Guilty Pleasures
by Polly

EMAIL:  polly122456@yahoo.com
RATING:  PG-13
FEEDBACK:  Welcome and appreciated
CLASSIFICATION:  MSR, pre-episode
SPOILERS:  Set just prior to first M&S scene in 
"Chimera" (the stakeout); little spoilers for lots of 
earlier episodes

DISCLAIMER:  Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, 
DD, GA, yada, yada, yada

ARCHIVE:  If you want it, it's yours; just let me 
Know.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Written for the Haven December 
Challenge - see explanation and elements at the end.  
All my rowdy betas have settled down ... somewhere 
(perhaps for a long winter's nap), and I can't find 
them, so all the errors are mine and mine alone.  
This is my third try at fanfic; it is dedicated to 
the Des Moines Jerry Garcia and to all the friends 
and wonderful authors who have inspired me to keep 
trying.

SUMMARY:  A stakeout, some bubble gum, and some 
guilty pleasures.


*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Southeast Washington
8:08 p.m.

Dana Scully leaned back in the worn-out office chair 
and twisted her neck from side to side, trying to 
work out the kinks that had settled there.  She had 
spent nearly a week in this room already, with no end 
in sight.  The only bright side to this stakeout of 
the Dirty Dames strip club was that she and Mulder 
had drawn the 1 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift, and she didn't 
have to spend the entire night in this drafty rat 
trap.

Scully stretched her arms and brought her elbows down 
onto the rickety old card table that the previous 
occupants had so generously left behind. She laced 
her fingers together and rested her chin on top of 
her hands, resisting the urge to check her watch one 
more time. She had already read and re-read every 
piece of graffiti on the walls and ceiling, and based 
on the remnants left on the card table, had already 
guessed everything Agents Henderson and Greenberg had 
eaten during their 12-hour shift.

That left only one interesting thing to look at in 
this ice box and she had to admit the view wasn't 
bad.  One of these days, she'd like to find out how 
her partner did it.  She felt rumpled and dirty and 
in serious need of washing her hair and brushing her 
teeth, but Mulder looked only slightly different than 
he had that morning when they gave their report to 
Skinner.  With his tie loosened, shirtsleeves rolled 
up, and five o'clock shadow, in some ways he looked 
better.  He even still smelled good.

Scully decided she'd rather concentrate on Mulder 
than think about how she might smell right now. As he 
peered through the telescope at the club across the 
street, every few moments he pursed his lips and blew 
a small bubble, then snapped the gum and chewed more 
intently, trying for a bigger and better bubble the 
next time.

Scully didn't realize how long she'd been watching 
her partner until he pulled back from the scope and 
turned to look her square in the eye.

"What?"  His bark woke her from her stupor.

"Nothing," she replied.  "I was just thinking that I 
don't remember ever seeing you chew bubble gum 
before."

"No seeds," he said matter-of-factly.  "I stopped at 
the 7-11 this morning, but they were out.  So - gum."

Scully nodded slowly in understanding as he turned 
back to the telescope, but was surprised when he 
added, "Anyway, bubble gum is a guilty pleasure.  So 
in a way, I was glad they were out of seeds today."

Scully took her chin off her hands, leaned back in 
the chair, and folded her arms across her chest.  "Do 
you want me to watch for awhile?" she asked, trying 
to suppress a yawn at the same time.

"No, I'm good," Mulder said, after blowing another 
small bubble that popped quickly.

"I think you like being a voyeur," Scully teased.  
"Good to know you'll have something to fall back on 
if this Bureau gig doesn't work out."

"Fox Mulder - Peeping Tom," Mulder laughed and 
returned to his work, chewing the gum with renewed 
fervor.

After a few minutes, Scully could contain her 
curiosity no longer. "Why is bubble gum a guilty 
pleasure?" she asked.  "I mean it's kind of an odd 
'guilty pleasure,' don't you think?"

Mulder drew back from the telescope and rubbed his 
eyes with the heels of his hands.  A smile caught the 
corner of his mouth as he explained.  "My dad never 
let me or Samantha chew gum.  He said it was bad for 
our teeth, which I guess it was.  So of course, that 
made getting my hands on bubble gum my primary 
objective in life.  And I always made Samantha a 
party to the crime cause I knew the punishment would 
be less severe if Dad caught *both* of us chewing it.  
We loved the stuff, and it was forbidden fruit so 
that made it dangerous.  Thus, a guilty pleasure."

