TITLE: A Romantic Ballet (1/1)
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: shoshana1013@excite.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer, Spookys site, Xemplary,
etc.
SPOILER WARNING: Seventh season episodes through all things.
RATING: PG
CONTENT STATEMENT: M/S UST, MSR
CLASSIFICATION: VR
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance
SUMMARY: Post ep for all things.
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTE: Thanks to my great beta readers Char, Keleka and
Teresa.

A Romantic Ballet
By Shoshana

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June 3, 2000
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"Who'd you have to screw to get these tickets, Mulder?"
she asked, tongue firmly in cheek.

"Frohike. He's easy," he replied.

They sat on a bench in front of the Opera House at the JFK
Center, close but not too close, friendly, but not too so.

"Ah, so that's how you got them," she said, beaming up at
him. "That or camped out in front of the box office all night."

"I almost did. And it was thirty-seven degrees the morning the
tickets went on sale. I opted for Lone Gunmen ingenuity instead."

"I suppose I should be horrified, Mulder."

"Don't be. They're as legal as they come. Langly redialed for
three hours till he got through."

"So, what prompted you to plan this outing way back then?"
she inquired.

"I saw the ad. I realized how long it had been since the
Bolshoi was here... well, it was marketed that way, actually. I
couldn't miss that. And... I wanted you to get a chance to go
somewhere nice for a change."

"A change from the Lazy R saloon and dance hall?"

"Exactly, Scully," he smiled, his fingers tapping nervously at his
thighs.

She smiled back and restrained herself from catching his hand in
hers. There was a good crowd tonight, no doubt there were as
many FBI employees attending the ballet as there were protecting
diplomats in the audience. No need to feed the rumor mill any more
than necessary. Just their mere presence here tonight, dressed to
the nines, seated next to each other, would be gossip worthy enough.

He looked down at his restless hands, matched only by his
fidgety, tapdancing feet.

"Why so antsy, Mulder?"

"Dunno. Just... wound up, I guess. Say, it's still 7:30... why
don't I pop over and get us something to drink?"

"Be quick about it," she ordered with a grin. "I'd hate
to be late for these seats."

"Don't worry, I won't be long," he responded. His hand ached
to stroke her lightly freckled shoulder, to play with the diaphanous
turquoise shawl clustered around her elbows.

Scully watched him as he strode away, his black, semi-formal
pants gathered slightly around his ankles. He was wearing his
nicest suit, with a tie she'd purchased for the event. It was the
only surefire way to ensure a tasteful selection, she'd told him.
She hadn't really believed that he'd show up with little aliens
tonight. But it also gave her a perfectly valid way to thank him
for the evening.

She rose and walked a few steps, fascinated by some of the gowns
the more affluent women wore. She felt like she was at a movie
premiere, glittering stars milling around her. This was DC at its
most glamorous, and she felt a little out of place.

Not because she was dressed inappropriately... her black chemise
fit her beautifully; it was the finest dress she'd ever purchased.
Not because she didn't have a suitable escort; Mulder was more than
adequate in that respect.

It was something more intangible, more related to their less than
lavish everyday lifestyles as agents of the government. Tonight
was singular; it was a bit of magic, markedly different from the life
she and Mulder shared.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and believing it to be Mulder, turned
and smiled widely. Her facial expression altered perceptibly; she
struggled to maintain her composure in this very busy public venue.

Daniel Waterston stood before her, fully recovered, nattily dressed,
a remorseful look in his eyes.

"Daniel, you've recovered well," she said, regaining her poise.
She unconsciously took a few steps backward, distancing herself,
physically, personally, from this man she'd wept over so recently.

"I'm getting along fine, aren't I? And you look very well yourself,
Dana. You aren't here alone, are you?" he asked, his tone
suggestive of nothing unseemly.

"No. No, I'm not. My par... my friend is here with me tonight,"
she admitted.

"Good. I'm glad to see you out and looking so well. Maggie is here
with me tonight. Have you seen her?" he asked sincerely.

"No. But when you reconnect, please give her my regards, Daniel."

Daniel's head nodded to someone behind her. Scully turned around,
her radiant smile informing Dr. Waterston that this was not only her
'date' for the occasion, but a person of great importance in her
life.

Mulder approached warily, two beers in one hand. He had no clue
who this was, but Scully's apparent tranquility rang false to his
observant eyes. Her hand was quivering beneath her shawl. Only
someone who had seen and heard Scully in all sort of professional
situations for as long as he had would notice that. Her eyes failed
to reflect her affected smile; this was clearly someone who she was
not entirely comfortable with, at least not tonight.

