Spoiler: "The Rain King"

Author's Notes:
The first time I saw "The Rain King" on DVD I didn't like it—I thought it was heavy-handed on pushing the M&S romance in a very clumsy way. But after watching it again as a TNT rerun, I discovered that it was very, very funny and clever. However, I did notice that M&S acted a little odd the morning after they shared a room, but not as if they'd finally managed the naked pretzel—in fact, they weren't even as close as they were in earlier episodes such as "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas". Here is what I think happened between them in the motel room that night which I hope is even half as funny as the original. (Note that like most fiction writers, I have changed some events from the episode; while I like to stick to just the facts, ma'am, I couldn't resist.)

Heads or Tails
by Suzanne Feld
Rated R for language and adult sexual situations

"Mulder, it's a full sized bed and we're both mature adults."

"Scully, I don't mind taking the cot."

"Your feet will hang off the end up to your calves. I'll sleep on it if you won't."

"A gentleman always gives the lady the bed in these situations. You are not sleeping on that thing."

They both glared at the thing in question, an ancient cobweb-infested green-gray Army cot that could be no newer than Korean War issue—and more likely WWII by the looks of it. Shortly after they'd gotten back the motel manager had brought it over, brushed it off and set it up in the middle of the room, then left without a word. Which was a good thing because if one more person in this damn town remarked on her "boyfriend" or "husband" there was going to be shooting, explanations and paperwork be damned.

Mulder stood on the other side of the cot, hands on lean hips and frowning, while she had sunk into the room's only chair shortly after they arrived and now sat with elbows on knees, hands dangling limply. Frustrated, Scully blew strands of red hair out of her eyes, too tired to even raise her arms to brush it away. The rain and humidity of the long day had totally wrecked her hair, releasing it from the chemical bonds of hairspray, and it was hanging in her eyes. It was just one more frustration in Kroner, Kansas that she had her intrepid partner to thank for. "And a 'lady' doesn't insist that her partner sleep on a cot that's three feet to short for him!" she just about shouted back. "If you don't want to share the bed with me, fine, whatever. Just say so, dammit."

He stared at her clearly startled. "Well it's not that, not exactly..."

"Then what exactly IS it?"

She never thought she'd see him scuff his foot on the floor like an embarrassed schoolboy, but that was exactly what he did. "I, uh, haven't shared a bed with anyone in a fairly long time and I'm not sure what I do in my sleep. I mean, I probably snore and hog the covers."

He was blushing—he was actually blushing, not as obviously as she could, but it was unmistakable. Another one for the record books. "I probably do too," she said shortly, not about to get into a discussion about how frequently a man got an erection during the night which she damn well knew was what he meant. "Look, do what you want. It's my room, I offered to share the bed, take it or leave it."

He turned away without answering and dug around in his open suitcase, which was on top of the low dresser at the foot of the bed.

"Fine, whatever," she snapped, getting up and going into the bathroom, closing the door firmly—not quite slamming, but close. Guess the honeymoon's over after five minutes of sharing a room, she thought with a snort, going to the sink and looking into the mirror. A tired, bedraggled, almost haggard-looking woman gazed back at her, limp frizzy red hair framing her weary face. "No wonder he doesn't want to sleep with me—even platonically," she muttered under her breath, turning to the old-fashioned tub which, thankfully, appeared to be clean enough for a bath. "Looks like chubby, stacked blondes are more his type this trip."

It was then that she realized that she hadn't brought a pair of clean pajamas into the bathroom with her. Her white terrycloth robe still hung on the back of the door where she'd left it after this morning's shower, but she wasn't about to walk around him wearing nothing but that. She started the tub filling, then forced herself to open the door to the room where her stubborn jackass of a partner was. She found him dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, sprawled on the bed with the remote on his flat stomach. The TV babbled on the other side of the room as she went to her suitcase, which was on the end of the bed opposite his big bare feet. The next thing she noticed was that the cot was gone, not even a cobweb remaining to show where it had been plunked in the middle of the floor. "Change your mind?" she couldn't resist enquiring as she popped the latches and lifted the lid.