Scully tried to picture the Bazooka co-conspirators 
hiding out under the boardwalk savoring their ill-
gotten gain as Mulder continued.  "The odd part was 
that in the beginning I wasn't interested in the gum 
at all.  I just wanted the baseball cards.  But dad 
wouldn't let me buy them because of the 'Pink Menace' 
that was included with every pack. I guess it was 
kind of a mini-rebellion on my part.  Knowing I was 
putting one over on the old man, doing something he 
didn't approve of, and dragging my little sister into 
it.  Same things all kids do, I guess."

Scully nodded her head, remembering her own period of 
rebellion with her mother's cigarettes. She had even 
talked Charlie into trying one once.  Still, she 
couldn't help but think that her father would have 
been more forgiving about her experimenting with 
cigarettes than Mulder's would have been about 
something as simple as bubble gum.

"I did almost get caught once," Mulder continued, but 
luckily I always kept some of my dad's sunflower 
seeds in my pockets just in case.  He was actually 
proud that I was trying to be more like him.  Of 
course, then I had to eat seeds more often to keep up 
the lie.  I guess that's how my seed habit got 
started.  The footnote to my guilty pleasure."

"And to think I owe your oral dexterity to your 
father's concern about tooth decay," Scully said 
suggestively.

"Lucky for you." Mulder waggled his eyebrows and 
pursed his lips to blow another bubble, but stopped  
before the sphere could take shape.  "What about you, 
Scully?" he asked.  "What about your guilty 
pleasures?"

"Ah, guilty pleasures," Scully sighed, closed her 
eyes, and leaned back in the chair.  "Where do I 
begin?  How about a nice, long, luxurious bubble 
bath. Mmmmm."  Scully could almost feel the hot water 
and bath oil soothing her strained muscles.

"A bubble bath?" Mulder questioned.  "That doesn't 
sound like much of a guilty pleasure.  You take at 
least one of those a week."

"Oh, but I'm not talking about your standard run-of-
the-mill bubble bath," Scully said, brought out of 
her hallucination by his comment.  "I'm talking about 
the soak-for-hours kind of bubble bath, with fragrant 
oils and lots of aroma candles.  I'm talking about 
the kind of bath where you know there are liver 
eating mutants and mothmen roaming the streets but 
you don't even care.  *That* is a 'guilty pleasure' 
bubble bath."

Mulder laughed and Scully flashed him a smile.  "Oh, 
and of course there must be music."

"Let me guess," Mulder interrupted.  "Bach?  Verdi?  
Copland?"

Scully shook her head and a sheepish grin spread over 
her lips.  "Alan Jackson."

"*Country* music, Scully?  You've got to be kidding 
me."

"My secret is out," Scully giggled.  "Then after the 
bath I'd curl up on the couch in front of a fire, a 
sizzling trashy romance novel in hand.  The smuttier, 
the better."

Mulder raised an eyebrow and Scully shrugged.  
"Another guilty pleasure, what can I say?"  Mulder 
shook his head slowly and gave her a tsk-tsk-tsk 
under his breath, but she continued.

"Let's see, where was I?  Oh yes.  Bubble bath, 
candles, Alan Jackson, fire, trashy novel, and two 
pints of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia all for me.  I 
think that would be Dana Scully's definition of a 
perfect guilty pleasure evening."  Just the thought 
of it made her want to wrap up this case that much 
sooner.

"And here I thought you were a nonfat toffuti rice 
dreamsicle kind of girl," Mulder said.  "Now I find 
out you've got a freezer full of Cherry Garcia."

"Nonfat toffuti rice dreamsicles are for the sensible 
Dana Scully.  We're talking guilty pleasures.  Come 
on, Mulder.  What's your 'guilty pleasure' food?"

He didn't even hesitate.  "Waffles."

"Waffles?"  Scully looked at him in surprise.  
"Mulder, in the seven years we've worked together, I 
don't remember ever once seeing you eat a waffle."

