TITLE:		The Best Laid Plans
AUTHOR:		Avalon
EMAIL:		avalon@fuse.net	
RATING:		R for language and sexual situations
SPOILERS:	Up through Season 8, although in my 
		X-Files Universe, the way Mulder is 
		coming back does not exist.
CATEGORY:	SMSRH (hopefully)
KEYWORDS:	post-baby fluff
DISCLAIMER:	Not mine, never were, never will be.  
		We owe all this fun to you, Chris.  No
		infringement intended.
FEEDBACK:	Always welcomed and answered, thanks.
		Be kind...this is my first humorous attempt.
ARCHIVES:	Gossamer, Ephemeral, Spooky's, anywhere, 
		really, but if you're not one of those, 
		please let me know so I can visit.
SUMMARY:	Mulder tries to plan a romantic evening
		for Scully and himself.  General havoc 
		ensues.

WEBSITE:	www.creativewriting.cc/avalon/
AUTHOR'S
NOTES:		At the end, please.



The Best Laid Plans


The infant car seat bobs once as I snap the restraining belt into 
place beneath my daughter's dainty stocking feet.  Grace regards 
me with her solemn blue eyes, her miniature fist crammed 
sideways into her mouth, her other hand reaching its stubby fingers 
to me.  I give her my pinkie, and she curls her digits around it as I 
shake it up and down, amazed as always at the strength that she 
has.  I make goofy faces at her and jiggle her some more, trying to 
coax a grin out of her.  Scully says that at six weeks old, she is 
probably too young to smile yet, but I refuse to give up.  I tell 
Scully all the time that Grace must have inherited her serious gene.

"Hey, kiddo," I murmur, extracting my hand and tucking a blanket 
around her, "don't give these geeks a hard time, OK?  Leave that 
to Mom and me."

Frohike scowls at me and fits the tiny cap he is holding onto her 
downy head.  He is gentle, but his fingerless leather gloves look 
strange next to the alabaster of her skin.  I can't believe I am 
leaving my infant daughter with the Lone Gunmen.  I must be 
desperate.  
  
"Don't worry about us, Dad," Byers coos, tweaking Grace on her 
dime-sized nose. "We are going to have a splendid time together, 
aren't we, sweetie?"  I stare at him, dumbfounded that his usual 
intelligent exterior has been instantly reduced to babble and baby 
talk.  I realize as I watch him rattle a set of plastic keys at her that 
this is what I must look like all the time. 

Grace continues to peer at all of us as if we are interesting museum 
exhibits, wearing the same expression I have seen on Scully a 
million times as she peruses medical evidence.  I bend down and 
press a kiss onto her forehead, inhaling that intoxicating baby scent 
that everyone talks about.  And, thankfully, I don't notice any other 
odor running underneath it.  Grace tends to let me get her all 
wrapped up, ready to go out, before she feels comfortable enough 
to relieve herself.

"We'll pick her up early tomorrow afternoon," I tell Frohike.  He 
hoists the overstuffed diaper bag onto his shoulder as Langley 
leans forward to grab the carrier.  Instantly, Grace scrunches up her 
face and lets loose an ear-shattering wail, and Langley steps 
backward, startled.  

Frohike gives Langley a shove while handing off the diaper bag to 
Byers.  "You're scaring her, you hippie jerk."  He smiles the 
silliest grin I have ever seen on anyone and turns his face to the 
baby.  "It's OK, Gracie.  Uncle Melvin won't let nasty old Ringo 
bother you."  I watch, amazed, as Grace settles back into the seat 
and plunges her hand back into her mouth, content.  I don't know 
if it is wise to tell Scully that Frohike seems to be Grace's favorite 
Gunman.  She might run shrieking into the night.

Byers slaps me on the back as we all move toward the door.  
"Everything will be fine, Mulder.  Between the three of us, we can 
handle anything Grace might be able to dish out."

"I know," I reply, opening the door for them.  "I have the three 
most paranoid people in the United States watching my daughter.  
If she looks suspicious in any way, I am confident you'll call me."

"Right," Frohike answers.  He pauses as he steps into the hallway, 
turning the carrier so Grace can see me one last time.  "Say 
goodbye to Daddy, honey.  Tell him to make you a baby brother 
this time."  He cracks a smile, and they are gone. 

