Melting the Day Away. by Maureen B. Ocks Maureen_B_Ocks@yahoo.com Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and all other familiar X Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and FOX. No copyright infringement intended. Archive -- Sure, just tell me and keep my name with it. Spoilers: Midseason 7 Keywords: Angst, Christmas, Food, assumed MSR. Author's notes at the end x-x-x December 7, 1999 Laurel Springs, Maryland 9:45pm In sunlight the trees were crystal and glitter, as if they'd sprouted from a fairy tale. Now, in the moonlight, the branches were painted a luminescent blue. Laurel Springs would have been the most beautiful place she'd ever seen, if not for all the dead people. At least that's what she told me when we pulled away. Seems the Scully clan looked at living in Laurel Springs when the family was relocated from San Diego to Maryland. Mrs. Scully had enough of base housing -- she wanted a home of her own. The mid-six figure price tags on most of the decent sized homes in Laurel Spring made that out of the question. Scully mentioned as we drove to the Belt from the Frazier home. The Frazier home. Skinner's call came around 7pm while I was at the office. Scully mumbled something about plans and left "early" at 6pm. When I called, she said her plans could wait. Nick Frazier was a former ISU profiler. He hit the wall about six month before I signed on. The final confrontation between Frazier and Patterson was now FBI lore. When I started at the BSU, the story was Frazier threw a chair through Patterson's office window with his letter of resignation stapled to it. Ten years later, the story now was that Patterson was thrown through the window with the letter stuffed in his mouth. Personally, I like the newer version better. Sadly the truth is Frazier resigned and Bill refused to accept it. Frazier's new wife was a lawyer and she had Patterson "served" with Nick's second letter of resignation. The man had style. Had. Frazier was found dead in his home, along with his wife, now a Catholic University law school dean, her mother, and the Fraziers' twin little girls. Needless to say, this caught the FBI's attention. Scully figured out early what happened. Frazier, who was a vice president with a security group, was warming up his car in the attached garage when he went back into the house for his briefcase. Frazier tripped on the stairs between the basement and kitchen, knocking himself out. With the garage door closed, the house filled with carbon monoxide. They never had a chance. On the drive home, I want to stop and see Walter Skinner. I think of him as an ally but right now I'd love to kick the living shit out of him for bringing us to this scene. Two weeks after Thanksgiving and just two weeks before Christmas, Dana Scully and I do not need to walk into a house where two little girls are in their matching footie pajamas and their matching princess beds dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. This is not to say that Scully was anything less than the absolute professional at the Frazier home -- she was efficient and effective. I did the brooding in the house but get to - I'm "Spooky". I think what bothered me most, besides the fact that a perfectly nice family was wiped out, is that Frazier got out before Patterson ruined him a decade ago and he died in what was nothing more than a stupid household accident. Life sucks. So does death. "It was their birthday." Scully tells me as we get back to D.C proper. I take my eye of the road for a second to give her a quick look. "The girls?" "Yep. They were nine today. There was a nice ice cream cake in the freezer." "That awful." "The whole thing's awful." Scully is quiet for the rest of the ride. When I pull up in front of her apartment, much to my surprise, she invites me in. Since Antarctica, we've been known to spend a work night or two together but usually at my place. In fact, I can only think of three nights in almost the year and a half we've been, well whatever we've been, that I stayed at her place. After hanging up my coat and her's, she walks to the kitchen. "I have half a tray of baked ziti leftover. I was going to cut it in half and eat it tonight and save the rest. You want to help me polish it off tonight?" "Sure, sounds great." Scully and baked ziti. Gee, the Irish aren't exactly known for their fine pasta meals but Scully was a decent cook. Like a good puppy, I follow her right into the kitchen, "I thought you had plans." Scully pulls a foil covered tray out of her refrigerator. "I was at Mass when you called." She makes the easy transfer from the fridge to the oven, fooling around with the temperature control and the timer. "Oh Scully, you should have told me. I would have called later." "Skinner wanted us out there and I left my phone on at Mass. My guess is Father McCue will mention that to me tomorrow." "Why are you going again tomorrow?" "Tomorrow's the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. I left Mass before the gospel." I really hope Scully's God isn't that into accounting. Scully's God, "Even after last summer. You're still going?" On tiptoes, she