Title: Fiiive Apple Piiies
Summary: A Thanksgiving treat...hot apple pie, sort of.
Author's Note: This is a quickie, because the idea came to me while helping my mother core apples for the pie for Thanksgiving. The Teflon and marble countertops are my mother's ideas...see what happens when you are baking until 2 a.m. in the morning, people? Love ya, Mom.
"On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me..."
Scully fumbled with the large gold keychain dangling from her hand and put the key into the lock of her apartment.
For the night before Thanksgiving, she was unnaturally relaxed. She was so relaxed, in fact, that she was singing Christmas carols in preparation for Macy's Black Friday sale. Her mother raised her right.
"Do do do do do...three French hens..."
Perhaps she was in a good mood because her mother was planning Thanksgiving dinner, thank God. Scully really had no patience for the holiday this year, and she tried explaining to her mother all the stress that she was under lately; she got as far as the word "bees" when her mother ran screaming from the room. Maggie Scully had a thing with bees, whether they were virus-infected bees or just the sting-and-swell kind.
"On the fourth day of Christmas, la la la la la..."
So Thanksgiving was up to her mom, and Scully called Christmas. Besides, her mother made much better stuffing, with the chopped walnuts and everything.
Still singing, Scully placed the bags she was carrying down on the couch and turned towards her kitchen.
"On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me..."
"FIIIVE APPLE PIIIES!!!!" yelled the man covered in flour standing next to her stove.
"AIIIIGH!!!" yelled Scully right back, her weapon now drawn. She dropped to one knee and aimed.
Mulder wiped a flour-covered hand on his jeans and pointed at Scully's knee.
"Uh, Scully, you're getting flour all over that nice pantsuit. Ooh, and it's the magenta one, my favorite."
"Mulder! What in the *hell* are you doing in my kitchen?!!!"
"Baking, Scully," he said, showing her the Kiss The Cook apron he was wearing.
"Yeah, now where do you keep the cinnamon?"
"Mulder...why in the hell are you *alone* in my apartment baking?"
"I'm alone because you weren't home," he answered simply.
Scully took a deep breath and leaned against the refrigerator.
"Um, you probably shouldn't lean on the fridge...the flour will come off your knee, but I doubt the chocolate sauce will come out of your jacket..."
"And maybe you don't want to put your hand *right* there..."
She stopped and looked around at her kitchen. "Mulder, what is that oozing down the side of the sink?"
"Peanut butter. It would be oozing a lot faster if it weren't super-chunky," he observed.
"I think I need to sit down," she sighed.
"You better do it in the other room," Mulder suggested.
Scully walked over to her couch, set the packages aside, and flopped down in between the pillows.
"Okay..." she began.
"I wish they made Teflon countertops," he said, interrupting. "It would make rolling this dough *so* much easier..."
"But that would probably cost too much, I guess. Hey, I know--marble countertops!" He frowned slightly. "That would cost too much, too. And I think the dough would stick to marble even worse than it sticks to Formica..."
"Mulder, please tell me what you are doing *alone* in my apartment, *baking* for Godssake."
"I always loved this apron of yours, Scully," he smiled.
"Keep it up, Mulder."
"Okay, okay. I wanted to surprise you."
"What, by baking me a pie?" she asked.
"Yeah, for Thanksgiving."
"Why are you doing it in *my* apartment?"
"Because a swinging bachelor pad such as mine doesn't contain the ingredients needed to bake a proper pie, and because there is nothing better than smelling a hot apple pie baking."
Scully sniffed the air, waiting for the spiced scent of hot apple.
"Um, I don't smell hot apple pie, Mulder."
"I hit a snag," he admitted.
"A snag. Would that have to do with the peanut butter oozing down my sink..."
"...and the chocolate syrup on the fridge," he finished. "I wanted to make something with chocolate and peanut butter before I came up with the apple pie idea."
"But, y'know, I had some slight difficulties opening their respective packages."
"Which resulted in the mess you see before you."
"I decided to go the easier, more formulaic route and choose the old standby apple pie, but this pie-making isn't as easy as I thought."
Scully glanced over at her partner, covered in flour and scowling at the dough-encrusted cookbook. "How far did you get?"
"I think I'd rather have an alien probe shoved up my nose than roll out this dough."
She laughed and walked into the kitchen to check his progress. Glancing down at the mess, she said, "If an alien landed right now and I handed him the rolling pin, I'm pretty sure he could do a better job."
"They are more intelligent than us, y'know."
"Where's the rest of the ingredients?" she asked, looking around.
"The apples are mashed and ready for the pie," he answered. Mulder pointed to a bowl filled with chunky, liquified apples.
"Mulder, this is apple sauce. You're not supposed to *mash* the apples."
"Didn't you read the cook book?"
"The chocolate and peanut butter distracted me."
"Did I ruin your pie?" he asked, sounding disappointed.
She looked up at him and saw The Pout. And although her kitchen was a disaster area, chocolate syrup covered the fridge, and peanut butter was slowly creeping down the side of the sink, Scully had to admit the whole idea of Mulder sneaking into her apartment to bake her a pie was...sweet.
"I think we can save it," she laughed. "Fox Mulder's first applesauce pie. Where are you, Martha Stewart?"
"You can bring it to your mother's for Thanksgiving."
"You can carry your own pie."
Mulder paused. "What do you mean?"
"You're coming with me to my mom's, of course."
"Did you have other plans?"
"I don't know, Scully," he said, "The Hungry Man Frozen Dinner company has made some incredible improvements to their brownie dessert..."
He laughed and handed her the rolling pin. "Can we save the patient, Doctor?"
"Of course. Doctor Scully to the rescue, as usual. But my fees are high."
"Oooh...I like the sound of that," he teased. "How shall I assist you, Doctor?"
"First, get down on your hands and knees..."
"Yeeeeeesssss?" he drawled.
"And start cleaning that floor."
Scully smiled at him and he had to laugh at the look on her face. "I have a feeling that this is going to be the best-tasting pie ever," he grinned.
"Get cleaning, Mulder Stewart..."
Happy Thanksgiving! The pie's on me.
"And hell does not always look like hell; on a good day it can look a lot like L.A."
Hello, Samantha dear,
"I move in silence;