Subject: The Barbecue Series 6: Getting to Know You 1/1
Date: Thu, 7 Jan 1999

Category: Vignette, MSR, MulderTorture/Angst

Rating: R for language and somewhat graphic sexual situations.

Spoilers: Through season 5, to be safe.

Summary: Plans for a long weekend are changed….and Mulder dares to hope for
the better….yeah, right…<VEG> Oh, and don't even bother to look for the
Barbecue pit in this one...let's just say there's enuf heat in the Jacuzzi
to roast the marshmallows<VBEG>

Archive: Yes

Disclaimer: The names you recognize belong to 10/13 productions and Chris
Carter. I'm just borrowing them. I won't keep them. At the end of the
story you can have `em back, I swear, (unless you *want* to give `em to me.) All
other characters belong to me, and if Mr. Carter wants to borrow them, all
he needs to do is ask. <grin>

Introduction: It picks up in the Barbecue Series Universe, a few weeks
after the infamous holiday trip to San Diego…

This one's for Ten, who just couldn't see her way clear to let our heroes
rest <Ahem!>…I hope it's close to what you expected! <VEG>

As always, thank you Vickie Moseley for being my CyberMuse and "conscience"
on this one!

The Barbecue Series 6: Getting to Know You
by Susan Proto (

Part 1/1

"Oh, no!" I hear her cry out. I immediately jump out of my seat to see
what's gotten her so upset.

"Scully?" I ask aloud, but she waves me off. When I turn to leave, she
reaches out and grasps my hand. Apparently it's only my voice that's not
desired; my presence is welcomed. Okay, I'll be good and wait patiently.

"Okay, Karen, I understand ___. Mmmhmmm. Yes, I'm disappointed too. Give
Daniel a kiss for me, please? Tell him I promise we'll make it another
weekend as soon as possible. MmmHmmm. Yes, I will. Give Charlie my love
and Briana a kiss for me too, okay? And Karen? Good luck," she ends with half
a chuckle, and then she hangs up the phone.

"Scully? What's up? Isn't Daniel still coming to spend the weekend?" I

"No," she sighs.

I wait what I deem is an appropriate amount of time for her to elaborate,
but when I see none is forthcoming, I do my G-Man routine and probe a little
deeper. "Ummm, Scully? Why not?"


"What? He's got the Chickenpox?" I echo incredulously.

"Mmmhmmm,'' she replies with a slightly distracted air.

Daniel is Charlie and Karen Scully's oldest. He's also first child to make
Scully an aunt, so I guess she'll always have a special place in her heart
for him. Charlie is still in Texas, working for the Navy, but Karen had come in
with the kids for a couple of weeks. She'd had a college reunion with some
old college chums, which gave her the perfect excuse to pop in on Maggie
Scully and give her the opportunity to put her grandma skills to use.

The reunion was a week and a half ago and had gone off without a hitch; in
fact, Scully and I even helped Mom baby sit. I really like Charlie and
Karen's kids. They're bright, a little on the hyper side of active, and
always up for trying something new. Oh, and besides, they seem to really
like me too. Kind of like a mutual admiration society, ya know?

I'm happy to say their parents seem to like me too. Believe me, that makes
a difference.

"Well," I say, "at least you got a chance to see him last week." God, even
I think that sounds lame.

"I know," she acknowledges in a tone that agrees with the lameness, but she
recognizes the attempt at comforting with a small smile.

"Well, I guess I'll go in Monday as usual," she concludes.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because as a rule we don't usually get Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday
off, Mulder, and now that my nephew is indisposed, I won't be taking the day
off," she says ever so logically. Ever so Scully.

"No," I reply illogically, totally Mulder-like.

"What? Mulder, there's no point in wasting the day. I've got a ton of
paper work, or rather, should I say _we_ have a ton of paper work. Remember? We
were a little under the weather over the Christmas holidays. We really
could use about a week of extra days in the office to catch up,'' she admonishes

"No," I repeat, and when I see her nonplused expression, I simply say, "I
don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth." Now she's really confused.
I can tell. Scully has this unique expression when she's confused. Her left
eyebrow lifts ever so slightly, and her mouth opens just a bit. She
actually starts breathing through her mouth during these puzzling moments.

