TITLE: Scrimmage (Snooping III) AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached. CATEGORY: SRH(?) KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance SPOILERS: none RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Third story in the "Snooping" series. Mulder and Scully face off; who will be the first to crack and confess about snooping through the other's belongings? DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed from Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. No infringement intended. This story is a sequel to "Snooping" and "Sleuthing." I tried to make it a stand-alone, but I don't think it really works if you haven't read the others. Both stories are available on Ephemeral or from my webpage: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442 Thanks to Ten and Sue for beta-reading, and to Sue again for making me get this thing done. ________ Scrimmage by Susanne Barringer I knock gently on the door, not really sure I want to go through with this. Scully has asked me over to dinner to thank me for taking care of her plants while she was away. I can't help but suspect something is afoot. I tried to right the wrong yesterday morning when I woke up and realized I had left behind evidence of my snooping. I rushed out of my apartment, calculating on the way to Scully's place the time it would take for her to debark, wait for her luggage, walk to the parking garage, exit the airport, and drive home in light Sunday morning traffic. Even given the minutes that had already passed, I thought there was a chance I could get there in time. I simply had to a) drive to her house; b) move the watering can, which I left standing like a beacon in front of the shelf that holds her private journals; c) close the closet door I'd forgotten in my desperate need to snoop a little more; and d) get the hell out of there before she got home. Despite all my careful calculations, I found I was wrong. I've never been good in math anyway. I passed by Scully's building just in time to see her letting herself into the front door of her building. I knew I was snagged and there was nothing I could do about it. At first I thought that maybe she wouldn't notice. Then I realized, it's Scully, she'll notice. I also tried to convince myself that maybe she wouldn't jump to the worst possible conclusion. Maybe she'd be tired from her flight and wouldn't think too much about it. But I had a sinking feeling I was kidding myself. I waited all day for the inevitable phone call, but it didn't come. Sometimes Scully calls me when she gets back into town; sometimes she doesn't. I expected it this time, the questions, the accusations. Zilch. I went to bed wondering if maybe I was going to get away with it after all. Things looked promising today as well. Eight hours in the office together and she didn't say a word about it, didn't seem annoyed or anything out of the ordinary. Then, she surprised me by asking me to come for dinner. That was when I began to suspect something was up. Scully finally opens the door and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or terrified. She smiles at me, though, as if it's just another of our get- togethers. The thing is, we rarely get together quite like this. I enter the apartment and she actually reaches up behind me to help me pull off my jacket. Scully never takes my coat. I'm screwed. She tells me to take a seat on the sofa, then she sits next to me, looking brilliantly beautiful in a sweater and jeans. I can't help but wonder if she's wearing one of those sexy things underneath that sweater, which leads to a return of my damned imagination toying with that black teddy I found, which leads to a wave of heat passing through me, just what I don't need at this moment. If I'm going to get chewed out, it would be much more polite if I didn't have a hard-on at the time. "Dinner's going to be about another half hour," she says, "I just put the casserole in the oven." "That's fine," I say, surprised at how nervous I sound. She's being just a touch too nice, a touch too accommodating. Or maybe I'm just paranoid. It only takes a few seconds before she says the magic words. "Thanks for taking care of my plants, Mulder. I really appreciate it." I watch her eyes, her face. Not a sign of sarcasm, not a note of accusation. She sounds sincere. "Any time, Scully." I swallow hard to keep my voice from cracking. Scully studies me carefully, and for a second I'm sure she knows, then the look passes and she smiles radiantly at me. This is torture. "Um, Scully, I just thought I'd mention that while I was here, I saw a roach." I'm constructing the cover story on the fly, having just at this moment rejected the three possibilities I had planned ahead of time. Like this one's any better. "A roach?" "Yeah, one of those big mothers. It ran across your bedroom floor. Of course, I didn't want to just leave it, so I killed it for you." "How gallant of you, Mulder. Thanks. I hate those things." I know she's being slightly sarcastic, but I'm not sure if it's because she's stringing me along or she's simply making fun of my story. Now I just have to clarify a bit to close the case once and for all. "Yeah, I know. Anyway, it ran under the closet door, and that's where I found it. In the closet. That's where I killed it." Christ, I'm babbling. Could I have made that any more obvious? "In the closet?" she arches a killer eyebrow at me. "I see." "Yeah, I just didn't want you to think I was snooping or anything." I realize as the words cross my lips that I just went too far. If she had a seed of doubt, I just fertilized it. Damn it. "Why would I think you were snooping, Mulder?" She asks it in voice of innocence and curiosity, but I sense a smidgen of underlying sarcasm, just the slightest note. I blew it. I was free and clear and now I'm going to get nailed. "No reason, I just thought, well, that you wouldn't appreciate me going through your closet." "No, I wouldn't." The delivery is deadly serious. She knows. There is a long excruciating moment of silence. Scully looks