Putting the Ape in Apricot by bugs
SPOILER WARNING: 'One Breath', 'The Blessing Way', setting is somewhere
after 'all things'.
RATING: PG-13: One bad word and a sexual situation.
CLASSIFICATION: S, H, A, MSR
SUMMARY: Desperate, Scully turns to an unusual source for help with a
problem.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: My partners in crime helping me get this done lickety
split: Branwell and Ambress. And thanks to Robbie for checking that
crucial detail for me at the last minute.**************************
Leaning against the smooth stone, you absorb its heat, believing for a
brief moment that it's alive.You let that fancy take you away. Is its weight able to hold down the
soul beneath it?MELISSA SCULLY
BELOVED SISTER AND DAUGHTER
1962 - 95Squinting in the bright light, you regret leaving your sunglasses in
the car.Why are you here again?
You laugh, and the old woman at the next grave gives you a dirty look.
She's stoop-shouldered -- working like some gruesome reverse farmhand,
laying flowers on graves, day after day. You've seen her here many
times before.Your fingers stroke the silken petals of the roses beside you. You
should get some water and put them in their vase.But you sit. Sit and try to conjure up a spirit. On an afternoon so
bright it's silly as a girl. There're no shadows to form a long-gone
sister.The sister who always had answers about men, even if she didn't have a
great track record herself. "Do as I say, not as I do, Lil," she'd say.
Or, "Those that can't do, teach."She'd had plenty to say as you lay on your couch, finally out of the
hospital in '94. "He's in love with you, Dana," she'd said forcefully.
You'd turned your cheek away from that flame, not able to handle it.Later. You'd let yourself love him back later.
Glancing down at the flowers at your side, you notice the pale petals
are limp. Water won't help now.Is it too late? You held him off for so long, it has become a habit.
You've fooled yourself that you were going slow. Well, there's slow,
and there's glacial. Perhaps you've frozen his heart.He didn't bite at your last, obvious hint. You woke up on his couch,
warmed only by his smelly old blanket.Chuckling, you remember your first thought: How dare he!?
You'd taken an hour fussing in his bathroom, hoping he'd wake, and need
to pee...nothing. You'd let a finger trace along his bare toe as you
picked up your jacket. Nothing.Rationalizing, you decided he was just tired. He wanted all his
strength to make love to you properly. And weeks have gone by. He's
begun to look at you from the corners of his eyes all right, but it's
with worry and trepidation.What does that mean?
So, frustrated, you find yourself here. You, the skeptic, trying to
hold a seance with no crystal ball or sweaty hands to clasp.Sliding your palms back and forth, you rub the slick marble like a
Buddha's belly. That gets another laugh, and the bent-over woman storms
off in a huff.Whisper, like you're in a haunted house, not a sun-lit 'memorial park.'
"Melissa."And she laughs. That cackle that sounds wicked no matter what her
intent is."Lil, you're being too subtle. He's a MAN."
"Yeah?" you grumble. Nothing like being mocked from the other side.
"He doesn't want signals. He's been going on the slightest of signals
for years and kept getting slapped back."Hunching over, you acknowledge, "Yeah."
Another laugh and you miss it so much you have to cry. Satisfied, she
says, "You're going to have to be obvious."Horror makes you recoil. Images dance. You in leather, you in lace. You
in too much lipstick on puffed-up, blow-up doll's lips.Sensible, she points out, "Skin always works, Lil. He'll get your hint
then."Now fear wells up, and then you remember what she'd do when you'd fret
about finding the nerve to show interest in a guy. She'd tease in her
lowest, growly Cowardly Lion voice,"Courage! What makes the dawn come up like thunder?
Courage! What makes the Hottentot so hot?
What puts the 'ape' in apricot?
What have they got that I ain't got?"You push yourself up onto your feet, and brush the grass clippings from
your pants. She's right. It's time to put the ape in apricot.***************************
So here you are. Shaking in your satin nightgown. You've chickened out
on the nude thing, but figure he'll get the hint anyway. Being on his
bed and all.Checking the chair, you're reassured to see your trench coat and slip-
on moccasins are at the ready for that possible getaway.Down the hall, the front door opens, and your heart pounds even faster.