First time, every time. Amazing.

"Scully, we haven't taken any time for just ourselves in a really, long __.
Hell, Scully, we've _never_ taken any time for just ourselves. I mean, when
we were in San Diego, you had to literally sneak out of Bill's house to
share a few moments of privacy with me. And then I ended up in the hospital with
a concussion, so I wasn't much good for anything for a couple of weeks.

"Jeeze, I actually feel well for the first time in I don't know how long,
and I don't want to spend the time in the office. Please, Scully, couldn't we
take Daniel's Chickenpox as an omen; as an excuse, an invitation, a warning?
We need time for us, G-Woman," I plead.

I watch with fascination as I perceive Scully's wheel's turning. She's
thinking about it, and when she doesn't answer immediately, I think I may
have actually convinced her. Maybe. Hopefully. I look at her and try one more

"We could find a nice little bed and breakfast for us to stay at for a
couple of days," and then with a slight leer I add, "and nights."

I swear the woman just shuddered. Oh yeah, I've got her. I've got her big

"There's one in Virginia that's really nice. I'd printed some information
out about it from the internet," she says, matter of fact.

"Always be prepared, right, Scully?" I reply with a chuckle.

"Well, you never know."

She's flustered now, and I don't want to do anything that may jeopardize our
little tryst, so I simply say, "Let's check it out, 'kay?"

Tryst. Oh yeah. Now I think I just shuddered a little bit.


We leave early Saturday morning. It's really a glorious day for a drive,
and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I don't even mind that Scully is driving; it
gives me a chance to check her out surreptitiously. She hates it when I
observe her closely. I know it makes her all self-conscious, but watching
her is so pleasurable to me. And knowing she belongs to me, and I to her, makes
the pleasure almost sinful.

Speaking of sinful, there's another reason I've decided we need to take
advantage of Daniel's Chickenpox. We've yet to__. Well, you see, we still
haven't___. Shit.

We still haven't had sex.

It's not that we don't want to; I mean all parties are willing. It's not a
religious thing for Scully and definitely not for me. It's a matter of
timing. You see every time we'd considered it, I was recuperating from yet
another injury. Sometimes I feel there's a conspiracy out there to keep the
two of pure.

Well, maybe not that pure. I have to smile at this thought. I mean, it's
true, we haven't had sex. Well, at least not in the commonly accepted,
procreating style. But it's not as if we've been living like a nun and a

We've touched. We've kissed. Oh, yes, and we've even kissed and touched.
Oh boy, did I ever touch.

I've had the pleasure of, well, giving Scully some pleasure. Wait_, check
that. From the sounds of the satisfied groans, moans, and screams that came
out of that beautiful mouth of hers, I don't think I'd be out of line to say
I gave Scully a great deal of pleasure. And believe me, it is truly a
pleasure to pleasure my girl.

We just haven't had the time or the opportunity to go at one another like
little jackrabbits. And I really want to find out, 'what's up, Doc?' very,
very badly.

The fact that Scully already had the name of a bed and breakfast tells me
she's ready to find out too. Thank heavens we're still on the same wave


I feel a hand touch my shoulder and a voice whispering, "Wake up sleepy
head. We're here."

I slowly open my eyes and see we're parked in front of a very quaint home
with a large wrap around porch. I half expect to see Ma and Pa Kettle sitting on
a couple of rockers, but there's no one to be seen. "Do you want me to get
the bags?" I ask. Scully nods a 'yes' and I go to the trunk of the car. I pull
out my suit bag and gym bag. I also retrieve Scully's piece of Samsonite.

"C'mon, Mulder. I'm dying to see what it looks like on the inside," she
calls excitedly.

