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Banter was not uncommon in the basement. Full-blown arguing, however, was a different story. Often, an agent or two rifiling through evidence or making copies would hear a witty comment through the cracked-open door, but only if the speaker was particularly loud (such a case was more common with Mulder than Scully). Yelling and screaming matches were not Mulder and Scully.
Mulder and Scully disagreed, probably more often than any other pair of partners in the whole Bureau, but they liked to keep it…civil.
Today was no such day.
“Well, Mulder, you’re wrong!” Scully retorted, her raised voice bouncing off the UFO paraphernalia her partner had collected and plastered to the walls.
“And how do you know that?” Mulder shot back, pushing himself out of his desk chair and making his way around the desk to where his tiny partner was leaning with one hand on the hardwood.
“I don’t have to know it! Everything you’re saying is just…it’s crazy, Mulder.”
“Yeah? Spooky Mulder just spouting bullshit in his basement again?” He didn’t try to use his height against her by standing taller, but instead leaned down into her face, which was reddening quickly.
“You’re twisting my words,” she spat, standing on her toes as best she could in heels to bring her face closer to his. Their noses were almost touching.
“I’m just saying what you’re saying,” he said calmly, almost teasingly, giving his head a slight tilt.
She gritted her teeth. He was so damn frustrating.
“Thinking about requesting a transfer?” he taunted, voice low, face still almost too close for comfort.
“There is no way in hell I’m letting you get the best of me,” she growled back, hands balled into fists.
“I think I already have,” he answered, and started to turn away.
“Don’t turn your fucking back on me.” She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. “This isn’t over, Mulder.”
“Oh ye – “
Whatever clever retort he had in mind was cut short by Scully gripping the knot of his tie and pulling his lips onto hers.
He was momentarily shocked into inaction, but after a few seconds of Scully’s tongue on his bottom lip, one arm encircled her waist, pulling her close and holding her there while the other threaded through her short hair at the back of her head. She kept one hand on his tie and the other arm on his shoulder, holding herself up. He felt the desk push against his lower back and shifted his legs to allow her to stand closer to him as she leaned into the kiss.
When they finally came up for air, her lips bright and red despite the fact that most of her lipstick was now on his own lips, he now knew exactly what kissing Scully tasted like; he had committed her taste to his eidetic memory. She was breathless and her hair was a mess from his hand. He attempted to remedy some of his damage while keeping one hand on her hip.
He moved his mouth to her ear. “What were we arguing about again?” he breathed into her ear, still a little breathless.
“I don’t remember,” she laughed, stepping away from the desk as he let his hand drift away from her. She smoothed his tie back down, stepped away from him, and walked out the door. He really hoped she wasn’t going to request that transfer he suggested.
(Of course, when she returned five minutes later with her hair fixed and lipstick reapplied, he knew. He knew.)