Title:  Actions Speak Louder Than Words
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  Sometimes, living together is almost as hard as living 
apart.  
Disclaimer:  They still do, I still don't, I can't say if they are 
profiting at the moment, but I know I'm not.
Archives:  Written for Virtual Season 11 Valentine's Day Special.  
Two weeks exclusive engagement.  After that, yes.
To the Virtual Season producers, I love you all.  Happy Valentine's 
Day!

Actions Speak Louder Than Words
by Vickie Moseley

Le Bistro
17th & M Streets
Washington, DC
Friday, February 6, 2004 
12:05 pm

Scully glanced over at the door of the little restaurant and spied her 
mother.  She stood up and waved Maggie over to their table.

"How are the roads?" Scully asked, helping her mother shake the 
snow off her coat and scarf.

"The BW wasn't that bad.  They were worse in the city, actually.  I 
almost got squashed by a bus crossing Rock Creek," she said, 
folding her coat over one of the two empty chairs.  "Where's Fox?"

Scully had sat down again and was busy reading the menu.

"Dana.  Where is Fox?"

Scully looked over at her mother, a slightly guilty expression.  "I 
didn't invite him," she said and chewed on her lip.

Maggie's brow furrowed with concern.  "Didn't invite him?  Why 
not?"

Scully licked her lips and winced.  "I wanted to talk about him and 
I couldn't do that with him here.  I told him we were shopping for 
underwear -- for you.  He decided to grab a sandwich from the 
cafeteria and catch up on his email."

Maggie crossed her arms and leaned back, giving her daughter a 
classic raised eyebrow.  "What's the matter?" she asked, but it 
sounded more like a demand.

"Mom, it's just . . . he's such a male!" Scully blurted out, then 
realized a few other patrons had looked her way and she lowered 
her voice.  "It's insufferable.  He leaves his basketball right in the 
middle of the living room.  He has to use three towels to take a 
shower -- three, Mom, three!  He never remembers about the toilet 
seat and last night I had to scoop sunflower seeds off the sheets 
before I could get into bed," she fumed.  "I just want to strangle 
him!"

Maggie had the good grace not to laugh in her daughter's face, but 
it was difficult.  "Dana, you and Fox have been together for over 
10 years.  Surely none of this comes as a surprise."

Scully rolled her eyes as if in silent benediction.  "I know, I know.  
And it's not like we've never shared a residence.  But when he's 
sick or injured, he's usually too weak to be a bother.  And by the 
time he is well enough to get into mischief, he goes home, to his 
apartment.  But this time . . ."

"I thought you said he was looking for a new place," Maggie said 
as she looked up and waved to the waiter nearest their table.  They 
ordered and the waiter left before Scully answered.

"Yes, and so far nothing has panned out.  I know he's really 
looking, but it's so exasperating.  He keeps talking about maybe 
buying a condo, but that would mean selling his parents homes and 
the summerhouse and I don't think he's ready to do that yet.  I can't 
just toss him out, I love him.  But I think I might have to murder 
him if he doesn't change his ways."

"Have you talked about it?"

Scully closed her eyes.  "Talked, whined, nagged, screamed.  All 
of the above and sometimes all at once.  And he does seem to 
listen, for a while.  But then, a day or two later, it's the ice cream 
tub on the hearth and the DVDs scattered all over the coffee table.  
He's . . . Mom, he's a cretin and I don't know what to do about it."

Maggie smiled up at the waiter who served their food and when he 
was gone again, smiled over at her daughter.  "Well, let's see.  I 
seem to remember a few late night calls from hospitals across the 
country when you would have given your right arm to have him 
leaving ice cream tubs on the hearth and DVDs all over the coffee 
table," she said slowly.

It wasn't what she expected, but Scully's eyes clouded with tears.  
"I know.  I feel like a . . . a shrew!  Mom, I try, I really try.  I say to 
myself 'I'm not going to be that way, I'm not going to sound like a 
wife' and then I hear myself yelling at him to put down the toilet 
seat.  I don't want to be that way, really.  I remember all those 
calls, too.  I remember just last fall being scared to death that I'd 
never hear his voice again when he had carbon monoxide 
poisoning."  She stopped before going much further, since Maggie 
was still fairly clueless as to the cause of the poisoning.  "Bet this 
never happened with Daddy," she said, picking at her salad.