"Because it's a guilty pleasure," he said, "sort of 
like your bubble bath thing.  Whenever we're home on 
a Sunday and there aren't any extraterrestrials 
menacing society, I go down to this little diner in 
Alexandria that serves waffles to die for.  Waffles 
like your mother used to make - thankfully not like 
*my* mother used to make, but probably like your 
mother did.  Warm butter, warm maple syrup.  Mmmm, I 
can almost smell them right now."  Mulder sniffed the 
air and frowned.  "Well, on second thought, maybe 
not."

He put his eye back to the telescope keeping watch 
over the activities at the Dirty Dames, and added, 
"Maybe some Sunday morning we can take a bubble bath, 
listen to Alan Jackson, and then go out for waffles."  
He didn't look at her, but she was sure there was a 
twinkle in his eye.

"Then we'd come back and watch a Brady Bunch 
marathon," Scully said, standing up and stretching 
her back muscles.

"Why would we want to do that?"

"I thought this was a guilty pleasure Sunday," Scully 
said.  "That's another of mine.  'The Brady Bunch.'  
I bet I've seen every episode at least 10 times, but 
every time it's on, I can't help but watch.  
Sometimes I can even recite the dialog."

"And they call me 'Spooky.'"  Mulder looked over at 
her.  "I must say this has been a pretty enlightening 
conversation.  'Everything you wanted to know about 
Dana Scully but were afraid to ask.'  Are there any 
other guilty pleasure skeletons lurking in your 
closet that I ought to know about?"

Scully leaned against the corner of the table and 
crossed her arms and her ankles.  "I'll keep 
thinking," she said, "but so far all you've gotten to 
do on this Sunday is chew gum and eat waffles ..."

"Oh, I think I *might* enjoy the bubble bath," Mulder 
interrupted.

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder," Scully said, doing her best 
Jan Brady imitation.  "Come on, Mulder, what other 
guilty pleasures of yours do you want to indulge in 
on this hypothetical Sunday?"

"Well, after our 'Brady Bunch' marathon, I suppose we 
could watch a movie," Mulder replied, squinting into 
the camera lens once more.

"And that would be?"

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," Mulder 
muttered.

"Oh, come on," Scully prodded.  "I gave up Alan 
Jackson and the Brady Bunch.  That has to be worth 
something.  What's your guilty pleasure movie, 
Mulder?"

Mulder leaned back in the chair and looked up at her.  
"I just don't want you to think less of me as a man, 
Scully."

"Oh, God, now I *have* to know."  She poked his arm 
with her finger.  "Come on, Mulder.  Give."

"Ow!  Okay."  He took a deep breath and exhaled 
slowly, then focused his attention back on the Dirty 
Dames.  "Okay, it's 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.'"

The silence was deafening, but finally she spoke.  
"Um, 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'?  With the flying car?  
*That* 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'?"

"Yes."

She tried to suppress the laugh, but couldn't.  It 
started as a snicker, grew into a chuckle, and 
finally graduated into a full-fledged belly-buster.  
She couldn't stop even when he sat up straight in the 
chair, crossed his arms in front of him, and stared 
at her disapprovingly. In fact, it made her laugh 
harder.  Finally, she began to regain control, but 
had to wipe the tears from her eyes.  "I'm sorry, 
Mulder.  I just ... of all the things I imagined, 
that was just ... well, it wasn't what I expected."

"It *was* written by Ian Fleming, you know.  The same 
guy who wrote James Bond.  And it has Benny Hill in 
it."

"I know, Mulder, but ..." the chortling started 
again.

"Maybe you'd prefer to watch *your* favorite guilty 
pleasure movie after the 'Brady Bunch' marathon - 
*which* I didn't laugh at, I might add."  The pout 
made him all the more adorable.

"Actually, you would probably like my guilty pleasure 
movie.  In a way, it's about time travel."

"In a way?"  He was still pouting.

"In the broadest sense," she explained.  "It's really 
about the theory that true love transcends time and 
place - that there really is such a thing as love 
everlasting.  It's called 'Somewhere in Time.'  
Christopher Reeve, Jane Seymour.  A time traveling 
chick flick."

"Doesn't seem like the kind of movie that would 
appeal to a girl who rewrites Einstein," Mulder said.

"I guess that's why it's a guilty pleasure," Scully 
smiled.  "It's sappy and sentimental and predictable 
- normally all the things I hate about a movie.  But 
for some reason it gets me right *here*."  Scully 
placed her hand over her heart.  "I pop it in the 
VCR, put on my fuzzy slippers, and park myself on the 
couch with a box of Kleenex and another pint of 
Cherry Garcia.  Then I bawl my eyes out, but when 
it's over my faith in the power of love is 
reaffirmed." 