"Mulder," she said without delay, "This is Daniel Waterston, one of
my professors from medical school. Daniel, this is my friend, Fox
Mulder."

Mulder stepped forward to shake Daniel's hand, juggling the longnecks
at his side. Deliberately expressionless, his voice betrayed his
apprehension, "Nice to meet you, sir."

There were polite head nods all around. The palpable tension was
only broken by the arrival of Maggie, who managed to accord Scully a
pleasant smile and urge her father to join her inside. He readily
agreed to do so, acknowledging Scully with one parting, wistful
glance.

"Can't take you anywhere, can I?" Mulder joked, echoing her own
sentiment years ago. He wanted her to enjoy tonight; nothing should
stand in the way of her repose, her comfort level.

Scully grabbed one of the beers from his hand, her head sinking to
her chest. She was amused by his attempt to put her at ease, but she
was still a little shaken. She couldn't tell herself why the older
man still had an affect on her, weeks after she had come to terms
with her past.

She looked up at Mulder, scrutinizing him for any trace of envy, any
insecurity about her place in his life. Nothing was there; nothing
that spoke of jealousy or even mild disquietude. His anxiety had
passed, or he was hiding it efficaciously.

He already knew about Daniel; the night she'd told him about the
affair with her professor was a defining one for both of them.
She'd spilled all, told him more personal information in one
marathon session than she had in the seven years they'd been
together.

He had listened attentively, cracking idiosyncratic jokes to lighten
her mood, draw her toward him. She was already drawn toward
him; she was already sure of where she needed to be.

Letting him know was the difficult part; they were never good at
outright declarations of any sort. She'd let him know that life had
led her to that place, beside him on his couch... and maybe that was
the very best place for her to be.

She'd fallen asleep there, waking near dawn, feeling a little
disoriented. She decided to retrieve breakfast for the two of them,
walking down the street to the local bistro. The aroma of
coffeehouse muffins and fresh java woke Mulder in no time at all;
he emerged from his bedroom within minutes.

Bleary-eyed and profoundly grateful to see she was still there, he
sat across from her at his small kitchen table. They ate in virtual
silence, but he could sense a serenity in her disposition, a joy that
she'd never let him see previously.

Before she left, before she headed across town to her own apartment,
he walked her to the door. The kiss they shared there was
spontaneous, a kiss borne of all the truths shared between them the
night before, borne of all the years and the love between them.

And now... they were at the ballet together. They were getting short
on time and he helped her finish her beer. They hurried along, just
making it to their seats in time for the Overture to "Romeo and
Juliet."

She moved her hand over his when the lights dimmed and whispered
softly, "Star-crossed lovers, Mulder?"

He knew she wasn't referring to the principal dancers in the ballet.
He shook his head emphatically, twining her fingers in his own. She
gripped his hand a little tighter, moved her shoulder a little
closer, unconcerned someone might spy them holding hands in the dark.

During the intermission, they returned to their bench outside the
building, relaxed and happy. They kept up the same pretense of 'just
friends' under the harsh lights illuminating the walkway.

"Scully?"

"No, Mulder. I'm not thirsty," she answered automatically.

"That's not what I was going to say," he said, feigning
crossness.

"Yeah? Well, what?" She smiled at his play acting.

"I'd like to kiss you..."

"Mulder..." she warned.

"But... just being able to tell you is enough for now," he said,
looking at her fondly.

"You were very good about Daniel," she said, deftly changing the
subject.

"He obviously still cares about you, Scully," he said, seriously.

"It's still a raw wound for him. He stagnated for years, unable to
move on."

"You didn't."

"How could I? I changed my whole life by leaving traditional medical
practice behind. First, by joining the FBI, then by joining you."

"But you never left mainstream medicine behind completely, Scully.
You're a pathologist who just happens to work on very strange,
inexplicable cases. It's opened you up to wider possibilities, but
it hasn't maligned your abilities."

"No, and I don't think Daniel thought that. But, he didn't respect
the alternative medicine we tried and I doubt he ever will. I don't
think that's necessarily bad, either. He's still a fine doctor."

"He's reconciled with his daughter," Mulder observed.

"Yes... I'm very happy about that." She smiled contentedly, then
continued, "I don't think I'll know for sure what healed him while he
was in the hospital, but I will take a bit of credit for Maggie."
 
The lights flashed on and off, signalling the end of intermission.

"Come on, Scully. It's time for a tragic ending," he teased.

"I'm glad we can walk away from this one," she answered, gathering
her shawl around her shoulders.

"You're cold," he said, as he guided her toward the main entrance.

