TITLE:  Chicken Cordon Bleu
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Already sent to Gossamer.  Anywhere else?  Sure, no problem.
CLASSIFICATION:  V H?
SUMMARY:  Companion piece to "Five Senses: Taste," a.k.a. the 
meatloaf story.
SPOILERS:  zilch
RATING:  very G
DISCLAIMER:  Characters borrowed from CC, 1013, and Fox.  Sorry.  
No infringement intended.  As before, the meatloaf is mine, mine, mine.
___________

NOTE:
This is a little fluff piece for the people who harassed me into writing 
Mulder's side of the meatloaf story.  Since it doesn't fit into my Five Senses 
series, I've made it a stand-alone story.  It's probably better to read "Taste" 
first, although you don't have to.  E-mail me if you want it.

_______________

Chicken Cordon Bleu
by Susanne Barringer


Scully hates my meatloaf.  I know it.  She has never told me that, nor has 
she ever hinted at it, but I know it just the same.  She tries to hide her 
disgust, but I cannot miss the struggle in her eyes, the intensity of her face, 
as she fights not to show it.  I didn't notice at first; it was maybe the third 
or fourth time that I served meatloaf that the signs began to register.

Why she doesn't tell me, I'm not sure.  I suppose she does not want to hurt 
my feelings.  I love her for that.  I love her for hating my meatloaf--I find it 
inexplicably charming.  But I love her even more for tolerating it.  If I ever 
doubted that Scully loved me, her reaction to my meatloaf only confirms 
my deepest hopes.  Thanks to meatloaf, I am assured every time I cook for 
her that she loves me.

I guess that is exactly why I continue making it even though I know she 
despises it.  Sure, it disturbs me that she is suffering, but I love to watch 
her face as she smiles, acquiescing when I ask her if it is good.  I always 
ask.  The feeling I get watching her try to cover for my sake is as strong as 
any other time we are together.  She has sacrificed so much for me, but for 
some reason this sacrifice touches me the most because it is so trivial, so 
easy for her to just scream out "Mulder, your meatloaf stinks!"  The fact 
that she will not hurt my feelings, even over something so small, speaks 
volumes for an otherwise to-the-point woman.  

So, I continue making meatloaf even after I realize her deception.  I have 
been kind enough to cut it back to twice a month.  Scully bears it 
heroically.  She did attempt once to get me to switch over to her meatloaf 
recipe.  I tried to be nice about it, but really it wasn't all that great.  I like 
my meatloaf fine.  If I had known it was so horrible, though, I would not 
have inflicted it on her in the first place.

I have finally decided that it is time to thank her for indulging me.  For her 
birthday, I'm having her over for a home-cooked meal, but the surprise is 
that it will not be meatloaf.  I do not know how to cook anything else 
unless it is frozen or out of a can, so I call Mrs. Scully to help.  She is the 
only person I can think of who can teach me how to make something 
special for Scully, something she will love.

"Chicken Cordon Bleu," says Mrs. Scully practically.

"French?  I don't think I'm ready for French."

"It's easy," she assures me, "and it's one of Dana's favorites."  She invites 
me over one Saturday afternoon to tutor me.  I suspect Mrs. Scully has 
heard about my meatloaf.  Her willingness to help me goes far beyond what 
I expected.  I'm sure it's because she wants to see Scully happy, and my 
meatloaf isn't doing it.  While I'm there, she shows me how Scully likes her 
mashed potatoes as an added bonus.

Chicken Cordon Bleu is, as Mrs. Scully promised, not too difficult, and no 
more time consuming than meatloaf.  After one more practice run, this time 
in my own kitchen, I call Scully.

"Come over tomorrow night and I'll cook dinner."

There is a pause and I try not to laugh as I envision Scully fishing for 
excuses.  "You know what I'd like, Mulder?  I'd really like to go out 
somewhere nice."

"Nonsense.  It's your birthday.  I want to cook for you."  I hear her sigh in 
the background.  "I've got a surprise," I add.

"Meatloaf," she laments.  It is not a question; it is a fact to which she has 
resigned herself.

"Maybe," I tease.  "Maybe not."

There is silence, but I hear hope in the silence.  I love her for hoping, even 
when she believes there to be no chance.  I love her for giving me the 
chance.

"I'll see you at seven," I say.  

"Okay, I'll see you then."  She sounds like she is looking forward to it even 
if she is dreading it at the same time, which I know she is.  I cannot wait to 
see her face when I present my new masterpiece.  It is a gift she deserves--
for her patience, tolerance, and love.  Chicken Cordon Bleu.  Perhaps the 
best gift I could ever give her. 

__________

END 

All my fanfic is available on my webpage:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442


sbarringer@usa.net