"You know I'm open to the concept that souls mate for 
eternity, Scully," he winked at her and then went 
back to watching the nightclub.

"Yes, I do seem to recall that, Mulder," she said 
with mock indignation. "Nice try, but you're not 
getting out of it that easily."

"Out of what?"

"Don't think for one minute that you're going to tell 
me that 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' is your guilty 
pleasure movie and not tell me why."  Scully turned 
around and pressed her palms against the table, 
testing its sturdiness.  Satisfied that it would hold 
her weight, she scooted up to sit on it, leaving her 
feet dangling above the floor.  "Okay, I'm 
listening."

"Scully, we're supposed to be watching," he said, 
peering even more intently into the scope.

"*You* want to focus on surveillance?  Oooh, this 
*must* be good," Scully chuckled, running the toe of 
her boot up his leg.  "C'mon Mulder, take a break. 
Tell me."

No answer.  "You know I won't let this go so you 
might as well tell me."  She nudged him again with 
her foot.  "C'mon."

With a sigh, Mulder pushed back from the scope and 
swiveled his chair around toward her.  "Okay," he 
said, rubbing his palms on his slacks and keeping his 
eyes focused there.  "'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' was 
one of the first books my mom read to me.  I remember 
she was *so* excited when the movie came out, and she 
couldn't wait to take me to see it.  I think I was 
about seven.  What I remember most about that day is 
watching *her* watch the movie.  She really loved it, 
and she kept asking me if I was having a good time.  
Afterwards we went for ice cream sodas.  And the 
entire way home she kept singing the song.  It was 
just a *really* nice day."

He looked up at her then, the sadness in his eyes 
making them a deeper shade of green.  "Not long after 
Mom had her stroke, I saw the video in the bargain 
bin at the video store and I bought it. I watch it 
every now and then when I want to remember that good 
day we had before ... well, before everything.  I 
watched it again not long ago."  He bit his bottom 
lip and looked down at the floor, the pain of his 
mother's death still fresh.

"That's beautiful, Mulder.  I'm sorry I laughed.  Can 
you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, Scully," he said looking her in 
the eye again.  "It's a strange choice for a guilty 
pleasure, I'll admit."

"No stranger than me going to the circus every time 
it's in town," Scully said.  "The big top - another 
of my guilty pleasures."

He cocked his head slightly as she continued.  "When 
I was a little girl, I loved the circus.  Ahab ... my 
father ... took me for the first time for my fifth 
birthday.  And from that point on, every single year 
he would take me to the circus.  Even if he was at 
sea when my birthday rolled around, the first chance 
he had after he came home, we'd go to the circus.  I 
think part of the reason I loved it so much was 
because it was *our* thing.  The circus was too 
smelly and dirty for Missy, and Charlie was more 
interested in trucks than elephants.  And best of all 
- it drove Bill crazy.  Bill always tried to horn in 
on whatever Ahab and I would do together - he was so 
jealous - but he would *never* ask to go with us to 
the circus.  I found out later from Mom that the 
first time she and Dad took Bill to the circus he was 
petrified of the clowns.  He screamed and cried and 
they had to leave.  They could never get him to go 
back."

"Big Bad Bill afraid of clowns," Mulder laughed.  
"That's a little piece of ammunition I won't easily 
forget."

Scully smiled.  "Anyway, my father and I went to the 
circus every year even after I grew up.  The last 
time was about three months before he died.  Since 
then I've gone each year by myself."

"I would have gone with you," Mulder said, reaching 
out to take her hand.

"I know," Scully responded, "But it's something I had  
to do by myself. I watch all the children with their 
fathers and remember how special my father was to me. 
Actually, this year I decided that a nice way to 
honor Dad's memory would be for me to start the same 
tradition with my nephew, Mattie, when he's old 
enough.  I mean, since I'm reasonably sure that 
*Bill* won't be taking him to the circus."

Mulder laughed out loud again.  "That's a nice guilty 
pleasure, Scully.  But maybe on one of our G.P.  
Sundays, you can take *me* to the circus instead of 
Mattie."

