Dialogue prompt - 31 if you feel like it :) THANK YOU!
“I can’t keep kissing
strangers and pretending that they’re you.”
She can’t believe he’s
actually here. He never did like these sorts of things, where what people wear
and who people talk to is more important than the fundraising itself. He would usually
make some smart remark to some bigwig from finance about the petit fours
looking like Reticulan space craft or tasting like alien goop and she would
smile and nod at the bean counter as though she were about to take Mulder
outside and mould him into some generic gentleman who understood the finer
points of accruals.
But instead, he stopped attending her hospital charity
events. He stopped helping her to choose which dress to wear, which shoes
looked better, buying her a new handbag, clasping her necklace under her hair
and whispering a kiss to her neck. Stopped trying to undress her before they
left the house, stopped sliding his hand up her thigh as they sat at the
overcrowded table, stopped telling the story of how, back in the day, she shot
him, embellishing it each outing. Krycek once became a deposed eastern European
dictator with a fetish for blackmailing FBI directors.
time last year, he stopped wishing her a good night and promising to keep her
side of the bed warm.
Now he’s here and wearing his
Tux, its sheened collars catching the light, the elegant ruffle of his white
shirt just visible. His hands are in his pockets, he’s shaved and his hair is
in the shorter style she’s always preferred.
Mulder is a fucking beautiful specimen, she thinks.
walks towards him but he hasn’t seen her and he turns away. He doesn’t know she’s
chosen the deep turquoise silk dress with the spaghetti straps and the fitted
bodice. Doesn’t know she’s wearing the earrings he gave her years before, the
small diamond drops that glitter like hope in the right light.
here. And he’ll know all this soon. His presence sends a hot bolt of desire
through her and in that moment, she feels the loneliness that Mulder’s illness has
spread over them keenly.
takes a glass of champagne from a waiter and someone touches her lower back.
His spot. She swings round and it’s Martin or Michael from procurement or HR.
take a photo with me?”
she can protest, she’s inside the photo booth, equipped with masks, novelty
glasses, hats and caps and boas and shawls and super hero capes. She nearly
pulls a Wonder Woman and spins around so she can kick Martin to the kerb, but
he grabs her, wraps her in a purple boa and kisses her. The flash hits her
eyes. She pushes Martin away.
on, Dana. You spilt my drink on my best suit.”
sure you can requisition another one when you’re back at your desk on Monday,
Martin. And while you’re at it, see if they stock good manners.” she says, removing
the feathery accessory and tying it round his neck.
sneers at her. “It’s Manny, and I work in HR. We don’t requisition but we do
have access to employee’s files to see how their behavioural records stack up.”
whips back the curtain and photos drop into the holder. He shoves them at her
and stalks off.
looking at them, wondering whether it would be more satisfying to burn them or
to mail them to Manny’s wife, when Mulder enters the booth. He closes the
curtain. He smells like shaving foam and history and a future.
leans over her to look at the photos. “I knew it had to be you when that guy
walked out trying to straighten his tie when he should have been trying to straighten
out his testicles. You haven’t lost your ball-busting touch, Scully.” He picks
the photos from her hand. “The purple doesn’t suit you. That guy has no idea,
does he, Scully?” He nuzzles into her neck and she shivers.
certainly had no idea how I like to be kissed, Mulder.”
I were to choose the right kind of accessory, would you be interested in having
your photo taken, doctor?” His low murmur has her pulse racing and she nods as
she reaches her lips to his.
the right kind of accessory for me, Mulder?”
he says, pulling her to him.
the photos to the floor and stamps on them. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and
pretending that they’re you.”
tastes as she remembers – of spice and salt and untempered longing. As her eyes
close, the flash goes off. The image of them is imprinted behind her eyes,
black and white. She doesn’t need a photo.
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