"Not for long," she replied, exchanging a meaningful look with him
before they reentered the Opera House.

Mulder chuckled to himself on the way in, and when the house lights
dimmed, he wrapped his arm around her, warming her soft skin.

After the performance, they caught a cab to Georgetown and lingered
in a cafe till close to midnight. They walked to her apartment
amidst crowds of Saturday night revellers, out for evening
entertainment on an exceptional spring night.

They didn't worry about being spotted by co-workers or friends as
they held hands or wrapped their arms around each other on the way
home. They knew there was an outside chance they were followed
around, anytime, night or day. But they'd agreed to limit their
conduct only while on the clock, in or out of town. And of course,
within the city limits of DC. Anywhere, anytime else, belonged to
them.

They approached his car, double parked behind hers all day.
A ticket waved in the soft evening breeze, held captive beneath the
windshield wiper. He'd insisted on leaving it there, claiming the
parking situation in downtown DC to be intolerable, and 'why don't
we just take a cab anyway, Scully?'

The truth of the matter was... they hadn't slept together yet. He
was still concerned with appearances; he didn't want her to feel
obligated to have him spend the night. So much progress in the
last few weeks... he didn't want to blunder his way through this like
he had so many other things between them.

The car was his security blanket, even if he had to crawl inside and
sleep there all night. He'd been exceedingly careful lately, trying
not to pressure her farther than her limits. Kissing was one
thing... he knew intuitively that making love meant far more to her,
meant there would be no turning back. And he would happily wait for
the circumstances to suit her just right. He had faith they would be
together... soon... and forever.

She leaned against the passenger door and tugged him close to her
body. They kissed, carrying on like the young lovers they were, and
would always be, whenever wrapped in each other's arms.

"Mulder..." she queried, after quite a few minutes had gone by...

He sprawled against the vehicle, having switched places with her
long ago. She had ascended his bony peaks and valleys, her hands
gaining purchase around the circumference of his neck.

"Hmmmm," he responded, inhaling the sweet, secret perfume of her
neck.

"Stay tonight."

His answering mumble was indecipherable, but his arms shifted,
supporting her weight on his hips. He cupped her cheek in one hand,
studying her eyes carefully, certifying her words with his gaze.

"Sure..." His voice trilled upward at the end of the word, making
it both question and answer in one.

She gave one hearty laugh, then, mimicking his posture, placed her
palm against the light stubble of his jaw.

"You know what a bad liar I am, Mulder. You'd hear it in my voice,
wouldn't you?"

He smiled broadly, then turned his cheek to lay a kiss in the center
of her palm.

"Or when you start pursing your lips like that..."

"Like what?" she snapped back good-naturedly.

"Oh, you know... when you do that like that... that thing you do
with them... Not very clear, am I?"

"Are you ever?" she teased.

"I resemble that remark..."

"Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm pursing my lips right now..."

"All right... why don't we move the party upstairs, ballet lover?"
he whispered, nuzzling her ear.

"Hey, Mulder..."

"Yeah..."

"When you bought those tickets in April... were you planning ahead?"

"Planning what?" he smiled, blithely, innocently.

"That's what I thought," she smiled back, lowering herself from the
cradle of his hips.

She ushered him to her building entrance, to her apartment door.
They paused on the other side of it, and she clicked the deadbolt in
place.

"Hey, Romeo... time to climb my balcony," she said, helping him
remove his jacket in between kisses.

While unfurling her shawl he said, "Should we have seen Don Quixote
instead?"

"That certainly would have been appropriate, Mulder. But... do they
die at the end of that story?" She tugged at the knot in his tie,
then threw it into the growing pile beside them.

"No... but the hero doesn't get the girl either... I think we need
to stay away from the classics, Scully," he proposed, unzipping her
little black dress.

"How about Swan Lake?" she asked, unbuttoning his dress shirt,
then tugging the tail out of his pants.

"The lovers commit suicide so they'll be united after death," he
answered, drawing her slip downward.

"Aren't there any ballets that end happily?" she proclaimed, pulling
one arm, then the other, from his shirt.

"Giselle? No, no. She dies, he lives..." he said, toying with the
clasp of her bra.

"I've got it Mulder! Cinderella! I saw it performed as a child,
and of course it ends very well..." she stated, pulling at his
zipper.

"Scully..."

"Yeah?"

"Bolero..."

"That's a ballet?"

"Yeah, it is. I don't know the plot, but I do know why I bought that
record in college..." he said suggestively.

"The CD is in my bedroom, Mulder..."

She let out a delighted shriek as he abandoned his struggle with her
underclothes, and carried her to that place where new romance could
be made...

fin

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