Title:Really Talking
by Ranee 
DISCLAIMER: I don't own M&S... I personally think I deserve to, but I don't.
RATING: PG...?
SPOILERS: Small Potatoes...
SUMMARY: What do you get when you mix "Small Potatoes" and Ranee in 
an X-Files withdrawal? A fluffy fanfic!!
FEEDBACK: please don't make me beg... cause you know I will :O)
QUICK NOTES: looking back, I’ve realized that most of my post-ep stories 
were after “This Is Not Happening” or “DeadAlive”... I guess cause I’m an 
angst-y person, and those were... well, angst-y :-D But there are tons of 
other good eps, and a favorite that Jess and I share is “Small Potatoes”... 
so I bring you this fanfic... :-) (it starts at the very end of SP, Scully POV) 

--------------------------------------------------------- 

I bite my lip and turn away as I see Mulder exiting the room, keeping my eyes to 
the floor. 

There’s an awkward silence between us, until I break it by saying, "I don’t 
imagine you need to be told this, Mulder, but you’re not a loser." 

"Yeah," he says. "But I’m no Eddie van Blundht, either... am I?" 

I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to say anything, so I don’t. In fact, we don’t 
say another word to each other even when we're back in the office. I’m not 
sure who I feel more embarrassed for- Mulder or myself. I decide on myself. 
I mean, I was *drunk* and about to kiss Mulder, who wasn’t even Mulder.
 And now I have to see the real Mulder at work... everyday. And add weekends 
to that package! I’m not sure of the last time I felt so mortified. 

I toss a quick glance over at Mulder who’s busy typing something on the computer. 
Sighing, I sit down at my "desk" and turn on my laptop. I’ve no sooner opened up 
my e-mail program when I hear the familiar "ding" meaning I have mail. 

"Yippee," I mutter under my breath. If it’s Skinner asking for clarification on our 
case report I’m going to scream... 

I’m instead surprised to find the e-mail was sent from one f_mulder@fbi.gov. 
I raise my eyebrow and look at him, but he’s busy... sharpening his pencil? 

Whatever, I’ll play his game. Lord knows it’s better than having to talk to him right now. 


-----------
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
Subject: how was the wine? 

You know, van Blundht picked the wine I was saving... in fact, I’ve been saving 
that wine for a long time. And I didn’t even get to have any.
------------ 

"Mulder- " I start to ask, but he holds his hand up and motions to the computer. 
I bite my lip again and tell myself not to smile. He’s playing some game to get back 
at me, I just know it. I will not let him win. *I* was the one in the worse situation,
 anyway, I grumble to myself. 

-----------
From: D_Scully@fbi.gov
To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
Subject: RE: how was the wine? 

The wine was delicious, thanks for asking. What were you saving it for?
---------- 

Satisfied, I lean back against my chair and throw Mulder a smug look. 
See, I think, I’m playing your game... but whatever you’re hoping to accomplish, 
I’ll win. But Mulder doesn’t even look at me, just tosses a pencil at the ceiling 
and begins typing a reply. The pencil falls, hits him on the head, and lands 
on the floor, but he doesn’t even look up. He clicks the "send" button and 
I hear a "ding," so I turn back to my own computer. 

----------
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
Subject: it’s none of your business... 

.... what I was saving the wine for. Glad you and Eddie enjoyed it.
---------- 

Ok, now he’s thrown me. Is he bitter? I wonder. Surely he must know that it’s 
not like Eddie said, "Hey, I’m Eddie. I’m not Mulder. Don’t you like me better
 than Mulder? Wanna make out?" I feel very confused and I sigh, "Mulder, come on,"
 but he just shakes his head. What do you want me to say? I want to yell at him. 
I briefly close my eyes. It also bothers me that he said it was none of my business. 
Ok, maybe it isn’t any of my business, but it still hurts. 

-----------
To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
From: D_Scully@fbi.gov
Subject: RE: it’s none of your business... 

Like I said, it was good wine. I can’t tell what you mean over e-mails, Mulder. 
Are you bitter? What are we doing this for?
--------- 

Mulder reads my reply, nods, and immediately starts typing. I love watching him, 
and before I know it he’s sent the reply. The "ding" on my computer brings me 
out of my trance and I blush in embarrassment. Maybe he didn’t see me? But 
the look on his face tells me otherwise, and I desperately try to save whatever 
pride I have left by slowly turning and opening his e-mail. 

---------
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
Subject: I’m sorry 

About the "it’s none of your business" comment. I don’t know what I was saving it for,
 but I’ve had it for awhile. We’re doing this over e-mail because it’s easier to say what 
you feel when you don’t have to talk, wouldn’t you agree? And, yes, I suppose I am 
bitter. How would you feel if you walked in on your partner drunk on your wine and 
about to kiss Luke Skywalker?
--------- 

Well, that answers it, I guess. I think about the situation from Mulder’s eyes, and
 I soften. Poor guy. Although I still think I had it worse. 

