Notes: Of course it's MSR. Do
I write anything else?
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Grapes
by Lynn Gregg
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"Another day in
Paradise, huh, Scully?" Fox Mulder asked rhetorically as the road
spun out
before them. "Driving the back roads,
ferreting out crime and conspiracy, chasing monsters,
making the mean streets safe again...Kinda
makes you feel proud to be an American, doesn't it?"
"Kinda makes me
feel glad I packed a lunch," his partner replied amiably. "There
may well
be wild work ahead for us tonight, but at
least we'll go to it well-fed."
"You packed us a
lunch?" He was genuinely touched. "Scully, that was sweet of
you. What'd
you bring?"
Scully opened the
cooler between her feet and began rummaging around. "Bologna and
cheese
sandwiches on wheat bread, carrot and celery
sticks, and for dessert, fresh strawberries and
grapes."
"Carrot and celery
sticks?" Mulder's distinctive nose wrinkled. "Strawberries
and grapes? You
mean, raw stuff?"
"What'd you expect? Ho-Hos and Ring-Dings and Twinkies?"
"Sugar is an excellent source of quick energy," he pointed out. Scully snorted.
"Fifty years from
now, when you're reaping the rewards of late-onset diabetes, you'll be
begging me for a nice big ripe succulent
strawberry. And you know what? I won't give you
any." She smirked.
"Hmmmph," Mulder grunted, and drove.
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Half an hour later:
The silence having
become oppressive, Mulder flipped on the radio and commenced to sing. He
sang everything, and not very well; and
by the time he started wailing along with that "MMMBop"
song, Scully was desperate for a way to
shut him up. At a loss, she finally pulled the bundle of
white seedless grapes from the cooler and
dangled them before him enticingly. "Want a grape?"
Mulder killed the radio. "Are we speaking again, Scully?"
"I was never not speaking to you. Would you like a grape?"
He tried and failed to pull one from its stem. "Damn it. Could you--"
Scully plucked one
free and held it out. Mulder gave her a sidelong smirk and murmured,
"Feed it to me, Scully."
Her eyebrow rose to new heights. "Are you coming on to me, Mulder?"
"I might be. Depends on what kind of beverages you brought."
Scully reached down
and brought forth a large cobalt-blue bottle, dripping with condensation.
"Iced tea, of course. With ginseng."
Mulder's mouth dropped
open, giving him the look of a beached fish. Scully took advantage
of the opportunity and popped a grape into
the orifice.
He swallowed, with difficulty, and asked softly, "May I have another?"
"You can have as
many as you like." Pulling another plump greenish globe from its
stem,
Scully placed it into his mouth, letting
her fingertip glide lightly over the curve of his full
lower lip. Mulder started; the car
lurched then lagged, and Scully laughed.
"Watch the road or no more grapes, Fox."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"You *know* what."
"Oh, that. Sorry, Fox."
"Stop it, Dana."
"Hmmm, down to first names now, are we?"
"Sculll-eeee..."
Feigning a look
of wide-eyed innocence, Scully selected another succulent fruit, rubbing
it
thoughtfully between two fingers.
"You know, you never have told me why you so despise
the sound of your first name. Confession
time, or no more grapes for you."
Her tongue flicked out, neatly flipping the grape into her mouth. Mulder groaned softly.
"You want a confession,
Scully?" he asked, in a tone of voice she'd *never* heard him use
in all their years together. "All
right, here's my confession: I hate the sound of my name on
your lips because--it excites me.
It turns me on like nothing else. I hated it when I was
younger because everyone mocked me and made
fun of me--but I hate it now because your
voice turns it into...a caress. A
prayer. Things I'm not allowed to have." His hands clenched
the wheel, white-knuckled.
"Why not?" Scully's
voice was so soft as to be almost inaudible over the pulse pounding
in Mulder's ears.
"I don't know why
not, Scully. That's the Hell of it. I suppose I've just become
accustomed
to wanting things I can't have: my
sister, proof of the existence of extraterrestrial life, enough
evidenec to bring the Consortium down for
good, you..."
That one final word
hung in the air between them like a cloud of toxic gas. When it finally
dispersed, Scully remembered the human need
for oxygen and gasped in a harsh breath.
Mulder sat stiff and silent, outwardly composed;
only the flaming crescents of his ears betrayed
him.
"But Mulder," Scully
murmured, when at last her powers of speech returned, "you already
have me. Don't you know that?
You've had me from the start."
Her small hand pried
the tense talons of his fingers from the wheel. He clung to her,
still
not daring to take his eyes from the road.
"Have I?" He queried, voice ragged. "*Do* I?"
"In every way but one," came the whispered reply. "And we could remedy that any time."
The rental came
to a skidding, shuddering stop on the shoulder. Their eyes locked
and their
bodies followed, crashing each into the
others' embrace, clutching, clinging, laughing and crying
at once, as the grapes scattered soundlessly
at Scully's feet.
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