TITLE: Something to Talk About
AUTHOR: bellefleur
EMAIL ADDRESS: bellefleur1013@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: sure
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: V, songfic
KEYWORDS: UST
SPOILERS: nada
DISCLAIMER: Not mine; they belong to CC, FOX, etc.
SUMMARY: Stuck at a party with their fellow agents, Spooky and 
the Missus decide they've had enough of the gossip about them.


 
* * * * *

Out of sheer boredom, Dana Scully swirled the remnants of her 
warm beer round and round, watching the amber liquid eddy around 
the bottom, before finally draining the glass.  A sigh was 
followed by another glance at her watch, which indicated to her 
dismay that time had not accelerated and that a good twenty 
minutes remained before she could make a respectable departure 
from the bar.  And another look at the empty seat across from 
her confirmed that her partner had indeed stood her up.  Or 
maybe this qualified as a ditch.  Either way, she wouldn't let 
him forget about it anytime soon. 

Their presence here had actually been requested by Skinner 
himself.  The event was a retirement party for Agent Dennis 
Masters, and the Assistant Director had personally asked--or, 
rather, insisted--that all the members of the task force from 
the Bailey case be in attendance.  It was on that case that 
Masters had sustained the injury that now forced him to retire 
early, and Skinner thought it was an important show of 
solidarity for all the members of the team to wish the agent a 
final farewell. 

In lieu of an office party, a gathering had been arranged at a 
local bar, one that catered to federal patrons, and scheduled 
for later in the evening.  Casual attire had been specified, so 
Scully had gone home for dinner and changed into jeans and a 
comfortable blouse before making her obligatory appearance.  She 
had deliberately noted the time and place to her partner before 
leaving him at the office, but her effort had apparently been in 
vain.

Scanning the small clusters of agents seated at various tables 
and finding only faces familiar from the Bailey task force, 
Scully wondered if the A.D. was concerned that no one would show 
up for the party if they hadn't been required to.  Masters 
hadn't made many friends over the years, and he cycled through 
partners like most people do socks.  The fact was, the shot that 
he took in the leg was due to his own ineptitude, and everybody 
knew it.  At best, the man could be considered a bumbling idiot; 
at worst, he was a menace to everyone who worked with him.  It 
was fortunate that he hadn't managed to seriously injure anyone 
but himself on that case.  After his recovery, he had been 
relegated to desk duty, but he soon decided that early 
retirement was a better option. 

The irony, perhaps, was that of the team members, the bungling 
Agent Masters was Mr. Popularity compared to Mulder and Scully.  
The "Spooky" comments that had begun from their first day on the 
assignment were so commonplace as to be expected and thus were 
deflected easily like water off a duck's back.  But the teasing 
turned into outright ostracism when Mulder dared to contradict 
the opinions of the team's star profiler, and Scully's staunch 
defense of her partner only fueled further gossip.  In the end, 
Mulder was right, of course, and his unorthodox approach solved 
the case, but the resulting praise from his superiors merely 
earned the pair further disrespect from their peers. 

Which is why Scully was now sitting in a booth alone in the 
midst of the party. 

Since it was a weeknight, the bar was not filled to capacity, 
but there were a fair number of people besides the FBI crowd.  
The atmosphere that swam around Scully was a little smoky and 
moderately noisy; unfortunately, the mild din was not enough to 
drown out the surrounding conversations.  Every now and then, 
when the jukebox in the corner went silent between songs, she 
could clearly hear snippets of dialogue drift over from the 
booth directly behind her. 

"Looks like Mrs. Spooky got stood up tonight.  Here's your 
chance to make your move, Johnson." 

"Are you kiddin'?  I'd have an easier time meltin' a glacier.  
Nah, I want me a piece o' that tasty little blonde over there." 

Scully was grateful when laughter erupted from the booth on the 
other side of her and muffled the continued conversation to the 
rear.  She was used to similar sexist comments from many of the 
male agents and barely even flinched at them anymore.  But she 
couldn't entirely suppress the sting of truth about the absence 
of her own male counterpart.

Another glance at her watch.  Ten more minutes and she would 
make her exit. 

In a further effort to alleviate her boredom, Scully let her 
gaze wander over the unfamiliar patrons of the establishment.  
At this stage in her life, this was not her typical social 
scene, and she idly considered if it ever really had been.  
While her thoughts drifted, her eyes settled on a pair of women 
seated at a round table toward the center of the room.  One was 
a blonde, dressed in a tight black skirt and low-cut blouse, and 
Scully wondered if this was the "tasty" one who had caught the 
eye of her fellow agent.  The woman's companion was a busty 
brunette in equally tight clothing and, in Scully's opinion, 
wearing far too much make-up for her naturally attractive 
features. 

The two women were obviously evaluating the selection of males 
in the room, neither apparently intending to go home alone that 
night.  Scully watched, somewhat amused, as their focus shifted 
from one table to the next, punctuated by low comments and 
giggles while they narrowed their options.  In mid-survey, their 
attention was drawn away by the arrival of the latest customer.  
The entryway was beyond Scully's line of sight, but she could 
tell by the looks on their faces that these two thought they had 
struck gold.  The only question now was which would be the first 
to pounce. 

