The flight from Denver was interminable. Dana Scully stared out of the tiny window to her right and shifted uncomfortably. They had spent an extra day at the San Diego field office, finishing up paperwork before heading to the airport in the evening. Their original flight had developed engine trouble early on, forcing a hasty descent to the nearest airport and a mad scramble to find an alternative return route. She hated flying and their unscheduled landing had left her emotionally ragged.
The last minute commuter flight Mulder had managed to get them onto held few amenities, but it would get them home by morning. A "redeye" back to D.C., it was populated with busy people leading busy lives: Type A's who just couldn't wait until morning to meet their agendas. Laptops were everywhere and Scully suspected that a tally of cell phones would render a high yield. Her own computer sat perched on the tiny tray table in front of her, open to a random file. The blank white screen spoke of her lassitude and the cursor blinked lazily back at her, daring her to begin. She was dog tired, but unable to rest.
Yawning, she arched her back, stretching the cramped muscles there with a small groan before leaning back against the wall of the narrow plane. It was an older craft with a single aisle separating two rows of double seats. Of course, Mulder had insisted on sitting beside her, in spite of the fact that the plane was relatively empty.
She scanned the cabin routinely before allowing her gaze to settle upon her lanky partner slouched in the seat beside her, arms crossed over his torso, one leg extended into the aisle, already asleep. For someone who claimed insomnia as a personal virtue, Mulder never seemed to have a problem sleeping on a plane. She wondered what his Oxford-trained mind would say about the psychological significance of that anomaly.
Honestly, the man could eat anything, sleep anywhere and never miss a beat; she mused, studying his profile from half-lidded eyes. His chestnut locks were slightly tousled and the shadow of new beard was showing on his angular, handsome face. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest for awhile, and then allowed her eyes a long, slow perusal of his form. It was a luxury she rarely permitted herself.
He was wearing her favorite suit, a dark blue worsted that accentuated his height and slim build. The old saying "clothing makes the man" could easily be "Mulder makes the clothing." He carried himself with easy grace and made everything look good, whether it was an expensive Armani or an old T-shirt and jeans. The image of a scruffy Mulder sprang to mind, making her smile. She always acknowledged his good looks, but rarely permitted them to register on her in any significant way. Not while they were working. It would be altogether too distracting. And Special Agent Dana Scully did not tolerate distraction when it came to work.
She had one cardinal rule: nothing interfered with the job at hand. Personal feelings, she had learned early on in her academy training, had a way of turning one's attention from what needed to be done. That rule held twice as true for women at the Bureau as it did for the men; a necessary code of behavior that allowed her to operate effectively within the male-dominated construct of the FBI.
Which is why she carefully kept her own feelings safely tucked away, especially when it came to her partner. Growing up in a military family, she had developed an immutable self-discipline that had saved them many times over in the field, as well as provided her safe refuge from the emotions that seethed just under the surface between herself and the man who napped beside her. Still, this last case had tested her limits sorely.
Just what had Skinner been thinking? She wondered at her A.D.'s mindset when he had asked them to go undercover, posing as a married couple, in order to infiltrate The Falls at Arcadia, a deluxe planned community that seemed to be hiding more than its fair share of secrets. She would have much preferred pursuing the investigation outright. Things between her and Mulder were still somewhat strained.
It had only been a few weeks since their last contact with Cassandra Spender, along with her son and Diana Fowley. She was still smarting from the argument she and Mulder had exchanged at the Gunmen's lab about Diana's motives. How could he not see her duplicity? After their reassignment to the X-Files, they had mended some fences and tacitly agreed to disagree, but she asked the boys to continue their mining expedition on Diana's activities overseas.
It was at that point that Skinner brought them into his office with their California assignment. He had worn an unreadable look as he outlined the case to them. Undercover work? Mulder's interest had been clearly piqued and his purposeful glance as they sat in Skinner's office warned what lay ahead. Scully knew she was in for a challenge, albeit a manageable one. After nearly six years, she had turned sublimation into a fine art.
Yes, she had held her emotions in check very well these last few days, but Mulder could be downright persistent when seeking her attention. Not that she minded much. She was accustomed to fielding his innuendo with aplomb, but he had really overdone it this time.
Their stay at Arcadia had placed them in close proximity without their usual barriers in place, which is to say: standard issue wardrobe, complete with matching Sig Sauers; separate but equal motel rooms; and no need to pretend they were anything but the highly capable federal agents they were. No, this time they were posing as civilians, sans weapons, sharing a comfortable house and pretending to be married.
Mulder seemed to be having fun. He had kept up a steady stream of suggestive remarks, as well as having taken every opportunity to close the gap in their personal space, touching her time and time again.
It had taken every ounce of her professional will to maintain her composure and keep him focused. She knew he was bored with their first assignment back on the X-Files and so he amused himself by pestering her. She had parried with her best efforts, even a deliberate attempt at over-familiarity. It only seemed to encourage him. And in spite of his flippant manner when he had invited her to join him on their supposed communal bed, she knew better than to think he wasn't half-serious. Make that totally serious.
Just what would he have done if she had decided to take him up on his very attractive offer? No, she really couldn't think about that right how. Maybe not ever. Things between she and Mulder were complicated, at best, and after years of steering clear of physical intimacy, starting now would require more energy than she honestly thought she could manage. And that wasn't all.
There were many reasons why she and Mulder would and probably should keep their relationship strictly platonic. Honestly, there were. She could feel her mind forming the beginnings of a counter-argument she did not want to hear. If I put it down in black and white, she thought, it will be clearer.
With that, she turned to her laptop and opened a folder in the directory containing her personal journal. Leaning over to her partner, she softly called his name. He stirred slightly, but did not waken. Convinced of his unconscious state, she began typing in an even rhythm, allowing herself to relax and settle into her thoughts as she worked...
... March 1
Why Making Love With Mulder Is Not A Good Idea
End - Part 1