As I watch her practically dance up the stairs, I feel redeemed. I know
this was a good idea. At least I'm pretty sure this was a good idea. I don't
know why, but for some reason I'm suddenly feeling uneasy about everything. I
haven't a clue as to why I would all of a sudden be feeling some doubts
about this trip, but I am. I want to vanquish them from my mind, but damn it, I

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.


I hang my suit bag in the closet and drop my gym bag on the floor. I put
Scully's suitcase on the bed, because I figure she's going to want to open
it and hang up her clothes. Imagine my surprise when I see her haul it off the
bed, and flop back on the brilliant green and white bedspread.

Looking very, very, sexy.

All of a sudden, I find it very difficult to stand still. Very difficult.
I change my posture with all of the subtly of a bull in a china shop, and look
at Scully who is now very slowly unbuttoning the blue cotton oxford shirt
she's wearing.

I find myself shifting positions again.

"Scully?" I swear my voice just cracked. Thirty-eight years old, and this
woman can reduce me to that of a twelve year old with a pubescent voice.

"C'mere, G-Man," she whispers. She does this little finger pointing
thingy, and I want to move like lightning but, instead, find myself more like bolted
to the floor.

I can't move. I am so afraid it's going to happen again. I mean, the last
time Scully and I actually tried to __, well, you know, 'the act', I didn't
exactly live up to my expectations. Shit, I didn't live up to anyone's
expectations, and now I'm a little leery about trying again.

What am I going to do if I can't __. I mean, if I can't sustain an___.
God, this is too painful to even think about. I look over at the beautiful woman
in the bed and wonder how the hell I can even have these doubts, but I do.
Oh, jeeze, what the hell am I doing to myself. All of a sudden, I feel like
a shit for doing this to her; for doing this to me.

"Mulder? What?"

"I don't know," I stammer, and the truth is I don't. I honestly don't
understand why I was so totally relaxed and so looking forward to this
little weekend getaway when we left Georgetown, and now that we're here in
beautiful Virginia Beach, Virginia, I feel like a wreck.

"Come here and lay down next to me, Mulder."

I do so, tentatively. I feel like my entire body's gone rigid on me. I
wonder if this is what the initial stages of rigor mortis feels like.

"Mulder, you're as stiff as one of my corpses," she exclaims. "Okay, let's
get you relaxed. On your tummy, G-Man." She pulls off my shoes and socks,
and then makes me shimmy out of my slacks and turtle neck. I lay there, on
my stomach, in just my tee shirt and boxers.

Oh, my. Yes, if there's anything that can get my mind off of my problems
it's one of Dana Scully's back rubs supreme! The woman was obviously a masseuse
in another lifetime, because every time she's given me one, I feel like I'm
transported into another time zone.

She starts kneading my neck and shoulder muscles. The woman is digging into
the muscles so deeply, I worry her hands are going to reach through the
other side of my neck. I hear a strange, garbled sound and wonder what the hell
it is, until I realize it's me. I'm slowly, but surely, losing myself in
Scully's touch, and I make these strange, uninhibited sounds.

I feel her fingers, strong yet, at the same time, so gentle, slowly working
their way down my back and then to my ass. If I didn't know any better, I'd
swear my Scully is paying particular attention to my ass. Not that I mind.
But who would have ever guessed Dana Scully was the kind of woman who was
into asses.

Next I feel her work her way down to my thighs and then my calves. Finally,
I feel her massage my feet. Now, the first time Scully ever tried to massage
my feet, I fought tooth and nail. You see, I have a confession.

I am extremely ticklish. Extremely. And my feet are the most ticklish part
of my body. The only person who ever knew that was my sister. And I
regretted that fact very, very much. I did not want Dana Katherine Scully
to be privy to this particular piece of information. It is information that
can only be used against me, and I really did not want to subject myself to that
kind of torture any longer.

But she smiled that radiant smile, and Scully convinced me to let her try.
She'd said if I was uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form, she would
stop, no questions asked. I think she had an idea what my objections were related
to, but how could I refuse her very rational offer? Ah, screw the offer,
how could I refuse that smile?