I stand against the closed door for a moment, a huge grin on my 
face.  Leave it to Frohike to voice my true motivation for planning 
this night alone with Scully: I'm horny as hell, and I can't take it 
anymore.

I'm not usually like this.  Sure, I like sex as much as any red-
blooded American male, and sex with Scully has, from the very 
start, been unbelievably erotic and incredibly addictive--if having 
sex a total of three times can actually be addictive, which I 
honestly think can happen.  Before I was abducted, that is exactly 
how many times we slept together, and on one of those occasions, 
Grace was miraculously conceived.  I suppose all those years of 
repressing our desire literally built up to one hell of a climax.  But 
before we finally hit the sheets, it had been nearly six years since 
my last encounter with a woman.  I had begun to think I would 
forget how it all worked.  Scully, however, reintroduced me to the 
wonderful world of intercourse, and I guess it is a lot like riding a 
bike...you never forget how.  What you do forget is how fantastic 
it really is, especially with a hot little redhead who happens to be 
incredibly smart, all wrapped up in a tight, taut body aching for the 
same thing.

As Scully would say, hoo boy.

So imagine my surprise when I returned from my trip out of this 
world to discover not a Scully that was ready to jump me and sink 
those polished white teeth of hers into me again, but a Scully that 
was softer and rounder and seven months pregnant.  And did I 
mention hormonal?  I don't think she stopped crying for the first 
month I was back.  Listen, I was happier than hell to return to her, 
don't get me wrong, but I was beginning to think that Scully might 
need therapy to deal with her emotions.  When I gently mentioned 
this to her, she just smiled at me through the tears and said, "Not 
everything is about you, Mulder."  

I've heard that one from her before.  I thought for sure, though, 
that this time, it was all about me.  It took me three nights of 
reading "What To Expect When You're Expecting" to realize that 
every pregnant woman is a hormonal time bomb waiting to go off.

After a month of physical therapy and rest, I was allowed by my 
doctor to test at the Bureau for field status again.  By then, Scully 
was into her eighth month, and her doctor pulled her off work and 
relegated her to bed rest.  She was dilated and effaced, two more 
things I had to look up in what I now referred to as The Bible, and 
the doctor was afraid if she didn't ease up, the baby would come 
too early.  "Not early enough," Scully would grumble as she 
shifted her mass around in bed, trying to get comfortable.  I 
couldn't believe that such a tiny woman could expand so much 
carrying a child.  She resembled one of the stuffed pork chops my 
mother had made for dinner when I was a boy.  But even then, she 
looked delicious, and those pork chops had always been a favorite 
meal of mine.  

So imagine my shock when one evening, after an especially heavy 
lip-lock on the couch during a round of Celebrity Jeopardy on TV, 
she pulled away and whispered, "We can't, Mulder."

My arms trembled around her, my nerves jumping and jittering 
like someone caught in an electric fence.  "We can't?" I repeated.  
I thought for a second I must have heard her wrong.

She stroked my neck with the backs of her fingers, her soft skin 
catching the stubble of my five o'clock shadow and sending 
another jolt through me, right down into my pants.  "When the 
doctor put me on bed rest, she was very specific.  No intercourse."  
She looked away, as if she were embarrassed to even be discussing 
it.  "I didn't tell you because...I wasn't sure there would be a 
need."

"There wouldn't be a need?"  I parroted.  My head was buzzing so 
loud I had to shake it to clear it, and I knew she must have thought 
I was losing my mind.  But she sighed instead and gave me an 
ironic smile.

"Well, I'm not exactly the sexiest woman on the planet right now, 
am I?"

My voice sounded hoarse when I spoke.  "You are to me, Scully.  
You are still the most beautiful woman I know, and I still want you 
more than anything else in this whole wide world."

Yes, it was the right thing to say.  Yes, I meant it with my entire 
body and soul.  No, I didn't say it so she would jump in my lap and 
yell, "To hell with the doctor!"  Well, maybe I was hoping...But I 
certainly didn't say it so that she would burst into tears again, 
which is exactly what she did.  So we spent the rest of that evening 
huddled together, with me rubbing her back and patting her wet 
cheeks dry with my handkerchief.