Maggie's unladylike snort caused her to jerk her head up and stare.  
"What?" Scully demanded.

"You're father was one of six children, five of them male," Maggie 
recited.  "I think your poor grandmother gave up trying to teach 
any of them to clean up after themselves.  She was thrilled if they 
helped set the table for dinner!  I had to 'retrain' your father, which 
wasn't that easy, especially when he was at sea half the time.  I 
thought marrying a sailor would mean he'd have a military sense of 
order -- but I found out the minute he was on shore leave, it was 
back to the old bad habits, and I was stuck with the mess."  She 
stared out into space a fond expression in her eyes.

"So what did you do?  I mean, he was neat as a pin when we were 
growing up."

Maggie smiled at her daughter affectionately.  "I just let it go.  I 
realized that the times we were together were too precious to spend 
either cleaning or yelling about cleaning.  We spent that time . . . in 
other ways," she said, dropping her eyes to her salad.  "I'm sure 
you and Fox have more important ways to spend your time," she 
added, more to the salad than to Scully.

Scully blushed and dropped her eyes, too.  "I can think of a few."

"It's really not important, after all is said and done, Dana.  You 
won't remember how clean your house looked.  You'll just 
remember how it felt to be in his arms," Maggie said with a wistful 
sigh.  She cleared her throat, signaling a change in subject.  "So, 
what are you two doing for Valentine's day?"

Scully looked up with an expression that spoke of antlered 
creatures staring down Peterbilt trucks.  "Valentine's day?  
Ohmigod, it's next week!"

"Um hum.  You have reservations some place, don't you?  You 
won't find any place in town that has space open for next weekend 
now.  I heard as much on the radio on the way down here."

Maggie politely ignored Scully's muttered curse.  "I guess not," she 
said primly.

"Mom, we've been busy lately and to be perfectly honest, I forgot 
all about it!"

Maggie thought for a moment.  "Dana, do you remember your 
father's old buddy Chuck?"

"Chuck Nelson, sure I remember him, Mom.  He's Bill's godfather, 
isn't he?"

"Well, he called the other day.  He's taking a post in NATO for a 
year.  He'll be moving to Europe.  They pulled him out of 
retirement."

"Wow, bet he was excited."

"Yes, he was.  You know he's been a bachelor since his wife died a 
few years back."

"Mom, are you . . . and he . . ."

Maggie blushed.  "Oh, Dana, of course not!  Chuck is sweet, but 
definitely not my type.  No, the reason I bring it up at all, well, 
Chuck has a penthouse at the Watergate.  Full maid service and I 
believe he even has a cook."

"I say again, Wow.  But why are you telling me all this?"

"Chuck and I got to talking and I mentioned that Tara and Bill 
come out from time to time.  He suggested that the next time 
they're out, they could use his penthouse.  It has a fantastic view of 
the Potomac and the monuments, a little 'love nest', he called it.  
Anyway, all I have to do is call the Watergate and give them my 
name, it's all arranged."

"I still don't get it," Scully insisted.

"Dana, think about it.  You can set up a romantic dinner, have a 
beautiful apartment all to yourselves and the best part . . . you don't 
have to lift a finger to clean up in the morning," Maggie said, slyly 
sipping her coffee.

"We're in hotels a lot, Mom," Scully pointed out.

"I believe the words you use the most are 'flea bag motels'," 
Maggie countered.  "Dana, this is a hundred times nicer than any 
motel.  And it's completely private.  You'd be in a world all to 
yourselves."

"It would take a lot of planning.  I mean getting the food, that sort 
of thing . . ."

"You have all day Saturday to do it," Maggie said with a smile.  "If 
you ask nicely, I might even be persuaded to help."

Scully looked across the table at her mother and immediately felt 
her face breaking into a grin.  "OK, Mom, you're on!"

Lone Gunmen apartment
Anacostia
Feb. 10,  7:55 pm

"More pizza, Mulder?" Byers asked as he started to take the near 
empty carryout box to the counter.

Mulder shoved the chair back from the table with a groan and 
rubbed his stomach.  "No, thanks.  Five is my limit."  He looked 
around the darkened apartment.  "So, where are Curly and Moe 
tonight?"