"After we watch 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,'" Scully 
released his hand, stretched again, and returned to 
the chair behind the table.  "You know, Mulder, I 
seem to recall perusing your limited non-adult video 
collection once or twice, and I don't ever remember 
seeing that movie.  Where do you have it hidden?"

"Well, actually, it's hiding in plain sight, Scully," 
Mulder said as he blew another bubble.  "Well, not 
exactly.  Camouflaged a bit.  You see, there is an X-
rated version of that movie called 'Titty Titty Bang 
Bang.'  It has a slightly different plot, though."  
He flashed her that mischievous smile.  "I have the 
real movie stashed in the case for the X-rated 
version."

"Ah, very clever," Scully nodded.

"Yeah, but Frohike is going to get quite a shock when 
he inherits my video collection."

It was Scully's turn to laugh as she leaned back in 
her chair and Mulder returned his attention to the 
telescope.  "I never thought about it much until 
recently," Mulder said, pausing to blow another 
bubble, "but I think my mother and 'Chitty Chitty 
Bang Bang' are to blame for my interest in those 
adult videos."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, think about it, Scully," he said, looking at 
her again.  "The name of the female lead in 'Chitty 
Chitty Bang Bang' is Truly Scrumptious - possibly the 
best porn name ever.  Why Ian Fleming didn't save 
that one for a Bond girl, I'll never know.  Anyway, 
I'm just saying that I think my mother unwittingly 
fed my adolescent sexual fantasies with that story, 
helping to shape my grown-up sexual fantasies."

Scully snorted.  "I should think a man with your vast 
video collection wouldn't have the time or the need 
for sexual fantasies."

"I have a very healthy sexual fantasy life, thank you 
very much," Mulder said.  "What about you?"

"Of course.  I have fantasies like anyone else."

"Oh sure," Mulder chuckled.  "The woman who would be 
Eleanor Roosevelt for a day.  This oughta be good.  
Okay, Scully, let's hear about your fantasies?"

"We're really running the gamut here," Scully said.  
"First guilty pleasures, now fantasies.  Maybe later 
we can play Truth or Dare."

"You're avoiding the question," he said, popping 
another small bubble.  "Chicken?"

"Of course not," Scully said, pulling her chair up to 
the table and folding her hands in front of her.  
"Well, first of all, the same man is in all my 
fantasies.  He's very smart.  And tall.  Strong.  
Very good looking.  Distinguished profile.  He's 
charming.  A snappy dresser.  The man looks wonderful 
in anything ... or nothing, if you get my drift."

Mulder nodded, "Uh-huh.  Go on."

"He's sensitive and romantic.  He always knows 
exactly what to say.  And in every fantasy I have, I 
massage his scalp and whisper sweet nothings in his 
ear."

"Uh-huh," Mulder said, running a hand through his 
hair.  "Does this Adonis have a name?"

"Of course," Scully sighed.  "Assistant Director 
Walter Skinner."

Scully giggled at Mulder's frown.  "What's the 
matter, Mulder?  Jealous?"

"No," he said.  "I guess I just never realized we'd 
been fantasizing about the same person all these 
years."

Scully laughed heartily and rested her chin on her 
still folded hands.  "Okay," she said, "Let's hear 
about your fantasies, Mr. Active Fantasy Life."

"That's easy," Mulder replied, leaning back again and 
closing his eyes, deep in thought.  "In my fantasies 
the scenarios may change, but the partner always 
remains the same - a short redhead."

"Mickey Rooney?"

"Very funny.  No, this short redhead is a 'she'.  
Sometimes in my fantasies I'm a World War II foot 
soldier trapped behind enemy lines, and she's the 
saucy French waitress who hides me in the wine cellar 
below the cafe where she works."

Scully raised an eyebrow.

"Sometimes, she's the plantation owner's daughter, 
and I'm the stable boy who takes care of her daddy's 
thoroughbreds.  Every day she comes to ride and while 
she's waiting for me to saddle her horse, she smacks 
her hand with her riding crop - sometimes there's a 
lot of leather in my fantasies, Scully.  Anyway, 
suddenly, the horse bolts and I push her out of the 
way, but I get trampled in the process and she nurses 
me back to health."

Scully raised the other eyebrow.