---------
To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
From: D_Scully@fbi.gov
Subject: RE: I’m sorry 

Yes, I agree that’s it’s easier to "talk" over e-mails. Although I really would like to 
talk, Mulder. I understand how you feel. It wasn’t exactly fun to be in my situation 
either, you know. And Mulder, he sure as hell wasn’t no Luke. ;-)
----------- 

This time my e-mail elicits a response- barely, but I see his mouth curl up into the
 tiniest of smiles before it disappears again. He types up a reply and suddenly 
grabs his coat and walks out the door. 

"Wha- Mulder!" I call after him, standing up. But he’s gone, without so much 
as a "goodbye, Scully" or "See you tomorrow, Scully." I’m hurt and confused,
 and for awhile I forget about his last e-mail. I sigh, thinking I might as well just 
take my stuff and go home. I see his last e-mail as I get ready to close the program. 

----------
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
Subject: So we should talk? 

Ok, I think we should "talk" talk, too. How about my place... in 20 minutes?
---------- 

I shake my head. Mulder could be so... Mulder sometimes. Grabbing my jacket, 
I rush out of the basement office, leaving everything behind. 

******************** 

I stand outside of Mulder’s apartment. At least we weren’t going to be talking in 
my apartment. That would really be awkward. 

I close my eyes for a second and breathe in deeply before knocking on his door, 
amazed at how nervous I feel. 

Mulder is a very reasonable person... usually. He can’t be *that* upset over Eddie... 
can he? 

Mulder opens the door with a smile and takes my jacket, motioning for me to sit on 
the couch. He still hasn’t said a word, and I’m starting to get nervous. 

He sits on the opposite end of the couch, facing me. 

"I’m sorry," he says. That’s it. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. 

"Sorry for what?" I ask. 

"I don’t know. I thought that was what you wanted me to say." 

I frown slightly in frustration. "I want you to tell me what’s going on. I want you to 
tell me the truth." 

"Why don’t *you* tell *me* what’s going on?" he counters, and I’m taken aback. 

"I... I don’t understand," I stammer, wondering what happened to the conversation 
I had mapped out in my head on the way over. 

"Why didn’t you know it wasn’t me?" he asks. "We’ve been working together for 
4 years. How could some man, who wasn’t even around us that long, fool you?" 

Of all the things I’d expected him to say, this wasn’t it. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t 
pick up on what I myself had been thinking about lately. Of course, leave it to Mulder 
to want to talk about the exact thing I didn’t want to talk about. 

I might as well be honest with him, I figure. Truth and trust, those are our big things. 

"I haven’t quite... I mean... I think that I- I think that I wanted it to be you," I say, 
feeling the air being sucked out of my lungs. I can’t look at Mulder, and I feel tears 
stinging my eyes. He surprises me again by taking my hand in his own. 

"Why did you want it to be me?" he asks. There’s raw emotion in his voice, and I 
still can’t look up, instead staring at our hands. 

"Because... because we never talk. About other things, besides cases. I mean, 
sure, small talk, but I want to know more about you. I want you to know me." I don’t 
tell him why I feel so desperate to let him in, now of all times. I think maybe he knows,
 and maybe it’s the same reason he hasn’t wanted to talk- ignore it, and it’ll go away. 

"I want to talk with you," he says. "I’m afraid." 

I look up at him too, and his eyes mirror my own. "Me too," I say, scooting over on
 the couch and leaning into him. He smells like.... Mulder. He might have looked
 exactly like him, but Eddie didn’t have that Mulder smell. 

"What do you want to talk about?" Mulder asks. 

"Everything," I say. 

"Ok... true hair color?" 

"Red." 

"That’s what I thought." 

"Sure." 

"Shut up, Scully. Your turn." 

I grin and lean in further. "True hair color?" 

"Red." 

This time I laugh. "That’s what I thought," I say. 

From there we get off on wild tangents from what we started talking about. We talk
 and talk until I’m so tired I could fall asleep right where I am. A quick glance at the 
clock tells me it’s 3:40 AM. This is what I wanted, I realize. Not Eddie. 

"Hey, Scully," Mulder says softly, and the sound of his voice makes me realize 
we’ve been quiet for some time. 

"Yeah?" 

He pulls me further into his embrace. "I know what you’re afraid of. I’m afraid too. 
But I’m always here." 

I sit up and frame his face with my hands. "I know, Mulder. I know you’re always 
here for me, and that means... that means more than I can say." 

He leans closer, and this time I’m sober and ready and everything is where it’s 
supposed to be. He’s so soft, and we could go on like this forever, I think. 
But we break apart and he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear and playfully 
says, "I think it’s time for bed." 

"Ok," I say, slightly disappointed, looking over at my jacket hanging on 
the coat rack. 

He catches my eye. "You can sleep with me," he says. "I think we’re 
both too tired to do anything." 

"Except cuddle," I add. 

He grins. "Right, except cuddle." 

"Uh, Mulder?" I ask. "Where do you sleep?" 

"The couch." 

I laugh. "Ok, well, blankets would be nice." 

He goes to get blankets, and after he settles onto the couch I lay beside him. 
I’m drifting off to sleep when I hear him say, "Scully?" 

"Yeah," I murmur sleepily. 

"I’m glad we talked." 

"Me too." 

**********
fin