tries to reach a pair of wine glasses on the top shelf. Since I'm here and want to be to be useful, I stand and grab them. She pulls out a bottle of white burgundy, a 1991 Chassagne-Montrachet, and a corkscrew, handing them to me. "Earning my keep?" I make fast work of the cork and pour us each a glass. "Something like that." Not to be outdone, Scully makes fast work of her wine. "You didn't answer my question." She stares at me for a minute, honestly not remembering what I asked. When she does, it seems like she wanted to forget. "Yes, still going." "Why?" "Because I've always gone. Because sometimes its an hour where the FBI, my family, you, no one can..." She is stuck on the word, "..disturb me. Because sometimes there's comfort in the rituals." "Comfort?" "Sometimes." She looks at me, "And sometimes God answers my prayers." She walks to me and stands on her tiptoes again. "I found you." she whispers as she kisses my cheek. Backing away, she stretches a little, announcing, "I'm gonna take a shower. This needs to cook for about 15 minutes so just make yourself at home." I hear her change in the bedroom and move to the bathroom. Still in full good puppy mode, I make myself and the wine at home on her couch, taking off my tie, belt, rolling up my sleeves and toeing off my shoes. Deciding to follow Scully's lead, I drain my wine and poured us both another glass. Not a bad little wine. She is a vision coming out of the bathroom. No make-up, no shoes, dark blue silk pajamas and wet hair. If she thought Laurel Springs was beautiful, she has no idea what beautiful is. Or how beautiful she is. "You staying tonight?" she asks as she fiddles with the stereo. "If you want me to." I reply as Teddy Pendergrass fills the room. I pass her the wine glass. "I do." She stands behind me and runs her free hand through my hair. Scully, if you expect me to make it through dinner, you need to stop now. And stop doing that thing with my ear. Right now. No, I insist. Really. "The ziti smells good." Yes, I, Fox Mulder, am smooth. "Yea. Let's eat." Dammit, she stopped doing that ear thing. I bring the wine back to the kitchen. Scully pulls a rather large tupperware bowl of salad out of the refrigerator along with some shredded parmesan cheese and half a loaf of Italian bread. She pops the bread into the microwave for a minute while I take a pair of plates out and set the table. No one can say Mrs. Mulder did not bring up a well-mannered son. OK, half of all law enforcement, both federal and local, can say that but I am trying here. Scully puts out the bread and finally the moment of truth. Ziti ala Scully. It looks good. It looks really good. It smells even better. She gives me more than half of what's in the pan and takes the rest for herself. "Enjoy." I do. So does Scully. Ziti ala Scully is fabulous. The sauce tastes homemade, the pasta is good and the cheese is not only melted but browned to perfection. Just fabulous. I tell her as much. "You sound surprised." "Scully, the fact that you do anything well is no surprise to me." That earns me a smile. "It is terrific, but why'd you make yourself a big plate?" "I didn't really make it for me." "Scully, are you entertaining gentlemen callers?" I want to sound suave. I fail. "No, my mother came by Sunday night. I made dinner." Oh. "How is your mom?" "Good. Making Christmas plans." Oh. "Anything good?" "Christmas is in San Diego this year." Oh. "Bill and the family aren't coming East?" "No. Tara's pregnant again and is having a tough time." You know, this just gets worse and worse. Scully takes a sip of her wine. "Mom wants me to go out on Friday and stay for a few days but I told her about the cancelled leave." "Scully, I can get you the time off." "No, if leave has been cancelled for all agents from December 27th until January 2nd, I need to be in D.C. I have no interest in flying across the country on Friday spending one day out there and flying home the next." "She alright with that?" "Mulder, from the time I was born until I was fifteen years old, my father was home for exactly two Christmases. She's fine with it." "Are you alright with that?" "Why do you ask?" She is annoyed but trying not to show it. "Because I worry about you. Because you lost your father and Emily around the holidays..." "Thank you Dr. Mulder but I made it through last year just fine and I'm perfectly capable of doing it again." I lean forward, nearly putting my elbows in my ziti, "I never doubted that you were perfectly capable and I know you are always "fine"." I take her hand, "I'm sorry I worry but I do. I care and I'm not sorry about that." She gives my hand a little squeeze as she looks at me, "Sorry. The Frazier girls just have me a little on edge." "That's O.K." I kiss her hand and return to the ziti. "Do you want to do anything for Christmas?" "Found another haunted house?" "Ha ha." That's my Scully. "No, seriously, we could do something." "Such as?" "I'm light on Christmas experience Scully, your expertise would be greatly appreciated." I can see her wheels turning but I need to be proactive here. "Wanna go to New York? Ride around Central Park, go to