at me, smiling, looking for all the world like a woman who is thrilled by my chivalrous killing of a roach. Then the kill shot. "What were you looking for?" Fuck. "I told you, Scully. A roach. It ran into your closet." I fiddle with the corners of the couch cushion, not really sure what I should do to make myself sound more sincere. "And you were looking for a roach when you went through the rest of my apartment too?" Oh boy, that woman sure can spot a con a mile away. How did she find out? Did she dust for prints for God's sake? I never should have played it this way. "How did you know?" I figure I might as well take the heat now. No sense in playing games. In some ways I'm glad to be rid of the secret which has been weighing on my conscience. I have, after all, seriously stepped over the line. "I didn't. But now I do." She flashes me a smile of triumph. I can't believe I just fell for the oldest trick in the book. Sucker. Scully looks at me, her smile fading quickly. I see something building in her eyes, something I don't like. I don't see it often, but having experienced it before I can never forget it. Scully's anger is lethal. Suddenly, she stands up. She grabs me by the hand and drags me off the sofa and into the bedroom. If I didn't know better, I'd think I'm about to get laid, but that couldn't possibly be. Not when she's angry like this. Actually, probably not ever. When we get to the bedroom, she drops my hand and heads for the closet, pulling the door open. Then she moves to the dresser and yanks every drawer wide open, followed by the nightstands. "There you go, Mulder. You can see everything. Is that what you wanted? Huh? What the hell did you think you were looking for?" Her eyes are flashing murderous threats, her hands on her hips. She's pissed. I can think of nothing to say, the innuendo that flashes through my brain luckily falling silent across my lips. This is definitely not the right time for it. "C'mon, Mulder." She pushes me toward the dresser. "Have a look. Go ahead." I resist the physical shoving she's giving me, pulling away from her hands. "Scully, cut it out. It wasn't like that. I was just curious." "About what? What did you think you would find? Secrets? Did you think I was hoarding mementos of you? All the cards you've ever sent me? All the notes you've ever written me?" She stops suddenly, her sentence falling off into silence. Hold on. Back the train up. "What did you just say?" She turns away from me and mumbles something that sounds like "Nothing." I walk around her so that we're facing again. "Scully, what the hell did that mean? How did you know I keep all your notes?" She looks flustered, confused. "I didn't. I was just making up an example." Scully can't lie, especially to me, and as I see the blush creep over her cheeks I know for sure she's lying. The fact that her anger has deflated as quickly as her words is another clear signal that she's just let a pretty huge cat out of the bag. "Scully!" I don't intend to shout but there's a note of desperation to my voice. Could she have gone through my belongings as well? How the hell did she find that box with her notes? It was in my closet for God's sake, not just lying around. She heaves a heavy sigh, then looks me straight in the eye. "When you were late one day and I was waiting for you, I kind of looked around." Her brows are knitted in concentration, like there's something intense going on in that analytical brain of hers. "I was looking for a pen," she adds. "A pen? In the closet?" That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Far more lame than my "I was chasing a roach" story. "No, I just sort of ended up there. Looking in the closet." "You little hypocrite!" I'm torn between righteous indignation and outright laughter. "You didn't have any problem nosing through my personal belongings, but it's cause for execution if I go through a few drawers?" She shrugs her shoulders. "Well, yeah, somehow that's different," she says thoughtfully. And then she starts to laugh, and I am laughing too. This is funny, after all. Sort of. I momentarily panic. What else did she find? I run through a catalogue of my belongings, my secrets. It's not like I willingly keep secrets from Scully. There are just things I prefer she not know about, things that have to do with her. Suddenly she is serious. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I really am. I know I shouldn't have done it. I just wondered, you know? I just wondered what you do at home, what you keep, what things you put away. I don't really know you. Not really. I don't know what you're like when you're not with me." I put my hands on her shoulders to show I understand, that we are in the same boat, always in the same boat, rocking like crazy but never actually tipping over. "I know, Scully. I know exactly what you mean. I just started looking through your things because I felt like I was learning about you, things that you would never tell me, that I could only uncover through evidence." "The truth is out there?" She laughs quietly, shaking her head in admission of our silliness, then she rests her forehead on my chest in affection. I wrap my arms around her and stand still, just sort of enjoying this rather perverse and unexpected moment in our history. Then Scully lifts her head and meets my eye. "Why do you have bottles of White Musk shampoo and stuff?" she asks suddenly, her mood turning just as suddenly from kidding to not-kidding. Yes, the truth is out there, but this is one truth I'd rather not face. I drop my arms from around her shoulders and take a step back, wondering if there's any possible way to get out of this awkward situation. "Uh, I don't know. I just have them. I like the scent?" It comes out as a question. She nods but says nothing. I am powerless to resist that look, that incredible look she gets when she's just waiting for me to spill something. "Okay, the truth is I bought them for you. Just in case . . . I don't know . . . just in case you were ever staying at my house or something and needed a shower. I