So I let her massage my feet, and I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. My
God, it had to be one of the most sensual, relaxing experiences of my life.
So now, as I feel her hands begin to manipulate the balls of my feet, and
rub the heels in slow, tantalizing movements, I find myself slowly drifting off.


I hear water running. "Hey sleepy head, wanna get in the hot tub with me?"
she asks in this very sexy, husky voice she reserves only for me.

Unfortunately, it's not having the desired effect. All I really want to do
is stay in bed and go back to sleep. But I feel very guilty even considering
this since this little tryst was my idea in the first place. So I roll over
and call out, "Sure do." The fact that those two little words wreak havoc
with my throat, and cause me to start hacking this dry, annoying little
cough miraculously goes unnoticed by my partner.

This surprises the shit out of me, because the Scully radar is usually much
more in tuned with my physical condition. Maybe it has something to do with
the fact she wants to be with me in the biblical sense as much as I want to
be with her.

I just don't know if it will be right at this moment. I feel so damned
tired. I slowly rise out of the bed and strip off my tee shirt and my boxers and
pull on my robe. It's not that I'm suddenly shy around my Scully; I feel
chilled. The thought of the soothing hot water feels wonderfully comforting at the
moment, though I suspect a bowl of Mom's chicken soup and tea with lemon
might be even more so.

It suddenly dawns on me the thought of Maggie Scully and her chicken soup is
more appealing to me at the moment than the beautiful redhead who is sitting
naked in the Jacuzzi.

Now, what's wrong with this picture?

Oh, God. I am not sick. I can't be sick. I won't be sick. This is a cruel
joke. It's times like this I believe there just might be a God, since only a
God could have the power to prevent my Scully and me from doing the wild
thing before we get married.

Married? Did I just say married? Oh Lord, please don't have let me say
that out loud. It's not that I don't want to ask Scully to marry me. I do. I
just don't think she's quite ready to hear it from me yet. But someday
soon. I hope she'll be ready someday, really soon.

But right now, I have to make myself believe I am as healthy as a horse. I
walk into the large, sunny bathroom and see my beautiful Scully sitting
contentedly amidst the bubbles. I say, "Nice?"

"Mmmm, heavenly. It's heavenly," she replies with her eyes closed.

"Want some company?" I ask.


I drop the robe and step down into the Jacuzzi. I sink into the water up to
my neck and close my eyes as well. The water does feel good, very refreshing
on my tired muscles, and the moisture seems to have a soothing effect on my
dry throat. I may actually be able to relax yet.

Scully reaches out to grab my hand. She then pulls herself over and seats
herself on my lap. I think my body wants to protest, but the fact is, the
water's pulsating bubbles feel good, and Scully's presence feels even

Before I even realize it, my body begins to respond to her little 'visit.'
She's making these small little movements on my lap, and though I suspect she
knows exactly what she's doing, Scully is doing it wordlessly. And I don't
make a sound in response either.

I just relax, and respond, and let the water and my Scully do their thing.
Scully is sensing my response, as well as my growing need, no pun intended. I
feel her rearrange herself on my lap until she has finally given herself
totally and completely to me.

I feel her inner muscles wrap around me, and I wonder if I have indeed died
and gone to heaven. She is, blissfully, doing all of the work. She is
allowing me to merely be; to sit here and simply feel and respond to her
sensual ministrations.

But I can't simply sit still. I have to touch her. I have to kiss her. I
gently grasp her chin and pull her toward me. I gently kiss her lips, and
begin to tenderly caress her back. I wonder if Scully's skin is tingling as
much as the skin on my body is as I feel my breathing begin quickening.

But, happily, I have the presence of mind to hold off my total response until
Scully, herself, is ready. And she is ready. I can feel the heat emanating
from her loins. She is breathing heavier, and finally gasps out loud. I feel
her entire body tense as she contracts her muscles lovingly around me.

I can no longer contain myself, and feel my own sexual release begin to
intensify as I pant and breathlessly call out her name.


"Dana?" she echoes in surprise. I find it difficult to say anything else to
her immediately, so I sit absolutely still for several minutes and then smile

"Yeah. Dana. Who'd a thunk?" I say with a slight grin.