Byers came back to the table with two more beers.  "Rocky Horror 
Film Festival," he said with a shrug.

"And you passed on that?  What's the matter?  Langly steal all the 
good fishnet hose?"  

Byers actually cracked a smile.  "No, but Frohike was cleaning his 
leather jacket this afternoon.  Seems there are some women who 
show up regularly to this theatre.  I think they're hoping I'm by 
myself all night tonight."

Mulder almost choked on his beer but recovered quickly enough.  
"So, no prowling instincts, Byers?  Why stay home when the 
probability is so . . . slightly in your favor?"

Byers took another swig and then stared intently down at his bottle.  
"I just can't.  Not since Suzanne. . . well, you know the story."

"Sorry.  I shouldn't have brought it up," Mulder said contritely.  

"So why are you over here?  Scully at a conference?"

Mulder snorted.  "No, she's home.  At least I think she's home."  At 
his friend's worried expression, Mulder pressed on, this time 
examining his own brown bottle.  "We've been, uh, well, hitting a 
rough patch lately."

"Familiarity breeds contempt?" Byers offered.

"Not contempt, exactly.  More like a whole lot of yelling," Mulder 
admitted.  "And to be honest, I can't say I blame her.  I'm just not 
that good at living with another person.  It's been too long and I'm 
too stuck in my ways."

Byers sat back and regarded his companion for a full minute.  
"Mulder, you are so full of shit.  You and Scully are made for each 
other.  What's the problem here?  Are you being a slob?"

Mulder winced as Byers hit the nail on the head.  "I just keep 
forgetting.  I mean, if I remember one thing, I forget three others.  I 
put the seat down, but squeeze the toothpaste from the middle.  I 
put the salad dressing in the refrigerator but leave the fork and 
bowl on the countertop and not in the dishwasher.  I can't win for 
losing!"

Byers chuckled softly.

"I'm glad you can find humor in this," Mulder shot back in a huff.

"No, Mulder, it's just so . . . gee, it sounds so 'normal'!  I mean, you 
two are like action figures, you know.  You're always getting into 
some terrible situation or another, you always seem to be larger 
than life.  It's just refreshing to hear that you're both so . . . 
human!"

"Yeah, well, humans break up, request to be transferred and never 
see each other again," Mulder replied with a heavy sigh.

"Like that's ever going to happen," Byers said lightly.  But at his 
friend's long face, he reconsidered his callousness.  "Mulder, you 
really can do this, you know."

"I really can retrain myself not to be a slob at 42 years of age?"

Byers grinned.  "You don't have to undergo a brain transplant," he 
quipped.  "You just need to show her you're trying to change.  
That's all women really want -- to know that we're trying to please 
them."

"Says the man with two male roommates," Mulder muttered.

"Not by choice," Byers countered.  "And you know that!  Look, 
Saturday is Valentine's Day.  What are you doing for it?"

A look of complete terror crossed Mulder's eyes.

"You did know it was Valentine's Day, right?" Byers asked 
casually.

"Oh shit.  I am in so much trouble!"

"No, no, you're not.  It is not too late!  Here's what you're going to 
do . . ."

Valentine's Day
Penthouse Suite
Watergate Hotel
4:45 pm

Maggie smiled at her daughter and looked around the room again.  
Gas logs ready in the fireplace, table by the French glass doors 
with the entire city just beyond.  The monuments glowed in the 
early evening rays of the setting sun.  It was perfect.

"Mom, you're being awful quiet.  What did I forget?" Scully asked, 
her eyes filled with confusion.

"Nothing, sweetheart.  I was just thinking . . . You haven't 
forgotten a thing.  Well, except maybe a certain 'someone' you 
intend to share all that champagne," she added with a sly grin.

"Mulder!" Scully shouted, as if she just remembered a missing key 
ingredient.  "He's been at the apartment all day, by himself.  Oh, 
crap, I bet Mrs. Douglas below me is ready to shove that basketball 
right down his throat!"

"Dana, tonight is not about basketball dribbling . . . it's about 
romance.  Remember?"

Scully drew in a deep breath.  "How can I forget?  I just laid out a 
fortune on lobster tails that I have to cook myself," she groused 
mildly.  

