Title: A Wedding, Sort Of Author: Alelou Feedback: Alelou123@aol.com (don't forget the 123!) Category: MSR, Wedding fic (duh), Humor Rating: R? for implied sexual activity Archive: Sure, fine, just drop me a line; Gossamer, Spookys et al help yourself Spoilers: Not a one Disclaimer: 1013's & Chris Carter's, not mine Summary: Title pretty much nails it. Notes: If you haven't read the previous three "Sort Of" stories, you may wish to first but it's not required to enjoy this story. They are "A Proposal, Sort Of," "Two Rooms, Sort Of" and "Two Apartments, Sort Of." "So, Scully, when are we going to do the deed?" Mulder asked. His partner and paramour rolled over from where she'd collapsed in a rosy-tinged post-orgasmic heap and eyed him with some confusion. "Could have sworn we just did." "No, I mean get married." She just stared at him, blinking. "Come on, we talked about this before," he said. Wasn't there a rule that men were supposed to roll over and go to sleep after sex? It seldom worked with Mulder, who seemed to get charged up and conversational, while she often wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers. Unfortunately there was not a good game on, or he would undoubtedly have been back out in the living room by now and she could have done just that. She yawned. "What's the rush?" "I'm going to quote you on that next time you're giving me grief about how long it took for us to get together. You already said yes," he reminded her. "What is it, you're not so sure anymore?" She sat up. They'd been "officially" living together for a month now ("unofficially" it was more like three months) and it was working as well as could be expected, in her opinion. It was true that Mulder appeared to be more seriously challenged than she had expected when it came to simple domestic procedures such as hanging new rolls of toilet paper, lowering toilet seats, or putting anything away where it belonged. It was true that he plainly felt she was a controlling neat freak. However, he loved her anyway, and she forgave his many shortcomings and focused on what he was good at -- sex and keeping her life interesting. Tonight, for some reason, Mulder needed reassurance and she'd learned that was one little item best handled immediately. "I'm sure, Mulder. But you know, actually getting married carries some complications..." "Come on, Scully, you're already my beneficiary," he said. "We've already decided to get a place together. What else is there? Skinner's cool with it. And I don't expect you to change your name, you know. That would be pretty weird: 'Mulder, it's me, Mulder.'" She sighed. "Well, in case you've forgotten, I'm Catholic." He looked bemused. "Yeah, I did remember that." "And you're not." "I don't mind going along for the ride." "You ever heard of PreCana?" "I can do that." She lifted her eyebrows. He lifted his eyebrows back at her. "After all we've been through, you don't think I can make it through a little premarital education?" "And then there's my family." "Your family knows about us already," Mulder reminded her. "It's not the same," she said. "We're talking about a wedding here." She said the word with enormous distaste, as if it were actually "quarterly budget review." Mulder sighed. "Scully, do you know how old I'm going to be in October?" She stared, realization dawning. "Oh my God ... you want to get married before you're forty?" "So what's wrong with that?" "I don't know ... it just seems kind of ... girly." He looked offended. "Girly?" "Yeah, like you're afraid you're going to turn into an old maid or something. Men are supposed to resist being drawn into the noose as long as possible." "Been there, done that." She smiled but it was a strained smile. "Why don't you want to do this?" he asked, with a growing sense of panic. She sighed. "I used to enjoy the thought of the whole white dress wedding thing, Mulder, but those days are long gone. It just seems idiotic after all we've been through, all we've done. I think in my mind we're already married. If you were religious, the ceremony might be worth something, but since you're not --" "I'm not a complete atheist either, Scully," Mulder said. "I don't mind making a commitment to you in God's name and witnessed by friends and family. I just don't happen to really believe that little wafer is the flesh of Jesus Christ. And since the Catholic Church doesn't want heathens like me indulging, I don't." "I'm not so sure I believe it myself, sometimes," Scully murmured. After Africa, she'd found herself in the paradoxical situation of feeling more powerfully than ever, at various times, that God was with her ... and less sure than ever that it had anything at all to do with her particular beliefs, which increasingly struck her as quaint and historical and even superstitious. She continued to rely on them, but it was from a kind of inertia: she hadn't found a better explanation for the mysteries of the soul. But it increasingly dismayed her that there was, really, no place for Mulder at the same table, unless he went through the motions of something he didn't believe in. Mulder was peering at her with obvious concern. "Is that what this is about?" She got up and wrapped herself in her robe. "Partly. I also don't really feel like telling my mom that her only remaining daughter really doesn't want to get married the traditional way." "I think your mom is more resilient than you give her credit for." "I don't doubt that. But I also know that she'd love a wedding with all the trimmings." "So why wouldn't