"Maybe," he said stiffly, staring at the TV. She knew damn well he wasn't seeing a thing, probably didn't even know what was on—since when did he watch QVC, especially when they were having a Hummel figurine special?

"Well, you can shower after I have my bath and I'll probably be asleep before you get out, so just be quiet whatever you do," she said, digging towards the bottom for the nightwear. While at it, she took out her clothes for tomorrow and hung them up, then carried the clean pair of pajamas into the bathroom.

It wasn't until she was neck-deep in the steaming foamy tub with the scent of lilacs and lavender wafting past her face that Scully felt even halfway relaxed. It has been one hell of a day—week—month--year--she repeatedly corrected herself. Years, as in plural, maybe. Why in Heaven's name did she still let Mulder drag her off on these wild-goose chases when she knew damn well that they'd only get bawled out afterward by whichever A.D. they were reporting to that year? Well, she knew the answer to that but really didn't want to think about it; all she wanted to think about was the hot water loosening up her tired, stressed muscles and how good that bed was going to feel, Mulder or no Mulder. And how she wished she'd thought to bring a glass of wine in here with her or, even better, that she'd thought to stop and buy a bottle of wine on the way back from the 'crime scene' out in the middle of BFE. And why in the hell hadn't that cow landed on someone else's room?!

"Scully... you decent enough for me to come in?" Mulder's voice, muffled from the other side of the door. "I've got something for you."

She reached over and grabbed the thick white towel from the closed toilet seat lid where she'd put it before getting in the bath and spread it over the middle of the tub. Now all he'd see was her head and knees poking out of the water--she wasn't about to bet her modesty on a bottle of unknown-quality bubble bath she'd gotten for Christmas. "Probably not, but come in anyway."

His tousled head appeared around the door, eyes averted, then his arm reached towards her with a milky plastic motel glass full of a dark liquid. She reached out and took it from him, sniffed, and said, "Soda, Mulder?"

"Diet Coke. It was all they had in the machine outside, and I figured you'd want something cold to drink. They say you should stay well-hydrated in a sauna or jacuzzi, and since steam is coming from under the bathroom door I figured your bath is at least that hot. Water would have been better, but the ice machine was out and this was cold, at least."

She smiled up at him, taking a sip. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful." The man never failed to amaze her. Never.

He still hadn't looked directly at her, and now disappeared. "You're welcome. Smells good in here," he mumbled before the door closed.

Wonder what he'd have done if I'd invited him to join me? Scully wondered idly as she sipped at the cold, nose-tickling soda while tossing the now-suds-dotted towel back on the toilet seat. Bet he'd have passed out; either that or cannonballed right in. She stifled a chuckle, set the half-empty plastic cup on the floor next to the tub's clawed feet, and picked up her loofah to start washing the day's grime from her tired body.

***

Mulder lay back on the bed in his previous position, the scent of flowers and woman-stuff clogging his head more than the hot steam seeping from beneath the bathroom door. Even though he hadn't looked directly at her, he had seen enough of Scully in the tub to send his head spinning with the exact thoughts he wanted to keep at bay, especially this night. As much as he'd tried to, Mulder was unable to help spending the night in a bed with Scully, no matter what the circumstances. At least he knew he'd done everything in his power to resist.

Everything except throw a pillow and blanket on the floor and sleep there, his conscience whispered. But he was good at ignoring it in many different situations and this was no exception. A thread of nervousness wormed its way into his gut at the thought that Scully might want to share the bed for more than sleep; she'd been pretty insistent and damn near insulted when he'd refused. Was she making a pass at him? No way to tell. He was just a big dumb male animal, not a damn mind-reader—especially when it came to women and Dana Scully in particular. As always, he'd just play it by ear, follow her lead—God, was he whipped or what?--and hope that the Fates eventually smiled on him, because he just had no luck with women on his own lately. One woman in particular, in fact.