"Does that mean I get to call you Fox?"

"Sure," I say to her surprise again, but then add, "every time you have an
orgasm that totally knocks you for a loop, you are more than welcomed to
call out 'Fox!'"

I think she tries to hit me, but she slaps the water instead.

I laugh and grasp her arm. I pull her to me and try to think of a way to let
her know how much __, how wonderful ___, how incredible making love with her
truly is. I smile now, and just look into her eyes. I wonder if it's
possible to get lost in those eyes. I know I could have easily gotten lost in
her just a few minutes ago.

"C'mon, G-Man," she says huskily. "Let's try for round two in the bed."

"Mmmm, round two," I murmur in reply. Round two sounds good. "God, Scully,
you're incredible. _We're_ incredible." She smiles at me and nods. She
doesn't have to say anything more.

I watch her rise out of the tub. My God, she is beautiful. Truly. She
doesn't have a perfect body, but it's pretty damned near close. I want to
make love again to that almost, pretty damned near close, perfect body. So I
stand up, but quickly discover my very imperfect body is choosing at this
very moment to balk at the idea.

I feel like I'm turning into a prune danish, and quite frankly, as
extraordinary as my first experience of having sexual intercourse with my
girl is, I suddenly feel exhausted. All I want to do is go back to sleep.
Desperately. Unfortunately, my head doesn't feel so great at the moment

Damn. At the moment, round two does not sound all that inviting.

She wraps a towel around herself and begins to towel dry her hair as I
stand up to get out of the tub. I ask her to please pass me my robe.

"Mulder!" she gasps. I look at her face and she wears the most horrified
expression. I don't understand; I said 'please', didn't I?
"Ohmigod. Look at you!"

I haven't a clue as to what the hell she's talking about, so I turn and look
in the mirror. I stare at the image in the mirror, and now it wears the
horrified expression.

"Scully? Please tell me I am seeing things, right?" I say in small,
slightly frightened voice.

"You never had Chickenpox as a child?" she asks incredulously.

"Scully, I was always sick and I was always in the hospital as a kid for one
reason or another. I must have had Chickenpox. Right? I mean, don't all
kids get Chickenpox?" I look at her and then back at my reflection. The
mirror doesn't lie. I can't believe this. I really can't believe this.

And to make matters worse, I really begin to feel awful. "Scully, I don't
feel so good," I whimper softly.

"C'mon, Fox, let's get you into bed."

"Hey, I thought you were only gonna call me that when you peaked!" I
admonished half-hearted.

"It appears the closest thing I'm going to get to that scenario is bringing
you chicken soup in bed, my love. So, indulge me, okay?" she says with a
sweet smile.

I've somehow managed to screw up yet another weekend with my Scully, yet I
can't complain too much. We finally 'broke the ice,' so to speak, even if I'm
not up to a repeat performance. But the notion of climbing into bed right now
does sound wonderfully inviting. Not exactly sensual, but inviting.

"Hey Scully? How long do Chickenpox last?" I ask curiously as she leads me
into the bedroom.

"Oh, anywhere from a week to two weeks or more, Mulder. Let's just wait and
see what develops, okay?"

She rummages around my bag and comes up with a pair of clean sweats and tee-
shirt. I put them on and climb into the bed. Now I feel her hand on my
forehead, and hear her muttering something under her breath.

"What?" I ask curiously.

"I have to go out to the car. My bag's in the trunk. I need to know what
kind of a fever you're running."

"Are you sure I have a fever?" I ask innocently.

She looks at me as if I'm in the throes of delirium, and then smiles that all
knowing Scully smile. Uh-oh. Someone has just gone into doctor mode. "I'll
be right back," she says after she throws on a pair of jeans and a sweater to
go to the car.

I hunker down into the softness of the comforter. I know I should feel
terrible; I mean I have the frigging Chickenpox for crying out loud. But I'm
safe, I'm not in a hospital (for a change) and my Scully is with me doing one
of the things she does best. (I discovered earlier, in the Jacuzzi, one of
the other things she does best.)

