Tequila, Bacardi, Whatever.   
   By *Wendy*. (WSweet001@aol.com)   
   26th April, 2005.   
      
   Disclaimer: These characters belong to CC and the good folks at 1013.   
      
   Summary: Mulder doesn't have the monopoly on springing surprises,   
   and being a smart-ass, you know!   
      
   Rating: PG-13   
      
   Category: V H MSR   
      
   Spoiler:  El Mundo Gira   
      
   Archiving: Sure, just let me know where.   
      
   Feedback: Sure, as long as it's nice :)   
      
   Authors note: This is my first fic, so please be patient, and kind!   
   Special thanks to Marguerite, who inspired me to write this,   
   to help take the edge off her fic withdrawals, and Amanda, who got me into   
   fic in the first place!  Also thanks to Domenica, Bunny, Nina and Tammy for   
   reading, and giving opinions on my early drafts.   
      
   ----------------------------------------------------------------------   
   '"Hey Scully, you ever been to Mexico?"   
   "Sure.  Oh Boy, I know that look."  He smirks.   
   "What look is that?"   
   "The look that tells me should dust off my poncho."   
   "You have a poncho?"  I feel myself blush, although I'm not sure if it's   
   in embarrassment or annoyance at the situation I can see unfolding.   
   "Mulder..."   
   "Does it have tassels?"   
   "Mulder!" I shout, sounding harsher than I intended, but damn it, I need   
   to get his attention, before he goes off on one of his smart-ass tangents.   
   "Yes, Scully?"   
   "What's in Mexico that's of interest to us?"  He assumes a look of faux   
   seriousness.   
   "El Chubacabra" he says, with his best attempt at a Spanish accent,   
   although he sounds closer to Speedy Gonzales than the Antonio Banderas he was   
   attempting.  I let out an exaggerated sigh.   
   "If memory serves me correctly, we *supposedly* have them here in the U.S.   
   Remember? We investigated that already, or has that conveniently escaped your   
   memory?"  He opens his mouth to speak, I interrupt him pre-emptively.  "Anyway,   
   it's the weekend, how do you know I don't already have plans?"  Again, he   
   opens his mouth, again, I interrupt. "I've had a long week Mulder, I just want   
   to   
   kick back, listen to some music, have some take out, maybe dance..."   
   "You dance Scully?"  He can barely hide the laugh in his voice, although   
   I'm not sure if it's a derisive one, or if he's actually getting a kick   
   from the thought of me dancing.   
   "That's not the point Mulder.  I'm just saying, don't book the plane   
   tickets just yet, I'll look over your notes on Monday, and *then* we can   
   see if we want to take this case further."   
   "Uh" he says, or rather grunts.   
   "Mulder!  You got them already?" I'm shouting again, my voice is getting   
   tired.  But you know what, I'm getting really damn sick of him always   
   making assumptions, that I'll follow him anywhere, like some geisha,   
   always two steps behind, agreeing to his every whim.  He didn't even   
   consult me this time! "Well, Mulder, I hope my ticket is refundable!"  Oh   
   Jeez, now he's giving me his wounded puppy look.   
   "Come on Scully, don't you want some authentic Mexican burritos?"   
   "Sure, and I think I will, tomorrow, from the authentic Mexican takeout   
   round the block, cooked by an authentic Mexican chef." I suppress my   
   smugness, two can play at being smart-asses.   
   He squares his shoulders defiantly, "Well, I have a good feeling about this   
   trip, plus I could do with a break, sitting by the pool, drinking a Tequila   
   Sunrise, to celebrate successfully finding, maybe even photographing this goat   
   sucker mother fu.."   
   "I get the point Mulder" I chuckle, and he gives me another grin.  I   
   suddenly feel devilish, if he can launch surprises on me, I sure as hell   
   can on him. "You know, all this talk is putting me in a very Latin mood for   
   my weekend."   
   "Oh yeah?"  He says absent mindedly.   
   "You sure you don't want to join me Mulder?"   
   "Wild horses couldn't keep me from getting on that plane. Why, what you   
   planning on doing?"   
   "I'm seeing myself listening to my Santana CD, maybe dancing, wearing my   
   poncho..." his grin widens   
   "...and nothing else."  The grin freezes, and his eyes widen in shock, I   
   hold his gaze, he holds mine, seeing who's going to break first..  Slowly, he   
   reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out the airline tickets, and holds them   
   in front of him.   
   "You for real?" He sounds disbelieving, tentative, nervous even.   
   "Ooh yeah."   
   "Well, then, I'll bring the bacardi."   
   'That's Cuban.'   
   "Whatever."  With that, he rips up the tickets, throws them in the air,   
   like confetti, and slowly walks toward me.'   
      
   ~*End*~   
      
      
   *Wendy*.   
      
      
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