"Sometimes I'm lost in a blizzard and my little 
redhead finds me in the snow, takes me to her cabin 
in the mountains, and saves me from freezing to 
death.  Sometimes in that secluded cabin I get 
appendicitis or some other life threatening problem 
that requires surgery and she saves my life with her 
cool head, steady hand, and trusty scalpel."

Scully was out of eyebrows.

"Sometimes in my fantasies there's a mysterious woman 
who has become enamored of me because of my fantastic 
body, engaging mind, and sparkling personality ..."

Mulder ignored the snort from across the table.  "She 
begins to stalk me, sending me gifts, calling me on 
the phone.  Finally I gently but firmly set her 
straight, being the gentleman that I am, and tell her 
there can be nothing between us.  Then she flips out, 
abducts me, and tries to turn me into her sexual 
plaything.  I resist, of course ..."

Another snort.

Mulder cleared his throat.  "I resist, of course, 
because I *know* that my fantasy redhead, my *true* 
love, is searching for me day and night, night and 
day.  She won't eat, won't sleep, won't rest until 
she's saved me from this fate worse than death.  She 
keeps searching and searching and searching and I 
keep resisting and resisting and resisting, and just 
as my resolve is beginning to crumble, she finds me, 
kicks the stalker's ass, and takes me home to make me 
*her* sexual plaything.  And we have wild, hot sex 
every chance we get.  And sometimes Skinner's there 
too."

He finally looked over at Scully, expecting the 
raised eyebrows and little smirk that greeted him.

"You've given these fantasies quite a bit of thought, 
Mulder."

"Well, you have to remember that I had nearly seven 
years worth of fantasies before I decided to take a 
chance on reality," Mulder said.  "A guy can do a lot 
of thinking in seven years, Scully."

"I see," Scully nodded.  "And why is your fantasy 
life still so active, Mulder?  Disappointed with 
reality?"

"No way."  Mulder gave her his most charming smile.  
"But it's hard to completely forget epics seven years 
in the making. And besides, the reality enhances the 
fantasy."

Scully stood up and walked to the other side of the 
card table, leaning against it in the same spot she 
had before.  "Mulder, I couldn't help but notice a 
common thread in all these fantasies that you 
mentioned."

"What was that?" Mulder asked, glancing through the 
telescope before looking back up at her.

"Well, in each of the scenarios that you described, 
you're in some sort of peril; and the redheaded 
heroine ends up saving you."

"That's because fantasy is never very far removed 
from reality, Scully.  The day you walked into my 
office seven years ago you saved me.  And you've 
saved me every day since.  Naturally that reality 
would be an important part of all my fantasies."

As he turned back to the telescope and the activity 
across the street, Scully shook her head. 'You always 
keep me guessing,' he'd told her not long ago.  Well, 
he always kept her guessing too.  She thought she 
knew him so well, but here he was, still unfolding 
like a flower after seven years.

Scully pushed away from the card table, stretching 
her back muscles again.  "Are you sure you don't want 
me to take over for awhile, Mulder?" she asked, 
moving to stand behind him.

"Naw, you can be the voyeur later when the action 
gets better," Mulder teased as Scully began to run 
her fingers through his hair.  "Hey, that feels 
nice," he said.  "Now I understand what Skinner sees 
in these scalp massages."

The words had barely left his mouth when the massage 
stopped.  Her arms came around his neck and she 
quickly unknotted his tie.

"Scully, what are you ..."

"Shhh," was all she said as she began to unbutton his 
shirt and nibble his earlobe.

"Scully, you're starting something we can't finish," 
Mulder said, knowing that if he didn't stop her soon, 
he would be as undone as his shirt.

Her hands still didn't stop, working their way down 
his chest, tugging on his undershirt to try and 
release it from the waistband of his pants.

"Scul-lee," he said, grasping her wrists.  "Suppose 
Henderson or Greenberg gets here early?  Do you want 
them to get a bigger eyeful over here than they get 
across the street?"

She stopped nibbling and rested her chin on his 
shoulder.  "Mulder, first of all, name one time when 
Henderson or Greenberg has been even one minute early 
for their shift.  And second of all, maybe making out 
while on a stakeout is one of *my* fantasies.  Maybe 
*I'm* ready for fantasy to meet reality." The 
nibbling resumed.

"Scully ..."