you want a wedding like that?" Mulder asked, surprised. She was shaking her head before she even replied. "I think wedding dresses are silly frou frou. I hate party favors. And who'd stand up with us the Lone Gunmen? I despise bridal showers, not to mention that the only people who would come to a bridal shower for me are friends of my mother and Ellen, who hasn't seen me in over a year. And really, the whole thing just boils down to this primitive ceremonial sort of handing over of a woman to a man in a display of outrageous conspicuous consumption." She sighed. "Plus I get tired just thinking about the planning involved." Even though he agreed with nearly all her objections, Mulder found himself feeling inexplicably sad. In his fantasies of marriage to Scully he'd always expected to grin and bear the excesses of a wedding, not to just skip them altogether. He was sure that her weariness with the idea was somehow his fault, like nearly everything else that had happened to her since she'd met him. Perhaps he'd just plain worn her out of any maidenly dreams about a traditional wedding. "Look, we've got the money for it," he said. "So I hope you don't think that's an issue." "I'd rather use that kind of money to buy a house or some new furniture," she countered. This was no doubt more practical, but he found it disheartening. "Still, Scully, don't you feel the need to mark the commitment in some way?" She grimaced. "You have any suggestions?" Hey, it wasn't as if he hadn't given the matter some thought over the years. "Well..." "No Elvis impersonators," she said quickly. "Damn!" Xxx "Cute digs," Langly noted, as he and his comrades mounted the short stoop of stairs in front of a neat brick row house on a curving street in Foggy Bottom. The postage- stamp garden in front was filled to overflowing by a climbing rose in full bloom, delicate purple irises, garden pinks, and various other bits of budding greenery. "Just the place for Mr. Gnome!" he exulted, holding up a large, poorly-wrapped bundle. "Hard to secure," Frohike muttered, clutching the bottle of expensive tequila he had brought. They knocked and heard someone yell, "Come in!" "See, they're not even trying," Frohike said to Byers. "This is madness." "Heard that," Mulder said, greeting them in the hall. "You have no idea, Frohike." "It's a lovely place," Byers said, glaring at Frohike and handing over his own beautifully wrapped present, a tasteful Chinese vase. "Cool furniture, Mulder," Langly added, surveying the living room. "Crate and Barrel?" "You gonna get domestic on us too, Langly?" Frohike growled. He was in no fine mood. Mulder had invited them over for a "formal" housewarming party. Frohike was pissed because they'd offered to wire the place for security before they moved in and Mulder had demurred. Also because Frohike's best suit had turned out to be a much worse fit than he remembered, and who the hell was Mulder to ask them to dress up, anyway? Yes, it was true Frohike was more than willing to dress up for Scully, but if she was going to expect formal dress for a housewarming, what were they in for next? Picnics under tents? Social teas? Finger sandwiches? "Jesus, Mulder," he complained. "What'd you do, hire a florist for your housewarming?" Their tiny house was as crammed full of tastefully arranged flowers as any spread in a woman's decorating magazine. "Yes I did, actually," Mulder smiled. "Do you think they look nice?" They looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Here guys, put one on," Mulder continued, reaching for a bag on the lowboy in the hall and handing them each a carnation. "What the hell is going on here?" Frohike demanded. "A wedding, sort of," Mulder said lightly. "Now that you're here, I'm thinking we could probably get this show on the road." He stood at the foot of the stairs and yelled up, "Scully!" "A wedding?" they asked in unison. Maggie Scully came a short ways down the stairs. "We're having undergarment issues." "Shall I help?" Mulder asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. She gave him a deadly look that made it clear where Scully had gotten *her* deadly look. "Do you think we could start in another fifteen?" Mulder asked. She gave him another deadly look and went back upstairs. "What kind of wedding is this?" Frohike demanded. "The kind Scully wanted," Mulder said. "The rest of the folks are in the backyard, such as it is." He started to lead them back, then stopped cold and turned around, surveying them gravely. "Now look, guys. I don't want to play favorites, but I need a best man." They looked at each other. "You pick," Mulder said. Byers and Langly stepped back, leaving Frohike standing there. "I can't do it in this thing," Frohike said, thrilled nonetheless. "Let me go get my tux." "If I'm not wearing one, you're not allowed to," Mulder said. "Besides, I want to get this show on the road before she changes her mind. Here, these are the rings." He turned to the other two. "Now I need a maid of honor." They paled. "Just kidding," Mulder said. "Go on back. Harass Skinner or something. He didn't know it was a wedding either and he's not absolutely sure this situation leaves him with enough plausible deniability." "Why all the mystery?" Byers asked. Mulder shrugged. "Scully didn't want a big wedding, she wanted a house. And so, here we are." (Continued in part 2) Title: A Wedding, Sort Of Author: Alelou Feedback: Alelou123@aol.com (don't forget the 123!) Disclaimers, etc. in Part 1 Part 2: Upstairs, Scully struggled out of her