could you do 22 for the prompt thing?? Purdy please
22 I don’t know why I married you.
This is Rob and Laura Petrie’s second case. I have no idea where this came from. It’ a bit weird and no doubt has more plot holes than the spongiest X-File ep. It’s long, so you can keep reading under the cut.
She stood on the threshold and ripped through his shirt with the pinking shears. The fabric shredded, leaving strands of cotton floating to the ground along with the sleeves, collar and body. When she finished, she turned to the pile behind her and found the dress pants. Charcoal grey, well-cut, heavy. She took the point of the blades and dug in, snipping a triangular shape out of the crotch.
“I don’t know why I married you!” she yelled over her shoulder. “You fucking fucker,” she added for good measure.
His footsteps down the wooden staircase were punctuated with the curse words he favoured. She looked out across the immense front lawn, beyond the upright and sensible white rose bushes, the flowering clematis and trimmed hedges to see the Cartwrights, arm in arm on their own doorstep.
“What the hell are you doing with my Armani?” He grabbed one trouser leg and yanked it from her. She held on to the other leg but the scissors clanged to the ground, making a nest in the pile of shirts.
“I’m doing what I should have done years ago,” she hissed. “Cutting you out!”
Fred Cartwright had made it to the front gate, pushed through the ornate metal and strode to the front door.
“Having a little domestic trouble here, I see.” He smiled and reached out to take the pants. “Why don’t we head inside and see if we can’t work it out,” he looked over his shoulder as Valerie Cartwright arrived, “privately.”
Scully picked up the pile of clothes and walked them upstairs, placing them on the bed and folding what was left into a suitcase. She parked it at the bottom of the closet and headed to the en-suite for a shower.
Hot water ran down her back and she relished the slightly-too-hot spray for longer than was ecologically-friendly. There was something so satisfying about cutting up clothes and she sifted through her memories to see if there was a source point for that feeling. She couldn’t recall her mother doing it to her father’s wardrobe. Theirs had been a love true and enduring; she could half-entertain the notion that Tara might have done it to Bill’s clothes, but she couldn’t imagine him telling her and she hadn’t talked with Tara that closely for a few years. It was a mystery, but an enjoyable one.
She didn’t hear the door open but she did feel the momentary draught. She turned and rubbed water from her eyes, to see Mulder standing stark naked in front of the door. He smiled. She shook her head. He pouted. She rolled her eyes. He opened the door. She stepped aside and took the razor from the side.
“Can I help you with that, Scully?”
“You want to shave me?”
He grinned. “It’s a bit of a kink of mine.”
“You, with kinks, Mulder? I don’t believe it.”
He took the razor and held it up.
“Maybe next time,” she said and pinched it back.
“Always ready to serve you, Scully.”
He laughed, then looked down at her with that expression on his face and she knew she wasn’t getting out of there without calf-strain, hickeys where nobody else would see them and at least two orgasms.
He did cook her dinner – one of the many surprisingly good dishes in his repertoire. Chicken fillet stuffed with mozzarella and avocado with mushroom sauce on a bed of basmati rice. He poured a pinot grigio and offered her the pepper shaker.
` “So are the Cartwrights the prime suspects, Scully?”
“I guess I’d better be on high alert, now that I’ve shown my true colours, Mulder. Wouldn’t want the neighbourhood to suffer from an unusually high divorce rate, would we?”
He chuckled over a mouthful of chicken. “No, an abnormally high number of missing persons reports is a much more digestible statistic. Three halves of couples in five years simply vanishing is more than an anomaly. The Cartwrights, and their neighbour, a Miss Lethbridge, have been here longer than the other residents. But there’s never been any evidence against them.”
The cool wine was going down too well, the comfort of playing house, she sat back in her chair and smiled at him, still smug from the shower. “So, what’s the next step? A blazing row on the lawn? Snipping off the heads of the roses?”
“Only if we can have a very public making-up session, Scully.” He leant forward and planted a kiss on her mouth.
“I think Valerie Cartwright would have a stroke if she witnessed that kind of activity. I can’t imagine that pair has so much as held hands in the past ten years.”
He smirked. “Then let’s give them something