Thanks so much!! I've been a fangirl for a while... I used to LIVE on livejournal... Anywho my 'prompt' if you will... Post Hollywood A.D. -- Mulder & Scully head out for dinner at a fancy restaurant BUT have no reservations. Mulder (or Scully) has a plan. -- "Borrowed" ring from prop dep. -- little bit of The Petries -- and someone not really pretending in the end "You don't have to hold my hand anymore"-- etc.... IDK (The idea was totally ripped from SSN3 E23 of Brooklyn 99)… THANK-YOU :)
They had a credit card and a rented convertible. What they didn’t have was a restaurant reservation. In DC, that wasn’t usually a problem. In LA, it was turning out to be. They’d left the first two restaurants, but Scully was hungry now. Besides, this place only had valet. They’d already surrendered the keys.
“Mulder, we don’t have a reservation,” she murmured, standing close to him.
“I have a plan,” Mulder whispered back.
“Of course you do,” Scully said, crossing her arms and looking up at him, her eyes heavy-lashed. There was something open and easy about her posture that he didn’t usually see, and he didn’t think it was just the champagne they’d had before the premiere.
“It’s going to work,” Mulder insisted. “But you have to look excited.”
Scully narrowed her eyes at him. “Mulder. Why would I need to look excited?”
“It’s all part of the plan,” he said, and dropped to one knee on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
“Mulder,” she said in breathless panic. “What are you doing?”
“Dana,” he said, exaggerating the consonants and widening his eyes. “Is anybody listening?”
She glanced around. “I don’t think so. The valet isn’t back yet.”
He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a gleaming ring. “Then will you do me the honor of wearing this ring and pretending we just got engaged?”
He had never considered her a particularly good actor (then again, they always gave themselves away to each other), but she put her hand to her mouth, blushing and giddy as if he were actually proposing.
“Oh my god!” she said with breathy delight. She held out her hand and he slipped the ring on. She flung her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe even in her heels.
“This better work,” she whispered in his ear. “Because if it doesn’t, I will very likely go cannibal and make it into the X-Files for a record-setting third time, and you won’t be around to record it.”
“Message received,” he murmured back, and she turned her face and kissed him. He kissed her back, too startled to pull away, too filled with a sudden rush of desire.
“Verisimilitude,” she said against his lips, barely audible, and pulled away. There was a sparkle in her eyes that he had never known he had always wanted to see.
The valet was back; he smirked and clapped a few times. The maitre d’ was smiling too; she waved away their lack of foresight and had them seated at a corner table, tucked away.
“Congratulations,” she said. The bartender sent over a bottle of champagne.
Scully held her hand toward the candle to watch the ring sparkle. “Where did this come from?”
“The props department,” he told her.
She gave him a patented Scully Look. “And you expect me to believe that you just picked up a ring, just in case.”
“It’s a crazy night, Scully,” he said. “A Hollywood night. Anything could happen. There’s magic in the air.”
“I think that’s the smog,” she said, but he liked the way she was smiling at him. Verisimilitude, sure, a pretty little play for whoever might have been scammed out of their table, but god, he wanted to believe.
They started with oysters and went from there. Scully had fish; Mulder had steak; they shared something so chocolatey and intense that it seemed to defy the law of physics, an outsize amount of flavor in a tiny, elaborate sculpture. They dug into it with the points of their spoons. He watched Scully lick at a morsel of chocolate, her tongue pink against the bright silver. Her other hand lay curled on the table. The ring kept catching the light; he couldn’t keep his eyes off it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, either. She was in her everyday black, but something was different. Maybe it was the way her hair was pulled back. Maybe it was the way he could hear the champagne bubbles in her giggle.
“So what are we doing after this?” she asked, giving the spoon one last lingering lick. “What was it that the undead do? Dancing? Making love?”
“Traditional engagement night activities, honeybunch,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“Of course,” she said. “It does feel a bit like we’ve come back from something. Maybe not death, but something.”
“It does,” he said, still holding her hand, startled by the warmth of her delicate fingers against his. He’d seen her hands do so many things. He’d never seen them grasp his gently while wearing an engagement ring. It looked nice on her, even if if it was just a relic of some writer’s dream. He wondered if she’d accept a real one one day, when the moment was right.
The bill came. He didn’t have to let go of her hand as she worked Skinner’s Bureau card out of her miniature purse. They left a ridiculous tip and walked out still holding hands, accepting congratulations with gracious nods.
“Do you hear music, Scully?” he asked, looking up at the glow of the sky.
“You know,” she said, “I think I do.”