Now, we all know the old psychology adage about not really 
appreciating how much you want something until you are told you 
can't have it.  I never realized how hard the doc's orders would be 
to follow.  All I could think about was Scully:  Scully in the 
shower, the water pouring over her naked, distended body, her 
engorged breasts covered in light, soapy bubbles; Scully next to 
me in bed, her arm slung across my bare chest, her fingernails 
scuttling across my skin; Scully reaching up to a cabinet in the 
kitchen with me behind her, her top riding up just enough to 
expose the white silk of her back, her ass still firm and curved in 
her stretch pants...It was enough to drive me into the shower 
every morning, reacquainting me with the solitary and manual 
expression of lust that every man remembers from his teenage 
years.  I'd like to say it was enough, but I've never been a very 
good liar.

And so it went until Grace made her entrance into this world, and 
so it has been for the last six weeks of new parenthood.  Sure, 
we're exhausted most of the time, and exhilarated the remainder of 
it over this delightful creature we made together.  But that doesn't 
mean that the idea of making love to Scully again hasn't entered 
my brain at least a million times since Grace came home from the 
hospital.  And it also doesn't mean I haven't been counting the 
weeks since Grace's birthday, knowing from The Bible that after 
six weeks, most women are given the all-clear by their doctors to 
forge ahead in bed.  Scully had her six-week check-up on Monday, 
and when I nonchalantly inquired about it after her arrival home 
that afternoon, she responded that the doc had said everything was 
A-OK.  That's when I began hatching my master scheme.

I started by calling Skinner.  Scully had also been given permission 
to return to work, and I knew she was planning to just as soon as 
we could work out babysitting arrangements for Grace.  However, 
she wouldn't be going back for at least another couple of weeks 
while we made those plans, and I needed to get her out of the 
house for a few hours on Friday to prepare for our little 
rendezvous. 

The A.D. had answered his direct line in his signature gruff 
manner.  "Skinner."

"Sir, this is Agent Mulder."

"Yes, Agent, what do you need?"  His voice had retained its edge, 
but in my mind, I could see his face relaxing ever so slightly.  In 
spite of all the havoc we had wreaked in his life over the years, 
Skinner seemed to have developed a soft spot for the two of us, 
and I was confident that he would be a willing accomplice in my 
plans.

"I need you to do me a favor, sir." 

And, true to his word, Skinner had called the apartment early 
Thursday evening, asking for Scully.  I had taken Grace as she 
silently handed her off to me and knitted her brows together, trying 
very hard to suppress the smile that threatened to creep onto my 
face.  I listened to her "uh huhs" and "yessirs," patting Grace 
gently on the back as she nestled into my shoulder.  When Scully 
finally put the phone down, she turned to me, a puzzled yet pleased 
look spread across her face.

"Skinner has an odd case that has come across his desk.  He wants 
me to come in tomorrow morning and perform the autopsy."

"But you're still on leave, Scully," I protested, pouting just to 
make it look realistic.  Olivier would have been proud.  "Why does 
it have to be you?"

She sighed, but I could tell the idea of getting back to work 
appealed to her.  "I don't know, Mulder, but I told him I would do 
it.  He said that you could take the day off to stay home with 
Grace."

So this morning, she showered and dressed, looking just as I 
remember her best in one of her black suits and an electric blue 
button-down shirt that perfectly matched her eyes.  She ran her 
hand through my tousled bed head and down over our daughter, 
who was sleeping peacefully against my chest as I sat propped up 
on the couch.  Her smile was small yet content, and she planted a 
firm kiss on me before stepping to the door.  "Not too much TV, 
Mulder," she said, her voice low.  "And don't forget the breast 
milk.  It's on the shelf in the fridge."

I gave her a thumbs up and a big grin.  As soon as she was gone, I 
tucked Grace into her bouncy seat and dragged her into the 
bathroom with me so I could grab my own shower.  By the time I 
was out, she was awake, her tiny, serious Scully eyes following the 
wisps of steam as they floated in the air above her.  I tied the towel 
around my waist and bent down to her.  "OK, kiddo," I said, lifting 
her, seat and all, into my arms and heading into the bedroom.  
"We've got a lot to do today.  Ready to go run some errands with 
Dad?"

