Title: Two Apartments, Sort Of Author: Alelou Feedback: Alelou123@aol.com (remember the 123, please!) Rating: PG-13 (implied sexual activity) Category: MSR, H, Mild Angst Spoilers: Nope Archive: Yes to Goss, Ephem, Spook. Others just let me know because it validates my writer's ego... Summary: Mulder can't find the ketchup. A continuation of the "Sort Of" series. Notes: No beta readers were harmed in the making of this story. It's a (very belated) continuation of the "Sort Of" series, which began with "A Proposal, Sort Of" and continued in "Two Rooms, Sort Of". "Scully, where's the ketchup?" Dana Scully looked up from the morning paper to view her partner, wearing nothing but his flannel pajama bottoms, peering into her refrigerator with a deeply pessimistic look on his face. "Mulder, if that ketchup were a clue in an X File, you'd have found it by now." He grunted. "Just tell me." "And let all that investigative training go to waste?" "Come on, Scully," he whined. "You know where it is. You know where everything in this apartment is." "No, I *used* to know where everything is," she countered. "And you're the only one who uses ketchup anyway." He started turning bottles in the door. "Yeah, but I bet there's a place in this refrigerator that you think of as the place the ketchup goes. And I bet if you see it out of that place, you put it back there." She sighed. "Behind the iced tea." He groaned and moved more stuff to find the ketchup just where she'd told him. "Told you," he said, manfully bopping the bottle until he was able to pour a healthy stream of ketchup over his eggs. "Why don't you get the squeeze bottle?" "Feel free to get a squeeze bottle any time," she said mildly. He looked up, suddenly conscious that he'd become the subject of commentary. "Okay, I will," he said. "Sure you don't want any?" "No thanks," she said. She'd never been a big fan of eggs in the morning. And eggs with ketchup on them never appealed to her. In fact, they reminded her faintly of crime scenes. He sat down and wolfed his eggs like a ravening animal while Scully delicately sipped her coffee and flipped the pages of the newspaper. It just figured, Mulder thought darkly, that she was one of those people who actually read the front section first. Then it occurred to him that he was thirsty, so he went for the orange juice and remembered in the nick of time to pour it into a glass first, though he still gulped the entire thing down while standing next to the sink. He carefully placed the glass in the sink, next to the egg-coated frying pan and his coffee mug. Yeah, he knew she wanted him to rinse them all immediately and put them in the dishwasher, but it was Saturday morning, damn it. He sat down. "So what do you want to do today?" She regarded him. "First, we need to tidy up." She glanced meaningfully toward the sink. "Then I need to run some errands." "Like what?" "Grocery store, dry cleaner, post office" He groaned. "Then I thought it might be nice to go to the botanical garden, see some spring flowers." He groaned louder. She gave him a sour glance. "Okay, so what do you want to do today?" "Just hang out," he said, which in her experience meant that he either wanted to watch an endless stream of sports on television or have sex. Which was not an unappealing thought, but after last night's acrobatics she was sure her vulva would appreciate a little time off for good behavior. "You need to do some laundry," she reminded him. She had steadily refused to do any laundry for him except in extreme cases, i.e. a mutant had oozed all over him and he was recuperating from injury and it was the middle of the night and no cleaners were open. He shrugged. Refusing to do any of his laundry was her last line of defense. He barely ever spent any time in his apartment anymore. They ate almost every meal together. She often wondered what the hell had he done before for food " good God, the man could eat. Though, come to think of it, in the two months they'd been together he'd developed a little bit of a belly. They were both filling out a bit, actually. Scully took her mug to the sink and wrinkled her nose at the watery egg mess. "I'll do them, I'll do them," he said. "Glad to hear it," she said. "Planning to do them today, by any chance?" He pouted, and sighed in defeat when it had no effect. "The thrill is gone," he said, getting up from the table. She gave him a poisonous look and stalked off. Oops, he thought. Still, he figured if he actually did do the dishes she would forgive him. He heard her whipping sheets around in the bedroom as he clattered about and tried to remember what games were on today. She came out with an armload of sheets that even he could agree needed washing, given all the activity they'd seen recently. "I think maybe you should go look after your apartment this morning," she said. "I think I'd like some time to myself." He stared at her, mouth hanging open in hurt surprise. She stared back, unrelenting. "Look, I didn't mean it," he said. "The thrill is not gone. I'm as thrilled as a man can be. I just didn't feel like doing dishes first thing on a Saturday morning." "Mulder, whose apartment is this?" He had the sinking feeling that this was a trick question. "Yours?" he asked. She nodded. "And as such, Mulder, I am responsible for keeping it clean and stocked with food, according to my preferences, and on the timetable that best suits my needs. Wouldn't you agree?" He nodded slowly, her words sinking in and sucking the happiness out of every cell in his body. Scully was kicking him out. A part of him had always feared this would happen, but that part of him sure as hell hadn't been awake yet this sleepy Saturday morning. "I'm sure that's the way you like it," he retorted acidly, and headed to the bedroom to change. It was immaculate, of course; she'd already remade the bed. "What the hell