing?" I keep asking myself as
I stand outside Scully's front door.
I dropped her off a couple of hours ago, then I went to the gym to
shoot some hoops and think for a bit. I finally decided to come over
and make an apology of sorts for digging through her dresser this
morning. Scully didn't mention my indiscretion again all day, but I can't
just let it go.
What if she thinks I am exactly like every other guy? What if she thinks
I'm a pervert? What if she loses all respect for me? What if every
thoughtful act, every caring word, every enlightened sensitive discussion
we have ever had fades in the light of this one, stupidly adolescent act?
What if I lose the one thing I value most in this world -- her friendship?
So here I stand, wondering if I am going to screw up this situation any
more than it already is. Here goes nothing. God hates a coward, just
knock, dumbass.
I knock.
"Mulder, what are you doing here?" Scully says after opening the door.
"You hungry, Scully? I brought a pizza." Scully looks puzzled but
motions me inside.
"I never turn down free pizza, Mulder. Come on in." I set the box down
on her coffee table as Scully heads to the kitchen for plates.
"I brought beer too, so we've got the beverages covered," I call out to
her.
"Mulder, I can't have beer. Still taking my pain meds."
Damn, forgot about that. "Oh, sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Next time we have pizza, the beer will be on
me."
So far so good, Scully is still speaking to me. She comes back with the
plates and a glass of organic fruit juice for herself. I dish out the pizza,
open a beer and begin to chow down. I'm starting on my third slice
when Scully clears her throat and states, "Mulder, I feel really bad
about not returning your boxer shorts. I know I should have said
something. But there never was, I felt, an appropriate time. And, I
guess, I never thought you would ever find out. So, I...I just kept
them."
Wow, she feels guilty about keeping the boxers. That has me surprised.
I don't think I have ever heard Scully struggle for words before.
"Scully, I don't mind that you kept them. I never even knew that they
were missing until I went snooping this morning. I should be the one
apologizing. You should be kicking my ass all over the place for going
through your stuff."
Scully laughs and says, "Well, I'm really in no condition to be kicking
anybody's ass at the moment, but give me a few more weeks." I smirk
and say. "I hope I am at least the first on your list."
Grinning Scully says, "You always are."
I wolf down two more slices of pizza. Scully declares she is stuffed
after two and begins to clean up. "I have something else to give you
Scully. It is out in the car. Be right back."
I run out to the car and rummage around in my gym bag. I quickly find
what I was after. I stuff it in a brown paper bag that was behind the
front seat and head back in.
I bring out the bag I had hidden behind me, presenting it like an offering
to a pagan goddess. When she sees it, she slyly says, "Mulder, if there
is a pint of Tofutti Cool Cappuccino Soy Supreme in that bag, it could
be love."
"Ack," I pretend to clutch my heart in dismay. "Must be fate, Scully. A
gray tee shirt. Now you have a matched set."
I'm not sure if I screwed up or not, as Scully doesn't seem to know
what to say. Finally, she says, "Mulder, you don't have to give me one
of your tee shirts."
"I want you to have it," I tell her.
She takes the bag with a shy, "Thank you."
"Oh, uh...Scully, I think you might want to wash it also, since I just
finished playing basketball in it," I add with an embarrassed smile. Scully
laughs. "Only you, Mulder, would give me a sweaty tee shirt to make
amends. I am touched, truly."
"We now have matching jammies for our next sleep over," I leer.
"Next, Mulder?" Scully says giving me the eyebrow.
"Well, only until we take them off for the sex." Stupid comment. I
grimace, thinking why, oh why, oh why, do I never realize I have taken
it one step too far until after the fact?
"I see," is all she says. I think this would be a good time to make my
exit.
"I guess I should go, now..." I say as I pull my keys out of my pocket.
The next thing I know Scully has me in a bearhug and gives me a quick
kiss on the cheek.
"Night Mulder, see you tomorrow."
I think I could really get used to this, I think to myself as I give her a
squeeze back and head for the door. "Night, Scully. I'll be here around
7 to pick you up."
"Drive safe Mulder."
"'K, Scully."
And I'm gone.
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