Title:  The Truth is Laundry
Date: November 1999
Written by: Carol Sue aka CSue
Email: cshaag@bscn.com
Category: H, S, MSR
Rating: PG-13 possibly R for sexual implications
Keywords:  Mulder and the Mundane
Spoilers: teeny tiny ones for Milagro and Dreamland
Disclaimer: Not mine

Feedback:  Please!

Acknowledgments:  Big thanks to my betas:  FoxPhile, Kelley2 and
Zuffy.  I couldn't, and wouldn't, do it without their
encouragement and/or harassment.

~*~*~*~

2630 Hegal Place
Alexandria, VA
Sunday morning....early

I stand in my apartment doorway, close my eyes, take a deep
breath and let it out slowly.  I think I'm ready now.

I would give anything if I didn't have to drag my laundry down 4
flights of stairs to that dark dank place called a laundry room
in the basement.  Well, maybe not just *anything and ok, so maybe
it isn't that bad...I have the elevator!

I punch the down button and rest while I wait for the car to
arrive, continuing my mental rant.

Besides, who would have thought that someone who sends out his
shirts and suits to the cleaners would have *this* much laundry
anyway?  They could at least make these damnable hampers with
wheels.  Let's get real here! 

I look down to see the accumulation at my feet.

Two hampers, one jug of laundry detergent, hangers and a box of
dryer fabric softener sheets.  I know, I know...I don't look like
the fabric softener type, do I?  Almost too Martha Stewart for a
bachelor, right?

Well, I made the mistake of complaining to Scully about my socks
and sweats becoming close buddies last winter.  Every time I went
looking for a pair of socks one of them was inevitably bonded  to
one of my sweatshirts at the bottom of the basket.  As I forced
them to part company, I was treated to a shock as they snapped,
crackled and popped their objections.  Next thing I knew she had
talked me into buying a box of Snuggle dryer sheets when we were
in the grocery store picking up a few necessities.  Told me that
it would help with the pesky static in my clothes in the dry
weather or something. 

Personally, "Snuggle" in the "Cuddle up fresh" scent conjured up
a more delightful thought than laundry.  Is this a subtle hint,
Agent Scully?  I smile to myself at the thought of Scully and me
"snuggled" together on her couch eating popcorn and drinking wine
watching a video that we argued over renting (She won, or rather
I conceded defeat.), while large flakes of snow fall just outside
her window.  The bubble bursts as I audibly hear her recite FBI
policy in my ear.  "Male and female FBI agents will not consort
with one another."  Screw the bleeping policy.

The elevator has arrived now.  I dash through its open door and
push the STOP button inside giving me extra time to drag the
heavy hampers into the car.  I hit "B" and deactivate the STOP
button.

Guess I should be happy I don't have to drag it out to the car
and to the local Laundromat.  Have you seen what they get for a
load of wash down there?  Highway robbery!  At least the washers
and dryers here are a *bit more reasonable.  FBI agents are not,
by any stretch of the imagination, over paid and wealthy, you
know.  It looks like a lot until you tally up the cost of living
in the DC area.  I had few choices back when I first moved here. 
It was live fashionably and dress conservatively or dress
fashionably and live in a dump.  I chose the latter of the two. I
should have been as lucky as Scully to find a nice place, not
overly expensive, with one of those cute little stacking Maytag
laundry centers in a closet off the kitchen.  Women are just more
tuned into checking for those little perks than men, I suppose. 

Fortunately, the elevator makes an express trip to the basement. 
Perhaps because it's Sunday and there aren't too many people
stirring.  Sleeping in, I suppose.  I glance at my watch.  It
says 6:00 AM.  On the other hand, I imagine it's a bit early for
anyone except me.  If I was smart, I'd be doing this at 3:00 in
the morning when I can't sleep but I really don't expect much
competition at this hour either.  Just as well.  I am not in the
mood for small talk.

I arrive at my destination with a thud and as the doors swish
open, my nostrils are greeted by the lovely Eau de Mildew
fragrance that seems to permeate every inch of the basement. I
reverse my earlier procedure to get my burdens unloaded from the
local transportation. 