We spent the day dashing all over town, with me ticking things one 
by one off my romantic evening planner list.  By the time we 
arrived back in Georgetown, my arms were full of baby items and 
new purchases, and it was almost time for the Gunmen to pick up 
Grace.  The day was going well, and I was almost giddy from the 
excitement of surprising Scully and, ultimately, finally getting 
some action.

So now, with Grace off to spend the night with Byers, Langley, 
and Frohike, I stand in the foyer, going over in my mind all the 
things I need to have ready before Scully gets back.  I move from 
room to room of the apartment, checking to see that all is in place.

I open the refrigerator in the kitchen, verifying the contents.  The 
champagne is chilling, and, next to the bottle, I eye the white 
chocolate cheesecake from Scully's favorite bakery and the plump 
fresh strawberries from the open street market around the corner.  I 
reach down to the bottom shelf, pull out the dozen red roses from 
the florist, and slam the door shut with my knee.  Time to dress up 
the bedroom.

I have already changed the sheets on the bed from fresh cotton 
ones to cream-colored satin that I purchased at the linen store.  I 
don't know if Scully has even been seduced on satin sheets, but 
just the idea of it sends a little tremor through me.  I tug the most 
perfect rose in the bundle from its place and lay it tenderly on her 
pillow.  Then, methodically, I extract the rest one by one, pulling 
the petals from the stems and scattering them all over the bed.  By 
the time I am finished, it looks like something out of  Martha 
Stewart's Romance Collection.  Before leaving the room, I 
reconfigure the numerous candles lining her dresser, satisfied that I 
have created just the right mood.

I stop in the foyer to retrieve another shopping bag and head into 
the bathroom.  I hang the new red silk pajama shirt on the back of 
the door, in the spot usually occupied by Scully's extra large 
terrycloth robe.  I take the pajama bottoms out and drape them over 
a chair as I walk back into the living room, not yet ready to change 
into my attire for the evening.  Instead, I go to the fireplace and 
yank open the flue, turning to the cord of wood that I brought in 
with me.

It takes only a few minutes to get a good fire roaring on the hearth, 
and the light casts a cozy glow across the room.  I glance at my 
watch, smiling to see that it is nearly six o'clock.  Scully should be 
arriving any minute.

Almost as if on cue, I hear the doorknob of the front door turn, and 
Scully steps into the entryway.  She is carrying her pumps in her 
left hand, and I glance down at her bare feet.  She sees me and 
smiles, looking both resigned and tired.  "I think I'm going to have 
to buy new shoes," she says in greeting, dropping the heels and 
shuffling toward me.  "I can barely fit in these anymore."

I wrap my arms around her, relishing the feel of her next to me.  
"Well, they were never very practical anyway, were they?"  I can 
smell the faint odor of the autopsy bay clinging to her hair, but it 
does not put me off.  It never has.  It is a scent that is distinctly 
Scully's, just one more thing about her that I love.

"You built a fire, Mulder."  Even though her face is pressed against 
my chest, I can tell she is pleased.  "It looks nice."

"I've done a lot of things since you've been gone."  

She pulls back and looks up at me, her blue eyes glittering in 
amusement.  "Oh?  Like what?"

I wag my head from side to side.  "Oh, lots of things.  I have lots of 
surprises planned for you tonight, Agent Scully."

She regards me, and I am suddenly struck by just how much our 
daughter looks like her.  "Hmmm.  A mystery.  I like mysteries."  
She smiles again, and then her face changes ever so slightly.  
"Mulder, where's the baby?"

"She is out for the evening."

Her face moves again, and this time, it is not amused.  "Mulder--"

I put my hands on her shoulders and squeeze.  "Scully, don't 
worry.  I didn't sell her to gypsies.  She is in good hands."

"Whose?"  She is insistent, and I sigh a little inwardly.  I guess I 
should've figured that she would be concerned about Grace.  After 
all, she has never been away from Scully before, and there was 
bound to be some apprehension.  I kick myself for not anticipating 
it.  "I know you wouldn't leave her with the Gunmen.  Who is 
watching her?"

Uh oh.  I cringe slightly, but not enough that she can see.  Think 
fast, Mulder.  Don't let this ruin the night.  My mind starts clicking 
through the possibilities, trying to formulate a reasonable fib.  Mrs. 
Scully?  No, Maggie's out of town, and her daughter knows it.  
Agent Doggett?  Well, Scully said he had a child from his first 
marriage, but I don't think she would believe I would trust him 
enough to watch ours.  That only leaves...