So now I content myself with the knowledge I'm loved, and I'm as close to
normal as any thirty-eight year old man can be with Chickenpox.


Well, I never seem to do anything easy, do I. That's a rhetorical question.
I know the answer already.

My temperature had spiked to a 103.8 that first night, and I'd started having
problems breathing. Scully was afraid I was developing pneumonia, but she'd
decided to wait another night before she hauled my ass off to the emergency

Well, the second night it had gone up to 104.5. Guess who ended up getting
their ass hauled to the emergency room? Guess who didn't even care at that

As a matter of fact, if I'm not mistaken, I didn't care about much of anything
the last couple of days, with perhaps the one exception of reliving my little
Jacuzzi experience with one very delicious redhead. In fact, I woke up this
morning with a rather obvious piece of evidence that demonstrated just how
much I liked that sitting in a hot, bubbling water with my partner.

I realized just how obvious when I looked over at the nurse who'd arrived to
check my temp and blood pressure. She turned about a thousand shades of red.
When I realized I couldn't get my mind out of the gutter, so to speak, I
think my face became every bit as flushed with embarrassment.

When the doctor had arrived a little while later, he'd made some crack about
being grateful the pox had only affected my temperature, not my temperament.
Okay, I was ready to dig a hole and climb in at that point, but then Scully
walked in and made me realize I had nothing to ever be embarrassed about
when it came to her.

Well, it's now the third day. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. Guess who
didn't go to work today, and guess who won't be going to work tomorrow, or
the next day, or for a week or two after that.

My temperature is finally back down to a more manageable 101.2, and I'm able
to breathe much more easily with the oxygen mask on. They give me this
atomizer to breath with every couple of hours to open up my bronchial tubes.
At first it hurt like hell, but now, it actually feels better afterwards.

The door opens and there she is. "Hi," she says with a bright smile. "How
ya feeling?"

"Better," I say through the mask, and it's true. I mean, I don't think I'm
quite ready to run the three minute mile, or engage in hot, steamy sex with
my significant other, but I am feeling better. I think she even believes me.

"Good. You're lucky the blisters aren't too bad, Mulder. Are you itchy?"

I tell her, "It's not too bad. The pink stuff helps."

"Good. I'll make sure you have a good supply of calamine lotion," she
assures. "Hungry?"

For the first time in two days I think I am. "Yeah, a little."

Amazing what can make a person happy. The return of my appetite makes my
Dr. Scully one happy camper. I am only too happy to oblige. She produces a
thermos from her cloth shopping bag.

"Rumor has it, this is especially potent stuff, Fox Mulder. It has a secret

I watch her pour chicken soup with noodles and it smells heavenly. It's
steaming, so I take a small spoonful, lift my mask, and blow on it gently to
cool it. I taste. My eyes open as wide as they can be, and I ask, "Where
is she?"

Scully laughs out loud and says, "Parking the car. She should be here any
second," and then, as if on cue, in walks Maggie Scully.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" I ask amazed. I mean, why is this woman
here when her own grandson was at her house and sick with the same ailment.

"Well, what do you think? Dana called, told me you were sick, so I had to
bring you some soup, right?"

"But what about Daniel?" I ask with concern.

"Daniel is practically recovered from his bout. Thankfully he had a very mild
case, unlike some people we know who shall remain nameless, Fox Mulder," she
says sternly but allows her love to show right through.

"You didn't have to come all this way, Mom," I say, and before she can
protest, I add, "But I'm glad you did." I'm rewarded with a Maggie Scully
million watt smile.

Oh boy, it really is amazing what makes some people happy. These Scully
women are way too easy. Thank God.

But then again, so am I. I mean, here I am, in the hospital (again) feeling
better than before but still feeling like shit, with two of my favorite women
of all time. Doesn't take much to make me happy either, I guess. Just a
couple of beautiful smiles, warm hugs, and the best damned homemade chicken
soup in the whole wide world.

End of 1/1

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