does that mean?" she demanded, following him. "It means you like things the way you like them," he said, hunting up some clothes from the pile she had neatly stacked in the drawer she had designated as his. "Ketchup behind the iced tea as far back in the refrigerator as it will go. My stuff in one bottom right drawer, out of the way. No sex on the couch because it ruins the upholstery. No kissing in public." He shrugged a t-shirt over his head. "Do you see a pattern here?" She flushed. "You want to hear about patterns? You're here constantly but you never want to do anything to keep the place up. You eat all my food but you never buy any groceries. You expect me to be available to you at all times, but you never want to do anything I want to do." He never wanted to do anything she wanted to do? Could have fooled him. Fortunately he had enough native good sense to avoid bringing up their sex life right now. She wanted him out; fine, he was out. However, as much as he longed to walk dramatically out the door, he wasn't sure where he'd left his shoes. She correctly interpreted his furtive glancing about. "If you want your shoes, they're in the closet," she said bitterly, and walked away. "Oh right, in my designated corner," he yelled at her departing back. He yanked on his shoes with furious energy, frustrated that he couldn't quite tie the laces. After another unsuccessful attempt, he stopped, and took a deep breath, and got it done. Then he grabbed his jacket from the hook (the one she had designated for it), and ran out the door. TO BE CONTINUED ... From: Alelou123@aol.com TITLE: Two Apartments, Sort Of (2/2) Author: Alelou Feedback: Alelou123@aol.com Disclaimer -- hmm, did I remember one on part 1? Well, I don't own them, okay? CC and 1013 and Fox do and they should be very flattered that we all all do this stuff. Other details: See Part 1 Part 2... The door of Apartment #42 was piled with yellowing newspapers and the interior was musty and dark. The aquarium bubbled away particularly loudly because half the water had evaporated. When he'd unofficially given up day-to-day residence in his apartment there had been just one stubborn algae eater left, and since he didn't know what to do with it, he had left the filter running. There it was, still alive, all by itself, slouched on the gravel in a parody of how Mulder himself had spent far too many of his last seven years of leisure time. Since it was still alive he deduced that it really did eat algae, but he threw in some food just in case that wasn't enough. He sat down on his sofa and clouds of dust rose around him. Crap. God knows he and Scully bickered fairly regularly, but this was the first real fight they'd had since they'd gotten together. Certainly the first time she'd thrown him out. On the other hand, it wasn't like they were living together. Except that he didn't exactly seem to be living here anymore, either. He rubbed his head and resisted the urge that automatically came upon him whenever he sat down on his sofa to pick up the remote and turn on the television. Two months ago he'd proposed marriage, admittedly in a somewhat backward fashion ("You're never going to marry me, are you, Scully," was not a very romantic declaration, he realized). Though he supposed it might have been just to placate him at the time, she'd accepted. They had even both used the "love" word. Since then they had slept together practically every night, even in the field, and he had spent virtually all his off time with her, and he had never been happier. Damn it, what had gone wrong? It was a morning like any other, and then suddenly she was pitching him out. Apparently he didn't buy enough of his own ketchup. Well, okay, groceries in general. Yeah, it was true, food just seemed to magically appear in her apartment and he had no compunction about helping himself to it. But when she didn't cook, he usually paid for the pizza or the take-out. And he was the one who did the emergency ice cream runs in the middle of the night. Besides, he had purposely avoided grocery-shopping with her after that first besotted week when he'd gone everywhere with her, including the grocery store, and realized with some horror that Scully's routines when buying groceries were as rigid as any she had about keeping house. No, not *those* crackers, Mulder, these ones. And didn't he know how much salt was in those sauces? She even insisted on Tropicana instead of Sunny Delight, although *he* was the one who sucked down orange juice like it was water. And, well, okay, he wasn't into cleaning with quite the ferocity that she was, but he had a fairly tidy soul for a bachelor. Even now, his apartment was dusty but not in disarray. What else had she said? He never wanted to do anything she wanted to do? Well, hadn't she wanted to have all that sex? And what was up with the botanical garden? Since when did Scully care about gardens? She'd lived in an apartment for years. He couldn't remember her ever pining to have a garden and she'd never expressed any particular fondness for dirt, something they did have regular experience with if only because dead bodies so often ended up in it. Maybe she just couldn't stand having him in her face for so long. Work, and then home, day after day. But, then, how the hell did she expect them to survive being married? Of course, they hadn't actually talked any further about that particular topic. He sighed unhappily. xxx Scully went to the drycleaners, then the drug store to get something for the headache that had descended upon her. Last of all she went to the grocery store, where she shopped in an angry funk, not buying the things she considered Mulder Food: ketchup, potato chips, rye bread, deli roast beef, pickles, and gallons of orange juice. She stocked up on Ben and Jerry's in case this thing went on for awhile and she needed chocolate to