Rain and Shine

Title: Rain and Shine

Author: Caroline McKenna

Summary: There’s nothing like nature to settle an argument.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: minor ones for Triangle.

Category: Pretty harmless… MSR and a little A. We’ll save the MT for later.

Archive: Written for I Made This Productions Virtual Season 10 project. They have full rights

for two weeks and after that, let me know where you’re taking it so I can visit.\

Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, you know that. Don’t rub it in.

Feedback: Of course!

Email: cmckenna1121@yahoo.com

Author’s notes: Thanks to all the wonderful people at MR who really kept me writing. You know, I had

no intention of doing a rain fic… my muse was on vacation in Florida or somewhere. One day, though,

at rehearsal it started raining really hard, and all 50 cast members grew silent. It was really

magical. Anyway, nobody really cares… LOL. Thanks to the ever-wonderful Vickie for the speedy beta!

“Come on, Scully! It is completely plausible!” Mulder argued, rising from one of the red plush

seats that decorated the theatre. The building was empty, closed off by yellow police tape to

authorize an FBI investigation.

“You honestly think that a ghost replaced the prop knife for a real one?” Her left eyebrow raised in

a way that Mulder was all too familiar with.

He knew she was probably right. One of the cast members had probably taken the retractable knife

and put a kitchen knife in its’ place, but there was something tickling at his brain. Something

didn’t make sense, didn’t fit. Everybody liked Jen Wills; she was one of the most popular actresses

on the Broadway circuit and there was nobody to argue that she was made for the role of Nancy in

the musical “Oliver!” Mulder had to agree. To see the petite woman on stage belting out “As Long As

He Needs Me” was pretty amazing.

At first, when Scully suggested going to the theatre, he was more than a little reluctant. For

some reason, watching ten year old boys sing, dance, and pick people’s pockets didn’t appeal to

his sense of classic entertainment. Scully had talked him into it, however, whispering

seductively into his ear about what she would do when they returned to the motel.

“Well, yeah,” Mulder defended himself, although weakly. He knew that it all sounded crazy, but then again, half of what came out of his mouth sounded crazy. Insanity wasn’t always considered a bad thing, at least not by certain redheaded FBI agents. Mulder grinned at the thought. Even though Scully did not believe all his theories- *any* of his theories, she still believed in him. She believed in him enough to trust him with her heart, her mind, and her body.

“Care to elaborate on that, Mulder?” She moved closer to him with her hands on her hips, challenging him.

“Well,” he began uneasily, “There wasn’t a crumb of evidence of any foul play…”

“Mulder, a woman was murdered.”

“Besides that. The table where the dummy knife was found was absolutely spotless. We have no concrete suspects…” he trailed off.

“So you automatically jump to ghosts?” she asked sarcastically.

Mulder smiled sheepishly, and turned his head away, afraid to answer.

“That is so typical, Mulder,” she scolded, “We could have been back to the hotel hours ago. I need a good night’s rest, I’m still suffering from jetlag. But you wouldn’t think of that, would you Mulder? Of course not.”

“That time of the month again, Scully?”

The look on her face told him that he had definitely said the wrong thing. Mulder knew he was in deep shit.

But she didn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds. “Mulder, when women are angry, they aren’t always PMS-ing.” Her tone was calm, and controlled, almost too much for Mulder’s liking.

“Look, Scully, all I’m saying is why must you always contradict me? I’m not only talking about now. I mean, I know this ghost thing is bogus, but it’s *all* the time. I can never get a word in edgewise without you shoving some kind of scientific fact down my throat.” He had tried to keep composed, he really had. It hadn’t worked very well.

“Me?” Scully practically screeched, “*I* never believe *you*? Mulder, what kind of drugs are you on?”

He interrupted her, “Drugs! You always assume I’m on drugs…”

Scully ignored him and kept talking, “You are the one who never believes me. If I don’t go along with your theory, you ditch me and usually end up in the ICU…”

Their conversations overlapped painfully, the clamor of their voices, each so different, so perfectly opposite that they almost harmonized.

“Every time I say something you don’t like you assume I’m on drugs. Why can’t you ever accept that maybe I mean when I say?”

“…and then I sit there for three days, worrying myself sick, until you come out of whatever coma you’re in only to sit and worry some more while you’re entering surgery…”

“Because sometimes I do mean it, Scully. After the Queen Anne or whatever that damn boat was… what I said, I meant it. But I know you don’t believe me, you never do…”

“Of course when you come out of surgery, you treat me like I’m… I don’t know, precious or something and of course I love that, but when you’re all better, you go back to your normal ditching self…”

A deafening clap of thunder echoed through the theatre, shaking the ground and rendering the two agents silent. They remained that way as the droplets of rain began to echo off the tin roof. The soft pitter patter sped up and became louder, filling the whole room with the sound of spring.

Mulder could feel his anger ceasing with each bead of water to bounce off the roof. For the first time, he was glad the theatre didn’t have enough money to afford a new roof that year. The sound was calming, soothing to a point.

He glanced at Scully out of the corner of his eye.   She appeared relaxed as well, her eyes closed and her lips curving up, just listening to the glory of nature.

Mulder sat on the edge of the stage as the rain died down to only a pitter or a patter once in a while. Scully joined him, an expression of contrition on her face.

“Mulder, I’m sorry..”

“I’m sorry, Scully…”

He broke into an earsplitting grin. They thought too much alike.

“You first,” he offered courteously.

“Mulder, I’m sorry for yelling at you and, you know, accusing you of ditching me. I know you haven’t done that in quite some time, and I really do appreciate the effort.” She avoided his eyes, looking down at the dirty stage floor.

As much as he was glad to hear her apology, her original, bitter words still rang in his ears.

“…worrying myself sick…”

“I’m sorry for making you worry, Scully. You know that the last thing I want is to bring you pain. And I guess I didn’t mean it when I said that you don’t listen to me. You listen to me more than anyone else ever has. I love you,” He took her hand. Everything was going to be fine.

“I know. I love you too Mulder, but I guess that goes without saying.”

“And Scully?” Mulder smiled.

“Yes, Mulder?” she responded.

“I do think you’re precious,” he said, referring to her earlier comment. He hadn’t totally tuned her out, after all. He had heard every word that she said, and had also heard the insecurity behind it.

“Thank you. And, by the way, I did believe what you said after the Queen Anne.”

“That’s good to hear, Scully.”

“Come on, Mulder,” Scully dragged him to his feet and then brought her face to his, quickly kissing his lips. “We’ve got a case to crack, ghost or no ghost.”

“Aww…” Mulder complained. He had hoped that they could go back to the hotel and… make up.

“In the morning.” Scully smiled.

~end~

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