dress yet again. It was a subdued but very expensive suit dress of ivory silk and would not have presented any problems if she were willing to wear a chemise under it. However, she'd rather hoped to let that plunging neckline highlight her Wonderbra-enhanced cleavage today was the perfect excuse, and here was one outfit at least that Mulder had never seen her in. However, it had stayed where it should much better in the dress shop than it did now. She had already tried three bras, hoping for one that didn't become too much of the show, and had even toyed with and rejected the idea of surgical glue. "Try this one," Maggie said, tossing her one of her more ephemeral bras. "No, it's not a Wonderbra." Maggie gave her a thoroughly disgusted look. Scully sighed. "Let's just find a low-cut chemise that goes with this thing. I don't want to give the boys too much of a peep show." "But you definitely want to wear a Wonderbra." "Damned straight," Scully declared. "You know, if I'd *known* this was your wedding, I could have helped you figure this out ahead of time," Maggie said. Scully pointedly threw her gaze to heaven. "Okay, okay," Maggie said. "Let's find a chemise." Xxxx Maggie came down the stairs a few minutes later, a silky chemise in hand. "Where's the iron?" she asked Mulder, who was pacing back and forth. He looked panicked. "Iron?" Maggie sighed. "She said it was in a box that hadn't been unpacked in the kitchen." "If she says so," Mulder said, and took her into the kitchen, where they quickly unearthed the iron. "Ironing board?" Maggie ventured. "I don't have a clue," he said, poking around in the broom closet with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. "But there's a drycleaner right down the block." "Uh huh," she said, wondering if FBI agents got special treatment at drycleaners that she didn't know about. "I'll just use the kitchen table for now." He shrugged. "So you solved the undergarment issue?" "Working on it," Maggie said, as she plugged the iron in and spread out a towel. "Ah," he said, finally getting it. So how is she?" "She's fine," Maggie said grimly. Mulder nodded slowly. Then he raced away and up the stairs and burst into their bedroom. "Mulder!" Scully cried. "You're not supposed to be here." "You're not supposed to have a surprise wedding," Mulder said. "Why get picky now?" Scully quickly threw a sheet over her dress where it was laid out on the bed. "My mother's here," she said, as if that explained everything. He sat down next to her fortunately, not on the dress. "You okay?" he asked. "I'm fine," she said. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said. "So what's the matter?" "Nothing. It's just -- I had a weird dream this morning." He looked askance. Scully sighed. "In the dream we're getting married pretty much as planned and the priest asks that question you know, does anyone know why these two people shouldn't marry each other -- and then C.G.B. Spender suddenly appears and says that although I don't remember it, he married me during my abduction and never divorced me, and furthermore, that you don't remember it, but you got married to Diana while I was in Africa and also never got divorced but he guesses you're a widow now if she really is dead. Then there's this little 'yoo hoo' and she pops up behind the crowd and just waves. And the priest says he's never run into this situation before, and would we be interested in appearing on the Jerry Springer Show? And then this bee starts buzzing around me and even though I'm not wearing a veil today I am in my dream, and we can't seem to get it out of my veil. It just keeps crawling and buzzing around in all the layers. You keep yelling 'Scully!' and I'm -- well, I'm really losing it. That's when I woke up." Mulder took her hand and sighed. "Oh, Scully." She shrugged. "Well, it's not like I really think that is going to happen." He looked soulfully at her. "I'm glad to hear that." "But I still have this enormous sense of anxiety that somehow, something *will* happen." Mulder smoothed her hand and reflected that it wasn't so very often in his life that he had had to reassure an obviously nervous Scully. "Well, I think it's highly unlikely Spender has a clue about this event. Not even the Lone Gunmen or your mother had a clue. The florist thought it was for a fancy house party, and so did the caterer when she first got here. The priest knows, of course, but he's a priest, right? Still, all these people all have cell phones so maybe we should get a move on?" She stared at him. "You're also worried?" He nodded. "Well, quite aside from my sheer terror at the idea you might decide to back out of this, with our track record, how could I not be?" "Okay," she said, determined now. "Let me just get that chemise on and it's show time." He hopped up, then leaned down and kissed her, just in case. "I love you." "I love you too," she said solemnly. They both paused a moment as if waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Mulder shrugged. "See you downstairs." Xxxx Mulder passed Maggie on the stairs and went out back to their tiny back yard, now crowded with three overdressed Lone Gunmen, a red-faced Walter Skinner, and a priest. This was not a great combination for small talk and although the rapidly-appearing trays of cute little appetizers had occupied them successfully for the last twenty minutes, now they were all full and feeling pressured because the caterer obviously had nobody else to taste her art and was beginning to look depressed. "Isn't anybody here for