The laundry room is on the left and just down the hall from the
infamous furnace room.  Every time I come down here I am reminded
of that misbegotten excuse for an author, Philip Padgett, my
former neighbor, and his novel method of murder and romance.  I
smile at myself for the unintentional pun I have managed to
create so early in the morning.

Arriving at the door, I open it and reach inside to turn on the
light.  As my luck would seem to have it, I am greeted by a
resounding "pop" as the light bulb blows and the room is plunged
back into darkness.  "Shit!"  I say aloud and retreat to the
furnace room to see if that could be where the super stores his
stash of extra light bulbs.  The Fates smile upon me and I emerge
with a fresh bulb.  "Tada!"

Now my only problem would be getting enough light from the dimly
lit hallway to see to replace the old bulb.  I prop the door open
for the added illumination but manage to stub my toe anyway on
the leg of the folding table. "Son of a b..." I shriek, reaching
down to rub the offended body part.  I knew I should have put on
my shoes.  "Socks are not shoes, Mulder.  It's no wonder your
socks never look white.  Don't you ever use any bleach?" I hear
Scully admonish me.  "Then why aren't you here helping me with
this, Scully."  I hear myself answer into the emptiness.  Misery
*does love company, you know!  Especially your company!  I would
be a lot less miserable if you were here.  Of course, we wouldn't
be doing this at the crack of dawn if you were here. More like a
quiet evening.  We could be sharing dinner together in front of
my TV while we wait for these loads to wash and dry.  A power
struggle for the remote would be more entertaining than this. A
*whole lot more entertaining!

My imagination pictures that very scene where Scully and I are
wrestling playfully on my couch for control of the TV remote. 
She hates it when I continually flip the channels.  "I'll take
*that, Flipper!" she says, as she makes a grab for the control.  
A smile lights up my whole face as I hear her laugh while I
tickle her.  Too bad my smile won't create more light in the
poorly lit room of my laundry nightmares.

Just inside the laundry door I spot the row of four washers and
three dryers at attention like metallic box shaped white soldiers
waiting for their orders.  Only one of them, a washer, will *not
be taking orders as it is sporting an "Out of Order" sign.  I
huff a sigh of disgust then growl my disapproval.  Ok, so maybe
this will take longer than I thought. 

The object of the game would be to do as many loads as feasible
concurrently to end my torment as quickly as possible.  Hell,
looks like just the sheets off the damn waterbed are a whole
load.  I suppose I should have washed them before now, but... Ok,
it's disgusting, I know, but 90 percent of the time I still don't
sleep on them.  When you sleep alone (I sigh loudly here and tell
my mind not to go there....) the couch is just as comfortable.
The towels and sweats will round out another load.  That leaves
one washer for the jeans, socks, underwear, the few casual shirts
I own and T-shirts.

No sense in putting off the inevitable.  I slam dunk large
quantities of the aforementioned articles into each of three
washers followed by a shot of liquid detergent.  Dropping in the
required small change, I push each washer knob with vengeance
imagining them to be Krycek, his cigarette smoking friend, and AD
Kersh.  Then I yank on each pulling them out to turn on the
water.  Step one.  Complete.  Now I must *wait* which is probably
the biggest waste of time in the entire process. 

The logical choice at this point is to return to my apartment.  I
will keep an eye on my watch and in about an hour, I will return
to cycle my wet duds through the dryer.  I hesitate to leave my
clothes unattended in this not so pleasant environment but the
heavy duty hauling has apparently stimulated my appetite.  My
stomach growls as if on cue.  Breakfast is not a half bad
thought!  So I listen to my stomach and catch the next elevator
to the fourth floor.

~~~~~

As I hold the refrigerator door open I realize how pathetic and
few my choices are.  One quart of partially consumed homogenized
whole Vitamin D milk, a swig of Sunny Delight, an open container
of prepackaged lunch meat and 4 bottles of Stewart's Root Beer,
only the best for this guy.  Guess I should have picked up a few
food items the other day when Scully and I stopped at the store
on the way back to the office. 

Scully.

I have a vision of the delicacies I might find in *her
refrigerator... yogurt, sprouts, some of that real orange juice
with the "just squeezed taste", salad fixings, eggs, a small
container of 1% milk, cottage cheese, a loaf of 5 grain bread
with no preservatives and bee pollen. ("It helps keep it fresher,
Mulder.")  Even *that sounds better than the choices sitting
before me. 

I settle for a bowl of cereal.  Any port in a storm, I say, as
long it fills my stomach.  Good thing I grabbed the Sunday paper
on the way in.  I can at least read the comics while I attempt to
swallow each spoonful of right-on-the-verge-of-stale cereal.

Time flies when you're having fun or so they say.  I glance at my
watch.  Obviously, I stood in front of the open refrigerator
longer than I thought.  There's a bit of time left but there is
an outside chance that at least one of the washers is done so I
put my empty bowl in the sink and head out.