"So, how are you going to get him over here?" Maggie asked, 
picking up her coat and slipping it on.

"I . . . hadn't really thought that through, yet," Scully admitted.  "I 
could lie and tell him I have reservations.  Or I could just be sly 
and tell him to close his eyes and trust me."

"Well, you work that out.  Call me on Monday, let me know how it 
goes?"

"Of course.  Thanks for helping today, Mom."

"My pleasure.  Have a wonderful night."

Scully's apartment
Georgetown
4:50 pm

Mulder collapsed on the sofa, exhausted.  But one look around the 
apartment and he had to smile.  The place actually sparkled!  He'd 
spent the day, the whole day, cleaning.  He'd even vacuumed under 
the furniture.  He'd dusted every knick-knack, polished the mirrors, 
wiped down the kitchen cabinets, mopped the bathroom and 
kitchen floors and even cleaned out the coffee carafe.  He'd idly 
thought about tackling the freezer, but ran out of time.  

While putting away the cleaning supplies he'd found Scully's stash 
of linen tablecloths and napkins.  He'd even uncovered a set of 
sterling silver napkin rings from some corner of her pantry.  The 
few pieces of good china and crystal she had, very old from what 
he could gather, had been carefully washed, dried with a soft cloth 
and now rested on the table, waiting for the candles to set them 
afire.

Knowing he'd never have time to clean and cook, Mulder had 
ordered their dinner from an upscale restaurant on M Street.  As a 
special on Valentine's Day, they were delivering meals to your 
door and he'd taken advantage of the opportunity.  Dinner, coq au 
vin, would be served precisely at 6 -- or the meal was free.  'Just 
like Dominos,' he chuckled to himself after hanging up the phone.

Yes, he had really gone through a work out.  Muscles that he 
forgot he owned were burning from the strain, but he'd never felt 
happier.  While he'd been cleaning, he realized how much of 
himself there was in the apartment.  His dry cleaning was hanging 
in the closet, his razor, shave cream, aftershave was littering up the 
bathroom, along with a pair of boxers he found stuck behind the 
laundry hamper.  Even in the kitchen, his breakfast cereal, with 
marshmallows, found a place next to her 'nutrition for women' 
oatmeal selection.  Even pictures of the two of them took center 
stage on the mantel.  

Sure, he'd never picked out the sofa, but he had picked out the 
floor pillows that set next to the fireplace.  He kept thinking he'd 
lost everything in the fire, but he was shocked, as he cleaned, to 
find how much of his personal belongings he'd already replaced.  
And all of them were finding a home in this apartment, just like he 
was.  Maybe Byers had been right.  Maybe it was all about the 
trying.

With that thought in mind, he drifted off into a sound sleep.

6:35 pm

Mulder awoke with a start as something warm and fragrant 
touched his lips.  His eyes flew open to find his partner smiling at 
him, a fork full of chicken posed at his mouth.

"I was afraid I'd have to eat both servings by myself," Scully 
laughed as he sat up straighter and ran his hands over his face.

"I fell asleep," he noted.  That only made her smile bigger. 

"And with good reason, Mr. Clean.  This place is immaculate!  
Were you working on it all day?"

He nodded groggily.  Wiping sleep from his eyes, he glanced over 
at the kitchen table.  The candles were aflame, the meal laid out on 
the china, red wine in the crystal.  "I wanted to do all that," he 
pouted.

She ruffled his hair and then pulled him to his feet.  "You've done 
plenty already.  C'mon, let's eat."

She held his hand all through dinner, which made cutting the 
chicken an experience, but a fun one.  He fed her from his plate but 
she stopped him when he was only half finished.

"As much as this is wonderful, let's leave it for tomorrow," she said 
coyly.

"I think I like that idea," he smiled in return.  Together, they boxed 
up the leftovers and rinsed the dishes to be washed later.  He 
started to pull her toward the bedroom, but she pulled the other 
way.  

"Now, it's my turn," she said with what could only be called an 
enigmatic grin.  "Grab your jacket."  At his confused look, she 
reached up and kissed him lightly.  "I promise, you'll like this."

He shrugged and put on his coat, helping her with hers, and they 
left the apartment.