"Skinner."  The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.  
My brain is shuffling, running faster than I ever thought possible.  
"He, uh, he left the office early today to come and pick her up.  He 
knew you wouldn't have the autopsy report done until Monday, so 
he figured he could keep her for us."  Did that sound completely 
lame or what?

She is watching me carefully, assessing, and I try not to squirm 
under her powerful gaze.  Now I know how all of our suspects 
have felt while Scully interrogated them.  Finally, she opens her 
mouth to speak.  "Are you sure Skinner is up to this?"

Relief floods over me.  She's buying it, and she doesn't even look 
slightly pissed.  I am overwhelmed by the urge to turn a cartwheel 
and squelch it.  "Oh, he was happy to do it, Scully," I tell her airily 
with a wave of my hand.  "He likes kids, and Grace seemed really 
happy to see him."

She starts to unbutton her jacket, rolling her shoulders underneath 
it.  She turns and pulls it off, dropping it onto the sofa.  "Well, if 
you think he'll be OK..." Her voice trails off as she notices the red 
pajama bottoms on the chair.  The corners of her mouth turn up, 
but she doesn't comment.  Instead, she says, "I'd like to take a 
shower.  I think I'll call Skinner first, though, and see how 
everything is going.  You know, just to be sure." 

I scramble, literally, and grab the cordless phone before she can 
even reach for it.  "Uh, no, Scully, why don't you let me call him?"  
I start dialing instantly without waiting for her answer.  "You look 
so tired.  Go on and get your shower."

"Well, I'd really like to talk to him, Mulder.  It would make me 
feel better."  She sinks down onto the arm of the sofa and looks at 
me expectantly.

Shit.  I am really in trouble now.  She'll kill me if I tell her I lied, 
and she'll crucify me if she finds out I really did leave Grace with 
the Gunmen.  I swallow and pray to any deity that is listening that 
Skinner will play along with this little game.

The line to his apartment connects, and he picks up the phone on 
the second ring.  "Yeah.  Skinner."

"Sir, this is Agent Mulder," I say, hoping that I sound normal.  

"Don't you have a date tonight, Mulder?"  He seems casual and 
amused, nothing like his normal self.  "Isn't Agent Scully home 
yet?"

"Yes, she is, sir, and that's why I'm calling.  She's a little worried 
about how Grace is doing.  I was hoping that you could tell her that 
everything is going great, and that you are having a wonderful 
time watching her."   I hit every last word of the sentence for 
emphasis, hoping it's not too obvious to Scully.

There is a pause.  "Agent Mulder, did you lie to Agent Scully and 
tell her I was babysitting for you?"

"Yes, sir."  I smile at Scully, trying to keep her from growing 
suspicious.

He sighs.  "Let me talk to her."

"Sir--" An edge of panic creeps into my voice, but he cuts me off.

"I won't blow it, Agent.  Give her the phone."

I hand Scully the cordless, hoping that my hand isn't shaking.  She 
takes it and puts it to her ear.  I turn away and busy myself with 
poking at the fire, pretending not to listen to her end of the 
conversation.

"Hello, sir...She is?...Well, that's great...I'm so glad to hear she's 
doing so well...Yes, we usually feed her around eight o'clock and 
then put her down...Mulder did give you the portable crib, 
right?...Well, I'm sure that will work fine...Yes, well, if you need 
anything at all, please call us, no matter what time it is...Thank 
you, sir...Good night."  She presses the off button and and bumps 
the phone absently against her knee.

"Everything's OK, right?"  I straighten up and go to her, 
attempting to cross my toes inside my athletic shoes.  I doubt it can 
actually be done.

She smiles, almost as if she can't quite believe it, and tosses the 
telephone onto the chair.  "He says everything is going great.  
She's no trouble at all."  She stands up and brushes a kiss against 
my cheek.  "So I have nothing to worry about, right?"  She looks at 
me for a moment longer, something snapping in her eyes that I 
don't quite recognize, and then she moves away.  "I'm going to 
take that shower."

As soon as she is out of the room, I collapse into a heap in the 
chair.  Geez, that was close.  I almost blew the whole thing!  I take 
a moment to breathe and regroup, promising the now nervous inner 
me that everything else tonight will go smoothly.  I hope.

