RECONSTRUCTION

By Sara Lynn

 

Archiving: Please do not archive -- unless I know about it.

Shannon -- I'm not sure why, but seeing as it's Scully 1^st person . . .

Category: V

Rating: PG -- knowing what innuendo is might be a requirement

Spoilers: The End

Summary: Mulder and Scully do some redecorating.

 

 

Mulder smiled at me. It's not often he smiles, but today I made him smile.

It's probably been two months since the fire. I haven't really made an effort keep track. I haven't found the need to. Since the fire, we recouped, regrouped and revived something that was almost lost. I'm not sure how, but we've reached an understanding . . . course, understanding is an understatement. Somewhere within those weeks after, we found each other. And found that he does smile quite a bit.

After the ordeal we went through, we had to get back to what was destroyed. Some 'friends' at the bureau helped clean out the charred remains of the X-Files. Surprisingly these friends were more than happy to help us rebuild. Skinner had several official reports we could use to reference as we reconstructed the files we could. Of course, Mulder and I managed to keep several cases out of the office, some on purpose and others just by coincidence. Still . . . the home needed to be reclaimed.

I asked Mulder to meet me this morning in the stripped shell of our office. He didn't sound excited to rehash the pain, especially on a Saturday, but he did come. He found me sitting on top a drop cloth covered desk, one of the two new ones we received, waiting for him. His face lifted slightly at the sight of me in my tank top and overalls. I knew he would like them. Becoming close gave me some new ways to get Mulder's attention, and sometimes he responded just to the clothes I wear.

"What is this, Scully?"

"I convinced Skinner we needed to repaint the room, so he's letting us use some unused paint from maintenance. Antique Gray, although we can call it Reticulan Gray if you want." He smiled at that. I looked at the tattered jeans and white undershirt he wore. Somehow, he was dressed for this. It was my turn to smile.

We both took a roller and started to coat the walls with paint. The cool gray covered over the charring and memories of how flames engulfed our lives smoothly. I don't know how, but we finished in less than two hours. It looked . . . like an office. Not an empty shell, but a real place to work. Of course, the desks were covered and boxes of files and file cabinets were in the hall, but it was an office again. Our office.

"Scully?"

I looked up when Mulder said my name. Just in time to see his head tip down to mine. His lips may have landed on my cheek but they still kissing me. It's not that his kisses are insignificant or anything like that. I'm sure with enough time they will become our greeting. On the phone, we have 'It's me' and face to face, we'll have a kiss. I can get used to that.

His hand reached for mine as we left the office to dry. I finally got a chance to see myself as we passed one of the upstairs windows. I was covered with paint. On my clothes, my skin, my hair. Mulder looked just as bad. As we got to our cars, he asked if I was interested in sharing a shower with him. Perhaps it was the way I answered, but the size of the smile on his face was so into big that I swear I'm almost too drunk of happiness to drive just remembering it. We may not be done with the reconstruction, but soon enough, we'll have it all back and more.

 

 

END