Curious about the object of their affection, Scully leaned out 
of the booth just far enough to see the door.  As she spotted 
the newest entry, she was stunned immobile with recognition: in 
a gray suit sans tie, with sleeves rolled up and the jacket 
draped over his shoulder in a pose worthy of a GQ model, stood 
none other than her partner, Fox Mulder. 

A pang of possessiveness shot through her, and Scully silently 
reprimanded herself.  She had no more claim on this man than the 
two bimbos--ladies--who were now ogling him.  In fact, the 
brunette seemed just his type.  She couldn't stop herself from 
watching to see just how he would react once the woman made her 
move. 

Mulder stood just inside the doorway, oblivious to the 
machinations of the two women straight ahead of him and the 
observations of his partner.  Scully watched as his eyes scanned 
the room from left to right, first looking over the barstools, 
then moving toward the center tables.  Her heartbeat accelerated 
in apprehension of the ensuing seduction, but to her surprise--
and the obvious disappointment of the twin vixens--his gaze 
merely skidded over the pair without any hesitation or hint of 
interest. 

Just as she returned her attention from the disappointed duo 
back to Mulder, his eyes stopped their motion.  He had found 
what he sought, and with the dawn of recognition on his face, 
his visage was immediately transformed, melting his impassive 
expression into a beatific grin.  He launched into a purposeful 
stride, and Scully sat there transfixed as his eyes, now locked 
onto hers, did not waver during his silent transversal of the 
room. 

In a fluid move, he settled into the vacant seat across from 
her.  When he picked up her empty glass and pointedly examined 
its dregs before motioning a waitress over to their table, 
Scully felt like a spell had been broken, and the percolating 
frustration that she had momentarily forgotten now returned full 
force. 

"Nice of you to show up, Mulder.  I was just about to leave." 

The waitress appeared, and he ordered a beer for himself and 
another for his partner before turning to answer her. 

"Actually, I wasn't going to come.  I was on my way home, but 
somehow I ended up here anyway." 

"What changed your mind?" 

Mulder smirked and leaned out of the booth far enough to look at 
her around the table and scan her from head to toe before 
replying, "The thought of you in that outfit." 

In spite of herself, Scully blushed, although she didn't bother 
to respond to his comment.  He began looking around the bar 
again to see who else had shown up, but still was apparently 
unaware of the women a few tables away who were casting them 
surreptitious glances while whispering over their drinks.  The 
advent of the partners' own beverages brought Mulder's attention 
back to their table, and he took a swig before resuming the 
conversation. 

"So, what did I miss?" 

"Not much, really.  I already paid my respects to Masters.  
Skinner's with him, although he didn't appear to be particularly 
enjoying the conversation, last time I looked.  And I wasn't 
about to put him out of his misery.  I, on the other hand, have 
been drinking alone, thanks to the absence of my partner,"--
Scully emphasized that last phrase, and Mulder winced guiltily--
"and studiously avoiding the company of our more unsavory 
colleagues until enough time has elapsed for me to make a 
discreet exit." 

Mulder didn't comment on her critique of his negligence but 
instead took another gulp of his beer and retorted, "I guess I 
better get this over with." 

Without sympathy, Scully watched him as he stood and made his 
way over to the booth where Agent Masters was engrossed in 
conversation with a bored-looking Assistant Director.  She 
couldn't help it as her eyes wandered over to the blonde and 
brunette, whose own eyes were glued to her partner--or more 
accurately, to his backside--as he crossed the room. 

Less than thirty seconds later, he had returned, apparently 
feeling that few words were needed to convey his support to the 
retiring agent.  As he resumed his seat, Scully heard a fragment 
of conversation waft over from the neighboring booth again, only 
catching one word clearly: "Spooky."  Raising the glass to her 
lips, she clandestinely glanced over at her companion to see if 
he had heard it as well.  His glare through the paneling next to 
her head indicated that he had. 

With a sigh, she set down her glass.  Mulder's eyes then met 
hers, and for the first time that night, she could read in them 
a genuine apology.  In a room full of people, the two of them 
sat here alone, isolated.  As much as he didn't mind this 
position for himself, Scully knew that he always felt guilty for 
bringing her to this place along with him.  On any other 
occasion she might have said something to assuage his angst, but 
this time she remained quiet, self-indulgently allowing him to 
suffer a little to compensate for leaving her to face these 
wolves alone. 

The partners nursed their beers in silence, tacitly 
acknowledging their sweaty pints to be the hourglasses that 
would mark the end of their term and the fulfillment of their 
obligation.  Forgoing small talk, both were lost in their own 
observations, taking in the sights and sounds around them of 
people enjoying themselves. 

Amidst the strands of conversation and soft laughter, bluesy 
tones from the jukebox wafted through the hubbub, and familiar 
lyrics began to penetrate Scully's consciousness. 

"People are talkin', talking 'bout people,
I hear them whisper, you won't believe it."

She recognized the Bonnie Raitt song and listened more intently, 
ruminating on the words whose pertinence she had noted before.