this besides us?" Frohike asked Mulder. "Scully's friend Ellen was supposed to come, but her son was sick so she had to cancel," Mulder said. "So she doesn't have someone standing up with her?" Frohike said. "That's no good." "Maggie's here," Mulder said. "She's the mother of the bride!" Frohike protested. "What's the big deal? You want to switch sides?" Mulder asked. Frohike glared at him. "No." "I'll stand up with her," Skinner volunteered from where he had been sitting and working intently on a beer. "If it matters that much." "I was thinking about the caterer," Frohike mumbled. "It would give the girl something to do, and she seems nice enough." Mulder clapped him on the shoulder. "Frohike, I think having a total stranger as your maid of honor is quite possibly more depressing than not having a maid of honor." Frohike shrugged. "Don't worry about it, dude," Langly said. "The important thing here is that they're getting married to each other." "Excellent point," Byers agreed. Mulder nodded, suddenly overcome at the realization that yes, they really were getting married to each other. Dana Scully was going to marry him! If she didn't get intercepted by villains on her way down, anyway. My God, where was she? He was feeling for his nonexistent gun and heading toward the door when there she was gorgeous in a lovely new dress, walking with her mother into the back yard and smiling at him. "Shall we?" she asked. "Yes, let's," he said, sighing in relief, and they walked together over to the priest. The priest, a somewhat wild-eyed, longhaired Episcopalian who had been recommended by Father McCue as someone who would willingly work with their unorthodox preferences, put the bride and groom in their places, and called for the best man. "Would you like your mother to stand up with you?" he asked Scully. She looked at the tiny group behind her and said, "Why don't they all just stand up with us?" "Works for me," the priest said. And so he ran them through the traditional vows with the zeal of a man who thought he might win Mulder's heathen soul for God with just the words in the Book of Common Prayer. Nobody raised objections or appeared at the last minute. Somewhat to Mulder's surprise, Scully had not wanted to excise any of the parts about the procreation and nurture of children. ("It says if it's God's will, Mulder," she'd said, and he had wondered yet again at how easily his favorite skeptic appeared to rest in her faith.) They exchanged rings, said their vows -- even the part that required first names -- and were pronounced husband and wife. They kissed, the little crowd clapped, Byers took pictures with a digital camera Mulder had ready, and it was over. Nothing left to do but pay the caterer and the priest, eat cake, admire the newly installed garden gnome, and be married. And so they were married. Mulder couldn't stop smiling about it. For her part Scully felt herself relaxing bit by bit as the pictures were snapped and viewed on the viewfinder, suggesting as they did a sort of solid proof that yes, it had really happened. They were married. She sat languidly in the backyard in a lawn chair and looked at her husband smiling at her. And finally she began to smile, too. "So where are you going on your honeymoon?" Langly asked. They looked uncertainly at each other. "Damn, I knew I forgot something," Mulder said, as a joke. They had already discussed and postoned any plans in favor of the move into their new house. "We'll take a honeymoon the next time we get suspended from work," Scully said, not entirely joking. "But I don't really care. We're still unpacking. Staying in town for a whole week without having to jet off to California for some wacko case would be enough of a honeymoon for me." "Duly noted," Skinner said, and held his beer up in a salute. "Glad to hear it," Maggie said as if to suggest she'd hold him to it. "You know, your wife isn't very high maintenance," Frohike observed to Mulder. "Probably a good thing -- I suck at maintenance," Mulder said. Scully lifted her eyebrows at him. "Actually, I'd say you do just fine," she said affectionately. Which was somehow the signal for the small band of guests to pack up their doggy parcels of wedding cake and leave. "So, here we are, wife," Mulder said, after they'd closed the door behind Maggie, who was gently daubing her eyes as she left. "At last," Scully said. "Thank God." "Thank you, God," Mulder said, obligingly. "But now, Scully, if you don't mind, I'd like to also thank you -- a little more personally and conjugally." "A honeymoon, sort of," Scully proposed, heading up their narrow stairs. "A honeymoon in all the ways that count," Mulder insisted. "You're right, Mulder," she said, turning around. "So what if we don't do these things the way other people do them? We still get there in the end." "Yes we do," Mulder said, patting her butt as she turned around again and headed towards their bedroom. "And if some of us are lucky, we might even get there twice." "Or even three times." He chuckled. "And poor Frohike thinks you're low maintenance!" THE END Really positively the end. Thanks to all who've stuck around for the ride, and nagged me judiciously. I was actually thinking of taking these guys through PreCana, but I just couldn't even pretend to deal with their genuine relationship issues and keep the thing moving on a light track. On another note, I disappeared for Lent, but am happy now back to be back -- preferably on a saner, more limited basis -- but I do have another story to post this week.