greycoupons:

baronessblixen:

After much encouragement, I turned the incorrect quickie/quiche convo into a fic. You know me so you know this is fluff. It’s a post-ep for “Millennium”.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Word Salad

He’s like a puppy she needs to keep an eye on. 

Mulder.

With his arm in a sling, he is a perfect picture of pity. Her mother awwed when she lay eyes on him as she opened the door. Mulder wasn’t an expected guest at her mother’s New Year’s Day afternoon tea party, but he is a loved one. Her friends treat him like a long lost child who needs to be fed and pampered. They’ve been here for two hours and Mulder hasn’t been without food since. Every time she checks on him, he’s munching on cake, on cookies, on whatever he is given. 

“Have you taken your meds?” she asks him in a whisper, touching his elbow to get his attention. In a room full of chattering old ladies, she is fully aware that she and Mulder are a spectacle. He’s been introduced as her work partner though she doubts anyone believes it. After seven years, they are so much more. After last night, they definitely are. Warmth shoots into her cheeks and she hopes no one, including Mulder, will notice.

“I have,” he promises, chewing.

“What are you eating?”

“Cheesecake.”

“Have you had any real food, Mulder?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, doc. Have you?” The way he looks her up and down makes her flush all over. It’s only now that she realizes she hasn’t. All day she’s kept an eye on Mulder. Her stomach rumbles and answers for her. Mulder beams at her, a soft, dopey smile.

“Let me get you something,” he says and stuffs the last of his cheesecake into his mouth. A crumb ends up on his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth. Scully wipes it away, smiling gently. For a moment she forgets they’re not alone. Mulder thanks her before he walks over to the small buffet her mother has set up. 

“Do you want grapes?” Mulder asks her from across the room. The constant chattering drowns out his voice and Scully decides to join him instead. But she’s not quick enough.

“Do you want a quickie?” The room falls silent, Scully is certain of it. or maybe it’s because her ears are ringing. Did he really just - she stares at a completely clueless Mulder. 

“Ex-excuse me?” she stammers, afraid to turn around and face her very Catholic mother and her very Catholic friends. Never mind that they haven’t had any sex yet. Neither a long night full of hot, passionate sex nor a quickie. Leave it to Mulder to bring sex to the table. Or the buffet, as it is. 

She should have left him at home after all.

“A quickie,” Mulder repeats, his voice softer now that she’s closer to him, “one of those cake things.” He points at the little quiches that sit on her mother’s silver platter.

“It’s pronounced quiche!” Scully says through her teeth, relief flooding her. Of course, he is talking about food. He hasn’t talked about anything but food today. But now the damage is done and Scully doesn’t dare to turn around and face the room. Ever again. 

“Oh,” is Mulder’s response as he takes one, sniffs it and puts it into his mouth. “Better than a quickie,” he says, flaky crumbs falling from his lips, grinning.

Part of her is angry. So angry. But the feeling doesn’t last, evaporates quickly. All she sees is Mulder with his rumpled hair, his arm in a sling, his lips beckoning. The lips she kissed last night.

Love.

She loves this man. Oxford-educated, oblivious Mulder who can’t pronounce quiche. How could anyone not love him? He picks up another piece and offers it to her. 

“Fox,” both Mulder and Scully turn around. It’s old Mrs. Kupchek, her mother’s 70-year-old neighbor and church companion. “Would you be a dear and bring me a quickie, too?”

A moment of silence follows before the tension breaks and they all laugh. Mulder smiles at Scully as if proud of his work. His fingers brush hers in a promise when he hands her a small quiche. 

Scully bites into the treat as Mulder walks over to Mrs. Kupchek, a plate of quiche in hand. The old woman pats his cheek lovingly, chattering away. Mulder nods and listens, doesn’t say no when he’s offered another quiche.

She sighs, smiling. 

I feel Mulder.  I can’r pronounce words either.  Which lead to some embarassing trouble in my first college English class.