survive, and she bought stuff he hated and she'd consequently been eating less of: broccoli, yogurt, bean sprouts, tofu. Her clothes were getting tight anyway; it was time to slim down a little. Once she had mourned her way through some ice cream she'd exercise like a demon. If that's what it came to. She'd only asked for a morning off. Granted, she had not been particularly tactful in asking for it, but this was Mulder " he was used to her ways. After living alone for years, it was so wearing to have another person constantly with her, at work, at home, all hours. A person who didn't keep things neat instinctively, the way she did. A person who just seemed to lounge all over her place and eat all her food (without ever replacing it). He hung around constantly as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they were married or something. But they weren't. Which was for the best, if this morning was anything to judge by. Maybe she'd break out that ice cream as soon as she got home. xxx Mulder thought about doing the laundry Scully had reminded him he needed to do, then realized that his dirty clothes were all at her apartment. He went into his own room to see what was available and found he had plenty of clean clothes. But if he took them to her apartment, assuming he wanted to do that, he'd have no place to put them. He'd already filled up his designated drawer. She should try living in *his* place, he thought. Then he remembered that she hadn't really invited him to live in hers. He'd just stayed there. A lot. Not that she'd seemed to mind, at least not until this morning. Maybe she'd been seething for days and he hadn't noticed? Maybe she was just cranky with PMS? He tried to figure out if that could be, but he'd never been good at keeping track of birthdays, let alone menstrual cycles. It wasn't like Scully went around saying, "Hey, I got my period." She was pretty subtle about it, at least until it became an immediate issue. Once, when he'd expressed surprise at the news, she'd told him that you learn not to make a big deal out of these things when you grow up with a brother like Bill in the house. He bounced his basketball around the living room. It was sunny outside and the park beckoned. He could play a game of one-on-one with somebody, anybody. That would be the good strong manly thing to do, and God knows he could stand to give himself a workout at something other than the dinner table. But instead he bounced the ball and waited. xxx Downstairs, Mulder's neighbors looked despairingly at each other. "He's back," they said. xxx At home she put the groceries away, feeling vaguely petty that she hadn't bought anything for him. Still, who knew when he was coming back. She didn't want to have to throw away a bunch of week-old roast beef just because Mulder had to pout for a while. Then she made lunch, a nice healthy salad that was exactly what he never had the patience to eat (too few calories for the effort, he said). And she ate it. It didn't seem like quite enough somehow, but she resisted the urge to search for potato chips. She tidied up. She waited. Perhaps she should go to the botanical garden by herself. Granted, she'd lived in D.C. for years now and never before actually taken the step of going there, but it seemed like a nice thing to do. It was a bright sunny spring day, and families with screaming kids probably wouldn't mob a garden when the National Zoo was there instead, so it should be nice. If Mulder didn't want to go, she could go by himself. That would be the independent, assertive thing to do. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table and came to the realization that she had no clue where the botanical garden even was. xxx His phone rang and he jumped and let the ball bounce into the next room. Should he answer it? Let the machine answer it? He hadn't actually thought that far ahead, even though he'd been listening for it to ring with every fiber of his being. Ah, screw it. He answered it with a cautious "Hello?" Her voice was dry but not unfriendly. "So I take it that's a no on the botanical garden?" Mulder breathed a silent thank you to the heavens. "No, I'm not utterly opposed to the idea. Where the heck is it, anyway?" "Actually, I wasn't sure, so I called and they're closed for renovation." "Oh." He didn't attempt to sound disappointed. "But they recommended Dunbarton Oaks right here in Georgetown. So why don't you come home and we'll take a walk over there. If you want to." Mulder hesitated, taken aback. "Home?" he asked. There was only the slightest hesitation on her end. "Yeah, home." He couldn't help smiling. "Can I bring my basketball?" "Your basketball? Yeah, sure, bring your basketball. But no bouncing it in the apartment. The neighbors put up with enough already." Mulder wasn't sure if she was referring to the noise they made while love-making or her tendency to being attacked or abducted and the resulting mobs of law enforcement her neighbors had had to put up with over the years. "Okay," he agreed. "But maybe while we walk we could discuss finding a place to live where I can have more than one drawer?" Silence. Then "Seems fair." Emboldened, he continued, "Maybe even that whole marriage scenario I mentioned awhile ago?" This time she sounded a bit choked up. "Okay." "Okay, see you in a few." He hung up and did a victory dance. He grabbed his basketball and his wallet and turned off his lights. At the last minute, he remembered to pour some water into the aquarium. He tapped the glass. "You're on your own for awhile, buddy," he said. "I got places to go, women to wed. If you're lucky, she'll agree to the aquarium and you won't *believe* how clean your gravel is going to be." THE END Please tell me if you liked it. (You can even tell me if you DIDN'T like it.) Just send an email to alelou123@aol.com (not alelou@aol.com -- thanks!)