St. Pat's, see the big tree in midtown, stay someplace nice, the Four Seasons or the Plaza or something. Maybe catch a Knicks game and drive home." "I think I'd like to stay here." "O.K." Sadly, I finish my ziti. Damn that was good. I tear into the bread to mop up the sauce left on my plate. "Why don't we get a room at the Hay Adams, breakfast in bed, mass at some fancy cathedral, a nice dinner at some overpriced restaurant." "I think I'd like to stay here. As in my apartment. You know, Midnight Mass, a little eggnog before bed. Presents in the morning under the tree." "I can do that. We can play Mrs. Santa and the Naughty Elf." She is desperate not to laugh. "Only if you wear the shoes." I wiggle my eyebrows, "And that's all I'll be wearing." Scully takes a long sip of her wine. "I'm all for the nice dinner, you can work on that Mr. Elf." "Why? You make such great meals. This was delicious." "Thanks." I could swear she's turning a little red but I'm sure she'd blame the wine. "I never really saw you cooking Italian food for your mother." "Mom eats mostly sandwiches so I wanted to really cook something. Ziti is something we use to make the night before my father came home. We'd always have a great big welcoming dinner so she'd make a tray of baked ziti the night before because it was easy, filling and my dad loved the leftovers." "And delicious." I lean over again and give her a kiss on the cheek. "Lemme help you with the dishes." "Doesn't get you out of Christmas dinner." I clear and Scully rinses. Neither of us touched the salad so that went right back into the crisper. After Scully washes off the dishes, I load the dishwasher. Honestly those dishes will be no cleaner when the come out of the machine than when Scully finished "rinsing" them. As she scrubs the baking pan, I come up behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I give her a series of small kisses on the side of her neck. "Mulder, I need to finish this." I snake my hand under her pajama top. "You have your needs, I have mine." Although I can see her face doesn't react, I can feel her stifle a small chuckle. After nibbling on her earlobe I beg, "Come to bed. I need to work off that dinner." Now she's stifling a shiver, not a laugh, "So all I need to do is feed you to get your full attention." "Scully, all you need to do is crook one of those beautiful fingers in my direction and I swear you'll have my full attention." She turns and gifts me with a magnificent smile. After a long, wonderful kiss I beg her to let the pan sit. "You'll have to clean it in the morning." "Deal." I let her go long enough to dry her hands and turn out a few lights. She turns to me, "How did you manage to make this perfectly miserable night better?" "You feed me, I work better on a full stomach." I pull her to me. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers "Prove it" into my ear. I plan on doing just that. # # # Maureen B Ock's 3 Cheese Baked Ziti (sorry, I'm mostly a vegetarian) 16 ounces (one container) of ricotta cheese. 2 eggs 1/2 cup of shredded parmesan cheese 1 box of ziti pasta 32 ounces (4 cups) of marinara sauce, heated but slightly cooled. 1 and 1/2 cups of shredded mozzarella cheese. Cook the pasta according to the instructions but make sure it is al dente. Remember, it is going to be cooked again. (Maureen's note: Barilla pasta rocks my world). Set aside in a large bowl. Combine the ricotta cheese, the eggs and parmesan cheese in a separate bowl. Take about 1/2 the sauce and combine with the cheese mixture. Mix the pasta and the remaining sauce. Pour the cheese/sauce mixture into the pasta/sauce mixture and stir well. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spoon the mixture evenly into a 13x9 baking dish. Once full, cover the top with the mozzarella cheese. Bake for 30 minutes or until piping hot. Enjoy! --- This is in response to the scullyfic challenge. The required elements were: 1. "Melting" must either be the title or the story or the word must appear as part of the title. 2. The story must mention a birthday celebration. 3. Dasha's element: Mulder and/or Scully preparing the author's favorite food with the recipe included in the author's notes at the end. 4. Shari's element: Spooning! (Spooning is defined as a physical position wherein one person's front is nested against another person's back -- and Shari prefers spooning of the Mulder/Scully variety, but I won't put that stipulation on the challenge). 5. It must begin with this paragraph -- In sunlight the trees were crystal and glitter, as if they'd sprouted from a fairy tale. Now, in the moonlight, the branches were painted a luminescent blue. Laurel Springs would have been the most beautiful place she'd ever seen, if not for all the dead people. 6. The story can be of any rating, any genre, any length you choose. I missed the deadline by a few days. Sorry about that but it took me almost 5 months to do a post Bio-Gen 80K story. What's a few days. Happy Birthday to Shari and Dasha who run one hell of a list with Jill. Feedback is like the browned melted cheese on a baked ziti -- the best part! Maureen_B_Ocks@yahoo.com