Dusk is descending, and you can feel your pupils becoming large and
round as a lemur's. It's show time, folks.The closet door opens and shuts, footfall...it stops. He's seen the lit
candle on his coffee table. 'Sensuality'. The wax actually smells like
limes, but you need all the help you can get."Someone there?" He's probably pulled his gun, and you'd better do
something to make sure this evening doesn't end on a bad note."Mulder, it's me," you reply.
And wait.
Steps.
Closer and closer.
Why didn't you get drunk? Something, anything, to make your body not
resemble a wooden log when he finally peeks around the corner of the
door."Scully?"
His voice carries an emotion beyond disbelief and now you are drunk --
drunk on humiliation and embarrassment. So this is how those women can
dance around naked up on a stage. They get into this zone.Mercifully, he doesn't ask, 'what are you doing here?' but he doesn't
leave the doorway either.He's still dressed for work, just a bit more crumpled than when you
left him this afternoon, claiming a dentist appointment.
You can't speak, so you wet your lips, trying to loosen their bindings.
His eyes change, shifting tides. You recognize the expression that
settles in them: a belief in his own madness. It filled you with
despair and fury every other time you'd seen it, but this time, it's
funny as hell.A giggle escapes, an odd, rusty sound in your throat. "I'm real. I'm
here." Patting the comforter, you say, "You come here."He shuffles over as though he can barely stand, stopping at the foot of
the bed.Now you're unsure.
Melissa?
A crack startles you, and you give a very unsexy yelp.
Mulder makes a small noise in reply, and you realize the sound was his
knees coming in contact with the floor.Hesitant, his fingers touch your left foot. Tracing the fine bones, he
taps each toe. Suddenly, he's speaking--babbling. "Scully, Scully,
Scully, I want to make love to you, I've dreamed of doing this,
touching you, worshipping you, showing you every emotion in my
heart..." Then, his head bows, and he lightly kisses the arch of your
foot.This is wrong. You don't want this, but can't think of what to say to
make him stop. Was this what you were afraid of? What kept you back?
You watched him worship one woman for seven years, and now it's your
turn. You don't like it one bit.What would your sister do?
--Go on, Lil, she coaxes--
You push yourself up, finally, and grab his hands. "No."
He's hurt.
You hear yourself say the words, "Fuck me, Mulder," but you can't
believe it.He blinks rapidly, reminding you of a confused cat. You have to kiss
him and that seems to make everything all right.But when you pull him on top of you, he struggles.
Laughing, he protests, "Scully, I have to get out of my clothes."
Reaching up, you grab his dangling tie, yanking him back down. "No, no
you don't. I want to feel *you*."He's still confused, but doesn't argue anymore, sinking back on top.
This is what you wanted. You wanted Mulder, not the slick of a nude
male body. His silk tie is wrapped around your right hand, and you can
control his head, much to your glee. Your other hand fumbles at his
hip, grasping his gun and using it as a handle. You pull him closer,
hoping to push him right inside.Somehow, your gown comes off, and he's everywhere. The light scratch of
his woolen pants on your thighs - handfuls of limp cotton shirt in your
fists - his tongue of a tie at your breasts - the smell of mothballs
battling Polo on his jacket -- and finally, the heat of skin -- his
penis in your hand."Scully," he groans, one last protest to your hurry, and then you
really have him in your grasp and he's not saying a damn thing that
could be called a word.The dark enters the room and brings in all its secrets. A hot wind from
nowhere, the weight of a full moon, the flap of an owl's wings -- the
deep, throbbing beat of a summer night.Afterwards, you cradle his damp-haired head to your breasts. Your
sister's given you that necessary courage one last time, but your voice
is a torn, limp rag: "God, Mulder, I love you.""I'm glad," he mumbles against your skin, sounding sincere.
You laugh out loud and it's her laugh; that satisfied rasp. Beginning
to fumble at removing his clothes, you say, "Now, Mulder. Now you can
make love to me."
**The End**
ENDLESS AUTHOR'S NOTES: Argh! Yet another first time/somewhere after
'all things' fic! Oh well, might as well write them now, can't see then
being in fashion within the next couple of weeks.Mary Sue bugs: Some friends call me 'Lil'. I kept thinking they were
envisioning me as some Gold Rush era dancing girl, but they meant it as
a reference to my less than average stature. It seemed like a good
teasing/pet name for Scully, but only Melissa could get away with it.Happy with this? Let me know.