I hear the water start in the bathroom and jump up, pulling off my 
clothes as I do.  I change into the red satin trousers and dump the 
rest of my stuff into the laundry basket in the hall closet.  I can't 
help but think how cute Scully will think the two of us look in 
matching pj top and bottoms, but something is nagging at the back 
of my mind.

I glance at the clock in the kitchen.  6:17.  I slap my head in 
realization.  The dinner I ordered from the gourmet take out place 
hasn't arrived yet.  I decide to go ahead and set the table to give 
them a few more minutes.

When I am finished, the table looks fantastic, but the food still 
hasn't been delivered.  I find the phone stuffed down into the 
cushion of the chair and dial the restaurant's number.  After a 
couple of rings, a young, perky voice answers.  "Dino's."

"Uh, yeah, I ordered coq au vin for two this morning, to be 
delivered at six o'clock tonight.  It still hasn't arrived."

"What's the name, sir?"

"Mulder."

"Just a moment."  I tap my fingers impatiently on the wall next to 
me, one ear cocked toward the bathroom, listening to see if the 
water has stopped yet.  Still running.  I'm starting to get annoyed.

The girl returns.  "Mr. Mulder, that order has already been 
delivered."

I let out a puff of breath, trying to hold my temper.  "No, it hasn't.  
I am standing in my kitchen, and there is no coq au vin to be seen."

"Sir, it was delivered at 6 p.m.  Is it possible you gave us the 
wrong address?"

"I seriously doubt it!"  I am getting louder, I know, but I can't 
seem to help it.  Scully won't hear me in the shower, anyway.  

The girl remains patient.  "It was delivered to 1419 L Street, 
Apartment 34, in Georgetown."

Son of a bitch. Goddamn, motherfucking son of a bitch!  "Did you 
say apartment thirty-four?"

"Yes, sir."

I grit my teeth, and I am amazed I can still talk through them.  
"There has been a mistake, then.  I asked for them to come to 
apartment thirty-five, not thirty-four."

"Sir, you filled the order out yourself and signed it.  It clearly says 
apartment thirty-four.  I'm sorry if there has been a mistake, but we 
were only following your directions--"
I hit the end button while she is still talking, suddenly realizing that 
the food has been delivered to Scully's neighbors.  That means 
there still may be time...

I am out the door, sliding down the hallway, before my mind even 
registers what I am doing.  I pound on the door of apartment 34 
and chew my lower lip impatiently, hearing muffled voices and 
someone moving toward me.  The door opens, and a familiar-
looking man stands there.  He raises his eyebrow at me, and it 
occurs to me then that I am dressed in nothing but flaming red 
satin pants.  I take a deep breath, silently counting to ten, and try to 
remember the name of Scully's neighbor.

"Agent Mulder?" he says, with a note of surprise.  It figures that he 
would remember mine, but I can't think of his to save my soul. 

I glance past him into the apartment.  Behind him, I can see his 
wife, Mrs. No-Name, seated at the dining room table, her fork 
poised in mid-air, holding, of course, steaming coq au vin.  The 
smell of it assaults me, and something inside of me seems to snap.

I push past Mr. No-Name and venture forth into their apartment.  I 
point at his wife accusingly and look at him.  "That's my coq au 
vin."

"Excuse me?"  He just blinks at me.

"I ordered coq au vin for dinner for Agent Scully and myself, and 
it was obviously delivered to the wrong apartment."  I look 
pointedly at Mrs. No-Name and her half-empty plate.  

She glances at her husband.  "Jeffrey.  You didn't order this?"

He shoots an exasperated look at me and then back at her.  "No, 
Helen.  I thought you ordered it!"

Helen No-Name puts down her fork, her face instantly going 
scarlet.  "Oh, Agent Mulder!  I am so sorry!  We just thought--"

I sigh, all the anger in me abruptly spent.  "Never mind," I mutter, 
crossing back to the door.  "Just...enjoy your dinner."

Jeffrey No-Name follows me.  "Agent Mulder, what can we do?  
Can we get you something else?  Maybe some wine and cheese, 
or..."