~~~~~~

Revived somewhat by my so called breakfast, I sprint down the
four flights to the basement.  It's quiet.  That's a good sign, I
think.  Sure enough, all the washers have finished.  I start with
the jeans, the sweats and the towels.  I pull the sodden masses
of twisted garments from the washers and select a dryer to
deposit them in.  I follow suit with the rest of my clothes and
the sheets.  Finally, I pull a softener sheet from the box to
throw in on top of each dryer load, deposit the requisite change
in each slot and start the machines.  More time to kill.  Once
again I make a mad dash up the steps thinking that perhaps I
won't need to run today after all this exercise in the stairwell.

I stand in the doorway of my apartment, bent over, hands on my
knees, catching my breath.  I try to decide what to do next. 

Coffee. 

I do believe it is past time for the cup of coffee.  Having
regained my composure I turn and head for the kitchen.  Yes, a
cup of coffee and the newspaper should make a very pleasant time
killer.  I grab the Washington Post from the kitchen table where
I left it earlier.  With coffee mug clutched in one hand and the
Post in the other I saunter back into the living room.  I drop
the heavy Sunday edition of the paper on the coffee table and sit
on the couch.  I take my first sip of the hot liquid and burn my
tongue.  This hasn't been my day it seems.  I return to the
kitchen to see if I have any ice to cool my blistered tongue.

Reading the paper can be informative and discouraging.  Is there
ever any *good news anymore?  I ask myself.  Not on the front
page anyway.  "Investigation continues in...." "Authorities
examine physical evidence..." "Government officials delve into
inconsistencies..." "Autopsy reveals..." "Local police probe..." 
My mind drifts here to feast on a more pleasant use for those
verbs.  Or, more specifically, someone whose physical evidence I
hunger to investigate, examine, delve into and probe.  I remind
myself that I wasn't going to "go there" earlier but now the urge
is overwhelming.

I slump back against the couch to gratify that part of me that
would rather fantasize about Scully than do laundry or read the
paper.  I may physically leave her at the office on Fridays but
somehow she always manages to "follow" me home. 

Coffee slops from my still full mug onto my gym shorts and T-
shirt.  A sigh escapes my lips.  Is laundry ever really
"finished?"

Another hour has passed and I decide to check on my clothes. 
Once again I trot to the basement.  One of the dryers is done.  I
can guess which one.

The sheets.  They are warm and soft as I gather them up
entangling myself in them.  Warm and soft, "cuddle up fresh". 
"See, Mulder, I told you you'd like fabric softener."  Scully
says to me but, turning around to look, I see I am still alone.

My nose buried in the conflux of warm fragrant sheets in my arms,
I take the elevator back to the fourth floor, carefully juggling
them to press the appropriate buttons.  Gingerly, I push through
the apartment door with them and kick the door closed with my
foot.

As I drop my bundle in the center of the bed, I remember that
getting them off the bed hadn't been too hard but getting them
back on...well, that appeared to be an altogether different
story.  Perhaps....just perhaps I should attempt to get some help
here.  Besides, what harm is there in asking?  If she is going to
"follow" me home for the weekend, she might as well be here. 
Right?  How is that for Mulderlogic?  Ulterior motives not
withstanding.  My face lights up with an enthusiasm for laundry
that had not been there before now.

My cell phone is within easy grasp on the beside table.  Peeking
at my watch I decide that 8:30 is not an unreasonable time to see
if Scully is up.  Pushing the power button awakens my trusty cell
phone which beeps objection.  I ignore it and hit the speed dial
for Scully's apartment.

"Hello?" she says and it's music in my ears.

"Mornin' sunshine, did I wake you?"  I hear myself say in a most
positive and upbeat voice.