thought it would be nice. It smells like you," I add, against my better judgment. "And the White Musk massage oil?" Boy, she really did snoop. "Wait, let me guess. Just in case I was ever at your house and *needed* a massage?" she asks quite seriously, but the smile tugging at her mouth gives her away. "Yeah, something like that." "Well, you never know, I guess," she says, shrugging her shoulders. She steps past me and closes the nightstand drawers which have been lying open all this time. I must say, I'm surprised at her comment. I'm usually the one with the snappy innuendoes. I suddenly feel extremely daring, still riding high on the adrenaline rush of our scrimmage and its subsequent teasing. I step around her and move toward the open dresser, pulling out the black teddy that I had found and examined during my sleuthing. "Just make sure you're wearing this when you come over for that massage," I tease, dangling it between us. "MULDER!" she reaches out and snatches it from me, hiding it behind her back. She looks amused, humored, with just a surface of annoyance that goes no deeper than the smile she can't quite control. "I cannot believe you went through my lingerie drawers!" "I was looking for a pen," I deadpan, echoing her earlier excuse. "And don't even TRY to tell me you didn't at least peek in my underwear drawers." She rolls her eyes in annoyance but then surprises me by laughing. Then, I watch something amazing cross her face, something brazen and wild. "I have one of these in green too," she says softly, pulling the black teddy from behind her back to look at it. "Just like it, but cut a little lower." She motions with her free hand to a point down between her breasts. Way down. Jesus Christ. I'm not sure what to say. I'm pretty sure anything I say will ruin this moment, this unbelievable moment in which, if I'm not crazy, I believe Scully is flirting with me. More than flirting. She's . . . What the hell is she doing? She just stands there looking at me, waiting for me to say something, I'm sure. There isn't a single word in my brain. Not one. I'm unable to speak. I try though, and what comes out is embarrassing. A sigh with, God help me, a moan. I just fucking moaned, or groaned, or something. Whatever it was, it just revealed my hand, which is, in fact, not exactly the body part I'm most afraid of revealing at the moment. My mind is inundated with images: Scully in my bathtub, Scully using her vibrator, Scully in that negligee at my apartment waiting for her massage. It's image overload and I am in deep, deep trouble. "Mulder?" I hear her voice, tiny and soft but cutting through the thick fog of desire that has surrounded me. "What are you thinking about?" she asks, placing her warm hand on my arm. I'm honestly not sure if she knows what she's asking. And if she does, well, things are about to take a fast and furious turn toward the unbelievable. "Nothing," I say, but it comes out more like a croak. I make a beeline for the doorway. I need to get out of this room, the bedroom. There's nothing but trouble in here. I feel Scully right behind me as I head for the living room. "Mulder?" she says, her voice quiet and unsure. I turn to look at her. Her face is a mixture of confusion and concern. And expectancy. She looks expectant. God help me. The realization settles across me, knocking my heart into a faster rhythm. There's only one thing to do. I take a deep breath and head straight for the front door. Yes, I'm a coward. I'm not taking any chances. I must be misreading her. Better safe than sorry. And she'd make sure I was very sorry, I have no doubt. I reach the door, then turn around to see that she has not followed me any further. "It's late. I'd better go," I hear myself say even though a voice in my head reminds me that it can't be any later than 7:30 and that we haven't even eaten yet. Idiot. She says nothing. That expectant face falls into what looks like disappointment. I must be wrong; I have to be wrong. I open the door, step out without looking back, then close the door behind me, gently, but somehow the sound of it is eerily final. The separation between us, a physical one now, gives me a desperately needed moment to think. I stand outside Scully's door and take a few deep breaths, trying to figure out what just happened. I decide to analyze it rationally. Was Scully coming on to me? Then her hand touching between her breasts, leaving a slight indentation in her sweater, a little dimple in the fabric. She had looked down at her finger, pointing to the imaginary décolletage, then she looked up at me without raising her face, her eyes turned up in a Bette Davis way that almost made me keel over. The whole thing was sexy as hell, and definitely not Scully. She had to have been coming on to me. On the other hand, "Scully" and "coming on" in the same sentence seems insane. She doesn't come on to people. She definitely doesn't come on to me. Not that she isn't capable, because she sure as hell is, but she just doesn't. The images swirl around in my brain. , indentation of sweater, begging eyes, expectant look. She WAS expectant. I didn't dream that. I didn't. Oh my God, Scully was coming on to me. Ninety percent sure I'm right, and knowing that if it turns out to be the other ten percent I'll be eating lead, I knock loudly on the door. Actually, I think I pound on the door, although I meant to knock patiently. In any case, the sound of it echoes through the hallway. I almost knock and run like my friends and I used to do when we were kids. Scully answers within seconds, though, leaving me no time to flee again. "Hi," she says with a smile. I'll be damned, she looks expectant. I'm ninety-five percent sure now. I clear my throat so my voice will be clear and not that croaky thing that's characterized everything I've said to her in the last ten minutes. "I'd like to see the green one." END __________ feedback to: sbarringer@usa.net (and yes, there is a plan for a fourth part, eventually). All my fanfic available at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442