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"Mrs Leonard's Roses" (1/1) by CazQ
(CazQ@tesco.net )
CATEGORY: UST/friendship vignette
RATED: PG for language
SPOILERS: Oh, I doubt it. If you've seen a couple of
early season 6 eps you'll know the set-up.
SUMMARY: Sometimes, despite everything, you can just
manage to come up smelling of roses...<g>
ARCHIVE: Yes to Gossamer. Anywhere else: sure, I'd be
soooo flattered, just let me know first.
DISCLAIMER: OK, repeat after me...they're not mine, never
were or will be. Mulder, Scully and everyone/thing else
connected with the X Files belongs to 10-13, 20th Century
Fox, and of course The Boss, Chris Carter and all his partners
in crime. Hey, I'd let them have a lot more fun. No copyright
infringement or insult intended. No money will be made
out of this and I have none so suing me would do no one
but the lawyers any good.
FEEDBACK: cazfic@ymail.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote pure fluff. So sue me <g>.
This started life as a little Easter gift to a few folk, some
of whom said "Post it"...so I did <g>. I
screwed
with the whole series chronology: in my world, it's almost
always summer, and Mulder's generally a nice guy <g>. I
stole/corrupted the opening line from the movie
"Reality Bites". What can I say: I watch too much TV
and my
mind's as impressionable as clay <shrugs>.
******
"Mrs Leonard's Roses" (1/1) by CazQ
(cazfic@ymail.com)
******
"Hello, you've reached the winter of my discontent."
"Mulder," I hiss into the phone, "where the hell
are you?"
"Would you believe standing in a rose garden in Baltimore,
eating home-made
chocolate brownies?"
"After five years I'd believe just about anything from
you."
"Ooh, Scully, so finally you *want* to believe, huh?"
"Mulder, if Kersh finds out you took off again, he's gonna
kick your
ass so damn far... no, actually, I'll save him the trouble. You
couldn't
even tell me you were leaving?"
"Scull-ee...I got a call," he says, as if that explains
everything.
"So what is it this time? What's so important that you had
to abandon me
without finishing up your paperwork on the Dyer case?"
"Uh... well, poltergeists. Y'know, Scully, things that go
bump in the
night?"
I raise my eyes to heaven and cuss him out silently. At least he
has the
good grace to sound embarrassed. Oh God, I'm being watched...one
of our dear
colleagues is lurking nearby, listening in avidly. I shoot him a
brilliant,
patently fake grin and adopt a gratingly chirpy tone, or as near
chirpy as
I'm capable of.
"So, Mulder...tell me more..."
"Uh, well, to be honest," he says, lowering his voice
"it sounded pretty
promising over the phone, but, uh, I think this old lady's just
lonely. I
can't find any evidence of anything paranormal, anything that
would justify
further investigation. I'm guessing she just made the whole thing
up to get
some attention."
"Uh huh, okay," I tell him, nodding vigorously and
pretending to take notes
for the benefit of Mr Nosy Neighbour. "So when do you think
you'll be back?"
"Well, that's the thing...Mrs Leonard wanted to show me her
rose
garden...and now she's making me lemonade. Her brownies are
really something
though, Scully. I just...I'd feel kinda bad if I left right away.
I don't
think she gets too much company, y'know?"
I grit my teeth behind my smile and look down at my legal pad.
I've produced
a passable doodle of Mulder with an arrow through his head. My
grin widens
and becomes genuine as I start to colour my little sketch in.
Maybe I'll
leave it on his desk for later.
"Okay, Mulder, I applaud your sense of social
responsibility, but *we* have
reports to turn in. I *was* hoping to be out of here within the
next half
hour."
"I know, I know. Listen, leave me what you've done and I'll
come back in
when I'm done here and finish up. It'll be ready for tomorrow,
Scully, I
promise."
"Uh huh..."
"No, really. Cross my heart and hope to die."
"Sure, Mulder. Just remember that if it isn't done by
nine-thirty a.m., you
won't have to hope. I'll be waiting in line to hurt you when
Kersh gets
through chewing us out."
"Oh Scully, promises, promises..."
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "So...you know much
about roses,
Mulder?"
"They're, uh, not really my particular field of expertise.
Hey, she uses
manure to fertilise 'em though, you know, the good old-fashioned
way."
"So what, you're gonna justify your presence there on the
grounds of 'Well
gee, sir, I thought this dear old lady and her bags of manure
might be a
serious threat to domestic security'? Is it a really *big* rose
garden,
Mulder?"
I swear I can *hear* him shrug and grin. "They're real
pretty roses,
Scully."
"Goodbye, Mulder." I tell him, setting down the phone.
I glance down at the
mess of papers lying on my desk and come to a decision. I scoop
them up and
dump them on Mulder's desk, setting my doodle of him on top of
the heap. I
grab my suit jacket, give my inquisitive friend a final
saccharine grin and
head for the elevators.
******
I make my way into the Hoover the next morning with more than a
trace of
apprehension. It was all very well to leave it to Mulder last
night, but I
spent the whole evening having twinges of misgiving. Too late
now: we meet
with Kersh to submit our reports in less than half an hour.
Mulder's desk is empty when I step out of the elevator, and I
allow myself
the luxury of a sigh as I realise he probably intends to be late,
on top of
everything else.
I don't see it until I set my briefcase down by my desk and shrug
out of my
jacket. Well, I'll be damned. His finished report, typed up,
neatly stacked
and all but tied up with a ribbon, sits in the middle of the
desk. On top of
it is a sheet torn from my legal pad: my doodle of Mulder. He has
crossed it
out and sketched himself standing among flowers -- a rose garden?
-- holding
a single flower in one hand and something small and square in the
other.
What that object is becomes clear when I open my top drawer to
find a pen to
sign off on the report with. Lying on top of the clutter of
stationery
inside is a small plastic bag containing what looks awfully like
a chocolate
brownie. On top of the bag are two perfect roses. One yellow, one
red.
Yellow for friendship, red for...oh jeez.
I lift the blooms out carefully, checking that the office is
still
relatively empty first, and caress the petals gently. They have
that
wonderful velvety smooth, soft texture, like a baby's skin, and
are still
lightly scented with rain, earth, sun and new growth. These
aren't like
those dreadful commercially grown ones that have had the thorns
and the
fragrance bred out of them. These are the kind of roses you
dreamt of
getting huge bouquets of as a child, when you indulged in your
fantasies of
marrying princes in turreted castles, or living in the lap of
luxury as a
Hollywood star and going to premieres in flouncy, expensive
dresses.
Yeah, even I had those dreams once upon a time.
The yellow is a marvellously deep, buttery hue, and the red is
such a deep
colour as to be almost black...a decadent, seductive flower.
Furtively
inhaling the scent and closing my eyes, I could *be* in a rose
garden...
hundreds of blossoms, blowing in a gentle breeze, filling the air
with their subtle perfume...
"What've you got there, Agent Scully?" Damn. It's my
busybody friend from
yesterday, striding across the office radiating chipmunk-like
enthusiasm for
another day on the manure squad. I slip the flowers quickly back
into the
drawer and spin round to face him. I don't have to plaster a
false grin on
today: I can feel a small smile curving my lips, much against my
will.
"Oh, nothing much. Just a present from an old friend."
"Oh, it's your birthday? I'm sorry, I didn't --"
I cut him off with an up-raised hand. "That's okay. It's
not...well, maybe
something like that." I beam at him and slip into my chair.
Opening the
drawer I pull out an old file and bend my head over it,
pretending to be
utterly absorbed in the hope of being left alone. And damn me if
it doesn't
smell faintly of roses.
FINIS
******
cazfic@ymail.com