From: mulderitsme@comcast.net   
      
   Title: Under the Silver Frog   
   Author: Maggie   
   Rating: PG-13   
   UST to MSR, totally Sallie-safe   
   Thanks to Char for wicked good beta and devine encouragement.   
      
   *   
      
   Go, she said.   
      
   And so he went.   
      
   That was his first mistake.   
      
   Well, no. Not his first. Not even his first of the day, really.   
   First he didn't notice the new perfume she was wearing, or that she   
   had donned a soft green sweater in lieu of her usual blouse. Or   
   perhaps his mistake was not in not noticing, but in not mentioning,   
   not appreciating.   
      
   Then, when the visitor arrived, he neglected to see how agitated she   
   was to have another female in the basement; he surreptitiously   
   ignored the `another entomologist' comment she made under her breath   
   after the initial introduction.   
      
   And then he did not see how she sunk back in her chair while the   
   other woman dominated the conversation, or how she turned fuchsia   
   when blatantly left out of the dinner invitation. Or how her heart   
   broke when he asked permission to leave with just a cockeyed smile   
   aimed her way.   
      
   And he certainly didn't notice how thick her voice sounded when she   
   answered him in that one word, those two letters:   
      
   "Go." She said.   
      
   And so he did.   
      
   And left her there.   
      
   And that was his biggest mistake of all.   
      
   *   
      
   It had been a long time since he'd been out with someone of the   
   opposite sex. Well, except Scully, that is. But that hardly counted,   
   did it? That was as platonic as going out with Frohike. She was his   
   partner, his best friend, his, his, what had he called her that time?   
      
   His touchstone.   
      
   He smiled to himself, remembering the feel of her thumbs across his   
   lips. Well, maybe not quite as platonic as Frohike.   
      
   "… like moths, right? And candles? That's what I always say, anyway."   
   "Hmm," Mulder said, not really catching it.   
      
   He thought of how Scully came in that morning smelling like warm   
   vanilla and jasmine and how he meant to say something to her, but   
   forgot. Remorseful, he looked at his date.   
      
   Allison repeated the question a third time, a forced look of   
   bemusement on her face, "I asked if you preferred wine or beer, Fox.   
   God, are you on another planet?"   
      
   He chuffed, and shook his head. "Beer," he said.   
      
   "Two beers," Allison said to the boy-faced waiter.   
      
   Why was he finding it so hard to stay focused this evening? He   
   hadn't even had a drink yet. The pretty blonde woman across from him   
   giggled at something the waiter said, then turned to Mulder and   
   winked. He let the corners of his mouth turn up out of politeness,   
   but he really didn't have a clue what the joke had been.   
      
   Allison wore a diamond studded bumble bee on the collar of her denim   
   jacket. Mulder watched as she fingered it, her eyes sparkling as   
   bright as diamonds themselves.   
      
   "You like it?" She asked, grinning.   
      
   "I'm not fond of bees," was all he could think of to say, making   
   Allison`s smile fade.   
      
   Cockroaches, bees, little glowing green things that fly up your   
   nose. Bugs in general were just not good. Mulder chuckled.   
      
   Allison looked puzzled.   
      
   "Sorry. Not funny," Mulder said. Not to Allison, anyway.   
      
   Scully would get it.   
      
   His hand grazed against his cell phone and he briefly thought of   
   calling her. He wondered what she was doing now, if she finished the   
   paperwork he left for her, if she was curled up in her pjs watching   
   20/20.   
      
   Calling Scully? While he was out on a date with Allison? Now that   
   would be rude.   
      
   But then Mulder decided he could hardly call it a date. In fact, as   
   he checked his watch for the tenth time since they were seated, he   
   came to the realization that he didn't even really want to be there   
   at all.   
      
   Something was missing. The atmosphere was nice enough. The music was   
   fine--a lone piano player banging out jazz in the corner of the   
   dimly lit dining room. But the woman, while attractive, did not   
   attract him. Why was he here again?   
      
   "Mr. Mulder?" She queried, and he realized he was staring at Allison   
   with God knows what expression on his face.   
      
   "I apologize, Allison, I'm just--"   
      
   "You aren't the moth to my flame."   
      
   He smiled an uncomfortable smile, "I'm sorry. I'm just   
   embarrassingly out of practice."   
      
   "If there's somewhere else you'd rather be…" She left it open.   
      
   No, no, he was supposed to say, I want to be with you. But for some   
   reason he couldn't bring himself to lie anymore. So, much to her   
   amazement, and his, he thanked her, and excused himself from the   
   table, leaving Allison alone with two bottles of beer, a boy-faced   
   waiter, and the bill. He didn't think to ask her if she could get a   
   ride home.   
      
   *   
      
   Mulder practically floated into his apartment. His whole ride from   
   the restaurant to Hegel Place had been a blur. His heart was beating   
   fast and furious in his chest. His eyes were still wide with   
   disbelief.   
      
   Something had changed. Shifted. Transmogrified. Metamorphosized. It   
   was the natural cycle of all things in life, intellectually he   
   understood this.   
      
   Change is good, and all that. Still, he wondered if it would do, if   
   this change would suit his life, such as it is. Sad that it is. And   
   he was in love with Scully?   
      
   In love.   
      
   Scully.   
      
   He had to tell Scully.   
      
   She was bound to have some thoughts on the subject.   
      
   But wait, he had to wait. He had to think this through. Her birthday   
   was just one week away. He could wait until then. It would give him   
   time, anyway. Time to prepare and plan. He grinned, then let it   
   fade. He should prepare for rejection,too.   
      
   Mulder paced the length of his living room three, four, five times   
   before deciding to go for a run. He decided on his usual path, so he   
   didn't have to think about anything other than his new revelation.   
   And, as he had so many times before, Mulder jogged past a small   
   hippie-type store.   
      
   He stopped in front, the warm interior beckoning him in from the   
   February chill. A long haired man walked out just then, bells   
   tinkling on the door, sending smells of incense and patchouli and   
   pot wafting to Mulder's nose.   
      
   Melissa would have liked this place.   
      
   Mulder walked in through the wooden bead curtain thinking about   
   life, and change, and sisters lost. He breathed in and was flooded   
   with thoughts of opposites attracting tied together by threads of   
   commonality.   
      
   The girl behind the counter with the dark, hooded eyes asked if he   
   needed help.   
      
   "We've changed." He said to her, and in his own mind he thought   
   maybe he was high by osmosis. "She's not who I thought she was."   
      
   "Good," said the girl, "What fun would that be?"   
      
   Mulder laughed out loud.   
      
   "You've changed too?" The girl takes took a drag off her joint and   
   held it out to Mulder, who just waved it off.   
      
   "Yeah, I love her. Can you believe it?" He slapped his hand on his   
   cotton clad leg, "Can you fucking believe it?"   
      
   The girl started cracking up.   
      
   "Shh," she said, "Shh. Am I the only one that knows?"   
      
   "Just you and me."   
      
   "Wow. Dude, you have to tell her."   
      
   "I will, I'm going to, I mean, I will. Her birthday is next week."   
      
   "You're going to wait a whole week?"   
      
   "You don't think I should?"   
      
   "Man, you gotta get her a present. What does she do?"   
      
   "She's, ah, she's really good at autopsies."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)