Wavy red hair tied up on top of her head somehow, a few stray strands falling around her pink-cheeked face. Freckles visible without makeup to cover them, and he saw that adorable mole on her upper lip that he knew he'd kiss someday no matter what type of pain it earned him. Pale, rounded shoulders rising out of the bubbles, the towel draped over the middle of the tub—how cute!—and those soft little knees. He hadn't been able to see her eyes, hadn't dared look that closely without losing what little control he had left.

Sleeping in a bed with her was going to be absolute torture, and he wouldn't miss it for the world upon pain of another cow falling through the roof.

He glanced over as the bathroom door opened, a rush of steam and hot air preceding Scully stepping out. She came out of the mist like a goddess in white, her hair now down around her shoulders, wrapped in a white robe tied tightly around her waist with dark pajama legs peeking out at the bottom and just a glimpse of collar at her throat. But it didn't hide her shape, which was already well-known to him, the terrycloth damp and clinging in all the right places. He couldn't tell what material her pajamas were made out of in his brief glance, but he rooted for silk or satin. He glanced at her bare feet, then quickly looked away. That was just too much; while he didn't have a foot fetish that he knew of, the sight of her little toes against the cheap brown carpet caused a jolt in the pit of his belly that he knew preceded exactly what he was trying to not let happen.

"Mulder, since when do you watch infomercials for women's hair enhancement products? Or is it because Suzanne Somers is hawking them? Seems to me like you're into blondes just lately," she said snidely, carrying her dirty clothes over to her suitcase. She took out a laundry bag that matched the lining of the suitcase and shoved the material into it just a bit too roughly.

"I was dozing, Scully, I don't even know what was on," he said crossly, sitting up and throwing his legs off the side of the bed. His partial erection was gone, that worry over with for the time being. What in the hell was going on with her all of a sudden?! Hadn't his thoughtful gesture done anything to cool her down?

"With your eyes wide open? Teach me that trick," she snapped, then closed her suitcase and heaved it off the bed and onto the floor at the foot. "You are going to take a shower, right, Mulder? As you once told me, 'you smell bad'."

He located the remote on the end table next to the bed and shut off the TV, angry and baffled and afraid to say anything that would set her off even worse. What he really wanted to do was stomp over to her, grab her by the arms, and kiss the hell out of her—but after having taken her doppelgänger's deadly right hook on the chin just a couple months previous he thought twice about it. At this point he felt retreat was the best option and took it without another word, for once in his life knowing when to shut up.

After he'd disappeared into the bathroom Scully felt her righteous anger deflate like a punctured balloon. Why was she being so bitchy and mean to him? He'd been staring blankly at the TV, which she'd at first thought was kind of cute until she saw who was on the screen. Suzanne Somers certainly wasn't as voluptuous as Sheila Fontaine, but she was busty and blonde and gorgeous and after having walked in on them kissing Scully was in no mood for any more foolishness. It was clear that Mulder had been fending Sheila off, no doubt about that, but it still rankled.

Was it because she'd never had the courage to just jump on him like that? Or because he hadn't jumped on her before this?

She sighed as she turned down the covers and retrieved the pillow she'd used the night before from the side of the bed Mulder had been lying on, swapping it with the unused one. He obviously wanted that side, and he could deal with the alarm in that case. Taking off her robe, she tossed it over her suitcase at the foot of the bed and climbed in, all but sinking into the soft mattress. It was a bit lumpy but she was too tired to complain, which had been the same situation the night before although she hadn't slept well at all, waking up several times during the night feeling uneasy. One would think that after six years of sleeping in cheap motel rooms one would get used to lousy lumpy beds, but she never quite seemed to unless she was totally exhausted—like tonight.

As she rolled away from "his" side, Scully realized that she'd forgotten to turn off the light. It was her last thought for some time as simple exhaustion took her away from her racing, conflicting, confusing thoughts.

