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Title: "Froth"
Author: Katherine F.
Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, but I'm no threat. I'd just like to point that out.
Rating: I have no idea...
Spoilers: none.
Feedback: craved and longed for. afarmar@iol.ie
Summary: UST and cappuccino. No plot whatsoever.
Author's notes: NMT IV is giving me trouble, so in the meantime here's a little bit of fluff inspired by a cellphone ad. An experiment, if you like; I'm not sure I can *do* happy, but here goes... Not beta'd, as usual. A humble bow to Halrloprillalar, queen of Scully/Holly. All Hail Hal!

---

"Froth"
by Katherine F.

Friday at last, thank God. No case, no unfinished paperwork, no requests for babysitting; in fact, no compelling reason to do anything other than go home and spend an hour in the bath.

Will I use the patchouli oil or the herbal bubble bath, I wonder? The patchouli makes me horny, which is nice, but I'm not sure I have the energy for masturbation tonight. I *definitely* don't have the energy to cook...pizza. With pepperoni and mushrooms and extra cheese. God, I can smell it already.

*There's* my car. Finally. I really ought to look into getting myself something a little less nondescript. Though the FBI no doubt frowns on its employees driving Thunderbird convertibles....I wonder if their sales went up after _Thelma and Louise_? Mmm, there's a thought. I'll rent a movie -- maybe not tonight, maybe tomorrow night -- a real chick flick. _Little Women_, maybe. Or _Sirens_. Or...

Shit. Where are my keys?

Don't panic, Dana, you've got them somewhere. Okay, not in my overcoat. Not in my jacket. Not in my pants. They must be in my --

Purse. Which is in the basement office. Which is now locked. With Mulder's key.

*Fuck*.

I'm just banging my head against the roof of the car when I catch a slight whiff of someone else's perfume. CK One. Very nice. Which means...

"Are you okay, Dana?"

Holly. I like Holly, she's nice. She's got more personality than most of the office drones.

"I'm fine," I say. My reflex answer. I'm *not* fine. People who are fine don't bang their heads against cars. She knows this, of course. I just hope she's tactful enough not to pursue the matter.

"Well, you know, the traffic into Georgetown can be pretty heavy this time of day. You want to go for coffee? I know a great place for it. And if we linger long enough, you might have a clear road home."

And if I drink enough coffee, I might get up the energy to hassle someone in Security to drill the office door open for me. This, to me, is a good thing.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Where's your car?"

"Oh, we don't need a car. It's just a few blocks away."

"Even better. Let's go."

A short walk. God, I'm tired; but I couldn't wish for a better companion. She talks when I feel like listening and keeps silent when I don't. Is she psychic, or just unusually sensitive? I like walking beside her. I mean, there's nothing more frustrating than having your plans of a pleasant and stress-free evening blown to bits by your own stupidity. Equally, there's nothing more calculated to make you feel better about the destruction of said plans than a substitute plan created and implemented by someone else.

I wonder if she does neck rubs...no, stop that. An unworthy thought. I mean, really, she's being nice enough as it is... Hm, that word again. Is that what I really mean? Or is it just that I'm too tired to use the full extent of my vocabulary even in my own thoughts?

"Here we are."

Indeed. A nice -- no, *pleasant* -- place, a lot of women sitting around and talking, soft music, squashy couches -- wait, *women*?

Yep, that's right. Not a man in the place.

Hmmm. It would seem that there's more to Holly than meets the eye.

The waitress has very little hair and a ring in her nose, but that's par for the course these days. Nonetheless...

"Can I take your orders?"

Holly smiles. Funny, I never noticed what a sweet smile she has. Sort of -- open, I suppose. The kind of smile you could never think was fake.

"Hi, Leah. I'll take an espresso and a slice of cheesecake. Dana?"

"Umm...cappuccino, please." I'm starving, and the smell of quiche and sandwiches from the kitchen is only making it worse, but I have precisely the price of a cappuccino in my pockets.

It has not escaped my notice that she knows the waitress by name.

She leans back and smiles. "I come here a lot. It's got such a great atmosphere, you know? Friendly."

I nod slowly as I look around at the cafe, the prints on the walls, the couches, the clientele. Somehow it manages to be perfectly unthreatening without being bland. Quite a feat.

"It's nice here," I say, and curse inwardly for using *that* word.

It doesn't seem to bother her. "Yeah. I mean, there are only so many places you can go to meet women, especially if you don't drink. *This* place is a real gem."

When the coffees and cheesecake arrive, it's all I can do not to drool. I'm even hungrier than I thought.

"D'you want some?" she says around a forkful of cake. Psychic. Gotta be psychic.

"Well, if you don't mind..."

For answer, she fills the fork and holds it out for me. I'm about to take it from her hand when some strange impulse bids me to wrap my lips around the fork while she's still holding it. I'm not usually this impulsive...oh, but the look on her face is even more delicious than the cheesecake. Her pupils dilate. Her breath catches. She swallows visibly.

"So, uh..." Her voice is hoarse. She clears her throat and tries again. "Why were you banging your head against the roof of your car?"

I take a sip of my cappuccino and frown. "It's really stupid, actually. I, well, I left my purse in the office with my keys inside."

She winces in sympathy. "Including the key to the office?"

"Yep. And my car keys, and the key to my apartment, and the key to Mulder's apartment -- "

"Mulder gave you a key?"

"I feed his fish when he's away." Actually, it's a good deal more complicated than that. But the important thing is that she *not* think we're sleeping together. I hate it when people think that.

She nods thoughtfully. "That's a real pain in the ass, though. I hate it when things like that happen." She brightens suddenly. "You know, you could come to dinner at my place if you like. I mean, I live in Alexandria -- that's where Mulder lives, isn't it?" I nod. She goes on, "I know you're probably really tired by now, and it would be less trouble to get the other key from him than from Security...and you, um, seem pretty hungry."

*In more ways than one,* I think. Of course, it's quite possible that Holly doesn't mean anything at all flirtatious by this display of hospitality.

"In fact, if you're *really* tired," she continues, "you could even stay the night."

It's also quite possible that the moon is made of green cheese.

I take another sip of my cappuccino and smile my most provocative smile.

"On the couch?" I say.

She smiles again. Such an *innocent* smile. I don't believe it for a second.

"You've got froth on your nose."

Damnit. I can feel the blush rising as I fumble for a napkin. This is even worse than locking my keys in the office. That was just frustrating. *This* is embarrassing.

"No," she says, leaning forward, "let me."

And, with that, she gently, tenderly, licks the froth from the tip of my nose.

She's got an awfully long tongue.

I lick my suddenly-too-dry lips. "You know, sleeping on couches is really not good for the spine."

She nods amiably. "You'd better sleep in my bed, then." Leah comes by with the check; I don't even remember Holly asking for it. (Though judging from the conspiratorial look on Leah's face, maybe she didn't.) "It's a lovely big bed."

"Big enough for two?"

"Easily."

I smile and finish my cappuccino. Maybe I'll get that bath after all. I wonder if Holly has any patchouli oil?

[end]

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