"No, no, not at all."  I hear her stifle a yawn.  "Why are you
calling me at 8:30 on a Sunday morning?" 

There is still a hint of sleepiness in her voice and my mind
drifts idyllically to one set of waterbed sheets still warm from
the dryer smelling like cuddle up fresh Snuggle.

"Nothing big."  Playing it very nonchalant at this point, I
continue, "I was just doing my laundry this morning is all."  And
thinking about you, I add mentally.

"And?" 

"And, you know my waterbed?"  You know, Scully, the one that I
found in my bedroom after we came back from New Mexico? 

"Yeah, so?"

"I took the sheets off to wash them and I wasn't sure I could
manage to get them back on without some help.  I've never made a
waterbed before."  This would be the place where I hesitate and
project my best pleading puppy dog face over the phone line.  Not
an easy task unless you happen to be talented.  "Do you have any
plans today?"

"You want to me to help you make your bed."  There is a
dumbfounded note in her voice and I can tell she's testing her
systems to make sure she's awake.

"Well, I figured two heads and an extra set of hands would better
than me attempting to figure it out on my own."

"Surely Mulder, someone with a degree from Oxford can figure out
how to get sheets on his bed!"

"Don't be so quick...since when is sheer overwhelming brilliance
coupled with common sense?"

"I see your point." 

I hold my breath picturing her thinking through the possible
angles on this. 

"OK, but how soon do you need me?"

Now, Scully.  I need you _right_ now.  A quick glance to my
shorts is proof positive.  Take a deep breath, Mulder...hold on
buddy.  I maintain my control saying, "Ah, just whenever you're
ready.  Say an hour or two?  That give you enough time?"

"Yeah, sure.  I just need to catch a bite to eat, shower and
dress and I'm on my way."

Be still my heart. "Great.  Sounds great."

My heart wants to leap up into my throat as I punch the "end"
button.  I am overjoyed.  Coming to my senses, I remember what I
was trying to accomplish before my call. I make another mad dash
to the basement.  The dryers are done and I cram the clean
clothes with the bundle of empty hangers back in the hampers to
transport them.  They seem as light as feathers as I maneuver
them back to the elevator.  It seems odd but I am beyond
questioning it.  Another express elevator trip deposits me back
on the fourth floor.

The stuffed hampers find their way into my closet.  I find my way
to the shower since I haven't had one yet today.  I shave quickly
and turn on the hot water.  Shedding my clothes I toss them in a
corner.  I step carefully into the tub and under the hot spray
although I think a cold spray would have done more for my
"condition".  A quick body lather, a hasty shampoo and a thorough
rinse later I am out drying myself. 

In my haste I have forgotten to grab clean boxers so I end up
streaking through the bedroom to the closet to dig for some in
the hampers.  Plan your work and work your plan I always say. 
Hopefully, the rest of my plan will not go awry. 

By the way, what is the rest of my plan?  Well, first off you
need to finish getting dressed, Mulder.  Nothing flashy just your
casual look you don't want any suspicion about your motives
aroused.  Aroused?  Double entendres and, oh god, I'm talking to
myself.  What next?  I throw my head back and sigh at the
ceiling. 

Back to the hampers of clean clothes I go, searching for a clean
T-shirt and jeans to put on.  Oh good!  There's that black
turtleneck, that has always been a hit in the past.  Not too
wrinkled either.  Great.  Still warm too.  Now, a splash of that
after shave, you know, the one that smells just clean and fresh
not the fancy expensive stuff.  That would be a dead giveaway.
Scully's not your *giveaway* type any way.  She makes you work
for her attention.

A quick look towards the mirror hints at the need for a brush to
the hair which is soon remedied and I pose in front of my
reflection for final inspection.  I am not disappointed.

Moving on from the bedroom I begin by tidying the kitchen a bit. 
Just basic stuff like brushing the crumbs from the table and
counters to the floor.  Stacking the dirty dishes on just one
side of the sink.

Then I straighten the living room where there isn't much to do
except maybe stack the Sunday paper neatly.  Then I return to the
bedroom and pull out one of those replete clothes hampers and, in
fact, pull it back into the living room.  Situating myself on the
couch I start folding.  Novel idea, I know, and it's an awesome
thought almost beyond imagining. 