I wave him off and slip out of his apartment with a halfhearted 
smile on my face.  "Tell you what," I answer, walking backwards 
down the hallway.  "You could order a pizza for us.  Mushrooms, 
green peppers, pepperoni.  Scully likes those."

This seems to perk him up.  "Done!  I know a great place that will 
have it here in fifteen minutes."

"Just tell them to put it outside the door."  I leave him standing in 
the hallway, hoping that in a short amount of time, I might not 
want to be interrupted.

The shower has stopped running, but Scully is still in the 
bathroom.  Good.  The evening is not progressing the way I had 
wanted, but at least Scully is none the wiser.  We've still got the 
dessert and the champagne, and she hasn't seen the renovated 
bedroom.  I tell myself it's still going to be a great night.

I dash into the kitchen and grab the champagne from the fridge.  I 
quickly uncork the bottle over the sink and then shove it into the 
slush in the ice bucket.  I take it and two stemmed glasses and head 
into the bedroom.

Scully walks in a few moments later to find me sprawled on my 
side on the bed, with the champagne chilling next to me on the 
nightstand.  She smiles, and she twirls around in the red pajama top 
like a little ballerina on stage. The shirt rides up just a bit, exposing 
her thighs, making her short legs appear exceptionally long.  She 
looks fantastic.  "I found this on the back of the door, so I figured 
it was for me."

"It is."  I pat the bed next to me.  "Come over here, and we'll have 
a toast."

She takes a step forward, noticing the bed.  Her brow furrows 
slightly.  "Mulder, what's all over the bed?"

I grin.  "Rose petals.  On top of the new satin sheets I got for 
tonight."

Scully steps backward, and her hand goes out in front of her.  
"Rose petals?  Mulder--"

My voice overlaps with hers as I sit up.  "Scully, what's the 
matter?"

She sneezes powerfully, and then does it four more times in quick 
succession.  I am next to her by the second one, gripping her 
shoulders.  When she stops, she looks at me with eyes swimming 
in tears.  

"Mulder, I'm allergic to roses."

"What?!"  It comes out as a roar, which I did not expect.  Then 
again, I didn't expect Scully to tell me she was allergic to the 
flowers I dumped all over our bed.

"I'm sorry, Mulder.  I can't help it--"

"I never knew you were allergic to roses!  You've been around 
them before..."

She moves into the hallway, wiping at her eyes.  "Yeah.  One or 
two at a time don't seem to bother me.  Millions of rose petals all 
over the place...yeah, that bothers me!"

"Jesus!"  Without thinking, I pick her up and carry her into the 
living room.  The need to protect her is almost overwhelming, and 
I chide myself for overreacting.  And on the way there, I give 
myself another swift kick in the ass.  This romantic evening is 
turning into a fiasco.

"Mulder, I'm fine," she whispers into my neck, although she seems 
to be enjoying the ride.  "You don't have to carry me.  Put me 
down."

I drop her gently onto the couch and kneel next to it.  "Scully, I'm 
sorry.  I had no idea-"

She is smiling at me, and she reaches out a hand to trace down my 
cheek.  "It's OK.  I think it's sweet what you were trying to do.  
We can--"

Her sentence is cut off by a shrill chirping coming from the closet 
in the hallway.  She glances over her shoulder and then back at me.  
"That's your phone."

I sigh, agitated, and then my thoughts turn to Grace.  I had told the 
Gunmen to call me if there was a problem.  They would call on my 
cell phone.  

Crap.

I skid across the floor in my haste and fumble through the pocket 
of my jacket in the closet.  "Mulder," I groan into the phone.

I'm not the only one groaning, apparently.  "Mulder, it's Byers."  
His voice is raw with exasperation.  I can actually feel it radiating 
through the line.  I can also hear something that can only be 
described as a high-pitched wailing in the background.  I have 
heard that exceptionally angry cry before.

Grace.  Shit.

"What's the matter?" I hiss, turning the hall corner and going into 
the bedroom.  I snatch the champagne bottle out of the bucket and 
take a quick swig, but at this point, I need something a hell of a lot 
stiffer.

"She won't stop crying, Mulder.  She has been crying like this for 
almost an hour now."

"What the hell did you do to her, Byers?"

