TITLE: Diamonds on the Soles of Their Shoes (1 of 1) AUTHOR: Michelle Kiefer E-MAIL ADDRESS: MSK1024@AOL.COM DISTRIBUTION: Archive if you like, just tell me where. Fine for Spooky's archive. DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and Skinner belong to 1013, Chris Carter, and to the X-Files. All other characters are mine. SPOILER WARNING: Hollywood AD RATING: PG-13 CONTENT: V CLASSIFICATION: Post ep, MSR SUMMARY: The problem with getting what you want is that it can be taken away from you. COMMENTS: Please visit my other stories at: http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm Maintained by the wonderful Jennifer, webmistress extraordinaire. Thanks go to Jennifer, January and especially to Kestabrook for beta reading and support. This story owes its inspiration to Paul Simon and Ladysmith Black Mambazo for the wonderful song, "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes" from the album Graceland. Diamonds on the Soles of Their Shoes By Michelle Kiefer Under the diner's fluorescent lights, the sequins on her headband glitter like diamonds in the sun. Their light show seems dim against the light in her eyes, and Mulder thinks he would do anything to keep that light there. He can remember every meal they have ever shared. Oh, he can't recall who ordered what or how much the check totaled-- he never cared about the food or the money. What he can remember in vivid detail was how she looked in every coffee shop and greasy spoon they've ever visited. He can remember how she tucked her hair behind her ear before biting into her sandwich and how her hands looked as she stirred her coffee. He remembers the fresh faced young woman wanting to order french fries and opting for the salad because she thought she needed to lose a few pounds. The memories are still too vivid of that same woman, pale and gaunt, pushing food around her plate in an effort to distract him from the fact that she hadn't eaten anything. But here she is before him, laughing at his jokes and running her stocking-covered foot under the leg of his tuxedo, the silk tickling the hairs on his calf. Only in a diner in Hollywood could a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a formal dress share a meal at 4 a.m. and not raise a single eyebrow. She takes a forkful of chocolate cream pie and closes her eyes in ecstasy as she savors the rich taste. He smiles to think that he actually knows what she looks like in the throes of ecstasy and that he has put that look on her face on a regular basis lately. She has a daub of whipped cream clinging to her little finger, and he draws her hand to his mouth and tastes the sweetness. "Ooh Scully, you didn't tell me they had real whipped cream on that pie." "Hey, you had your chance. I can't help that I got the last piece. Play your cards right, and I'll try to make it up to you later." She offers him a bite of the pie, but he shakes his head. It is much more fun to watch her as each morsel of chocolate disappears into her perfect mouth. He can hardly sit still as he pictures those luscious lips trailing kisses down his belly. Her eyes never leave his face as she makes love to her fork, and he is sure she knows the effect she is having on him. This pleases him more than he would have thought possible. He had long suspected that her strictly controlled exterior hid a woman of great passion. Even in the years when sadness seemed to cling to her like a cloud of cold mist, he had known that deep in her core, a flame still burned. He felt triumphant to have helped that fire reach the surface. Scully made love the way she did everything else in her life--with conviction. He'd just about succeeded in putting that disastrous film out of his mind. A little more time watching Scully tease him with pie and he might just be able convince himself that this was all a bad dream. His biggest fear was that the hideous mess would become some kind of cult classic. Earlier that evening they'd almost been late for the premiere, having spent the afternoon kissing and touching and making love. They had lain on the bed, their bodies hot and moist, and been lulled to sleep by the air-conditioning as it cooled their skin. They had awakened in a panic, and rushed to shower and get dressed, Mulder zipping her dress as they hurried down the hotel hallway. They'd arrived breathless and flushed at the lobby entrance where the studio limousine waited for the two of them and Skinner. Mulder forces his mind to hurtle past the horror of actually watching the film. He can honestly say that this was the worst thing he has ever cast his eyes on, and he has certainly seen some terrible sights. Yes, he will just fast forward past that to the moment that Scully found him in the graveyard movie set and nestled against him on the astroturf hill. She had cajoled him out of his funk with little more than a somewhat uncharacteristic giggle and a Bureau credit card. His mood lightened further when they appropriated the limousine, stranding Skinner at the theater. Freddie, their rather affable driver, hid any surprise he felt at seeing two of his three passengers long before the film was over. Freddie had been happy to suggest an elegant restaurant where they could test drive the credit card. "Le something or other" was suitably exclusive, but Mulder feared that they would be turned away without a reservation. In a city where everyone was beautiful and glamorous, what chance did he and Scully stand with nothing more than good looks and nice clothes? Apparently, FBI credentials carried more weight than he thought, because they soon found themselves eating a beautifully presented if minuscule meal. Scully decreed that the next order of business had to be dancing, so Freddie again played tour director and found them a piano bar where the music tended toward old standards. Mulder allowed himself to be drawn along, hiding his secret pleasure at getting to hold Scully close in public. After all, it wouldn't do for her to get used to the upper hand. Hell, who was he kidding; he would do anything she asked to be able to put his arms around her. He had no idea what impression they gave to the other bar patrons as they held each other close and moved to the music. He imagined the disparity in their heights might cause a smile or two, but he and Scully hardly noticed that anyone else was in the bar as they swayed slowly to Gershwin and Porter: music that had defined romance for over sixty years. He nestled his hand just below the curve of Scully's waist, and she seemed to melt against him. Mulder teased her by drifting his fingers lower over the swell of her bottom, and glancing down he saw the hint of a smile on her face. He could hardly hide his grin as he rested his cheek against the top of her head when she didn't make him move his hand. Eventually, of course, they grew hungry. One could hardly call the glorified snack they had eaten at "Chez Starvation" a meal, so they went in search of Freddie for real food advice. He had driven them away from the glamour and elegance to a place where real people wolfed down meat loaf and mashed potatoes and chocolate cream pie. Now sated on comfort food and Gershwin, he should be content. But somehow he finds himself waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable disaster to find him. Mulder isn't convinced that he's undeserving of happiness so much as unlikely to hang onto it. He pushes those thoughts from his mind and tries to concentrate on the good parts of their little trip into LaLaLand. He remembers how Scully has been so relaxed away from work. Maybe they should get away together as soon as work slows down a bit. They could go somewhere lazy and romantic, a warm island where no one knows them and they could pretend to be like other people. Maybe they could swing a vacation in the fall. Scully yawns, her mouth perfectly pink and round. She stretches her hand over the table to cover his. "Mulder, let's go back to the hotel, so Freddie can get home." He nods in agreement and Scully hunts around under the table for her shoes, so she and Mulder can sleepily dislodge themselves from the restaurant booth. As they prepare to go through the door, he is seized by the strongest need to hold her in his arms. He pulls her into a fierce embrace, burying his face in her hair. "Mulder, what's the matter?" she asks, looking up into his eyes. He hasn't relinquished his hold on her, and she doesn't attempt to pull away. "Nothing. Everything's fine," he replies, as she tightens her arms around his waist. "I think Freddie may have fallen asleep in the car. We better wake him up." As they walk across the diner parking lot, Mulder notices the sun is just starting to rise. Yes, they'll go somewhere sunny in the fall. End ( 01 of 01)