Shocking, to say the least, but that is where I am when the knock
comes on my door and the familiar, "Mulder, it's me." filters
through the heavy wood.  Deep cleansing breath.  I hear her key
in the door and when it swings open she steps in wearing navy
leggings topped with a navy tunic sweater and running shoes.  She
turns and closes the door behind her.  I can see that her hair is
pulled back but the shorter errant tendrils frame her face.  My
vision of loveliness.  She flashes me a comical smile as she
realizes what I am doing. 

"My, aren't we the picture of domesticity?"

"You know, Scully, if you don't get to folding this stuff right
from the dryer it ends up all wrinkled."

"Oh really?"  She is still blown away with disbelief.  I can
tell.

"Yeah, really," I say with confidence and sling back at her,
"What cha goin ta make of it?" I smile up at her and continue to
pull smaller items from the hamper.

"Oh nothing really.  It just seems a bit out of character to find
you folding your underwear."  She is barely able to contain
herself at this point.  She shifts her weight to one foot and
crosses her arms over her chest.  "So where are these sheets and
this bed?"

All business, my Scully.

I rise slowly from the couch, stretching slightly like I have
been sitting there for the last hour.  "Right this way", I say
motioning with my hand and head toward the bedroom.

"Mom always told me to be careful around these types that are
leading you off to their bedroom."  She mutters her comment under
her breath but I know that she means for me to hear it.  She
follows me anyway.

I step to the side of the bed, cheerfully indicating my leaning
tower of bed sheets.  "I tried, Scully, but for some reason I
couldn't get them to fit right."  Ok, so I lied.  I didn't really
try.  Scully is stifling a laugh.  "What?" I exclaim
incredulously.

"Satin, Mulder?"  A smile brightens her face and her eyes light
up.  "Black satin?"

"Yeah, they came with the bed, what's it to ya?"  I say with mock
hurt. "And I happen to like them, so there." 

She just eyeballs me and shakes her head.  "Sure, ok.  Let's find
the bottom sheet.  That would be the one with the elastic,
Mulder."

I knew that.  Does she think I'm totally ignorant?  Well,
probably.  Isn't that what you intended?  I ask myself.  I don't
answer.

She approaches the bed and sorts through the silky mounds of
fragrant fabric with a woman's expertise looking for the "bottom
sheet".  Finally, she holds up an elasticized corner and says
with authority, "_This_ is the bottom sheet, Mulder."

It dangles provocatively from her hand I think.  Plan my work;
work my plan. I really don't know exactly what that is right now
but I continue to watch her separate the two large sheets from
each other, tossing the pillow cases and the flat sheet to the
side.

"Get on the other side of the bed, Mulder," she orders me.

"Yes, ma'am,"  I respond, moving to obey.  If I expect
cooperation later, _I_ had better cooperate now. 

She throws me one of the elasticized corners and tells me to fit
it over the top corner of the mattress while she does the same on
her side.  She comments as she works, "They're making the sheets
different these days putting the elastic on the sides instead of
the top and bottom.  It was a bit confusing at first because I
couldn't figure out why they didn't fit. Put the bottom corner on
now,"  she instructs me.  "Gosh, it's gotten warm in here with
this sweater on."

My next intake of air catches in my throat because she has
grabbed the bottom of her sweater and is pulling it off.  I
hold my breath for what seems to be an eternity...and release it
when I see her tank top.  Is it warm in here?  Who am I kidding?
Surely it's at least 10 degrees warmer in here now.  Must be all
this _hard_ work. I think trying not to dwell to much on the
double meaning.  It's not working.

I watch intently as she moves to the foot of the bed and with
amazing strength lifts the corner of the mattress just enough to
slide the last corner on.  She straightens the sides a bit and
tucks them in then smiles at me with satisfaction. "Voila!" 

I stare at her in awe.  So smooth and taut.  The sheets, Mulder,
I remind myself, the sheets. 

You could bounce a dime in the center of the bed the sheets are
that smooth and taut.  I circle back around to her side of the
bed.  "Wow, that looks great!" I say, complimenting her work. 
"Hey, Scully, have you ever tried satin sheets?" I ask in a
completely innocent tone of voice.  I would like to think she has
because I have envisioned her sleeping on a pillowy cloud of
satin sheets wearing some of those soft creamy satin shortie
pajamas. 