***

When he came out of the bathroom wearing only his sweatpants with the accompanying cloud of mist—there was no exhaust fan--Mulder had built up quite a head of steam himself and was prepared to give Scully a real tongue-lashing; perhaps not the type he'd prefer, but one nonetheless. He'd had enough of her mean, crabby, ruthless disregard for his feelings when all he did was try to be nice to her and was about to tell her for once and for all--

A red-headed angel was asleep in the bed.

He stopped halfway across the room, stunned into mental and physical silence. All he could do was stare, mouth open, not quite drooling but close to it. It looked like she'd been asleep the whole time he'd been in the bathroom—he had taken quite a long shower and its length had nothing to do with the fact that he had not been looking forward to facing her, really it hadn't—and her tousled, sleeping beauty was almost more than he could take. She was laying on her back, one dark-clad arm outside the covers and laying across her waist, the other tucked beneath the pillow under her head which was turned to the side. Her loose hair flowed over the plain white pillowcase, one cheek resting on it, the worry lines he'd noted earlier smoothed away by sleep. Her full lips were parted and she breathed deep and steadily, eyes moving beneath fragile-looking lids with a long sweep of dark lashes flush against her cheeks. The thick layers of sheets and bedspread hid most of her curves from him, but he now saw that she was wearing dark blue pajamas, buttoned to the top, but he could still see a V of chest and all of her slender neck between and above the collar.

He had never in his life seen anything so beautiful and arousing.

Taking a deep breath, Mulder approached the bed almost gingerly. The lamp on the bedside table sent a dim glow across this corner of the room and he couldn't take his eyes from her. Was he really going to be able to sleep next to her? Would he do something embarrassing during the night? Well, he wouldn't if he didn't sleep, and that was just the ticket. He'd have plenty of time to sleep on the two plane rides tomorrow back to D.C. but for tonight, he could just rest next to her and savor every moment.

Carefully he eased in under the covers, then turned off the light and slowly turned on his side to face her with his arm bent under his head, feeling her body heat only inches away and inhaling the heady, unique smell of Scully-woman and flowers. It wasn't full dark in the room, a light outside somewhere casting a pale illumination through the window on the other side of the nightstand. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark and then studied her sleeping face as much as he could at his leisure. That damn mole on her upper lip did something to him, he really wished she'd quit covering it up...

Less than two minutes later he was sound asleep.

***

She woke slowly, groggy but aware of where she was and who she was snuggled up against. As she came to full wakefulness Scully held still, waiting to remember exactly what was going on before she reacted. She knew that the man she was entwined with was her partner, they were in Kroner, Kansas, and that he was in her bed because a cow had destroyed his. What she didn't know was how and why they had ended up curled around each other, snuggled together so closely that she wasn't sure where one ended and the next began.

They were on their sides facing each other, her head beneath his chin, one arm wrapped around his steadily moving ribcage, the other bent between them with her hand resting on her own side, her breasts just barely touching his chest as she breathed. Her legs were trapped between his, one thigh certainly grazing a part of him she desperately tried not to think about. His upper leg rested on her hip, calf pressing against her rear end. Mulder had both arms around her, holding her tightly against him, her head pillowed on one strong bicep. His breathing was steady, regular, deep; he was still very much asleep whereas she was now very much awake. Her nose was almost against his throat and she could smell his warm male scent, mixed with the familiar aftershave, and her heart quaked in her chest before she managed to push the heady feelings away with a force of will she didn't know she had.

The one thing she didn't want to do was wake him while they were laying like this. No matter what happened, she simply didn't want to deal with it. And while she would privately admit to herself that she'd never felt as warm, loved, cherished, and safe as she did right now, the right side of her head was numb where it was laying on his arm and she needed to move.

Why couldn't I have just rolled over while I was asleep and missed waking up in Mulder's arms? she thought almost desperately. Then the answer came: because he was holding onto her like a drowning man with a life preserver. His arms were like bands of steel around her shoulders; even sound asleep he wasn't about to let go of her unless she made a real effort.