"They think we're lovers, kept under covers,
I just ignore it, but they keep saying,
We laugh just a little too loud,
We stand just a little too close,
We stare just a little too long,
Maybe they're seeing something we don't, Darlin'."

As if to accentuate the lyrics, Agents Johnson and Roarke, 
previously seated behind her, had chosen that moment to stand up 
and walk by them.  As they passed, both cast the partners a 
sideways glance, and Roarke leaned over to whisper something 
that made his companion laugh loudly and slap him on the back 
while they strode away.

"Let's give them something to talk about."

The words conjured up devious images for Scully as she suddenly 
felt very weary of all the gossip and jokes at their expense. 

"Let's give them something to talk about."

Then her eyes met Mulder's, and she knew immediately that he was 
thinking the same thing. 

"Let's give them something to talk about,
How about love." 

Finishing his drink with one swallow, Mulder stood and held out 
his hand to his partner.  Following suit, she took the proffered 
hand and let him lead her over to the small dance floor where a 
few other couples were swaying to the music, mostly in obvious 
foreplay rather than as an attempt at artistic movement.

Mulder turned to face her, and his hands settled on either side 
of her waist as her arms wrapped around his neck.  They had 
never danced like this before, but no one there would know it 
for how natural they looked together. 

"I feel so foolish, I never noticed,
You'd act so nervous, could you be falling for me?
It took a rumor to make me wonder,
Now I'm convinced I'm going under."

As the song continued, Scully did her best to ignore the true 
import of the words and focus on the show they were putting on 
for their fellow agents.  However, she did find Mulder's lips 
now brushing against her neck a bit distracting. 

"Thinking 'bout you every day,
Dreaming 'bout you every night,
Hoping that you feel the same way,
Now that we know it, let's really show it, Darlin'."

Scully started as she felt Mulder's hands drift down to her ass 
and squeeze.  She pulled back to look at him and was greeted 
with his smug grin at what he had just gotten away with.  Her 
death glare chastised him enough to remove his hands to a safer 
location, although it didn't wipe the grin off of his face.

"Let's give them something to talk about,
A little mystery to figure out,
Let's give them something to talk about,
How about love, love, love, love."

Feeling she owed him something in payback, Scully leaned close 
and began to gently nip at his jaw, working her way up as he 
graciously bent further down to allow her access.  When she 
reached his earlobe, her final bite wasn't nearly as gentle, 
earning a glare for herself. 

But as the refrains grew softer and the song petered out, Mulder 
met her with a coup de grace and the grand finale to their 
little charade.  Returning his hands to her buttocks, he pulled 
her closer and captured her lips with his own.  Her eyes closed 
involuntarily, and rather than fight against him, she tightened 
her grip around his neck and let all thoughts of their audience 
and performance melt away as she reveled in the feel of his lips 
caressing hers. 

Scully was flushed and breathless when he finally released her 
and rested his hands on her hips to steady her as she dropped 
back down on her heels.  His glance over her head brought her 
back to herself and her flush was now with embarrassment as she 
realized what they had just done. 

But Mulder only smiled and placed his hand on her back as he 
turned to lead her back toward their booth.  While they returned 
to the table, she looked around and saw that most of the agents 
were now staring at them. 

With a false courage perhaps enhanced by alcohol, Scully 
straightened her spine and refused to appear shamed by their 
behavior.  As they reached their seats, she quietly commented to 
her fellow conspirator, "Well, if the rumor about the office 
pool is true, I'd say a lot of people will be cashing in 
tomorrow morning." 

Mulder had picked up her jacket and now chivalrously held it out 
for her to don.  As she turned her back to slip her arms through 
the sleeves, he leaned in and replied: "In that case, Agent 
George Hale is about to become a very wealthy man." 

"Mulder?!" she exclaimed in disbelief and pivoted to face him.  
She wasn't sure whether he was serious or not. 

Her doubt was only furthered by his retort.  "Don't worry.  I'll 
treat you to dinner with the proceeds."   With a cryptic smile, 
he then bent over to pick up his own jacket still draped on the 
seat. 

Tossing a few bills on the table to cover their drinks, he was 
now ready to make their exit.  As he joined Scully, his gaze 
skimmed over her head to evaluate the lingering aftershocks of 
their exhibition.  Holding back a grin, he placed a hand on her 
back and led her toward the door.  While they walked, he leaned 
down to her ear and confided, "I don't think Skinner will ever 
invite us out of the basement again."

But as they passed through the bar to leave, it wasn't Skinner's 
reaction that attracted her attention. 

Seated at a table in the center of the room, a blonde and a 
brunette watched with envy as the demurely dressed redhead was 
escorted out by the most tantalizing man to greet their hungry 
eyes that night. 


THE END


* * * * *

Author's Notes: After writing this story, I decided to go to 
Gossamer to see if "Something to Talk About" had been written 
about before, only to find that there are already multiple 
stories with this title, and most of them relate to this song.  
I guess that just goes to prove that this song really does apply 
well to Mulder and Scully, or that great minds think alike. 


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