Your mind is wandering from the objective, Mulder.  I rein my
thoughts in quickly so as not to lose control of the moment.

"No, Mulder, I never have.  I have never felt moved to spend the
kind of money it would take to put satin sheets on my queen sized
bed.  Sheets like this must be terribly expensive."

"Then you need to sit on the side here and lay back and see what
you think?"  I place my hand at the small of her back and move
her closer to the bed turning her so that all she has to do is
sit. 

I read hesitation and doubt in her expressive bright blue eyes as
if she is trying to calculate the worst that could happen if she
follows through with my suggestion.  I have nonchalantly picked
up the pillows and slipped them into their satiny covers, lightly
tossing them down on the mattress along with the top sheet. 
Eventually, she decides it must be safe enough so with a wary
sideways glance at me she sits.  Her weight causes a ripple in
the mattress and I turn to sit beside her. 

I pull the pillows in behind us.  "Now you need to lie back to
get the full effect."

"Mulder..." She starts to object and stand but I gently push her
backwards onto the pillow, reclining my own lanky body beside
hers, stretching out on my side and resting my head on my hand.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think you have maneuvered me into a very compromising
situation, Mulder." 

I reach across her body brushing her breasts lightly to grasp the
top sheet that is piled on the other side of her.  My arm rests
across her chest and I take note that her nipples are pertly
standing at attention as I purposefully drag my arm and the sheet
back to cover her, furthering the sensual experience.

"I think I'm experiencing d=E9j=E0 vu."  She is staring straight up,
perhaps attempting to avoid my direct stare or more pointedly the
"compromising situation".  "I picture a mirror up there," she
asks, indicating the ceiling, "Or did I dream that?"  She
blushes.

"I think you dreamt it."  So...the truth comes out!  You have
those dreams too, Scully, come on admit it.  The inner-Mulder
smiles with delight.  She looks absolutely delectable lying on my
bed with her creamy skin and fiery auburn tendrils framed in
black satin.  Suddenly she looks at me steadily, calmly.  Are you
asking yourself what I hope you are?  I can't help myself. I lean
in to kiss her.  I watch as a fleeting panic crosses her face
disappearing just as my lips claim hers.  She tenses at my touch
attempting to push me away and wiggle out of my grasp.  It's not
long before she surrenders and I feel her relax under me. 
Leisurely she drapes an arm around my neck and runs her fingers
through my hair.  I believe she is thoroughly enjoying the
moment, FBI policy or not!  She whimpers her dismay as I pull
away.

"You know this is all your fault." I say in all seriousness.

"_My_ fault?!" she retorts, feigning anger and attempting to
wiggle from my grasp. She's beautiful when she's angry even if it
is fake anger.  "Just how the hell is this _my_ fault?"  Now
she is totally dumbfounded.

"It was those Snuggle dryer sheets you _made_ me buy.  You know,
the ones with the 'cuddle up fresh' scent.  One good whiff of
these clean sheets and I knew you had to be here."  I kiss her
again slowly and purposefully.

"You tricked me!" she mumbles into my mouth as I cover her lips
again with my own.  I don't let her voice another word of
objection because it would be a lie.  I can tell she is enjoying
this as much as I am.  Her body is refuting her admonishing
words to me.  My hands are busy discovering her hidden secrets. 
She toes off her running shoes and "snuggles" closer.

"So...how do you like the sheets?"

"I'm not sure I've gotten a good feel for them yet," she mutters
in her pleasure. "How long do I have to make up my mind?" she
teases tantalizingly.

"All afternoon if you like." Her face is animated and eager as I
speak. "But only on one condition."

She scowls at me playfully.  "And what would that be?"

"That you help me wash them again later after you've made up your
mind."

"It's a deal."

~*~*~*~

The End.

~*~*~*~

If I could make a wish, I think I'd pass.
Can't think of anything I need...
No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound,
Nothing to eat, no books to read.

Making love with you
Has left me peaceful, warm and tired
What more could I ask?
There's nothing left to be desired.
Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak.
So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep.

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you.
All I need is the air that I breathe,
Yes, to love you.
All I need is the air that I breathe.

~The Hollies