It was then that she realized he was shirtless, his strong pectoral muscles and chest hair rubbing against her arm between them as he breathed, but she could feel material over his leg against her bare foot so he did appear to be wearing some type of bottoms. If he'd been naked she would have killed him, justifiable homicide in her book. Bare-chested was bad enough; even those times she'd been acting as his doctor and had seen him shirtless, wearing just underwear or, Heaven forbid, totally naked, she couldn't help but admiring his body and eyeing him when she knew he couldn't catch her at it. She'd never denied what a fine-looking man he was; it wasn't his looks but his personality that kept her from taking their relationship one step further. A man with the single-minded passion that Fox Mulder showed for his life's work would likely be a jealous and possessive lover, something she was determined to never have to deal with again.

Keeping her eyes closed, Scully turned her head to relieve the numbness and then began the process of trying to turn herself over without waking him up. His arms loosened slightly, just enough that she was able to turn all the way over on her other side—and then they tightened again, pulling her back against his firm body. She wanted to see what time it was and to use the bathroom but before the thought was fully formed she had dozed off again, warm and secure in her partner's tight grasp with her hands clasped over his arm.

Mulder woke up just enough to let her turn over, then felt her body settle back against his and her breathing smoothed out, becoming deep and steady. He still had one arm beneath her head and the other around her waist, pulling her close back against him, and he spared a thought of how good it felt before he, too, dozed off with his face against the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair and reveling in the softness of her body against his.

The next thing he remembered after Scully turning over in his arms and cuddling back against him was making love to her. The feel of her soft body rolling beneath his, her breath on his face, low moans from both of them, the complete and undeniable rightness of their coupling, his heart swelling with emotion for the woman who accepted him for what and who he was, looking down into her eyes to see the love there reflected back from him. Capturing her mouth with his, feeling the kiss go on into eternity as their bodies strained together. They breathed words of love back and forth between them as they rode out to the end and then they dozed off, Mulder holding her like the precious treasure she was.

***

She reveled in the feel of Mulder's body on her, all around her, in her. Scully had never been made love to with such tenderness and care, shown rather than told how he felt about her. She could only hope that she was returning the sentiment, showing in return how deeply she loved him and how much an important part of her life he was. Her body moved with his almost as if they had been lovers forever rather than this being their much-anticipated first, and she felt devoured yet cherished and deeply loved as the kiss between them went on and on. No matter how hard she'd tried to keep him at arms'-length, the love between them would not be denied and she no longer had the strength to fight it. This was good, perfect; she was right where she should be. His hands were buried in her hair, hers around his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his upper back and shoulders flex and contract as he flowed in and out of her. He broke the kiss just enough to whisper love-words to her, against her lips, and in the darkness she replied in kind, pouring out her feelings for him as she had never imagined she could. Afterward, the storm passed, she curled against him and reveled in the knowledge that she had found the other half of her soul, the person who really did complete her, and knew that she would never let him go.

***

He woke thinking he was alone, but as soon as he turned his head he saw Scully blinking at him sleepily, her head on her own pillow a few inches away. The light coming through the window was dim, very early morning, but clear enough to see each other. Their bodies didn't touch, both of them laying on their backs in the lumpy hotel bed. She smiled at him and Mulder couldn't help but smile back, then rolled to his side and raised up on one arm, propping himself on an elbow with a palm supporting his head. "Good morning sunshine," he said softly, all but devouring the sight of her warm and tousled and sleepy—again. Maybe he was biased, but he had never seen a woman look so beautiful first thing in the morning before in his whole life. "Did you sleep good?"

"I did," she nodded up at him, turning on her side to face him with one hand beneath her cheek. "How about you? Was sleeping next to me as bad as you thought it would be?"

He grinned back at her. "You farted all night long, damn, woman."

Scully laughed out loud, her eyes sparkling in the dim sunlight. "You snore like a freight train, Mulder, how does anyone in your building sleep at night?"