His voice rises.  "Nothing, I swear!  She was perfectly fine, but 
about an hour and a half ago, she started getting a little cranky.  
We figured she was hungry, so we made a bottle and gave it to her.  
That seemed OK, but about twenty minutes later, she started 
screaming, and she hasn't stopped.  We've tried everything we can 
think of!"

My mind is whirling again, and my heart hurts hearing Grace 
carrying on like she is.  "The bottle.  It's got to be the bottle.  
Maybe you mixed the Similac wrong."

"No, no, we were very careful.  Does she have colic?"

"She never has before."  I raise my eyes, and Scully is standing in 
the doorway, her hand under her nose to protect her from the roses.  
Her eyes are dark with concern, and she looks at me hard.

Mother's intuition.  Don't discount it, folks.  She knows something 
is wrong, and I'm not going to be able to hide this one.  My gaze 
drops down Scully's body and comes to rest on her chest.  A 
lightbulb explodes in my brain.

The breast milk.  Scully told me not to forget the breast milk.

I forgot the breast milk.

Fuck.

Or maybe I should rephrase that, because it is becoming 
increasingly clear to me that there isn't going to be any fucking 
tonight.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."  I click off the cell phone, step 
past Scully, grab my jacket and my loafers, and let myself out of 
the apartment without a word.  I narrowly miss the pizza sitting on 
the threshold.

*****

It is twenty after two in the morning when I lay Grace down in her 
bassinet, finally blissfully asleep.  The Similac did quite a number 
on her little tummy, and she let me know it the entire ride back 
from the Gunmen's hideout.  Scully took her from me when we 
arrived back at the apartment, cooing and rubbing and rocking, 
trying to get her to calm down.  She walked the floor with her for a 
two solid hours.  After that, I ran the vacuum cleaner while Scully 
rocked her in the chair.  I took her for another ride about midnight, 
to no avail.  Finally, Scully conked out on the sofa, and I swayed 
with her in the hallway until I could no longer hold my eyes open.  
When I did pry them apart, she was asleep, and I took her into the 
bedroom.

I fumble my way back out, finding the armchair in the darkness.  
The fire has almost completely died, and only a few embers 
remain, winking at me in the soot.  My eyes are nearly closed 
again when I feel something cool on my wrist.

I'd know that tiny hand anywhere.  Scully is sitting before me on 
the floor, her arms resting on the satin of my pajama pants.  I can 
barely see her face, but I think she is smiling.

"Mulder?" Her voice is like a caress, gentle and loving and warm.  
"Are you asleep?"

"No," I murmur.  "But the baby is."

She stifles a yawn, and her fingers find mine, entwining 
themselves there.  "That's good."  I can feel her squeeze my hand 
in reassurance.  "You're a good dad."

I grin a little.  "Maybe.  But I'm a lousy date."

She chuckles.  "Mulder, you are an incredibly thoughtful date.  I 
can't believe all the trouble you went to to try to get us a night 
together alone."  She rubs her hand across my thigh, and the satin 
moves like water over my skin, sending a shiver through me.  
"Thank you for doing all this."

"You're not mad about the Gunmen?"

Her laugh sounds like a tiny bell, clear and pretty.  "No.  But you 
can tell Skinner he's a horrible liar."

I laugh at this and reach over to cup her face in my hands.  "I love 
you, Scully.  And I've--" I don't know how to say it.  "I've 
missed you.  It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has," she replies, and now her hand is sliding down 
between my legs.  I jump at her unexpected touch, and I can barely 
see the teeth in her grin.  "But the baby's asleep.  Are you up for a 
little romance?"

I can't believe she just asked me if I am up to it, with the erection 
that has magically appeared bumping against her hand.  Just for 
fun, I grind my hips under her palms.  "What do you think?"

She leans forward and brushes her lips across the satin covering 
my crotch.  My eyes almost roll back into my head.  "Then let's 
get going, partner."  She is growling now against me, and I think I 
must've died and gone to heaven.

Hoo boy.  It's going to be a long night.  

I hope.


***End***

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Ah, children.  They are a joy and a trial.  I 
love mine, but sometimes, you need an adults only evening...I 
though Mulder and Scully would deserve one, too.  This was my 
first attempt at writing something humorous, something without a 
good dose of angst.  I hope it was enjoyable, and I hope to see you 
all again soon.  Check out the new website:  
www.creativewriting.cc/avalon/