"I'm not Scully," she purred.  "I'm Monique LaGrange, 
a member of the French resistance. Or I'm Scarlett 
O'Leary and my daddy wants you to saddle my horse.  
Or I could be Sgt. Preston of the Royal Canadian 
Mounted Police out on avalanche patrol.  And you know 
what they say about the Mounties ... we always get 
our man."

"Funny," Mulder said, pushing her arms back over his 
head and pulling her around to sit on his lap.  "I 
hate to bring this up, but when we started this 
relationship I seem to recall *someone* instituting a 
'no whoopee at work' rule."

"Rules are made to be broken, Mulder," she said 
locking her arms around his neck.  "I learned that 
from you."

"Ah, so there's hope for a dangerous liaison atop the 
desk in the X-Files office after all, huh?"

"It seems we share a few fantasies, Agent Mulder," 
Scully whispered, placing a firm kiss on his lips.  
"I think it's time you got started on fulfilling some 
of them."

"Well, I'll be glad to oblige you as soon as humanly 
possible, Scully," he smiled, "especially the one in 
the office.  But that door has a lock and this one 
doesn't.  So you know we can't.  Not here."

"Party pooper," she said, giving him one more kiss 
and extracting herself from his lap.  She stretched 
and yawned as Mulder peeked into the telescope's 
eyepiece again.

"All this talk of guilty pleasures has me wishing 
there was a Starbucks in this neighborhood," Scully 
said.  "I could sure go for a Grande Vanilla Latte 
with extra foam."

"Latte.  What happened to the days when there was 
just coffee?  That's what's wrong with our 
civilization today, you know?"

"I need sustenance before we get into a philosophical 
discussion about coffee bars bringing about the 
downfall of civilization as we know it," Scully said.  
"I'm going to go down to that place on the corner and 
get some tea.  Do you want something?"

"Coffee," he said bluntly, to underscore his earlier 
point.  "Just plain coffee.  You want me to go?"

"No, I need to stretch my legs.  I'll go.  I'll be 
back in ten."

"Not if they're watching 'The Brady Bunch' down there 
at that place on the corner."  He gave her a wicked 
smile, blew another bubble, and focused his attention 
back on the job at hand.  "Be careful."

"Always," she said, patting the service weapon at her 
back.  "Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

"Who?  Me?"  he said, not looking up.  "I'm just 
gonna sit here and indulge in my guilty pleasure, 
Scully.  Too bad that you can't indulge in any of 
yours while we're here."

"Yeah, too bad." Scully headed for the door, a smile 
crossing her lips.  She paused in the doorway to take 
a look back at her partner, engrossed in the work but 
still attempting to create the perfect bubble.  Shirt 
unbuttoned as she had left it, relaxed, all the 
worries of the universe held at bay for the time 
being.  It was her favorite Mulder look, the 
man/child combination always evident when he slept, 
but sometimes visible when the circumstances were 
right.

'If you only knew, Mulder,' she thought, as she 
pulled the door closed.  If he only knew that she had 
been indulging in a guilty pleasure all day.  Bubble 
baths, Alan Jackson, romance novels, Cherry Garcia, 
saccharine sitcoms, maudlin movies - they were all 
good.  But gazing at Fox Mulder - that was the best 
'guilty pleasure' of all.

Finis

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

This was written for the Haven December Challenge, 
the subject of which was to finish a challenge that 
you didn't finish previously - which for me was the 
Haven *November* Challenge.  The subject of *that* 
challenge was Guilty Pleasures - write a fic with 
your guilty pleasure front and center.  I had decided 
not to participate in this challenge because after 
thinking about it for quite a while, I realized I 
didn't *have* a guilty pleasure fic - I read them all 
and I don't feel the least bit guilty!  But then I 
decided to cheat a bit and try a fic where Moose & 
Squirrel discuss *their* guilty pleasures, using some 
of the ideas that were mentioned in the Guilty 
Pleasures Thread in the Haven Message Board Fanfic 
Folder.  Due to real life complications, I didn't get 
the fic finished in time for the November deadline,  
but since I was given a reprieve in December, here it 
is, for better or worse.  And the elements of the 
Challenge were:

A voyeur or an act or being voyeuristic
A search (for something, someone, or a telling of a 
search, in honor of people searching for fic)
A fear of clowns
A stalker (of something, someone, or a telling of a 
stalker, in honor of fic stalkers everywhere)