He laughed too, unthinkingly bringing up one hand to push her tousled hair back from her face. As he brushed her cheek her grin faded to be replaced with a look of wonder, then her eyes narrowed and she seemed to go away for a moment. "Scully...?"

"I... I had some kind of dream... no, I don't remember," she said in a sudden rush, looking down and starting to turn away. Their warm and comfortable teasing was suddenly gone and it was then that the memory of his own dream hit him like a freight train, to use her analogy.

"I did too," he said slowly as the memory came back, and he shifted his hand from her cheek to her shoulder and held her in place. "Scully, look at me. I dreamt that we... did we...?"

She glanced up at him briefly, confusion and what almost looked like fear in her eyes, but she looked away again almost immediately. "Nothing happened last night, Mulder, let me up, I have to use the bathroom," she said quickly, all but jerking away from him and leaping from the bed.

He laid back as the bathroom door closed behind her. Crossing his arms beneath his head, he stared up at the peeling and cracked ceiling, trying to recall the dream. HAD it been a dream, though? His body felt relaxed and sated, not tight and tied in knots like he usually did around her when he thought of her in a sexual way. Something had changed between them, no matter what may or may not have happened last night. Well, as always when it came to the complicated relationship between them, he'd take her lead. Being controlled by Scully was better than blundering about blindly when it came right down to it.

***

She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing the unmistakable signs of a sexually-satisfied woman there. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, eyes deep and heavy-lidded, and most of all her body felt totally sated and lethargic. Yet a physical exam seemed to prove the opposite; she showed no signs of sexual activity from the neck down. The dream/memory was so rich and real... yet she couldn't remember how it had started, only feeling him on top of her... it hadn't really happened, she told herself. Just wishful thinking, brought to the fore from being so close to him all night.

As she saw it, she had two clear-cut choices right now. First, she could go back in there and logically discuss the dream with him, see what they decided had really happened without any physical contact between them. From the way he'd reacted she suspected he'd had the same type of dream, and if they matched perhaps it really was a memory and then they could decide what to do about it. When she woke up he hadn't acted as if he'd seen her dreaming about sex, and she'd seen no such thing with him.

Or she could just ignore it, be as bitchy as she had been yesterday, pretend none of it ever happened, refuse to talk about it, hope that he would let it be.

But she didn't want to do either. What she really wanted was to go back in the other room, shed her pajamas, and climb into bed to see if making love with him really was as good as the dream. The pull of that thought was so strong that she actually unbuttoned the top two buttons of her pajama top before pulling herself together. Re-buttoning them, she took a deep breath and decided on a third course of action.

Before she could re-think herself, she opened the bathroom door and breezed out, going to the foot of the bed and picking up her robe. Swirling it around her and tying it loosely, she said, "So who's going to get dressed and go get coffee from that amazing buffet of a continental breakfast in the front office?" Sitting on the end of the bed, Scully smiled brightly at him. He was still partly under the covers and the sight of his broad, lightly furred chest almost broke her resolve right then and there. She clearly remembered the feel of that chest brushing against her nipples as he surged above her, and it was only with a dint of will that she pushed away the impulse to throw herself on him. But it was more difficult this morning than it had ever been before and she knew it. Her defenses were crumbling, slowly but steadily, and things would never be the same between them. But for the first time she didn't think that was a bad thing.

He smiled back at her, one corner of his mouth curling. The continental breakfast she made sound so good was a basket of cold bagels and a pot of watery coffee. "Coin toss?"

"Deal," she leaned over and grabbed a penny from the small pile of change on the nightstand. "Heads or tails?"

"Hmn, tails," he said with a suggestive leer at her.

This was exactly what she had hoped for, light and playful. When the time came she wouldn't hesitate, but this wasn't it. "Not this time, Mulder," she smirked back as she tossed the penny in the air and slapped it on her arm without even looking at it. The coin toss wasn't the point, her words were. "But you never know, there may be another time when it does, indeed, come up tails for you."

finis