As they drove toward Foggy Bottom, Mulder's curiosity was at a 
razor's edge.  "We're going to the Kennedy Center?"

"Nope."

He watched as she negotiated the streets and headed toward a 
familiar landmark.  "Scully, I agree it would be really kinky to play 
'Washington lobbyist and hooker', but . . .

"Mulder, shut up and enjoy the drive," she growled, but flashed 
him a smile with all teeth to soften her words.  He bit his lip and 
looked out the window.  When they pulled into the underground 
parking for the Watergate, she could see him flinch, but he kept 
silent.

She knew it was killing him as she locked the car, took his elbow 
and guided him toward the elevators.  He seemed to know where 
she might be going and was making a visible effort to keep his 
mouth shut, but when she pulled out a key and put it into the slot 
above the elevator buttons, pressing the top floor, his eyes grew 
wide and she thought he might stop breathing.  She squeezed his 
hand and he gulped.

"We aren't going to the restaurant?" he squeaked.

"Nope.  And what did I tell you in the car, Mulder?"

He pressed his lips together so tightly, they lost all color.  She had 
to turn away to keep from laughing.

When they arrived at the top floor, she led him down the hall and 
used the same elevator key to unlock the apartment door.  She 
didn't open the door, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed 
his back against the wall.  "I need you to stand right there, with 
your eyes closed, for just five minutes."

"Scu-lly," he whined, but at her fierce glare, he dutifully backed 
himself against the wall and closed his eyes.  "I just hope no one 
comes out in the hall and finds me playing 'hide and seek'," he said 
loud enough to be heard inside the apartment.

"Keep up the racket and you'll have plenty of company out there," 
she warned.  Hurriedly she ran around the living room, lighting the 
candles on the mantel and the gas fireplace, then checking the 
champagne.  She had to admit, the place really did look great.  
'Almost as nice as my apartment,' she chuckled to herself.

She stepped out into the hallway and pulled on Mulder's arm.  
"Can I open my eyes?" he asked.

"Not yet.  I'll tell you when," she promised.  She brought him all 
the way into the living room, turned him to face the fireplace and 
reached up to kiss him lightly.  "Open them."

He blinked because he was looking right into the fire.  Then he 
turned and looked at the rest of the apartment.  A slow smile 
creased his face and he gave a low whistle.  "Scully, you shouldn't 
have.  All I got you was a card," he teased.

"Well, this place is all ours, for tonight.  Then it turns back into a 
pumpkin," she told him.  

He walked over to the glass french doors and looked out onto the 
city.  "You can't rent these penthouses, Scully.  How in the world..."

"A friend of my parents," she supplied.  "He's in Europe, Mom got 
me the key.  There's more food in the kitchen."

He turned around, took the two steps to reach her and gently 
lowered them both to the floor.  "We might need it . . . a little 
later."  

Two hours later
the floor in front of the fireplace

She giggled as butter ran down his chin.  He looked around for 
something to wipe it off and she obliged him with her tongue.  
"You were just waiting for that," he accused her with a grin.

"Yup," she answered with a sly smile.   They were lying in front of 
the fire without a stitch of clothing on, warm in it's glow, 
surrounded by empty plates and wine glasses.

He licked his fingers of the last of the drawn butter and pulled her 
down so her head was resting on his bare chest.  "I've never dared 
eat lobster in the nude."

"Me neither."

"It's fun," he decided happily and she nodded in enthusiastic 
agreement.  "Even more fun when it's someone else's carpet we 
dripped butter on," he added.

"I'll mention it to the maid tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure it will come 
out," Scully said with a shrug.  

"So, we trash this place and then in the morning go home to your 
apartment where it's nice and clean?"

"That's the plan," she answered, kissing his chest.  

"I really like that plan," he said, leaning in for a very passionate 
kiss.  He pulled away and lifted her chin up so she could see his 
eyes.  "I'm sorry I'm such a pig to live with," he told her seriously.

"I'm sorry I've been turning into a shrew," she replied and kissed 
him just a thoroughly.

When they came up for air, he hugged her tightly to him.  "Happy 
Valentine's Day, Scully."

She smiled at him.  "Actions speak louder than words, Mulder."

At that moment, he couldn't agree more.

the end.